by Harper Lin
“All I touched was the door and the doorknob. I don’t think that matters, however. The door doesn’t look to be tampered with. Either Jennifer let the killer in, or the killer had the key.”
“You had the key,” Cyril said. “Did you not?”
“Yes. Well, it was Adine’s key. She gave it to Perrie.”
Cyril gave Perrie, who was being questioned by his colleague, a long, hard look. “Perrie was the one who found Adine. Now she has the key to Jennifer’s apartment, and Jennifer happens to be dead. I’m not suggesting she’s the murderer…”
“Really?” Clémence said. “That sounds exactly like what you’re doing. What about Noel? He’s innocent now?”
“The case against Noel is strong. He wouldn’t confess, but we still have him. What if he was in cahoots with Perrie? How much do you know about her anyway?”
“She’s just a girl who wants to work in fashion,” Clémence said. “She barely just graduated from school. She’s not a killer.”
“Fashion is a dangerous industry, as you should know by now. These people will stop at nothing to succeed.”
“What would Perrie get out of killing her employers? Seems strange.”
“Noel comes from a wealthy family,” Cyril said. “What if he bribed her? After all, she’s probably working for minimum wage.”
Clémence did recall Perrie saying she would like a bigger apartment. She shook her head to break that line of thinking. “No, this is nuts. If this murder was committed while Noel was in custody, that means there’s another killer out there. If you fixate on him or Perrie, you’re not covering all your bases. Why would Noel want to kill Jennifer if he was only obsessed with Adine?”
“Maybe Jennifer was a witness.”
“And what, he hired Perrie to do the dirty work for him?”
“She looks sweet.” Cyril was still analyzing the girl. “Sometimes, it’s the people you least suspect.”
Chapter Twelve
Celine left the scene of the crime with more questions than answers.
“Cyril is crazy,” Clémence said. “Isn’t he? Noel couldn’t have hired Perrie to kill Jennifer.”
“It is a bit far-fetched,” Celine admitted. “What if Noel was still the culprit for killing Adine, and coincidentally, someone else killed Jennifer around the same time.”
“A coincidence? No, I don’t think so. Both women were bashed in the head. They fell face down, which meant they didn’t see the attack coming. This was someone they both knew.”
“Perrie,” Celine said. “I know she’s sweet, with those innocent Bambi eyes, but what if she was involved?”
“I went over that with Cyril, but it doesn’t make sense. What would Perrie gain from killing Adine and Jennifer? If she’s really who she says she is, she’s out of a job. However, I doubt she’d be poor enough to be out on the street. I’m sure her parents would take her in if she really couldn’t find a job. That girl has no motivation to kill.”
“She could always be a hostess,” Celine said. “There’s always room for people in the service industry.”
Clémence turned to her. “You like your job, don’t you, Celine?”
“At Damour? Of course. I see my favorite people every day. Why?”
“Just wanted to make sure. I know you’ve been working there for years. If you’re ever bored and want to do something else, I didn’t want you to feel obligated.”
“I consider it a privilege to work at Damour. A lot of friends complain about the long work hours at their office jobs. I rather prefer the service industry. It’s fun. I get to talk to people, see my friends. I never went to college. That just wasn’t the path for me. I don’t need a lot. I like my apartment, and a simple life is good enough for me.”
“So you see yourself working at Damour for a long time, then?”
“Perhaps,” Celine said. “One day, I might open up a bar, but who knows? I want a job where I can talk to people, not be stuck behind a desk from nine to five.”
“Good.” Clémence smiled. Sometimes, she worried about her friend, but she had to open her mind and realize some people really didn’t place happiness on status and money. Even though she had studied art, the students there were egotistical and competitive. They’d bragged about being famous one day. She would rather have a friend like Celine, who had a humble job and liked it, than an overachieving one who thought what they did was who they were.
