by Harper Lin
“I almost backed out of this film when I heard that she was going to play my sister, but Elon convinced me to do it. If I backed out, I would be letting her win. I don’t care if I don’t have a starring role. I just want to work on sets with people I respect, you know? Chris is a great director, and I just want to keep working with talented people. That was one thing Nicole didn’t get. She was all about the fame and accolades.”
“That sounds like a nightmare,” Clémence said. “So Nicole didn’t date anyone else throughout this?”
Sarah couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the thought. “Oh, of course she did. But it was mainly for her own gain.”
“What do you mean?” Clémence asked. “As far as the public was concerned, she was single.”
Sarah looked her in the eye. “The movie was about two sisters with equal screen time when I signed on. A few weeks into it, her role was expanded into the starring role, and I was the supporting actress.” Sarah tilted her head to Chris Collins. “People might think it, but I’m not naive.”
Clémence gasped, looking at Chris as he enthusiastically told the crew what to do. “Nicole was having an affair with Chris?”
Chapter 16
“How do you know?” Clémence asked.
Sarah shrugged. “It’s a theory, but I worked with both of them, and I can smell an affair. I don’t know if Nicole loved him, but it sure benefited her to have him wrapped around her finger. He’s one of the most brilliant directors around, and he was surely going to cast her in other movies after we wrapped this one. I suppose she was angling to be his muse.”
“What about his wife?”
“I don’t know if she knows, but by the way she’s always hanging around on set, she smells something too. She must know her husband’s not the kind to remain faithful.”
Speaking of the devil, he was walking toward them now. The wide grin was still spread over his face, and he clapped to get their attention. “Girls, we’ve set up for the next shot. Sarah, I need you and Sophie on the street, walking out of the café and turning the corner.”
“It was nice chatting with you,” Sarah said to Clémence.
“You too.”
Sophie broke free from her conversation with the makeup artist and passed by Clémence before joining Sarah and Chris.
“How did it go?” she whispered to Clémence.
“You’d be relieved to know that Sarah didn’t do it. You’re right.”
“Any idea who did?”
“Maybe. The director’s calling you. I’ll bring you up to speed when you’re done shooting. I still need to do a little investigating to confirm my suspicions.”
“Okay,” Sophie said. “I’m so glad Sarah’s not the one.”
Since her services as an extra weren’t needed for this scene, Clémence called Inspector Cyril St. Clair.
“llo?” Inspector Cyril St. Clair barked into the phone.
“So, I’m close to catching Nicole Blake’s murderer,” she said casually. “You guys better get down here, but dressed like civilians. Track my whereabouts on my phone. By the time you get here, I’ll have the killer confirmed.”
Cyril begrudgingly grunted in agreement. She knew he was dying of curiosity as to who it was. So was she.
It was either the director or the director’s wife. Who had more of a motive?
She took a deep breath and walked out of the café.
Chris was busy blocking the actresses on the streets. Fans were still straining to watch the action from the other side of the gates, and some people were looking out the windows of their buildings down. Clémence spotted Cynthia Collins a few feet behind her husband. The way she was babysitting her husband was desperate and pathetic. She must’ve been a little crazy. Crazy enough to kill?
Clémence took a deep breath, summoning up the courage to go up to her. She didn’t like confrontation, but she had plenty of experience now, which had turned her from a lamb to a lioness. She marched right up to Cynthia.
“We need to talk in private,” Clémence said.
At first, Cynthia gave her the death stare, but upon seeing the determination on Clémence’s face, she relented.
“What’s this all about?”
“I think you know.”
Before she could protest, Clémence grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her away. She pulled her inside the café, which was now dim and empty since the cast and crew were all filming outside.
“You know your husband cheated on you, don’t you?” Clémence said to her in a loud whisper.
Cynthia’s eyes narrowed like those of evil villainesses in movies. “Who are you? And how dare you?”
“Come off it. Why are you following him around, monitoring his every move?”
“He’s my husband.” She sniffed. “What business is that of yours?”
“He cheated on you, and you’re afraid he’s going to cheat again.”
Cynthia snarled. Her fists tightened. Clémence braced for signs of violence. But to her surprise, Cynthia let out a sob.
“He said he wouldn’t do it again,” she whimpered. “With that horrible actress.”
There were tears forming in her eyes. This cold woman. She was as fragile as the ice over a lake. And she was beginning to crack.
“He was going to leave you,” Clémence prompted.
“I was pregnant with my first child, and I caught him in the trailer one day with her. I was so distraught I almost lost the child.” She was sobbing now. “And I’ve always been paranoid, which is why I come on set, to make sure that he doesn’t have chemistry with any of the women.”
“What did you do to Nicole Blake?” Clémence asked.
“Nicole Blake?” Her eyes widened. “I didn’t do anything to her.”
“Come off it. She was an affair with your husband.”
“What?”
“You knew that.”
“I didn’t!” Cynthia protested.
“Deep down, you knew that, didn’t you?”
“No!”
“She was pregnant with your husband’s baby.”
“Pregnant?”
“Are you playing dumb?” Clémence was losing her patience. “For a woman as paranoid and astute as you are, you’re telling me that you didn’t know?”
