by Harper Lin
“Excuse me,” Clémence cut in. “Sorry to interrupt, Henri. Cyril?” She pulled him aside. “I’m heading over to the surveillance place with Arthur first. Then you can join me once you’ve finished.”
“Seriously, Damour? You get a head start on questioning the witnesses and now you get to go through the videos first?”
“It’s not a competition,” Clémence exclaimed. “Although, for the last case, I still haven’t received my letter as part of my win.”
Clémence and Cyril had made a deal that if Clémence solved the last murder case, Cyril would write her a letter of defeat for her to frame, expressing how she was superior to him in every way. So far, he’d yet to write it.
“It’s lost in the mail,” said Cyril.
“A deal’s a deal.” Clémence crossed her arms.
Cyril sighed. “Fine. Yes, okay. I haven’t had the time. I’ve been busy. So busy that I can’t even get any decent sleep on the weekends. Some Saturday this is turning out to be.”
“Yes. It’s not as if I want to be investigating another murder during my birthday celebration either, Cyril.”
And yet, she was.
Chapter 3
Clémence thought it would be faster to take the Métro to the 15th arrondissement. Taxis were scarce on Saturday night. It was only a few stops away, and the Métro was open until around one thirty a.m. on weekends.
Even though it was August, it still got chilly at night, so Clémence and Arthur put on their jackets and left. Unfortunately, the guests had to stay until later, but Clémence couldn’t worry about them now. Berenice and Sebastien, as well as the Damour store manager, Caroline, agreed to help keep things under control.
However, the Métro stalled near the Bir-Hakeim station. They were taking Line 6, which was above ground, and the train was sitting on a bridge over the Seine. On one side, they could see the Eiffel Tower, all lit up. Clémence could tell who the tourists were by whoever was impressed with the sight of the tower. Even though she saw la Tour practically every day, she was still taken with the view, but she couldn’t enjoy it that night. She had too much on her mind, and she was too impatient to get moving.
“Why can’t this Métro move already?” she muttered to Arthur.
“What a crazy night,” Arthur said. “I can’t believe Cesar is dead. I just talked to him ten minutes before he went to the restroom.”
“C’est très bizarre,” Clémence agreed. “And you know what? If it did turn out to be a murder, guess who’s responsible? One of the guests at my party!”
Arthur frowned. “Not necessarily. How many guests were there? Forty? Forty-five?”
“Forty-four. Plus the catering crew.”
“But you only know a quarter of the guests really well. The others are employees from other Damour locations that you barely interact with, and guests of guests.”
“That’s true, but it still doesn’t make me feel any less responsible.” Clémence sighed and tucked a strand of her dark bob from her face. “I wonder what happened? Who would want Cesar dead? A guy our age with no health problems to speak of doesn’t just fall dead.”
“Maybe he had a drug problem,” Arthur said. “Didn’t he look a little haggard to you?”
“I guess, but all the Laberg brothers have dark under-eye circles. It’s probably genetic. Could it have been alcohol poisoning?”
“It’s a possibility, I suppose,” Arthur said. “But when I talked to him, he didn’t seem that drunk, not more so than I was.”
“What if it was suicide?” Clémence asked.
“Why would Cesar want to kill himself? He’s young. He’s successful. He’s got everything.”
“What makes a person happy is different for everyone. We don’t know much about this guy. I have to find out more. The police have taken over, but I don’t think tonight’s the right time to investigate, since everyone’s in shock and quite emotional at the moment.”
“Here we go again,” Arthur said.
The train jerked to life, and Clémence practically fell out of her chair. She was still a little drunk.
“I still can’t believe there’s another murder so soon after the last one,” Clémence said. “And on my birthday? We were supposed to get completely wasted and spend all of our Sunday eating hangover food.”
“We can still eat hangover food,” Arthur said. “In fact, I’m craving a hamburger right now.”
“I wish there was more street food in Paris like there is in the States. Where’s a hot dog cart when you need it?”
They got off at Métro La Motte-Picquet to change to Line 10 to Métro Avenue Emile Zola. When they got to the surveillance place, Ralph was already there, and he opened the door as soon as Clémence rang.
Ralph was in a clean white dress shirt and dark denim. In his early thirties, he usually had scruffy facial hair, but he was clean shaven that night, making his dimples more prominent when he smiled.
“Bonsoir, Ralph,” Clémence said. “This is my boyfriend, Arthur. I don’t think you’ve met.”
