Macchiatos, Macarons, and Malice Page 8

  Mike was silent. I wasn’t sure if he didn’t believe me or couldn’t hear me. “Mike?”

  “Yeah, I’m just…” His voice trailed off.

  I waited. “You’re just…?” I finally prompted him when it didn’t seem like he was going to pick his thought back up.

  “What?”

  “You stopped talking midsentence.” I paced around the grove of trees, trying to look casual and not like I was talking to a cop about the possibility of the hotel manager being a murderer. I didn’t know who could be watching.

  “I did? Sorry. I just, um…” He trailed off again, and I started to wonder if I was ever going to get the rest of the sentence out of him. I was just about to give up when he picked it back up. “I’m just wondering if it’s reliable information. You can’t make a case based on the words of a few hysterical girls.”

  “Hey! Just because they’re girls doesn’t make them hysterical. In fact, I would say they’re not girls at all. They’re young women.”

  I could practically hear his eyes roll through the phone. “You said they were screaming and crying, didn’t you? Sounds pretty hysterical to me.”

  “Only one of them was screaming and crying.”

  “The one who accused the hotel manager.”

  He had me there. “Well, yes, but—” I stopped my pacing and leaned against a tree since pacing probably didn’t look casual.

  “Fran, that’s not exactly solid evidence. You can’t convict someone on the basis of the victim’s upset best friend’s accusation.”

  I sighed. I knew he was right, but I didn’t like it. I snapped at him. “Well then, what do you want me to do? I did what you said and got you a name, but apparently that’s not good enough.” I started pacing again out of frustration. This was supposed to be a romantic weekend, and it was turning into anything but. I was spending less time with Matt than I was running around trying to solve a murder case for Mike so that his romantic weekend wasn’t ruined.

  “Ask around some more. See if anyone actually saw the guy in the area. Find out if the victim was involved in anything shady.”

  “And exactly how am I supposed to do any of that?”

  The tone of his voice suddenly changed, and its volume dropped to where I could barely hear him over the noise of a tractor trailer backing up into the loading bay. “Look, I gotta go. You’ll figure it out. You’re smart. I trust you.” And he hung up on me.

  I took a deep breath and told myself that he probably had to hurry off the phone because Sandra had just walked in the room. From what I’d heard, their separation was caused partly because he worked all the time, so I could see why he wouldn’t want her to know that he was working on Gina’s murder. Although, if I wanted to get technical about it, I was the one doing the work while he shot down my theories.

  But dwelling on that wasn’t going to help. I had to figure out what to do next. One thought kept running through my head, but I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to do it. But at the same time, I knew I had to.

  I started down the incline, away from the grove of trees. I took the long way around the hotel in case something else came to me. But nothing did.

  As I walked back through the lobby, I realized that Tommy might have some more information. Or that awful Carrick. But I’d have to come back to them. Now that I’d decided who I should talk to, I had to do it immediately, or else I might change my mind.

  And then I was there. Standing outside the patisserie, I looked to see if anyone was inside. The one time I hoped the counter would be unattended, Sophie was there, and she was even working, adjusting the arrangement of the pastry case. I took a deep breath and went inside.

  “Hi, Sophie!”

  She looked up with open disdain in her eyes and not a flicker of recognition.

  “I don’t think I ever actually introduced myself, but I’m Fran.” I walked toward her with my hand out, and she gave me the most limp-fish handshake ever. And still didn’t seem to recognize me. “I was just outside talking to you and the other girls,” I said in an attempt to jog her memory.

  No reaction.

  “I was in here yesterday afternoon and bought some macarons.”

  “Ah, yes,” she said in her French accent. “With your boyfriend.”

  “Yes! Wait, no!” I’d momentarily forgotten that it had been Mike with me, not Matt, when I bought the macarons. I could tell by the slight narrowing of her eyes and her hint of a smirk that my little lapse wasn’t going to do me any favors in trying to convince her that Mike and I were not together. “The man you saw me with is a friend. My boyfriend and I were in here earlier in the day, but you weren’t here then.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was here all day.”

  I smiled sweetly. As much as I wanted to argue with her, I doubted it would do any good. “You must have just stepped into the back for a minute. Anyway, the reason I stopped in—”

  “I do not go in the back. My job is here, in front.” She waved her hand at the display cases.

  I had a hard time believing that she literally never set foot in the back, but again, I didn’t think that argument was going to get me very far.

  “Oh, well—” I waved my hand with a little laugh, like it was no big deal. “Like I was saying, the reason I came by—”

  I was interrupted again, but this time not by Sophie. For a second, as the hulking figure appeared behind the door to the kitchen and then walked through, I didn’t register anything significant. And then I gasped.

  He turned to me with a warm smile, the polar opposite of the near snarl that seemed permanently affixed to Sophie’s face. “Bonjour!”

  “Bonjour,” I replied with what I was almost certain was probably the worst French pronunciation Jacques de Gaulle’s ears had ever been cursed to hear.

  “’As Sophie ’elped you?” His accent was thicker than Sophie’s but smooth as chocolate.