One guy Celine had dated, who was in Clémence’s social circle, had been an heir to his father’s publishing company. His family had looked down on Celine once they’d found out she was a hostess. However, that guy turned out to be a murderer, so it wasn’t Celine’s loss. Sometimes she felt overprotective of Celine.
“Anyway, I just don’t know about any of this,” Clémence said. “Noel and Perrie, either on their own or working together—I just don’t think it’s a possibility.”
“So back to the drawing board?”
Clémence nodded. “Yup. The few employees working at La Belle have nothing to gain from their employers’ murders. I’d have to look into those former assistants.”
“It wouldn’t hurt,” Celine agreed.
“Noel!” Clémence exclaimed.
“What?”
“Cyril said that he’s out of police custody, so he should be available to talk.”
“Right now?”
“I don’t know about right now,” Clémence said. “I don’t know where he is.”
“It’s been a long day, Clémence. Why don’t we both go home and get some rest? Noel is probably too exhausted to talk anyway.”
“You’re probably right. It’ll be better to talk to him tomorrow. But you’re working tomorrow, right?”
“I am,” Celine said. “All day too. I’m covering for Marianne for a few hours. She’s got a dentist appointment.”
“The dentist.” Clémence shuddered. A crazy dentist had tried to kill her once, and she was put off by dentists more than ever.
“It was interesting investigating with you, though,” Celine said. “Hope you solve this thing soon.”
“I’ll try. Too bad you can’t come. I liked having you as a partner. Hope you had fun.”
“I don’t know about fun. I’m not sure that I’m used to dead bodies yet.”
“Fun is the wrong word, huh?”
“I’ll probably have nightmares tonight.”
After eating dinner with Arthur, Clémence looked out of her kitchen window and saw that Berenice was visiting Ben. The two of them were standing and talking at Ben’s window.
Clémence tried waving to catch their attention, but they didn’t turn to look down at her.
Ben lived in one of the chambres de bonne on the top floor, down the hall from Arthur’s room. Sometimes, when they were both looking out the window, they would wave at each other. Ben often dropped by to have a drink and a chat with Clémence and Arthur.
Since Berenice was over, Clémence thought it would be nice for them to come over and share the rest of the wine she and Arthur had opened at dinner.
Not long after Clémence sent Ben a text, they came down the stairs and knocked on the kitchen door.
After dating Ben for months, Berenice’s English had greatly improved. When Clémence opened the door, the two were chatting a mile a minute.
“Long time, no see,” Berenice said.
Clémence smiled and let them in. “I saw you this morning.”
“Then you disappeared for the rest of the day. I had to make candy-cane-flavored macarons all by myself.”
“Oh, I’m sure you handled it fine. It did turn out okay, didn’t it?”
The candy-cane-flavored macarons were a new invention that Clémence, Berenice and Sebastien had come up with during their brainstorming sessions. Sometimes, they simply enjoyed being creative to bring new flavors of macarons to their Paris locations. If a flavor was a hit, they’d expand it to the rest of the world.
“Sebastien loved it, but Ben, not so much.”
Clémen
ce turned to Ben expectantly.
“Well, er, it’s not my cup of tea,” he said. “I’m a boring guy. I like classic flavors.”
“He’s very vanilla,” Berenice teased.
“Hey, guys.” Arthur entered the kitchen. “Join us in the living room for some wine.”
“Ben here was just telling us how he hated our new macaron flavor,” Clémence said.
“You girls are twisting my words. To tell you the truth, I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.”
Clémence looked at Ben in shock this time. “What? How is that possible?”
“I’m more of a savory guy.”
“You don’t like chocolate? Candy? Macarons?”
“I like them okay, but I don’t go nuts over them like everyone else. I do like a good madeleine with my tea.”
“This is the second time you mentioned tea in the span of two minutes,” Berenice said. “You are so British.”
Arthur handed him a glass of wine. “And here we are, drinking red wine every night. How cliché are we?”
“We’d share our baguette,” Clémence joked, “but we ate it all.”
