Harper Lin - Patisserie 06 - Crème Brûlée Murder (10 page)

Clémence had asked her coworkers not to make a big deal of her incident. “I’m fine. I wanted to ask you, did you get the invoice from the catering company hired to work at my birthday party? Did you already pay them?”
 

“As a matter of fact, I did get it, and I was going to mail out the check later today.”
 

“Thanks, Carolyn. Actually, I want to deliver the check in person. I want to speak to the boss.”
 

“Sure.” Carolyn looked into her “outgoing” tray on her desk and took out an envelope. “Here’s the check.”
 

“Who’s the owner, again?” Clémence asked. “I met her at the party. Was it Pierrette something?”
 

“Pierrette Manteau.”

“Right. Thanks. I’m off.”
 

***

The catering company was in the 14th arrondissement, and they typically catered French cuisine for special events. Clémence had only hired them for the waitstaff, since her chefs and bakers at Damour had already provided the food.
 

She got off the Métro at Denfert-Rochereau with her bodyguard, Guy. They walked past the wraparound lineup for the Paris Catacombs, which she had visited when she was a teenager for a date with her first boyfriend. She hadn’t found it as fascinating as her boyfriend had, however. The dead skulls lining the walls of the underground tunnels killed any romance that had been on her mind that day. She hadn’t returned since.

Arthur had expressed interest in going, because he’d lived in Paris all of his life and he’d never been, but they never had the chance to because the line was usually an hour long. Perhaps they’d go in the off season, like in the late fall or winter.

As she followed the address of the catering company on the map on her smartphone, she and Guy found themselves in a secluded alley. She had to admit, good thing she had a bodyguard to accompany her to such places.
 

When she reached the right number, there was only an inconspicuous sign above a red door to advertise the place. All the windows were tinted. There was no sign of life anywhere. It was one of those sketchy kinds of alley where homeless men relieved their bladders.

She rang the doorbell. After about a minute, Pierrette Manteau answered. Pierrette had been present alongside her team at Clémence’s birthday party. She was a woman in her early sixties with long white hair tied up into a bun, and she wore bifocals that magnified her eyes, making her appear loopy and eccentric.

“
Bonjour?
” Pierrette greeted her with a confused smile. Her orange-red lipstick was crackling over her dry lips.

“Madame Manteau, do you remember me? It’s Clémence Damour. Your team worked at my birthday party last Saturday?”
 

“Oh, Clémence, of course! I’m sorry. Sometimes I’m so bad with names and faces.”
 

Clémence chuckled. “It’s fine. But a bit of a problem if you’re bad with names
and
faces.”
 

“I’ll say. It seems to get worse with old age, too.”

“This is Guy,” Clémence said.
 

The bodyguard nodded and smiled at Pierrette.

“
Bonjour
,” Pierrette said.

“I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute,” Clémence said.
 

“Of course. Come on in.”
 

They passed an industrial kitchen where three cooks were working. Clémence followed Pierrette into her office at the back. Guy stayed just outside the door.
 

It looked as if a yard sale had exploded in there. Useless knickknacks and souvenirs from various vacations were everywhere. They cluttered her desk, along with pictures of her family members and mountains of paperwork. The office was the size of a closet, and Clémence felt a bit claustrophobic.
 

“First of all, here’s the check.” Clémence pulled out the envelope and gave it to her.

“Thanks, dear. Again, I’m so sorry that a guest passed away that night. But it happens, I suppose.”
 

“It’s very unfortunate. Thank you, and tell your staff I appreciated their professionalism.”
 

“It’s no problem. In my thirty plus years in the industry, I have to say, this is not the first time I have witnessed a death on the job. Seven years ago, the CEO of a large oil company simply clutched his heart when he was in the middle of eating a piece of filet mignon and fell headfirst onto his plate. Heart attack. I’ll never forget it.”
 

“That’s terrible.”
 

“Anyway, enough of this awful talk. Was there anything else I could do for you, dear?”
 

