Macaron Murder (with Recipes) (A Patisserie Mystery) (4 page)

She explained just what he had accused her of and the apparent evidence against her.

“It doesn’t sound good,” said Sebastien. He was in the middle of making an extravagant type of delicate raspberry tarts that Marie Antoinette would have eaten in the Versailles Palace. “You really don’t have an alibi?”
 

“Well, I was over on the third floor before I went home, but that had only been around 6pm. I was picking up our dog from a neighbour. Oh, but maybe the neighbors heard me walking when I was home. You know how thin the floors are. But I fell asleep at 8pm, and was asleep for like twelve hours because I was so jet-legged. God, I really hope I’m not in trouble.”

“It’s like a
policier
,” said Berenice.

“You like crime novels?” Clémence asked.

“Love them. I read crime and mystery all the time. There’s a better way of trying to clear your name: find the killer.”
 

“How would I do that? Besides, the smug inspector is on this case.”
 

Berenice rolled her eyes. “Oh please, he’s all talk. He was probably acting superior because he has no clue how to proceed. You know how Frenchmen are. They’re like insecure little boys who need to act arrogant to mask their insecurities.”
 

“Hey!” Sebestien exclaimed. “Or some of us are just talented and know it.”

Clémence and Berenice both looked at him and looked back at each other. They tried not to roll their eyes.

“You’re whip smart,” Berenice said to Clémence. “I bet you can find the killer before the inspector does.”
 

“I think you’re overestimating me,” said Clémence.

“Come on, you graduated from one of the best universities in France, you’ve traveled, and you always know what ingredients are in our macarons when Sebastien comes up with new recipes.”
 

“Having good taste buds doesn’t mean I’d be good at finding murderers,” said Clémence.

“That’s exactly what it means,” Berenice said seriously. “It means your senses are heightened. Now, who do you think the suspects are?”
 

“I have no idea,” said Clémence. “I hardly know who the neighbors are. There’s a dentist on the first floor, that I know. Not sure who’s on the second. The DuBois family lives on the third, but they couldn’t have had anything to do with it. I have a tenant on the roof, and he seems really nice too.”
 

“Who cares about nice,” said Berenice. “Murderers aren’t going to walk around wearing a sign that says ‘murderer’.”
 

“I’ll let the police do the job,” said Clémence. “What do I know about solving crimes?”
 

“You already noticed a bunch of clues. Take for example the lipstick on the glass. Would la gardienne even wear lipstick?”
 

“No, never. At least I’d never seen her wear any sort of makeup. And it looked like this deep plum color that most women probably wouldn’t even be able to pull off either.”
 

“There you go. That’s something to start with. And you mentioned a button. What do you think it belonged to?”

“Well it was a big wooden button, the kind that would be on a coat. It was so big that Miffy couldn’t swallow it, which was probably why she spat it out. It could be nothing. Maybe la gardienne just had a coat and the button fell off. I can’t know unless I go in her apartment and look in her closet.”
 

“And what about this paper?”
 

“Yes, there was a box of macarons on the table, and I guess she was snacking and writing something. But I saw it very briefly before I noticed her body on the floor, so I didn’t exactly read it or cared to. I suppose all these are clues, but it could go nowhere. She could’ve been writing a letter. The glass could’ve been from a friend of her’s who’d come in earlier to have a drink. For all I know, the murderer could be an outsider, like a robber.”
 

“But the person specifically went into la gardienne’s apartment.” Sebastien looked up from his work. “They wouldn’t have much to steal. Was there a sign of forced entry?”
 

Clémence was surprised that Sebastien was taking an interest too. It didn’t even seem as if he had been listening all that much, since he had looked like he was in such deep concentration with his work.

“No. The door was just half open. The doorknob didn’t look tampered with.”
 

“The killer must’ve just fled in fear after killing la gardienne,” Berenice said.
 

“It seems more likely that it would be someone who knows her,” said Sebastien. “Maybe you can find out more about la gardienne and who hated her.”
 

