by Amber Crewes
Molly raised an eyebrow at Meghan. “What do you mean?”
Meghan’s jaw dropped. “Monica Baptiste was murdered, Molly. That’s what the detective implied, and that’s what people are whispering back at the hotel. She was murdered, and you’re acting like nothing happened….”
Molly shook her head. “Meghan,” she began. “I’ve thought long and hard about who the killer might be; my guess is that terrible Andrew Meekse, or even Carla Lizarazou….”
“Carla Lizarazou?” Meghan asked as Molly nodded.
“Yeah, Carla. She was on a panel I attended earlier in the morning; she and Monica were great rivals, it seems, and rumor is that Carla lost out on some big business when Monica’s newest shop opened.”
Meghan’s dark eyes widened. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”
Molly pursed her lips. “I know that I was the one who fainted,” Molly softly admitted. “But you seem to be the one who is real upset, Meghan. I didn’t want to ruin our day in Paris with all of this talk of murder. We’re only here once, and I want you to have a wonderful time.”
Meghan exhaled, looking around the Champ de Mars. Trees lined the symmetrical pathways in the park, and Meghan felt calmed by the sound of the wind rustling the branches. She smiled as she heard the giggle of the group of French children nearby, and she turned to hug Molly.
“Thank you,” she murmured to her new friend. “You are right; we are only in Paris once, and while I am heartbroken about what happened to Monica, you are so sweet to help me enjoy our day.”
Later that evening, as Meghan and Molly relaxed in Meghan’s suite, they heard a knock on the door. “I wonder who that could be?” Meghan questioned as she tiptoed to the door and peered out of the peephole. She relaxed as she took in the sight of a young, fresh-faced maid smiling back at her.
“Bonjour,” the maid greeted Meghan as she swung open the door. “Je suis ici pour livrer des serviettes fraîches.”
Meghan shook her head apologetically. “I’m sorry,” Meghan answered. “We don’t speak French….”
The maid smiled. “I speak English,” she informed Meghan. “I wanted to know if you needed some fresh towels?”
Meghan grinned. “We don’t, but thank you for asking!”
The maid winked. “Not a problem, mademoiselle,” she purred. “You are such a nice lady. Are you here for the convention?”
Meghan nodded. “Yes,” she replied. “I am. I own a bakery in Sandy Bay, in America.”
The maid bit her lip. “I think you are too sweet to be here for the convention,” she said under her breath. “Everyone at the convention is so angry and stressed, and you are so sweet.”
Meghan frowned. “I’m sorry to hear people have been fussy.”
The maid rolled her eyes. “It happens every year. People come in from all over the world to go to the convention, but they behave so terribly to the French people. I think the only French person having fun at the convention is James Dugarry, the owner of the Palais Brongniart.”
Meghan cocked her head to the side. “What do you mean?”
The maid grimaced. “Well, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but while no Frenchman or Frenchwoman enjoys the convention, it sure looked like James Dugarry was enjoying it when I saw him on television earlier. He was talking about that woman’s death, and he was almost gleeful…”
Meghan frowned. “Monica Baptiste?”
The maid’s eyes widened. “Yes, her,” she whispered. “Everyone in Paris is horrified at her death, but James Dugarry seemed to be excited when I watched him on television. It sure looked like he was enjoying the attention her death brought to his event space. From the way his eyes shined as he spoke about her death, you’d think he had planned the whole thing, or something.”
6
MEGHAN’S HEAD WAS SPINNING as she strode across the Champs Elysees and into Le Magasin Lizarazou, the store owned by Carla Lizarazou, Monica Baptiste’s rival. After the visit from the maid the previous evening, Meghan and Molly had decided that they needed to do something; between Andrew Meekse and Carla Lizarazou, it sounded like someone had information that could reveal the killer’s identity and bring peace to the Baptiste family.
“Bonjour, belle demoiselle,” a blonde woman called out to Meghan as she stepped into Le Magasin Lizarazou.
Meghan bashfully looked down at her leather boots. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I don’t speak French.”
The blonde woman smiled warmly and approached Meghan. “Ahh, an American, I see,” she said, kissing Meghan on both cheeks. “I’m sure you are here for the convention! Why else would you step into my cooking shop? Welcome to Paris!”
Meghan blushed. “Thank you,” she shyly replied. “I love Paris.”
The blonde woman winked. “Everyone loves Paris. Now, what brings you in? Are you looking for something today?”
Meghan nodded. “I’m looking for the owner of this shop, actually. Madame Lizarazou? I wanted to speak with her.”
“Well, Miss American, it is your lucky day,” the blonde woman said with a twinkle in her eyes. “I am Carla Lizarazou. What can I help you with?”
Meghan studied Carla’s face. Carla appeared to be in her late thirties, and with her long, blonde hair and strong jawline, she was stunningly beautiful. “Can we talk in private?”
Carla raised an eyebrow. “There is no one here. Speak.”
Meghan sighed. “I wanted to ask you some questions about Monica Baptiste….”
