Croissant Murder (A Patisserie Mystery with Recipes)

by Harper Lin

  All her life, she’d aspired to be a painter. She always told herself that it didn’t matter whether she made it as an artist, but the truth was that she was nearly 30, and she’d never done anything to realize her dreams. All she had accomplished in her life, really, was to work in a fun, cushy job at her parents’ patisserie and get lucky with a few murder cases.

  All these negative thoughts were weighing her down. It was one of those days when she questioned everything. She thought too much, and it gave her a headache.

  She sighed, and Miffy looked up at her with her curious, dark eyes as if to ask what was the matter.

  “It’s nothing.” Clémence felt the need to shrug it off and maintain a strong front, even to her family’s dog. “It’ll pass. Don’t worry about me.”

  Miffy made a high-pitched squeal and her lips upturned, as if she wanted to smile and cheer her up. Clémence smiled back. She got down on the floor and patted Miffy’s head.

  As her mood lifted, her cell phone rang. Clémence had been her screening calls all week, only answering when she recognized the number. The previous night, she’d cleared over fifty messages on her voicemail without listening to most of them.

  He’s a cheater and a LIAR!!! flashed on her smartphone screen. Clémence’s heart sank. She knew who it was.

  She’d changed her ex-boyfriend Mathieu’s name on the contact list to He’s a cheater and a LIAR!!! to prevent herself from drunk-texting him when she was feeling vulnerable. She should’ve deleted his number altogether, and she wondered why she didn’t. Maybe she’d expected him to call one day. And today was that day.

  “Allô?” she answered tentatively.

  “Clémence Damour,” Mathieu’s deep, confident voice boomed from the other end. “C’est Mathieu. It’s been a while. Ça va?”

  “Oui, ça va? Et vous?”

  “Vous?” Mathieu was quick to catch the formal way she addressed him. “I thought we would be beyond the formalities by now.”

  “Right.” Clémence let out a forced laugh, mainly to calm her own nerves. “So…what’s up?”

  She cringed at how uptight she sounded. Why couldn’t she be cool and suave like he was?

  “First of all I wanted to see how you were doing,” he said, concern in his voice. Of course he knew she’d been kidnapped and he just wanted to reach out to her. “I heard you’ve been through a lot lately. How is everything?”

  “I’m alive,” she said, forcing another laugh. “Everything’s okay.”

  “I wanted to check up on you, see how you’re doing. You’re okay with that, right?”

  “Of course. I appreciate it. How are you?”

  “Oh, the same old. I’m set up here in Les Lilas. Finally have a proper space to work on large canvasses.”

  “Wow, that’s great.”

  “I just moved in three months ago, and I share a space with someone. He’s not an artist, but wants to learn, so it’s a good trade-off.”

  Clémence wondered where Sarah fit into the picture. She was the gorgeous nude model he’d dumped her for, and they had been living together, the last she heard. Not that she cared much anymore.

  “Sounds amazing,” she said.

  “Listen, I was wondering if you wanted to catch up sometime. Have a coffee.”

  “Catch up? Oh, I don’t know—”

  “I feel like there was never closure between us. I know you have a boyfriend now. It’s all over the tabloids. But since we were a big part of each other’s lives, it can’t hurt to have a friendly chat, right?”

  “I suppose it would be okay,” Clémence said slowly.

  “Great! And something strange had happened to me recently that I thought you’d find interesting.”

  “Strange? How do you mean?”

  “Oh, it’s a long story. I’ll tell you later. Is tomorrow afternoon all right? Say, four o’clock at Café Dennis?”

  It was the café they used to go to all the time when they went to art school together. She hadn’t set foot in that café for years.

  “Okay. Sure,” she replied.

  Clémence tried to gauge Arthur’s reaction. Sometimes the man was unreadable. His expression remained stoic, unchanged, but she knew him well enough to sense that he was annoyed. His eyes betrayed more than he’d like. He was like a poker player who needed sunglasses to guard his hand.

  “Are you cool with that?” she asked.

  “Is this the boyfriend who cheated on you?”

  She nodded. “Yup. The very same.”

  Arthur knew what had happened between her and Mathieu. She’d gone to art school with Mathieu and had the biggest crush on him. All the girls did. When they graduated, Mathieu finally noticed her and they began going out. They even lived together for years until he dumped her for one of his nude models, as cliché as that sounded.

  “Do you really want to meet him, or are you just trying to be nice?” Arthur asked calmly.

  “I think he mainly wants to apologize. And I’d be open to hearing it. But only if you aren’t uncomfortable with the idea.”

