by Amber Crewes
“That’s enough,” Carla hissed. “That Detective Giroud has already been here to question me; everyone in Paris knows Monica caused my shop to lose business, and our infamous falling out was no secret. I don’t need some American girl here reminding me of how much I detested that woman.”
Meghan’s mouth dropped. “She seemed to be so kind when I spoke with her at the convention…” she said softly. “I don’t know how you could detest her, Carla.”
Carla curled her fingers into two tight fists. “I would have been a billionaire by now if it hadn’t been for Monica Baptiste,” she growled. “That woman stole my ideas, she stole my recipes, and now, she’s stealing my attention; I was supposed to run a two-day seminar at the convention, and with her death, it has been cancelled! Do you have any idea how much business I have now lost because of that woman? Do you?”
Meghan felt tears brimming in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and the anger vanished from Carla’s face.
“Oh, ma chère fille,” Carla cooed. “My apologies. I have been so rude. Come! Talk to me about yourself; who are you, and why were you invited to the convention? You look quite young to come all the way across the sea to such a prestigious event.”
Meghan shared her story with Carla. Despite Carla’s initial outburst, she was easy to talk with, and Meghan told Carla about moving to Sandy Bay after failing in Hollywood as an actress. She described starting her life over and opening her bakery. She shared her hopes about a future with Jack.
Carla listened intently, nodding and grinning as Meghan spoke. “I am impressed with you, Meghan Truman, my new American friend,” Carla gushed. “I like you. I like your spirit. I want to make it clear with you that I did not have anything to do with Madame Baptiste’s untimely death. Forgive my rudeness earlier, I beg of you.”
Meghan smiled. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s a difficult situation, and it sounds like the two of you had some history.”
“We did,” Carla said flatly. “But it’s in the past. I want to talk about the future. Meghan, to make up for my outburst, I want to invite you to a little party tonight. I’m hosting a cruise on the River Seine this evening for some of the VIPs of the convention. It will be a glamorous night, and I would love it if you could come!”
Meghan clasped a hand to her mouth. “I would be thrilled,” Meghan answered, her face bright with enthusiasm. “A cruise on the River Seine? Who knew there would be this much excitement on my trip to Paris!”
Carla grinned. “It would be an honor to host you,” she cooed.
“Would you mind terribly if I bring a friend?” Meghan asked, thinking of how much Molly would enjoy a fancy night out.
“Ehmmm….”Carla sputtered.
“She’s an American, like me. She would love it.”
“An American!” Carla exclaimed. “That changes everything. I just adore Americans! Of course, Meghan. Please, bring your guest.”
Carla’s eyes danced as Meghan squealed. “You Americans are so expressive,” Carla laughed. “I enjoy having you around. Make sure you dress up for tonight; this will be quite the affair, and you will want to dress to impress. Mark my words, Meghan Truman, this will be a night you will never forget!”
7
MEGHAN SMILED AT HER REFLECTION in the mirror as she swept a stray lock of dark hair off of her forehead. She had never felt more beautiful; after receiving the invitation to the cruise on the River Seine, she and Molly had scoured the finest stores in Paris in search of the perfect gown. Meghan had carefully selected an emerald green floor-length satin dress that both showed off her curves and accentuated her tiny waist. Her dark hair was swept back into an elegant chignon, and she wore a pair of long, white satin gloves.
“If only Jack could see me now,” Meghan thought as she applied a final layer of mauve lipstick. “In Sandy Bay, I’m Meghan Truman, small business owner. In Paris, I am Mademoiselle Truman, a woman enjoying a cruise down the River Seine with some of Europe’s biggest cooking and baking phenomenons!”
Meghan gave herself one last look and walked out of the boat’s opulent bathroom. She rounded a corner, and walked straight into a tall, mustached man. “I’m so sorry!” she cried as the man dropped his wine glass. The body of the glass broke away from the stem, and the glass shattered into small, dangerous pieces.
“Ahhh, the American!”
Meghan squinted in the dimly-lit corridor and realized she knew that man; it was Detective Giroud. He looked handsome in his tuxedo, and Meghan felt her heart flutter as he brought her gloved-hand to his lips. “It’s a pleasure, Mademoiselle Truman,” he said slowly as he kissed her hand.
“I am so sorry,” Meghan sputtered as she bent down to collect the pieces of the detective’s broken glass. “Forgive me; it’s so dark on the boat, and I didn’t see you.”
“It’s romantic, yes?”
Meghan felt her stomach churn as the detective studied her face. She blushed, hoping he could not see the color in her cheeks as she slowly rose from her position on the ground. “It’s quite lovely,” she admitted. “Carla invited me, and I couldn’t be happier to be at such a fabulous event! I feel so classy.”
The detective laughed. “You Americans are so forward and adorable,” he cooed. “Come. Stroll with me? I would love to have such a beautiful woman on my arm as I walk on the top deck.”
Meghan giggled and slipped her arm around the detective’s. “What are you doing here tonight, Detective Giroud?”
