Baguette Murder: Book 3 (A Patisserie Mystery with Recipes) (7 page)

Clémence took down the name of Adam’s school and Thierry’s company name, as well as their contact information.
 

“Are you going to call them?” Diane asked.

“Actually, I think it’s better if I meet them in person,” said Clémence. “I’ll start with the dumber one, Adam. If I pay him a surprise visit, I might catch him off-guard.”
 

CHAPTER 9

Clémence entered the front doors of the École Elémentaire Paul Cézanne in the 6
^th
arrondissement. Classes were already over, but Rose had told her that Adam worked after school hours on Mondays and Wednesdays as part of the after school program for the kids whose parents worked late and couldn’t pick them up when classes ended. Many families in the wealthy arrondissement employed baby-sitters or nannies, since parents usually worked until seven p.m. or later, but some families preferred enrolling their kids in the after school program so they could get help with their homework, or take part in Adam’s sports program.
 

Clémence kept on the same outfit she’d worn to F.R.Fraser so she could look to part of a working mom, and her presence wouldn’t be questioned. She supposed she was old enough to have a child in elementary school, since she was 28.
 

Adam was in the playground area, blowing on his whistle as a dozen or so cute children skipped rope. She recognized Adam from the photos Rose had shown her on her smartphone. At 6’2”, Adam had black hair, and overly toned upper body. He wore a ratty Rolling Stone T-shirt, blue gym shorts and sneakers. She didn’t mind watching the fit guy from the glass door as she waited for a chance to speak to him. When the children had some free time in the playground to choose and play their own activities, Adam went to the benches to sit down and drink some water.
 

Clémence took the opportunity to approach him. “
Vous êtes Adam?
”
 

“
Oui.
” He gave her a quick once-over. The way his eyes widened conveyed that he liked what he saw.
 

“
Je m’appelle Clémence
. You don’t know me, but I’m Rose’s friend.”
 

Adam stood up. “
Enchanté
. It’s so unfortunate what happened to Pierre.”
 

“Yes, and you can guess why I’m here.”
 

“No, actually. Why are you here?”
 

Adam was pretty slow on the uptake. He was too hot to be smart. Paris, in general, were full of handsome men, but Adam possessed the movie star kind of handsome, with his lean build and square jaw. Well, the American movies anyway. France hardly exported any real good-looking leading men. Her American girlfriends used to complain that it was a conspiracy really—the good-looking guys in Paris were everywhere except on the big screen.

“I’m investigating Pierre’s murder,” Clémence said.

“Are you a cop?” Adam looked at her again more carefully. His eyes slid up her body slower this time.

“Will you cooperate if I said that I was?”
 

“Only if you handcuff me.”

Clémence narrowed her eyes at him.
 

“I’m joking.” He grinned.
 

“Do you know what happened to Pierre?” Clémence asked.

“I heard from his parents that he was killed in his apartment. Robbers are getting so crazy these days. I know two other people who’d been robbed this year, but this is the first time that I’ve heard of someone getting killed over it. I haven’t even processed Pierre’s death. It’s so tragic.”
 

“It wasn’t a robber.”
 

“It wasn’t?”

“No. Nothing has been stolen.”
 

“I just assumed,” said Adam. “Then who would kill him?”
 

“That’s why I’m here,” said Clémence. “When was the last time you saw Pierre?”
 

“On Friday night. We went to the bars in the Latin Quarter.”
 

“What time did you get home?”
 

“Not sure. I was pretty wasted.”
 

“The others got wasted as well?”

“Sure.”
 

“Where did you go after?”
 

“Home. Thierry lives in the 17
^th
, but Pierre and I live close to each other. I think Pierre left first though, so I didn’t walk home with him.”
 

“Why?”
 

“He got a call and he left early.”
 

Clémence frowned. “Who was the call from?”
 

“No clue. That’s all I recall before we got those beers at this one bar and got really smashed.”
 

“So Thierry stayed with you?”
 

“He did. We kept going until the bars closed late into the morning, then we sobered up a bit. We ate burgers and drank coffee. Then Thierry took a taxi home because he was falling asleep on me.”

“Sounds like some boys night out,” Clémence said dryly. “Did you know that Pierre was killed on Saturday morning? Whoever he left you guys for probably had something to do with his death.”
 

“You think so?” Adam asked. “Wow.”
 

“That’s right. Are you sure you don’t have any clues as to who it was?”
 

“I have no idea. I thought it was Rose or something. Usually he goes home because of Rose.”
 

“No, she was in Switzerland that weekend. You didn’t know?”
 

“Oh, I guess I heard something about that, but I didn’t make the connection.”
 

“Unless…” Clémence said.

“What?”
 

“Do you know if Pierre was seeing someone on the side?”
 

Adam hesitated. “I—I don’t know.”
 

Clémence gave him a good hard look. “Are you sure? He’s been with Rose for two years. During this time you would know if he ever cheated on her right?”

He was quiet for a moment. Clémence knew it: Adam knew something.
 

“Okay,” he said, “but you won’t tell Rose?”
 

“Look, Pierre is dead. Telling Rose would only hurt her. Help me out here. I’m trying to find Pierre’s murderer.”
 

Adam thought about it, then nodded.

“Okay, well, sometimes we go clubbing. We’d talk to girls, buy them drinks or whatever. When Pierre’s really drunk, he does let loose and he has made out with some girls on the dance floor in the past.”
 

“Girls, as in plural?”
 

Adam nodded. “He’s young. It’s harmless. As far as I know, Pierre has never gone home with them. Kissing was as far as it went.”
 

“But you don’t know that for sure.”
 

“No, I guess not,” he admitted.
 

“One of these girls could’ve gotten attached, maybe even killed him.”
 

