Swiss Vendetta (Agnes Luthi Mysteries #1)(35)
Prodded by the butler, Estanguet moved to a chair near the low table they were using as an alternative to relocating to the even colder dining room. His hand was unsteady and Agnes wondered if he needed the nurse. Then Estanguet took a sip of wine, closed his eyes, and appeared to relax.
“Monsieur Arsov,” she said, “your butler asked me if we had made progress on the investigation. I’m afraid I don’t have much to report. He’s very conscientious. He said he’d rechecked all the doors and windows to make sure they are locked. I don’t think your staff have any cause to worry, although I am surprised you don’t have professional security.”
“You think a hired thug would take more care with my life than I do? I take my precautions. Since Stalingrad I have been ready to defend my life at all times. That was a lesson I learned well.”
Agnes wanted to ask exactly how Arsov planned to defend himself. The old man could barely draw a solid breath and was too weak to walk. She surveyed the wheelchair, half expecting to see high-tech weaponry attached to the sides. Or was it possible that Arsov planned to light his oxygen tank with a cigarette and let it explode in an enemy’s face? The idea had a certain dramatic flair. She felt her mind wandering and knew that it was the result of fatigue.
“Anyone can kill,” Arsov said, absently slipping his hand to the empty space between his thigh and the chair arm. He smoothed the blanket and Agnes stifled a grin. The old man had a gun. She bet it wasn’t licensed.
“The marquise, St. Sebastian bless that woman, could kill as easily as my butler opens a bottle of wine, and do it with a steady hand and no remorse.” He shot Agnes a dark look. “How is she? Who does she think did it? You won’t speculate, but you should. Madame la marquise has good instincts. It’s reason that motivates a killer. What reason would motivate you? Don’t look so shocked. Take the kindest mother, threaten her child, and create a killer. Same thing with cannibalism. Hungry enough and you’ll eat anything. I ate shoe leather once. Very unsatisfying; later I wished I had the shoe leather to wear.”
Agnes wouldn’t be drawn into speculating. She took a forkful of fish and understood why Arsov couldn’t bear to lose his chef.
“What did Mimi tell you?” Arsov demanded.
“What we already knew. Nothing.”
The butler appeared in the doorway. “Monsieur Ralph Mulholland.”
Mulholland crossed the threshold swiftly, pausing to acknowledge Agnes and Estanguet with a curt nod. “I came to see if you needed anything,” he said to Arsov. “Ridiculous, I see now. You’ve even got the police.”
“Inspector Lüthi is not here for me, she was speaking with Mimi.” Arsov motioned Mulholland forward and the butler hastened to set another place for lunch.
“She is a good child, Mimi,” Arsov continued. “She reminds me of my sister, Anya. Too young to be alone in the world. She will be taken care of when I am gone.”
“Has she lived with the Vallottons long?” Agnes asked. “You mentioned they’re her guardians.”
“Her parents died and old Monsieur Vallotton brought her to live with them. He died a year later.” Agnes hid a smile at Arsov calling anyone old. “She is their legal responsibly but I am leaving my estate to her. They look after her, but she’s not one of them.” He removed a hand-rolled cigarette from a silver box and sucked on it like it was the next course of his meal.
“Isn’t that a little unusual if the Vallottons are her legal guardians?” she asked.
“No one objects to more money,” said Mulholland. “Especially guardians.”
Agnes recalled that his parents had died when he was young.
“You are right,” Arsov said. “I’ll make her independent, plus I’m giving my collection of Russian objets d’art to them, as a token. A thank-you.” Vaguely, he waved a hand toward the collections strewn across the nearby tables and cabinets: Fabergé eggs, enameled and bejeweled frames, silver-faced icons. “It is the least I can do. Might even be known as the Arsov collection someday, but that’s not necessary. I’m not prideful.”
Agnes smothered another smile. In the light of day the room looked like someone had ransacked a Romanov palace prior to the revolution.
Arsov glanced around as if sizing up the real estate. “This is very special place to me and Mimi would be happy here. I have asked Julien Vallotton to deed use of the house to her, just for her lifetime.” Arsov plucked a speck of tobacco from his lips. “It is a bond between us, this place.”
Agnes listened to his account of their time together, noting that neither Estanguet nor Mulholland ate much, despite the excellent food. Judging from the expression on Estanguet’s face he was as intrigued as she was at the inclinations of the truly rich. At Arsov’s age it was likely Mimi would still be a young girl when he died. She wouldn’t need her own mansion. On the other hand Mulholland looked surly. Perhaps this was what she could expect from her own boys when they reached their midtwenties. Surly boy-men. Agnes changed the subject.
“I don’t know who the marquise suspects, but I’m sure she is unhappy. Not only a murder but the dress worn by Mademoiselle Cowell was valuable and it’s ruined now.”
“My dragon nurse told me. A dress worn to Napoleon’s coronation. The marquise will think it good riddance. Her husband was part of the old French nobility, not the upstart emperor’s. The emperor may have created modern Switzerland but the Vallottons didn’t need him. The dead woman couldn’t have chosen better.”