Swiss Vendetta (Agnes Luthi Mysteries #1)(75)

Agnes swept her light into the room. “Mimi?” she called. The beam glowed against the far wall. Here, the stone was more than moist, it was damp and dotted with moss. Iron rings were fixed at intervals, the metal glistening with orange rust. She shivered.

“Mimi?” she called out again, louder this time, running her light across the floor and over the walls, trying to ignore the piles of chains lumped at intervals. This was what her boys would imagine and it was more frightening than she wanted to admit. People came to sad and lonely ends down here.

She was nearly finished with her survey of the long room when she realized that the fourth wall wasn’t original. It was more like what she remembered in the wine cellar. The stones were well cut and nearly smooth. More modern than their surroundings. She ran her light along the entire surface, looking for a door, or any indication of a passage or hiding place. Nothing. She wondered if they had considered extending the wine cellar into this chamber, started the work, then changed their minds.

It didn’t matter. This was a dead end and there was no Mimi.

Quickly and carefully she retraced her steps. Vallotton met her by the door. He shook his head. Desperate to be aboveground, Agnes turned toward the stairs and led the way up. On the main floor of the chateau they crossed to other stairs and started up another level. She felt calmer now. It was somewhat of a relief that the little girl hadn’t been trapped in such a terrible place. She had slowed to catch her breath, hoping Vallotton wouldn’t remark on what smoking did to lungs, when his light flickered. He tapped it hard. The light dimmed then doused.

“I’ll get batteries. Wait here and I’ll be right back,” he said.

For a few moments Agnes waited in the semidarkness, then, unwilling to stand in one place in the cold, she continued up the flight of stairs and headed for the other end of the corridor, hoping to get a view out across the lake and rid herself of memories of the dungeon. She was nearly at the end when she saw a shadow. The figure moved. It was Ralph Mulholland. She lifted her flashlight to illuminate his face and he pulled a cigarette from his gold case and offered her one. Reluctantly she shook her head no.

“I thought you were helping with the search?” she asked.

“I needed a minute alone.”

“You had enough strength to go for a walk after spending the night with a corpse and now you can’t help find a little girl?”

“I needed a minute to think. To get my head straight. I haven’t slept and my eyes hurt and we were looking everywhere. The maid, what’s her name? Marie-José, she thinks Mimi was kidnapped and there will be a ransom note.”

“I think we would have already had a ransom note if that was the case.” Agnes didn’t mention the real reason she had agreed Mimi must be hiding: it was impossible to leave the Vallottons’ grounds. The little girl had to be here. Hiding. Because of her sons she knew firsthand how easily children could hide if they wanted to, and how much they enjoyed knowing the adults were searching. It was possible the little girl hid because of the furor she created. Children her age didn’t understand the repercussions and the real fears of adults.

Mulholland shuddered and Agnes didn’t think it was because of the cold.

“Something may have gone wrong,” he said. “Maybe they didn’t mean to kill her and now that she’s dead they won’t send a note. Like in America with the Lindbergh baby. We’ll never know what happened.”

“You’re letting your imagination run away. It’s the atmosphere here and you’re tired. Doctor Blanchard may have something to help you sleep.”

“There are bad people in the world. They wouldn’t hesitate to hurt a girl.”

He pulled out a gold lighter and lit his cigarette. Agnes wanted to pluck it from his lips and inhale; she breathed in deeply, catching a little of the scent. His panic was palpable and she touched the note in her pocket. Remembering what had occurred to her earlier about his coat.

“You know Monsieur Arsov,” she said.

He hesitated. “Of course, we all know him.”

“But you were cultivating a special relationship. You were planning to visit him the day Felicity Cowell died. He’s not very understanding, is he? He sent me a note this morning. It said he’d been too strict, not helpful enough.”

Mulholland narrowed his eyes at her.

“I thought he meant too strict with Mimi,” Agnes continued. “I wondered if he’d been uncharacteristically strict and that was what caused this hiding episode. But I don’t think that was it at all.” She looked carefully at the young man in front of her. His eyes were deeply shadowed and he didn’t look well. “Why are you stealing from the Vallottons?”

Mulholland placed his hand to his chest. He stepped back, into the darkness away from her light, and she followed him. His shoulders collapsed forward and he appeared to shrink into himself, trembling. She waited and watched.

“They wouldn’t wait.” He stumbled over his words. “I think they meant to kill me and got Felicity Cowell instead; she was wearing my coat and the storm was so dense it could have been me.” That was what Agnes remembered. His panic the night she arrived.

“And now Mimi is missing,” he continued. “I never thought they would hurt someone else, I thought it was only me they would come after. I thought I was safe here.”