by Harper Lin
“I know,” he said sheepishly. “I was a little stupid back then.”
Clémence almost laughed. Arthur admitting that he was stupid? Maybe he was right: she didn’t know Arthur as well as she thought she did.
“Well, thanks for the flowers.”
“You’re welcome.”
They stood on the sidewalk staring at each other for an awkward moment. Arthur spoke up again.
“I bought them because I was sorry when you got attacked, but I think I was also confused about how I felt about you so I didn’t want you to know.” He took a deep breath. “Look, you drive me crazy sometimes. I admit, I’ve dated plenty of girls in the past, but I never stay interested for long. There’s just something intriguing about you that I want to get to know more of. God, I hope I don’t sound too corny right now.”
Clémence broke into a small smile. He sounded sweet in fact. If he could only show more of this side, she could really allow herself to fall for him.
“Anyway,” he continued. “I was wondering if you wanted to go to lunch sometime.”
“Lunch?”
“Yeah. It’s more casual than a formal dinner and nicer than just getting a drink. Lunch.”
Clémence thought about it. Was it really a good idea to date her neighbor? She had been single for a while now. Sure she’d dated while on her travels, but she always knew that she could pack for the next country and leave the dates behind. With Arthur, she couldn’t pack up and leave; he lived in the same building. If things didn’t work out, they were stuck.
“Can I think about it?” Clémence asked.
Arthur nodded. His face was less open, impenetrable again. She had not given the answer that he’d hoped for.
“Sure. Text me this time. Ciao.”
Clémence watched him walk away and turn a corner. She reached for her smartphone and checked the address of F.R.Fraser on her map. As she followed the directions, her mother phoned her.
Her parents were still in Tokyo to oversee the first Damour patisserie in Japan. The fever of the grand store opening still hadn’t died down yet. There were daily lineups around the block for their macarons and other desserts and pastries. The salon de thé were booked for weeks in advance. Her mother was just calling to update her and to ask how her trip to Zurich was. They chatted a while longer, but Clémence didn’t want to tell her about Rose’s boyfriend’s death just yet.
When she reached the building where F.R.Fraser operated, she managed to talk the security guard into letting her in. She simply told the truth: that she was collecting something for an employee who had died recently. After receiving condolences, she was allowed in through the turnstile. The main foyer was modern, with a man-made waterfall dribbling down a marble wall. There was a cafe in one corner for employees. She pressed the elevator button. When one of the elevator doors opened, the presence of the man who stepped out shocked her.
CHAPTER 6
“You? Again?” Clémence shook her head.
“Can’t stay away from me for long, can you?”
Arthur stepped out, grinning in all his pink glory.
“What are you doing here?”
“The guy I had a meeting with at Mable & Best is still out for lunch, so I thought I’d take a walk. So your appointment is here as well?”
Clémence couldn’t believe they both ended up in the same building. Paris was really like a small town sometimes. She figured she might as well tell him.
“Okay, I’m going to F.R.Fraser,” she admitted. “The financial firm.”
“Of course I know what F.R. Fraser is.”
“I have to collect the things for my friend’s boyfriend who works there. Or used to work there rather. He was murdered.”
She filled him in on everything. Arthur shook his head in shock.
“But you’re not just here to collect his things are you?”
“Yes I am,” she replied.
“No, you’re dressed up. You’re up to something. Who do you suspect is the murderer this time? Spill it.”
Clémence sighed. Must Arthur get involved every time?
“Fine.” She briefed him on Pierre’s coworker, and how she wanted to interrogate him.
“How are you going to do that without making it sound like you’re accusing him of murder?”
“I have ways.”
Arthur gave her a hard look. “You haven’t even prepared what you’re going to say, have you?”
“I took improv classes in lycée. I’m good at thinking on my feet. You know, feel my way into it. It’s worked so far.”
“Maybe you need someone with experience in the finance world to help you.” Arthur’s chest seemed to inflate by the second.
Clémence snorted. “If you mean someone who sleeps in till ten every morning and plays tennis, sure.”
Arthur expressed mock outrage. “I don’t think you have a clue as to the breadth of the talents that I possess.”
