Baguette Murder: Book 3 (A Patisserie Mystery with Recipes)

by Harper Lin

  “Look,” she said. “We found Pierre dead and we don’t know why. As far as I can tell, he died of natural causes.”

  Pierre sneered. “How do I know you didn’t have anything to do with this? He was eating a baguette from your store before he died. How would I know it’s not another incident, like with those pistachio éclairs of yours? I wouldn’t be surprised if the baguette was poisoned this time too.”

  Clémence rolled her eyes. She couldn’t hold her hostility back any longer. “Are you still bitter that I was the one to solve the last murder case? I’m sorry if an amateur like me could crack something faster than you can with your hundred years of experience.”

  “Hardly, Damour. You just got lucky. And isn’t it a coincidence that you are always the one finding the dead bodies? Maybe you’re cursed and so is your little patisserie.”

  “Maybe you’re cursed with the inability to do your job,” Clémence shot back.

  She must’ve sounded angry enough to kill because Rose stood up and came between them.

  “Ça suffit!” she exclaimed. “That’s really enough.” She turned to Cyril. “My friend had nothing to do with this. We were in Switzerland all weekend and we can prove it with plane tickets, receipts and credit card charges. We came home this evening to find Pierre dead. Everybody buys things from Damour so you can stop insinuating that Clémence was involved. Now the love of my life is dead and I want answers! If you could just stop picking on my friend, do your job and find out what happened, I would really appreciate it.”

  Cyril was taken aback. It took a second for him to recompose himself. “We’ll do what we can of course,” he replied haughtily.

  “Clémence said that it didn’t seem like anybody had broken in or taken anything,” Rose continued, poking her head into the apartment. “It doesn’t seem that way to me either.”

  “You should know that he’s been dead since Saturday,” said Clémence.

  “And how do you know that?” Cyril asked.

  “The hardness of the baguette. Plus, Rose was here with him Friday evening before she left. She left the apartment at around 7:30pm, right Rose?”

  “Right,” said Rose. “Because Clémence picked me up in a tax at that time. Pierre must’ve bought the baguette early Saturday morning.”

  “No, I doubt that,” said Clémence. “He’s wearing his pajamas. He bought it at night. He wouldn’t go out in the morning in his pajamas.”

  “Hmm, you’re right.”

  “He might’ve bought one of the last baguettes Friday evening. The Damour in this neighborhood closes a little earlier, at 8:45pm, since this one has no salon de thé, but rather a small cafe.”

  “Well thank you ladies for the valuable information,” Cyril said sarcastically. “Now I know who to ask if I ever need to know Damour’s store hours or how long one of your baguettes last.”

  “N’importe quoi,” said Clémence. “Whatever. If you’re going to continue to be rude, we’re leaving. You have all the information. Just inform us when you find out what happened to him.”

  Something dawned on Rose. “Oh god, we’re going to have to inform Pierre’s family don’t we?”

  “Yes,” said Cyril.

  “I can’t talk to them about this,” she said, slumping back against the wall again.

  “We’ll call them, of course,” a kind-looking police officer piped up. “Give us their names and numbers.”

  Rose reached for the phone in her purse and did as she was asked. “They’re in Sydney, Australia right now. I’m not sure if their cell phones are working there.”

  “Come on Rose,” said Clémence. “Let’s go to my place.”

  “I need to gather some of my things,” Rose said.

  “No,” said Cyril. “Nothing else gets touched. This is still a murder investigation.”

  “Fine,” Clémence said. “I can lend you some things, Rose.”

  “I have some clothes in my carryall,” Rose muttered.

  “Let’s just go.” Clémence led the way down the hall.

  CHAPTER 3

  Clémence was living in her parent’s luxurious apartment in the 16th arrondissement, only steps away from the Damour flagship patisserie at Place de Trocadero. Her parents were away in Asia for months, possibly up to a year, and she was there to dog-sit Miffy and keep tabs on all the stores in Paris to make sure that everything was running smoothly.

  The apartment took up the entire fifth floor of the building. It had three bedrooms: her parent’s main bedroom and two guest rooms. Clémence had an older brother and sister who lived in other cities, but they had lived in this apartment when they were growing up, but rather a humble house in Romainville, which was why the two rooms weren’t personalized with any of their childhood belongings. Clémence had taken over one of the guest bedrooms—the one connected to the spacious bathroom where she frequently took bubble baths. Her bathroom was her sanitary and it had blue, green and gold tiles that made her feel as if she was on vacation in Morocco.

