“That’s a question for my aunt, but I doubt he would insult her with such behavior. Besides, his parents left him an orphan and he’s old enough to have control of his inheritance. And I don’t think any of the staff would steal from us. What would they do with the things? Hard to dispose of if you don’t have a connection with an auction house and proof of ownership for whatever you are selling. The items on your list are no ordinary trinkets. Someone needs a connection to the black market. A professional.”
“Then we’re left with someone—a professional—walking in the front door and leaving undetected.” Agnes didn’t say that she could easily have pocketed a few valuables. She remembered what the marquise had said about Estanguet that first night. Strangers wandering her halls like a hotel. “Or someone who took the pieces for another reason. Sentiment maybe? No interest in selling, but they like the looks of them and want to own them?”
Vallotton frowned. “Possible. And it’s also possible someone wandered in. We no longer have the large staff that my father kept. His butler retired when he died. The man kept an eagle eye on the comings and goings and there was more live-in help. My aunt manages things differently. Although to walk in brazenly would suggest someone who knew they could move about freely with little chance of detection, and they would have to know their way around or risk running into someone.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Agnes looked again at the list. “How much do you think the things on this list are worth?”
“Hard to tell. Several pieces could go for a good sum to the right buyer or at auction. But fenced on the black market the amount would be lower. Maybe you’re right and they were taken for how they looked, or sentimental reasons. It is a bit odd that the pieces are valuable but not excessively so.”
“There is another answer: Felicity Cowell.” At his sharp look Agnes hesitated and pulled at the hem of her skirt. “Hear me out. She is the victim no matter what else we learn, but she was knowledgeable. Her employers say this, you agree, and her fiancé says she had an incredible breadth of knowledge. A breadth that stretched beyond the paintings and sculpture you are considering selling. Add to this we now know she didn’t come from money. What if she arrived and the lure of such disposable wealth tempted her? Maybe this explains why she didn’t want to sleep at the chateau.”
“A premeditated crime?”
“I wondered if she didn’t stay here because the room she was shown was so isolated. Then when we met Thomason, I thought she wanted somewhere private so he could join her at night. He might have been embarrassed to tell us. Now I wonder if there was a different reason. She recognized the possibilities. Madame Puguet told me she gave Felicity a complete tour the day of her arrival. To orient her, I suppose.”
“More likely to size her up. Josette is very proprietorial about us.”
“Either way she had a chance straightaway to see that many rooms were unoccupied, and that might have planted the seed and caused her to change her mind and stay in the village. She could take a few things each day in a briefcase or purse.”
“And hide them in her hotel room?”
“We will look into it but she wouldn’t have kept them there. No one disputes that she was very clever. She would have stashed the objects somewhere else.”
Vallotton wound a clock absently. “This is becoming a bit farfetched. She’s unfamiliar with the village, with the entire area, yet comes up with a place to store valuables not in her hotel room or workplace. Someplace safe where she has access without a car. I’m not sure I could do that and I’ve lived here my entire life.”
“Maybe it was premeditated. She could have an accomplice who took the goods.”
“Unfortunately, this makes more sense.”
“And they have an argument and she dies.” They sat back and looked at each other. “It’s a strong hypothesis,” Agnes admitted reluctantly. “When Graves told me the woman he knew admitted to doing whatever it took to survive I assumed prostitution.”
“Makes sense; you knew she was taking her clothes off for money.”
“But maybe she also stole? Harry Thomason could be her accomplice and we only have his word for their relationship. She never mentioned a fiancé and didn’t wear a ring.”
“A classic return to the scene of the crime?” Vallotton half laughed. “Doubtful.”
“Maybe this is how he is leaving the crime scene. How do we know he spent last night at the Beau-Rivage? That’s a long way from here. He could have met her yesterday afternoon and they had an argument. She dies and he panics. The theft was a perfect crime, years spent looking at valuables and not having them yourself. Needing just a bit more to buy a first flat as a married couple. Something goes wrong at the end. Maybe she gets cold feet. Something triggers an argument and he strikes in the heat of anger or he has planned it all along and lures her outside. He starts to leave but the storm catches him.”