Macaron Murder (with Recipes) (A Patisserie Mystery) (5 page)

“That’s weird. So she has never been to your room in the six months that you’ve lived here until last night?”
 

“Yes,” said Ben. “Now that you’ve put it that way, I guess it is sort of strange. But it looked like she was upset about something and really needed a drink because she was out of alcohol. All the restaurants here are so expensive, and the stores are closed at night, so it made sense I suppose if she really wanted to drink. She kept chatting with me for a long time, even though I could tell she was in her own thoughts sometimes.”
 

“Unless she had just killed la gardienne and needed to see someone so she had an alibi,” Clémence mused.
 

“What?” Ben frowned.
 

“I don’t mean to scare you, I’m just looking at this from an inspector’s perspective. Did she look odd in any way?”
 

“I don’t think so,” said Ben. “I mean, she wore a long sleeved shirt that was scuffed up, but I think it’s because she cleans in that shirt so naturally she wasn’t wearing her nicest clothes.”
 

“What do you mean by scuffed up?”
 

“It was just an old grey shirt with some dirty stains here and there and some rips.”
 

“Hmm.”
 

“Wow, you really think she had something to do with the murder?”
 

“I don’t know. I do think that I need to talk to her. She was in la gardienne’s apartment last night, telling from the lipstick. What does she look like?”
 

“She’s in her late twenties or early thirties, I can’t tell. She has dark brown hair that she usually ties up in a knot on top of her head.”
 

“And wears a plum colored lipstick all the time?”
 

“Sometimes, yes.”
 

“I wonder why she wanted to drink with you when she already had a drink with la gardienne.”
 

Ben shrugged. “For the pleasure of my company?”
 

“What time does she usually come home?”
 

“Around seven or eight. I can usually hear her footsteps when she comes back. The walls are so thin and I can pretty much tell who is coming and going just by their footsteps.”

Clémence smiled wryly. “Great. Can you text me when she’s home? I’ll speak to her then.”
 

“You’re not going to just accuse her of murder will you? She probably won’t take too well to that. She does have a temper.”
 

“A temper?”
 

“Yes. She’s not hesitant to chew out a neighbor if they’re playing their music too loud or something. I’m just lucky she doesn’t mind me and I’m on her good side.”
 

“Well, I’ll be asking her about a cleaning job,” said Clémence, “that had just become available at my place.”
 

CHAPTER 7

Clémence went back to the patisserie to have some lunch. With all that had happened, she didn’t have the time to do her grocery shopping so she had one of the chefs make her a salmon salad.

She invited Celine to join her to eat at the employee section when another hostess came to relieve Celine for her lunch break. She didn’t speak to Celine about the murder. She didn’t want to talk about it to anyone again until she talked to Lara. Lunch was a time when murder shouldn’t be on her mind. Instead she chitchatted to Celine about girly things.

Celine had been talking about these new Burberry sandals she was drooling over, then she approached Clémence with a more delicate subject.

“You know Sebastien?” she started.
 

“Yup, what about him?”
 

“Well, I was wondering if you knew whether he had a girlfriend.”
 

Clémence suppressed a smile. “Why so interested?”
 

Celine shrugged. “Just curiosity.”
 

“Have you ever asked him?”
 

“No! I would never. It’s none of my business.”
 

“So why are you asking me?” Clémence teased.

Celine sighed. She ripped a piece of her baguette and popped it in her mouth. “Fine. I’m interested in him. But whenever we talk, it’s always about desserts. He’s so taciturn.”
 

“That’s Sebastien all right.”
 

“What’s his deal? He’s never flirty with me or anybody else. He only really talks to his sister.” Celine sighed again, but this time with an airy smile. “He’s so mysterious.”
 

Clémence chuckled. Young love. She could see Sebastien’s appeal. He was tall, with pale, perfect skin and sharp cheek bones. His big passion in life was his work: desserts. Plus he was quiet, gentle and thoughtful.
 

