2 Éclair Murder Page 3

  Clémence groaned. “She told you that? I suppose I do.”

  “So you’re thinking of putting on a show any time soon?”

  “A show? No, I’m just trying to practice.”

  “But that’s the ultimate goal, right?”

  “Well, I guess so,” Clémence admitted.

  “I have friends in Belleville,” said Ben. “If you ever want to put on a small exhibition or something, I know some artists and gallery owners. Maybe you can team up with some other artists.” His face lit up. “Or we can collaborate too. We can make it an art and performance project. I can get my musician and dancer friends in on it, and we can perform all evening. Maybe we can put on a show where there’s a performance every hour.”

  Clémence’s head spun. She’d just wanted to draw her dog, and Ben wanted to put on some big spectacle?

  “I wouldn’t even know what to paint,” said Clémence. “I’m still trying to find my footing.”

  “You’re painting Miffy,” said Ben.

  “Yes, but I can’t put on a show with portraits of my dog.”

  “Anything can be done, but you must paint something you’re passionate about.”

  Clémence thought about it. “Well, I’m passionate about desserts.”

  “Yes, desserts! It’s perfect! Clémence Damour of the Damour patisseries painting desserts and pastries. I’m sure people will snatch those pieces up.”

  She gave a little laugh. “Sounds like a big advertisement for our company.”

  “Not if it’s sincere,” said Ben. “Cheers.”

  They clinked wine glasses. Clémence smiled.

  “You should be an inspirational speaker or something.”

  “I’m a writer,” said Ben. “I help people with perspective.”

  “How’s that mystery novel coming along?” asked Clémence .

  “It’s going well. The inspector has decoded the pages of code in the briefcase. I’ve decided that it’s a plan to access another dimension. But now it’s turning into sci-fi.”

  “A sci-fi mystery. Sounds cool. Berenice loves mysteries. You should let her read it.”

  Clémence turned to Ben, waiting for his response.

  “She is reading it,” said Ben. “She has plenty of ideas.”

  “So is it official now?” Clémence grinned. “Are you a couple?”

  “I don’t know,” said Ben. “I really like hanging out with her, but I don’t know if either of us are taking the romance aspect seriously, which makes me wonder if there is a romantic aspect. I mean, we’re attracted to each other, and we have a good intellectual rapport, but I wonder if the chemistry is there.”

  “Well have you tried to kiss her?”

  “No,” he said.

  “No?” Clémence gaped. “What are you waiting for?”

  “We only hang out once or twice a week. She doesn’t seem to be in a rush. I think she might even be dating other guys, but I like her, so I’m waiting to see how this unfolds naturally.”

  Clémence shrugged. “Maybe that’s a good idea.”

  Berenice was a little boy crazy. She often made eyes at Raoul, who worked at Damour. Still, it did seem like she and Ben had a lot in common, but if one took the relationship more seriously than the other, someone could get hurt. Clémence would probably end up feeling responsible because she was the one who’d introduced them after all.

  “But you’re also right,” said Ben. “A kiss would probably tell me if we have something more. If there isn’t, we’ll just go back to being friends, no big deal.”

  “You’re very practical for a poet and a fiction writer,” Clémence remarked.

  “We’re not all drunks and philanderers,” Ben joked. “Don’t you usually work at this time or are you taking an extended lunch break?”

  “Oh.” Clémence sighed. “No. Actually, the place is closed for the day.”

  Clémence explained about the murder and the poisoned éclairs.

  “That’s really strange,” said Ben. “Paris is actually a pretty sinister place if you think about it.”

  “Don’t blame Paris,” said Clémence. “Blame the psychopathic murderers. I wonder who would do such a thing.”

  “So the inspector thinks your store has something to do with it?”

  “I think he hopes that it does,” said Clémence. “He’s out to get me.”

  “I think he’s out to get everyone.” Ben had met Cyril once and felt the same way about him that Clémence did.

  “What if he finds something?” Clémence asked. “What if the store is responsible?”

  Just then, the cell phone she’d taken out to the balcony with her began to ring on the table. An unknown number.

  CHAPTER 5

  “One of your staff members has been arrested,” said Cyril.

  “What?” Clémence exclaimed, jumping up.

  “Raoul Baka. Just thought you would want to know.”

  Cyril hung up.

