Crêpe Murder_A Seagrass Sweets Cozy Mystery

by Sandi Scott

  The hair stood up on the back of Ashley’s neck. “A gun? Isn’t that illegal here?”

  “Yes, and difficult, but it can be done.”

  Ashley put the cordial glass down before she dropped it. “That is bad news.”

  “I think you should stay with someone else for a few days. He is probably not coming back for you, but still...” Mme. Guibert shrugged. “You would be safer. I do not like to impose, but if I could have your cell phone number that would be for the best, so I can call you to warn you if he is seen again.”

  Ashley rubbed her hands along her arms. “I don’t know what to say except, thank you for watching out for me.”

  “It must be very difficult, being in a foreign country when things become so horrible with a man. I remember ...” she broke off sharply. “I will tell you another time. Why don’t you do what you need to do, and you and I will talk more later. I am sure that being forced to sit here and listen to the ancient love dramas of an old woman is not the first thing on your mind right now.”

  ASHLEY WENT BACK TO her apartment and sat on the bed, her thoughts in a jumble. Serge had been seen trying to buy a gun. Trying to buy, or had bought? That was an important distinction. Does he really hate me that much? Would he really try to kill me? Or was the gun for some other crime that he was trying to commit? She felt both exhausted and keyed up. Her stomach was in knots. Belle leaned her head against Ashley’s leg in sympathy, slowly wagging her tail. “I can’t believe it,” Ashley told her. “There has to be some mistake. Surely that guy didn’t see Serge. It must have been someone else. It’s just a mistake. Serge is long gone.” Belle wagged her tail harder, as if in agreement.

  Ashley bit her lip, then stood up, and started checking the apartment. She knew she wouldn’t be even remotely at ease until she had done so. Everything looked just like the other umpteen dozen times she had looked over it. She sat on the bed again. “I don’t know, Belle. I just don’t know.” She should call someone to see if she could stay with them. The only person she could think of was Patty, and Ashley was sure that she wouldn’t want to take both Ashley and Belle. Ashley didn’t want to give up Belle, but she really should check with Mr. Jones to see what had happened. He hadn’t left her any messages or texts. She stood up, tucked her hair behind her ears, and started pacing back and forth in the narrow aisle between the bed and the wall as she dialed Mr. Jones and listened to the phone ring. Suddenly the phone picked up.

  “Hello? Allô?” she said, but it was only a prerecorded message, saying in French that the number was no longer in service.

  Wait ... how could that be?

  Ashley stood by the window and stared out over the courtyard. The row of garden cottages looked peaceful in the late-afternoon sunlight. She looked around the inner sides of the other buildings over the cottages, to other balconies, and other windows. She couldn’t see inside any of them.

  She turned away and started pacing again, stumbling over the boxes of Serge’s stuff as she did. They were right where she had left them, still sitting on the floor, but they went tumbling the moment her leg made contact with them. Ashley froze, the phone still at her ear, then quickly backed away from them. The boxes were empty!

  ASHLEY DIDN’T KNOW who else to call, so she called Patty. Shaking and ready to cry she huddled on the bed until Patty picked up.

  “Ashley? Is that you?”

  After a moment, Ashley was finally able to get words out. “Patty, I have an emergency.”

  “What is it?”

  “Serge was here. In the apartment.” She started to explain, but Patty interrupted her.

  “You have to get out, right now.”

  “What if he’s waiting for me outside the apartment?”

  “Is there someone in the building you can stay with?”

  “Yes, I can go to Madame Guibert’s next door if necessary.”

  “Do that. Listen to me. I want you to take any medicines or contacts, your keys, your laptop, your purse, and your cell phone with you. Don’t bother with anything else like clothes. Do you understand?”

  “I ...” Ashley hesitated.

  “I’ve had to do this before, ma chère. Leave it to me.” On that note, Patty hung up.

