by Harper Lin
“Do me a favor,” Clémence said.
“Sure,” Perrie said. “What is it?”
“Say you’re my witness.”
“Witness for what?”
“Tell the police that I didn’t touch anything. That I didn’t tamper with any evidence.”
“I thought you worked with the police,” Perrie said.
“I do. But the head inspector has it in for me. He hates that I’m always solving his cases.”
“Okay.” Perrie shrugged. “If you can put in a good word for me and, you know, stop me from being arrested for murder.”
Clémence lightly shook her head. “If we’re talking about Cyril St. Clair, it won’t matter what I say. He’s going to be nasty. Get ready for it.”
“This is going to be a long day, isn’t it?” Perrie asked.
Clémence walked up the iron staircase. The door was still ajar, so she put the sleeve of her black sweater over her fingers and pushed it open. She didn’t want her DNA on anything.
Luckily, she didn’t have to go far into the apartment to see the body.
First, she noticed the door’s lock had not been tampered with. Whoever went in must have been someone Adine knew. Unless…
“Hey, Perrie,” Clémence called down to the nervous young lady.
“Yes?”
“When you went for lunch, did the door lock behind you?”
“Yes. It locks automatically.”
“I thought so,” Clémence said. “So the door to the atelier was definitely locked?”
“Yes. Unless Adine left it open for some reason, but she wouldn’t do that. She doesn’t like to be disturbed by anyone downstairs.”
“What about the apartment door?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. When Adine talks on the phone, and the conversation is one she wants to keep private, she goes up to her room. She does keep the door closed. I’m assuming the door is also one that locks automatically.”
“It is.” Clémence recognized the lock. It was a common lock in Paris, and it was sturdy enough that the door couldn’t be pushed open once it was closed. Someone would need a key if they wanted to lock the deadbolt and truly secure it. If it hadn’t been locked with a key, someone could use something extremely thin but durable, like a strip of X-ray film, and slide it in between the door and the frame to open it. If a murderer were that meticulous to bring a strip of X-ray film to the murder scene however, he or she probably wouldn’t have bashed in Adine’s head quite so obviously.
The blood was pooling around the woman’s body. She was face down, so Clémence couldn’t see her face. Adine was wearing a white turtleneck sweater, which made the blood look even more gruesome.
Her apartment had a lot of natural light. The sun poured in, making the scene look cheery in a creepy way.
The window faced the side of another building that probably contained apartments, but the windows on the building were shut. With all the sunlight that morning, it would have been difficult for the neighbors to see into Adine’s window. Most people were probably at work at that time of day anyhow.
Time was ticking. The police would be there any second. Clémence looked around, gathering whatever she could in her mind.
The killer had a small time frame, only an hour or so during Perrie’s lunch break. The person had gotten in—or Adine had let him or her in—then the killer had gone up to the apartment and had struck Adine with a lamp. Clémence saw the lamp lying on the floor. That type of crime probably happened in the heat of the moment, with no forethought from the killer.
If the killer were smart enough, perhaps he’d wiped the fingerprints on the lamp clean, but maybe not. The police would handle that.
After the attack, the killer could have easily fled down the stairs and back out the door without anyone in the boutique noticing.
Clémence sighed. This was going to be a long day indeed.
Chapter Three
“Of course you would be here,” Inspector Cyril St. Clair said to her.
Clémence had returned to the boutique just minutes before the police had arrived. Another bride and her two girlfriends had come for their appointment, but Eva had politely turned them away, citing an emergency. The bride had been furious, saying she’d come all the way from Issy-les-Moulineaux, a suburb of Paris, and she’d demanded more information. Eva told her a tenant on the top floor had passed away, but she didn’t go into the details, such as the deceased was the dress designer and she had been murdered. The bride had rescheduled her appointment and left in a huff.
It was a good thing La Belle had no more appointments for the rest of the day and that the store was located on a side street, because when the police arrived, they were not on display for the general public to see. Two police cars parked directly in front of the store, followed by Cyril’s comically small car.
Clémence had watched from the window as he emerged from the driver’s seat as if he were coming out of a clown car. Cyril was so tall and wiry that it was a wonder he could even fit inside the car. When he saw her, he’d scowled.
“Shouldn’t you be congratulating me?” Clémence asked him. “I’m getting married, you know.”
Cyril gave a slow clap. “How happy for you, but I’m not sure if congratulations are in order for this fiancé of yours. So, have you found a dress?”
Clémence crossed her arms, as if anticipating the annoying banter that was coming. “Possibly.”
“And the dress designer happens to be dead? On the same day?”
“Yes.”
“Was she eating one your macarons or croissants or whatever?”
She sighed. “Shouldn’t you be doing your job instead of berating a customer?”
“Funny how you always happen to be at ninety-nine point nine percent of Paris’s murder crime scenes. It has crossed my mind more than once that you’re the mastermind behind all these murders, you know.”
“It’s obvious that little crosses your mind, so I applaud you for having at least a little bit of brain activity going on. Even if you’re dead wrong and completely crazy.”
