They had no idea how much I cared for Arabella. She had not just been my waitress, but she was also my closest friend, one of the few I ever had here in Paris.
I sank on my sofa, emotionally hurt and physically exhausted from a busy day at the patisserie. After the detective left, customers made me busy serving them.
As the charming hostess and shopkeeper that I was, I served them with much gusto. I did not want to keep my mojo blocked while at work because of the detective's accusation. I had to be professional. I had also listened to some murky thoughts of my customers, but I had kept it to myself. After a time, I managed to block them.
All of it had taken strength from me. I deserved to be resting and did not have the strength to do anything more that evening. It was already late and nearing night-time.
My eyes roved about the living room of my house. It was a broad rectangle with a sofa set, two chairs, two doorways, one giving rise to a spiral stairway that led to the storey above and the other into the dining chamber and the kitchen beyond it. The walls of the house were a half-bright half-dark kind of blue, the ceiling a lighter shade of pink. Showcases dotted the walls at random places, the items placed in wooden rectangular box-shaped containers drilled into the walls. There was an ebony table with a bouquet of fresh flowers placed atop it. I used to replace the flowers every day. There was an antique lamp beside it. It was usually off, more like a showcase item than an actual utility. Although when on, it gave a bright light.
I was feeling drowsy, wanting to head to bed and sleep, but I had dinner to prepare. I needed to have some food. I was so hungry. However, I did not want to order in. “I’ d rather prepare some food,” I told myself.
I was almost on my way to the kitchen when the doorbell rang loud and shrill. I had a bad feeling as I headed to the door. I looked through the narrow round peephole; a man was standing on the other side. He looked handsome and tall.
“Who is he? What is he doing here?”
Preparing myself, I opened the door, only partially with a golden linked chain tying the door to the nearby wall so it would not open fully. I could now see the man more clearly. I could also feel the cold around. Vampire, definitely!
“What’s a vamp doing here?”
“Bonsoir!” He smiled.
“Alexandre! What are you doing here?” My heart fluttered while my brows creased in response.
Alexandre laughed. “The question should be the other way round. How can I help you?”
My frowns deepened. I was in full sarcastic mood. “Are you here for a waitressing job? With a waitress short, I could use one, I suppose.”
Alexandre was still smiling. “Oh, but I can help you!”
“I still don’t understand.”
“I can help you find who killed Arabella.”
That made my attention perked up.
Alexandre took a step closer to me and said calmly. “I am still a PI, remember?”
“Didn’t you get a better job to do?” He was the last person I wanted to see right now, and I did not have time for his jokes.
Alexandre pretended to be hurt. “You know I’m good at it. Now, I can help you find Arabella’s killer.”
“But you only investigate crimes by supernatural creatures. What did Arabella have to do with any of them?”
“I have a hunch that Arabella’s murder was not a common crime. I want to find out the truth. And I can prove you aren’t the killer.”
“How do you know that I feature prominently on the suspects’ list?”
“I might have overheard the detective in your patisserie.”
My jaw dropped to the floor. “Are you stalking me? You better go now, or I’ll call the cops on you.”
I tried to close the door, but he put his hand and pushed it hard.
“Wait! Wait! I am not stalking you! I just came to your shop to ask you a few questions about Arabella and I happened to see you talking with him.”
“Okay,” I said reluctantly. “What is it you want from me?”
“The same you want from me. You can help me find Arabella’s killer and I can help you clear your name of her murder.”
“I was under the impression that you’re here to help me,” I grunted.
“That I am.” He smiled triumphantly.
“But what you’re suggesting right now is that we help each other.”
“That’s right.”
“Let me ask you one question. As the psychic that I am, why shouldn’t I find the killer myself? Surely, I don’t need you!”
“Do you really want to get into this? You know that you would have to deal with Detective Lucien, and I know you aren’t thrilled when the man is around.”
Alexandre moved closer to me and removed a curl off my face. “There’ll be restrictions... limitations... then you will need me. I’m a problem-solver. Just reading thoughts won’t be enough, right?” he said in a suggestive tone.
The man had a point. Even I knew my limitations. And, if Arabella was killed by a vampire, reading thoughts would be challenging and draining.
“Damn,” I cursed, mumbling under my breath. “Why did Arabella have to go get mixed up with the vampires? She should have stuck with her kind and not give in to the temptation the bloodsuckers provide.”
“Was Arabella a psychic, too?” Alexandre asked.
“Yes, that’s the reason I had hired her.”
If only I had paid attention to Arabella then perhaps she could have solved her problems. But now she was gone and remembering her only brought tears to my eyes. Yet, I restrained them now, unwilling to show him how emotional I could become. I wanted to appear strong to him, and thus, I did not cry.
I removed the chain from the door and hurled it wide open.
Alexandre smiled. “Does this mean I’m hired?”
“No, Mr. PI,” I scoffed. “And don’t think I have invited you inside either.”
Alexandre laughed. “So, you accept my offer then?”
I sighed, loudly. And then, I looked at him, sizing him up, and curled my lips in his likeness. “No... definitely not...”
I retreated a few steps and closed the door shut.