The detective’s face darkened. “I am actually here on official business,” he admitted. “We are keeping our eyes on Madame Lizarazou, in fact; I’m sure if you spent any time speaking with her, you are aware of how much she loathed Madame Baptiste.”
Meghan nodded. “Yes, she sounded very….passionate in her feelings about Monica.”
Detective Giroud sighed. “It’s a complicated situation,” he explained. “We are trying to keep this investigation quiet, but it’s blowing up; there are so many wealthy, important people tied to the convention, including Monsieur Meekse and Madame Lizarazou, to name a few, and all of this bad publicity is bad for the convention and the city itself!”
Meghan lowered her eyes. “That’s a shame,” she whispered. “This city is just magical. I hate that such a tragedy happened during the convention. Poor Monica.”
The detective raised his eyebrows as they walked to the railing of the top deck. Meghan stared as the boat floated down the river; the twinkling lights of the city reflected on the water, and Meghan could not believe that she had found herself at such a luxurious event in Paris.
“It is a terrible thing,” the detective said. “But it’s so lovely to run into you here….”
Meghan heard music begin to play on the lower deck, and she gestured at the stairs. “Do you hear that? It’s a band! Let’s go dance, Detective Giroud!”
The detective’s face brightened, and he kissed Meghan’s hand again. “I thought you would never ask,” he teased as they walked downstairs.
A full band was playing on the lower deck, and Meghan’s eyes widened at the sight of hundreds of elegant couples twirling about the ship’s ballroom. “It’s so fancy!” Meghan cried. “I can’t believe I’m here.”
As Meghan surveyed the dance floor, she felt a tug on her shoulder. “Excuse me, beautiful lady, may I dance with you?”
Meghan turned to face a tall, dark-eyed man who was grinning at her. She smiled back, and he took her hand. “You are so beautiful” the man said, and Meghan felt a shiver run down her spine.
“I’m sorry,” Meghan said with a laugh. “I don’t we’ve met.”
“Pardon me, beautiful,” the man answered as he placed his wine glass on the table behind them. “You are just so lovely! May I steal you for a dance?”
The detective shrugged, and Meghan walked away with the handsome dark-eyed man. He placed one hand on her waist and took her hand, and they began to spin about in the ballroom.
“I am James Dugarry, the owner of the Pala
is Brongniart,” he informed Meghan as they danced. She felt her stomach churn. James Dugarry was the man the maid had warned her about.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said slowly. “It’s a terrible thing that happened at the Palais Brongniart.”
James nodded. “It is,” he said, slurring his words. Meghan saw that his pupils were dilated, and beads of sweat were falling from his forehead. “It’s a terrible thing, but it’s attracted so much attention to my business. My colleagues in London had a similar experience several years ago, and while the death of an innocent is terrible, well, it was good for business!”
Meghan grimaced as James pulled her closer to him. A thick, smelly bead of his sweat landed on Meghan’s cheek, and she struggled to break free from his grasp. “I think I should go now,” she informed him. “I have to go.”
James did not release Meghan, and she felt her eyes water as his stale breath filled her nostrils. “Stay with me,” he menacingly ordered, still slurring his words as he tightened his grip on Meghan’s waist. “Don’t go, beautiful…”
Meghan fought James, jabbing her free elbow into his side. “Stop it,” she hissed. “I don’t want to make a scene.”
James let go of Meghan, and she marched away from him. “You’ll be sorry!” he shouted sloppily to Meghan as she stormed away. “You’ll regret that!”
Meghan burst out of the ballroom and into the chilly evening air. She could not stop the hot, angry tears spilling from her eyes, and as she caught sight of the twinkling Eiffel Tower glowing in the distance, she fought the nausea that wound in her stomach like a worm. Her trip so far had been like a rollercoaster. Each day had brought its own unique flavor of flashpoints she would spend weeks discussing with her friends when she returned home to Sandy Bay. She had seen the best of Paris and she had seen the worst of Paris.
“He wouldn’t let go of me,” Meghan thought as she stared down into the dark river. “He threatened me. James Dugarry seemed all too pleased to have a death at his venue, and if I’m not careful, it sounds like I could be next!”
8
“I CAN’T BELIEVE he did that to you,” Molly grumbled as they walked back to the hotel. “I’m sorry I left you; when you were in the bathroom, I found myself dancing the night away with the most handsome Parisian man! Forgive me.”
Meghan wiped a tear from her cheek as they approached the vestibule of the hotel. “It’s fine,” she assured Molly. “I got away from him. He just scared me, Molly! He was so sloppy and rude, and he seemed dangerous.”
Molly gritted her teeth. “I think you should call that good-looking detective tomorrow and tell him about this,” she declared. “That James Dugarry is trouble, and I don’t want anything else to go wrong on this trip.”
Before Meghan could respond, she was nearly knocked to the ground when a group of French-speaking reporters surrounded her. They waved microphones in her face, and Meghan was nearly blinded by the bright lights of their many cameras.
“Where were you during the convention?”
“Do you know what happened to Monica Baptiste?”
