Harper Lin - Patisserie 06 - Crème Brûlée Murder (3 page)

Cesar had drunk four glasses of champagne. He had eaten one caramel éclair, a piece of opéra cake, six macarons, and a crème brûlée. Madeleine wasn’t kidding when she said Cesar was a fan of Damour desserts.
 

Cesar had just finished the crème brûlée before going to the restroom.

The doorbell rang. Ralph paused and went to the door. Inspector Cyril St. Clair entered. He looked pale, with dark under-eye circles. It was probably way past his bedtime.

“You’re done questioning all the witnesses?” Clémence asked.

“Mademoiselle, I have people for that,” he said pompously. “I have a whole team at my disposal.”
 

“Right. Then how come I’m the one doing all the real work?” Clémence muttered.
 

Cyril ignored her. “What have you found out so far?”
 

“We were just watching what Cesar was doing before he went to the restroom.”
 

Ralph rewound the video, and Cyril watched as Cesar leaned against one of the walls, scraping the ramekin with a spoon. When he finished his crème brûlée, he gave the empty ramekin to a server and walked to the restroom. Naturally, there were no cameras in there, so they couldn’t see what happened.

“So,” Cyril said. “The man ate one of your crème brûlées and he dropped dead.”
 

Clémence sighed. “That’s what it looks like.”
 

Chapter 4

“There’s nothing wrong with my crème brûlées,” Clémence insisted. “If the ones at the party were harmful, most of my guests would have dropped dead by now. My head baker made them himself, just hours before the party.”
 

“Sebastien made them?” Arthur asked.

“Yes. We don’t usually sell crème brûlées in the patisseries, but once in a while, we make them in special flavors for the
salon de thé
, so they’re a special treat.”
 

“What kind of crème brûlée was the victim eating then?” the inspector asked.

“I don’t know,” Clémence said. “I believe Sebastien made them in lavender, orange, and classic vanilla.”

“And Sebastien is Maya’s boyfriend?” Cyril asked. “The woman who discovered Cesar’s body?”

“Yes,” Clémence replied. “They’ve been dating for a few weeks. Don’t tell me you suspect Sebastien now. I’ve known him for years.”
 

“Besides, one of the servers was walking around with a desert tray, and Cesar picked the crème brûlée himself,” Ralph added. “It’s not like anyone gave it to him specifically.”
 

“Let’s watch that footage,” Cyril said.

Ralph rewound until he found the moment where a tall, wiry, nondescript waiter with short dark hair passed by with the tray, and Cesar didn’t look as if he needed much thinking before taking the ramekin and a spoon. Cesar dug into it almost immediately.

“We don’t know if there’s even anything wrong with the crème brûlée,” Clémence said. “Sure, Cesar goes to the restroom right after and dies, but say the crème brûlée was poisoned or something, would the effect be this immediate?”

“We don’t know how long it took for Cesar to die,” Arthur said. “Maya discovered him, what, ten minutes later?”

“It’s possible he was poisoned,” Cyril said. “We’ll find out after the autopsy.
On verra
. We’ll see.” He stood up and buttoned his Burberry jacket and turned to leave.
 

“Wait, that’s it?” Clémence asked.
 

“There’s nothing else we can do in the meantime while we wait for the results,” Cyril said. “I suggest you go home.”
 

The front door closed with a clang.

Clémence turned to Ralph. “Can I get a copy of the tapes from this evening?”
 

“Sure.” Ralph gave her a flirtatious smile. “I can make a DVD and drop it off at Damour tomorrow, if you’re open.”
 

“We probably will be,” Clémence. “I talked to my parents earlier, and they want the store open.
Merci
. I really appreciate it.”
 

Arthur scowled at him, as he stood up and followed Clémence out the door.

Out on the street, they had to call a taxi company for a pickup because the Métros had stopped running.
 

As they waited, Arthur turned to her. “I don’t like the way that Ralph was flirting with you tonight.”
 

Clémence played dumb. “Was he?”

“The way he was looking at you, even when I was there.”
 

“Oh. You weren’t jealous, were you?”
 

