Croissant Murder (A Patisserie Mystery with Recipes) (7 page)

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” Sebastien said.
 

“So what’s the deal with you and Maya? Have you told Berenice and your family yet?”
 

“No, but Berenice came over to my place yesterday and I made sure I left a pair of leather chaps on the coffee table for her to comment on.” Sebastien chuckled at the memory.

“Did she ask you about it?”
 

“Of course. She’s nosy. I told her I had them because I was going to a leather bar in the Marais.”
 

The Marais was a gay-friendly neighborhood in central Paris. “What did she say?”
 

“She asked me if I was gay. I said I wasn’t, but that I was going to this leather bar.”
 

“How did she take that?”
 

“She didn’t believe me. She wanted to come to the bar, but I told her females weren’t allowed.”
 

“Discrimination. What are you doing with leather chaps, anyway? You bought them just for the joke?”
 

“No. They’re Ted’s. Why would I buy leather chaps?”
 

“So aren’t you afraid Berenice is going to tell your parents? Aren’t they pretty religious?”
 

Sebastien smiled slyly. “She’ll probably tell them. It’ll be good for them. I want to be there to film their reactions.”
 

“You’re cruel,” Clémence said. “In the most delicious way.”
 

“I’m not a baker for nothin’. They always have their noses in my personal life. I’ll give them what they deserve. I like to see them sweat.”
 

“Speaking of sweating, are you making any progress in your ballet class?”
 

“Not really,” Sebastien said. “I’m sick of doing pliés. Maya loves it, but I think I’m going to bail.”
 

“Well, you don’t need to do something you don’t enjoy just because your girlfriend’s into it.”
 

“Maya’s into doing things together in general. Maybe I’ll just invite her to do one of the things I enjoy.”
 

“Such as?”

“Watching football.”
Soccer.

“I’m sure she’ll be riveted,” she said sarcastically.
 

“A new sports bar just opened up near my place.”
 

“What a romantic experience that would be for a young couple. Hey, why don’t you just play football with her? Like, on a co-ed team.”
 

She saw cogs turning in his head. “Hmm. That’s not a bad idea.”
 

“It makes sense. She sounds like a doer, and you sound like…the opposite of that. How did you meet, anyway?”
 

“My friend Ted. He was the one who introduced us. She’s his sister’s friend—”
 

A loud cough interrupted their conversation. Inspector Cyril St. Clair stood by the doorway. Caroline, the manager, came up beside him looking apologetic.
 

“He wanted to see you and I couldn’t stop him.” Caroline said to Clémence. “Sorry.”
 

“You’re lucky I didn’t bring my officers with me,” Cyril said. “With all the paparazzi outside your door, Damour, that would give them something to talk about.”
 

“What do you want, Cyril?” Clémence was on a first-name basis with the incompetent inspector, with whom she’d never seen eye to eye.
 

“Oh you don’t know? Another murder, and it involves another one of your products—surprise, surprise. And you know what else is surprising? It involves you.”
 

The Inspector was in his mid-thirties, he had a hawk-like nose, cold green eyes, and a crude smile. He was insolent, short-tempered, and overly sarcastic. She was used to his behavior, but it didn’t mean she tolerated him.
 

Clémence sighed. “Caroline, can we use your office, please?”
 

“Go ahead,” she replied. “I’ll be out on the floor.”
 

Caroline gave Cyril a sharp look before turning back to the
salon de thé
.
 

Clémence took off her apron and led Cyril into the office. She closed the door.

“What’s going on now?” she asked. “Another murder? Are you kidding me?”
 

“Murder is never a joke,” he said dryly. “After grilling Mathieu Leroy yesterday, I really wouldn’t be surprised if you had something to do with this.”
 

Clémence shook her head. “Wait. Start from the beginning.”

