Finger Foods and Missing Legs

by Amber Crewes

  Meghan’s eyes widened, but she obediently rose from her chair.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Monica purred in a thick French accent. “This convention is a space for new things, disagreement, and learning. Let’s all give a round of applause for Meghan Truman, the American girl who taught Andrew Meekse something new today!”

  The crowd laughed and applauded good-naturedly, and even Andrew Meekse smiled at Meghan. Monica had charmed the audience, and Meghan was thankful for her intervention.

  After the panel ended, Molly squeezed Meghan’s arm. “That could have gone badly.”

  Meghan closed her eyes. “I know! I just need to keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to get into any trouble while I’m here in Paris, and one close call was enough.”

  3

  “MONICA BAPTISE MAY KNOW THE FRENCH way of doing things, but I can assure you, my technique for flavor enhancement is one of the most revered in the industry right now, Miss Truman!”

  Meghan bit her bottom lip as Andrew Meekse rambled. Andrew had approached her in the dining room of the hotel nearly an hour ago, and after Meghan had politely waved, he sat down beside her and started discussing the events of the previous evening. Still fighting a crippling case of jet-lag, Meghan struggled to maintain her usual kind spirits; Andrew had been talking for the majority of the conversation, and Meghan was growing weary of his condescending tone.

  “And just between the two of us, Miss Truman, Monica Baptiste is just a wealthy woman who needed a hobby. She isn’t a real baker; she needed something to pass the time while she waits for her inheritance.”

  Meghan’s dark eyes widened, and she nervously twirled a strand of her dark, wavy hair in her fingers. “I think I left my purse up in my room,” Meghan said quietly as she eyed the doorway, hoping to end the conversation with Andrew sooner than later. “I must fetch it before I leave for the convention. If you’ll pardon me….”

  Andrew gave Meghan a wolfish grin, his hazel eyes dancing as he watched Meghan rise from the table. “I’m glad we see eye-to-eye now,” he haughtily declared. “Your little interuption last night was unexpected, but I’m so pleased I could teach you something today!”

  Meghan raised an eyebrow. She did not feel as though she and Andrew saw eye-to-eye; he had been arrogant and rude during their conversation, and she did not appreciate the way he was discussing Monica Baptiste. Meghan forced herself to smile, and she quickly walked out of the dining room.

  “That’s enough Andrew Meekse to last a lifetime,” Meghan muttered to herself as she impatiently waited for the elevator. “I thought he was too much at the panel last night, but being cornered today in the dining room was more than I needed, especially being so exhausted from my jet-lag. It looks like I’ll need more coffee to wake myself up from that dreadful little chat...and perhaps a fresh croissant as well!”

  A few hours later, Meghan walked into the Palais Brongniart for the second day of the convention. She breathed in the smell of French pastries, licking her lips as she imagined all of the new, exotic foods she would have an opportunity to taste during her stay in Paris.

  “Perhaps I can do some French treats at Truly Sweet when I return,” Meghan thought to herself as she eyed a little cart brimming with desserts. “I’m sure the people in Sandy Bay would love it if I explored French baking….”

  “Attention, mesdames et messieurs,” called out a thick, French-accented man on the loudspeaker. “Ladies and gentlemen, we would like to announce our two morning seminar presentations! In the Blue Room, we have a presentation on finger foods and French delicacies! Come sample new local recipes and see what beautiful Paris has to offer!”

  “Yes!” Meghan exclaimed, eager to explore some local foods. “That’s perfect for me.”

  “Or, mesdames et messieurs,” the speaker continued. “Would you like to learn more about the French way of impressing your guests? Have a special someone to cook for?”

  “I do,” Meghan thought as she pictured Jack’s handsome face. “I do have someone special to cook for….”

  “We are très content to announce our second morning seminar. In the Green Room, located just across the hall from the Blue Room, our panel of experts will be discussing French apéritifs--appetizers--to woo and win your friends and guests. Join Andrew Meekse, Monica Baptiste, and our other esteemed guests and panelists for this discussion!”

  Meghan crossed her arms in front of her chest. She wanted to learn more about French appetizers, but she did not look forward to crossing paths with Andrew Meekse again. Still, she thought of Monica Baptiste’s warm smile and support from the night before, and she set off in the direction of the Green Room.

  “Meghan,” Molly cried out as she entered the room. “I’m so glad you chose this seminar. Sit with me, Sugar.”

  Meghan smiled, happy to see a familiar face. “Did you sleep well?”

  Molly nodded. “I slept like a dead woman, Meghan. That jet-lag really took it out of this old lady.”

  Meghan beamed. “I hear you,” she said, lowering her voice as the panelists entered the room and took their seats. “I was dead tired after our day yesterday, and Andrew Meekse didn’t help anything.”

  Molly gestured at the front table where the panelists were seated. “His chair is empty,” Molly hissed. “Maybe you lucked out and he won’t be here?”

  Meghan shrugged. “It’s fine either way,” she replied. “He talked to me for nearly an hour this morning at breakfast, and he thinks that he’s won me over.”