Clémence looked from brother to sister. They were both interested in this case. Pastries and mysteries. What an unusual combination. But she had to admit that she was curious. Who would do this and why? There were plenty of suspects in the building. Too many.

Clémence got a call on her cell phone. The display showed a number she didn’t recognize. She answered it and it was the plumber saying that he was at her front door, but the police weren’t letting him in.
 

“Oh, crap,” Clémence got up from her stool. “I’ve got to go deal with something. My plumper’s trying to get in and I have to see that lame inspector again.”

CHAPTER 6

When Clémence went back home, there were three policemen blocking the front door.

“
J’habite ici
,” Clémence told them. “I live here.”

The policemen asked her all sorts of questions, but after verifying that she did live on the fifth floor and she had the keys, they went in first to ask their superiors for permission to let them in.

The plumber had been standing on the sidewalk. Clémence didn’t recognize him, as she’d never met him before, until she saw his bag of tools. Ben came out to meet them.

“Hey,” he said to Clémence, his brows knitted with concern. “Good. You’re here. He was having trouble coming in so I came down to pick him up.”
 

Clémence explained that there had been a murder in the building and both men’s eyes widened in shock.

“
Mon dieu
,” said the plumber.
 

“That’s horrible,” said Ben. “I mean, I know her. Not well, but she was someone I saw on a regular basis. I’ve never met someone who was murdered before. That’s something that happens on TV.”
 

Clémence suppressed a sigh. She’d only been back a day and so much was going on. Plus she still had a bit of a headache from her jetlag and from sleeping too much.
 

“Come on guys, let’s go.” Clémence turned to the plumber. “We can take the elevator and go through my apartment so that you don’t have to climb all the stairs to the seventh floor with all your tools.”
 

“It’s good exercise though,” Ben joked. “I mean, it’s how I keep this body in such top physical condition.”
 

“If you ever have a lot of stuff to carry, don’t hesitated to ring and pass by if I’m home,” said Clémence.

“Thanks, that’s nice. Your parents allowed me to do the same, but I tried not to bother them unless I had a suitcase or something. The fridge is so small that I never have a lot of groceries to carry anyway.”
 

It was typical for people to live in tiny studio apartments or “studettes” like Ben’s. His fridge was really a mini fridge and the sink could barely fit two plates. Clémence was lucky to be able to live in such a great apartment, even if it felt too big at times and their gardienne was currently, well, dead as a doorknob.
 

The inspector with the buggy green eyes and parentheses grimace came out of la gardienne’s apartment just as she stepped in the front door.
 

“Ah, it’s
la heiress
,” said Cyril. “Here with your goonies?”
 

“Look, there’s no need to be rude,” said Clémence. “He’s a plumber who’s been waiting outside and I had to come back from work just to let your men know that it’s all right.”
 

“Oh, I’m sorry that it’s rather an inconvenience to you,” Cyril said sarcastically. “But we’re in the middle of a very important murder investigation and we can’t just let anyone in the building.”
 

“How’s that going, by the way?” Clémence was unable to keep the snark from her voice. “Find any leads yet?”
 

“Yes, plenty.”
 

But Clémence could tell by his agitated expression that they had found very little.
 

“You know the button in Miffy’s mouth?” Clémence said. “Did you find a coat with a wooden button in la gardienne’s house?”
 

“The button. No. La gardienne has no such coat. Which is why I say that it could’ve been a pivotal clue. Now I doubt the button is going to come back with anything concrete with your little dog’s slobber all over it.”
 

“Surely there are other things you must’ve picked up on,” said Clémence. “What about—”

“Oh mademoiselle,” said Cyril. “Please let the professionals handle it. I think you’ve interfered enough. I’m still looking at you as our main suspect and I don’t need you tossing me any red herrings to throw me off your trail. You do need to come into the station to give your statement, so come in at 3:30pm this afternoon.”
 

Clémence fumed, but she held back her tongue. Her temper had caused her trouble in the past, but she was a grown woman now. She didn’t want some incompetent inspector to provoke her like they were both ten-year-olds in a playground. He gave her a card with the address of the prefecture de police and Clémence snatched it.

