by Harper Lin
Clémence smiled. “You can do whatever you want. I think it’s sweet of you. Maybe your mom should give me a present for taking you off her hands.”
“I’m sure you’ll be getting plenty of presents from her from now on.”
“The pressure is on, but I like to think of myself as a pretty advanced gift giver, so you Duboirs better watch out.”
“I just get my assistant to do that stuff,” Arthur said.
Clémence gave him a look.
“I’m kidding!” Arthur laughed. “I don’t even have an assistant. I’ll buy your dad some diamond cufflinks if that makes him happy.”
“Oh, you know my dad and diamonds,” Clémence joked.
“I’ve always liked your dad. He knows a lot about my field. We’ve had some good conversations.” Arthur worked in finance. He had recently finished his master’s and had a decent job. In the past year, he’d really grown up. He’d even found an apartment for them to move into after they were married.
“And I’ve always liked your mom,” Clémence said.
“Let’s eat. I want to hear about your crazy day.”
“All right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Chapter Five
“Another murder?” Berenice exclaimed.
“Yup.” Clémence nodded. She was working in Damour’s massive kitchen, alongside Berenice and her brother Sebastien. Both of them were bakers. Sebastien was putting the finishing touches on an intricate chocolate cake commissioned for a special charity event. Berenice was piping the éclair fillings.
After Clémence told them about the wedding shop and Adine’s assistant finding the dead body, she mentioned another unfortunate fact. “Get this. Before she died, Adine had been drinking our hot chocolate. At least, that’s what Cyril said. She owned a jar of our hot chocolate mix.”
“So?” Sebastien asked. “It’s not like the hot chocolate was poisoned, right?”
“No, it wasn’t, but do you think our products are cursed? It’s kind of weird that they’re found at every murder scene, isn’t it?”
“We’ve been through this before, Clémence,” Berenice said. “Everybody in Paris has something from Damour. Our stuff is not cursed. They’re just so good that everyone wants a piece of it.”
“Yeah. Don’t listen to Cyril,” Sebastien agreed. “He’s just trying to push your buttons.”
“Murder happens all the time,” Berenice said. “Paris is a big city… a dangerous city sometimes. Don’t blame yourself or your brand.”
“I try to tell myself that,” Clémence lamented. “And I certainly try to tell that to Cyril, but I still can’t help feeling guilty, especially when I was there trying on dresses when someone discovered the body.”
“Are you going to buy the dress?” Berenice asked.
“I shouldn’t, right?” She paused, thinking about the beautiful lace dress. “It’s so beautiful. What a shame.”
“Why not?” Sebastien said. “You think the dress is cursed now too?”
“Well… maybe.”
He shook his head. “Curses aren’t real. You just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“So I should buy the dress?”
“Well, don’t take it out of the running.”
“I don’t know…”
Sebastien and Berenice hadn’t seen the body. How could she wear something on her big day when it reminded her of a murder?
“Are you having pre-wedding jitters?” Berenice asked.
“Not really. Just shaken up because of this incident, that’s all.”
“Well, you’ve been involved in murder investigations before. You’ve never had a wedding.”
Clémence had to laugh. “I guess that’s true. Hey, at least I don’t have to solve the murder this time.”
“What? They caught the killer already?”
“Close. They’ve arrested Adine’s ex-boyfriend. Apparently, this guy was so obsessed with her that he was stalking her.”
“Are they sure he’s the guy?” Berenice asked.
“That’s what Arthur asked me last night. I don’t know, but who else could it be?”
“Surely there are other suspects,” Sebastien said. “I mean, is that Cyril guy ever right?”
“No,” Clémence said. “He’s pretty bad. The one mystery I can’t solve is how he ever got to be a top inspector. Apparently, Adine wasn’t that well liked. She worked through a slew of ex-assistants. That girl, Perrie? She’s only been working for her for a month. Then there’s Jennifer Moss. She’s Adine’s business partner and co-founder of La Belle. They’re close, but they also fight a lot; at least, that’s what I heard from the salesgirl.”