“Like a
Fatal Attraction
kind of thing?” Adam asked.

“Maybe. Do you know who any of these girls were?”
 

“No. They’re just random club girls. We hit them and leave them.”
 

“Classy,” Clémence said. “What was Pierre’s type?”
 

“Any girl, as long as she was attractive. He liked blondes.”
 

It was too bad she couldn’t go through Pierre’s cell phone. The police had it.

“It’s crazy.” Adam shook his head. “I texted Pierre a couple of times this weekend and he didn’t respond. I thought it was weird, but figured he was busy. Now I know why.”
 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Clémence said. “The inspector might want to ask you similar questions, if he ever comes around to it, just so you know.”
 

“What inspector?”

“The one on the case.”
 

“I thought you were on the case. So you’re really not a cop?”
 

Clémence shook his head. He was as dumb as they came.
 

“Oh. You’re too pretty to be a cop,” Adam said. “But I’m disappointed. Hey, can I get your number? I can call you if I ever get more information.”
 

Clémence wanted to turn him down, but she supposed that it would help if Adam did have any new insights, however unlikely that was.
 

CHAPTER 10

Clémence wanted—needed—the call log on Pierre’s phone. Cyril hadn’t contacted her or Rose with any follow-up questions yet so he might’ve been busy with other leads. He was one of the last people on earth that she wanted to talk to, but this time, she needed his help. As much as it hurt her pride, she dialled his direct line.
 

“
Oui?
” came his gruff voice from the other end of the line.
 

“
Bonsoir
,” Clémence tried to sound as polite as possible. “Clémence Damour here.”
 

“Ah,
la heiress.
Are you calling with another Damour-related murder? I’ve got my hands full here.”
 

“No, St. Clair,” Clémence said through gritted teeth. “I called because I have some information. You’ll need it. Where are you?”
 

“I don’t see what I could possibly need. We’re close to solving the case. We’re just waiting for more evidence.”
 

“Really?”
 

“Yes, really. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Actually, it is—”
 

St. Clair hung up. But Clémence knew where he was. She had heard the noise of the strike in the background. The taxi drivers were on strike in the 1
^st
arrondissement at this time, where he worked. She’d read about it on her phone while taking the Métro. Chances were he was in his office.
 

Since it was rush hour again, and taxis were probably scarce to none, she took the Métro to Cité and walked to 36 Quai des Orfèvres. On the third floor, she knocked on St. Clair’s office door.

“There should really be better security in this building,” Cyril muttered when he opened the door.

“Ironic,” Clémence said, “since this is supposed to be the police headquarters.”
 

“How did you get past the security?”
 

“Just slipped the guy twenty euros,” said Clémence. “Just kidding. I just told the guy at the front desk that I had an appointment with you. If ever there was a benefit in being a young Caucasian woman, this is it.”
 

“You’re supposed to wait in the waiting room and the receptionist is supposed to call me,” he huffed.
 

“Couldn’t wait. They were too busy to notice anyway.”
 

“The incompetency in this place.” Cyril picked up the phone. “I’m calling security.”
 

“Come on. We’re peers now. I’m sure our case will go faster if we work together.”
 

“
Peers
?” Cyril sneered. “
Our
case?”

Clémence suppressed a smile. It was too easy to toy with Cyril.
 

However, he also took every opportunity to peeve her off. He got a knowing look on his face and his scowl turned into a smile.

“You’d usually go out of your way to avoid me, Damour. The fact that you’re here tells me that you really want something from me.”
 

“Wow,” Clémence said. “Nothing gets past you does it St. Clair?”
 

“It’s
Monsieur
St. Clair.”
 

“Stop calling me ‘La Heiress’ and maybe I’ll consider it.”
 

“Whatever you say,
mademoiselle
.” He spat the word out of his mouth as if it was a derogatory remark. “
Dites-moi. Qu’est-ce que tu veux?
”
 

“I didn’t say you could
tutoyer
me,” Clémence shot back, referring to the informal way of addressing one another in the French language. “That’s presumptuous of you.”
 

“If you’re comfortable enough to barge into my office, I think I have the right to call you ‘
tu
’.”
 

“But I’m young enough to be your daughter,” she joked.

“Ha.” Cyril was not amused. “You’re trying to distract me. Out with it. It’s late and I want to get home.”
 

“Long day? Who’ve you’ve been chasing?”

“Nice try, Damour.”
 

“Let me guess. Is it Mary, the assistant?”
 

Cyril’s eyes widened. “How do you know that?”

“I saw you question her.”
 

“You’ve been following me?

“Please. I was there to question someone from the office as well. In fact, I was there first. Now what do you have on Mary anyway? She seems like a nice gal.”

Clémence was bluffing. She didn’t know anything about Mary, but the more argumentative she was, the more likely Cyril would want to show off and prove her wrong. He didn’t fall for it this time however.
 

“Didn’t you say you had something to tell me? Out with it!”
 

“Fine.” Clémence told him about Adam and how someone had called Pierre on Friday, which caused him to leave his friends early. “Do you have Pierre’s phone and computer? Did you find anything on it?”
 

“Yes.” St. Clair sighed. “If you must know, we did follow up on one questionable call that showed up on his log. Other than that, this guy has no life outside of work and the same handful of people in his life.”

“Well?” Clémence asked eagerly. “Who was this phone call from?”
 

“We tried to trace it, but it only went to a phone booth out of St. Lazare station.”

“A phone booth? I didn’t know there were any left in Paris.”
 

“Exactly. It looks like whoever it was wanted to cover their tracks.”
 

“Did you check the security cameras?”
 

“Yes. It was a woman wearing a big hat that obscured her face. She also wore sunglasses and gloves. Plus she was wearing a hideous dark overcoat that swallowed her shape. We couldn’t tell who it was.”