Carla’s exquisite face darkened. “I don’t need to hear that name,” she muttered. “That woman is dead, and if I never hear Monica Baptiste’s name again, it will be too soon.”
Meghan nervously bit her upper lip. She glanced around the shop, her dark eyes widening at the cooking equipment displayed in immaculate arrangements, as well as the expensive price tags attached. “I just had a few questions…”
“That’s enough,” Carla hissed. “That Detective Giroud has already been here to question me; everyone in Paris knows Monica caused my shop to lose business, and our infamous falling out was no secret. I don’t need some American girl here reminding me of how much I detested that woman.”
Meghan’s mouth dropped. “She seemed to be so kind when I spoke with her at the convention…” she said softly. “I don’t know how you could detest her, Carla.”
Carla curled her fingers into two tight fists. “I would have been a billionaire by now if it hadn’t been for Monica Baptiste,” she growled. “That woman stole my ideas, she stole my recipes, and now, she’s stealing my attention; I was supposed to run a two-day seminar at the convention, and with her death, it has been cancelled! Do you have any idea how much business I have now lost because of that woman? Do you?”
Meghan felt tears brimming in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and the anger vanished from Carla’s face.
“Oh, ma chère fille,” Carla cooed. “My apologies. I have been so rude. Come! Talk to me about yourself; who are you, and why were you invited to the convention? You look quite young to come all the way across the sea to such a prestigious event.”
Meghan shared her story with Carla. Despite Carla’s initial outburst, she was easy to talk with, and Meghan told Carla about moving to Sandy Bay after failing in Hollywood as an actress. She described starting her life over and opening her bakery. She shared her hopes about a future with Jack.
Carla listened intently, nodding and grinning as Meghan spoke. “I am impressed with you, Meghan Truman, my new American friend,” Carla gushed. “I like you. I like your spirit. I want to make it clear with you that I did not have anything to do with Madame Baptiste’s untimely death. Forgive my rudeness earlier, I beg of you.”
Meghan smiled. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s a difficult situation, and it sounds like the two of you had some history.”
“We did,” Carla said flatly. “But it’s in the past. I want to talk about the future. Meghan, to make up for my outburst, I want to invite you to a little par
ty tonight. I’m hosting a cruise on the River Seine this evening for some of the VIPs of the convention. It will be a glamorous night, and I would love it if you could come!”
Meghan clasped a hand to her mouth. “I would be thrilled,” Meghan answered, her face bright with enthusiasm. “A cruise on the River Seine? Who knew there would be this much excitement on my trip to Paris!”
Carla grinned. “It would be an honor to host you,” she cooed.
“Would you mind terribly if I bring a friend?” Meghan asked, thinking of how much Molly would enjoy a fancy night out.
“Ehmmm….”Carla sputtered.
“She’s an American, like me. She would love it.”
“An American!” Carla exclaimed. “That changes everything. I just adore Americans! Of course, Meghan. Please, bring your guest.”
Carla’s eyes danced as Meghan squealed. “You Americans are so expressive,” Carla laughed. “I enjoy having you around. Make sure you dress up for tonight; this will be quite the affair, and you will want to dress to impress. Mark my words, Meghan Truman, this will be a night you will never forget!”
7
MEGHAN SMILED AT HER REFLECTION in the mirror as she swept a stray lock of dark hair off of her forehead. She had never felt more beautiful; after receiving the invitation to the cruise on the River Seine, she and Molly had scoured the finest stores in Paris in search of the perfect gown. Meghan had carefully selected an emerald green floor-length satin dress that both showed off her curves and accentuated her tiny waist. Her dark hair was swept back into an elegant chignon, and she wore a pair of long, white satin gloves.
“If only Jack could see me now,” Meghan thought as she applied a final layer of mauve lipstick. “In Sandy Bay, I’m Meghan Truman, small business owner. In Paris, I am Mademoiselle Truman, a woman enjoying a cruise down the River Seine with some of Europe’s biggest cooking and baking phenomenons!”
Meghan gave herself one last look and walked out of the boat’s opulent bathroom. She rounded a corner, and walked straight into a tall, mustached man. “I’m so sorry!” she cried as the man dropped his wine glass. The body of the glass broke away from the stem, and the glass shattered into small, dangerous pieces.
“Ahhh, the American!”
Meghan squinted in the dimly-lit corridor and realized she knew that man; it was Detective Giroud. He looked handsome in his tuxedo, and Meghan felt her heart flutter as he brought her gloved-hand to his lips. “It’s a pleasure, Mademoiselle Truman,” he said slowly as he kissed her hand.
“I am so sorry,” Meghan sputtered as she bent down to collect the pieces of the detective’s broken glass. “Forgive me; it’s so dark on the boat, and I didn’t see you.”
“It’s romantic, yes?”
Meghan felt her stomach churn as the detective studied her face. She blushed, hoping he could not see the color in her cheeks as she slowly rose from her position on the ground. “It’s quite lovely,” she admitted. “Carla invited me, and I couldn’t be happier to be at such a fabulous event! I feel so classy.”