“Fine,” said Clémence.
 

She went into her building and Ben and the plumber followed.

“What a jerk,” Ben said in English.

“You’re telling me,” Clémence replied.

The tiny elevator could only fit two people and Ben offered to walk up because he was used to it. Five floors was nothing for him.

The elevator didn’t to go to the seventh floor. They had to pass through her apartment and go up the servant staircase. The top floor was less glamourous than the rest of the building. The hallways and walls had no chic wall paper, and no chandelier like they did on the main floor. Fluorescent lights were used instead. There was a toilet room that greeted them when they rounded up the staircase. The room had a window with a view of the tower, so anyone who used could be looking at la tour when they did a number one or number two. Clémence had always found that to be extremely unpleasant.

Ben unlocked the door to his little room.
 

On his table was a rusty blue typewriter, which he had been writing on that morning telling by the half page already written protruding from the top. A full ashtray of cigarette butts was beside it, along with novels and papers scattered all over the table. On the couch was a guitar. Empty glasses, beer bottles and bags of chips were on the small kitchen counter, leaving no space for anything.

Ben rubbed the back of his neck out of embarrassment.
 

“Now that I’m looking at this room through your eyes, I see how messy it is.”
 

“No worries,” said Clémence with a smile. “You’re a grown man. You can do what you want in your own room. Except let your sink get blocked of course.

The plumber was already at work and he found the problem. Using a long snake coil, he managed to get out some pieces of food from the pipes. The sink drained.
 

The smell from the water was horrible and Clémence plugged her nose.

“Thank God,” said Ben. “Now I can stop doing the dishes in the shower.”

Clémence reached into her wallet to pay the plumber, but Ben insisted on paying.

“No, it’s okay,” said Clémence. “You’re our tenant. We’ll take care of it.”
 

“But I was the one who caused the problem to begin with.”
 

“Tell you what, if it happens again, you can pay the full amount.”
 

Clémence paid the plumber and he packed up to go.
 

“
Bonne journée!
” he said before he left.

“Have a nice day too,” said Clémence.

“Can we at least split the cost?” said Ben.

“Nah.”
 

“Okay, at least let me buy you a drink or something when you’re at the poetry slam.”
 

“Sure,” said Clémence. “If that makes you feel better.”
 

Ben dragged a crate of his dishes from the shower back to the small sink.
 

“I guess I’ll clean up now.”
 

Clémence noticed a wine glass with a lipstick stain on it. It was a similar shade of dark plum as the shade she’d seen in la gardienne’s apartment.

“Who drank from your glass?” Clémence asked. “The one with the lipstick.”

“Oh.” Ben grinned. “I’m not having some sort of love affair if that’s what you’re thinking. Hope you’re not jealous.”
 

Clémence raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Oh please.”

“Then why do you want to know?” Ben asked flirtatiously.
 

“Because I have a hunch,” Clémence said. “Whoever she is, she was in la gardienne’s apartment when she was killed.”

“What?” Ben dropped the dopey smile. “Well, I mean, I guess it makes sense. It’s the girl from next door, Lara. She was friends with la gardienne.”
 

“Really? What does she do? Does she work for a family here?”
 

“Yes. She’s a cleaner. She works for the family on the third floor sometimes and rents the room from them.”
 

“Oh, the Dubois family?”
 

“Yes. Only part-time, because she works in other homes around the neighbourhood too, and a couple of hair salons or something.”

“Why is she friends with la gardienne?”
 

“Frankly, she and la gardienne likes to gossip together about the tenants and what’s happening in the building. Lara is not well-liked by everyone else either. I think she has some sort of inferiority complex about being a maid. She’s friendly towards me because I’m this poor writer and she thinks we’re in the social class.” Ben chuckled. “The thing is, we’ve never really hung out, but last night, she knocked on my door and asked if I had any wine. I don’t think she has too many friends, and she looked kind of harried. Maybe she was looking for company and I did have some wine around so we had a glass and chatted. She asked me a few questions about my day and that was about it.”