  “I can’t believe this!” Clémence said to Ben.

  “What?”

  “Apparently Raoul has something to do with this.”

  “Who’s Raoul?”

  “He’s one of the cashiers at the patisserie. I’ve got to go to the store and chew off that inspector’s head!”

  Clémence went back inside the apartment.

  “I’ll go with you so you don’t seriously hurt him,” Ben said.

  They walked back to Place du Trocadéro, where Damour was. A few people gathered outside, looking into the window, wondering what was going on.

  This was not good. This was not good at all. Not only was the store closed, her customers could see the police car and Cyril’s team in the store. Now an employee had been arrested in connection with a murder. Her parents were going to be furious. Clémence’s fear would be realized: Damour’s reputation would take a nosedive under her watch. How could she let this happen?

  She knocked on the door to the salon de thé. One of the members of Cyril’s team opened up.

  “Where is he?” she said. “Cyril St. Clair?”

  At the sight of her furious face, the man didn’t hesitate in pulling Cyril out of the back kitchen. Clémence stepped in the store with Ben. From outside, a camera flashed. People were taking pictures of this. They would be in the papers. What a mess.

  Cyril had that smug grin on his face, with lines that appeared at the sides of his mouth like parentheses trying to contain his mean intentions.

  “Ah, Mademoiselle Damour. I knew it was only a matter of time before you started sticking your nose in our business again.”

  Clémence crossed her arms and bit back a retort about his large nose. She wasn’t in grade school. Trading insults wasn’t going to get her anywhere.

  “What’s the story?” she asked instead.

  “It seems to me that your employee had a public spat with our deceased only a few days ago. A grocer saw him punch out Monsieur Dupont in front of his grocery. Plus, Raoul had been working the morning shift the day that Dupont was killed, so putting two and two together, it’s simple mathematics really.”

  “In this case, you end up with five,” said Clémence. “Did you even find any traces of poison or anything suspicious around here? Do you even have proof that Raoul poisoned the éclairs or know of any witnesses who’d seen him?”

  “You are lucky that your employee covered his tracks well, but he still has a couple of eye witnesses who saw him punch out Dupont on the street, as I’ve told you. It explains why Dupont’s eye still has a trace of a bruise.”

  “Who is this Dupont guy anyway?” Ben asked.

  “Alexandre Dupont,” said Cyril. “One of your best éclair customers, according to his wife, who is in hysterics by the way. He works at Avenue Kléber and comes to your patisserie often, though he’s learned his lesson now, hasn’t he?”

  Cyril gave a nasty laugh. Clémence grimaced, disgusted by his ability to joke at a time like this.

  Clémence had never seen Dupont at the store before, bu
t she’d only been back for a month. Her employees probably knew way more about him. And she was eager to find out why Raoul would punch him out.

  “Where is Raoul?” asked Clémence.

  “Already in custody.”

  “Can I talk to him?”

  “Unless you’re his lawyer.”

  She sighed. “So why did Raoul punch Dupont?” she asked Cyril.

  “I don’t know yet,” said Cyril. “But I’ll be questioning him later on. Next time, be careful who you hire.”

  “What about the store?” Clémence asked. “You’ve found nothing, right? So can we reopen it now?”

  “Yes, fine. You’re lucky that my men are so fast.”

  “Fast? You’ve cost us a whole day of business! We pride ourselves on freshness, so some of the desserts are garbage now.”

  “If that’s the case, why don’t you give them to us?” Cyril said.

  Clémence couldn’t tell if he was joking. His face was neutral, awaiting a response.

  “You can’t be serious! You expect me to give our gourmet desserts and pastries to you and your team as a reward for shutting down our store, arresting one of my employees with no real evidence, and insulting me?”

  Cyril sputtered. “You did say the desserts were going to waste.”

  “What are you, pigeons? No, I’m not giving you anything!”

  Ben had to stifle his laughter.

  Cyril’s face fell. “Fine. Our men are leaving soon. They’ve tested a good portion of your pastries for poison so a lot of your food is already in the garbage anyway.”

  “Whatever,” said Clémence. “Now get out, all of you.”

  Some of the men who were still working turned to her with alarm.

  “No need to be rude, Damour,” said Cyril with an infuriating grin. “We’re off. We got what we wanted. Just accept it. One of your employees is a cunning killer. Poisoning a customer like that. You’ll be lucky this whole thing doesn’t spread. People will avoid your store out of fear for their lives.”

