Macaron Murder (with Recipes) (A Patisserie Mystery) Page 5

  Sebastien shrugged again and turned his attention back to his éclairs.

  Berenice rolled her eyes. “He’s hopeless with women. Last night we were at a pub and these two English girls kept flirting with him, and he did nothing. He didn’t even buy them a drink and only gave one-word answers.”

  “I didn’t like them,” said Sebastien matter-of-factly. “They were too loud for my taste and they kept asking me questions.”

  “What exactly is your taste?” asked Clémence.

  “She has to be soft, light, and sweet.”

  “So your next girlfriend is going to be a meringue?” Clémence laughed.

  Berenice joined her. Even Sebastien couldn’t suppress a smile.

  “Oh, forget him,” said Berenice, going back to work on her tray of chocolate éclairs. “He’s way too picky for a guy. It’s because he was heartbroken once. Badly.”

  Sebastien cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. “Can we talk about something else? The murder case perhaps? Or these new macarons that Clémence wants to make?”

  “I prefer to work on the macarons,” Clémence said. “Let’s work on the lychee flavored recipe. I just ordered a fresh case of lychees and we can start making them soon. There’s also green tea Matcha powder that’s being shipped from Japan, courtesy of my mother. We should get it tomorrow. Speaking of my mother, I should really call her to ask her about the other tenants in my building. But shoot, I have to go to the police station now to give my statement. Plus, I still have to shop for groceries!”

  Clémence grabbed her coat.

  “Busy girl.” Berenice tsk tsked after her.

  CHAPTER 8

  Clémence went to 36 Quai des Orfèvres, the headquarters of the Paris Criminal police, at Île de la Cité in the 1st arrondissement. She walked up to the first floor and told the guy at the front desk what she was here for, he was perfectly unhelpful. He told her in a snappy impatient tone to sit in the waiting area.

  Clémence did what she was told—at first. Forty minutes had passed and the guy at the front had disappeared for the last fifteen. Did Cyril even she know that she was here?

  She decided to take a walk down the hall. The doors of the offices were marked with the names and positions, and she spotted Inspector Cyril St. Clair’s office. Before the knocked, she couldn’t help overhearing snippets of conversation.

  “Deux semaines? It’s going to take two weeks to get the DNA hair sample results back? What are these guys doing? Oh là là.” It was distinctly Cyril’s whiney voice.

  “They’re backlogged, sir. But they did find out that the button belongs to a man’s Burberry trench coat.”

  “Great,” Cyril muttered. “Now we’re just going to have to find all the men who wears Burberry trench coats and find out who’s missing a button, if they haven’t gotten a new one sewn on already.”

  Cyril sighed in exasperation. Clémence knew the investigation wasn’t going well and she couldn’t help but a feel bit smug; Cyril had been so nasty and arrogant to her.

  “They are making progress with the handwriting sample,” said his colleague.

  “Progress are not results. Now who would be blackmailing her—”

  Suddenly they grew silent. They must’ve noticed her shadow through the door’s window. Clémence backed away. She should learn how to eavesdrop properly.

  “Who’s there?” Cyril barked.

  Clémence opened the door. Cyril’s face fell at the sight of her. “Oh. You.”

  “I’m here to give my statement to the police,” Clémence said. “I waited for a long time.”

  “Fine.” Cyril sighed again.

  He waved his colleague to leave and gestured for Clémence to sit down.

  “I take it that the investigation is going well?” Clémence smiled at him brightly, making Cyril glower even more, because he knew that she had heard.

  “Very well,” said Cyril. “We have a hair sample and someone’s cup with a lipstick stain and we’ll know who was in that room with her that evening as soon as we get the DNA results back. If you’re lucky, you’ll be off the hook.”

  Clémence thought that chances were high that the hair belonged to Lara, but she didn’t want to tell Cyril yet. Not until she talked to her so he doesn’t ruin her investigation with his accusations and incompetence.

  Her investigation. Was she really trying to solve a murder? She did feel partly responsible. La gardienne had been eating her macarons when she was killed and it did happen in her building.

  She couldn’t understand why Cyril didn’t just inquire the tenants of the building if anyone had seen someone wear a lipstick shade of that color. They would probably find Lara in no time. But men were clueless about things like makeup and which colors were popular and which ones were not.