“Charlotte Lagrange was murdered last night. At first we thought it was a suicide, since she was shot in the head. She was found lying facedown in her apartment with a gun next to her. But in fact, neighbors heard her scream before the gun was fired at about 8pm. It’s a strange thing, actually. Someone killed her for sure, because neighbors reported hearing a door close after the gunshot, which meant the murderer simply exited her apartment and went out as if he or she was just paying a visit.”
 

“And nobody saw who it was?”
 

Cyril shrugged and looked at her wryly. “It could be you.”
 

“I’ll have you know that I was at home with my boyfriend at around that time.”
 

“I know. Your ex-boyfriend told me. I was interrogating him, and he said he was at a business dinner.”
 

“That’s what he told me.”
 

“So he
did
go to your house after?”
 

“Yes.”
 

“That checks out, then. Mathieu Leroy is innocent.”
 

“But why would someone kill Charlotte?”
 

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
 

“Is that why you’re here?” Clémence put her hands on her hips. She broke into a cocky smile. “You want me to help you, don’t you?”
 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Damour. I wanted to break the news that we found another one of your pastries at the crime scene. You know what was in Charlotte’s kitchen? An uneaten almond croissant from your patisserie.”
 

“Oh.”
 

“What did I tell you? Your products are cursed.”

“Hey, you didn’t eat the croissant, did you?” Clémence joked. “I know you love those almond croissants.”
 

He responded with a stern look. “I’ll eat another croissant from Damour when I want to get shot.”
 

Clémence let out a fake gasp. “Surely you don’t mean that.”
 

Cyril pulled out a picture of Charlotte’s dead body. She was lying facedown on her apartment floor, her dark hair spread out like a fan. Blood pooled around her and a gun was lying beside her right hand.
 

“I thought you’d like a challenge, Damour. As soon as you found out about Charlotte, I figured you would try to get your greedy little hands on the perp, but I want to propose a little contest. This time, I’m going to catch the murderer, not you.”
 

“Your ego’s pretty shattered, huh?” Clémence had solved quite a few cases already. She’d been outsmarting Cyril ever since she returned to Paris.
You want a showdown?
she thought.
You got one.

“You’re lucky you have an alibi,” Cyril said.
 

“What do you mean, lucky? I don’t need luck if I didn’t do it. You know I didn’t.”
 

“Fine. So who did?”

“If you’re smart, who do
you
think did it?”
 

“Well, it’s quite obvious that—” Cyril stopped and narrowed his eyes at her. “Nice try.”
 

“You have no clue, do you?” Clémence said. “I’ll definitely figure it out before you do.” Mathieu must’ve been devastated. She felt bad for the part she’d played in upsetting Charlotte during her final day on earth. “I know the people involved, and I’m going to do them justice.”
 

“Justice is my middle name,” Cyril said. “You’ve been embarrassing me for too long. This time, I’ll show you who the real investigator is in this city.”
 

“You embarrass yourself, Cyril. If you did your job properly, you wouldn’t need me. Now can you please leave? I’m at work.”
 

“When I win, I get a week’s free lunch at Damour,” Cyril said. “With champagne.”

“Is that a death wish?” Clémence chuckled. “Fine. And if I win?”
 

“Very unlikely, but what do you want?”
 

“A personalized letter from you to me admitting how crap you are as an inspector and how superior I am. Don’t worry, I’ll give you a rough outline. You also need to sign it so I can frame it. Deal?”

Cyril rolled his eyes, but he assented. “Deal.”
 

They shook hands.
 

Chapter 9

“Sorry, Sebastien,” Clémence said when she returned to the kitchen. “Duty calls. I’ll have to leave you to the macarons. Ask Berenice to help when she gets in.”

“Another murder?” he asked. “They’re really becoming a regular thing around here now, huh?”

“Tell me about it.”

She tried calling Arthur, but he didn’t answer. Was he ignoring her on purpose? She left a message saying that she wanted to speak to him and that it was urgent. She wanted to explain what she was about to do. She had to see Mathieu again to get more information about Charlotte’s death.
 

