Swiss Vendetta (Agnes Luthi Mysteries #1)(60)
Marie-Chantal removed her sunglasses and peered through the doorway into the ice house. “Ralph spent the night out here? He always seemed reckless, but he must be mad.”
Agnes crossed to the inner room. There was a wide walkway leading around a pit and she peered down. She shone her light in, estimating it was five meters deep. At the bottom was a rotting wooden ladder lying on traces of straw. Clearly this was where the blocks of ice were stored before modern refrigeration. A quarter way around the pit a door led off the walkway. Carefully, she eased her way toward it, questioning the wisdom of allowing Petit to leave. She heard the click of heels behind her and drew a sharp breath. Then she exhaled calmly.
There wasn’t any danger here.
“Mulholland came up through this tunnel,” she said over her shoulder, glad her voice didn’t shake. “One we didn’t know about.” She allowed a little anger to creep in.
The door was sturdy. She opened it and peered inside. A long hallway sloped downward, disappearing into inky darkness. She thought through the trajectory. A straight line would lead to the chateau. A point in Mulholland’s favor. Still, someone would have to go down and inspect the length of it. But not now. And not alone.
The implications were serious. Was the ice house locked before they used it to store Felicity Cowell’s body? If not, then it was a perfect point of access and escape for their killer. She stood back from the door, studying it. It was built of rough timber, as were the walls of the room. She swung the door closed. There was no visible handle or hinges and it bolted from the tunnel side, which made sense to keep intruders out. Surveying the wall she admitted that the door was only evident when open. Blanchard and Petit wouldn’t have seen it when they checked the room before leaving the body.
“The tunnel runs to the kitchen,” Marie-Chantal said, her voice echoing in the enclosed space.
Agnes shone her flashlight beam directly into the other woman’s face. Marie-Chantal blocked the light with her hand and her diamond engagement ring reflected thousands of points of light across the walls. Agnes moved the beam.
“For staff to bring ice inside,” Marie-Chantal continued. “The small door to the lawn that you’ve been using is new. They have been carving ice sculpture here for over a hundred years.” She stopped. “You’re not interested in that.”
Agnes shook her head pointedly and motioned Marie-Chantal out. “Why didn’t someone tell us about this way in?”
“I didn’t know about it. But now that I see it, I know what it is. There’s a similar pathway at my parents’ place in France.”
Agnes resisted a tart comment. In the outer room she hazarded a glance at Felicity Cowell, thankful only a leg was visible. She would leave recovering the body to the doctor. He could determine if anything important had been disturbed. At a glance it looked like Mulholland had stumbled past the table, searching for a way out. He had grappled for something to warm himself, then likely stayed as far from the corpse as possible once he realized where he was. If he was telling the truth and was in the room by accident, then he’d spent a bad night. Cold, dark, and in the company of a dead body. If he’d come in on purpose to tamper with evidence and had gotten locked inside, then too bad.
Agnes closed the door behind them, making sure the lock caught.
“Mimi?” she asked, temporarily leaving the question of Mulholland aside.
“Hiding,” Marie-Chantal said. “She’s sweet, but likes to hide. Not always hiding exactly, but she likes the empty rooms, the attics, the cupboards. We have to search her out. One time I counted nineteen staircases while I was looking. Who knew? I was exhausted.”
“You’re sure she’s only hiding? She hasn’t—” Agnes didn’t want to voice her fears.
“It’s a constant battle. Not really a battle, we humor her. Every once in a while she stays hidden for a long time—overnight even—and it is annoying.”
“Why are you out here looking for her?”
“She’s at Monsieur Arsov’s half the time. More than half actually, and with the cold she shouldn’t have walked over alone. Leaving the chateau on her own has to be stopped. Nanny Egger usually keeps her in line, but since she’s frozen in somewhere else, it falls to me. Inconvenient that most of the staff had the day off when the ice arrived.”
Agnes turned toward the mansion and Marie-Chantal followed her. “It is okay if I accompany you, isn’t it? You seemed so serious, Inspector. I thought perhaps I was interfering in police business. Of course with Ralph trapped in that place…”
“I had a note from Monsieur Arsov this morning, asking me to pay him a visit. One of his servants brought it over. I suspect he wants to be updated.”
“Not used to waiting,” Marie-Chantal agreed, picking her way elegantly across the ice.
Agnes studied the other woman’s technique but it looked impossible, although perhaps the high heels helped, spiking into the ice with each step.
“I shouldn’t say that,” Marie-Chantal continued. “Monsieur Arsov is lovely. Now my father, there’s a man unused to waiting. With Monsieur Arsov there is something charming.”
“Do you know him well?”
“No, I’m embarrassed to admit. I should visit more than I do. He comes to tea or dinner about once a month—Antoinette makes a big production occasionally—but there are other guests and we don’t talk about personal matters. He’s very private.”