  With that, Cyril turned and left the store. His men followed after gathering up their supplies, leaving the store a mess.

  CHAPTER 6

  Clémence called Caroline. Together, they called back in many of their employees to help clean up the store. They were open almost as late as the other restaurants at Place du Trocadéro, so they could aim to reopen for dinner if they cleaned up on time.

  While Cyril’s team did indeed throw a good portion of the food into the trash, there were still plenty left on the covered cooling trays. As the employees got to work, Clémence gathered up Caroline, Celine and Marie in the employee lounge. Marie worked in the patisserie as a cashier. Celine was a hostess as well as Clémence’s friend.

  “I didn’t want to tell the others,” Clémence started, “but I have to let you know that Raoul has been arrested.”

  “Pourquoi?” Celine frowned.

  Clémence told them about the dead customer, Alexandre Dupont, and how Raoul had been seen arguing and fighting with him last week on the street.

  “I’m just wondering what you know about Raoul and this Dupont guy,” said Clémence. “C’est grave. It’s very serious. Raoul might be tried for murder.”

  “That can’t be,” Marie exclaimed. “Raoul is a great guy.”

  “I agree,” said Caroline. “Raoul is one of our best employees. He’s friendly and smiles a lot. Customers have commented that his smile really brightens up their day when they buy their morning pastries. I can’t believe he’d fight Dupont—and murder?”

  “What else do you know about Raoul?” asked Clémence. “If we’re going to clear his name, I need more of his background info, as well as Dupont’s.”

  “He’s from Marseille,” said Caroline. “He likes working in the patisserie, but his real passion is music.”

  “He wants to be a music producer,” said Marie. “He’s already helping some new hip hop artists in the studio, but not enough to make a living yet.”

  “Now, he lives in Courbevoie, near La Defense.”

  “What about the fight with Dupont?” Clémence asked. “Why would he do that? There were two eye witnesses who saw him punch Dupont on the street.”

  “Dupont…who is he?” Marie asked. “There are so many costumers and we don’t know them all by name.”

  Clémence tried to describe him the best she could, from what she could remember of the dead body anyway.

  “Is his top lip thinner than the bottom lip?” Marie asked.

  “Yes,” said Clémence .

  “I do remember this guy. I don’t like him. He doesn’t say a lot, but he seems arrogant. I don’t think Raoul liked him much either.”

  “Why exactly? Did he ever say anything?”

  “It was more his eyes,” said Marie. “He had these pale blue eyes that were really cold. He’d only order by saying what he wanted, never a s’il vous plait.”

  “What would he usually order?”

  “He liked the éclairs, mainly the pistachio ones. Sometimes he’d order the chocolate, or the salted caramel one as well. Otherwise, he’d buy a pain au chocolat.”

  “I think I’ve seen him dine with his work colleagues in the salon de thé for lunch,” said Celine. “But I’m not sure. You can’t really pick this guy out of a crowd. He looks like every businessman in the area. I’m not sure why Raoul would fight with him. I wonder if he knew him personally.”

  “I want to ask him,” said Clémence, “but he’s detained right now. The police are grilling him. We’ve got to find out more about Dupont.”

  “We do have a video camera installed in the patisserie,” said Caroline. “It’s hidden in the chandelier.”

  “Really?”

  Clémence went into the patisserie and the girls followed. She looked up at the dazzling chandelier and couldn’t see the camera.

  “I can’t believe it’s up there,” she said. “Did my parents install this recently?”

  “A year ago,” said Caroline. “It was long overdue.”

  “How do we replay the footage from yesterday?”

  “There’s a company in the 15th arrondissement that we hire for our security,” Caroline said. “The camera quality is not HD or anything, but we’d be able to see if this Dupont was here that day and whether Raoul had anything to do with this.”

  “Great! I wonder why that inspector didn’t ask to see the store surveillance footage. Probably because he’s so clueless. I’m going over there right now.”

  “I’ll give you the card of the company,” said Caroline, who disappeared into the back office to get it.

  ***

  Clémence took the Métro to Avenue Emile Zola. She’d made an emergency appointment with the surveillance company and knocked on the door of a storefront with dark tinted windows. A guy in his early thirties with scruffy facial hair answered the door.