“Please don’t make me roll my eyes.” Clémence got into the elevator and pressed the button for the second floor. Arthur got in after her. “I’m not sure if it’s a good idea for you to come, Arthur. I’m trying to be inconspicuous here, and all that pink might cause a commotion.”
“Damour, let a real man get some answers out of this suspect. What’s his name?”
“Paolo. Paolo Bruno.”
When they got out of the elevator, they could see through the glass wall into the office of F.R.Fraser. It was a busy environment, with people on headsets working with multiple computer screens. The receptionist was fielding numerous calls.
“They’re not going to even notice us,” said Arthur. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Oh, fine.”
They pushed through the glass door. Sure enough, the secretary was too busy speaking on the phone to even look up.
“Rose said that Pierre’s desk is at the corner on the right side of the room.” Clémence led the way.
His desk was already bare. There were no picture frames or nicknacks like the other employees had on their desks. He only had a bunch of pens in a cup and a calculator lying out, as well as a couple of finance books and a laptop cord, but no laptop. In his drawers were some single-wrapped madeleines and a beige stapler.
“Did somebody already come to clean the desk out?” Arthur asked.
“Rose did say that he was a very minimalistic guy.”
“What about his computer?”
“He probably took it home with him. I remember seeing a laptop on the table in his bedroom. The police probably took it though.”
“It would help to go through his emails,” said Arthur.
“I hope they do find something,” said Clémence. “Although I just don’t know with St. Clair.”
“Il est idiot,” Arthur said.
“Ain’t that the truth.”
So where’s this Paolo guy?”
“Chhutt.” Clémence shushed him.
“Relax,” said Arthur. “Everyone’s involved with their headsets and computers. We don’t even exist to them.”
Just then Clémence noticed the lanky figure of Inspector Cyril St. Clair. He was going into one of the offices on the opposite side of the room. He didn’t seem to have noticed Clémence, and she was relieved, because he would’ve probably caused a scene and try to kick her out and prevent her from investigating.
“He must be interrogating the boss,” said Clémence. “Come on.”
Nobody glanced their way as they walked across the room to the big offices where the walls and doors were also made of glass. Everybody seemed to put on an illusion of privacy, especially when everything was on display for all to see. Clémence picked up some papers from a recycling bin on the way to the office where she saw Cyril enter. The paper she would simply hold in her hand. She planned on standing close to the door with Arthur. In case anyone walked past them, they could pretend that they were discussing something in the documents.
It was a very stressful work environment. Phones were ringing,
numerous voices were chatting away at once, and there was the gurgling sound of the espresso machine coming from the break room. Everybody was hopped up on caffeine. Since the office door was made out of glass, she couldn’t stand in front of it to eavesdrop; it was too difficult to make out what Cyril and the boss were saying.
“I don’t think the people here got the memo about Pierre’s death yet,” Clémence said to Arthur.
“Maybe they did and they just don’t care.”
“No, St. Clair’s probably just breaking the news now. It’s only a matter of time before word gets out. We have to find Paolo and find out what we can before St. Clair tries to interrogate him.”
Clémence looked carefully at every employee. There must’ve been over fifty people. Then finally, she spotted Paolo, walking in their direction. He wore a gray Italian cut suit, a white dress shirt and an electric blue tie; he was by far the best dressed man in the office. He was a lot more fit in person. His built suggested that he spent some time in the gym.
“That’s him,” Clémence whispered.
“Who? Paolo?” Arthur spun around so suddenly that he caught Paolo’s attention. Clémence sighed. Why did Arthur have to be so obvious about it?
“Bonjour,” Paolo greeted them. He was all square white teeth. “Are you two new? I haven’t seen you in the office before. I’m Paolo.”
“Je suis, uh, Edouard,” Arthur said, shaking his offered hand. Paolo’s gaze lingered on him a second longer before he shook Clémence’s hand. She introduced herself as Juliette.
“We don’t work here,” said Clémence. “We’re actually friends of Pierre’s. Pierre Colombier, do you know him?”
“Yes, I know him. Is anything the matter with him? It’s not like him to miss work.”
He was looking at Arthur even when she had been the one talking.
“He’s ill,” said Arthur.
“He must be severely ill,” said Paolo. “I’ve seen him come into work when he was sick. Is everything okay?”
“Fine,” Clémence lied. “He’s just getting over the flu.”