“Sir?” One of Cyril’s colleagues leaned in to whisper in his ear.
Without saying another word to her, Cyril went to the back of the store and probably up to Adine’s apartment, the crime scene.
Clémence sat down and watched Cyril’s new partner grill Perrie.
Eva was going to be questioned soon, and so was she. In fact, they would probably spend more time with the police than they really cared to.
Eva was sitting on a couch by the wall on which customers’ friends usually sat when waiting for the bride to come out of a changing room in potential dresses.
Clémence sat next to her. “This sucks, huh?”
“It’s absolutely crazy. Did you discover anything?” Eva asked. “Who murdered Adine?”
“I don’t know, unfortunately. I need to know more about Adine. It must be someone who knew her. Were you friends with Adine?”
“I wouldn’t exactly call us friends. She’s my boss. We respect her.”
“We?”
“Yes. Me and another saleswoman, Laurie. It’s her day off today.”
“I’m very sorry about Adine. It must be hard. Who would hate her enough to do this to her?”
“I don’t know,” Eva said. She thought about it. “I guess you could say that Adine was a bit temperamental.”
“Did she have a lot of enemies?”
“Maybe. Her assistants never lasted for long. Adine can be demanding, a bit stubborn. I can’t imagine who would hate her enough to murder her, but she wasn’t a ray of sunshine.”
“Who else did she spend a lot of time with?”
“Well, there’s our other boss, Jennifer Moss. She’s the co-owner of this place.”
“Moss? Doesn’t sound French.”
“She’s British. She met Adine in college when she was in Paris for a semester. Right after they graduated, they went into business together. That was ten years ago.”
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“Jennifer doesn’t live upstairs with Adine? It looks like a pretty big apartment. Big for Paris, anyway.”
“I heard that years ago, when they bought this location, they used to share the apartment, yes. Once the shop became successful, Jennifer moved out. She used to joke that Adine was impossible to live with, and if she stayed for another minute, their friendship would’ve been over.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her.”
“And how long have you been working here?”
“About five years. I was one of their first employees. They used to be on the sales floor themselves.”
“Sounds like Jennifer must know Adine quite well.”
“Yes. They’re like an old married couple. They were always arguing. It’s probably for the best that Jennifer moved out. I don’t think it’s a good idea to live with friends. I mean, I used to room with my best friend, and she always left her clothes on the floor and dirty dishes in the sink, and I don’t even speak to her anymore because she drove me crazy in the semester we were rooming together.”
“Have you heard them fighting recently?”
“Well…” Eva paused to think about it. “I think Jennifer was keen on opening more boutiques. This one is doing quite well. Adine didn’t want to, though.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I guess she didn’t want more work. The dresses are all made up at the atelier. Yup, I think they did fight about that. Jennifer wanted to outsource the dress making, and Adine wanted to keep the boutique the way it was. They couldn’t stand each other sometimes.” Eva’s eyes widened after that slipped out. “Not that I want to insinuate Jennifer’s the killer. Friends fight.”
“Who do you think could be the killer, then?”
“Well, there’s Adine’s ex-boyfriend. I’ve seen him hanging around. He’s tall and dark haired, big nose, but handsome in a brooding Louis Garrel kind of way. They’ve been on and off for months, maybe the past year.”
“Who is he?”
Eva shrugged. “I think his name is Noel. I don’t know what he does or anything. In fact, he’s usually dressed kind of shabbily. I’m surprised he was Adine’s type. I just know he was her boyfriend, not much more. I don’t have a relationship with Adine where we talk about our personal lives, you know?”
Just then, they were interrupted by Inspector Cyril St. Clair.
“Clémence.” He grinned as if he’d caught her red handed. “I knew it. I knew you were responsible for the murder.”
“What?” she exclaimed, standing up.
“Maybe not you specifically, but Damour.”
Clémence crossed her arms. Not again. Don’t say it.
“A Damour product was found in our victim’s kitchen,” he declared proudly.
She moved him away from Eva. She didn’t want any rumors spreading about her family’s company if she could help it. “Oh, say it loud enough for everyone to hear,” she hissed. “What is it this time?”
“We found a jar of Damour’s hot chocolate mix in the kitchen.”
“So?” Clémence said defensively. “A lot of people have that product in their homes. It’s sold everywhere. In fact, it’s one of our supermarket bestsellers. Maybe the best.”
“It just so happens that our victim was drinking your supermarket bestseller before she was killed.” Cyril clapped his hands with glee and let out a laugh fit for a hyena.
“So? She likes hot chocolate. It’s not like the hot chocolate killed her.”
“Maybe not, but it’s not a great omen, is it? I wonder why the public hasn’t figured out yet that eating anything from Damour will kill them.”
“Because it’s not true. If you think that’s the case, maybe you should lay off on our éclairs.”
That shut Cyril up. He enjoyed Damour treats as much as anybody else in Paris. He was obsessed with their chocolate éclairs, and their pistachios too, but he would never admit it to her.
“There are plenty of better éclair places in the city,” he finally mumbled.