“Saviez-vous que la femme qui a été tuée?”
Meghan’s stomach churned at the mention of Monica Baptiste’s name, and she reached for Molly’s hand in the crowd. “We are Americans,” Meghan shouted. “We don’t speak French!”
“Oh, Americans! I speak English,” yelled a thin Frenchmen in a yellow scarf. “I am a reporter for the Parisian Post! Are you ladies attending the convention? Did you know Monica Baptise?”
Before Meghan could respond, Molly stepped in front of her. “She met Monica! Monica was kind to my friend, here,” Molly said with authority. “She complimented Meghan at the convention!”
The reporters moved even closer to Meghan.
“Meghan?”
“Your name is Meghan?”
“Meghan, where are you from?”
“Why are you here?”
Meghan opened her mouth to answer the questions, but Molly shook her head. “She is Meghan Truman from Sandy Bay. She owns a bakery in her town, and she was invited to the convention. She is twenty-seven years old, and she is excited to be in Paris for the first time!”
The reporters started speaking quickly, and Meghan’s head began to spin. The bright lights were giving her a headache, and Molly’s openness about her personal information to the French reporters made her uncomfortable. She had always been a little envious of Hollywood actresses who would be swarmed by reporters as they walked up the red carpet at a movie premiere. However, she realized that it wasn’t as fun when it happened in real life with flashing lights and nosey reporters who were only interested in copy they would use in their news articles the following day.
“Molly,” she whispered to her new friend. “Let’s just go inside.”
A short, stocky female reporter shoved a microphone under Meghan’s nose. “Meghan from Sandy Bay, did you see Monica on the day she was killed?”
“She didn’t,” Molly said. “Monica did not show up to our seminar! Meghan didn’t see her that day.”
“Molly,” Meghan hissed. “Enough. I don’t want to talk to them.”
“Meghan? Meghan? Where were you tonight? Why are you in a fancy gown when someone was killed at the convention?”
“Meghan? What is it like coming to Paris and meeting a woman who was murdered?”
Before Molly could open her mouth again, Meghan grabbed her by the forearm and dragged her inside of the hotel lobby. The reporters did not follow, and Meghan sank into a huge, purple overstuffed chair in the corner. “That was too much, Molly,” Meghan moaned. “Next time, I don’t want to speak with them. Please don’t tell the reporters anything else about me. I don’t want to be connected to any sort of trouble in Paris!”
Molly looked embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, Meghan,” she apologized. “I run my business in Atlanta, but I am a small town girl at heart; I’ve never been on the news before, and I’m sorry I was trying to get the attention.”
Meghan felt her heart begin to slow, and she graciously smiled at Molly. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “Let’s just not repeat that.”
Suddenly, the sound of sobs filled the lobby, and a group of Parisians dressed in all black entered the room. “What’s going on?” Meghan asked.
“That’s Monica’s family,” Molly informed her. “I’ve seen them on the news. That’s her mother, and her father, and her sisters…”
Meghan was overcome with emotions, and she began to weep. She was exhausted from the time change and the tragedy of the convention, not to mention the evening’s events, and she could hardly contain herself as she watched the dark-clad family of Monica Baptiste move through the lobby.
“There, there, mon cherie,” a voice whispered into Meghan’s ear as a strong, heavy arm wound around her bare shoulder. “Don’t you cry. There’s already enough sadness at this hotel, and we don’t need a little American beauty shedding her tears.”
Meghan stared up to find an elegantly dressed man smiling weakly at her. He wore a black suit and a black tie, and she wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Who are you?” Meghan asked. “How did you know that I am American?”
The man shrugged. “I saw you, a dazzling creature, sweep across this hotel lobby in that gorgeous green dress, and I asked the concierge who you were.”
Meghan bit her bottom lip. “Thank you for the kind words,” she said carefully. “But who are you?”
The man cleared his throat. “I don’t think we had the pleasure of being acquainted yet,” he informed Meghan. “But I hear my sister thought highly of you in the few moments you spent talking.”
Meghan gasped. “Your sister?”
The man nodded. “Oui, my sister. I am Oliver Baptiste, brother of the late Monica Baptiste. It’s my honor and privilege to meet you. I hope I will have the privilege to meet you again Meghan Truman.”
9
“AND OLIVER BAPTISTE OWNS A CONGLOMERATE of family businesses! He’s probably the wealthi
est, most powerful, prestigious man I’ve ever met, Jack.” Meghan chirped over the phone. Jack did not respond.
“Jack?”
Meghan heard Jack take a long breath before he responded. “That’s nice, Meghan.”
Meghan gripped the phone tightly as she sat on her soft hotel bed. “What’s wrong, Jack?”
Jack sighed. “You’ve just told me about a lot of other guys, Meghan. You mentioned that detective a few times--that you ran into him in the lobby after you had spent time with him on the boat. You’ve gone on for nearly ten minutes now about this Baptiste fellow. I just feel weird about it, Meghan. I miss you, and we haven’t gotten to talk a lot, and now, you’re telling me about all of these other guys.”