Twenty minutes later, the lane crested on the cliff and the wall on the lakeside fell away. Wind struck the car and it slid sideways, pushed inland. At that moment, just when she thought she wouldn’t make it, the car slipped into the shelter of the village.
Agnes relaxed and took a deep breath, blinking moisture from her eyes. She unclenched her hands from the steering wheel, feeling her stress dissipate. She remembered passing through Ville-sur-Lac years before. The buildings of the tiny village were ancient stone and they shouldered together against the road, leaving only a narrow strip of pavement for cars to maneuver. Tonight, hers was the only vehicle battling the elements and she kept to the center of the street. The green pharmacy sign flashed through the white blur and she could imagine each business as clearly as if it was broad daylight: butcher, confiserie, hotel. Somewhere was the gendarmerie where the small local police force was likely worried about storm damage. She glided to an uneasy stop where the lane to the chateau sloped down precipitously. Farther up the main street she could make out the rear of a large tourist bus. Shadowy forms filed off and scurried into a building. The village hotel, she presumed, absently thinking it unlikely they had enough rooms to accommodate an unexpected busload of guests. At that moment her mobile phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID and remembered why she was anxious to take this assignment.
A few minutes later she interrupted. “It’s an honor, working with étienne Bardy.” She’d said these same words to her mother-in-law a hundred times since she had decided to return to work. “This may be an important case.” The white lie slipped out easily.
Through the darkness she could make out the roofline of the chateau on the shallow peninsula below the cliff and, to give her mother-in-law time to complain, she plucked facts about the historic property from memory. Every schoolchild knew the basics: the oldest part was a hulking round tower nearly a thousand years old. Perched on the edge of the lake, it was a well-known icon gracing generations of artists’ sketches and postcards.
“More important than your sons?” Sybille’s voice cut through her reverie. “Working when a mother should be home. I know your parents had different customs—”
It was an old refrain, one Agnes had long ago decided to ignore. In Sybille’s mind American and uncultured interloper were equivalent terms. Knowing a response wasn’t required, Agnes focused on the chateau and probed her memory. In addition to the original tower, there were three others, all joined by long arms to create the final square fortress. She peered out the side window of her car, squinting into the white blur of the night. Years ago she had read about the smaller towers and a wall along the top of the cliff where the village now stood. The whole arrangement was unusual: the family constructing a fortress to control lake trade and then adding protection high above. Why not build on the cliff in the first place? The wall remnants were long destroyed or incorporated into the village; Agnes couldn’t make out a trace of them.
“I’m at Chateau Vallotton,” she blurted out, mentally excusing herself for the slight exaggeration. The silence over the phone spoke volumes. She added a few details about the reason she was away from her family on a stormy night and in the pause could sense Sybille’s mental tug-of-war. No one they knew had ever been invited to the chateau. And, although not a social call, it would be the nearest any of Sybille’s friends came to visiting the property. Agnes knew that she was tempted to be curious.
While her mother-in-law chewed on this dilemma, Agnes made out a few lights glimmering through windows high in the nearest tower. She was familiar with the chateau from trips on Lac Léman and tried to reconcile what was in her mind with the narrow illuminated slits in front of her.
“If the dead woman is outside then you’re unlikely to go in,” Sybille finally said, cruelty winning out over curiosity. “They’ll keep you standing in the freezing rain and send you home to do your reports.”
Agnes didn’t argue.