“The business partner,” Sebastien said. “Look into her. With Adine dead, she would take over the whole business.”
“Yes, but Adine was the designer,” Berenice said. “Who would design the dresses then?”
“When designers die,” Clémence said, “other designers can be hired to take over. All the fashion labels do it—Chanel, Dior, Louis Vuitton. It’s possible. If Jennifer didn’t get along with Adine, the only way to get rid of her was to kill her then replace her with someone she could control. After all, I did hear that Jennifer had ambitions to open more boutiques, but Adine just wanted to keep the business the way it was.”
“So, you think it’s Jennifer,” Berenice said.
“Well, I don’t know.”
“It sounds like you do.”
“I’ve been wrong before,” Clémence said.
“So has Cyril.”
“I can’t get involved in this stuff again.”
“You know you’re going to.” Sebastien grinned. “You can’t just stand by when Cyril may have arrested the wrong person.”
“Why don’t you two do the investigating?” Clémence asked. “You always sound so eager.”
“We’re slaving in a hot kitchen all day,” Sebastien said. “You think we have time?”
“Yeah,” Berenice chimed in. “With the hours you got us working?”
“Hey,” Clémence said mockingly angry. “You’re working your dream jobs here. Besides, I’m retired from amateur detective work.”
“What, now that you’re getting married, you’re giving up on your career?” Berenice asked.
Clémence laughed. “It’s only a career if you get paid.”
“Look, it’s easy,” Sebastien said. “You have an excuse to go poking around in that dress shop. You’re still considering the dress anyway. Just make another appointment. See if that Jennifer lady is around.”
“I can do that,” Clémence agreed. “But I have a better idea. I might as well find out if this Noel guy is guilty or not, once and for all.”
Chapter Six
Madeleine Seydoux was late. Clémence sipped her cocktail inside the chic bar near Madeleine’s workplace and looked at her watch. She sat near the back, in the corner facing the door, and alternated between looking at her watch, down at her phone, and at the door.
Madeleine was only five minutes late, so Clémence didn’t know why she was so anxious. She had asked her friend to meet her because she had some questions about Noel. Clémence was taking this murder case seriously. Her friends had convinced her that Cyril might be wrong, and now, every minute felt imperative.
Madeleine was the one who had recommended La Belle for wedding dress shopping. She was also planning her wedding. Although she hadn’t bought one of Adine’s dresses—her dress was a custom-made Vera Wang creation—she had nothing but high praise for the small boutique.
When Clémence got engaged, Madeleine had been the first friend she’d turned to for advice. Madeleine had already done a lot of research and knew all the best dress shops in town. Clémence’s wedding wasn’t going to be anywhere near the scope and expense of Madeleine’s wedding. Her dress was probably going to be her one big splurge.
Madeleine was well known in the fashion circles. From what she’d told Clémence about La Belle, it sounded as i
f she knew Adine, at least on an acquaintance level. To Clémence’s surprise, Madeleine didn’t work in fashion, but worked in public relations. Sometimes, she did some modeling, alongside her sister, Sophie, who was getting famous because of her acting career. Sophie was out of town for a film shoot, but between the two sisters, Clémence would surely find out more about Adine’s social circle and how to penetrate it.
When Clémence realized she was tapping her toes so hard that she was disturbing the man playing a game on his phone beside her, she stopped. What was she so antsy about?
She was naturally a worrywart and very sensitive to people around her. Those traits made her a good sleuth, but they also worked her nerves. As much as she liked the thrill of solving a case, she liked it better when it was over, when everything was tied together with a big bow, and she could breathe easy and get on with her life.
A few minutes later, Madeleine breezed in, looking very much like a celebrity. She wore a belted cream coat, crocodile-print heels, and carried a tan Hermes bag. She took off her oversized sunglasses and looked around the room, her eyes adjusting to the dimness of the bar. “Clémence!” Madeleine exclaimed when she spotted her friend.