“Jealous?” Arthur huffed. “I’m talking about respect.”
 

“So you’ve never flirted with a girl while her boyfriend was there in your playboy days?”
 

Arthur thought about it. “Only when I thought the girl deserved better.”
 

“Ha! I knew it. All men are slime.”
 

“So this surveillance guy thinks he’s better than me? Please.”
 

“You’re blowing things out of proportion,” Clémence tried to say gently. “Some guys just like to flirt.”
 

“So you knew he was flirting. And you flirted back.”
 

She rolled her eyes. “Come on. Don’t be that way. All you need to know is that I don’t have an interest in Ralph romantically. I don’t even know him that well.”

Arthur took a deep breath as the taxi came. “All right. You’re right. Forget it.”

“We have way bigger things to worry about than whether some guy was flirting with me or not.” Clémence leaned on his shoulder in the backseat to show that she wasn’t mad. “And it’s not to our disadvantage. He’s helping us.”
 

“Your company’s paying him to work for you. He has to help you either way.”
 

Clémence shot him a look.

He kissed her forehead. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry you didn’t have a better birthday.”

Clémence laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m used to this type of thing by now.”
 

***

“Geez, maybe it’s a bad idea to be open this morning,” Clémence muttered to herself. Her bright blue eyes were fixed on the door of
les toilettes
. It was almost opening hour. The hired catering crew had helped clean up the night before, and her staff had done the rest.

Since there was no evidence of foul play, the police didn’t think Damour was a crime scene. Clémence’s parents, who were still in Singapore, had agreed with Caroline, the head manager, that the store should stay open. Clémence didn’t think so, but she understood their reasoning. If Damour closed, it would’ve meant something was wrong. They were lucky enough as it was that no paparazzi had been around in the middle of the night. At one a.m., the tourists had also gone, and there were few witnesses to the police cars except the neighboring staff of other cafés and restaurants.
 

News might break sooner or later that Cesar Laberg had died in Damour’s men’s room, but business was business. It wasn’t as if anybody at Damour was responsible for Cesar’s death…wasn’t it?
 

However, Clémence did feel guilty about the whole thing. A murder wasn’t a fun way to end a party. And it didn’t feel right to let customers use the men’s room when it had recently hosted a fresh corpse. She made the executive decision to put an “out of order” sign, and she made the women’s toilet unisex.
 

Clémence told Caroline what she’d done before heading back to the kitchen, where Sebastien and Berenice were working at one table. The brother and sister were both making éclairs, piping the cream filling into the choux pastry.
 

“How’s Maya?” Clémence asked Sebastien. “She seemed a bit traumatized last night.”
 

Sebastien shook his head. “She’s probably sleeping in right now, because she couldn’t really fall asleep after all the madness yesterday evening.”
 

“Poor girl,” Berenice said. “She comes out to meet your friends for the first time and finds a stranger’s dead body near a toilet bowl.”
 

“Maya knew Cesar, actually,” Sebastien said.
 

Clémence’s ears perked up. “How?”
 

“They used to work together. He was her boss.”
 

“At
Editions Laberg
?”
 

“Yes. She was working at a magazine there,” Sebastien said. “She was the editor of a new cooking magazine, and it folded.”
 

“Oh. Where’s she working now?”
 

“She’s a book publicist now,” Berenice said.
 

“Berenice would know,” Sebastien said. “She spoke to Maya every chance she got—interrogating her throughout the evening, practically.”
 

“I wasn’t interrogating.” Berenice pointed a wooden spoon at him. “I’m just trying to get to know my future sister-in-law.”
 

“Oh, come on,” Sebastien said. “Sometimes you act more like my grandmother than my sister. Why would you assume that we’re getting married?”
 

“You’re in your thirties,” Berenice said. “Despite your youthful appearance.”
 

“Hey, I just turned thirty.”
 

“Please. You’re about to turn thirty-one in September.”
 

“That’s not old,” Sebastien said. “People aren’t marrying until much later now.”
 