Clémence however preferred guys who were more outgoing and fun, but due to their spontaneous nature, they didn’t think twice about breaking Clémence’s heart.
 

“Why don’t you ask Berenice?” asked Clémence.

Celine’s eyes widened. “No way! She’ll surely tell Sebastien that I like him. They’re so close. But I can’t stand it anymore. I need to know if Sebastien has a girlfriend. Otherwise, I can’t seem to move on. I compare every guy with Sebastien and I don’t even know him that well.”
 

“Workplace romances are a bit tricky,” Clémence said. “Years ago I dated one of the waiters—that was before you came to work here—and he expected special treatment after awhile. Like he would come in late or ask for three or four days off at a time.”
 

“Did you fire him?”
 

“My father did! He certainly didn’t like the fact that we were together, which I suppose was part of the appeal. We continued dating for a couple of more weeks, but we soon realized that we had nothing in common outside of the patisserie. He had very little ambition in life. He got another waitering job in the 15
^th
at a crappy brasserie and I suspect that it would be his career.” Clémence sighed at the memory. The waiter had been gorgeous, but so wrong for her in every way. “But anyway, I can try to find out more about Sebastien from Berenice if you’d like. He is quiet, but he is actually quite observant.”
 

“Thanks.” Celine smiled in relief. “Seeing him is torture. I just want to break down those walls, you know? What is he thinking about all the time? What does he do outside of work? He drives me crazy. In a good way.”
 

“Who knows, maybe once you get to know him, the appeal will be gone.”

“I hope so,” said Celine. “It’s really throwing a wrench in my dating life. How am I suppose to enjoy myself out there when I’m in love with someone?”
 

“In love?”
 

“No, you know what I mean. Infatuated.”
 

“Uh huh.” Clémence raised her eyebrows a few times to tease her and Celine groaned.

“You’re so embarrassing.”
 

After Celine went back to her post at the front door with the other hostess, Clémence went into the kitchen to work on the desserts.

“How’s the investigation going?” Berenice asked brightly.
 

Sebastien perked up with interest as well, his attention momentarily diverted from pistachio éclairs.

Clémence told them about Lara and the lipstick.

“You could be on to something,” said Berenice. “So you’re not going to tell the police about Lara?”
 

“Maybe they already know. But I figure if I talk to her under the pretence that I’m looking for a cleaner, maybe she’ll be off her guard and tell me something she wouldn’t tell the police.”
 

“Now you’re thinking like a sleuth,” said Berenice. “Just be careful.”
 

“My tenant Ben will be next door if anything,” said Clémence.
 

“Ben, huh? Is he cute?”
 

Clémence described that he was the tall artsy type.
 

“But I can’t date him,” said Clémence. “He’s a tenant. It’ll be awkward.”
 

“Is it also because he’s poor?” Sebastien asked.
 

“No. It’s just weird to be dating someone living in the same building. And I’ll be seeing him all the time. He does laundry at my place.”
 

“What’s wrong with that?” asked Berenice.

“I need boundaries. Don’t you guys?” Clémence figured this was the perfect opportunity to get Sebastien’s dating status. “For example, dating at the workplace. Wouldn’t you guys think it’s odd? You’ll have to see that person all the time if you break up.”
 

Sebastien shrugged. “I suppose.”
 

“I wouldn’t mind,” said Berenice. “If he’s cute. Raoul’s pretty cute. I’d date him if he asked me.”
 

“What about you, Seb? Who’d you date here?”
 

Sebastien shrugged again and turned his attention back to his éclairs.

Berenice rolled her eyes. “He’s hopeless with women. Last night we were at a pub and these two English girls kept flirting with him, and he did nothing. He didn’t even buy them a drink and only gave one-word answers.”
 

“I didn’t like them,” said Sebastien matter-of-factly. “They were too loud for my taste and they kept asking me questions.”
 

“What exactly
is
your taste?” asked Clémence.
 

“She has to be soft, light, and sweet.”
 

“So your next girlfriend is going to be a meringue?” Clémence laughed.