  Ashley didn’t want to tell her that the last thing she should do was bring her laptop—or probably her cell phone, either. But she didn’t think Serge had the talent to hack the French cell phone network. Besides, she carried her cell phone with her all the time anyway, so she was going to cross her fingers and risk bringing her cell phone with her.

  Next, she went through her wallet, which was already proofed against radio frequency identification anyway. Serge had always insisted on protecting personal data as fully as possible, fearing that other hackers might try to steal something from them, now she understood why. Then, she checked Belle’s collar and leash, her cans of food, and her water dish. Nothing had been added to anything. She put the food and dish into her string bag, walked back over to Mme. Guibert’s apartment and knocked on the door.

  CHAPTER 15

  By the time Patty arrived, Ashley had worked out when it had happened. Belle’s owner had never called the market grocer downstairs. That had been Serge, or probably someone working with Serge, an actor of some type. The actor had convinced her to leave her apartment and wait for him at the café on Rue Froidevaux across from the Montparnasse Cemetery.

  While she waited in the dark with Belle, Serge had gone into the apartment, raided the boxes for the things that had so helpfully been packed up for him, leaving the chip she had planted for him behind. Mme. Guibert said that she hadn’t heard anyone going into the apartment at that time, but Ashley was sure that it had happened like that. Ashley hugged Patty, said she would tell her what had happened later, and then led her downstairs to the market.

  “Salut,” the owner said.

  Ashley went to him, took his hands for a moment, then said, “Do you have any sandals?”

  He frowned at her. “What?”

  “I’m sorry, but my bath sandals have worn out. Do you have anything like that for sale?”

  He shrugged and went into the back of the store, coming back with a pair of plastic-wrapped red flip-flops. “If you like, I have these ones.”

  “Thank you.” She paid for them, took off her shoes, put on the flip-flops. Going back outside, she found a trash can, and dumped her shoes inside. She had already ditched her purse, and she was wearing a sweater rather than her lined jacket. Patty was looking at her like she was a crazy person.

  Ashley said, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t be sure that he hadn’t bugged the shoes or something.”

  Patty gaped at her. “What?”

  “I’m being paranoid, I know.” She went back to the market owner and explained what she thought was going on, that Belle’s “owner” was probably an actor hired by Serge to engineer getting her out of her apartment at a specific time so Serge could secretly retrieve his stuff. The market owner had also heard about Serge trying to buy a gun.

  “And he is a computer hacker,” the man remarked, shaking his head. “I am sorry to have helped him.”

  “It wasn’t on purpose, and anyway I can’t be sure.” The poor man just kept shaking his head.

  “If he calls back for any reason whatsoever, or if anyone shows up claiming to be Belle’s owner, just play along, okay? And say that you’ll give me the message the next time you see me.”

  “Are you sure? I could call the police.”

  “I’ll be calling the police soon, and we’ll do whatever they say to do, but until then, just play along and pretend that it’s nothing strange.”

  He nodded, “As you wish.”

  Ashley shook his hand and then wiped away the tears trying to build up in her eyes. “And, who knows? The next time, the person might be Belle’s real owner, and I wouldn’t want to set the police on him for any reason.”

  The three of them went to Patty’s apartment. Belle walked along the edges of the rooms, sniffing everythin
g politely, and giving a big sneeze when she came to the perfumed bathroom. Ashley gave her half a can of food – problem solved, as far as Belle was concerned. Ashley sat on Patty’s cute little couch with a blanket wrapped around her.

  “I have to go to work tomorrow,” Ashley said. “Serge will find me there and just trail me back to your apartment. He has to know by now that we’re friends. He probably already knows I’m here.”

  “And this is the man you were going to marry?” Patty said. “Eh, sorry. I’m in a mood. It has been a long time since I trusted a man.”

  Ashley gave her a nervous smile. “I’m sorry to have to impose on you.”

  Patty waved a hand. She opened a bottle of red wine and poured out a glass. “You just sit there and try to keep your head from exploding. I’ll take care of everything.”

  Suddenly, Ashley remembered what M. Gergovie had said about waiting for ‘the other one’. “Patty, are you thinking about opening your own restaurant? Really?”