All of them kicked back and joked for a while. After the day Clémence had, she appreciated the normalcy and the comfort of being around her best friends. Still, the topic of the murders couldn’t be avoided.
“Your main suspect is dead?” Ben asked in disbelief.
Clémence nodded. “Jennifer Moss, Adine’s business partner.”
She filled Ben and Berenice in on her day’s events, how she found Jennifer’s body, and Cyril’s theories about who killed the women.
“I’m with you,” Ben said. “It’s got to be someone else. Someone we’re not considering.”
“It could be Perrie,” Berenice said. “The case against her does sound suspicious. I don’t agree that she’s in cahoots with Noel. Maybe she has motivations that you haven’t uncovered yet.”
“I suppose it doesn’t hurt to check,” Arthur said. “You’ve been surprised before.”
“It’s frustrating,” Clémence said. “I was so sure it was Jennifer. I guess I got overconfident. I have to be more objective about this. I’m definitely going to talk to Noel tomorrow.”
“By yourself?” Arthur asked.
“Yes. Everyone else is at work.”
“No way. You’re not going alone to visit someone who was just detained for murder.”
“He’s not the murderer,” Clémence said. “He’s just a heartbroken artist.”
“I’ll go with her,” Ben said. “It’s my day off. He sounds like your typical sensitive artist. I know a few of those types of guys.”
“What does that mean?” Arthur asked. “The sensitive type. Are they a ticking time bomb of emotions? Are they likely to be dangerous?”
“For them to kill would be extreme,” Ben said. “But I wouldn’t rule it out.”
Chapter Thirteen
Through her connections, Madeleine was able to find out where Noel was that morning. She called and convinced him to meet with Clémence. As Madeleine told her later, he didn’t sound too happy about it, but he ultimately agreed because he’d said he wanted to get to the bottom of the murders too.
Ben and Clémence took the Métro up to Montmartre. On the train, she told Ben what she knew about Noel from Madeleine. “Noel’s from a wealthy family. His mother is a successful photographer, Claire Chevalier. Have you heard of her?”
“The name sounds familiar.”
“Apparently, she mostly shoots dolls and Barbie dolls posed in scenes from gruesome historical acts.”
“Oh.” Realization hit Ben. “Right. I know her. She did a series about the French Revolution. I went to that show five months ago. He’s her son?”
“Yup. And his father founded the second-biggest advertising firm in Paris. Noel is thirty-two now, and he began painting in his teens. He’s been putting on small shows here and there for years. Are you sure you haven’t heard of Noel Chevalier?”
“Noel Chevalier… maybe. There are so many artists in this city, and I’ve been to so many shows. It’s possible I’ve seen his work and forgotten his name. Or that I’ve even met him.”
“And forgotten what he looks like?” Clémence teased.
“It’s entirely possible,” Ben said seriously.
Clémence followed the GPS on her phone to the building. It was on the north side of Montmartre, past the touristy section. The streets were more secluded, and Clémence pointed to a plain building up ahead. “This is the studio,” Clémence said. “He shares it with other painters. He rents a section of it to paint.”
“I’ve been here,” Ben said. “At least a year ago. They held a show here. There was some weird performance dance art where two sisters painted their skin green and wore a dress made out of patchy gray rags. I had no idea what that was all about.”
Clémence had the access code to the front of the building, and she went in. “Noel knows we’re coming at this time.”
“Would you have really come alone if I hadn’t offered to come?” Ben asked as the door clanged closed behind them.
“Sure. I have pepper spray.”
They faced a set of double doors. Since Noel was supposed to be on the second floor, they took the stairs. When they went in, they passed artists in their workspaces painting on canvases. Clémence painted in her spare time. Her ex-boyfriend had been a prominent painter. He was currently in jail, but that was another story.
