DEATH AT DAWN & MACARONE
Fangs and Psychics
Book 2
by
Penny BroJacquie
*
Table of Contents
Title Page
Death At Dawn and Macaron (Fangs and Psychics, #1)
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
PENNY BROJACQUIE’S BOOKS
Acknowledgments
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DEATH AT DAWN & MACARONE
Copyright ©2021 Penny BroJacquie
All Rights Reserved
Editing: Urna Creative, Learning To Fly
Developmental Editing: Urna Creative
Cover Art: Cosmic Cream
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
In loving memory of my friend, Gina Fox
CHAPTER ONE
*
RAYS OF SUNLIGHT SHINED through the main entrance glass door. Patisserie Le Coeur was not full that morning. “Great,” I thought, “my mind won’t be intruded by the voices of strangers today.”
My tine French patisserie in Quartier Latin, the cultural heart of Paris looked so pretty with its pink checkered tablecloths, chairs, and the light-green walls.
Everyday customers would line up daily to get one of the beautiful, bright, colorful cakes, pastries, and tarts that I personally baked. With hard work and long hours, my dream for an old-school French patisserie had come true. Freshly baked authentic tarts, cakes, and pastries... like in an old Parisian café.
Patisserie Le Coeur had made a name on the classics; buttery croissants, fluffy baguettes, and fancy Belle Epoque cakes. Le Coeur’s Instagram account had dozens of thousands of followers who wanted to know the secret recipe of my custard crème filled French crepes.
Carefully holding a pink metal tray, I served Monaco beers to two male regular customers sitting at a small table by the window.
I loved the color of that traditional French beverage. And it was so easy to make. I poured beer, lemonade and pomegranate syrup in a tall glass, stirred... et voilà!
“You know what the vampires did, right?” the blond man in a luxurious black suit said to his partner as I left the glass with the pink liquid in front of him.
“You mean, the Glashow Trial? Oh, influenced, all right!” his friend, dark skinned with curly hair, replied.
They went on, exchanging notes about the trial and gossip as I made my way back to my usual spot behind the counter. Whatever the vampires did, it was their business! I did not mind. Nor cared. Enough with the vampires.
“Another of this, please!” the man shouted at the top of his voice.
I shrugged; the man had already had two Monaco beer glasses more than usual. He definitely was high with all that alcohol inside him. I would have gladly plied him with more Monaco beer, but I knew how addled men behaved. More drink in him, he could have acted up and created a ruckus.
Clearly, he did not believe that the Glashow Trial was a fair one, and his friend did not seem inclined to agree with his views. He raised his voice against him, defending the Trial. I needed to take care of this right then and there.
“Hey, you two, simmer down!” I thumped the counter. “No more alcohol for you... drunk enough as you are already!”
The blond man thumped in response, laughing. “No more alcohol... burn, man, burn! This is what you get for not supporting the Trial!”
“This has nothing to do with that Trial you’re talking about,” I frowned, “I'd rather have my bar intact, thank you very much!”
“I'm not trying to incite anything,” the curly hair man said in an apologetic tone. “The Glashow Trials ensured justice for Miss Venecosta.”
“Be that as it may, the man is beholden to his views. Respect that and respect my place, please!” I placed the pink tray on the counter and walked back to their table. “Please pay your check and let me call you a cab!”
He did not look happy with my offer. “I can call the cab myself, so, no, thank you!” he said fumbling around his pants pockets, looking for his mobile. After a while, he brought it out and frowned. The mobile was upside-down, but he was so addled that he looked confused.
I made a face at him, trying not to lose my patience. “Oh, give me that!”
I snatched the cell phone, much to his chagrin. After he gave it up, rather reluctantly, I opened up the app people used to call cabs and typed in our location. Once the cab was booked, I opened the palm of my hands.
“Show me the money!” I demanded.
The man frowned and removed a one-hundred-euros bill from his wallet and handed it out to me.
“Keep the change.”
“Thank you!”
Smiling I returned the cell phone to him. I shook my head and sighed as the man walked away, drunk and staggering.
“Good you refused him! He’s a nuisance!” His friend smirked.
I returned a wicked smile to him. “Be careful, Mister, you might be the next one to follow!”
The man reacted with an angry glare to my threatening quip. He slipped away quietly after clearing his tab, although I could read a couple of nasty words in his mind.
Heaving a sigh of relief, I passed by the counter to the kitchen to get some fresh lemon berry petit fours to refill the pink and white display. Then, I moved to the back of the bar, to the larder where I searched for the new stock of beer for my Monacos.
“More stock is yet to come,” I mumbled knowing that the liquor distributor was slow and lax. I needed to give him an earful but the distributor was intimidating enough.
