2 Éclair Murder (5 page)

She got down to business and asked him for help in finding the footage for the three transaction times.

As he had before, Ralph found her account on his system, and rewound the footage for the first transaction, at 8:13am. It was a little boy, around ten years old. He wore a helmet with a frog on it. Clémence dismissed it and told Ralph to find the second time, which as at 8:47am. The customer was a tall businessman. He looked to be in his early thirties, but she could be wrong, since the screen quality wasn’t the best.
 

Clémence asked Ralph to pause when he looked in the direction of the camera. She remembered his face, but took a picture of the screen with her cell phone for good measure. She would show it to her staff and ask whether they recognized this guy.

The third transaction was from a lady who looked like a fashionable bourgeois housewife with too much time on her hands. She ordered a huge box of treats along with the pistachios éclairs. It couldn’t have been her. The éclairs found on Dupont had came in Damour’s lavender paper bag.
 

The little boy and the woman didn’t seem like possible suspects. Her biggest lead was the businessman. He must’ve worked in the area. Clémence had to find out just how he was connected to Dupont.
 

CHAPTER 8

“I do know him,” said Celine.
 

Clémence had shown her the picture on her smartphone back in the employee section of the patisserie. Berenice and Marie were there as well, getting ready to leave at the end of their shifts. They’ve all been working longer than usual, but the store was reopened and things were more or less back to normal.

“I’ve seen him too,” said Marie. “Although he only started coming in recently.”

“He’s pretty good looking,” said Celine.
 

Berenice craned her neck to look at the fuzzy picture on Clémence’s phone.
 

“I suppose he does have good bone structure,” Berenice remarked.

“Really, guys?” Clémence said, amused. “We’re talking about a potential murderer here. And I don’t think he’s all that cute.”
 

“No, he’s really charming,” said Celine. “Green eyes, dirty blond hair and this pouty lower lip like Brad Pitt’s. He looks better in person, trust me.”
 

“He’s American,” said Marie. “At least, I think I recall him speaking French with an American accent if I’m not mistaken.”
 

“You’re probably right,” said Celine. “He stumbles on his words a little, which makes him even more adorable. I’m pretty sure he came in for lunch one day with a colleague. They were both in suits, but I noticed him because of his built.”
 

Celine sighed dreamily.
 

“I don’t think he’s
that
good looking,” said Marie. “But I see what you’re saying about the pouty lips, but his eyes were kind of pale and cold.”
 

“No way,” said Celine. “He was really smiley and friendly. He didn’t look cold at all.”
 

“I just meant his eyes,” said Marie.

“Are they the eyes of a killer?” Berenice asked in her mischievous way.

Marie shrugged. “Maybe. But I guess it’s not a crime to have light-colored eyes.”
 

“He’s too hot to be a killer,” said Celine. “He’s tall, got nice broad shoulders, and I think he works out.”

Clémence shook her head. Hot men were always the topic of conversation with her employees.

“Let’s get back on track here. What else do you know about him? Where does he work?”

Marie shrugged. “Not sure. We never had time to chat or anything. You know what it’s like during the morning rush.”
 

“I don’t know either,” said Celine. “His colleague was French, as I recall.”
 

“Maybe we can trace his credit card or something,” said Clémence. “Although he did pay for his éclairs in cash. Maybe he’d pay for his lunch in cash as well.”
 

“He might be coming in tomorrow,” said Marie. “Why don’t you wait for him then? He’s been in consistently for the past few days now, probably before he goes to work.”
 

“Okay,” said Clémence. “I’ll do that then. I’ll be here early in the morning and I’ll wait for him. Now let’s go. Go home and get some rest, I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

***

When Clémence walked back home from work in the early evening, it started to rain. Not just light rain, but a great downpour. In Paris, the weather could change in an instant. The clouds were fast moving, the sky temperamental.

Clémence remembered that she had left her painting of Miffy on the balcony.
 

“Oh no.” She raced back home. The painting might’ve been ruined.
 

She entered her building and impatiently waited for the small elevator to come down. When the doors of the elevator opened, Arthur came out with Youki.

“
Bonsoir
,” he said.

“Oh, hello,” said Clémence. “You’re walking Youki in this weather?”
 

“Actually I have to run some errands,” he said. “And Youki’s not afraid of a bit of water.”
 

“Well, see you then.”
 

Arthur frowned, scrutinizing her. “Are you okay?”
 

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”
 

“You seem a little haggard and run down.”

Clémence frowned. “What do you mean?”
 

“Tired,” said Arthur. “Your complexion is muddy and your eyes are blood-shot.”

“What are you saying?” Clémence said angrily.
 

“That you probably need some rest,” said Arthur. “Why are you getting mad?”
 

“Are you absolutely clueless? You don’t tell a girl that she looks horrible.”
 

“I didn’t say horrible, I said run-down.”
 

“And haggard. It’s been a long day, okay? I’m not just sitting around all day picking lint out of my belly button.”

Arthur smiled, amused by how easily she got riled up.
 

“What’s going on anyway?” said Arthur. “I noticed
Damour
was closed this morning.”

Clémence sighed. She was tired and she didn’t feel like talking about the situation with Arthur. Besides, what good could come out of it anyhow? It wasn’t as if he would be able to help.

“Nothing,” she said. “Just some technical problems. We’re back and running now. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go home.”
 

“Okay,
bonne soirée
. See you around.”
 

Clémence pressed the fifth floor button, hoping the door would close sooner. She didn’t want to talk to anyone else, especially Arthur. How clueless he was to tell her that she looked haggard. The boy could be so incredibly insensitive that it was laughable. Every time she started warming up to him, he would say something off-putting.