  She offered the other guest room to Rose. It was not connected to a bathroom, but it was bigger, with pale blue wallpaper and a faux fireplace. With its tall windows draped with opulent green and pink satin curtains and a small chandelier hanging from the ceiling, Clémence was sure that Rose would be comfortable there.

  When Clémence got up early Monday morning, Rose was still sleeping. The night before, she had helped Rose call the boss at her PR company to explain why Rose needed to take the week off.

  As Rose slept, Clémence thought she could make a quick trip to Berenice’s house to pick up Miffy. Miffy was a happy Highland Terrier who would cheer Rose up, at least a little bit.

  Clémence would’ve asked the Dubois family on the third floor to dog-sit since they had done so in the past, but she didn’t want to because she wasn’t speaking to the family’s eldest son Arthur. She didn’t know whether she hated Arthur or liked him. He dated a different girl every week and she didn’t want to fall into his trap. Lately she’d been trying her best to avoid him, but it was hard since they lived in the same building. At least she hadn’t run into him with one of his floozy girl-of-the-weeks like she used to.

  As she took the elevator down, she hoped Arthur wouldn’t come in like he did the day before she left for Switzerland. The elevator was so small that their bodies had no choice but to touch. Their arms pressed into each other and she felt the heat of the awkward tension between them.

  Arthur had been staring at the side of her face—at least she thought he did, although when she turned to him, he’d looked down at his watch, commenting that he was late. When the elevator door opened, he ran out and said goodbye. It was strange. She didn’t want to see him, but when he was the one running away, she didn’t want to see him go either.

  Clémence shook her head, as if wanting to shake away the whole existence of Arthur Dubois. She made it down to the ground floor this time without seeing him and she was glad. She walked out the building and as fast as she could to Métro Trocadero. She would’ve taken a taxi, but traffic during morning rush hour in the heart of the city was usually terrible. While the Métro was also packed, at least it was faster.

  Berenice Soulier lived in the 2nd arrondissement with her parents. She was Sebastien’s younger sister, and she also worked at Damour as a baker. She usually had Mondays off and had texted Clémence that she could come whenever she wanted that morning.

  The apartment was near Métro Opera and a two-minute walk from the Palais Garner, the gorgeous opera house that was featured in The Phantom of the Opera. Clémence walked down Boulevard des Italians and turned on Rue de la Michodiere to Berenice’s building. The Souliers lived on the sixth floor. They had even bought out the chambres de bonnes, the servant rooms on the top floor, and converted them into a second floor for their apartment. When Clémence came out of the elevator, Berenice was already waiting for her at the door with Miffy in her arms.

  The girls greeted each other with bisous. Clémence took Miffy into her ar
ms and kissed her as well. Berenice showed her in. Clémence had been to her home before. Her parents were lovely, but both of them had already left for work, so the girls had the apartment to themselves. Clémence was glad because she wanted to tell Berenice about what had happened right away.

  “You look so refreshed!” Berenice said. “If I didn’t have to go to my cousin’s wedding on Saturday, I totally would’ve gone to Switzerland with you guys. How was it?”

  “Zurich was amazing,” said Clémence. “And so was the hotel, but our getaway feels like such a long time ago. So much has happened.”

  She told Berenice about Pierre.

  “No way!” she exclaimed. “Another dead body?”

  “You’re telling me. Can’t I go a month without finding one of them?”

  “Poor Rose. How is she?”

  “I’m not sure. She’s probably in shock.”

  “Do you think she’ll want some company today?”

  “Maybe. She gets bored without social interaction, and I’m sure she’d appreciate the distraction. I was counting on Miffy to cheer her up, but if you’re free, I’m sure she’d like your company as well.”

  “Of course I’ll come. I didn’t have plans today except to lounge around and watch trashy soaps. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever even met Pierre before.”

  “I’ve met him a couple of times,” said Clémence. “But usually when I’m at Rose’s house. He wasn’t that social. Rose said he has a tiny circle of friends he sticks with and didn’t have any interest to meet new people.”

  “I wonder what happened to him.”

  Clémence shrugged. “Beats me. I just hope we get some answers soon. Maybe Rose feels some guilt. They had been fighting before she left and it was why she wanted to get away for the weekend.”

  “Oh no. Maybe she feels like she could’ve prevented his death if she didn’t leave.”

  “Let’s get going.” Clémence put on Miffy’s leash. “I left Rose a note, but I don’t want to leave her alone for too long.”

  Berenice grabbed her purse. “On y va. Should we pick up something for breakfast? I was munching on a baguette ironically enough, but I’m still hungry.”