  “Of course, I am. You know that,” Patty said.

  “I talked to Jan Hamelin’s boss about where he was the night that Monsieur Babin was murdered, and he mentioned something about waiting for ‘the other one’ who wanted to talk about opening a new account. I wondered if it was you.”

  A smile crept up into the corners of Patty’s eyes. “Well ... yes, it was me.”

  “Didn’t you go?”

  “I saw you talking to him, and I waited until you were gone.”

  Ashley threw up her hands. “Why do you even have to keep secrets from me? I thought you were going to buy that crêpe cart!”

  “I’m investigating multiple options, and you know how gossip spreads around here.”

  “I do, which is why I won’t say anything.”

  “Really?”

  “My lips are sealed. But, is it going well? If you’re talking to alcohol distributors, you must be close.”

  “It all depends on whether my loan application is accepted.”

  “Will it be?”

  “I have no idea, but I have a property picked out.”

  “Where?”

  “In the Plaisance district, on the Rue d’Alésia.”

  The Rue d’Alésia was about fifteen minutes away on foot. “That’s not too far away. I’ll be able to visit.”

  “If you weren’t leaving to go back to the States, I’d ask you to quit at L’Oiseau Bleu to work for me.”

  Ashley chewed on her bottom lip. She’d thought about staying in France when all this was over, but the thought just didn’t move her. She wasn’t a Parisienne at heart, only by circumstance. She loved Paris—but she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life here.

  Patty laughed. “Don’t say it. I know what you’re thinking. You are going back to Texas, and there’s no need to be tactful about it to me.”

  “Thanks,” Ashley said, relieved. “I’m excited that you’re staying and continuing with your dream but still ... I wouldn’t mind if you came back with me, either.”

  “There’s so much to think about.” Patty looked off into the distance. “I still haven’t decided whether to switch apartments if I do get the loan. I mean, I would if there was an apartment over the restaurant, in a heartbeat, but there isn’t one, and the lease on this will run for a while, so...”

  They chatted about Patty’s restaurant plans for hours. It was a good distraction. While they talked they made pasta with tomatoes and olives on the range top and drank red wine. Ashley slept on the couch with Belle at her feet. The couch was much less cute and comfortable when she had to try to sleep on it, but she managed.

  THE NEXT MORNING, THEY both woke up early and took turns in the shower. Ashley took Belle out for an early walk then paced around the apartment, mentally listing all the things that Belle might get bored with and chew to shreds before she could get back to the apartment. How was she going to handle this? She couldn’t stay here forever, in fact, she wasn’t sure about imposing herself a second night in a row.

  Ashley took a quick shower and toweled off. If only she hadn’t had to leave her laptop behind. She wanted to do a little illegal hacking, which was probably a terrible idea. However, she thought she might be able to find out where the camera over M. Babin’s garage door was sending its data, and if so, she wanted to pull up the files for the night of his death. She wouldn’t be able to see if anyone broke into the garage from an inside door, but she would be able to see anyone who had gotten into the garage from the front.

  That the garage-type entrance should be out on the street at all was strange. The French usually saved that kind of thing for the inner alleyways and the hidden courtyards inside the blocks. There had to be some type of hallway leading off in the other direction. Hopefully that one would be monitored by the same company, and she could check both cameras at the same time.

  What am I thinking? Of course, the police have checked that already. If the cameras picked up on anyone, there would have been another arrest by now.

  She dressed in her clothes from the day before and then looked down at her feet. The flip-flops were not going to work at L’Oiseau Bleu. Even if she managed to keep her feet hidden from both customers and Chef Lemaire, they were too dangerous. One splatter of hot grease and she’d be out for a week.

  And Patty’s feet? Far too small to trade shoes. No help for it right now, though. She’d just have to take a break after she did her baking and pick up another pair somewhere, along with socks, underwear, clothes, and dog food. That thought just brought her back full circle.