The distribution firm that I used to procure alcohol was called Vagagner Distributions d'Alcool and it was headed by Monsieur De Cressy. He was rude. Trés rude. He was also my neighbor. Although he kept to himself, being a recluse, I could always read his mind. And I knew he was a peeping Tom. I had caught him a few times, peeping through the windows into other people's houses. Most times, I had heard the thoughts that went on in his head. When in my pastry shop, I found it easier to block my abilities. Hungry minds were too loud and too much to bear. But I had made the mistake to read Monsieur De Cressy and knew what he thought of people, me especially. Those were ugly, nasty thoughts.
I wanted to give him a call, but I knew that it was a bad idea. Truth be told, he was the only one in the entire city of Paris who gave me the creeps. Even the bloodsucking vampires I used to hang around did not scare me, not much.
“I must find another liquor distributor,” I mumbled right before I felt a cold gather in the room, sort of what happened whenever a vampire was close-by.
It was the sort of vibes the undea
d gave off. Garbled as they were, I could not hear much of their thoughts, not unless I focused hard and tried to gamble at understanding the gibberish to make sense of it.
A small cry came out of my mind when I saw the pale man standing at the door.
“Alexandre freaking Favreau!” My voice gave away my excitement, although that was not my intention.
“You shouldn't talk to men like that, you know!” Alexandre scolded me, his hands folded. He looked cute as always with his black spiky hair and his fair face.
“You didn't come here to give me a lecture on how I had to deal with drunk men, did you?”
“Alysson! Stick to pastries... trust me!”
“You know, I really can’t do that while strange voices flood my mind.”
“Good thing I found you here though! How could you do that to me!”
“I’m sorry, Alexandre, I really am. But...”
Before I could explain myself Alexandre stormed out.
You see, Alexandre had offered me a job, to follow a vampire. I had accepted but then I fell in love with the vampire. Apparently, he got mad and that was the end of a beautiful friendship.
CHAPTER TWO
*
I HAD JUST ENTERED Le Coeur and was looking around at my empty patisserie. I admired the pink walls decorated with photos of couples who frequented my shop and gorged on my delicious cakes and pastries. Those couples were the winners of the weekly “Happy customers” contest I used to hold. It was as fun for my regulars as it was for me.
A customer, female and in her mid-thirties, entered rather quietly.
“You open, yet?” she asked.
“Yes, yes, just opening up!” I welcomed her with a smile.
“Oh! Maybe I should come later? Didn't realize I was early.”
“No, no, I am the one who's late, really! Please take a seat there and let me know what you want. I'll get it across to you as soon as possible.”
“Thank you,” she smiled back at me. She was a young woman in her early twenties, dressed in jeans and worn-out sneakers. “It would have been a pain really, coming this far into the city again!”
I resisted entering her mind, but I could not help myself thinking that with shoes so damaged it would have been a pain indeed.
I swiftly went up to the pastry counter. “You don't live in Paris, do you?” I asked her as I checked on the pastries in the fridge.
The girl shook her head. “Nope, haven't been able to afford a place in the city for a long time. Looking for one, though.”
That did not surprise me. Paris was a hell of an expensive city.
“There's an apartment in my neighborhood,” I said, “cheap and affordable, perhaps the only place that doesn't cost a kidney in Paris.”
“Is it?” she said surprised. “I might need to pay it a visit then.”
“The agent, Andrea Bisset, will show you around. The card is in one of those card holders on the stand over there.” I pointed at the tall white stand at a corner of the cafe.
“Thank you... you're a sweetheart!”
“No problem! Have you decided your pastry yet?”
“Anything chocolate would do. May I have five pieces?”
“We have only one in chocolate right now, the dark kind. Would it be all right with you?”
“Dark means bitter, yes?” she thought.
“Yes, but the taste is splendid. Only the top layers are dark chocolate. The rest is sweetened, catered to those who have a sweet tooth. The perfect blend of the two tastes... something to your liking perhaps?”
The girl’s head perked up in surprise. “How... how did... you?” she stuttered.
“Lucky guess!” I smiled.
No such thing as a lucky guess when it came to mind reading for me. I allowed myself from time to time the indulgence of getting into strangers’ minds, however, I always tried not to enter the most secret chambers of their thoughts.
“That’s one hell of a lucky guess then!” she muttered.
Great! I had her freak out. That was not my intention though. She looked so nice and I just wanted her to feel comfortable. I had to work more on my social skills, that was for sure.
Just then, a man in a casual suit entered the cafe. His brown eyes flashed with a fierce light as he came to stand in front of me.
“Detective Lucien Fournier!”
“Thor incarnate”. That was what I thought of him the first time we met. It did not take long to understand that despite his perfect looks, he had to work on his manners.