Alexandre shouted from outside the door. “I thought that we had made progress... anyway, call me if you need me... and trust me, you’ll need me.”
And then silence.
CHAPTER FOUR
*
I WAS BECOMING FRUSTRATED. Between Detective Lucien and Alexandre, the vampire PI, I had no space to breathe.
Detective Lucien paid me another visit the three days after his first accusing me of killing Arabella. The second time was to ask me a few more questions about Arabella and her relationship with the vampires involved in the Glashow Trials.
I denied knowing of any such relationship, confining Arabella to the relationship she had with Jason alone. To be honest, I had no knowledge of how deep Arabella’s affiliation with the vampire crew went.
And then there was Alexandre, whom I saw almost every day. He was persistent, I would give him that. I admired that quality of him, but everything else, especially his smug attitude, annoyed me. Yet, despite all that, I could not help but keep watching at his lithe figure and confident composure. He seemed determined to want my help. I almost wanted to take him up on his offer. Yet, I could not forgive him for his attitude toward me. Not just yet.
I heaved a deep sigh and made my decision.
“I’ll take you up on your offer, Mr. PI. But not because I think you’re brilliant or something.”
“That’ll do,” Alexandre said laughing.
“I haven’t forgiven you yet. You need to understand that.” My tone was that of a warning.
Alexandre’s shoulders move in a mock slump. His lips took a pouting posture.
“Awww, I thought we were making progress.”
“Professionalism is something you might never understand, Mr. PI.”
“Oh, I can be professional, Miss Alysson,” he said imitating Detective Lucien’s accent
when he addressed me.
“You’re jealous of how polite Detective Lucien is.”
“I’m not jealous of anything Lucien is or has. Jealousy requires energy. I prefer to conserve energy rather than expend it unnecessarily.”
That was not going anywhere. It was time to change the subject, so I asked, “Where do you think we should start?”
Alexandre lit up at the prospect of beginning the investigation. He pointed to the small table at the far end of the patisserie. I shook my head, indicating a firm no from my side. I was not going into secluded corners with him. I did not trust him. Neither did I trust myself with him.
He grunted, almost disappointed at my rejection of his suggestion, and then perked up again.
“Maybe we should meet after you’re done with the day.”
“Fine!” I said.
Alexandre nodded and left in a whiff.
An old lady having her tea in the back of the patisserie giggled. “The guy is too attractive for you to just let go of him doing nothing.”
“Madame Toussaint, what did you say?” I asked irritated.
“My dear, I’m stating the obvious.” The woman with curly white hair and her worn-out classic white-black Chanel tailleur smiled politely. “That man is as delicious as your macarons.”
Mrs. Toussaint was a good customer; she was polite and well mannered, and she never complained, even when her tea was served lukewarm instead of hot as she liked it. But she had an opinion on everything.
“He did not want to intrude upon my work. That got me impressed, I have to admit.”
Mrs. Toussaint lifted her cup and inhaled the red berries and Tibetan flowers aromas that were blended with the sweet smell of cream and sugar.
“What about the other guy? That Detective who has become a regular lately?”
An elderly female voice came from the back. “He’s a trou du cul!”
That was Mrs. Guillaume yelling from her table. I looked at her dumbfounded. “What did you say?”
“That detective... he’s a trou du cul,” Mrs. Guillaume insisted.
“Claudette, watch your language!” Mrs. Toussaint scolded her.
That did not stop Mrs. Guillame “That jerk of a detective would have spoken to her even in the middle of her work. Trou du cul!”
I smiled. “I’m afraid your friend is right, Mrs. Toussaint. Detective Lucien isn’t that discreet. I’ll have to give Alexandre my two points for being tactful. Ladies, I just got a tray of macarons out of the oven. Please let me treat you!”
THE STREETS WERE QUIET for that time of the night, a honking here and there, and only a few pedestrians walking fast to get back home. Some cars zoom on the road in front of me, but less traffic compared to the day.
I rushed into Boulevard Saint-Germain. I walked fast, as fast as I could, wrapped in my fluffy pink faux fur jacket. My feet felt comfortable in my favorite black sneakers that I used to wear during my long walks in the breathtakingly beautiful capital city of France.
I crossed Boulevard Saint-Michel and, after I passed by the Italian restaurant where I used to have lunch every Sunday, I turned right into Boulevard Saint-Germain.
A couple of dogs barked in the park while birds tweeted in the night and crickets chirped in the grass.
Alexandre was there, standing, leaning against an old red jalopy. I could not believe that jalopies existed in this century, especially one as unique as this. I stepped in front of him and stayed quiet, examining the jalopy for a while.
“Are you a car fan?” Alexandre asked motioning to the car.
“Not really, no! But jalopies are a wonder. I haven’t seen one in real life, but have read about them and seen pics. Remember Old Betsy?”
“The riffle?” Alexandre asked confused.
I giggled. “Oh, no, not Davy Crockett’s Old Betsy! The red one in the comics. Archie’s Old Betsy!”
“I don’t read comics.”
“Oh well... sigh... well... now that we have established the fact, what do we do now? What does your PI experience tell you?”
Alexandre did not seem happy being mocked. “Really?”