Clémence stood and greeted Madeleine with air kisses. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“My pleasure. I haven’t seen you in, what is it, two weeks now?”
The waiter came by and greeted Madeleine by name. She frequented the bar, so she was on a first-name basis with all the employees. “Bonjour, Xavier. I’ll have my usual, please.”
“Of course.” Xavier smiled and left.
“What’s the usual?” Clémence asked her.
“It’s not on the menu. It’s a special cocktail they’ve concocted just for me. It’s pomegranate based. One day, they’ll probably update the menu and name the drink after me.”
“Of course they will,” Clémence said. “You must be really good at public relations.”
“I’m the best. If Damour wasn’t tied up already with our competition, we would be amazing for your brand.”
“Maybe one day.”
“What are you drinking? Or what were you drinking? Looks like it’s all gone.”
“A spritz.” Clémence shook the empty glass. “I was nervous, waiting for you.” She told Madeleine about Adine’s murder.
“Adine is dead?” Madeleine asked.
“Unfortunately, she is.”
“Murdered?”
Clémence nodded.
Madeleine was silent for a moment then shook her head. The waiter placed her drink on the table, but she barely noticed. “But who would want to kill her?”
“The police have an idea, but I don’t know if they have the right person.”
“Naturally, you’re going to help them.” Madeleine clasped her hands in a pleading gesture.
“I am,” Clémence said. “That’s why I wanted to meet you. Did you know Adine well?”
“We were good friends.”
“Really?”
“Well, you know, everyone’s a good friend of mine. I saw Adine at parties, charity events, things like that. It took me a while to get to her. Her partner, Jennifer, however, is more social.”
“Can you tell me more about them?”
“Adine could be a bit of a wallflower at first. The first time I saw her at a party, she had her arms crossed, and it looked like she really needed to go out for a cigarette. She was more talkative when Jennifer was beside her, though. Jennifer’s cool. She speaks French with a charming British accent. She’s definitely better at schmoozing. Maybe that was why they made such a good team. Adine was the artist, and Jennifer was the businessperson.”
“You know, the police think Adine’s ex-boyfriend probably had something to do with the murder. Noel something. Do you know anything about him?”
“Noel…” Madeleine took a sip of her drink as she racked her brain. “Oh! Noel Chevalier. Yes, I know him.”
“Really?” Clémence thought about what Eva had said about Noel, that he dressed shabbily, like a homeless person.
“Yes, Noel. He was a lot like Adine. He’s the moody artist type. He is an artist, I mean. Yes, I do remember hearing that he’d broken up with her, and he was working on a bunch of new art because of that. Breakups can really inspire an artist.”
“Was he well known?”
“He’s moderately successful. His parents are relatively rich, so naturally, he became a bohemian bourgeois and moved to the eleventh to live ‘authentically.’ He always looks like he hates the parties I see him at, and I wonder why he even comes. Maybe he just wanted to be with Adine. Adine was the cool, detached one in the relationship. He was obsessed with her like John Lennon was with Yoko. Adine probably broke up with him because he was too clingy. I know I would if I were dating a guy like that.”
“Oh, wow. He was that obsessed?” Perhaps the police were right. Noel did have motive. If he’d been madly in love, and Adine had coldly rejected him, it could’ve been a crime of passion. “Do you think he could’ve killed her?”
“Noel?” Madeleine gasped. “He’s a sensitive artist but not a murderer.”
“Really? But I thought you said he was obsessed.”
“I know guys like that. They’re sweethearts. They’re sensitive but not violent. Noel would brood and mope and cry. He probably even enjoys feeling his pain this deeply.”
“But I heard that he had been stalking her, so much that Adine wanted to get a restraining order.”
“Well, I didn’t know about that, but Noel probably wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’d cry and slit his own wrists before he would kill Adine with such brutality.”