  He shrugged. “I’m okay with it. Go ahead.”

  “Besides,” she added quickly. “He said there’s something strange he wants to tell me, but he said it was a long story.”

  “I guess he knows you. Knows that you like a bit of mystery and intrigue.”

  “I just want to be clear that I have no remaining feelings for Mathieu. What he did to me was unforgivable, and I’ve moved on, with you. Sometimes I do feel a little bitterness about what he did. Okay, a lot of bitterness. I want to get past it, get some closure, you know. Not be friends exactly, but friendly. You know you’re completely over somebody if you talk to them and know that they have no effect on you whatsoever.”

  Arthur nodded again, very careful to conceal his feelings. The fact that he couldn’t just tell her how he really felt annoyed her. They used to be more open before they got together, and now they were always fighting and butting heads.

  “Okay,” he replied. “Tell me how it goes.” No hint of annoyance in his voice. Could he really be this cool with it?

  She tried to consider whether she’d be okay if it were his ex wanting to have coffee with him. No, she wouldn’t be cool at all. But she’d act the same, to avoid appearing jealous.

  She couldn’t help feeling guilty. She looked up, and Arthur was smiling at her, to her surprise. She loved the way his eyes crinkled when he did. Even though she knew a few customers were probably watching, she stood up and leaned over the table to kiss him.

  “Je t’aime beaucoup, tu sais?” she muttered. I love you, you know that?

  This man was still looking at her with adoration despite the fact that she was going to meet her ex-boyfriend tomorrow afternoon for coffee. And she was grateful to him.

  Still, she had this nagging feeling. Speaking to Mathieu had made her feel uneasy. Meeting him felt wrong. Could she honestly say that she had no feelings for him?

  Chapter 3

  “I’m starting to think Sebastien’s gay,” Berenice Soulier said matter-of-factly.

  On Clémence’s balcony, she took a drag of her cigarette. She and Ben, who lived on the top floor of Clémence’s building, were over at her apartment for lunch. With the sunny weather streak they’d been having lately, she thought it would be nice to make the most of the sunshine with her friends.

  Ever since Ben and Berenice started dating a few months ago, they’d been inseparable. Ben was a writer from England, and Berenice worked alongside Sebastien Soulier, her brother, as a baker at Damour.

  The fact that “B Squared,” as Clémence referred to Ben and Berenice now, got together because Clémence introduced them on a night out had given her hope at first that she had the talent to be a matchmaker. But it was a hit-or-miss venture. Celine had gone out with Sam, Ben’s friend, and they had been hot and heavy for a month, until Sam cooled off and began looking for greener pastures. Celine had moved on as well with an indie rocker.

  “He’s not gay,”
Clémence protested. “Why do you think that?”

  “It’s obvious,” she said. “Why didn’t I come to this conclusion earlier? This explains all the secrecy, doesn’t it? Sebastien even missed family dinner a couple of weeks ago for the Paris Gay Pride parade. He claims he went to support his friend Ted.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” Clémence said. “There are lots of straight people at that event.”

  Clémence happened to know that Sebastien was in fact straight, and did have a new girlfriend named Maya. He just didn’t want his sister and his family to know. Even Clémence wasn’t supposed to know, but she had run into him at the Spinoza Atelier, where she took art classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and discovered that he was taking adult ballet classes with Maya.

  “To think,” Berenice continued, “my own brother, and I missed all the signs. He’d always been neat, and a very good dresser. He knows how to dance and enjoys movie musicals. He cooks and bakes, lives by himself, and hardly takes an interest in girls when we go out, even when they’re hitting on him. Let’s face it: he’s as gay as a rainbow.”

  Clémence tried to suppress her laughter. “Don’t jump to conclusions.”

  “The thing with French men is that they all seem gay,” Ben contributed. “They’re all dressed really well, so it’s hard to tell. Why don’t you just ask him?”

  “I don’t want to be insensitive,” Berenice said dramatically. “What if he gets embarrassed? It’s a big event in someone’s life, coming out of the closet.”

  “Maybe Ben’s just a quiet, secretive guy,” Ben said. “It doesn’t necessarily mean he’s gay. When’s his birthday?”

  “October thirtieth. Why?” Berenice asked.

  “Oh, he’s a Scorpio.” Ben nodded knowingly and took a sip of his beer.

  “What about it?” Clémence asked.

  “Scorpios are known for their secrecy. They’re all about control, so they like to hold information back from others so they can hold all the cards. They’re quite intense, but they’re ambitious and successful. Sounds like Sebastien.”

