Baguette Murder: Book 3 (A Patisserie Mystery with Recipes) (6 page)

“You’re welcome to stay,” said Clémence. “There’s plenty of room.”
 

“You don’t mind?”
 

“Of course not.”
 

“I promise not to be a bother. In fact, I’ll cook for you girls. It doesn’t seem like you have much in the fridge at the moment.”
 

Clémence laughed. “Usually I’ll just eat at my store, or grab something quick on my way home.”

“Rose is the same. Girls of this generation these days. Too busy to cook, but I don’t blame ya. Being a working girl is something to be proud of.”
 

“Thanks, and I do appreciate a good home cooked meal. I’ve missed eating some of your famous dishes. My favorite is the
pâté aux pommes de terre
.”
 

“That’s everybody’s favorite,” she said. “And funny enough, it’s what I want to make for dinner. About Pierre, have you found anything so far?”
 

Clémence told her about how she tried to talk to his coworker, but he was now off her suspect list.

“Are you sure it’s still not possible that it’s him?” Diane asked. “The workplace is so competitive these days. People all backstabbing each other. It’s all fear from the financial crisis and people losing their jobs, I wouldn’t be surprised if somebody would want to get rid of a brilliant guy like Pierre from the competition.”
 

“Enough to murder him in his home?”
 

Diane sighed and shook her head. “Who’s to say what motivates people these days?”

“Have you met Pierre?”
 

“Sure. Rose brought him home on several occasions.”
 

“What did you think of him?”
 

Diane thought about it. Clémence could tell that she was trying to choose her words carefully. “He seemed a bit, well, quiet. I didn’t really see what Rose saw in him at first. He had no sense of humor, just like my ex-husband.” Diane gave a shrill laugh. Clémence knew that her divorce had been a sore point. Rose’s father had run off with a woman half his age whom he had met at work. They divorced six years ago and Diane kept the house in Romainville. “But he seems like a nice guy. Very ambitious. What about you? What did you think about him? No need to mince words.”
 

“I don’t know. He did seem like a nice enough guy, but I agree that he was a bit humorless.”
 

“You know how girls can be. They’re attracted to their fathers.”
 

“Is that so?” Clémence said.

“That’s what they say. Freud, at least. Rose’s father was just as humorless.”
 

“And you believe that?”
 

“Maybe. Or at least some version of their fathers.”
 

“I don’t know about that theory,” said Clémence. “My father’s the greatest guy I know, but I keep dating these arrogant jerks.”
 

Diane laughed. “What, so you’re in love with a jerk right now?”
 

Clémence squirmed. “I wouldn’t say in love. We hadn’t even gone on a date yet.”
 

“Oh, but you will?”

She nodded. “Yes, this week.”
 

Clémence broke into a smile. It felt good to confide in someone. She was used to telling her mom about the guys she dated, but it would be strange to when it came to Arthur because her mom knew Arthur’s mom, and they were all neighbors. Clémence also didn’t want to discuss it with her friends yet since she used to tell them how much she despised Arthur.

“To be young and in love,” Diane sighed dreamily.

CHAPTER 8

“Sebastien is acting so weird,” Berenice said. “He called me to fill in for him this afternoon, but he won’t tell me what he’s up to.”
 

“Any guesses?” Clémence asked.

They were in the kitchen, where Berenice was preparing croissants to be baked. Clémence had dropped in after receiving a text from Berenice informing her where she had disappeared off to.

“I think it has something to do with where he goes off to on Tuesday and Thursday evenings,” Berenice said. “I’m tempted to follow him one of these days.”
 

“He’ll probably never speak to you again if you do,” Clémence said.
 

“Sure he would. We’re family. He knows what I’m capable of. But I’ll find out what he’s up to one of these days. The truth always comes out sooner or later. So what are you going to do next for Pierre’s case?”
 

“I’m not sure,” said Clémence. “I was going to talk to the assistant, but Cyril beat me to it. I do want to talk to her, but I wonder if Cyril already found something. I hope he does.”
 

