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

by Harper Lin

  “Owe you?” She lightly smacked him on the chest.

  “Yes, when we get to the top, you’ll have to kiss me.”

  Clémence laughed. She wondered what had gotten into Arthur lately. He’d loosened up and gotten more comfortable around him. He could really turn on the charm when he wanted to; she could see why he was such a lady’s man.

  “We’ll see if you can get to the top without panting,” said Clémence.

  Sure enough, the long, dark and dank staircase took a toll on him—the both of them—after a few minutes of climbing. They stopped near the top, where they watched a video about the Arc’s history and poked around the souvenir shop. Arthur bought a 3-D Arc de Triomphe puzzle for his younger brothers. If he had done that even partly to make Clémence’s heart melt, he had succeeded.

  “There’s something different about you these days,” she said. “You’re not insulting me and making snotty comments—not as much as you used to anyway. You’re actually nice. What’s gotten into you?”

  Instead of answering, he simply gazed deep into her eyes. His irises were so brown and warm. His body was mere inches from her and she could smell his aftershave. His gaze moved down to her lips and he leaned in, closer and closer.

  Then suddenly, he backed off. “Come on.”

  He squeezed her hand and pulled her to the staircase, where they continued up to the very top.

  Crowds of tourist admired the view of the streets below, and the sky and city that was open all around them.

  Arthur and Clémence didn’t exude the same awe as the visitors, since they did have stunning views of the city already from their balconies. However, to be in the center of the “star” of the twelve streets was fun; she especially loved looking out to Rue Champs-Elysées, the famous boulevard with its perfectly manicured trees. Arthur pointed out La Defense in the north west, poking fun at how industrial and futuristic it looked compared to central Paris. Under the sunny blue sky, the rooftops of the Haussuman buildings were more blue than gray and the trees looked more lush and green. The city was really a photographer’s dream.

  “Do you think Paris is more beautiful when it’s sunny or in the rain?” Arthur asked.

  Clémence took the question seriously and she took a moment to ponder it.

  “I don’t know.” She sighed. “I just love Paris. I’ll take the city anytime as it is.”

  “It’s funny. You’re French, but you’re still in love with Paris.”

  “But I love Paris not the way a vacationer would. I love Paris unconditionally. I accept the good and the bad. Besides, I grew up in the suburbs, so I don’t take everything for granted like you do. What do you think? Sun or rain?”

  “The weather changes its mood,” said Arthur. “When it’s sunny, like today, it’s full of hope and happiness. People are out. They’re more relaxed. When it rains, it’s romantic as well, but in a somber, melancholy way. The way you feel watching a black and white movie. The only time when I don’t think Paris is pretty is when the sky is entirely overtaken by gray clouds. Then everything is and dreary. Personally, I prefer Paris in the sun. Because, right now, your face is all lit up, and you seem to be glowing.”

  He leaned in and kissed her. His lips were soft and it grazed over hers ever so slightly until he pulled her in and pressed into her. She felt the heat start from the lips, spreading down to her chest until her entire body was tingling.

  When they pulled away, Clémence couldn’t look at him. It was everything a first kiss should be and she needed to recover so Arthur wouldn’t see how much he’d affected her. She looked around at the other tourists. At least two other couples were making out as well.

  Clémence let out an embarrassed laugh. Arthur looked where she was looking at, at one of the couples, kissing furiously.

  “They look like they’re trying to bite each other’s heads off,” he mused. “Don’t you wish that we didn’t have to share this city with all these people?”

  Clémence imagined a city devoid of people. “No. It’s not so bad. I’d rather be bombarded by cheesy tourists under the spell of the city, rather than the jaded French. Their optimism balances out our extreme cynicism. Although we do fall under the spell of the city when we’re not careful. Right now, I feel like a tourist like everyone else here. I’m surprised you’re so taken with this place too.”

  “I’m taken with you,” he said. “You asked what’s gotten into me earlier. Well, it’s you. At first, I don’t know, I didn’t think much of it—us, I mean. Sure, you were cute, but plenty of girls are cute.”

  “Thanks a lot,” she said.

  “But the more I got the know you, the more I started to like you. Then I got to the point when I just couldn’t stop thinking about you. There’s just something about you that makes me want to, I don’t know, be more kind around you.”

  Clémence chuckled. “That’s actually kind of sweet. You know, you can be nice when you want to be.”

