2 Éclair Murder (8 page)

“We’re going to do our best,” Michel said.
 

“Yes,” Clémence added. “You’ll be out of here in no time. I have a good lead as to who the real murderer is.”
 

Michel looked at her in surprise. “You do? Do the police know?”
 

“I just need to gather more evidence,” said Clémence. “I’ll tell them if I find out anything more.” She turned back to Raoul. “Now I’m here to find out what you know. What’s this I hear about you getting into a fight with Dupont on the street?”
 

Raoul sighed. “The guy was a jerk. I’m sorry that he died and everything. I just mean that he really was a jerk. Every time he came in to the store, he’d sneer at me. I didn’t know why until I saw him on the street over a week ago. He called me racist names.”
 

“What did he say?” Clémence asked.

Raoul was of Portuguese descent. His skin was the color of dark caramel. He told her the offending word, and Clémence nodded in sympathy.
 

“I had just been taking a smoke break from work and walking around the neighbourhood. He brushed past me and insulted me for no good reason. Of course I got mad and confronted him. It was a very public blow up and I ended up punching him in the eye. I regret it now, of course. It was a very stupid thing to do, but my anger got the best of me.”
 

“And what did the police say when you told them that?”
 

“Well, they’re using it again me. They seem to think this is more reason to think I’m guilty.”
 

“This Dupont guy sounds like a piece of work,” said Clémence. “I can see why somebody would want to kill him.”
 

“He’s a jerk, through and through.”
 

“I just hope you don’t say this if you’re ever on trial,” Michel warned. “It doesn’t look good. You had been on the receiving end of his abuse and reacted in the heat of the moment. Poisoned éclairs are premeditated. However, they have no evidence that you had anything to do with them.”
 

“So you’re saying I have a good chance of being let go?”
 

Michel nodded. “Unless, of course, they find something else against you.”

“So what do you know about Dupont?” Clémence asked both Michel and Raoul.
 

“Nothing,” said Raoul. “Except he comes in and buys pastries all the time.”
 

“He works at a PR company and lives not far from Place d’Iena,” said Michel.
 

“So he lives and works near
Damour
,” Clémence mused. “When he ate those éclairs, he was probably taking a lunch break, taking a long walk around the park.” She turned to Michel again. “Can you give me the address of both his work place and home?”
 

“I don’t know,” Michel said slowly. “That information is confidential.”

“You can trust her,” said Raoul. “She helped the police solve a murder last month. She’s good. Faster than the police at least. I really don’t know what these guys get paid for.”
 

He launched into how she had found the person who killed
la gardienne
.
 

Michel looked at Clémence more closely. “What are you going to do with this information?”

“Nothing yet,” said Clémence. “I’m just trying to match some details together with the suspect I have in mind.”
 

Michel relented, nodding. “Okay. But don’t say where you got the information. Dupont is married with no kids. He’s quite wealthy.”
 

“So he leaves a widow,” said Clémence.
 

“Her names is Florence. She’s a housewife, and she’s probably making the funeral arrangements. Are you going to talk to her?”
 

Clémence nodded. “I will as soon as I get some things settled. Thanks for the info.”
 

CHAPTER 13

At work the next morning, Sebastien and Berenice wanted the scoop on the investigation in the kitchen.
 

After Clémence filled them in, Celine came in. The
salon de thé
had not opened yet, and she had just changed into her uniform to start her shift.

“Who was that guy who was calling your name in the patisserie yesterday morning?” Celine asked. “I didn’t know you were dating anyone.”

Berenice perked up. Even Sebastien looked up from his tray of salmon éclairs.
 

“Arthur?” Clémence said. “We’re not dating. He’s just my neighbour.”
 

“Really? He’s pretty hot.”
 

“How hot?” Berenice said.
 

“He’s tall, dark hair—”

“Oh come on,” Clémence groaned. “He’s this obnoxious neighbour I keep running into. He’s the one I found the dead body with at the park when we were walking our dogs.”
 

“Why don’t you introduce him to us?” Celine grinned.

“Didn’t I just say he’s obnoxious?” Clémence
 
replied. “Besides, you guys wouldn’t like him. He’s totally bourgeois, totally spoiled.”
 

“Yeah, but Celine says he’s gorgeous.” Berenice teased.

“You both are already dating great guys,” Clémence said.

Celine finally seemed to be getting over her crush on Sebastien now that she was dating Sam. At least, she seemed comfortable enough gossiping about other boys in front of him. Berenice was happily dating Ben.
 

“Seriously,” Sebastien said. “You’re three intelligent women. Don’t you ever talk about anything besides boys?”

Berenice shot her brother a dirty look. “There’s nothing wrong with that. It doesn’t make us any less intelligent.”
 

“Yes, but you’re so obsessive.”
 

“Don’t tell me that you don’t talk about girls with your guy friends,” said Celine.

“We talk about other things too,” said Sebastien.
 

“Like what?” Berenice asked.

“Politics, sports, stuff that matter.”
 

“We do talk about other things,” said Celine.
 

“But it’s more fun to talk about hot guys around you,” said Berenice.
 

Clémence tried to be more diplomatic. “I get what you’re saying, Seb, but love is the driving force for women. We’re more connected with our emotions than you men are, and we love to be in love. Sure, we get obsessed about, but it gives us a rush.”
 

Sebastien shook his head. “Fine, whatever. In general, I think girls talk too much.”
 

He turned back to his éclairs.
 

Celine looked at her watch. “I’ve got to start my shift.”

“Speaking of love,” Clémence said to Berenice. “How are things going with Ben, anyway? Has he kissed you yet?”
 

Berenice grinned and nodded. “He’s a good kisser.”
 

Sebastien groaned. He put on his iPod.
 