  “The baguette’s not from Damour, I hope.”

  “No, the boulangerie downstairs.”

  “I’d pick up something from Damour on the way home,” said Clémence, “but I wonder if it’ll upset Rose.”

  “We can always remove the packaging.”

  As the girls and Miffy headed towards the Métro, Clémence’s phone rang.

  “It’s St. Clair.” Clémence answered eagerly, hoping he had the answers they were waiting for.

  “Brain hemorrhage,” Cyril boomed into the phone. “Due to blunt impact. Pierre Colombier was killed.”

  Clémence stopped in her tracks so suddenly that Miffy was pulled back by the leash. “What? Mais non!”

  “Si. I tried calling your friend—what’s her name?—the victim’s girlfriend?”

  “Rose Viard.”

  “Right, but she’s not picking up. I have questions. Is she home?”

  “I suppose,” said Clémence. “She was sleeping the last I checked, but I’m not at my house with her at the moment”

  “You can tell her the news then.”

  “Are you sure it was murder?”

  “I wasn’t the one doing the test,” Cyril said. “Now that you know that it is murder, stay out of my case, all right Damour?”

  Cyril hung up.

  “What is it?” Berenice asked.

  Clémence took a deep breath.

  “Well, Pierre was murdered after all.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Clémence and Berenice broke the news to Rose after she had time to digest her breakfast.

  “Murdered? Are you sure?” Rose’s eyes were as wide as saucers. “Who would kill Pierre?”

  “No clue,” said Clémence. “Do you have any ideas?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  “I know it’s hard, sweetie,” said Berenice, “but can you tell us a bit more about him?”

  Rose slumped down on the red leather couch in the salon. She put her hands over her face and breathed in deeply. Clémence and Berenice looked at each other, wondering if Rose was going to start crying. She surprised them by sitting upright and taking a sip of her espresso that sat on the glass coffee table.

  “I met Pierre when I was in school finishing my MBA,” she started. “I thought he was a bit serious at first, but the more we got to know each other, the more comfortable we became. When we decided to be exclusive, we were inseparable; I was over the moon in love with him. I mean, he’s well-educated, he’s from an upper class family, we both have ambitious career goals, and he could be very romantic and attentive—well, for the first few months that we’ve known each other anyway. He moved in with me a year ago and that was when we started fighting more. It was around the same time that he got his project management job at F.R.Fraser, so I thought it was because he was overworked and stressed all the time. God, is it too early for some wine?”

  Clémence jumped up. “It’s never too early for wine.”

  In the kitchen, she uncorked a bottle of red. Berenice helped her take the wine glasses back in to the salon.

  Rose took a sip. Then she chugged the whole glass. “Thanks, I needed that.”

  “Did Pierre have any enemies?”

  “Sometimes he would complain about his co-workers. I think there’s one co-worker that he always complained about, Paolo something, who was his main competition. Paolo Bruno. Pierre is a competitive guy. He always needed to be at the top of the class when we were in school. I don’t think he would’ve dated me if I had better grades than he did because he would’ve resented it. He resented anyone who was remotely better in anything, or had the potential to surpass him. Oh, and he also complained about his assistant all the time, saying she was inefficient and lazy. Her name is Mary, I think. That’s all I know.”

  “That’s helpful,” said Clémence. “What about his friends?”

  “He only has two friends that he hangs out with all the time, Adam and Thierry. He’s known them forever, and they hang around the apartment sometimes, but they’re definitely not killers. Gosh, I really don’t know who would hate him that much to kill him.”

  “And who would break in?” Berenice asked. “The attack must’ve been a surprise to him if he was just sitting at the breakfast table, minding his own business.”

  “Poor Pierre.” Rose withered back into the couch again.

  “They could’ve only gotten in through the front door,” said Clémence. “The windows didn’t look tampered with, and they were locked from the inside. The exterior of the building is completely flat, so it wouldn’t be an easy feat to go through the window when there’s nothing to latch onto on the walls, unless it was a ninja or something.”

  “What about the front door?” Berenice asked. “Was that tampered with?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Clémence. “I do have to lock this apartment and put on the alarm whenever I go out because our insurance company requires us to since it’s such a big apartment in an expensive neighborhood, and I lock the door from the inside when I come home. But Rose’s apartment is quite small. You probably don’t lock it from the inside when you are home, right? Even at night?”

  “No,” said Rose. “We don’t. Our neighborhood is safe and I suppose there are way bigger and more luxurious apartments in the neighborhood to steal from. Pierre and I only lock the doors from the outside when nobody is home.”