“The flu? In late spring? That’s bad luck.”
“Yes.” Arthur nodded. “We work close by and we just wanted to pick up a few things for Pierre so he can work from his bed.”
Paolo nodded and laughed. “Classic Pierre. He works even when he’s dying.”
Clémence and Arthur managed to laugh back. If Paolo only knew.
“What could you possibly pick up?” Paolo asked “The guy’s so secretive that he always takes home everything he brings.”
“Pierre mentioned something about, uh, the documents from the latest project that he’s working on?” Clémence said.
“Ah, you mean the Madison project We were supposed to work on it together, but Pierre threw a fit as usual and demanded we both go our own ways to tackle it separately. Don’t tell me he wants to see what I have so soon.”
“He does,” said Clémence. “You know Pierre.”
“Believe me, I do.”
Paolo led them to his desk, which, in contrast to Pierre’s, was a tornado of a mess. From the thick files, the binders and books all in chaotic piles, he was somehow able to find he was looking for rather quickly.
“Here. It’s a draft of what I have so far. Pierre can tell me what he thinks.” He cringed. “Or maybe I should give him a call, you know, to be courteous.”
“No,” Arthur cut in. “He’s not taking calls at the moment.”
“Phew,” said Pierre. “I mean, I’m sorry he’s sick, but he’s a little high strung, you know? Not exactly someone you want to spend on the phone because he’ll basically bark orders at you.”
He chuckled again and Clémence joined in.
“We’re friends of his, so we don’t know what he’s like at work,” she said.
“Oh, I’m his co-worker so I don’t know what he’s like as a friend,” Paolo joked. “He’s a bit hard to get to know. Maybe it’s just the French work environment. How do you know him again?”
“My friend Rose is his girlfriend.”
“Ah, so you’re not really a friend of Pierre’s.”
“Honestly, we don’t know him that well either,” Clémence admitted.
“Is it different here from the Italian work environment?” Arthur asked.
“Yes, you can tell by my accent that I’m Italian?” Paolo eyed Arthur flirtatiously. “I guess it’s quite strong. In Italy, it’s not so competitive that co-workers are openly hostile. Maybe hostile is a strong word. I think Pierre is the type to get his own way, and nobody else can get in his way. At the same time, I do kind of admire him because it’s taken him far in such a short amount of time.”
“I heard he’s up for a promotion to be your boss,” said Clémence.
“It’s a high possibility.” Paolo was still making eyes at Arthur and moving in on him. Arthur leaned back against the glass wall. “Honestly, I know he’s your friend, but I would probably transfer if that were to happen. It’s hard enough being his co-worker. It’s unfortunate that he’s so hard to work with because he sure is a looker.”
Paolo gave Arthur a wink. Arthur pressed his lips together and turned to Clémence. She’d never seen him look so uncomfortable.
“Yes, he’s quite handsome, isn’t he?” Clémence couldn’t suppress a smile. “So who else finds Pierre to be a pain in the ass in this office? Or are there people who actually like him?”
“Pierre’s a bit of a Hitler around here,” Paolo said. “We don’t take it personally. That’s just his personality. Maybe it would be a different story if we were to get to know him outside of work.”
“I do think Pierre can be quite antisocial,” Clémence agreed.
“We’re his minions really. I feel sorry for Mary, his assistant. She gets it the worst.”
“Who is Mary anyway?”
Paolo looked around. His gaze followed a petite, bored looking brunette who was walking toward the office where St. Clair was currently in. Clémence wondered if she was going to be called in and questioned about the murder. They didn’t have much time before the news of Pierre’s murder really spread.
“That’s her?” Clémence asked.
“Yes,” said Paolo. “But it looks like she’s busy. She just went into our boss’s office.”
“Well, we better go,” Arthur said. “We got what we came for. Thanks.”
“Anytime,” Paolo gave him a sly smile. “It was lovely meeting you.”
As Clémence exited through the glass door and Arthur followed, Paolo called after them.
“Wait. Edouard? Can I speak to you for just a minute?”
“Moi?” Arthur looked flustered. “Um, sure.”
“I’ll wait for you in the hall.” Clémence grinned.
She wondered what Paolo would say, but she had a pretty good idea.