  There was also the paper on la gardienne’s table. Had she been writing a letter? Or perhaps one of the instructional signs she had around the building? There were already signs up warning residents to tie up garbage bags as not to attract flies, flush the public toilets better and not to put plastic bags in the recycling bins.

  Cyril knew what it was. She wanted to ask him about the note, but she thought better of it. He would probably not tell her anything and suspect her of knowing too much.

  ***

  After she’d given her statement of everything Cyril already knew, she went home and tried her mother on the phone.

  “How are you, chérie?” Her mother said.

  “It hasn’t exactly been the smoothest homecoming.”

  Clémence told her all about the murder and how the inspector had the nerve to accuse her.

  “Mon dieu! She’s worked here forever. A murder in our own building?”

  Clémence told her that the inspector was useless. It was up to her to help solve the case.

  “Fait attention,” her mother warned. “Be careful. We’re talking about a murderer here.”

  “I know, maman, I just want to help. I mean, the inspector is probably going around questioning people in his foul-tempered way. If I do the questioning, I might actually get some answers. Now would you know who would be an enemy of la gardienne’s?”

  “Everyone’s had trouble with her,” she said. “Just everyone. She complains when we put garbage in the wrong containers, if we get in too late and wake her up with our footsteps, if too many of our guests are coming and going if we have a party—everything. For the past couple of months she’s been threatening to quit because she was so fed up with everyone.”

  “But I suppose someone’s fed up with her too. But who?”

  “I don’t know the neighbors in the other building, but in our building, I’ve seen her arguing with the dentist once. I was just coming out of the elevator, and the dentist was red faced when he walked back up to his office on the first floor.”

  “Any idea what that was about?”

  “No. I didn’t hear what they were saying, but la gardienne looked really self-satisfied, as if she’d won whatever conversation or argument they’ve had.” She thought a bit more. “Then there was the incident with the Dubois family. The kids are troublemakers and they don’t like la gardienne. They like to throw things down at her when they see her on the courtyard, but the parents would cover up for them and tell her that it wasn’t them. The parents really coddle their kids in a way that I don’t approve of.”

  Clémence agreed. She could see Arthur being a total mama’s boy telling from how spoiled he was.

  “What are you saying?” Clémence asked. “You think the Dubois could be suspects?”

  “Suspects? No, I don’t believe they are murderers. I don’t want to believe that any of them are! They’re my neighbors. I’ve known them for years!”

  “What do you know about the dentist then?”

  “Phillipe? He seems friendly enough, but since I go to another dentist, I don’t interact with him often. He just works during office hours, and lives in Boulogne, I think, so I don’t run into him as often as the rest. I don�
�t really know much about him.”

  “What about Lara, the cleaner? She’s friends with la gardienne, right?”

  “Oh, she’s rude. Whenever I say ‘Bonjour’ to her, she never says it back!”

  “That’s all you have against her?” Clémence laughed.

  “Well, it’s proper etiquette. I don’t know much else about her except that she works for the Dubois family. I can’t even get a hello out of her, so how would I?”

  Clémence supposed she was really going to have to question Lara herself.

  CHAPTER 9

  When Ben texted her that he’d heard Lara come home, Clémence went up the servant staircase through the kitchen. Lara lived in room 14. Clémence knocked and plastered a smile on her face.

  Lara opened the door roughly, in the same abrupt manner as la gardienne. It was as if they were so annoyed to be disturbed that they wanted to scare the person away with their sudden appearance at the door.

  A young woman poked her head out without a smile. Her plum lipstick was faded on her lips and her long brown hair was knotted in a messy bun at the top of her head. Her eyes were dark and sharp like a hawk’s. She was barefoot and was clutching a glass of wine. At the sight of Clémence, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “Bonsoir.” Clémence kept the smile on her face. “Are you Lara?”

  “Oui.”

  “I’m Clémence Damour from the fifth floor and I was wondering if I can talk to you for a minute?”

  Lara gave her a nasty onceover. She must’ve learned that from la gardienne as well. They really did spend a lot of time together.

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “Well, I heard that you’re a cleaner and I’m looking for someone to clean occasionally.”

  “I thought you already had one,” she said roughly.

  “Yes, but she only comes once a week. I like to have parties sometimes and I was wondering if you’d be interested in small jobs here and there when my regular cleaner is not available.”

  Lara put a cigarette in her mouth and lit up. She inhaled and blew the smoke out from one side of her lips, but the smell still aggravated Clémence. Cigarette smoke was Clémence’s pet peeve and it was one of the major things that she didn’t miss about Paris when she had been away.

