Swiss Vendetta (Agnes Luthi Mysteries #1)(23)
Agnes remembered that this was at least an hour before she arrived and therefore before the body was completely encased in ice.
“That’s when I understood that Mimi had already seen her,” Vallotton said. “Who wouldn’t be frightened given what she saw? We ran to Arsov’s. It was closer and I knew his nurse was there. I thought Mimi might need medical attention.”
For a moment Agnes wanted to strangle Petit. He should have learned these details right away, when he first spoke with Vallotton upon arriving at the chateau. Then she remembered the ferocity of the storm and calmed herself.
“What precisely did Mimi see?” she asked.
“Felicity Co—” Vallotton stopped. He looked at Agnes for a long moment. “I see what you mean. I assumed she saw what I had. That she happened upon the body, perhaps slipped and saw her.”
Agnes took a deep breath. There was a chance the girl had seen the killer. A slim chance. More likely Vallotton was right and she had only seen what he had.
“I’ll talk to her this morning.” Agnes calculated quickly. She would still speak with Nick Graves first, no need to wake a sleeping child.
Seven
Agnes wound her way toward the chateau’s kitchen, following an airborne trail of rich aromas. Stepping through a stone archway into a large space with a high vaulted ceiling, she knew that the scent of baking bread, sugar, and roasting meat hadn’t led her astray. This was the working center of the chateau.
“Hello?” she called out, her voice echoing. “Is anyone here?” She walked toward a door at the far end of the room. It led to a secondary corridor where the absence of decoration was pronounced.
“Marie-José, hold your breath, I’m coming.” A large woman wrapped in a flour-covered apron backed into the hall. “You’ve no reason to. Oh—” She stopped when she saw Agnes.
“I’m Inspector Lüthi, sorry to intrude.”
“Come to question me?” The cook smiled to show she meant no harm and indicated Agnes should return with her to the main kitchen. She set an oblong paté mold on the table before dusting her hands on her apron.
“Not so much question as see what you might have remembered since last night,” Agnes said, glancing around. She wasn’t much for kitchens but this was a marvel, a perfect blend of modern need with ancient practice. The overhead vaults were not plastered; neither were the stone walls. Sunshine streamed in through high windows and glanced off copper pans and stainless steel utensils.
“When the old Monsieur was alive we’d have parties that made me want double the space,” the cook said.
A pile of logs burned in a fireplace large enough for a dozen men to stand in. Meat was threaded onto spits and grease dripped and sizzled. A long, scarred wooden table commanded the center of the room and the sink on the far wall was as long as a bathtub.
“The old Monsieur would bring live game in like when he was a boy and we’d pluck and dry it back there.” The cook waved a thick arm toward the secondary corridor. “An entire wild boar one time. Made our own jams and bread and most other things. He kept to the old ways. Liked things just so and was willing to keep the staff to make it right. Madame barely eats and likes a”—she paused—“a more modern lifestyle. Modern. Ha. Like not having staff means she’s living like everyone else.”
There were modern touches: a twelve-burner gas stove, four wall ovens, and bevy of high-tech Swedish-designed dishwashers. Agnes noted the handle on a door leading to a refrigeration room. Although her mother-in-law’s kitchen was well-appointed, this was in an entirely different category. Sybille would swoon with jealousy.
“But that’s not why you’re here,” the cook said, unmolding the paté in one deft motion and placing it on a shelf for later.
“I know you’ve spoken with my colleague, Monsieur Carnet,” Agnes said. “However, I wanted to see if you’ve remembered anything. Any detail out of the ordinary yesterday?”
“Nothing, and don’t think I haven’t tossed and turned all night wondering what I might have missed. That young woman must have passed right outside my door, or near enough, if she went down those steps. And I didn’t hear a thing. I didn’t even hear her. Of course the wind was howling all afternoon. I could hear it inside; it was that loud. Like demons were screaming at us. And then the power went out, right in the middle of preparing the dinner for Monsieur Julien’s homecoming. Good thing they didn’t want a hot meal after all.” The cook caught herself and started to apologize.
“I understand,” Agnes broke in. “Today, I think everyone will appreciate a hot meal to keep the cold at bay.”
“That I can do easy enough. We never got rid of the old equipment when the modern came. I’ll keep hot food on the table until it runs out … and that won’t be for weeks. I keep a pantry ready for any emergency. The things people used to ask for when we had large parties. Kept me on my toes and I’d like to think I’ve not dropped my standards.”
Agnes shifted to stand nearer the fire, enjoying the heat. Without pausing for breath the cook poured cups of coffee for them both and slipped a plate of pastries alongside. Agnes hesitated, then took one, biting into the almond filling. The cook nodded approvingly at her expression. “It’s happened before, although not so bad,” she said.