  One of the panelists rose from his chair. “Excusez-moi,” he said, glancing around the room. “It is time to begin, but we appear to be missing two of our panelists. Andrew Meekse? Are you here? And Monica Baptise? Monica? Are you here?”

  Meghan looked around the crowded room. “Maybe he cornered her like he caught me this morning,” she whispered to Molly. “He creeps me out, that is for sure.”

  As soon as Meghan finished speaking, Andrew entered the room and strutted to his seat. He waved to the audience, making eye contact with Meghan and giving her a wink. “Ugh,” Meghan groaned. “He’s here.”

  “I hope Monica Baptiste is on her way,” Molly said under her breath. “I liked her spunk last night, and her accent is just divine.”

  “Excusez-moi,” the male panelist repeated. “It appears we are only missing one panelist, now. To keep us on schedule, we shall begin the panel discussion. Assistants? Assistants, please bring out the trays of apéritifs! ”

  The crowd gasped as ten uniformed assistants appeared with trays of appetizers. “Those look amazing,” Molly giggled as a handsome assistant passed her. “The food looks nice, too.”

  Meghan giggled as Molly winked at her. “With all of the French appetizers we could ever imagine, this should be a fun morning, even if Andrew Meekse is here.”

  Suddenly, the sound of static filled the room. “Excuse l'interruption--excuse the interruption,” called out a frantic-sounded man’s voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are going to ask that all demonstrations and seminars end immediately. There has been an emergency.”

  Molly looked nervously at Meghan. “What do you think is going on?”

  Meghan shook her head. “I don’t know...it is a food and baking convention. Perhaps there was a fire?”

  Before Molly could respond, a woman burst through the door of the Green Room. “Stop the seminar,” she gasped. “Monica Baptise has been found dead!”

  4

  SCREAMS FILLED THE GREEN ROOM as the woman who had announced Monica’s death ran back outside. “She’s….she’s….” Molly sputtered as she blinked her eyes. “She’s dead?”

  Meghan gasped as Molly fainted, and she struggled to hold her new friend up as Molly slumped in her chair. “Molly,” Meghan said softly as she patted Molly on the cheeks. “Molly, wake up. Wake up, Molly.”

  Molly leaned over, and Meghan helped guide her down to the tiled floor. “Easy, Molly,” she whispered as she placed a hand on Molly’s pale forehead. “You have to w
ake up. It’s an emergency, Molly, and I don’t know if we’ll have to evacuate….” she muttered.

  “Stay calm, everyone,” Meghan heard Andrew Meekse call out as the crowd shrieked. “Just stay calm, people. There’s no need to get upset.”

  Meghan raised an eyebrow, but she did not look away from Molly. “Okay, Molly,” she said gently. “I hope you can forgive me for this, but you have to wake up!”

  Meghan reared back her left hand and slapped Molly’s face. Molly began to cough, regaining consciousness instantly. “Meghan? What happened? Why am I on the floor?”

  Meghan reached for Molly’s hand and squeezed it. “Monica Baptise was found dead,” she informed Molly. “They just announced it, and you passed out.”

  Molly raised herself onto her elbows and looked around the room as the crowd dispersed. “Should we go?”

  Meghan shook her head. “I think the best thing to do is stay calm and stay put,” she assured Molly.

  “That is correct,” a French-accent affirmed. Meghan looked over her right shoulder to see a middle-aged man peering at her from behind a pair of stylish glasses. “I am Detective Thierry Giroud, and you, mademoiselle, did a wonderful job of resuscitating your friend.”

  Meghan rose from where she had been crouched beside Molly on the floor. “Thank you,” she responded. “Detective Giroud, what is going on?”

  The detective shook his head. “Forgive my English--I have not spoken it for years, but I heard you talking with your friend after she fainted, and I thought I must stop by to commend you. It appears there has been a murder at the convention,” he said slowly. “This convention is---how do you say it? Oh, oui. This convention is cursed.”

  Molly’s blue eyes widened. “What do you mean, Detective Giroud?”

  Detective Giroud narrowed his eyes at the two American women and stroked his thick, brown beard. “This isn’t the first time someone has died at the convention,” he informed Meghan and Molly. “Seven years ago, there was another unexpected death. We never caught the killer and my sincere hope is that that won’t happen with this case. I shudder to think that whoever was behind that tragedy seven years ago is also behind the death of Madame Baptiste could be connected to the death from years ago. This is a disaster.”

  Meghan’s jaw dropped. “What happened to Monica, Detective?”

  The detective shook his head. “The investigation has just begun, but I will warn you, mademoiselle, it is best if you and your friend get out of here immediately. People are panicking, and with a murderer on the loose….well…. I don’t want to see anything happen to two such lovely ladies….”

  Meghan nodded, and she helped Molly to her feet. “Thank you, Detective Giroud,” Meghan said. “We’ll go straight back to the hotel.”

  As Meghan led Molly away from the Green Room, she noticed the trays of appetizers and desserts scattered on the floor. She felt a squishing sensation under her foot, and she realized she had squashed an éclair with her high heel. The inside of the pastry leaked out, leaving a trail of white cream behind Meghan. One of the things Meghan hated was seeing food going to waste and all over the convention center, she could see evidence of her major pet peeve. She didn’t envy the team that would be tasked with cleaning up.