“Hi.” Arthur stuck out his hand.
“No.” Ralph’s smile dropped as they shook hands. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
The two men took a moment to size each other up. They were dressed alike. With his jacket off, Arthur was also in a white shirt, with black dress pants. His sleeves were rolled up, and his chestnut-colored hair was nicely gelled.
“Come on in,” Ralph said. “Oh, and happy birthday, Clémence. Why didn’t you invite me?”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Clémence smiled apologetically. “I didn’t think you’d want to come. Next time.”
“Of course I’d want to come. I’d go to any party at Damour. It looked like a fun night.” Ralph sat down in front of one of the many screens. “Feel free to pull up some chairs next to me. I’ve already rewound to the start of the evening. What is it that you’re looking for?”
Clémence and Arthur sat on either side of Ralph. “I’ll point out the victim. His name is Cesar Laberg.”
“Laberg,” Ralph said. “I know that name. Why does it sound familiar?”
“He’s a publishing heir.”
“Oh.” It struck Ralph. “Of Editions Laberg?”
“Yes,” Arthur said dully.
“I know them,” Ralph exclaimed. “They’ve published some of my favorite books by Agnes Belrose.”
“Oh, you’re a fan of Agnes Belrose, too?” Clémence exclaimed.
“Yes, Le Port is still my favorite book of all time. What about you?”
“Le Port is great, but Les Belles Filles is the best, in my opinion. I don’t know how she does it. The characters are so sad, but I laugh on every page.”
Arthur cleared his throat. “Maybe we could save the book club discussions for later. There might be a potential murderer on the loose.”
“Oh, you’re right,” Clémence said.
Ralph rolled the video. The two cameras in the chandeliers showed everything from an aerial point of view. Clémence watched as the guests came in at the start of the evening. The hired waitstaff from a catering company had already set everything up. Two of them took the guests’ jackets, and three of them circulated the room holding trays of champagne flutes for the guests to take to get the evening started.
Clémence watched for Cesar, but he must’ve arrived fashionably late. She did recall that Henri and Madeleine had been among the first to arrive, and Cesar and Charles among the last. Clémence didn’t know Henri’s older brothers that well, but Madeleine had told her they wanted to come because they were huge fans of Damour macarons. Plus, they wanted to meet beautiful women.
There were certainly beautiful women there. Celine, who was close with Clémence, was a cute blonde with a rotating door of boyfriends. Adi and Melanie were Clémence’s friends from lycée, and the other Damour staff were all adorable in Clémence’s eyes.
Cesar certainly knew how to charm the ladies. He had a crowd of them around him a few times throughout the evening. Charl
es Laberg was chatting up a storm with Celine by the end of the night. Clémence knew Celine well, and she guessed Celine was probably smitten, even though Celine’s intense infatuations never lasted longer than a few weeks.
Clémence remembered being introduced to Cesar, as she scrutinized the video footage of them chatting after they greeted each other with bisous on the cheeks. He had dark, almost black hair, with hazel eyes that were almost golden. He was the tallest and the most well built of the Laberg brothers. Dressed in a fitted grey Armani suit, he exuded confidence and charm. Not only that, he was apparently a brilliant businessman. Cesar was managing the magazine department for now, but he had a lot of intelligent things to say about the French literary scene. He told Clémence that he intended to follow his father’s legacy in discovering and publishing many of France’s bright literary talents. Clémence remembered being impressed by Cesar.
Clémence had already known Henri through Madeleine. He was a nice guy, if a bit lazy. Charles was more carefree and outgoing, and he mingled with everyone just as well as Cesar throughout the evening. He was less serious than his older brother, was less shy than his younger brother, and was one of the first to join in with Ben on the dance floor.
When she’d questioned Henri and Charles after they discovered Cesar’s body, they were both in shock. Neither knew what had happened. She couldn’t broach the subject of mental illness at the time, especially with the ambulance sirens sounding in the distance.
The only thing she could do now was to see what Cesar had been up to the hour before his death. Clémence noted all the people he talked to. At one point, he looked to be in an intense discussion with Maya, before walking away. She walked back to Sebastien.
Did they know each other? Maya had only started dating Sebastien recently. They had been introduced by a mutual friend. Paris was a small town in many ways. It was possible that she’d known Cesar before the party.
Cesar had drunk four glasses of champagne. He had eaten one caramel éclair, a piece of opéra cake, six macarons, and a crème brûlée. Madeleine wasn’t kidding when she said Cesar was a fan of Damour desserts.