Clémence and Berenice laughed.
 

“We’re exclusive now,” said Berenice.
 

“That’s great! Ben’s one of the nicest guys I know.”
 

“Although I do find his novel a bit strange. He’s a super talented poet though. What about this Arthur guy? Why do you hate him so much?”
 

“I don’t hate him,” Clémence said. “He just gets on my nerves. He can say the rudest things, so I never know when he’s going to turn into a jerk.”
 

“You know,” Berenice said slyly. “Some great love stories begin with two people hating each other.”
 

“Ugh, come on. Arthur’s a total playboy. He takes a different girl home every week.”
 

“How do you know that?”
 

Clémence gave her a look. “He lives in my building. I know these things. Trust me. He’s not the guy for me.”
 

“All right. It just seems to me that you have a hard time finding guys who meet your standards. Maybe your standards are too high.”
 

“On the contrary. I think they are way too low.”
 

She told her about how she had accidentally gotten herself into a date with John Christopher, the murder suspect.
 

“No way!” Berenice exclaimed. She poked Sebastien on the arm.

“What?” Sebastien pulled down his earbuds, annoyed.
 

“Clémence is going on a date with the guy who might’ve poisoned Dupont.”
 

Sebastien raised an eyebrow at Clémence.
 

“It’s not a real date!” Clémence
 
protested. “I’m just gathering information.”
 

“Where are you going?” asked Berenice.

“I don’t know yet. He’s going to let me know. Actually, I haven’t checked my phone all morning.”
 

Clémence reached into her purse. There was indeed a new text message from John.
 

“He wants to have dinner at La Coquette.”
 

La Coquette was a chic restaurant not far from
Damour
at Place de Trocadéro.
 

“We’ll go there too,” Sebastien offered. “You can’t go on a date with a murderer without backup.”
 

“He’s right,” said Berenice. “For once. We’ll just sit at a nearby table and listen in.”
 

“I’ll be recording the conversation on my phone,” said Clémence. “I’m nervous about tonight.”
 

“Don’t be,” said Berenice. “What are you going to wear?”

“Yes,” Sebastien rolled his eyes, “because that’s the most pressing matter Clémence has to deal with.”
 

“Actually it is important,” said Berenice. “The right outfit can make him talk even more. Dress to kill. Not literally, of course.”
 

“I don’t have anything too sexy.”
 

“I’ll come over to your house with a couple of dresses. I’m meeting Ben anyway.”
 

“Okay, great.”
 

“I have this red dress I bought recently that I think you’ll look good in. I even have a red lipstick to match it exactly.”

“Red?” Clémence was unsure. She usually wore black, white, beige—classic neutrals that Parisian girls gravitated toward. She wasn’t the type to like to draw too much attention to herself in a hyper sexual way.
 

“Yes, get out of your comfort zone,” said Berenice. “Remember, you’re dressing sexy to save Raoul’s life.”
 

Sebastien groaned even louder. “Oh please.”
 

CHAPTER 14

Clémence couldn’t recognize herself in the mirror. With black cat eyeliner, loads of mascara, and the red lipstick to match the very tight and very short red dress, she looked like…a tart.
 

“Va voom,” said Berenice. “You’re the hottest detective I’ve ever seen.”
 

“I’m extremely uncomfortable,” said Clémence. “Can I even sit down without my underwear showing?”
 

She walked over to the chair and sat down. It was very risky. She would have to cross her legs the entire evening. Luckily the restaurant was only a five-minute walk from her house. She told John that she would meet him there.
 

Berenice was already in her outfit for dinner, which was a much less revealing, and a modest black dress so that she and Sebastien could stay incognito.
 

Clémence put on black pumps. Although she knew how to walk in four-inch heels, she didn’t do it often, and she stumbled a bit. Berenice made her walk a bit for practice.

“Sashay your hips more when you do,” she said.

“Is all this really necessary?” Clémence said. “It’s a date, not prostitution.”
 

“Don’t worry. You won’t look out of place at that restaurants. It’s full of millionaires with their model girlfriends.”
 

“True.”
 

“So let’s go.”
 

***

John was already waiting for her when she went inside the restaurant. She remembered to maintain an upright posture to display confidence. His eyes widened when he saw her. He was in his best Italian tux, with a pink handkerchief to match his silk pink tie.

He pulled out her chair for her at the table. She looked around the chic pink and black decorated restaurant. There was even a waterfall on one wall. Fancy people, fancy food.
 

Aside from
Damour
, she hadn’t dined in an expensive restaurant for a long time. During her travels, she preferred street food, unless her family came to visit her. Since she had been back in Paris, she hadn’t been on dinner dates at all. Instead, she’d go out with her friends to bars, especially in the less posh neighbourhoods, where all the young people gathered.
 

It felt nice in a way to be on a nice date, even if there was a high chance that John was some sort of sociopathic killer. She looked at him, but he seemed a bit nervous when he smiled at her.
 

Nervous? Why would he be nervous? But perhaps it was because despite his education and self-made wealth, he’d grown up in a more humble environment. Clémence could relate to that. She didn’t grow up in the 16
^th
herself, and she never really got used to mingling with the bourgeoisie. It took her a while to learn which wine went with what, which forks to use and what the items on the menus even were.

The waiter came by with the menus and announced the specialties of the day.
 

“What will you have?” John asked.
 

“Um, perhaps the lobster pasta,” Clémence said. She’d been so nervous about the date that she’d lost her appetite, but now that she was here, she realized she hadn’t really eaten lunch and the hunger descended. “What about you?”
 

“The same,” he said.
 

After they ordered, they chatted about his work. He had been excited about the transfer, as he had learned French in school growing up and it had gotten a bit rusty.