Last to Die: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

school to high school age, and their clothing ran the gamut as well, from a blond girl with torn blue jeans to a boy wearing dress slacks and an oxford shirt. All of them were staring at Maura.
    “You’re the medical examiner,” said a girl in a miniskirt. “We heard you were coming.”
    Maura smiled. “Julian mentioned me?”
    “Like, just about all the time. Are you going to teach a class?”
    “A class?” She looked at Julian. “I hadn’t planned to.”
    “We wanted to hear about forensic pathology,” piped up an Asian boy. “In biology, we dissected frogs and fetal pigs, but that was just normal anatomy. It’s not like the cool stuff you do with dead people.”
    Maura glanced around at the eager faces. Like so much of the public, their imaginations were probably fueled by too many TV cop shows and crime novels. “I’m not sure that topic would be appropriate,” Maura said.
    “Because we’re kids?”
    “Forensic pathology is a subject usually taught to medical students. Even most adults find the subject disturbing.”
    “We wouldn’t,” the Asian boy said. “But maybe Julian didn’t tell you who we are.”
    What you are is
odd
, Maura thought as she watched Julian’s classmates exit, their exodus marked by shuffling shoes and creaking floors. In the silence that followed, Bear gave a bored whine and trotted over to lick Julian’s hand.
    “
Who we are
? What did he mean by that?” asked Maura.
    It was the teacher who answered. “Like far too many of his classmates, young Mr. Chinn often engages his mouth before his brain. There’s little point trying to decode any deeper meaning to adolescent babbling.” The man peered sourly at Maura over his spectacles. “I’m Professor Pasquantonio. Julian told us you would be visiting this week, Dr. Isles.” He glanced at the boy, and his lips twitched in a half smile. “He’s a fine student, by the way. Needs work with his writing skills, hopelessly bad at spelling. But better than anyone at spotting unusual botanical specimens in the woods.”
    Laced though it was with criticism, the compliment made Julian grin. “I’ll work on my spelling, Professor.”
    “Enjoy your visit with us, Dr. Isles,” said Pasquantonio gathering his notes and plant specimens from the demonstration table. “Lucky for you, it’s quiet this time of year. Not so many noisy feet clomping up and down the stairs like elephants.”
    Maura noticed the clump of purple flowers the man was holding. “Monkshood.”
    Pasquantonio nodded. “
Aconitum
. Very good.”
    She scanned the other plant specimens he’d laid out on the table. “Foxglove. Purple nightshade. Rhubarb.”
    “And this one?” He held up a twig with dried leaves. “Extra credit if you can tell me which flowering shrub this comes from?”
    “It’s oleander.”
    He looked at her, his pale eyes lit up with interest. “Which doesn’t even grow in this climate, yet you recognize it.” He gave a deferential nod of his bald head. “I am impressed.”
    “I grew up in California, where oleander’s common.”
    “I suspect you’re also a gardener.”
    “Aspiring. But I am a pathologist.” She looked at the botanical specimens arrayed on the table. “These are all poisonous plants.”
    He nodded. “And so beautiful, some of them. We grow monkshood and foxglove here, in our flower garden. Rhubarb’s growing in our vegetable garden. And purple nightshade, with such sweet little blossoms and berries, springs up everywhere as a common weed. All around us, so prettily disguised, are the instruments of death.”
    “And you’re teaching this to children?”
    “They have need of this knowledge as much as anyone else. It reminds them that the natural world is a dangerous place, as you well know.” He set the specimens on a shelf and scooped up pages of notes. “A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Isles,” he said before turning to Julian. “Mr. Perkins, your friend’s visit will not serve as an excuse for late homework. Just so we’re clear on that matter.”
    “Yes, sir,” said Julian solemnly. He maintained that sober expression until Professor Pasquantonio was well down the hall and out of earshot, then he burst out in a laugh. “Now you know why we call him Poison Pasky.”
    “He doesn’t seem like the friendliest of teachers.”
    “He’s not. He’d rather talk to his plants.”
    “I hope your other teachers aren’t quite as strange.”
    “We’re
all
strange here. That’s why it’s