“Well, there is one thing. You see, I was wondering if I can talk to one of your employees that worked that night. I have some questions to ask him.”
 

“Who?”
 

“I don’t know his name. But he’s tall. He looks to be in his early thirties. Dark hair. Thin face. Here.” Clémence pulled out the surveillance picture of the man.

“David? Oh. Actually he’s a new hire. He had a lot of experience, and he did a great job that night. However, I’ve been calling him for other jobs, and his phone has been out of service. I even tried emailing, but the emails kept bouncing back. It’s a bit strange.”
 

“Strange indeed,” Clémence muttered. “Do you have any other information on him? How did you hire him?”
 

“He called out of the blue, asking if there were any openings. As a matter of fact, there were, and I asked him to email me a CV. He insisted on delivering the CV himself, so I figured, why not check him out and interview him? He came and sat where you sat. He seemed very knowledgeable about food and wine. He even offered to work for free as a trial basis for our next job, which was your birthday party. David seemed like a very eager go-getter, and I couldn’t refuse. Plus, we were short staffed anyway, since many of my waiters are on vacation. I told David that if he did a good job, I would give him the full wage, and I did.”
 

“Do you still have his CV?” Clémence asked.

“Yes, it’s here somewhere.”
 

Clémence looked on as Pierrette searched her files. Somehow Pierrette was able to retrieve the CV in no time, which surprised Clémence. There must’ve been an order to the chaos, Clémence figured, otherwise, Pierrette wouldn’t have been able to keep a reputable company running as smoothly as she did for so many years.

She handed the CV to Clémence.
 

David Hortense
. His experience working for Parisian restaurants was a mile long. There was a picture of him. A clear headshot, where he was looking sternly into the camera. In France, it was legal to put a picture on a CV, unlike in the States, where Clémence had been surprised to learn from her American friends that it wasn’t allowed.

Now that she had a clear color photo of him, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had been the one who had served her the wine, and thus he had been responsible for poisoning her.

“What else do you know about him?” Clémence asked.

“Is he in trouble?” Pierrette frowned.

“Well, we have reason to believe David Hortense is trouble. That is, if David is his real name, which I seriously doubt. He is the police’s top suspect for the murder of Cesar Laberg.”
 

“Murder? I thought Cesar committed suicide. I read that in the paper this morning.”
 

“We have reason to believe that David was behind the death and tried to frame it as a suicide. I’m telling you because if you hear from David, please call me right away. I very much doubt he’ll be in touch again, but just in case he does, be on guard.”
 

“This is frightening. A murderer among my staff? I mean, I hardly knew him, but I just can’t imagine!”
 

“It happens. Some people in this world are cunning and psychotic. We don’t know what he wanted with Cesar, but we have to find out. Please think if you know anything else about him.”
 

“Well,” Pierrette said slowly. “I only saw him twice. The first time for the interview, and the second time for your birthday party. He brought his work clothes. Everybody had to wear white dress shirts and black pants. Usually it’s something I can provide our servers, or reimburse them for their purchase, but he insisted he had his own, so he showed up already dressed. Our conversations for the rest of the evening were work related. He was polite to the staff, and took to the tasks quickly. I mean, it’s not the most difficult job. Serve food and make the guests feel taken care of. I don’t recall having a personal conversation with him at all. I figured I’d get the chance to find out more about him as we continued to work together.”
 

“I see. Perhaps I can get the contacts of your other staff members? Maybe they have information on David.”
 

“Sure. I can do that. I doubt that they’ll have more to say, considering David seemed to be all business and I hardly saw him interacting with the other workers, even when they took breaks, but you can certainly try.”

“Thank you, Pierrette.”
 

Clémence took a picture of the CV, then a close-up of David’s photo, and sent it to Inspector Cyril St. Clair.
 