Mathieu was the person she called next.
 

“
Allô?
”
 

“Mathieu. How are you doing?”

“Not particularly well.
 

“I heard about Charlotte,” Clémence said. “I’m so sorry. The inspector paid me a visit.”

“I’m still in shock.”
 

“I know. Listen, can we meet?”

“I suppose. I’m at home.”

“Great. I’ll come by.”
 

When she rushed outside, the paps aimed their cameras at her.
 

“Clémence, are you cheating on Arthur with your ex?”

“How does Arthur feel about all this?”
 

“Didn’t your ex cheat on you?”

A horrifying realization came to her. If the paps were harassing her with these kinds of questions, they were probably doing the same to Arthur.
 

She wished she could make it up to him, but there was another murder case to solve. She had to go to Mathieu’s house. Surely Arthur would understand once she explained everything.
 

Clémence quickly got into a taxi to escape the paparazzi. Luckily there were always plenty of taxis lined up at Place du Trocadéro. Traffic wasn’t too bad that time of day, and she was able to reach Les Lilas in less than half an hour. She really hoped she wouldn’t be photographed in front of his house again.

When Mathieu answered the door, he looked terrible. He hadn’t shaved and his eyes were bloodshot. He was nursing a glass of gin. Nevertheless, he gave Clémence a big hug that felt heavy with need.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Terrible. What a gruesome night.”
 

“What exactly happened?”

“When I got home last night, I got a call from the police saying that Charlotte had been shot dead earlier that evening. The police took me in for questioning, and I was there until 2am. The inspector really wanted to lock me up but I had an airtight alibi. I was at the restaurant with the gallery owner, as I told you. They questioned him, as well as the restaurant workers. Luckily, the restaurant had security cameras, so there was proof that I was there. It all checked out. If I was home alone or something, who knows what the police would’ve done to me.”
 

“They’re brutal, aren’t they?” Clémence said sympathetically. “Do you have any idea why anyone would kill Charlotte?”

He shook his head. “It’s so odd. Charlotte was a sweet girl. I mean, sure, she was a little feisty when you met her, but she’s not usually like that. I have to admit that we’ve only been dating for a month, so I don’t know everything about her.” Mathieu downed the rest of his gin. “I feel horrible. Yesterday she was really upset about, well, us. She has a bit of a jealous streak. It was all my fault and I apologized for hours. In the end, I think she forgave me, and she even took one of the croissants home, so I don’t think she was that upset about us by the end.”

That would’ve explained why Charlotte had a Damour croissant in her kitchen. Clémence couldn’t scope out Charlotte’s apartment because the police were over there, even though she would’ve like to. Her only hope was to find out more about Charlotte’s life.
 

“What else can you tell me about her?” she asked Mathieu.

“Charlotte wanted to be a top art curator at a prestigious gallery. That’s why we had such a connection. We met at an art show, and we had an instant rapport. We were both ambitious and passionate about art. She’s from Strasbourg, but moved over here for work.”
 

Strasbourg? The girl had an entire life in Strasbourg. Who knew what kind of people from her past had done this to her?
Clémence sighed.

“Did she ever mention anybody she didn’t get along with in Strasbourg?”
 

“I don’t know. Her family seems very normal. I even visited them once. Everything about her is normal. If anything, she’d rather live there. She hates Paris. If it weren’t for the job opportunities here, she’d live in Strasbourg with her family. I wonder if it was just a deranged psychopath who broke into her home. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was just a random shooting from a sadistic weirdo. I hope she wasn’t in a lot of pain, or if anything else had happened…”
 

Clémence remembered the photo that the inspector had shown her. Charlotte’s clothes were on. She’d still had on her tight black dress pants and matching blazer. She hadn’t been touched inappropriately, from what Clémence could tell.

“No, she hadn’t. Somebody just wanted her dead. It’s the most peculiar thing. Why?”
 

Mathieu shrugged. “I guess I’ll let the inspector figure it out.”