Clémence wasn’t entirely innocent either. She didn’t know why she made that comment about belly button lint. She supposed she was just grasping at straws to insult Arthur right back. When was he going to move out of the building already? She had run into him two days in a row now.
 

When she went home and ran out to the balcony to retrieve her painting, it had already been pelted by the rain.
 

“Oh no.” Clémence shook her head. Miffy was at her feet, barking at the canvas in her hand.

Some of the paint had smudged a bit.
 

“I’m sorry, Miffy. Looks like I’ll have to take some time to fix this.”
 

She took a couple of dishrags from the kitchen cabinet and placed the canvas on top of them on the counter.
 

Under the bright lights of the kitchen, she looked at the painting more closely. The more she looked at it, the more she liked it. The rain had ruined some of her detailing and given it a gauzy effect—really runny in some areas, but still clear in others. She liked this particular style. It gave her a distinctive feeling that this was what life was like in Paris: crystal clear and beautiful, yet dreamy and gauzy, and even messy.

Although she wouldn’t try to pelt her oil paints with any more rain water, she would play with this type of experimental texture in her future work, but on purpose this time. It wouldn’t be a bad idea. Not everything had to be perfect and anatomically correct all the time, the way she had been taught all those years in art school.

She could take Ben’s advice and paint what she was passionate about. Desserts and pastries could be incorporated. Clémence had a few ideas about what she could do, but it had been a very long day and she didn’t have the energy to dwell on them.

Clémence gave Miffy a kiss and began to make spaghetti Bolognese for dinner.
 
It was fast and easy, and she just wanted to eat and get some rest.
 

As she waited for the water to boil, she looked into the mirror at her reflection. It was true that she wasn’t looking her freshest. She had dark under eye circles, and her skin was paler than usual. But
haggard
?
 

She refused to be insecure about it. She was human. She couldn’t look beautiful all the time. And if a jerk like Arthur couldn’t accept that, well, she didn’t need to talk to him. Ever.
 

Why did she have to give so much weight to what boys said? Ralph had called her beautiful, and Arthur had said she’d looked horrible on the same day. Maybe she should be the one to decide whether she looked beautiful or not.
 

Right now, beauty should’ve been the last thing on her mind. She needed to eat, and she needed rest. She had a murder case to solve.
 

CHAPTER 9

When Clémence went into work the next morning, Sebastien had already finished a tray of their newest éclair flavor. He’d been piping in the cream when she came in, and he handed one to her.

“Try it,” said Sebastien. “And give it to me straight.”
 

“When do I ever not?” said Clémence.

She took a bite. The pastry was still a bit warm and the cream filling fresh. She almost moaned in pleasure, but she restrained herself.

“What did you do?” she said. “This is amazing.”
 

Sebastien crossed his arms and smiled proudly. “You said you wanted a hazelnut flavor, so you got it.”
 

“But there’s something else that’s going well with this. What is it?” Clémence took another bite. “Orange?”

Sebastien nodded.
 

“It tastes so fresh,” said Clémence. “You’re a genius.”
 

Sebastien smiled and flushed with pride. “I knew you’d go crazy for it.”
 

“Get over yourself,” Clémence groaned. “We can launch this flavour next week. Give me the recipe and I’ll send it off to the bakers in the other locations.”

“Even Tokyo and Hong Kong?” Sebastien asked, referring to the two new patisseries that had opened recently in Asia.
 

“We’ll see,” said Clémence. “I’ll send the recipe to my parents, and they can decide if it’ll do well for the market. Right now they’re still doing market research and collecting information on what’s doing well and what’s not. I’m not sure if they’ll want new flavors so soon, but I’ll ask them.”

“So my experimental savory flavored éclairs will just have to wait too, huh?”
 

“Yes,” said Clémence. “We’ll see if it works in Paris first. Simon really liked it though.” She referred to the head chef in charge of the menu for the
salon de thé
. “We’ll have to see if there’s enough demand for it to be featured permanently on the menu.”
 

“It should do well,” Sebastien said confidently.
 

“Probably,” said Clémence. “But is it possible for your head to swell any bigger?”
 

“No, it’s not.”
 

His sister came in.

“Hey Berenice,” said Clémence. “Any sight of that guy in the patisserie?”
 

“Nope, but when Marie calls you, I want to come out too. I want to see just how hot this guy really is.”
 

“What guy?” asked Sebastien.

“The potential murderer,” Berenice said.

“
What?
”
 

Clémence had to explain how she found out about this guy through their surveillance company.

“I didn’t know we had surveillance.” Sebastien looked around the kitchen. “Are we being filmed right now?”
 

“You didn’t know about the cameras?” said Berenice. “It’s up there, see?”
 

Berenice pointed to a black dome on the high ceiling.

“Oh,” said Sebastien. “I thought that was some sort of light or something. High tech.”
 

“I hope you’re not doing anything here you shouldn’t be doing,” Clémence teased.

“Of course not,” Sebastien said.
 

“I’d like to install some cameras in your apartment.” Berenice turned to
 
Clémence. “I never know what he’s up to, even when he was still living with us. Sebastien would just hide out in his room all the time.”
 

“I need time to myself,” Sebastien said. “It doesn’t mean I’m doing anything weird.”
 

“Yes, but you’re always so private, even to your family. We always get this impression that you’re hiding something.”
 

“You guys are just too nosy,” said Sebastien. “You and mom. Maybe I just don’t want to give you a play-by-play of everything I’m doing during my day.”
 

“Take for example Tuesday and Thursday nights,” said Berenice. “Where do you go? We notice that you don’t ever answer your phone around that time. Do you have a girlfriend now or what?”
 

“That’s none of your business,” said Sebastien.
 

“If you’re seeing someone, you’ll have to present her to us you know.”
 

“Why?”