  “Monica Baptiste has been killed,” Meghan thought to herself as she grimaced at the chaos growing inside of the convention. “And Molly fainted. I hoped for a fun trip, and now, things have gone awry. I sure hope there’s no more trouble in Paris…..”

  “You there!”

  Meghan turned to see a French police officer storming toward her. “You! I heard you speaking English. Come with me, please!”

  Meghan’s face grew hot as she followed the French police officer into a small, windowless room. “Who are you and where are you from?”

  Meghan shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I’m Meghan Truman,” she explained. “I’m here for the convention.”

  The police officer raised an eyebrow. “Do you have your passport with you, mademoiselle? I need to see your documentation immediately.”

  Meghan bit her lip. “I don’t,” she admitted. “I didn’t know I would need it.”

  The police officer rolled his eyes. “You are what, American?”

  Meghan nodded. “Yes, I am from Sandy Bay, a small town in America.”

  “You Americans never have what you need,” he muttered underneath his breath. “Stupid Americans! You come to our city, you litter our streets, and you kill our citizens.”

  “What?” Meghan asked, horrified at what she had heard. “What are you talking about?”

  Meghan rose to leave the small room, but the police officer gestured at her seat and then at the door. “The door is locked, mademoiselle,” he informed Meghan. “You are considered a threat to national security, and you will be held here until we can transport you downtown. I suggest you take your seat and finish answering my questions.”

  She began to wail. “What are you talking about? A threat to national security? I am from a small town and am here for the convention! I’m just plain, quiet Meghan Truman! Sir, help me understand what is going on?”

  Her blood was boiling at the disrespectful attitude and harshness the police officer was showing towards her. She wished that she was back home in Sandy Bay where she could reason with an officer of the law. What this man was proposing was preposterous! How could she automatically be considered a threat to national security simply because of where she came from? The awkwardness of the whole situation made her pause to wonder if some foreigners ever felt this way when they came to her country.

  The officer gave Meghan a look of disgust. “As a foreign national currently lacking your passport and documentation, you are considered a suspect in the murder of Monica Baptiste,” he explained to Meghan as her jaw dropped. “You are hereby under arrest for the murder of Monica Baptiste, and you will be held by the French authorities until we declare your innocence, Meghan Truman of Sandy Bay, America!”

  5

  “IT WAS HORRIBLE,” Meghan lamented over the phone to Trudy as she soaked in her claw-foot bathtub back at the hotel. “They held me for hours in the little room. I didn’t know that I should have taken my passport to the convention. They let Molly go immediately because she just happened to have hers.”

  “That’s terrible,” Trudy said. “I can’t believe they would lock you up just because you are a foreigner! It seems wrong.”

  “I know,” Meghan agreed. “It made me think about how foreigners must feel when they visit America. It’s already scary to be abroad and away from everything you know, but when you are targeted just because of your nationality...it was something I will never forget.”

  “Well, I’m glad that detective came to your rescue!” Trudy exclaimed. “You said he showed up right before they carted you off to jail? That’s such good timing.”

  “It was,” Meghan agreed, remembering her relief when Detective Giroud had shown up to demand her release from the windowless room. “He told the officer that I had nothing to do with Monica’s death, and I’m so thankful I had someone from Paris to stand up for me.”

  “I just hope your trip goes better from now on,” Trudy clucked sympathetically. “You’ve had quite a time already, Meghan….”

  Later that day, Molly and Meghan ventured out of the hotel to do some sight-seeing at some of Paris’ most treasured locations. The convention had been shut down in order to aid the investigation, and despite the stresses of the morning with the police and tragedy of Monica Baptiste’s unexpected death, Meghan could not help but to notice the magnificent beauty of Paris as she and Molly strolled arm-in-arm through Champ de Mars, the perfectly manicured park just under the Eiffel Tower. They had already ogled Notre Dame, shopped on the Champes de Elysses, and now, were both looking forward to taking the elevator to the top of the Eiffel Tower for an afternoon they would never forget.

  “Look at those crepes,” Molly exclaimed as she pointed to a stand selling pastries. “They are huge! T
hose crepes are the size of my head. We don’t have anything like that back home in Georgia.”

  Meghan closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. She was still shaken by Monica’s death; back at the hotel, she had heard the whispers of the staff and other guests, and Meghan was growing more and more anxious to learn the details of what had happened. It seemed that Meghan could not escape trouble; even at home in Sandy Bay, she had been scrutinized by the town whenever tragedy struck, and now, Meghan’s stomach churned as she thought of Monica’s demise.

  “And the air is just delicious here,” Molly continued, running a hand through her gray hair as the wind lightly ruffled it. “I might just not leave Paris when this week is up!”

  After a group of well-dressed French children skipped by, Meghan turned to stare at her new friend. “Molly,” she said slowly. “Molly, I love being in Paris too. I love seeing the people chattering in French and wearing the latest fashions. I love the beauty of the buildings and the rich history. I love the food here, and the way a simple baguette and bit of brie and jam make me feel elegant and sophisticated. I just don’t understand how you are behaving as if nothing happened…”