  I briefly considered telling him the truth—that Sophie had been nothing but rude and dismissive every time I’d attempted to interact with her and that she’d been away from the shop more than she’d been in it when I’d walked by—but I needed her help, and trashing her to her boss in front of her face wasn’t going to do much to earn that. So instead I lied. “Oh, yes! She’s been very helpful.”

  He looked faintly surprised, which made me wonder if my complaint wouldn’t have been the first he’d ever heard about Sophie. Although if that was the case, I didn’t know why he kept her on.

  “In fact, I was coming by to thank her—she was so helpful when I came in yesterday. I really appreciated it.” I met her eyes as I looked at her and smiled. For once, she had an expression that I wouldn’t describe as loathful condescension. She actually looked surprised and maybe even a little grateful. I guessed my decision to be a bit of a brownnoser helped.

  “That is wonderful!” Jacques patted Sophie on the back. “What did you get? Did you like it?”

  “Macarons. They were—” I paused to think of the best word. “Divine.”

  Jacques beamed. “They are my specialty, you know.”

  “I know!” And then the dam burst, and words just spilled out. “I’m—I’m such a fan of yours. I got the last copy of your cookbook over in the gift shop, and I can’t wait to try the recipes out. I own a coffee shop down at the beach, and I do all the baking for it—nothing like what you do, of course. I mean, I could never come close to these things.” I waved my hands at the pastry cases around the shop. “But that just means I know how much work it is and how talented you are, and oh—” I clapped my hand over my mouth. It was the only way I could stop myself from babbling and embarrassing myself any more. “I’m so sorry.”

  “No, no! It’s fine. It’s wonderful to hear that someone enjoys my baking so much!” He gave me a warm smile that made me almost as happy as his macarons had. “You know me. I am Jacques. But what is your name, cherie?”

  “Fran. Francesca.”

  “Francesca. Beautiful name! Tell
me, are you staying here in the hotel, Francesca?”

  “Yes.” My babbling had apparently been replaced by monosyllables. Not exactly the impression I wanted to make on one of my baking heroes.

  “Wonderful! It’s a beautiful hotel, non?”

  “Very beautiful.”

  “And many good restaurants inside! Did you know that all the desserts in those restaurants are from my kitchen here?”

  My mind blanked, and I couldn’t remember if that was something I knew before that moment or not. So I said no.

  “They do. I make them all myself! Would you like to see where they come from?”

  It took me a second to fully process that he was asking me if I wanted to see his kitchen—the kitchen where the great Jacques de Gaulle baked, day in and day out. “Yes!” I blurted it out a little too loudly and excitedly, but fortunately Jacques just smiled.

  “Then, please, come with me.” He walked to the swinging door to the kitchen and pushed it open. I walked through into a stainless steel and marble wonderland, covered with bowls of chocolate, trays of drying macarons, and carts of plastic-wrapped delicate pastries ready to be taken to the restaurants where they would be served. I stared at it in awe and fought back a nearly undeniable urge to taste everything in the place. I didn’t think Jacques would appreciate that though, so I stood stock-still and looked around at everything.

  “Francesca, I will be right with you. Feel free to look around.” He let the door close partway but held it open as he paused to talk to Sophie. They spoke in French, so I didn’t understand most of it, but I didn’t need to understand a language to hear spite in someone’s voice. And if I wasn’t mistaken, that spite was directed at the person whose name was the one word I was pretty sure I did understand. Garrett.

  Chapter Twelve

  I don’t know how long I spent in the Pâtisserie Alford kitchen, but it was longer than I’d ever dreamed. Jacques showed me everything. He even gave me a few tips for getting my macarons to turn out just right. By the time he let me go with a promise to bring my copy of his cookbook down for him to sign, I was bubbling over with excitement and itching to spend some time in the kitchen baking. Of course, that would have to wait since it was only Saturday, and Matt and I weren’t due to check out of the hotel until Monday. And I had a murder to solve.

  Jacques kissed me on each cheek as I left, and I practically floated back out into the front of the bakery.

  I crashed right back down to earth when I saw Sophie, still with her sour face. Although even I had to admit she looked slightly less like she’d been sucking on a lemon than usual. Only slightly though.

  I sighed. She was the last person I felt like dealing with, but she was actually where she was supposed to be for once, and she had seemed grateful to me for covering for her with Jacques. I needed to make my move before her goodwill had a chance to wear off.

  I smiled at her. She pursed her lips in what wasn’t quite the most irritated look I’d seen on her face.

  “It must be great working here! All these delicious desserts. Do you love it?”

  She looked at me blankly, as though she hadn’t heard me or wasn’t quite sure that I was talking to her. Finally, she must have decided that I wasn’t going to go away until she answered me. “It is fine.”

  “Really? It’s just fine? I would love to work for someone like Jacques de Gaulle!”

  Her slim shoulder twitched in what seemed to me like a very French shrug.

  I walked over closer to her and leaned on the counter like she had actually been participating in the conversation with me. “Did I hear you and Jacques say something about Garrett right before I went in the back? He’s the hotel manager, isn’t he?” I was hoping that if I sounded friendly and conversational, she’d open up to me. I had no such luck.