The detective laughed. “You Americans are so forward and adorable,” he cooed. “Come. Stroll with me? I would love to have such a beautiful woman on my arm as I walk on the top deck.”
Meghan giggled and slipped her arm around the detective’s. “What are you doing here tonight, Detective Giroud?”
The detective’s face darkened. “I am actually here on official business,” he admitted. “We are keeping our eyes on Madame Lizarazou, in fact; I’m sure if you spent any time speaking with her, you are aware of how much she loathed Madame Baptiste.”
Meghan nodded. “Yes, she sounded very….passionate in her feelings about Monica.”
Detective Giroud sighed. “It’s a complicated situation,” he explained. “We are trying to keep this investigation quiet, but it’s blowing up; there are so many wealthy, important people tied to the convention, including Monsieur Meekse and Madame Lizarazou, to name a few, and all of this bad publicity is bad for the convention and the city itself!”
Meghan lowered her eyes. “That’s a shame,” she whispered. “This city is just magical. I hate that such a tragedy happened during the convention. Poor Monica.”
The detective raised his eyebrows as they walked to the railing of the top deck. Meghan stared as the boat floated down the river; the twinkling lights of the city reflected on the water, and Meghan could not believe that she had found herself at such a luxurious event in Paris.
“It is a terrible thing,” the detective said. “But it’s so lovely to run into you here….”
Meghan heard music begin to play on the lower deck, and she gestured at the stairs. “Do you hear that? It’s a band! Let’s go dance, Detective Giroud!”
The detective’s face brightened, and he kissed Meghan’s hand again. “I thought you would never ask,” he teased as they walked downstairs.
A full band was playing on the lower deck, and Meghan’s eyes widened at the sight of hundreds of elegant couples twirling about the ship’s ballroom. “It’s so fancy!” Meghan cried. “I can’t believe I’m here.”
As Meghan surveyed the dance floor, she felt a tug on her shoulder. “Excuse me, beautiful lady, may I dance with you?”
Meghan turned to face a tall, dark-eyed man who was grinning at her. She smiled back, and he took her hand. “You are so beautiful” the man said, and Meghan felt a shiver run down her spine.
“I’m sorry,” Meghan said with a laugh. “I don’t we’ve met.”
“Pardon me, beautiful,” the man answered as he placed his wine glass on the table behind them. “You are just so lovely! May I steal you for a dance?”
The detective shrugged, and Meghan walked away with the handsome dark-eyed man. He placed one hand on her waist and took her hand, and they began to spin about in the ballroom.
“I am James Dugarry, the owner of the Palais Brongniart,” he informed Meghan as they danced. She felt her stomach churn. James Dugarry was the man the maid had warned her about.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said slowly. “It’s a terrible thing that happened at the Palais Brongniart.”
James nodded. “It is,” he said, slurring his words. Meghan saw that his pupils were dilated, and beads of sweat were falling from his forehead. “It’s a terrible thing, but it’s attracted so much attention to my business. My colleagues in London had a similar experience several years ago, and while the death of an innocent is terrible, well, it was good for business!”
Meghan grimaced as James pulled her closer to him. A thick, smelly bead of his sweat landed on Meghan’s cheek, and she struggled to break free from his grasp. “I think I should go now,” she informed him. “I have to go.”
James did not release Meghan, and she felt her eyes water as his stale breath filled her nostrils. “Stay with me,” he menacingly ordered, still slurring his words as he tightened his grip on Meghan’s waist. “Don’t go, beautiful…”
Meghan fought James, jabbing her free elbow into his side. “Stop it,” she hissed. “I don’t want to make a scene.”
James let go of Meghan, and she marched away from him. “You’ll be sorry!” he shouted sloppily to Meghan as she stormed away. “You’ll regret that!”
Meghan burst out of the ballroom and into the chilly evening air. She could not stop the hot, angry tears spilling from her eyes, and as she caught sight of the twinkling Eiffel Tower glowing in the distance, she fought the nausea that wound in her stomach like a worm. Her trip so far had been like a rollercoaster. Each day had brought its own unique flavor of flashpoints she would spend weeks discussing with her friends when she returned home to Sandy Bay. She had seen the best of Paris and she had seen the worst of Paris.
“He wouldn’t let go of me,” Meghan thought as she stared down into the dark river. “He threatened me. James Dugarry seemed all too pleased to have a death at his venue, and if I’m not careful, it sounds like I could be next!”
8
“I CAN’T BELIEVE
he did that to you,” Molly grumbled as they walked back to the hotel. “I’m sorry I left you; when you were in the bathroom, I found myself dancing the night away with the most handsome Parisian man! Forgive me.”
Meghan wiped a tear from her cheek as they approached the vestibule of the hotel. “It’s fine,” she assured Molly. “I got away from him. He just scared me, Molly! He was so sloppy and rude, and he seemed dangerous.”