Cesar had just finished the crème brûlée before going to the restroom.
The doorbell rang. Ralph paused and went to the door. Inspector Cyril St. Clair entered. He looked pale, with dark under-eye circles. It was probably way past his bedtime.
“You’re done questioning all the witnesses?” Clémence asked.
“Mademoiselle, I have people for that,” he said pompously. “I have a whole team at my disposal.”
“Right. Then how come I’m the one doing all the real work?” Clémence muttered.
Cyril ignored her. “What have you found out so far?”
“We were just watching what Cesar was doing before he went to the restroom.”
Ralph rewound the video, and Cyril watched as Cesar leaned against one of the walls, scraping the ramekin with a spoon. When he finished his crème brûlée, he gave the empty ramekin to a server and walked to the restroom. Naturally, there were no cameras in there, so they couldn’t see what happened.
“So,” Cyril said. “The man ate one of your crème brûlées and he dropped dead.”
Clémence sighed. “That’s what it looks like.”
Chapter 4
“There’s nothing wrong with my crème brûlées,” Clémence insisted. “If the ones at the party were harmful, most of my guests would have dropped dead by now. My head baker made them himself, just hours before the party.”
“Sebastien made them?” Arthur asked.
“Yes. We don’t usually sell crème brûlées in the patisseries, but once in a while, we make them in special flavors for the salon de thé, so they’re a special treat.”
“What kind of crème brûlée was the victim eating then?” the inspector asked.
“I don’t know,” Clémence said. “I believe Sebastien made them in lavender, orange, and classic vanilla.”
“And Sebastien is Maya’s boyfriend?” Cyril asked. “The woman who discovered Cesar’s body?”
“Yes,” Clémence replied. “They’ve been dating for a few weeks. Don’t tell me you suspect Sebastien now. I’ve known him for years.”
“Besides, one of the servers was walking around with a desert tray, and Cesar picked the crème brûlée himself,” Ralph added. “It’s not like anyone gave it to him specifically.”
“Let’s watch that footage,” Cyril said.
Ralph rewound until he found the moment where a tall, wiry, nondescript waiter with short dark hair passed by with the tray, and Cesar didn’t look as if he needed much thinking before taking the ramekin and a spoon. Cesar dug into it almost immediately.
“We don’t know if there’s even anything wrong with the crème brûlée,” Clémence said. “Sure, Cesar goes to the restroom right after and dies, but say the crème brûlée was poisoned or something, would the effect be this immediate?”
“We don’t know how long it took for Cesar to die,” Arthur said. “Maya discovered him, what, ten minutes later?”
“It’s possible he was poisoned,” Cyril said. “We’ll find out after the autopsy. On verra. We’ll see.” He stood up and buttoned his Burberry jacket and turned to leave.
“Wait, that’s it?” Clémence asked.
“There’s nothing else we can do in the meantime while we wait for the results,” Cyril said. “I suggest you go home.”
The front door closed with a clang.
Clémence turned to Ralph. “Can I get a copy of the tapes from this evening?”
“Sure.” Ralph gave her a flirtatious smile. “I can make a DVD and drop it off at Damour tomorrow, if you’re open.”
“We probably will be,” Clémence. “I talked to my parents earlier, and they want the store open. Merci. I really appreciate it.”
Arthur scowled at him, as he stood up and followed Clémence out the door.
Out on the street, they had to call a taxi company for a pickup because the Métros had stopped running.
As they waited, Arthur turned to her. “I don’t like the way that Ralph was flirting with you tonight.”
Clémence played dumb. “Was he?”
“The way he was looking at you, even when I was there.”
“Oh. You weren’t jealous, were you?”
“Jealous?” Arthur huffed. “I’m talking about respect.”
“So you’ve never flirted with a girl while her boyfriend was there in your playboy days?”
Arthur thought about it. “Only when I thought the girl deserved better.”
“Ha! I knew it. All men are slime.”
“So this surveillance guy thinks he’s better than me? Please.”
“You’re blowing things out of proportion,” Clémence tried to say gently. “Some guys just like to flirt.”
“So you knew he was flirting. And you flirted back.”
She rolled her eyes. “Come on. Don’t be that way. All you need to know is that I don’t have an interest in Ralph romantically. I don’t even know him that well.”
Arthur took a deep breath as the taxi came. “All right. You’re right. Forget it.”