  “Oui” was all I got out of her.

  “I heard him talking to Whitney at the front desk yesterday, and he was pretty nasty to her. Is he always like that?”

  Nothing.

  Might as well go the obvious route. “Isn’t he the one Amber thought killed Gina?”

  “I have work to do. You should go.” She didn’t even try to make it look like she had something else to do. She just stood behind the counter and stared off into space instead of at me.

  At that point, I gave up the hope of ever getting anything out of her. She was either just rude, or she hated me for some reason.

  I looked over at her as she continued staring off into space. It couldn’t be a French thing—Jacques had been overwhelmingly warm and friendly. I had to assume it was just a Sophie thing.

  “Okay, well, good luck getting your work done,” I said cheerfully even though I knew she wouldn’t have cared if I’d just walked out. Just in case her issue was a two-day-long bad mood or something equally improbable, I wanted her to think I was a nice person. “I know I’ll be back to get some more yummy desserts to try, so I’ll see you later!”

  She took a moment out of her staring to scowl at me.

  I gave her a big smile back, like her behavior was totally normal, and walked out of the patisserie to figure out what I should do next.

  Before I had time to think about anything though, my cell phone rang. I fished it out of my pocket and realized it was Matt. The time also showed up on the screen, and I cringed as I realized how long I’d been gone. No wonder he’d woken up and was looking for me.

  “Hey!” I said cheerfully, like there was nothing at all unusual about me wandering around a hotel all by myself when I was supposed to be having some quality time with my loving boyfriend.

  “Where are you?” He actually sounded like he’d just woken up.

  “I’m downstairs. Did you just wake up?” I wandered a few feet across the hall and leaned against the wall. I realized after just a second that I could still see Sophie inside the bakery, but unless she craned her neck, she probably wouldn’t notice me where I stood. This seemed like an opportunity. I scooted a little bit farther down the hall just to make sure I was out of sight and settled in to watch her.

  “Yeah,” Matt croaked. “What are you doing downstairs?”

  “Oh, nothing, just—” I stopped as Sophie walked around the counter and toward the front of the shop. I took a couple of steps back to try to keep out of sight. “I, um, just—” I ducked behind a bump in the wall as she walked out into the hallway. I didn’t have to worry though—she didn’t so much as glance my way, just turned and headed for the lobby.

  “You’re working on that murder investigation for Mike, aren’t you?”

  “Umm—” I kept my eyes on Sophie as I started following her down the hall. I tried to keep my footsteps quiet and stayed close to the wall in case she happened to turn around. “What did you say again?”

  “You’re working on the murder investigation, aren’t you?” he repeated.

  “Yes.”

  Sophie stopped, and I ducked behind a large potted plant.

  Matt yawned on the other side of the phone. “Will you be done soon? I’m hungry.”

  Sophie resumed her walk, glancing into the lobby lounge as she passed by.

  “Um, yeah. I’m just following—” I stopped myself. Matt probably didn’t want to hear that I was trailing Sophie on her way to… wherever she was going. It could have been the bathroom, for all I knew, but I doubted it. There was a much closer one the other way. “I’m just following up on something.”

  “A’right.” Matt groaned like he was stretching. “I’m going to get a quick shower, and then I’ll be ready to go get something to eat. Do you think you can be back up here in like twenty minutes?”

  Knowing Matt, it would take him at least fifteen minutes to drag himself out of bed and into the shower. I had a good half an hour before I needed to be back upstairs. “Yeah, that should be fine.”

  We said goodbye, and I slid my phone back into my pocket.

  Past the lobby, Sophie slowed down, and so did I. As she put her hands on her hips and started turning around, I slipp
ed into a doorway to hide. I could barely see her from my vantage point, and I knew she was there, so I hoped she wouldn’t notice me. She crossed her arms and managed to look even more impatient and annoyed than usual.

  She finally heaved a sigh, spun on her heel, and disappeared through a door across the hall from where I was still trying to make myself as inconspicuous as possible. I glanced down the hall to see if anyone was coming before I followed her. A figure was just disappearing through another door on the other side of the lobby. I realized at that moment that she must have been waiting for whoever it was. I could have kicked myself for not thinking to look that way sooner so I could have seen who it was. But that metaphorical ship had sailed, and no one else was in the hallway, so I hurried across to see where Sophie had gone through the door.

  It opened out into the courtyard, but Sophie was gone. I had missed my chance.

  I was so annoyed with myself as I headed back the other way. I briefly considered wandering out into the courtyard, just in case I could spot her, but even if I did, I doubted I would be able to find her without her seeing me. And as soon as she saw me, it was all over. Whatever she was sneaking off to do, she would abandon, and I’d be back to square one. I was better off going back up to the room to freshen up before Matt and I went to eat.

  Just before the lobby, I stopped in my tracks. I’d thought that Sophie’s attitude came from either her innate rudeness or some mystical hatred she had of me, but now I realized there could be a third possibility—maybe she had something to hide.