Baguette Murder: Book 3 (A Patisserie Mystery with Recipes) (4 page)

Clémence raised an eyebrow. “How would you know what my type is?”
 

“I know you better than you think I do.”
 

She didn’t know why, but the comment annoyed her. “I know why you don’t like John. It’s because you’re just like him.”
 

This in turn vexed Arthur, which she could read on his face.
 

“How? I’m nothing like him.”
 

“Sure you are. You’re both rich, overly educated, work in finance and pretty cocky. Then again, I’m describing 90% of the guys around here.”

“You know me less than you think you do,” said Arthur.
 

So you don’t sleep with a different girl every week?
Clémence wanted to blurt out. But she kept silent.

They walked for a few minutes without speaking. The sun was out and Clémence would have enjoyed the sunshine if she wasn’t self-conscious about Arthur being by her side. Did he want to walk together or was this awkward for him as well?
 

She walked as fast as she could, but since he was so tall, he only needed to stroll in his leisurely way to keep up with her.

“Are you going to the Métro?” he asked.

“
Oui
.”
 

“I’m going to Métro Miromesnil.”
 

“I’m going there too—” Clémence said before she stopped herself. She didn’t want to be stuck on the train with Arthur for another fifteen minutes.

“So we can take the 9 line together.” He smiled.
 

Clémence inwardly groaned. Why did he have to have such a nice smile? He wasn’t all bad when he smiled. His entire face lit up when he did and Clémence had to look away. What was the matter with her lately?

They made their way down to the Métro in more silence. When they got to the platform, Arthur turned to her.

“You know, I texted you once.”
 

“Oh?” Clémence replied.
 

“Did you not get it? Last week.”

Clémence had indeed received it, but she had ignored it.

“No,” she lied. “What did it say?”

“‘
Ça va
?’”
 

“That’s it? Just ‘
ça va
’?”
 

“Yeah.”
 

“Why?”
 

Arthur gave her a funny look. “Just to say hi and see how you were doing.”
 

“Seems kind of pointless,” said Clémence. “I would’ve just texted back ‘
ça va
’. I’m really not into texting.”

“That’s how people communicate these days, by texting.”

“Texting is for making plans, not to make small talk.”
 

Arthur’s full lips curled into a smile. A lock of his chestnut colored hair curled down to his forehead. He looked so adorable and Clémence resisted the urge to brush the curl away.
 

“But you start a conversation with small talk,” he said.

“I’m just not into communicating via texting or the internet.”
 

Arthur cocked his head to one side and examined her. “That’s what’s intriguing about you. You have no internet presence. It’s kind of cute.”
 

Clémence blushed. “Have you been trying to find me online?”
 

“Well, I liked the
Damour
fan page on Facebook, but you’re nowhere to be found anywhere.”
 

“I’m a very private person,” she said. “So stop Googling me. You’ll never find me.”
 

The train came. Although it was a Monday afternoon, the train was still crowded. It was the beginning of tourist season in Paris, and once again, Clémence was pressed too close for comfort to Arthur.

He leaned over her and she could smell his familiar warm scent in spite of the putrid smell of a crowded Métro. She couldn’t help it—she looked up at him, met his eyes and a hot electric current passed between them.
 

“Your eyes are really blue,” Arthur said.
 

His lips were close enough to touch hers. Clémence backed away, or tried to. There were too many people and she couldn’t take a step anywhere without stepping into anyone. Did she really have to stay in this position for the entire ride?

“Thanks,” she muttered. “I like your, um, nose.”
 

The truth was, Clémence liked everything about him—his dark hair and eyes, his plush lips, his full eyelashes, his cute ears, even his forehead. But the nose seemed like the most neutral feature to comment on, even though it was stupid to verbalize, as she realized the moment it came out of her mouth.

“Oh, do you?” Arthur arched an eyebrow.

“Where are you going anyway?” She changed the subject before she turned really pink. “At Miromesnil?”
 

“I have an appointment with a consulting company. They want me to work for them part-time. I’m not sure if my school schedule and workload will allow me to, but the head of the company has agreed to answer some question I have for my Ph.D.”
 

“Wow, that’s amazing. Sounds like you’re making progress.”
 

“I am,” he said proudly. “And where are you off to?”
 

“Oh…”
 

It was a long story that she wasn’t sure whether she should tell Arthur. This was the third murder that she was investigating. Murders had been happening around her ever since she returned to the city. Arthur, like Inspector St. Clair, would probably think that she, or the store, was cursed. In a way, she wouldn’t blame them. Why did people keep getting killed when they were munching on one of her products?

“You’re more dressed up than usual,” said Arthur. “You’re not baiting another murder suspect are you?”

Clémence had styled her brown hair into a sleek bob with a straightening iron. She was wearing a white blouse and a black pencil skirt with kitten heels. It was how she would’ve dressed if she had an office job. Since she was heading to an office, she hoped to blend in with the other employees.

“I just have an appointment somewhere.”
 

“That’s pretty vague,” said Arthur.

“Like I said, I’m a private person.”
 

When they got out and went up to street level, Clémence waved goodbye to Arthur. She still didn’t know whether their hellos and goodbyes required bisous, the kisses on the cheeks that was the custom between friends in France. But Arthur leaned in with his left cheek facing her and she obliged with the bisous. Did this mean that she would have to kiss him every time they saw each other?

“Hey, uh.” Arthur looked down at his shoes. He suddenly seemed nervous for some reason. “You know those flowers that you received over a month ago?”

“You mean that big bouquet of roses?” Clémence said.
 

“Yes, those.”
 

“What about them?”
 

“I did send them.”
 

Clémence didn’t know how to react at first. She had always suspected it, and even confronted him about it, but he had vehemently denied it.
 

