by Amber Crewes
Molly gritted her teeth. “I think you should call that good-looking detective tomorrow and tell him about this,” she declared. “That James Dugarry is trouble, and I don’t want anything else to go wrong on this trip.”
Before Meghan could respond, she was nearly knocked to the ground when a group of French-speaking reporters surrounded her. They waved microphones in her face, and Meghan was nearly blinded by the bright lights of their many cameras.
“Where were you during the convention?”
“Do you know what happened to Monica Baptiste?”
“Saviez-vous que la femme qui a été tuée?”
Meghan’s stomach churned at the mention of Monica Baptiste’s name, and she reached for Molly’s hand in the crowd. “We are Americans,” Meghan shouted. “We don’t speak French!”
“Oh, Americans! I speak English,” yelled a thin Frenchmen in a yellow scarf. “I am a reporter for the Parisian Post! Are you ladies attending the convention? Did you know Monica Baptise?”
Before Meghan could respond, Molly stepped in front of her. “She met Monica! Monica was kind to my friend, here,” Molly said with authority. “She complimented Meghan at the convention!”
The reporters moved even closer to Meghan.
“Meghan?”
“Your name is Meghan?”
“Meghan, where are you from?”
“Why are you here?”
Meghan opened her mouth to answer the questions, but Molly shook her head. “She is Meghan Truman from Sandy Bay. She owns a bakery in her town, and she was invited to the convention. She is twenty-seven years old, and she is excited to be in Paris for the first time!”
The reporters started speaking quickly, and Meghan’s head began to spin. The bright lights were giving her a headache, and Molly’s openness about her personal information to the French reporters made her uncomfortable. She had always been a little envious of Hollywood actresses who would be swarmed by reporters as they walked up the red carpet at a movie premiere. However, she realized that it wasn’t as fun when it happened in real life with flashing lights and nosey reporters who were only interested in copy they would use in their news articles the following day.
“Molly,” she whispered to her new friend. “Let’s just go inside.”
A short, stocky female reporter shoved a microphone under Meghan’s nose. “Meghan from Sandy Bay, did you see Monica on the day she was killed?”
“She didn’t,” Molly said. “Monica did not show up to our seminar! Meghan didn’t see her that day.”
“Molly,” Meghan hissed. “Enough. I don’t want to talk to them.”
“Meghan? Meghan? Where were you tonight? Why are you in a fancy gown when someone was killed at the convention?”
“Meghan? What is it like coming to Paris and meeting a woman who was murdered?”
Before Molly could open her mouth again, Meghan grabbed her by the forearm and dragged her inside of the hotel lobby. The reporters did not follow, and Meghan sank into a huge, purple overstuffed chair in the corner. “That was too much, Molly,” Meghan moaned. “Next time, I don’t want to speak with them. Please don’t tell the reporters anything else about me. I don’t want to be connected to any sort of trouble in Paris!”
Molly looked embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, Meghan,” she apologized. “I run my business in Atlanta, but I am a small town girl at heart; I’ve never been on the news before, and I’m sorry I was trying to get the attention.”
Meghan felt her heart begin to slow, and she graciously smiled at Molly. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “Let’s just not repeat that.”
Suddenly, the sound of sobs filled the lobby, and a group of Parisians dressed in all black entered the room. “What’s going on?” Meghan asked.
“That’s Monica’s family,” Molly informed her. “I’ve seen them on the news. That’s her mother, and her father, and her sisters…”
Meghan was overcome with emotions, and she began to weep. She was exhausted from the time change and the tragedy of the convention, not to mention the evening’s events, and she could hardly contain herself as she watched the dark-clad family of Monica Baptiste move through the lobby.
“There, there, mon cherie,” a voice whispered into Meghan’s ear as a strong, heavy arm wound around her bare shoulder. “Don’t you cry. There’s already enough sadness at this hotel, and we don’t need a little American beauty shedding her tears.”
Meghan stared up to find an elegantly dressed man smiling weakly at her. He wore a black suit and a black tie, and she wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Who are you?” Meghan asked. “How did you know that I am American?”
The man shrugged. “I saw you, a dazzling creature, sweep across this hotel lobby in that gorgeous green dress, and I asked the concierge who you were.”
Meghan bit her bottom lip. “Thank you for the kind words,” she said carefully. “But who are you?”
The man cleared his throat. “I don’t think we had the pleasure of being acquainted yet,” he informed Meghan. “But I hear my sister thought highly of you in the few moments you spent talking.”
Meghan gasped. “Your sister?”
The man nodded. “Oui, my sister. I am Oliver Baptiste, brother of the late Monica Baptiste. It’s my honor and privilege to meet you. I hope I will have the privilege to meet you again Meghan Truman.”
9
“AND OLIVER BAPTISTE OWNS A CONGLOMERATE of family businesses! He’s probably the wealthiest, most powerful, prestigious man I’ve ever met, Jack.” Meghan chirped over the phone. Jack did not respond.
“Jack?”
