Croissant Murder (A Patisserie Mystery with Recipes)

by Harper Lin

  “It’s been fun to catch up. All that stuff’s in the past, so why not be friends?”

  “Exactly,” Sarah said. “That’s my attitude.”

  “But why doesn’t Mathieu want people to know he has a daughter?”

  “He says wants to establish himself as a young painter. I don’t know why exactly, but he says it’s important for his career. And it’s not as if anybody’s writing about us these days anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”

  “Did his girlfriend know?”

  “He has a girlfriend?” Sarah asked.

  “Oh, you didn’t know?”

  “No. I know he dates sometimes, but he never told me about a girlfriend.”

  “Well, Sarah,” Clémence said. “I’m glad I ran into you because there are some things I want to tell you. Mathieu’s girlfriend was an art gallery assistant named Charlotte Lagrange and she was killed recently. Shot in the head.”

  Clémence gave her the full story and told her about how Charlotte had been keen on Mercier paintings, while Gilles owned one. “I think Mathieu’s roommate is connected to her murder somehow. What do you know about him?”

  “Gilles?” Sarah’s expression soured. “I’ve only met him a few times. To tell you the truth, he gives me the creeps, the way he leers at me. You don’t think he killed this girl, do you?”

  “I don’t know. I’m trying to figure it out. What can you tell me about him?”

  “Mathieu moved in with him about three months ago. I don’t know how he met Gilles exactly. Mathieu mentioned something about meeting him at a party.”

  “Have you been over to Mathieu’s house a lot since he moved there?”

  Sarah shook her head. “Just when I’m dropping Joy—she’s our baby—at his house on Saturdays, when he gets her all day. He doesn’t really want to let me see the place. He says it’s because he’s working on some new paintings and doesn’t want anyone to see them.”

  “So he’s able to take care of the baby by himself?”

  “Sure. Mathieu’s a good father. I’m iffy about the baby being around this roommate, though. Something about him is just so slick.”

  “He’s out of town at the moment, isn’t he?” Clémence asked. “For the whole month?”

  “Not as far as I know. When I dropped off Joy last Saturday, I saw him. He didn’t see me, though, because I left before he could spot me and start leering.”

  “Oh, that’s funny. I thought Gilles was in London.” At least that’s what Mathieu claims, Clémence thought.

  “I wish he was in London, so he’d stop coming in here to flirt with me.”

  “He does that?” Clémence asked.

  “Sometimes. Whenever he’s in the neighborhood.”

  “When was he here last?”

  “Two days ago. Just hanging around the stall, asking me questions about perfumes and not buying anything.”

  Gilles was definitely in town. The question was, why was Mathieu trying to hide him from her?

  Chapter 17

  Galerie Lafayette’s rooftop terrace was the place to be to enjoy an ice cream and pass the afternoon with friends. As the sunny weather streak was still going strong, locals and tourists had the same idea. Clémence bought a chocolate cone and waited for Mathieu to show up. She took in the sweeping view of the city. The back of the Opera Garnier could be seen, as well as Clémence’s good friend, La Tour Eiffel, hanging back in the distance.

  You could call Paris a lot of things, but you couldn’t call it ugly, she thought. It was a shame that the people had to ruin a place of beauty by committing heinous crimes.

  When Mathieu showed up, she’d long since finished her cone. He was beaming. Should he be looking this happy only days after his girlfriend’s death? Perhaps he’d forgotten that he was supposed to be in mourning.

  After he greeted her with bisous, kisses that lingered seductively close to her mouth, Clémence said, “Hey, it’s funny. I ran into Sarah downstairs. I didn’t know she worked here.”

  “Oh, Sarah. Right. She does. You met her?” He looked concerned.

  “She helped me with some perfumes. But I didn’t end up buying anything. We did have a chat though.”

  His smile faltered. “You didn’t talk about me, did you?”

  “What’s there to talk about?” she joked.

  He laughed in response. He looked relieved. Too relieved. “Phew. Two ex-girlfriends coming together—that could’ve been lethal.”

  “What’s the news with your gallery?”

  “They’re going to reach a decision by tomorrow,” he said. “Fingers crossed. There’s a pretty good chance they’ll show my work. They’re a great gallery. It’ll certainly boost my reputation.”

  “I’m sure you’ll get it,” Clémence said. “You’re good at what you do.”

  “Thanks, Clémence. You’ve been so supportive during this tough time.” He stepped in closer, mesmerizing her with his light blue eyes. “You know, I’ve really missed you. You’re the only person who understands me. I made a grave mistake being with Sarah, and I wish I could turn back time.”