“No!”
Clémence kept at it. She kept barraging Cynthia with questions until the police came. Cynthia was in a fit of tears, but she answered each one.
Inspector Cyril St. Clair led the way to the back of the café. Three men dressed normally in dress shirts followed him.
“Well, Damour? Who are we arresting?”
Clémence turned to Cynthia, whose eyes widened in fear.
Chapter 17
“You’re arresting Chris Collins,” Clémence said. “He did it. He killed Nicole Blake.”
“Who?” Cyril asked.
“The director of this film,” Clémence said with exasperation. “He’s out there right now. This is his wife Cynthia. At first I thought it was her, but I just confirmed it was Chris. It was Chris all along. He had the stronger motive.”
“Why did he do it?” Cyril asked.
“Bring him here, and we’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“Are you sure you’ve got the right man?” Cyril asked. “Don’t want to look foolish now.”
“Oh, Cyril.” Clémence grinned. “Have I ever made you look foolish?”
He scowled.
“If I’m wrong, you don’t have to write that letter,” Clémence said.
“What letter?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
Cyril stared at her for a couple of seconds, but he relented. “Fine.” He waved to his men. “Come on.”
“Not that you were going to write it anyway,” Clémence muttered under her breath.
A minute later, they came back in with Chris.
“What’s this all about?” Chris asked.
Clémence crossed her arms. “Don’t play innocent, Chris. It’s
you.”
“Me?” His voice was calm, but his lips had a slight quiver.
“You’re the killer. You killed Nicole, then you killed Rachel.”
“Why would I kill my star and ruin my own film?”
“Why don’t you tell us?” Clémence tilted her head at him. “I’m all ears.”
“That’s crazy. I’ve got nothing to gain from it. Her death messed up the entire film’s schedule. We had to rewrite the script, and we’re over budget.”
“Tell us about the affair,” Clémence said.
Chris looked between Clémence and Cynthia. “What affair?”
“Your affair with Nicole Blake.”
“There was no affair,” he said. “Cynthia. Tell them.”
Tears streamed down Cynthia’s face, but she only turned away.
“Cynthia, honey—”
“She’s said all she had to say to me,” Clémence said. “Now it’s your turn to do the talking. Nicole had a red leather agenda, where she’d written in her meetings. They were coded, but I’ve managed to decipher the codes. Honcho. That’s who she was meeting the night before her body was found. Your wife tells me that it’s your little nickname. What you like to be called in bed. Head honcho.”
“Cynthia!” he protested, but his wife still wouldn’t look at him.
“Nicole showed up for your meeting. You met at the riverbank of the Seine for a little evening stroll, and perhaps a little nightcap in the boat you rented for your stay here in Paris. Your wife told me about that. You take your family around in the Seine during the day, then your mistress for a roll during the night. You were careful, only going out one morning and one evening each week, whenever your schedule permitted it. After you cheat on your wife once, you can’t have a second strike against you, can you? If you got caught again, Cynthia was going to divorce you, and you would lose everything.”
“It’s true that I cheated on my wife once,” Chris said. “But that was a long time ago. I didn’t have an affair with Nicole Blake.”
Clémence rolled her eyes. “A cheater and a liar. She told you she was pregnant, didn’t she? Wanted you to leave your wife. Nicole loved seeing people squirm, backing people into corners. And you squirmed, alright. A child would ruin you. Not just your family, but your career. You work for Harper Studios. If you lost your wife, you’d lose all the things you’ve worked hard for: your reputation, your burgeoning career, and the luxurious lifestyle that your wife’s family’s money and connections have provided you.
“After all those years of making crappy commercials, you’re just starting to gain momentum with your features. It was only supposed to be fun, wasn’t it, your time with Nicole and God knows who else? You never expected the baby, and you never expected Nicole to rub it in your face, twist your arm so backwards. You knew she checkmated you, so you got angry. She wasn’t the director, you were. How dare she pull your strings? So you smacked her unconscious then ducked her head into the Seine, made sure she was dead, and threw her body into the river.”
Chris remained silent. Clémence could see Sophie and Sarah poking their heads into the café, trying to figure out what was keeping Chris.
“And Rachel,” Clémence continued. “You were in her room, trying to find Nicole’s agenda. You’d taken Nicole’s purse and destroyed her phone, but you knew about the agenda, and it wasn’t in there. So you went into her hotel room and found nothing. The next thing to do was to go into Rachel’s room. She was supposed to be out, running an errand for Sarah, but she must’ve gone back for something she’d forgotten. She surprised you, so you choked her and tried to make it look like she hung herself. Messy business, but why not kill her? You’ve already killed one person.”
“There’s no proof of any of this,” Chris said.
“Oh, there will be,” Clémence said. “Surely you’ve left DNA in that room. The police found it. Why would you be in Rachel’s room otherwise? Little did you know who really had the agenda: me.”
Chris let out a loud laugh. “Clémence. When you came into my hotel suite, I thought you were the cutest thing. Poking around, claiming there was a murderer on set. But enough games. This is all ridiculous!”
