Sweet as Pie Crimes (12 page)

Detective Morceau buzzed an adjacent office, and a middle aged man with a chestnut beard and penetrating eyes joined us a moment later.  Carrying a sketch pad and pencil, he sat down across from me and skillfully developed a composite of Yves as I described the fugitive. 

“Yes, that’s exactly what he looks like!” I marveled, feeling that these police sketchers were magicians rather than artists.

Promptly, the sketch was scanned into the crime database so that agencies all over France and Italy would have a bird’s eye view of the criminal.  After the sketch artist left, there wasn’t much that Xavier and I could do other than wait and try to stay awake.  The hour was late, sometime past midnight just like when I had witnessed Ch
érie running away with the bag of pastries.  Never would I have guessed back then that the pastries contained emeralds stolen from the Louvre!

“Maybe we should head back to Paris,” Xavier suggested through heavy-lidded eyes that betrayed how sleep deprived he was.  “If we can even catch a train at this hour.”

“You can go if you want to, Xavier, but I’m staying here.  I want to be here when they get Patric and his mafia!”

“No, I’ll stay with you.  But we might be waiting a long time.  It can take months or even years to capture fugitives.  These aren’t amateurs.  They know how to make themselves scarce.”

“Why are you such a pessimist?” I complained.

“I’m a realist,” he corrected gently.

Outside Detective Morceau’s office, a flurry of activity caught my attention as sirens whined in my ears.  “What’s going on?” I wondered aloud.

Police officers gathered at the entrance to the station as I stood up, using my height as an advantage to see what was happening.  The door swung open, revealing one disheveled prisoner restrained in ankle chains and handcuffs.
 

Chapter 9

The prisoner fixed an ice cold stare on me as I hardly recognized the sneering face of Patric Anguisson.  Accustomed to his oozing charm and horizon-wide smile, I couldn’t reconcile the haggard, menacing image he presented in handcuffs.  Instinctively, Xavier placed a protective arm around my waist to shield me from the venom seeping out of Patric’s gaze.

“It was supposed to be you!  You were supposed to take the fall!” Patric raved, inserting a sexist expletive that made my pulse pound furiously.

“What is he talking about?” I whispered shakily to Xavier.

“You have the right to remain silent,” Detective Morceau advised, “and I would recommend that you do.”

But Patric unleashed a torrent of rage, all directed inexplicably at me.  “You should be arrested too!  You snooping idiot!”  The name calling became more vicious as I tuned it out, trying to make sense of why he was so livid with me.

Certainly, I had come to Marseille as an informant for the police department, but it wasn’t my fault that he had stolen the jewels!  As two officers hauled him past a security checkpoint, Patric’s malicious words replayed in my head. 
You were supposed to take the fall!
  Had he been planning to set me up and use me as a scapegoat?  I did assist with some of the baking at Collette’s Pastry Shop, so I conceivably could have been the one who planted the emeralds inside the cream puffs.  And that was exactly what Patric had wanted everyone to believe.  My mouth tightened as I realized that our coffee shop conversation and all the cat calls to me on the street had been part of his cruel plan to frame an innocent bystander.

“He wanted me to take the blame for his crime!” I hissed to Xavier who nodded his understanding.

“I know.  But his evil plan didn’t work.  He will probably never see the light of day again.”

Just before Patric was dragged past a sound proof partition to a holding cell, he managed to spout one more irrational remark.  “Those emeralds are rightfully mine anyway!  Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine is a distant ancestor of mine.  I’m in her bloodline!  They’re MY emeralds!  You have no right to lock me up!”

Detective Morceau chuckled and shook his head as I asked, “Why is he saying such ridiculous things?”

“Clearly paving the way for an insanity defense.  He’s a criminal, but he’s no fool.  Anyone would rather be sentenced to an insane asylum than a French prison.” The detective didn’t seem even remotely unnerved by Patric’s outbursts.

“How clever,” I muttered sarcastically, still fuming from the disgusting language he had directed at me and his intention to have me serve a sentence for a crime
he
committed. “He should have been nicer to me,” I snapped with richer sarcasm.  “Next year at this time, I’ll be a lawyer.  Who knows?  Maybe I’ll even be part of the prosecution team in his case!”

Xavier looked at me with intense admiration.  “I hope you are, Isabelle.  That would be more justice than any court could dish out!”

We shared a much needed laugh before joining the arresting officers at the front of the station to hear their story of the capture.  Proudly, a female officer with a tidy auburn ponytail said, “He’s all out of time, that Anguisson.  He made a huge mistake by stealing his cousin’s car and using it to get away.  Since we knew where Anguisson was staying, it was easy to track the registration and license number of the vehicle.  He hadn’t gotten more than a mile out of Marseille when we had him surrounded.”

“And did you call his bluff?” Detective Morceau asked.