  “And like I said, I stopped messing around with those other girls. It just started feeling so empty after a while, being with a girl I can’t even have a conversation with.”

  “You think we have good conversations?”

  “You challenge me. Sure, you seem to know nothing about macroeconomics, but at this point, it’s not like it’s something I want to talk about since I’m working on it day and night. You’re creative and clever, and that intrigues me. Besides, I like tagging along with your misadventures, even though you drive me crazy sometimes.”

  Clémence felt her cheeks getting warm. “Thanks.”

  “You look pretty when you blush.”

  She looked down.

  “There’s also something pure about you. You’re not like the other French girls. You’re a bit prudish, which is surprising in this day in age.”

  “I get it from my father,” she said.

  Arthur laughed. Clémence hadn’t been joking, however. His dad had very conservative values, and he had probably passed them down to Clémence. She believed in monogamy, in not smoking, not drinking too much, in being fair and kind to others.

  “Clémence, I really want to give this try.”

  “You mean…”

  “I know we live in the same building, but it can work. I won’t be dropping in all the time, if that’s what you’re worried about. We both have lives. I want to see you more. Go out for dinner and see what happens.”

  “I thought it was lunch.”

  “That was before we kissed. We’re on a dinner basis now, don’t you think?”

  Think? Clémence’s logical side told her to calm down, to consider the consequences. But the other side, her instinctual side, was screaming oui. Arthur didn’t give her a chance to reply, because he said, “Okay, fine, I am getting hungry. If you insist, let’s go to lunch.”

  Clémence smiled. “You’re a real con artist, you know that?”

  CHAPTER 13

  SushiSalsa was a new restaurant on Avenue Victor Hugo. While there were new sushi places popping up in Paris every day, SushiSalsa was upscale, offering intricately made sushi platters. When the waiter brought their orders, which came in wooden boats, Clémence beamed.

  “It certainly smells good,” Clémence said. “Hey, I wonder if a line of sushi flavored macarons would take off at Damour.”

  “Fish flavored macarons?”

  Clémence made a face. “Well, it doesn’t sound good, but we’ve had success with savory macarons in the past. I know other patisseries have wasabi flavored ones.”

  “I think you’re just inspired by the visually pleasing display of our sushi.”

  “Trust me,” said Clémence. “We could pull it off. Savory macarons make great starters.”

  “I don’t doubt you for a moment.” Arthur grinned.

  She took a bite of her avocado and fried shrimp sushi and she suppressed a moan of pleasure. The pieces were drizzled with a creamy, spicy sauce with pepper flakes, which gave the right amount of kick. Arthur found it too spicy. He coughed and c
hugged down his glass of water.

  “Too spicy for you?” Clémence asked.

  Many French people couldn’t handle food that was very spicy. Clémence had built up her tolerance when she traveled through Asia last year. Now she loved spicy food. Arthur obviously did not. He finished the entire bottle of sparkling water that they had been sharing and asked for another

  “I didn’t think it would be that spicy.” His face flushed red and there were beads of sweat on his forehead and above his upper lip.

  Clémence tried not to laugh; she thought Arthur was even more adorable when he couldn’t keep up his cool act.

  “Why are you smiling?” he asked. “Are you laughing at me?”

  “No. I was just thinking that you’re kind of cute.”

  “When I’m acting foolish?”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe I should act foolish more often.”

  “I don’t think you need to try.”

  He laughed. He picked out the spicy sushi pieces from his boat dish and gave them to her. “You’ll obviously enjoy them more than I will. You wouldn’t want me to pass out on our first lunch date, wouldn’t you?”

  “Fine, I’ll take them, if only to save your life.”

  The waiter came with a new bottle of water, and Arthur poured himself another glass to chug down.

  “Speaking of lives,” Arthur said slowly, “how is your friend Rose handling all this?”

  “Just hanging in there. I’m hoping that once they arrest the killer, she’ll start to get over her grief. It’s going to take some time, but…”

  Clémence frowned and looked into space.

  “What are you thinking, Damour?” Arthur said. “I know that look.”

  “It’s just that something feels wrong about this. The police are trying to build a case against Mary. I do hope that it is her, but something about it just doesn’t feel right to me.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to the girl, so I’m not confident about my theory.”

  “Why haven’t you talked to her? You’re usually on any potential suspects like white on rice.”

  Clémence thought about it. He was right. Why was she avoiding Mary?