“Your wife is going to testify,” Clémence said. “She confirmed that you made an excuse to go out on the evening of Nicole’s death. Your alibi that you were going to a restaurant for a late meeting with a producer doesn’t check out.”
“Cynthia, please!” Chris begged. “Tell them it’s not true.”
Cynthia slowly turned to face him. Her green eyes shone as she met his. “It is true. I know it is. I knew I couldn’t trust you again. I knew you never loved me, and deep down, I know you’re ambitious and ruthless enough to do this.”
Chris laughed again, a crazy Joker laugh. “I know you were angry about that time, but to be so vengeful you accuse your husband of murder!”
“I’ve heard enough,” Cyril said. “Arrest him. You better get yourself a good lawyer to get out of this one, Monsieur Collins.”
Chapter 18
Clémence had rounded up her best girlfriends for a girl’s night out. Berenice, Celine, and Sophie all showed up at Le Schmuck, a gorgeous Baroque-inspired restaurant in the 6th arrondissement. After another crazy week, Clémence needed some downtime with her friends.
Madeleine was the last girl to arrive at the table. She was grinning, holding up her left hand, and trying hard not to squeal too loudly in the restaurant. She’d been waiting for her boyfriend Henri to pop the question for some time now, and he finally did the night before.
“It’s been so hard keeping it a secret,” Madeleine said, “but I wanted to tell you girls all at once. Only Sophie knows, of course.”
She held out her left hand, and the girls all leaned in to admire the ring. The diamond was pink, surrounded by smaller white diamonds.
“It’s beautiful!” Celine exclaimed.
“Congratulations,” said Berenice. “When’s the wedding?”
“Oh, I’m still in shock,” Madeleine said. “We haven’t talked about dates yet. I don’t think it’s hit me yet that I’m engaged.”
“When she comes back down to earth, I’m sure my sister will transform into a giant bridezilla,” Sophie joked.
“I wouldn’t put it past me,” Madeleine said. “But it’ll be at least a year to plan, so be prepared.”
“Let me see that ring again,” Clémence said.
“Here.” Madeleine took off the ring and passed it to her so she could have a closer look under the dim restaurant lighting.
“Remember when we were at the Royal Jewels exhibit at the Grand Palais and you said you wanted a pink diamond just like this one?” Clémence said.
“Well, I wasn’t exactly subtle with Henri.”
“I’m sure you weren’t.” Clémence laughed.
“What are we drinking tonight, girls?” Madeleine asked. “Aren’t we supposed to be eating dinner?”
Clémence poured her a glass of rosé from the bottle they’d already opened.
“We couldn’t wait,” Berenice said. “So it’s drinks first, dinner, then dessert, then back to drinking.”
“Sounds like my kind of night,” Madeleine said.
Sophie suddenly shuddered. “I can’t believe I’ve been alone in a room with that man.”
“Who?” Celine asked.
“Chris Collins. The murderer. He was a better actor than any of us. It took Clémence to expose his lies.”
“I wonder how many years he’ll get,” Berenice wondered.
“A lifetime, I’ll bet,” Madeleine said.
“And I can’t believe Zach Brant is gay,” Celine said. “When his rep made the statement, I wanted to cry. But I guess I wasn’t completely surprised.” She sighed. “I don’t know why I always chase after the wrong guys.”
“Maybe you need to stop doing the chasing,” Clémence said. “Let the guys come to you.”
“I agree,” Sophie said. “When you make them work for it, they make more
of an effort.”
“It’s probably true,” Celine said. “But that’s a lesson I missed as a girl. My mom was the biggest flirt. And she’s been divorced twice. She’s onto husband number three now, and it’s not exactly smooth sailing. I don’t want to end up the same way.”
“Then just try it,” Sophie said. “Resist flirting for a while and see who’s really interested in you.”
Celine thought about it and nodded defiantly. “You’re right. I’m ready for a real relationship. I don’t think I’ve ever even dated a guy for more than three months. I’m going to cool off a bit. Stop dating. Just hang out with you guys, enjoy my girl time and my alone time.”
Berenice smiled at her in approval. “That’s the spirit.”
“Love comes when you’re least looking for it,” Sophie said.
“And so do psychotic kidnappers,” Madeleine joked.
“And murderers,” Sophie added. “Hey, Clémence, did Marcus ask you to walk in his show?”
“He did,” Clémence replied. “But I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’d be terrible. I can’t even walk properly in heels in day-to-day life. I’m sure I’ll fall flat on my face. Besides, I had a taste of the spotlight, and I hated it. I don’t know how you girls put up with a dozen men chasing after you.”
“It’s annoying,” Sophie said.
“Sure it is.” Madeleine rolled her eyes. “You love the attention.”
“So do you,” Sophie retorted. “You’ll be at the show at least, right, Clémence?”
“I will. Even better, Marcus has asked us to make cakes to feature in his show, since his collection is inspired by French desserts. Sebastien and I went into his office yesterday to look at his latest collection, and we’ve sketched up some cake ideas that would go with his clothes.”
“It’s going to go down the runway?” Madeleine asked.
“Yup.”
“Who’s going to hold the cakes?” Sophie asked.