  “How much does it pay?” Lara asked.

  Clémence gave her a ball park figure and Lana’s eyes lit up.

  “Fine,” she said. “You have my number?”

  “No, I’ll take it.”

  Lara wrote it down on a Post-It note and gave it to her.

  “Oh, and I heard that you were friends with la gardienne. I’m sorry for your tragic loss.”

  Lana’s face dropped at the mention of her. Was it out of guilt or sadness?

  “Yes. Thank you. We were friends.” Her voice was lifeless.

  “Did you talk to her at all before she died?”

  Lara took some time sucking on her cigarette. Her lips tensed up and Clémence could imagine her forty years later with wrinkles all around her lips and her skin leathered like some older French women.

  “We did have a drink,” said Lara. “In the early evening.”

  Lara shook her head, as if she wanted to shake the memory away.

  “Is that something you do often?” Clémence asked as casually as possible.

  “Every once in awhile, I suppose. She’s the closest thing to family here.”

  “She never had her own children?”

  “No. Her husband left her for another woman thirty years ago.”

  “I see. Who do you think could’ve done this to her?”

  Lana’s eyes turned red. Tears formed. Then again, it could’ve been the cigarette smoke. Clémence’s eyes were tearing up as well. She’d always been sensitive to smoke in close quarters, and her father had to give up smoking after she was born in order to be around her.

  “I don’t know,” said Lara. “There’s a lot of people in this building and none of them had a good relationship with her. She was so fed up with everything that she was talking about saving up some money and leaving.”

  “Where would she have gone?” Clémence asked.

  “No idea. But she seemed very happy about the prospect of leaving. Said she almost had enough money saved up.”

  “Have you noticed that she’d been in any disagreements with anybody in the building recently?”

  Lara signed.

  “Well, in general, people were not closing their trash bags properly before tossing them down the chutes. It was attracting flies, so she hated everybody for being so inconsiderate. People also mixed up garbage in the recycling bins so that had been driving her crazier than usual.” Lara thought about it some more. “Before I came yesterday, I did see the dentist coming out of her apartment. He had some letters in his hand, so maybe she’d given him his mail, but it was strange because she didn’t really like people going into her apartment. Once, an old man had fell on the street and was bleeding, and instead of letting him rest in her apartment as he waited for the ambulance, she brought a chair out for him.”

  Clémence nodded. It was strange to hear that the dentist did go into her apartment. La gardienne usually delivered the mail to each door.

  “Well, anyway, I don’t know who would do it,” said Lara. “Too many people hate her.”

  Even you? Clémence silently wondered.

  “Well thanks.” Clémence shook the post-it note in her hand. “I’ll give you a call if I ever need anyone.”

  “Great,” Lara said with no enthusiasm.

  A slam of the door and she was out of sight.

  Clémence didn’t know what to make of Lara. She certainly tried to show as little emotion as possible, but Clémence had caught a glimpse of some emotion in her eyes. Lara definitely had feelings. Clémence just couldn’t tell whether she was guilty and was trying to hide it, or sad for the loss of her only friend and was trying not to look vulnerable.

  She was still on her suspect list. There was something that Lara was hiding, but she didn’t know what. But there was also this dentist. Both her mother and Lara had mentioned him at odds with the la gardienne and it didn’t sound good.

  Clémence had never met the dentist, and wouldn’t recognize him if she happened to pass him. She didn’t know a lot of people in the building. What if she never found the killer? Would the killer just live amongst them?

  CHAPTER 10

  Clémence poured the fresh raspberries into the bowl.

  In the Damour kitchen, she, Sebastien and Berenice were onto their newest flavour—lychee with raspberry buttercream filling. The lychee macaron shells were baking in the oven and they were working on the cream filling.

  The kitchen was always full of sweet aromas. It was a scent that Clémence had grown up with. She felt most comfortable in a kitchen, and baking was a way to get creative. It was a good way to start the day because she had been tossing and turning in bed the previous night thinking about the case and what she should ask the dentist.

  She had managed to make a last minute appointment with the dentist for a check-up later that day, thanks to a cancellation. She already had a dentist in the 5th arrondissement whom she quite liked, but it wouldn’t be so bad to have a dentist in the same building. Unless, of course, he was a cold blooded killer.