“Rose was sobbing in her room after you left. She was in such pain, physically and emotionally. She couldn’t digest the aubergine pasta I made for lunch because of her distress. Thank god her mother came or I wouldn’t have known what to do. Whoever killed Pierre is still out there, and the trail is still hot. I wouldn’t leave it up to chance. And Cyril and his team? That’s chance.”
 

“Now that you put it that way,” Clémence said slowly. “I should do more. Since Cyril’s grilling the co-workers, I can talk to Pierre’s friends. Pierre’s not very social, but if he’s been friends with these two guys forever, he probably confides in them more. They’re the only friends he has, apparently.”
 

Berenice looked up. “Wait, but what if the killer is one of them?”
 

“I suppose it could be.” Clémence thought about it a bit more. “Rose and I had left for Switzerland right after Rose got off work on Friday. She went home to get her stuff, so she saw him briefly to say goodbye. I waited in the taxi, so I didn’t see him at all. Maybe I should ask her what happened the last time she saw him. Were his friends there? Pierre hangs out with his friends often, so since she was gone, it’s likely that he would spend his Friday night hanging with them. Maybe one or both of them ended up sleeping over.”

“That would explain why Pierre wasn’t surprised to have anyone in the house.”
 

“Then either both guys were in on it, or only one.”
 

“But if one did it, the other would know about it. It might’ve been an accident, you know?” Berenice said. “Maybe it happened when one of them was in a drunken stupor.”
 

“It happened in the morning. They couldn’t have still been drunk.”

“True,” said Berenice.
 

“So Friday evening, Pierre bought some food, which included buying a baguette from Damour. He went out with his friends and maybe one of them crashed. The killer hit him on the head from behind with something hard, then fled. But why? I have to talk to these guys.”
 

***

“
Tu as faim?
” Diane asked when Clémence returned. “Are you hungry?”
 

Two
pâtés aux pommes de terres
were fresh out of the oven and two more were baking. “This looks and smells amazing.”
 

The
pâté aux pommes de terre
was a potato pie. It was a specialty from Limousin, where Diane was from. With its delicious flaky pastry, crème fraîche and slices of potatoes, nobody made a
pâté aux pommes de terre
quite like Diane did.
 

“Thanks.” Diane beamed. “I’ll serve it with a green salad for dinner. Will you be joining us?”

“Actually, I don’t know. I just came back to ask Rose something and I have to be on my way.”
 

“What do you need? She still might not be feeling well. Is this something I can help you with?”
 

“Perhaps. I need Adam and Theirry’s phone numbers. They’re Pierre’s best friends. I’m going to ask them some questions and I also wanted to ask Rose more about them.”
 

Diane hesitated. “You think this is a good time to ask Rose, sweetie? You might upset her even more.”
 

Clémence sighed. “I know it’s upsetting. She’s your daughter. But time is of the essence. Pierre’s killer is still out there. The sooner I find out, the sooner Rose will get closure.”
 

“Don’t you think the police should be the ones doing the investigating? I heard you had some luck in the past, but criminal investigation is a dangerous field,
chérie
.”
 

“I know it must look silly for a person like me to be trying to hunt down a murderer, but I can’t stand back and do nothing. It just doesn’t feel right.”
 

“And you think Adam and Thierry might have information?”
 

“It doesn’t hurt to try, right?”
 

Diane frowned, but she seemed to be considering her point of view. “Well, I suppose.”
 

Suddenly, Rose came in. Her face was white and there were dark rings under her eyes. Her blond hair was a mess from sleeping. However, there was a small smile on her face.

“Are you feeling better, Rose?” asked Diane.

“Yes. I smelled the dish all the way from my room. I’ve really missed your cooking, mom.”
 

She hugged Diane. Watching the loving mother and daughter, Clémence missed her own mother.
 

“You can learn how to make this,” Diane said to Rose.

“I’ve tried, but it never comes out as good as yours, so what’s the point?”
 

