This time Blanchard was firmer and she was mentally prepared to not resist. She fell forward, catching herself on her palms just before her face struck the bags. She was dusting herself off when the door to the outside opened. Carnet entered. “The good doctor decided to strike you down?”
“An experiment,” Agnes said. “We believe Felicity had her head tucked down when she was thrust forward. She didn’t have time to get her hands under her although she tried to. That’s why she broke a wrist. I landed on my knees. I think my legs would have shot back and extended under the chair if I’d passed out. Hers might have caught on the stone legs of the bench.”
“We can check the photographs,” Carnet said.
“She died so quickly she didn’t have time to stir,” said Blanchard.
“She was not expecting a blow,” said Agnes.
“Either she was alone or comfortable with whoever was with her,” Carnet said. “Comfortable enough to let them walk behind her.”
Agnes thanked the doctor and motioned Carnet outside.
“Petit and I finished walking the entire place. Every room,” he said.
Agnes raised an eyebrow.
“Every room we could find,” he said. “I’m sure we missed a stair here or there. It’s impossible to figure the place out. Stairs tucked away. Corridors that end abruptly.”
“I could have helped.”
“No, I’m working for you. You’re in charge and I am—”
“The experience?”
“The legs. The housekeeper says a knife is missing,” he added.
“There are probably a half dozen missing in my house, doesn’t mean they’re murder weapons. Julien Vallotton just told me the six-year-old discovered the body, and he only came along later. I don’t think anyone gave it a thought; just sent her to bed with hot chocolate and never considered she might be a material witness.” Agnes took a deep breath. “To be fair they left her with the nurse. But they certainly didn’t say anything to me about it last night.”
“Not surprising. How can anyone be normal living the way they do? They’re trapped in another century and not even the last one.” Carnet glanced up at the chateau. “You may have missing knives; here they count the silver every night and one is missing from yesterday’s tea tray. A tray taken to the library.”
“Where we find Nick Graves,” said Agnes. “It couldn’t be this easy. What kind of knife?”
“A pear knife, whatever that is. I’m going to have Madame Puguet show one like it to Blanchard. If we’re lucky it will match the entry wound.”
“It’s time I talk to Graves, then the child.”
Walking away she hazarded a smile. It felt good to be in charge.
Eight
“I’m sure your embassy would also love to hear from you, but the phones aren’t working.”
Agnes had taken the measure of the American college student, Nick Graves, and found him lacking. He was just a kid, a tall muscular kid full of bluster. With his khaki pants and button-down blue-striped shirt she could have guessed his nationality from twenty meters. His attitude didn’t alter her first impression. In the vast space of the Vallotton library, he ranted and raved against the police, swearing his first call would no longer be to the embassy but to his congressman. While he paced around a table she kept her features expressionless, not admitting she knew what a congressman was. She pondered the dichotomy that had made her an American in Switzerland and a Swiss in America. She was positive that everyone else in the household suspected her American connection at first meeting, whereas Graves seemed to have no hint of her parentage. Sitting astride two cultures had bothered her more since George’s death than at any other time in her life.
Admiring the library in daylight, it was more remarkable than she remembered from her hurried tour the night before. Occupying the length of one wing of the fortress, the double-height space was lined with heavily carved bookshelves picked out in fine gilding. At regular intervals the bookcases turned toward the exterior wall of the chateau to create deep niches in front of the tall windows overlooking the lake. Partially enclosed twin spiral staircases at each end of the room led to the narrow walkway at the second level. From there the bookcases extended to the carved and painted ceiling high overhead. The central space of the room was occupied by four long tables covered with antique globes and other artifacts. Nick Graves had appropriated one of the tables, spreading books and papers across the surface, and this was where Agnes had found him.
He rounded the table a final time, abruptly flopping onto an upholstered chair, long legs extended, trying to look relaxed and at home.