  Clémence tried to maintain the smile on her face. Sarah is the mother of your baby, she wanted to snap. Have you forgotten that you have a baby?

  “I really think we make a good team,” Mathieu continued. “I know you’re with Mr. PhD and you like him. He’s all right, I guess, but he’s a little boring for you, don’t you think?”

  “Arthur is—”

  “I still have feelings for you,” Mathieu blurted. “If you feel the same way, life is too short. What I took away from Charlotte’s death is this: if you want something in life, grab it, and I definitely want you, Clémence Damour.”

  He leaned in to kiss her. Clémence turned her cheek, and he kissed her there instead. “I’m flattered Mathieu. But you know that—”

  “I know, I know. Your boyfriend, Arthur.” He stepped back to give her space. “Just think about it, Clémence. We’re meant to be together. We can be one of those great artist couples, like Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera.”

  “But they were miserable. They cheated on each other.”

  “You know what I mean. We have a lot to learn from each other. And you’re so adventurous. You proved that when you went around the world. I’d always thought you didn’t like living life on the edge. You’re so different now, like you’re a new woman. Maybe we needed to be apart for a while so we can find ourselves before finding each other again.”

  “Mathieu…”

  “Okay, I’ll stop talking about it. You know where I stand now, and I’ll leave it up to you to decide.

  “Thanks.”

  They were silent for a moment, looking out at the cityscape.

  “How’s your roommate?” Clémence brought up casually. “Is he still in London?”

  “Yeah. He just called yesterday. Said he’d be back this weekend. I’m glad he’ll be around again. You know, with this whole ghost situation. Yesterday I really wasn’t able to sleep, because I kept hearing noises.”

  “The ghost’s been keeping you awake?” Clémence tried not to let any sarcasm creep into your voice.

  “Maybe you want to come over one night,” he said flirtatiously. “We’ll film it and make Paranormal Activity 9.”

  “Maybe.” Clémence met his gaze, smiling in what she hoped was a seductive way. “I better be going. Arthur is going to be coming home soon, and there’s something I want to talk to him about. You know, about our relationship. Something between us hasn’t been right for some time.”

  Mathieu nodded sympathetically. “Do what you have to do.”

  They gave each other bisous good-bye and Clémence promised she’d call soon.

  When she exited Galerie Lafayette onto Boulevard Haussman, Amelie called her.

  “Hey Clémence,” Amelie said. “We ran some tests this morning on the Mercier painting. It turned out that one of the pigments used wasn’t invented until 1934. Since the painting is dated 1878, the painting is a fake. From what
I can tell from the photograph, it’s a pretty good forgery.”

  Clémence had suspected this all along. But what about the one from the auction? Did somebody pay 50,000 euros for a fake Mercier?

  Chapter 18

  The next day, Clémence wore a little black dress, courtesy of Marcus Savin, and red leather pumps. She was looking her best as she rang Mathieu’s door in the late evening.

  She’d come uninvited, and she heard voices from outside the door. Gilles was home.

  When she rang the doorbell again, Mathieu opened the door and received her with surprise.

  “Clémence. I didn’t know you were coming by. It’s nice to see you.” He gave her a once-over. “You look drop-dead sexy.”

  “Thanks,” Clémence said breezily, stepping into the house as if she owned the place. “So it’s settled. I talked to Arthur, and now I’m here to talk to you.”

  She plopped down on the cream leather couch, and he sat down next to her, looking at her at with puppy eyes. “What is it?”

  “I told Arthur everything. He was very understanding about the whole situation.”

  Mathieu couldn’t help but smirk. “Hope he wasn’t too hurt.”

  “No.” Clémence smirked back. “Actually, he was very relieved.”

  “How come?”

  Clémence turned to the staircase. “Hey, I heard voices before I came in. Is your roommate back?”

  “Oh,” he said slowly, as if he was unsure of answering. “Yeah. He’s back.”

  “I’d like to meet him,” Clémence said.

  “Sure, I’ll get him.”

  Mathieu disappeared upstairs, and came down a minute later with the bespectacled man Clémence had recognized at Christie’s. He was growing in a light beard that day, and wore a blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

  “This is Clémence,” Mathieu said. “Clémence, Gilles.”

  “A pleasure to meet you.” Gilles spoke in French with a British accent.

  She could see why Sarah would be creeped out by him. His dark eyes seemed to devour every curve of her body.

  “Nice to finally meet you,” Clémence said. “Did you enjoy your trip to London?”