“Why don’t you tell me something useful about the case?” Clémence asked. “If you’re lucky, I’ll help you, and you might actually get this case solved.”
“Your ego is getting the best of you,” Cyril said. “Remember what happened when you got overconfident last time.”
Clémence shrugged, even though she wanted to cringe. She had accused an innocent suspect and embarrassed her in front of her colleagues. Nobody was perfect. Clémence had been wrong, but she always solved the case in the end.
“I think this is an open-and-shut case,” Cyril said. “Her boyfriend did it. The victim had previously reported him and was even considering a restraining order. My colleague tells me she almost went through with it last week. Now I hear this guy was also seen loitering outside the store this morning. Obviously, he snuck upstairs, surprised her in her apartment, they had an argument, and he killed her. We don’t need your help this time, Mademoiselle Damour.”
“But—”
“That was obviously what happened.” Looking self-satisfied, Cyril walked away to bark orders at his team.
Chapter Four
The sun was close to setting. Clémence had told one of Cyril’s colleagues everything she knew. She’d left out the part about sneaking up to the apartment to look at the body, however. Not that the experience had been very helpful.
She left Eva and Perrie to the questioning and started heading toward the Seine. The dimming sun cast an orange reflection on the water as she walked and thought about the case. Sure, Cyril had said it was open and shut, but could it be that easy? It was never that easy.
What did she know about the boyfriend? Eva had said Adine had an on-and-off boyfriend. The relationship didn’t sound very stable. If Adine really had thought about a restraining order against this Noel guy, he must be dangerous.
After such a crazy day, walking along the river calmed Clémence, so she decided to walk the rest of the way home. All she had to do was walk toward the Eiffel Tower. Her apartment wasn’t far from Place du Trocadéro.
She passed the green bookstands along the Seine, where sellers were packing up for the day. They sold antique books, souvenirs, and vintage posters. She used to love poking through those stands as a kid. As an adult, she bought so many books that most of them sat on her bookshelf unread.
She smiled. Paris was a city of nostalgia, romantic to a fault, and even better in memories. Even as she was living in the moment, she felt as if she were lost in time.
Time was a strange thing. That morning, the only thing occupying her mind had been finding the right wedding dress. Then there had been a murder.
And that murder was bothering her. She couldn’t stop thinking about it. The police had every reason to believe the killer was the pesky ex-boyfriend, but her instinct told her she needed to investigate further. Had she developed a fondness for solving cases? It could be gratifying, like solving a puzzle, but also extremely frustrating. If she had her way, there would be no murders in Paris—or anywhere.
She decided she would put the case out of her mind. If Cyril really thought he had figured it out, then she would let it be. She was busy… busier than usual. Christmas was coming up, and she had presents to buy. Her parents were moving back to Paris after spending the year in Asia. Her brother, sister, and their families were coming to stay in the apartment for Christmas too. Plus, she had Damour to run. It would be extra busy during the holidays, and she was glad her parents would be there to help. In addition to the flagship store, her family owned a couple of smaller patisseries around Paris that Clémence popped into once in a while to make sure they were all under control.
By the time she reached her apartment, it was nightfall. Even though winter had already descended, the week had been surprisingly mild. She was almost hot when she climbed the stairs to Palais de Chaillot. Her legs also felt rubbery before long. She really needed to join a gym.
&nbs
p; For a while, she had been pretty active with those boot camp classes that took place in the Tuileries, but the weather had been warm then, and she’d thought she would get used to the high-intensity workouts. She hadn’t. Her thighs had burned for days after the classes, and she had always felt tired. Her diet probably didn’t help. She had to ease up on eating on the job. All that butter and sugar was only okay in moderation.
When she got home, Arthur was packing some of his things in boxes.
“Clémence.” He gave her a kiss hello. “I went to pick you up from the store, but they said you hadn’t been in.”
“Long story,” she said. “I’ll tell you at dinner.”
“Did you find a dress?”
“Possibly.” She wasn’t sure at that point if she really wanted to buy a dress from a murdered designer. “What are you doing?” she asked Arthur. “Are you getting packed up to go already?”
“Your parents are coming home this week. They don’t even know I’ve been living here.”
“They have some idea, I think.”
“Do they?”
“I’m assuming. It’s only natural you’re here a lot. After all, your family lives two floors below us, and you have a room upstairs.”
“Yes, but I pretty much moved all my stuff in here. I’ve been squatting.” He laughed.
“Oh, you can squat here as much as you want.” Clémence gave him a pinch on the cheek.
“Luckily, I don’t have a lot of stuff. I’m a guy, after all.”
“Hey, what does that mean? You have, like, a million pairs of shoes. All brown.”
“True. You don’t know the half of it. Eighty percent of my clothes are not even here.” He picked up the box. “I’m putting some of this stuff in my room upstairs. I’m moving back up there the day before your parents come.”
“Sounds good.”
“Should I give them a gift?”
“A Christmas gift?”
“No, I mean a gift for… I don’t know.”
“Marrying their daughter?”
“More like a welcome home present.”