“It’s a family recipe,” said Diane. “You have to learn it so you can pass it down to your kids someday.” She turned to Clémence. “Does your mom cook, Clémence? I know she’s a famous baker, but does she make all the meals at home?”
 

“Sometimes,” said Clémence. “And my father likes to cook as well, at least when I was growing up. When the patisseries took off, they had less time to do that, but we would just get our chefs to make our meals. They were my parents’ recipes after all, and it was as good as homemade. We also ate at the salon de thé quite often, naturally. I couldn’t expect my parents to cook all the time since they work in the food industry for a living.”

“So they do still get a sense of joy from cooking?” asked Diane.

“They do and they are massive foodies. I work in the patisserie and I’m never tired of baked goods, you know? They’ll never get tired of cooking, at home or at work. It’s just a matter of time.”
 

Diane nodded. “I’m glad. My cooking was one of the reasons my ex-husband stayed with me for so long. He couldn’t tell a spatula from a ladle in the kitchen. I keep telling Rose that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but you girls never seem to have time these days.”
 

“It’s true,” Clémence admitted. “I’m so busy these days that I just grab whatever I can, or eat at the patisserie.”
 

“Housewives are a dying breed,” said Diane.
 

“Oh Mom, you know we appreciate everything you do at home,” said Rose. “Somebody has to do the things you do.”
 

“Cooking is fine, but a housewife washes the floors, cleans the toilets—we’re glorified housekeepers. I’m living off alimony and it’s not enough, but at my age, it’s too late for me to get a job.”
 

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Clémence said.
 

“A decent job, I mean. One where an education is required, which I don’t have, but I’m so proud of you girls for being successful. At least I can be useful feeding you.”
 

Diane had been divorced for years, but she was still bitter about her divorce. The bitterness came out from time to time. Clémence could understand. She was with Mathieu for only three years before he dumped her for some nude model. After two years, Clémence was still bitter about it. Imagine if she had been married for two decades and had children with the man, and then find out that he had been cheating. She didn’t know how Diane coped. She’d given the best years of her life to someone who chucked her for some cheap hussy.
 

This was why Clémence was so afraid of getting into another relationship. Deep down, love was what she wanted more than anything, but what she feared the most. It was why a simple lunch with Arthur could cause so much anxiety. Now that she thought about it a bit more, given Arthur’s romantic history, who was to say that he wouldn’t chuck her after one go, like he’d chucked all the other girls?

Well, she had to put a stop to this before anything were to start. She whipped out her phone and sent a quick text to Arthur.

Sorry, I changed my mind. I can’t go to lunch with you. Let’s just be friends.
 

Cold, but it was necessary to protect her heart. Maybe she’d meet the perfect guy who could prove himself to be trustworthy, one day. Maybe then she’d be more open to it. Besides, she had a full life, busy with her career, her friends and, currently, the murder case.

“Rose, can you give me Adam and Thierry’s numbers?” Clémence asked.

“To ask about—”

“Yes.”
 

Reminded of Pierre, Rose gripped onto the kitchen counter and slowly nodded.

“Of course.”
 

“I need to know more about them,” said Clémence. “Where they work, what they do and all that.”
 

“Well, Adam is all brawn. I actually think his brain is made out of muscle. He’s a gym teacher in an elementary school in the 6
^th
arrondissement, not far from where my apartment is. Thierry is an engineer working in healthcare technology, so he’s smarter.”
 

“They’re all quite different, aren’t they?” Clémence said.

“Sure are. They probably wouldn’t be friends if they all met now, but they’d grown up together and that kind of bond is stronger. Plus, they’re all into soccer, rugby, and politics, so they have that in common.”
 

“They know about the…death?”
 

“Yes,” said Rose. “They both called me. I talked to each of them, but I kept it brief, since, you know, I don’t want to talk about it detail.”
 

“Of course.” Clémence patted her on the shoulder. “I’m sorry you’re going through this. I’ll make sure that the murderer gets caught.”