“Except I think you’re the kind of guy who needs to get married,” Berenice insisted. “You live alone, and God knows what you do puttering around on your days off. Maya seems really grounded. She’ll help you get out of your shell. We worry about you, you know. I’m glad you finally found someone.”
 

“I was doing well on my own,” Sebastien said defensively. “I’m head baker at the top patisserie in Paris, aren’t I?” He must’ve thought about Maya again, because a small smile broke out on his face. “Maya is pretty great, isn’t she?”

“Look at you.” Berenice laughed. “You’re so in love. I’ve never seen you this way, this…euphoric.”
 

“It’s a disease, isn’t it?” he said. “I can’t believe I’m acting like one of those saps.”
 

“I can’t believe you made me think you were gay all this time,” Berenice exclaimed.

“You just came to that assumption yourself.” Sebastien grinned mischievously. “But thanks for the support. It means a lot.”
 

“I didn’t know your girlfriend worked in publishing,” Clémence said, who wanted to steer the conversation back to the subject.
 

“Yeah.” He smiled dreamily. “She has a passion for anything to do with the written word. She’s quite driven.”
 

Clémence’s head was already turning. She planned on meeting Madeleine Seydoux later that day, because she figured Madeleine would probably know more about Cesar’s background. It wasn’t an opportune time to talk to the grieving family members, so she had to go to the next best thing; she wanted to wait a day to speak to the Labergs out of respect.

Now that Clémence knew Maya used to work for Cesar, Maya would be a good person to interrogate.
 

“How well did Maya know Cesar?” she asked Sebastien. “How close were they?”
 

“I don’t think they were friends or anything. They had a professional relationship. They hadn’t been working together all that long. He was only her boss for a few months, I think. Maya said it was fortunate the magazine folded, because she wanted to be a publicist anyway.”
 

“I wonder if she’d be interested in being Ben’s publicist one day,” Berenice said. “You know, after he finishes his novel. Is she good?”
 

“Her clientele is building every day,” Sebastien said.
 

“Did she change jobs recently?” Clémence asked.
 

“In February,” he replied.
 

“You think I can meet up with her?” Clémence asked. “I don’t know what happened to Cesar, but if it was murder, maybe she’d know something.”
 

“Clémence, you think everything’s a murder these days,” Berenice said. “I don’t blame you. But what if it wasn’t?”
 

“I hope that’s the case. But past experiences have taught me to hope for the best and prepare for the worst. I want to gather information in case it is a murder. I mean, there’s a pretty good chance it is, as much as I hate to admit it. A young man like him, rich, powerful, good-looking—he was probably the envy of many people. It wouldn’t hurt to gather information. I feel responsible, since it happened at my party. Maybe Maya could tell me if he had any enemies.”
 

“Maya can certainly help,” Sebastien said.

What if the killer
was
Maya?
 

Clémence berated herself for turning into Inspector Cyril St. Clair, but she couldn’t help it.

Chapter 5

As much as Clémence hated to admit it, the inspector was right to have his suspicions. Maya did find Cesar’s body.
 

Although there hadn’t been a scratch on him. No wounds, no blood, just a limp body. A clever murderer wouldn’t put herself at the scene of the crime like that. Or had Maya just been pretending to be distraught?

Clémence sighed. She was thinking the way Cyril did when he accused Clémence of killing her building’s caretaker when Clémence discovered the old woman’s body. Just because Maya found Cesar didn’t mean she did it. But why had she been in the men’s room? Could it be explained by simple intoxication? Or did something else happen in there?

Sebastien had given Maya a call, but it went to voicemail, so he left a message saying that Clémence was interested in coming by and asking her some questions.
 

Clémence took down her information from Sebastien, and after wolfing down a tuna baguette sandwich for lunch, she left for her new mission.

The paparazzi had been scarce lately, and she hardly encountered them anymore. In August, many Parisians were on vacation. It left the city quieter, and it was also a month when films were made here. A big blockbuster sequel was currently being shot in central Paris. She knew Hollywood A-listers were in town to make the action film, and no doubt the paparazzi were much more interested in them than her, a dessert heiress who already had her fifteen minutes of fame in a kidnapping attempt.