“Yeah, what’s next? The case of the missing cat? Or finding a witch’s broomstick?”
For a moment I thought Alexandre was going to bare his fangs, the sharp teeth vampires so famously possessed and used to prey on their human victims. But he did not. He was so much in control.
Jason was never in control. I remembered him getting angry and sinking his fangs into my skin, drawing my blood. I feared I would die at his hands, and that was the reason I broke up with him. But... Alexandre... he seemed to be a different kind of guy. If it were Jason right now, I would have been done for.
“We must retrace Arabella’s last steps,” Alexandre finally said.
“Sure... if we even know what they were.”
“Vampires would be a good source of information.”
I knew where this was going. “Hey, hey, hey,” I put my hands up. “If you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, put that notion off. I’m not going anywhere near my ex and his motley crowd of cretins. Sorry, not sorry. But you may try your luck.”
“You have a personal connection with him. He’s more likely to tell you about Arabella than he would tell me, don’t you think? I’m a complete stranger to him.”
“He’s not going to tell me nothing. He practically accused me of killing Arabella out of jealousy.”
Alexandre cocked up an eyebrow. “Did you?”
“Are you really an investigator? You should already have known that I did not kill Arabella.”
Alexandre laughed. “If you didn’t kill her and she was really your friend, don’t you want her to have justice?”
“I do.” I admitted nodding thoughtfully.
“We need information. We need to know why she was killed. We need to know why she hung around that crew you so hated. And, if she considered you her friend, why then did she not heed your warnings and instead chose to argue with her over this? So many questions... Don’t you want to find the answers to them?”
“I do.”
“Then, woman up, and go ask your ex about Arabella. You do need that closure.”
“Merde!” I cursed in French.
“Language!” Alexandre smiled.
Making a face at him, I moved away, heading to the corner of the street, which marked the beginning of the territory held by Jason’s crew. I had never liked the fact that my patisserie was so near his territory. I did not like seeing Jason’s face again. Now that I had to go meet him, I felt awkward and also angry. He had dared accuse me of killing Arabella.
I turned around only to see Alexandre watching my back, standing rooted to his spot. “Coward,” I thought. “Are you not coming?” I shouted.
“Not at all, Miss Alysson,” He said my name faking Lucien’s French accent. “Jason won’t give us anything if I am there. Best if you go on ahead and wrench the information out of him.” He made a go-away gesture with his hands and fingers.
I grunted. “Definitely a coward,” I muttered to myself as I walked away. “Also, he gives pathetic excuses.”
Nevertheless, I walked on, hoping to find Jason and that he would give me some credible information on Arabella’s murder. Although, I did not doubt that this quest was futile.
CHAPTER FIVE
*
JASON’S DEN WAS MORE of an elegant house on the side of the road, which I used to visit sometimes when I was dating Jason. His house was a two-story building with a large living room, walls decorated with a lot of photographs and paintings. Leather couches and sofa sets dotted the entire living room, all aesthetically decorated, covered in crimson red sheets. Scarlet rugs were arranged in a meaningful pattern on the floor, covering the sitting area. Usually, this place was frequented by a lot of vampires. Today, there were only one or two. They both looked on, rather hungrily, at me as I entered through the single point of entry – a thick, heavy door facing southward.
I
gnoring the vampires, I moved on, knowing exactly where I would find Jason, comfortably sitting on a throne-like chair on the far side of the L-shaped living room.
The vampires must had already indicated to him that I had come, so there was no way he could not have know I had come.
After I turned the corner, I saw him squatting on the chair like usual, fancying being a king. He smiled at me, rather wickedly and tauntingly, his long black hair creating a matching contrast with his scarlet red eyes and sharp white fangs protruding the sides of his mouth.
Instantly Jason retracted the fangs inside his mouth and stood up.
“Alysson... long time no see!”
I raised my hand and stopped him.
Jason pouting: “What, no hugs???”
I curled my lips. “Not really... not since you said that obnoxious detective that I could kill Arabella.”
Jason smiled. “Why are you mad about that? It’s the truth, isn’t it? Didn’t you tell poor Arabella that she should not hang out with the likes of us? Didn’t you even fight with her over it when you found out?”
“I did, but that’s not a reason to kill somebody.”
“In your case, it might be... might be...” Jason started walking around me. “We all know how angry you can get... that infamous temper you had... oh my, my...”
“You have a temper, Jason, not me! Did you forget the reason we broke up?”
Jason said straight-faced, “I haven’t forgotten... yet I’ve allowed you to strut in here where you’re not wanted, haven’t I? I’m the bigger person here and I won’t be spoken to like you’re doing right now.”
I wondered at the change of tone and style in how Jason addressed me. Clearly, I had hit a nerve! He really did see himself as a king.
“Respect’s given to those who deserve it, Jason. And after your antics with the Detective, giving respect to you is under consideration.”
“I didn’t need to tell the Detective anything. Just a nudge. Besides, you were jealous of Arabella. Why else would you argue with her on her being with me?”
“Because I cared for her? Because I didn’t want her to get hurt? Did those thoughts ever come to your head?”
Death at Dawn and Macaron (Fangs and Psychics mysteries Book 2) Page 2
