Swiss Vendetta (Agnes Luthi Mysteries #1)(50)

“Dust?” Madame Puguet said, as if Agnes had said there were rats chewing the upholstery.

“Only the very faintest trace. Mere particles, but using a strong light it was possible to see that several objects had been removed.”

Madame Puguet took a step back as if she’d been struck. Then, shoulders stiff, she led the way to investigate herself.

One glance at the first tabletop and her eyes widened. She covered her mouth briefly, then seemed to gather her wits. “This should not have been taken away,” she said, moving her hand toward an empty area between a series of gem-encrusted silver cups.

“Maybe a family member picked it up—” Agnes was silenced with a cold glance.

“The family doesn’t pick objects up and carry them around.” Madame Puguet walked through the room, studying each table and cabinet as she passed. “I will make a list of the items for Monsieur Vallotton. He must be informed at once.”





Eighteen

Agnes paced the length of the sitting room, blowing into her hands and sniffing. She had gargled soap in a powder room, an action that had nearly made her sick again, but at least her breath was freshened. Insult to injury.

Julien Vallotton arrived from the dinner table. Agnes glanced down at her wrinkled skirt and compared her disheveled appearance to his immaculate garb.

“You should have joined us, or at least eaten,” he said, gesturing to the platter of salmon, tomato, and shrimp canapés thoughtfully provided by the kitchen. “The others enjoyed themselves. Officer Petit is awash with enthusiasm about his new son.”

“You’ve been burglarized,” she said.

Vallotton waited for her to continue and for a moment she wanted someone different opposite her, someone who would jump up and start waving his hands in anger. Or show any emotion. She needed a distraction. Any reminder of George and her stomach threatened to heave.

“It’s a lot of things,” she added.

Madame Puguet entered the room, clearing her throat delicately. “The list is hasty, but I think it conveys the scope.” She handed a piece of paper covered in her precise handwriting to Vallotton. The housekeeper looked pale and grim and Agnes realized she was taking the discovery hard. Madame Puguet started to speak, hesitated, and silently left the room.

Vallotton glanced at the paper. “You discovered this now?”

“I’m here to work. I spent dinner checking the rooms again. I was curious.”

“You were curious the first time you walked through the property.”

“I was looking for something different then.” No need to tell him she was looking for evidence of violence the first time and for a distraction the second.

He read the list again.

“Nothing looks disturbed. I had to look carefully.” She leaned forward. “There was dust under the cloths. Just a trace, but that’s how I noticed the items were missing.”

Vallotton tapped his leg absently.

“We will find out who did this,” Agnes said.

“You think the theft is linked to Felicity Cowell’s death?”

“I don’t know. Madame Puguet said the items might have disappeared long ago.”

“An inventory was made when my father died. Everything. That was two years ago. But since then, she’s correct. There are rooms we never venture into and the furnishings remain covered to protect them.”

“I don’t think it’s been two years. Weeks or months I’d believe, but not years. Someone in the lab could tell us how long it takes dust to settle through fabric, or drift up along the edges, but I’m sure it happens.” Agnes looked around the luxurious furnishings of the room they were seated in. “The protection is mainly from light, isn’t it? You know some dust will gather. The furniture isn’t sealed, it’s simply hidden.”

Vallotton set the list on the table between them. “Before this, were you still hoping I would turn up guilty?”

She ignored him. “Tonight changes things, or at least it might.” She scanned the list of stolen objects. “They’re all portable.”

“Not just portable, small,” Vallotton added. “Nothing larger than fifty centimeters in length. Easy to quickly put everything into a few duffel bags and off you go.”

“You think this was the work of one night … or day?”

“You think differently?”

“I don’t want to make an assumption and forget the alternatives. How easy would it be for someone to come in and leave with these things?”

“If you had asked me two days ago I would have reminded you we live in a fortress. My entire childhood was spent preoccupied by the safety and boredom of this place. We used to walk on the outer edge of the battlements for a thrill; of course they are nearly a meter wide so it’s not exactly tightrope walking. Clearly my perception has changed. As you know, we don’t have a security system, but there are limited points of entry and you can’t come in through a window or the roof without some trouble. Besides that, you would be visible for miles. You can’t tell with the power out, but we illuminate the lakeside fa?ade at night, special request of the bureau of tourism. Made my father sick, but he did it anyway. Come over the roof or down the walls to the windows at night and half of France would notice you in silhouette.”