  “I guess I want the killer to be her,” she finally said.

  “But you really don’t think it’s her.”

  “No. Cyril is certain, but he’s been wrong before. Her motive is not very strong. It’s not unusual for people to hate their bosses, and to complain about them to their co-workers and friends. It would take a certain person to break into the boss’s home and kill them when they’re having breakfast. Cyril thinks the murder was calculated, telling from the security video from St. Lazare station, but I don’t think it is. I think it’s a crime of passion. Unless they can find out that Mary had an affair or something with Pierre, I doubt that it’s her.”

  “It did happen in the morning,” Arthur said, “when the guy was in his pajamas. It does sound more likely that the killer would’ve been someone he’d just slept with, and trusted to be in his apartment.”

  Clémence nodded. “When St. Clair sets his sights on someone, he’s too stubborn to give it up. He hates to be wrong. The only real evidence we have is the security footage. The woman really took precautions to go undetected. I’m sure they’ve searched the apartment for fingerprints and DNA, and they’re now trying to match it up with Mary’s, but if they don’t find a match—and the more I think of it, the less I think they will—they’re going to be back at square one.”

  “You really have no other suspects?” Pierre asked.

  “No. Pierre had girls on the side—I’m sure he had more than one. He’s a very discrete guy.”

  “Nobody is that discrete. I’m sure there’s a way of finding out who these girls are.”

  “You’re right. I haven’t tried everything. I guess I just didn’t want to be right. Rose is my best friend. If I find the truth, I’d break her heart. To find out that your dead boyfriend was cheating on you before he died?”

  Clémence shook her head. She’d only eaten almost half her meal, but she had already lost her appetite.

  “She deserves to know the truth,” Arthur argued. “Don’t think of it as breaking her heart. Think of it as setting her free. Then she wouldn’t put him on a pedestal. People tend to make saints out of the dead.”

  “True. They had been fighting, but all she talks about now are his good qualities. All she has are good memories. I guess I wanted her to keep that illusion.”

  “I don’t know if that’s healthy.”

  “It probably isn’t.” Clémence sighed. “I do want to look more into his computer, but the police has it.”

  “What’s on his computer?”

  “I wanted to check his emails. Maybe there’s a clue that the police overlooked. It could be easier to trace an email, if I find something incriminating. Maybe they’ve been so focused on Mary’s communication with him that they overlooked some other emails.”

  “Can you ask Rose if she has his password information?”

  “You think she’ll have it?” Clémence asked.

  “You’ll be surprised. A few years ago, my ex demanded that I give her all the passwords to my emails, Facebook and other accounts. She was really possessive and had trust issues. I ended up giving her one password to an email I used mainly to receive junk mail.”

  “Wow. I didn’t know you were in a relationship. Why did you do it?”

  Arthur sighed. “I was in love with her. And I wanted her to trust me, but she turned out to be crazy. Nothing satisfied her, and I had no choice but to break up with her.”

  “That really did a number on you, huh?”

  “She put me off relationships, definitely. She was needy, clingy, and jealous. She used to have a life before me, but she dropped her friends and her passions to focus on me and our relationship. That could get old fast.”

  “Right.”

  Had Clémence made the same mistake with Mathieu? Perhaps. She always believed that he was the talented one, the one destined for greatness in the art world. Maybe subconsciously, she had prepared herself to be the muse, the wife to support the genius. As a result, he got bored and took her for granted. He cheated on her.

  “But you’re different,” said Arthur. “You’re opinionated, you have your own interests and you don’t seem to be the clingy, jealous type.”

  “I’m not interested in living someone else’s life,” she said. And she meant it. A relationship didn’t mean one person making all the sacrifices. It was the wrong way to think. She’d learned her lesson. At least what she got from the horrible experience with Mathieu was to never let a man take her for granted.

  Arthur looked at her with admiration. “It’s why I like you, Damour.”

  CHAPTER 14

  “Rose, es-tu là? ” Clémence called out when she came home. “Are you home?”

  “Oui.” Footsteps came from the hallway to the bedrooms and Rose’s elfin face emerged near the entrance. She was wearing a snuggly blue bathrobe and fluffy pink slippers.

  “There you are,” said Clémence.

  “I was in the bath. You’re right. A bath with lavender Epsom salts feels really amazing. My muscles are so relaxed. It’s the next best thing to being at the spa.”