  What about Belle? She didn’t think she’d be able to get a hotel room if she had Belle with her. What was she going to do? Move into a new apartment and sublease their old one? Serge’s name was on the lease, too. She didn’t know how she would do anything with the apartment now. At this point Ashley really just wanted to disregard the French authorities, pack up, and go home.

  Patty let her stew all the way to the restaurant. Then, as she was unlocking the front door, she said, “You will be staying at my apartment for as long as it takes. Don’t insult me by trying to figure out some other plan. If Serge finds us, we’ll go somewhere else. I have a friend with a townhouse. We’ll have to take the Metro to work, that’s all. After we get done with work today, we’ll go shopping for clothes. Nothing expensive, but you weren’t planning to live in Paris all this time and not replace your American wardrobe, were you?”

  Ashley opened her mouth to protest but Patty just talked over her, “I called Malik this morning, and he’s bringing a pair of his sister’s shoes for you, along with socks. I know you’re worried, and it’s weighing you down. I told you that I had it under control, and I do. Everyone in the neighborhood knows by now what happened. You know how the gossip is. If Serge shows his face around here again, he’ll be caught. That’s all there is to it.”

  That wasn’t all there was to it, but Ashley couldn’t help but feel grateful anyway. “Thank you.”

  “And don’t even think about trying to ‘pay me back’ or anything ridiculous like that. Once upon a time, I was desperate for help in a similar situation, and a dear friend of mine helped me get out. We all have to look out for each other.”

  Malik appeared half an hour later, bearing a pair of heavy, black leather shoes that looked like they were going to pinch but were surprisingly comfortable, along with a pair of socks. By then, Ashley had already determined that she was never going to wear flip-flops inside a walk-in oven again, and even if the leather shoes had been too small, she would have shoved her feet into them. The edges of her feet felt dangerously crisp.

  When Chef Lemaire arrived around noon, he seemed as cold as a block of ice. The appearance of his face was almost terrifying. Ashley thought for sure that she was about to get fired. For what, she didn’t know, but the way he looked at her made her hair stand on end. He said, “And so, another outsider has been threatening my staff, is that it?”

  For a moment Ashley tried to think of who she had threatened then remembered her
confrontation with M. Gergovie and Jan Hamelin the day before. “I’m sorry, Chef Lemaire. I’m trying to figure out ...”

  Patty elbowed her in the side. “You’re not an outsider.”

  “Oh, um, no, Chef Lemaire. Serge didn’t threaten me. He just lured me out of the apartment so that he could get his stuff. He didn’t even have to break in. He probably just used his key. He didn’t threaten me at all.”

  Chef Lemaire continued to scowl at her, a red dot of anger forming between his eyebrows, the same scowl that he sometimes wore if he had to deal with a rude tourist coming into the restaurant. “And you are staying at Mademoiselle LaFontaine’s apartment because you feel so very safe at home, non?”

  “Non,” Ashley admitted. “I panicked. It’s probably nothing, but the more you know about computers, the less safe you feel around people who have a grudge against you and who also know a lot about computers.”

  “Bah,” Patty interrupted. “You’re the one with the talent for it. He had to use you to break into those companies, didn’t he?”

  “He did,” Ashley admitted.

  Patty said, “Then he should be afraid of you!”

  “I’m really not that scary,” Ashley said. “I mean, I don’t have the heart for it? Do I?”

  Chef Lemaire cleared his throat. “That is what women often say, then their families or their friends are threatened, and there is a change, sudden and swift. But sometimes that change doesn’t come soon enough – some women,” he shook his head while staring pointedly at Ashley, “don’t want to admit when someone has turned against them and has become dangerous.”

  Ashley’s hair on the back of her neck was already standing on end, now it prickled even further. “Do you think Serge is dangerous?” she asked.

  “I do.”

  “What should I do?”

  “If it were allowed, then you should go back to America. But the police ...” He grimaced, then turned back the way he had come, heading toward the back door. He called over his shoulder, “I will be back in a little while. Please, keep the restaurant running while I am out.” The door slammed behind him.