Meghan heard Jack take a long breath before he responded. “That’s nice, Meghan.”
Meghan gripped the phone tightly as she sat on her soft hotel bed. “What’s wrong, Jack?”
Jack sighed. “You’ve just told me about a lot of other guys, Meghan. You mentioned that detective a few times--that you ran into him in the lobby after you had spent time with him on the boat. You’ve gone on for nearly ten minutes now about this Baptiste fellow. I just feel weird about it, Meghan. I miss you, and we haven’t gotten to talk a lot, and now, you’re telling me about all of these other guys.”
Meghan felt defensive, and she furrowed her brow. “I only mentioned the detective because I’ve run into him all over town,” she explained. “It was funny. He’s the one who told me all about Oliver Baptiste’s wealthy family, Jack. Oliver and I didn’t even chat that long.”
Jack said nothing, and Meghan felt her heart beating furiously inside of her chest. “Jack? I just wanted to fill you in on what’s going on over here. The detective and I had such a good conversation; he told me that Oliver and his family will sometimes invest in small businesses, and if he and I became friends….”
Jack scoffed. “You live in Sandy Bay, Meghan. Why would a Frenchman have any interest in investing in your bakery?”
Meghan frowned. “His deceased sister was passionate about empowering small businesses, and she loved baking,” she murmured. “The detective suggested I mention Truly Sweet the next time I see Oliver. Who knows what could happen?”
“I think it’s time you come home, Meghan,” he snorted. “You’ve been running around Paris with all of these fellows, and a murder happened at your convention! I wanted you to have a nice, quiet trip to France, you know? I just don’t feel right about all of this.”
Meghan stared at the ceiling. She could understand Jack’s frustrations; she had gone on and on about Oliver and Detective Giroud, and she felt inconsiderate for making her boyfriend listen to her ramble about the two French men.
“I’m sorry, Jack,” Meghan said softly as she pursed her lips. “You’re right. This hasn’t been fair to you. We’ve barely spoken all week, and I didn’t even ask about you. I’m sorry.”
“I understand,” he breathed. “You’re just excited. I miss you though, Meghan. I think you should come home soon.”
Meghan sighed. “Okay, Jack,” she agreed. “I will come hom
e early.”
Jack happily chattered for another few minutes, but Meghan was not listening. She thought of her conversation with the detective, and how he had encouraged her to get close to Oliver Baptise. “It could help your business,” Detective Giroud had suggested in his thick French accent. “It’s just a thought, lovely Meghan….”
“Just a thought I think I will have to act on before I hop on the next flight home,” Meghan thought to herself as Jack talked. “An investment from someone like Oliver Baptiste could change my whole business--and my whole life! I must talk with him again before I leave the city.”
10
“I’M SO HAPPY you called, Meghan,” Oliver purred as he and Meghan sat together in the hotel bar. Meghan stared into his dark eyes as he smiled at her. “It was so sad to see you crying in the lobby, and I’m glad to see a pleasant look on that beautiful face of yours.”
Meghan felt the color rise to her face. Oliver was incredibly handsome, and Meghan was impressed with his style and charm.
“This is the perfect distraction, actually,” Oliver admitted. “My sister’s husband was arrested earlier for the murder. We always suspected that the scoundrel only married dear Monica for our money, but now, it seems that our worst fears have been confirmed.
“I’m so sorry to hear that, Oliver,” she said, her voice slightly shaking as she sipped her soda. “I’m glad to hear that it seems the murderer has been apprehended, though. What a terrible time.”
Oliver sighed. “It’s is terrible,” he agreed. “But your sweet face in front of me makes it all better. Now, do tell me, Meghan, why did you reach out to me?”
Meghan took a deep breath. “I heard that you and your family sometimes make investments in small businesses,” she began. “I own my bakery back home in Sandy Bay, and I am looking to eventually expand it. I wanted to know if you had any interest in making an investment. It’s an adorable little place, and it’s my passion.”
Oliver grinned. “Tell me more, beautiful Meghan,” he implored. “You know how passionate my sister was about baking, and I think a donation or an investment in your bakery could honor her memory.”
Meghan could not keep the smile off of her face. “Really?”
Oliver reached over and squeezed her hand, his deep dimples impossible to ignore as he beamed at Meghan. “Really. Here, take my card; I would love to formally meet with you in the Baptiste offices downtown. Tomorrow?”
Meghan nodded. “I would love that!”
Oliver rose from his stool at the bar and bowed to Meghan. “Fantastic. I must run now; I have a call to make in a few minutes. I await the time when I will see your lovely face tomorrow, Mademoiselle.”
Meghan stared at Oliver as he strode out of the bar. She felt the tug of butterflies in her stomach; she could not help her attraction to Oliver, but she tried to squash the feelings as she thought of Jack back home in Sandy Bay. She had been thrilled to start dating Jack; he was caring and considerate, and Meghan knew that he deserved her very best.