She had recently started painting more. Most of her pieces hung proudly in the Damour patisseries around Paris, and some were in people’s homes. While her main job was still baking, creating new dessert recipes, and overseeing the Damour patisseries, she loved her hobby as an artist.
As she walked past the handful of artists in their moments of creation, she felt inspired to make more time to pick up her paintbrush.
Noel worked in the back corner. Clémence recognized him from a photo she’d seen of him at an event. Madeleine had shown it to her on Facebook. The photo had been taken during Paris Fashion Week the previous year. His arm had been casually draped around Adine. They’d both looked bored in a glamorous way.
“I like these,” Ben whispered. He referred to the giant red canvases drying on the floor. Each one was almost as tall as her five-foot-four-inch stature. He’d completed five and was currently painting the sixth.
Each painting featured a unique anatomically correct painting of a heart over a bloody abstract background of different shades of red. The blue veins and arteries contrasted the reds, dripping down the heart, bleeding blue blood.
Noel was painting the base of his new painting furiously, splashing reds everywhere. Clémence and Ben stood back to avoid getting splashed by the paint.
It seemed rude to interrupt, so they watched until Noel paused to get more paint on his brush. Ben cleared his throat. Noel turned around.
“Bonjour.” Clémence greeted him with a small smile.
It took Noel a moment to register their presence. The daze of working slowly drained from his eyes, and he returned to reality. “You’re Clémence?” Noel had short black hair, and dark circles, like half moons, beneath his light-blue eyes. He looked as he did in the photo, like he was tired, bored, or both.
“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me. This is my friend Ben.”
Ben smiled, but Noel only returned it with a barely there nod.
“Love the series you’re working on,” Ben said.
“Bleeding hearts,” Noel said. “That’s the title of the series. It reflects the current state of my heart: bleeding.”
“It certainly reflects that,” Clémence said, trying not to smile. “Losing Adine must’ve been hard.”
“Madeleine says you can help find out who the killer is,” Noel said. “So you believe me? You believe that I didn’t do it?”
“I do,” Clémence said without hesitation.
“Good. Because the police don’t think so. Even when Jennifer was killed when I was at the statio
n. Even when they found no evidence that I was in Adine’s apartment. I haven’t been since we broke up.”
“I believe you,” Clémence said. “I know Cyril, so it must’ve been rough to spend the last couple of days with him.”
“You have no idea. After a while, I really started questioning whether I was a killer, that I was crazy and just lost it. But I’m not crazy, and it wasn’t true. You have no idea how horrible these days have been. He did everything he could to get a confession out of me, including threatening my family. But I’m not going to confess to something I didn’t do.”
“I’m glad,” Clémence said. “Obviously, there’s someone out there with motive to kill Jennifer and Adine, but we need your help in figuring out who.”
Noel sighed. He put down his paintbrush and weakly gestured to some cheap plastic chairs nearby.
Clémence sat down first, followed by Ben.
Noel plopped down and put his head in his hands. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” he finally said. “I kept running it through my head. Adine and Jennifer had been doing well. Their business slowly grew throughout the years, but things were going well particularly in the last two years. The brand was getting recognized more, and they were getting more high-profile coverage in the media. I even met Adine at one of those swanky charity balls. The only thing I can think of is that whoever killed them would be someone jealous of their success.”
“And who could that be?” Clémence asked. “A rival wedding designer?”
“Maybe, but I have this suspicion. It’s not confirmed…”
He trailed off, prompting Ben to ask, “What is it?”
“I’m not sure Adine designed everything herself.”
“You mean, there’s another designer?” Clémence asked. “Why would you say that?”
“Adine was very talented. Everyone knew that. But she was also very insecure. She doubted herself, threw dozens of sketches out at a time. I guess you can say that we were very similar. That’s why we didn’t last. Two firecrackers caused an explosion. Anyway, she had a distinct way of drawing. I’ve seen it. And I’ve also seen design sketches that’d made it to production, and those drawings don’t match up completely with Adine’s style.”