Berenice joined her. Even Sebastien couldn’t suppress a smile.

“Oh, forget him,” said Berenice, going back to work on her tray of chocolate éclairs. “He’s way too picky for a guy. It’s because he was heartbroken once. Badly.”
 

Sebastien cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. “Can we talk about something else? The murder case perhaps? Or these new macarons that Clémence wants to make?”

“I prefer to work on the macarons,” Clémence said. “Let’s work on the lychee flavored recipe. I just ordered a fresh case of lychees and we can start making them soon. There’s also green tea Matcha powder that’s being shipped from Japan, courtesy of my mother. We should get it tomorrow. Speaking of my mother, I should really call her to ask her about the other tenants in my building. But shoot, I have to go to the police station now to give my statement. Plus, I still have to shop for groceries!”
 

Clémence grabbed her coat.
 

“Busy girl.” Berenice tsk tsked after her.
 

CHAPTER 8

Clémence went to 36 Quai des Orfèvres, the headquarters of the Paris Criminal police, at Île de la Cité in the 1
^st
arrondissement. She walked up to the first floor and told the guy at the front desk what she was here for, he was perfectly unhelpful. He told her in a snappy impatient tone to sit in the waiting area.

Clémence did what she was told—at first. Forty minutes had passed and the guy at the front had disappeared for the last fifteen. Did Cyril even she know that she was here?
 

She decided to take a walk down the hall. The doors of the offices were marked with the names and positions, and she spotted Inspector Cyril St. Clair’s office. Before the knocked, she couldn’t help overhearing snippets of conversation.
 

“
Deux semaines
? It’s going to take two weeks to get the DNA hair sample results back? What are these guys doing?
Oh là là
.” It was distinctly Cyril’s whiney voice.

“They’re backlogged, sir. But they did find out that the button belongs to a man’s Burberry trench coat.”
 

“Great,” Cyril muttered. “Now we’re just going to have to find all the men who wears Burberry trench coats and find out who’s missing a button, if they haven’t gotten a new one sewn on already.”
 

Cyril sighed in exasperation. Clémence knew the investigation wasn’t going well and she couldn’t help but a feel bit smug; Cyril had been so nasty and arrogant to her.
 

“They are making progress with the handwriting sample,” said his colleague.
 

“Progress are not results. Now who would be blackmailing her—”
 

Suddenly they grew silent. They must’ve noticed her shadow through the door’s window. Clémence backed away. She should learn how to eavesdrop properly.

“Who’s there?” Cyril barked.

Clémence opened the door. Cyril’s face fell at the sight of her. “Oh. You.”
 

“I’m here to give my statement to the police,” Clémence said. “I waited for a long time.”
 

“Fine.” Cyril sighed again.
 

He waved his colleague to leave and gestured for Clémence to sit down.

“I take it that the investigation is going well?” Clémence smiled at him brightly, making Cyril glower even more, because he knew that she had heard.

“Very well,” said Cyril. “We have a hair sample and someone’s cup with a lipstick stain and we’ll know who was in that room with her that evening as soon as we get the DNA results back. If you’re lucky, you’ll be off the hook.”

Clémence thought that chances were high that the hair belonged to Lara, but she didn’t want to tell Cyril yet. Not until she talked to her so he doesn’t ruin her investigation with his accusations and incompetence.
 

Her investigation
. Was she really trying to solve a murder? She did feel partly responsible. La gardienne had been eating her macarons when she was killed and it did happen in her building.
 

She couldn’t understand why Cyril didn’t just inquire the tenants of the building if anyone had seen someone wear a lipstick shade of that color. They would probably find Lara in no time. But men were clueless about things like makeup and which colors were popular and which ones were not.
 

There was also the paper on la gardienne’s table. Had she been writing a letter? Or perhaps one of the instructional signs she had around the building? There were already signs up warning residents to tie up garbage bags as not to attract flies, flush the public toilets better and not to put plastic bags in the recycling bins.