“Miss Alysson, may I speak to you for a moment? In private if you don't mind?”
“I will finish serving my customer here first.”
The detective nodded and I turned my attention toward the customer, handing her the chocolate pastries she ordered. The girl roved her eyes from the detective to me and back again, and then lest through the door in a hurry as though she did not want to be in the vicinity of a law enforcement official. I knew that if it were up to her, she would not have been anywhere near them either, especially the one standing in front of her and staring at her like she was some criminal. However, she had well-kept the reason in her mind.
After the girl left, I went to the door and changed the signboard from 'OPEN' to 'CLOSED' again.
“Yes, Detective?” I addressed him as I returned to the counter.
Detective Lucien straightened himself up as he was delivering some prepared speech.
“Arabella is dead.”
“What? No!”
I collapsed in the chair I was standing by, trying to control my breathing. Arabella was the waitress I had hired and then gone missing.
“Are you okay?” Detective Lucien asked. “Want me to fetch you a glass of water?”
“No, no,” I whispered. “I’ll be alright. Please tell me about Arabella, what happened to her?”
“She was found dead in a secluded alley, a few blocks away from here. Last time you saw Arabella, you told me it was some two weeks ago, yes?”
“A fortnight would be correct, yes!” I said mechanically.
“And you fought with her?”
“An argument, if you must label it.”
“May I ask what it was about?”
“I wasn't happy with the crowd she was hanging out with.”
“And what crowd would that be?”
“You aware of the Glashow Trial?”
“Yes, of course, but what does that have to do with this?” He frowned.
“Well, the people she used to hang out with come from the same tribe as the accused in the trial.”
“Hmmm... you mean to say they're related?”
“Not exactly, Detective, but the same ilk. They are not good people and Arabella was getting quite deep with them.”
“And how was that your concern, Miss Alysson?”
“Arabella wasn't just a waitress in my patisserie, Detective; she was also a friend. I'm sure she must have run around with those people because she was afraid of something, maybe of them...”
“So, her being with them was out of fear? Who does that, Miss Alysson?”
“You would be surprised, Detective... Anyway, I wasn't going to give my stamp of approval to that, and I made myself clear to her the very day I found out she was hanging out with them.”
Detective Lucien paused for a moment. “I find that hard to believe... the leader of that particular group, a Mr. Jason Van Damme, he is your ex, right?”
I chose not to respond, he knew already.
“Quiet, I see!” He smirked. “Well, in my eyes, this was personal. Perhaps you still like that Jason guy and you were irked at seeing Arabella with him. So, one day, you got angry and had a fight with her. She walked off, madly in love with Jason, and then you decided to take matters into your own hands. I asked Jason about this, and he kind of agreed with me. He told me that you confronted him too and asked him to stay away from Arabella.”
I clenched my fist at that. “Of course, he would say that! He's my ex, and our br
eak-up wasn't really amicable!”
Detective Lucien retained his calm. “He says you killed Arabella. That was his downright accusation. Was the break-up so hard that he would outright accuse you of murder, Miss Alysson?”
Truth be told, my breakup with Jason had been hard. I never forgave him for cheating on me, and I let him know how hard he had hurt my feelings.
“Oh, he could do that,” I lowered my eyes. “He's certainly very capable of it.”
Detective Lucien straightened up and slipped his hands in his pockets. “I might have believed it, but there's this evidence that suggests you had everything to do with it.”
Surprised I raised my brows. “Really? What might that be?” I asked in a sarcastic tone.
“An eye-witness tells me that he saw someone who looked like you killing Arabella and then made it look like those vampire kills from the movies. You do watch a lot of those flicks, don’t you?”
I burst out laughing. “And you think watching movies is grounds for murder?”
“No, but the eye-witness account is, Miss Allyson.” He frowned.
My jaw clenched. “That doesn't really prove much, Detective. Really. You have got no hard proof that I killed Arabella, which I tell you I didn't. She was my friend. I cared for her the best I could. We had arguments, yes. She had my disapproval regarding certain matters, yes. But I wouldn't go so far and let those negative emotions get the better of me and kill her outright.”
I heaved a sigh and then continued, relaxing a little. “But you seem to have made up your mind, Detective.”
Lucien stood up and corrected the creases on his suit. “I'll find the proof, Miss Alysson. I'll prove you killed Arabella.”
“I wish you good luck, Detective. Really, wish you good luck.”
He glared at me and then left just the way he came, leaving me frowning behind.
CHAPTER THREE
*
HOME, SWEET HOME.
I was back home after a hard day of work. I was feeling devastated. Arabella was dead, not just dead, but murdered, and Detective Lucien together with my ex accused me of killing her.
Death at Dawn and Macaron (Fangs and Psychics mysteries Book 2) Page 1