  Berenice regarded Ben with surprise. “How do you know so much about astrology?”

  “My mother,” he said. “She’s actually a professional astrologer.”

  “No way,” Clémence exclaimed. “That’s cool. I’m a Cancer. What am I like?”

  “Cancer is a water sign. You’re sensitive, emotional, intuitive, and it’s hard for you to trust, but you’re loyal and honest with the people you do.”

  Clémence nodded. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

  “You should ask my mom to do a full chart sometime, although she’s booked until the end of August.”

  “She’s that good?” Berenice was impressed.

  “Yup. She even has quite a few celebrity clients. In fact, she was the one who told me to come to Paris. Said the energy was a bit easier for me here, and that I would get more inspiration.”

  “Did it turn out to be true?” Clémence asked.

  “Sure. Especially with all the murders. I can write a series of policier novels based on all the things you’ve experienced, Clémence.”

  “That’s true.” Clémence chuckled. “I’m glad the media hadn’t made the connection between Damour desserts and the murders. Sometimes I wonder if that inspector is right. Are our products cursed?”

  “No,” Ben said. “Damour macarons and pastries are ubiquitous. Go into any Parisian’s home and there’s a 50/50 chance that they’ll have something from Damour.”

  “Yeah, you can’t help it if those poor murder victims happen to love our baked goods,” Berenice added.

  “Speaking of Cancer, that’s this month. Is your birthday soon?” Ben asked.

  “Oh.” Clémence took a sip from her glass of white wine. “Right. Yeah. It’s coming up at the end of the month.”

  “That’s soon then,” Berenice said. “I can’t believe I didn’t know! We have to do something.”

  “Nah.” She shook her head. “29 isn’t a big deal. Maybe I’ll skip it altogether.”

  “Come on, let’s have dinner or something at least. Better yet, let’s throw a huge party.”

  “No. It’s been a crazy year so far. I think I’ll skip it. Maybe we’ll have a drink, but that’s it. As for a bash, I don’t need the media attention right now.”

  “I bet people are coming out of the woodwork to talk to you now that you’re more famous, huh?” Ben asked.

  “Well…” Clémence told them about her ex calling her out of the blue. She’d been dying to tell someone, and she felt that Ben and Berenice would understand. “I feel weird about seeing him, but I couldn’t say no. He sounded casual and genuinely nice.”

  “But you still hate him, don’t you?” Berenice watched her closely. They’d been friends for five years, ever since Berenice started working at the patisserie, and she knew how hurt Clémence had been when Mathieu dumped her. The breakup was the main reason Clémence took off for two years to travel around the world.

  “No, I don’t hate him. I can’t say I forgive him 100%, but I want to get past it.”

  “You will,” said Ben, who was more cool about things. “There’s no harm. You’ve both moved on. Why not have a friendly drink?”

  “When are you going?” asked Berenice.

  “Actually, this afternoon. We’re supposed to meet at Café Dennis.”

  “Are you nervous?”

  Clémence shrugged. “I’m fine.”

  But she wasn’t—not completely. If she had to admit it to herself, she was a teensy bit nervous.

  At the last minute, she asked Mathieu to come to Damour instead. She had good reasons for the change in plans. First, the paparazzi could spring up anywhere, and she didn’t want pictures of her with Mathieu on a café terrace to show up on the Internet or the tabloids. It might upset Arthur, even though he knew about their rendezvous already. Secondly, Mathieu was the one who wanted to talk to her. He should come to her.

  He obliged willingly, and Clémence reserved her corner table in the salon de thé. At Damour, she would be in control. She had her friends around for moral support, and they would be seated away from the windows and the photographers.

  At 4p.m. on the dot, Mathieu entered, which surprised her because punctuality wasn’t his strong suit. He had shaggy, dirty blond hair, light blue eyes, and white teeth that were a bit too big for his mouth. He wasn’t as tall or classically handsome as Arthur, but he had a certain bohemian charm.

  She wondered if Ben, being a writer, would get along with him. Mathieu was just as talented and creative. The last she checked, the art world was still in love with him.

  Mathieu smiled broadly at her as he approached. Clémence stood up to greet him. Although she told herself that she couldn’t care less, she had been extra careful with her appearance that morning. She used a straightening iron on her bob and wore a little more makeup than she was used to on a weekday. Just before their meeting, she’d put on more lipgloss, another layer of mascara and reapplied pink blush for a natural glow. She was seeing an ex-boyfriend, after all. She couldn’t not look good.