“Are you sure?” She asked. “Because you seemed really offended when I asked you whether they were from you a while back.”

“I know,” he said sheepishly. “I was a little stupid back then.”
 

Clémence almost laughed. Arthur admitting that he was stupid? Maybe he was right: she didn’t know Arthur as well as she thought she did.

“Well, thanks for the flowers.”
 

“You’re welcome.”

They stood on the sidewalk staring at each other for an awkward moment. Arthur spoke up again.

“I bought them because I was sorry when you got attacked, but I think I was also confused about how I felt about you so I didn’t want you to know.” He took a deep breath. “Look, you drive me crazy sometimes. I admit, I’ve dated plenty of girls in the past, but I never stay interested for long. There’s just something intriguing about you that I want to get to know more of. God, I hope I don’t sound too corny right now.”
 

Clémence broke into a small smile. He sounded sweet in fact. If he could only show more of this side, she could really allow herself to fall for him.
 

“Anyway,” he continued. “I was wondering if you wanted to go to lunch sometime.”
 

“Lunch?”
 

“Yeah. It’s more casual than a formal dinner and nicer than just getting a drink. Lunch.”
 

Clémence thought about it. Was it really a good idea to date her neighbor? She had been single for a while now. Sure she’d dated while on her travels, but she always knew that she could pack for the next country and leave the dates behind. With Arthur, she couldn’t pack up and leave; he lived in the same building. If things didn’t work out, they were stuck.
 

“Can I think about it?” Clémence asked.
 

Arthur nodded. His face was less open, impenetrable again. She had not given the answer that he’d hoped for.

“Sure. Text me this time. Ciao.”
 

Clémence watched him walk away and turn a corner. She reached for her smartphone and checked the address of F.R.Fraser on her map. As she followed the directions, her mother phoned her.
 

Her parents were still in Tokyo to oversee the first
Damour
patisserie in Japan. The fever of the grand store opening still hadn’t died down yet. There were daily lineups around the block for their macarons and other desserts and pastries. The salon de thé were booked for weeks in advance. Her mother was just calling to update her and to ask how her trip to Zurich was. They chatted a while longer, but Clémence didn’t want to tell her about Rose’s boyfriend’s death just yet.
 

When she reached the building where F.R.Fraser operated, she managed to talk the security guard into letting her in. She simply told the truth: that she was collecting something for an employee who had died recently. After receiving condolences, she was allowed in through the turnstile. The main foyer was modern, with a man-made waterfall dribbling down a marble wall. There was a cafe in one corner for employees. She pressed the elevator button. When one of the elevator doors opened, the presence of the man who stepped out shocked her.

CHAPTER 6

“You? Again?” Clémence shook her head.

“Can’t stay away from me for long, can you?”
 

Arthur stepped out, grinning in all his pink glory.

“What are you doing here?”

“The guy I had a meeting with at Mable & Best is still out for lunch, so I thought I’d take a walk. So your appointment is here as well?”
 

Clémence couldn’t believe they both ended up in the same building. Paris was really like a small town sometimes. She figured she might as well tell him.
 

“Okay, I’m going to F.R.Fraser,” she admitted. “The financial firm.”

“Of course I know what F.R. Fraser is.”

“I have to collect the things for my friend’s boyfriend who works there. Or used to work there rather. He was murdered.”
 

She filled him in on everything. Arthur shook his head in shock.
 

“But you’re not just here to collect his things are you?”
 

“Yes I am,” she replied.

“No, you’re dressed up. You’re up to something. Who do you suspect is the murderer this time? Spill it.”
 

Clémence sighed. Must Arthur get involved every time?

“Fine.” She briefed him on Pierre’s coworker, and how she wanted to interrogate him.

“How are you going to do that without making it sound like you’re accusing him of murder?”
 

“I have ways.”
 

Arthur gave her a hard look. “You haven’t even prepared what you’re going to say, have you?”
 

“I took improv classes in
lycée
. I’m good at thinking on my feet. You know, feel my way into it. It’s worked so far.”
 

“Maybe you need someone with experience in the finance world to help you.” Arthur’s chest seemed to inflate by the second.

Clémence snorted. “If you mean someone who sleeps in till ten every morning and plays tennis, sure.”
 

Arthur expressed mock outrage. “I don’t think you have a clue as to the breadth of the talents that I possess.”
 

“Please don’t make me roll my eyes.” Clémence got into the elevator and pressed the button for the second floor. Arthur got in after her. “I’m not sure if it’s a good idea for you to come, Arthur. I’m trying to be inconspicuous here, and all that pink might cause a commotion.”
 

“Damour, let a real man get some answers out of this suspect. What’s his name?”

“Paolo. Paolo Bruno.”

When they got out of the elevator, they could see through the glass wall into the office of F.R.Fraser. It was a busy environment, with people on headsets working with multiple computer screens. The receptionist was fielding numerous calls.

“They’re not going to even notice us,” said Arthur. “Come on, let’s go.”
 

“Oh, fine.”
 

They pushed through the glass door. Sure enough, the secretary was too busy speaking on the phone to even look up.

“Rose said that Pierre’s desk is at the corner on the right side of the room.” Clémence led the way.
 

His desk was already bare. There were no picture frames or nicknacks like the other employees had on their desks. He only had a bunch of pens in a cup and a calculator lying out, as well as a couple of finance books and a laptop cord, but no laptop. In his drawers were some single-wrapped madeleines and a beige stapler.
 

“Did somebody already come to clean the desk out?” Arthur asked.
 

“Rose did say that he was a very minimalistic guy.”
 

“What about his computer?”
 

“He probably took it home with him. I remember seeing a laptop on the table in his bedroom. The police probably took it though.”