“Of course,” she replied.  “Told him we had his entire confession crystal clear on tape.  He had no problem believing that because he had already seen our brave sleuth standing on the sidewalk.” She pointed at me and smiled.

“What about Yves and Ch
érie?” I inquired, feeling incomplete with the other two criminals still on the lam.  

“Well, thanks to your informing us that Yves worked at Collette’s Pastry Shop, we were able to obtain his last name and license plate too, so it’s just a matter of time before he’s caught.  As for Ch
érie, we still don’t even know her last name, but I have a hunch Patric will rat her out if it will help his own case,” another officer interjected.

“But Ch
érie is his sister,” I argued.  “Do you really think he would turn his own sister in?”

“Mademoiselle Nouvelle, those two are not brother and sister.  Another tidbit that motor mouth Anguisson leaked in the car is that he’s worried about his
girlfriend
.  She’s on her own now with a bag full of stolen jewels.  As far as I’m concerned, that admission is the first step towards him telling us the whole story and leading us to her…and the emeralds.” Her ponytail swung as the police officer sighed deeply and shook hands with her colleagues, including a very pleased Detective Morceau.

“I think your work here is done,” Morceau announced, shaking my hand and then Xavier’s.  “Thank you for everything you’ve done, Mademoiselle Nouvelle.  I believe there’s a reward with your name on it.”

Beaming at the detective, I replied, “It was an honor to work with you, sir.  I hope we’ll work together again after I graduate law school.”

“I have a feeling we will.  You’re on your way to becoming an excellent attorney…and maybe a detective too.  Just don’t try to steal my job.  I don’t plan on retiring for quite a while.” The detective winked as Xavier and I strolled out into the fresh Mediterranean air.

Chapter 10

In unison, Xavier and I breathed a sigh of relief as we strode through the door of our apartment.  Dumping my overnight bag on the floor, I used my free hands to massage the kinks that had formed in my neck and shoulders during our exhausting trek.  Predictably, Xavier put on a pot of coffee and watched impatiently until it percolated.

“I’m starved,” I announced, searching the countertop for a suitable snack.

Sticking my hand into the cookie jar and surfacing with a palm full of crumbs, I scolded Xavier good-naturedly.  “We’re all out of cookies.  I guess you must have dunked the last one in that endless vat of coffee you’re always drinking.”

Choking on a combination of java and laughter, he told me, “Try again.  I’m pretty sure I left a jam biscuit in there for you.”

Reaching to the bottom of the jar, I didn’t find a jam biscuit, but I did unearth some other objects.  My heart stopped as I pulled a trio of pebbles from the cookie jar.  Holding them up to the light, I realized they were three tiny emeralds.  “How did these get in the cookie jar?!” I shouted, rushing over to Xavier.

“
Mon Dieu
, I have no idea.  Those were in the cookie jar?”

“Yes!  But where did they come from?  Patric is in jail now.  And Yves and Ch
érie are no longer in Paris.  Who else could have put them there?” A sick feeling spiraled around my stomach as I felt the case I had just slammed shut retract and strike me in the jaw.

Xavier was silent for several moments before bursting out, “Wait a second!  Remember when you thought someone was in here that rainy night?  And I didn’t believe you!  Maybe Xavier or Ch
érie…or even Yves…snuck in that night and planted those emeralds in the cookie jar!”

I continued his line of reasoning.  “Because Patric wanted to drag me into this mess and turn the attention away from him!  I bet he was planning to give a false tip against me and have the cops come search our apartment.  They would have found the emeralds, and we would be the ones in jail!  That makes total sense.” My stomach felt even queasier at the thought of what would have happened if Patric’s diabolical plot had succeeded.  “I still don’t understand why he wanted me up to his apartment for some so-called portrait painting, though.”

“Because he desired you, Isabelle!  That’s no mystery,” Xavier gritted jealously.

“Or maybe he wanted to plant more emeralds on me!  Maybe if he had gotten me vulnerable inside his apartment, then he would have slipped a jewel into my purse or pocket so that there would have been even more evidence stacked against me!” I deduced as Xavier’s eyes widened.

“I’m impressed, Isabelle.  You really are going to make an excellent lawyer like the detective said.  I think you just solved the last mystery of this whole crazy web of crimes.” Respect and admiration gleamed in his eyes.

Softly, I replied, “I may have just solved the last mystery of this ‘crazy web of crimes,’ but I haven’t solved the last mystery.  There’s another one that’s been bothering me for the longest time.”

“Really? What’s that?” Xavier was blank-faced.

“I want to solve the mystery of what’s on your computer,” I said firmly as Xavier looked down at the table, instantly uncomfortable.  “What are you hiding, Xavier?  Don’t tell me you’re a jewel thief too!” I tried to laugh, but the pressure of his secrecy was bearing down more heavily on my chest every moment that we spent together and my feelings for him grew.