“No more chats with French men,” Meghan vowed as she rose from her stool. “My chat with Oliver tomorrow will be the last talk I have with a French man before I go home to my sweet boyfriend.”
“Is that right?”
Meghan gasped as Detective Giroud walked up behind her. “I hope that is not the case, Mademoiselle Meghan.”
Meghan blushed as the detective gestured at the table she had just risen from. “Please sit, Meghan Truman. Chat with me; I would be devastated to see my favorite little American girl leave France without a proper goodbye.”
Meghan obediently sat down across from the detective. “I hear there was a big break in the case today,” she said quietly. “Oliver mentioned that Monica’s husband was arrested?”
Detective Giroud’s face darkened. “I wanted to talk about you, mon cherie,” he answered. “But I suppose I can answer your question. Yes, we arrested Monica’s husband. The case is officially considered closed.”
Meghan breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s wonderful news!”
The detective agreed. “It is. So strange that a snake bite killed her, though….”
Meghan cocked her head to the side. “A snake bite?”
Detective Giroud’s eyes widened, and he nervously stroked his mustache. “I have said too much,” he began. “Well, now that I have mentioned it...we aren’t sure how the husband did it, but it seems that she died from a snake bite.”
“That’s awful,” Meghan declared.
The detective stared at Meghan. “You were talking to Oliver Baptiste for some time,” he pointed out. “Seems like the pair of you have become good friends.”
Meghan raised an eyebrow. “You were the one who told me about his interest in investing in small businesses,” she responded. “I spoke with him because you seemed to encourage it, detective.”
Detective Giroud shook his head. “You must have misunderstood me,” he replied. “I didn’t mean for you to pursue him…”
Meghan held up her hands. “I’m not pursuing him! I’m pursuing his business, detective!”
Detective Giroud frowned. He reached across the table and kissed Meghan on both cheeks.
“Goodbye, Mademoiselle Truman,” he whispered. “My very best wishes on your new connection with Oliver Baptise.”
11
“ARE YOU SURE I can’t go with you?” Molly pleaded as Meghan buttoned her jacket. “With everything going on in Paris, I feel like you could use some back up.”
Meghan smiled at Molly, but she shook her head. “I will be fine, Molly,” she insisted. “The murderer was caught. Besides, it’s just some quick business talk, and then I will be back in time for us to make it to the airport for the evening flight.”
Molly scowled. “I just don’t know,” she argued. “It just seems too convenient that Monica’s husband killed her when Carla hated her so much. And what about Andrew Meekse? He seemed suspicious. What if it’s a trap, Meghan? What if the real killer is still on the loose?”
Meghan rolled her eyes. “Molly, I’m a big girl! I’ll be fine.”
Twenty minutes later, Meghan strolled into the lobby of the Baptiste Building, a grand skyscraper in the business district of Paris. She was ushered to the top floor by a petite brunette secretary, and Oliver smiled warmly as Meghan entered his private office.
“What a beautiful sight to see,” Oliver purred as he gently brought Meghan’s hands to his lips. “Meghan Truman, the American beauty!”
Meghan blushed. She could not ignore Oliver’s deep, dark eyes or broad shoulders, and she struggled to maintain her professionalism as she sat across from Oliver at his desk. “I would love to hear more about your business endeavors, Oliver,” she stated primly as she folded her hands in her lap. “Please, tell me more.”
Oliver spent the next twenty minutes discussing the Baptiste family history, as well as his hopes for the future. “I want to take the business even further than my sister did,” he explained as Meghan nodded. “I want to expand our family business. My sister was happy to keep things in France, but I want more for us; now that poor, dear Monica is gone, I will be making all of the decisions for the Baptiste family, and I want our successes to go to the next level.”
“I admire your ambition,” Meghan gushed as Oliver winked at her. “You are so stoic during this tragic time, and I think that is so impressive.”
Oliver stared into Meghan’s dark eyes. “I think investing in your little bakery might be a wise step in capturing the attention of the American markets,” he said slowly as Meghan’s face grew hot. “You have such spirit, Meghan, and I know a good businesswoman when I meet one.”
Meghan smiled. “You are too kind, Oliver.”
Oliver shook his head. “No, you are too beautiful! Meghan? May I show you something? Something I’ve never shown to anyone before?”
Meghan nodded, and Oliver took her hand and led her down a dark corridor. “Where are we going?” Meghan asked.
“I want to s
how you my friends,” Oliver explained with another wink. “My special friends….”
Oliver led Meghan into a black room, and she gasped as he pushed a button and turned on the lights. “These are my treasures, Meghan! Are you impressed? These friends of mine have come from all over the world. I collect them, you see.”
Meghan’s jaw dropped. The room was filled with cases upon cases of live snakes. There were enormous snakes, small snakes, colorful snakes, sleeping snakes, and hissing snakes, and Meghan felt her heart beat faster as she shrank back from Oliver. He looked over, frowning as he saw the fearful look on her face.
“What is the matter, Meghan?” Oliver Inquired as Meghan shrank away from him.