“The police already have him in custody,” Clémence said. “They’re serious about him. They really think he did it.”
“What?”
“Apparently, he had been hanging around Adine’s place earlier in the morning on the day her body was found.”
“I just can’t believe it,” Madeleine said. “I just don’t think he’s the type. He’s a lovelorn Romeo, sure, and maybe he was just hanging around, trying to get a glimpse of her at the window. I can’t imagine he would break in and bash her in the head.”
“So who would?” Clémence asked. “Is there anyone else you can think of? I heard Adine was not well liked.”
“From what I could tell, she was maybe a bit frosty, but once she liked you, she was very nice.”
“But everyone likes you,” Clémence said. “You’re a social butterfly, you’re charming, and you’re popular. Plus you have status. Apparently, Adine didn’t treat the people below her
well, like her assistants, for example.”
“Hmm. I wouldn’t know about that.”
“What do you know about Jennifer?”
“She’s a very bright girl with a business background, and she’s very ambitious. She has big ideas for their brand. She almost sold me on one of their dresses before I went to Vera Wang.”
Clémence knew that type. Jennifer sounds like someone who would stop at nothing to get what she wants. The Paris fashion industry was tough. Sometimes, people were so ambitious, they became ruthless. If Noel wasn’t the guy, Jennifer would be the next person Clémence wanted to check out. If she wasn’t the killer, at least Clémence would have the contact information for Adine’s former assistants.
“I would really like to talk to her,” Clémence said. “Do you have her number?”
“I do. I’ll forward it to you right now.”
“When was the last time you saw or talked to her?”
“It must be at least a month ago, at Marcus’s birthday party.”
“Oh, they were there too?” Clémence asked. Marcus was a friend of hers. He was a well-known fashion designer who threw extravagant parties.
“Everybody was there. It was a zoo.”
“Yeah, no wonder I didn’t see them.”
After they finished their drinks, Clémence called Jennifer, but it went straight to voicemail. She left a message, saying she was Mad
eleine’s friend and that she urgently wanted to talk to her.
She wondered where Jennifer was. Perhaps she was at the boutique. But it was close to dinnertime, and the shop was definitely closed. Clémence would have to check another time.
Chapter Seven
As soon as Clémence stepped into her apartment, she smelled the delicious aroma. She was hungrier than she’d thought, and the cocktails she’d had with Madeleine had made her lightheaded.
“I made chicken,” Arthur said from the kitchen.
“You did?” Clémence greeted him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
Arthur was classically handsome, with chestnut brown hair and eyes to match. He’d grown up rather spoiled. His family employed two cooks, so he didn’t know anything about being in a kitchen. His nannies and maids pampered him. He’d only recently learned to do things himself, like cleaning and cooking. Clémence was glad he didn’t expect her to do all the work in their household, and that he was making some domestic efforts. If that was a sign of things to come in their marriage, she welcomed it.
With oven gloves on, he took the tray out of the oven. “What do you think?”
“It certainly smells like chicken,” Clémence said. “How did you make it?”
“It turned out not to be that difficult. I asked Andre for advice, and he gave me a list of spices to put on the chicken.”
“That’s great,” she exclaimed. “Who’s Andre?”
“Our chef. Well, he’s new. Our old chef retired.”
“I see. Tell Andre I thank him for my dinner.”
“What about me?”
“Oh, right,” she teased. “Thank you for the chicken.”
“I also cooked green beans.” He pointed to a pot on the stove. “It must’ve been great to have grown up with parents who cooked.”
“Sometimes they cooked on the weekends, but honestly, they were pretty busy most of the time, so they just had our chefs whip up things from Damour, or we ate leftovers.”
“That sounds even better,” Arthur said. “Plus you must’ve eaten so many desserts. Our mother didn’t let us have a lot of sugar. We would salivate in front of patisseries and candy stores.”