“I’m not a jewel thief.  Or any kind of criminal.  I can promise you that.”

“Then what’s on your computer that’s so private?  Tell me, Xavier.  If you want to be with me, I can’t have this mystery hanging over my head.  I’ve had enough mysteries for one lifetime!” Again, my attempt at a joke fell flat as my imagination ran amuck with all the devious things Xavier could be concealing on his computer.

Instead of responding, Xavier jumped up from the table and walked to his bedroom.  I slumped my shoulders, completely defeated.  Not only had the man not told me the truth, but he had also dismissed me like I didn’t even matter.  Just as I was revisiting my old idea of finding a new apartment, he reappeared in the kitchen with his laptop in his arms. 

“Come here, Isabelle.  If it’s that important to you, I’m going to show you what’s on my computer.” As soon as the computer warmed up, he clicked on the folder labeled “Private” that had been haunting me.  Opening the folder, he revealed countless Word documents with various flowery titles like
Hearts Aflame in Provence
and
Loveswept Across the Seine
. 

“What are all these documents?”

“They’re my unpublished books. I’m a writer,” Xavier said in a tone that sounded ashamed.

“You’re a writer?!” I squeaked as all my tension melted away.  “That’s wonderful!  Why do you sound so sad about it?”

“Because I’m 30 years old, Isabelle.  I work part-time in a bookstore.  And I write.  And when I’m not writing or at the bookstore---or  guzzling a tub of coffee---I’m at the University of Paris studying for my M.F.A. in creative writing.”

“What?!  I’ve never seen you there!  How is it possible that we go to the same school?”

“Our schedules are different.  And the University of Paris is huge. We could go there for years and not run into each other,” Xavier said as I shook my head in utter amazement.

“Okay, let me get this straight.  You’re getting your Master of Fine Arts in writing?  And what in the world is wrong with that?”

“It’s just not what I
should
be doing.  I should have a real job,” Xavier replied, shrugging.

“That
is
a real job!  I think it’s incredible that you’re getting your master’s degree.  But please don’t tell me you write mysteries.  I told you I’ve had enough of those,” I teased as he grinned.

“Actually, I write pastry cookbooks,” he deadpanned as I erupted into peals of laughter.  “Come on, Isabelle.  Look at the titles of my books.  I write
romances.  That makes it even worse.  What man writes romances?” The shame crept back into his voice.

“Nicholas Sparks,” I stated proudly.  “You could be the next Nicholas Sparks!”

“You’re very sweet, Isabelle, but seriously…I don’t know if you and I can work out.”

“What are you talking about?” The smile vanished from my face as I felt devastated.

“You’re about to get your law degree.  You need to be with a man who’s a professional like you.  Another lawyer or maybe a doctor.  Not a starving artist like me.  And then there’s the cultural differences.  Don’t you want to be with a Caribbean man?” Xavier asked as my sadness morphed into exasperation.

“First of all, I
need
to be with a man who makes me happy.  And who I feel safe with.  And I think that man could be you, Xavier.  Second of all, my father is French.  Like you.  And even if he weren’t, I think people should be with whoever they want!  They should be with whoever they…” I cut myself off from saying ‘whoever they fall in love with.’

But Xavier was invading my thoughts.  “Fall in love with?” He finished my sentence. 

“Yes, that’s what I was about to say.” I looked him square in the eyes, feeling the intensity of our proximity.

Melting inside his deep chocolate gaze, I knew I could either wait for him to kiss me…or I could take the lead and show him how much I wanted him.  Grabbing his stubbled face between my hands, I deposited a sweet kiss on his lips that he reciprocated passionately after tensing just a moment with surprise.  All the chaos and stress of the past week evaporated between our fused lips. 

Ending the kiss as dramatically as I had started it, I whispered, “How much longer do you think a girl can wait for a kiss?”

His eyes and smile were alight as he answered, “I’m glad you didn’t wait a moment longer, Isabelle.  You know, you’re like one of the characters in my latest book.”

“What do you mean?”

“I started writing the book in the summer before you moved to Paris.  So I couldn’t have based the character on you, but somehow she’s just like you.  She’s strong and educated and drop dead gorgeous.” He paused and grinned.  “And she goes after what she wants.  She’s the kind of woman I’ve always wanted in my life but could never find…until you.”

“You’re going to let me read this book, right?” I nudged him gently on the forearm.

“Yes.  When it’s finished.  How can I not?  You’re the main character.” He grinned again as I frowned slightly.

“No, I’m not the main character.  I’m real.  100% real woman.  Not fictional.  Not invented.  I’m really here in your life.” To prove my point, I planted another kiss on his mouth.

Xavier caressed a tendril of my black hair.  “You
are
real…and so is this,” he emphasized before sweeping me into another long-awaited kiss that warmed me more than the sunniest day on Barbados ever could.