  “Very much so. It was a mixture of business and pleasure, since I got to see some friends.”

  “Did any portion of the trip involve murder?” Clémence asked nonchalantly.

  Both men gaped at her in shock.

  “Excuse me?” Gilles demanded.

  “You heard me.” Clémence’s voice turned dead serious. “Charlotte Lagrange, Mathieu’s girlfriend. You killed her, didn’t you?”

  Gilles sputtered, then broke out into a laugh. “Why would I kill her?”

  “Because she was getting in the way,” Clémence said. “She was going to expose your art fraud scheme. Your reputation would’ve been ruined. You’d lose millions and you’d go to jail.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Mathieu said you were in London, but you’ve been spotted around Paris. Weren’t you at Christie’s, making sure your fake Mercier sold for a good price?”

  “Clémence,” Mathieu cut in. “You don’t know you what you’re talking about.”

  “Can it, Mathieu,” Clémence said, anger rising in her voice. “Don’t think I don’t know your part in all this. Why did you tell me that Gilles wasn’t in town? So you could try to seduce me in this house. Isn’t that also why you didn’t tell me you already have a baby with Sarah? That wouldn’t have fit in with your plan to win me back so you can use me for my fame and make a name for yourself in the art world again. You used me once and you won’t use me again.”

  “Really, Clémence, that’s preposterous. Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”

  “Is it? Isn’t that why Charlotte died? She was an inconvenience for the both of you. She was onto you, Mathieu, and she got jealous once she figured out that you were trying to win me back. She knew that you were done with her and her limited connections in the art world. Besides, you already got what you wanted from her: a recommendation to a reputable gallery. That night after I left, she must’ve let you know that she was onto your plan to make Mercier copies for Gilles to sell. And copies of other great lost paintings. She threatened you. You told Gilles and he must’ve made the snap decision to kill her on the spot. You guys didn’t expect anyone to trace this back to you, did you?”

  Mathieu’s lips were were pressed in a grimace. “Clémence.” His tone dropped two octaves.

  “Showing up at my house the night Gilles murdered her was a good touch,” Clémence said, “so I wouldn’t suspect you. And to feel sorry for you so you could get closer to me. At least that was a bit smarter than your original plan—using your baby to make the handprint, then baiting me to come here on some lame ghost story.”

  “You believed it, didn’t you?” Mathieu said.

  “You’re so pathetic,” Clémence spat. “Did you really expect me to dump my amazing boyfriend for a con artist like you? What happened to you? You could’ve made it on talent alone. Why did you do it?”

  “Get off your high horse, Clémence.” Mathieu snapped. His face twisted into fury. “It’s people like you who I hate. Everything always comes so easy for you. If you wanted your own exhibit, I’m sure you’d get anything you want with a snap of your fingers, with your name alone, and talent would mean squat. Me? I have no name, I have no wealth. I graduated and expected the world to recognize my talent like everyone did in school, but you know what? They’re all idiots. As you said, my work is ahead of my time. I refuse to be a slave to everyone’s ignorance and mediocrity. So I did what I had to do to live comfortably. When Gilles approached me to make copies of famous masters to pass off as the real things, I didn’t have to think twice.” He let out a bitter laugh. “People are so stupid. They bought it. And my first Mercier easily passed for the real thing at one of the most prestigious auction houses in the world. It was easier than I thought.”

  “And Charlotte?” Clémence demanded. “You have no remorse that your so-called business partner killed her?”

  Mathieu shrugged. “It’s her own fault. Things were going well and we could’ve had fun for a couple of months—that is, until she decided to stick her nose in our business.”

  “How did you know about the fakes?” Gilles asked. His was looking at her with burning hatred. “How could you have possibly found out?”

  “I was here yesterday,” Clémence said.

  Gilles and Mathieu looked at each other. “You were?” Mathieu said.

  “Yup. I wanted to get in to take a closer look at your Mercier, but you were out, so I broke in.”

  “What?” Gilles’s mouth hung open.

  “I saw the new painting that Mathieu was working on. I realized later that you were making a copy of another Mercier painting, of the sunset over the field of lavender in Provence. It’s a pretty good deal for you, huh, Mathieu? You have all the space to work on your own paintings, while you rip off respectable collectors.”

  “Do you blame me?” Mathieu spat. “It was the only way to make it. I didn’t want to be a starving artist. Screw that entire ideology. Artists had to suffer for centuries due to the general public’s idiocy. Those people wouldn’t know art if it bit them in the ass. Real or fake, they’ll buy whatever so-called experts tell them is worthy of being owned.”