Chapter 16

When Clémence returned to the Damour kitchen, she rewarded herself with a treat. She must’ve been more stressed than she would admit to herself, because she grabbed a fresh pistachio éclair, still warm from one of the cooling trays, and ate it in two bites. The murderer was still out there. She hoped Cyril and his team would find this guy soon, but she wasn’t exactly optimistic. She imagined herself shadowed by a bodyguard for the foreseeable future.
 

“Hey, Clémence,” Sebastien said. “Did you find out anything new?”

“Sort of,” she said. “This picture.” She showed Sebastien the CV. “Do you remember this guy at all?”
 

Sebastien examined the photo. “Hmm. He does look familiar. But I have to admit, I wasn’t really paying attention to the waitstaff that night.”

“It’s creepy. He’s in the background, yet he has eyes and ears everywhere. A chaotic party is the perfect place to slip something in someone’s food or drink to kill them. Who is this guy? I rewatched the surveillance footage again. He spoke to Cesar. What was he saying to him?”

“Was he talking to anyone else at the party?”
 

“No. Not from what I could tell from re-watching the surveillance footage anyway. It would make sense that this guy would go out of his way to charm Cesar. Maybe he was talking up the crème brûlée. I just hope the police will figure something out.”
 

“Yes,” Sebastien agreed, but he sounded doubtful, as well. The police didn’t have the best reputation. Crimes in the city often went unpunished. Pickpockets were all over the place, and so were robbers and thieves. Clémence couldn’t rely on the police to solve this murder.
 

Celine came in. “Hey. It was super busy up front, Clémence, so I couldn’t talk to you, but I’m on a break. Did you go somewhere? Your bodyguard is super hot, by the way. Is he single?”
 

“Oh, Celine. I thought you were stuck on Charles?”
 

“He never got back to me,” Celine said. “Too bad, because I was willing to be a shoulder for him to cry on. I texted him last night, and the night before. Even if he’s grieving, he’d at least text me back. I thought he liked me, but I guess I was wrong. I sure can pick them, right?”
 

Clémence recalled what Madame Laberg had said about Charles dating a hostess. For a guy who still lived at home and obeyed his parents when it came to his career, it wasn’t a surprise that Charles would obey his mother in terms of his love life too. “You’re too good for Charles.”
 

“Yeah. And the easiest way to get over one guy is to get on top of someone else.”

“Sure, I can ask Guy whether he’s single.” Clémence smiled at her wryly. “Hey, do you recognize this guy?”
 

Clémence showed her David Hortense’s photograph on the CV.
 

Celine examined it. She frowned. “This guy does look familiar.”
 

“He was a cater waiter at my party,” Clémence said. “Nobody seems to know his real identity. Do you remember him at all from the party?”
 

“I don’t think the party’s where I recognized him. I’ve seen him somewhere else. I just don’t remember where at the moment.”

“I believe he’s responsible for Cesar’s death.”
 

“And he tried to kill you?”
 

Clémence nodded.

Celine closed her eyes to think. “I know I’ve seen that face before,” she muttered.
 

Sebastien and Clémence stared at Celine as she tried to think.
 

“Anything?” Sebastien asked after a long minute had passed.

Celine still didn’t answer. She closed her eyes to rack her brain. After another minute, her eyes sprang open. “I got it! Okay. You know how I went out for drinks with Cesar at the Buddha Bar?”

“
Oui
,” Clémence said.
 

“Well, at the end of the evening, he paid for the bill. Charles said he’d take me home, and we were about to leave when he got a call, and he excused himself to take it outside. At first I waited at the table, but I figured since we were ready to go, I’d go outside and have a cigarette. He was outside. His car had pulled up—I knew it was his car because he’d picked me up. A man got out of the car. I remember thinking that he was kind of cute, too, if a little tall. He was dressed well and had a tough look to him. Charles was talking to him, I presumed about business. I’d finished my cigarette when the car drove off. I didn’t want Charles to think I was spying on him, so I went back in and sat back at the table. He said that he had to get me a cab instead because he had some last-minute work to attend to. I was disappointed, but Charles was pretty gracious about it and paid for the cab in advance.”