Crêpe Murder_A Seagrass Sweets Cozy Mystery

by Sandi Scott

  They would find something, she was sure. If Serge hadn’t been spying on her all along, he wouldn’t have known about Belle, or her working at L’Oiseau Bleu, or even Patty and the argument at the crepe cart.

  EVEN THOUGH SHE WAS no longer suspected of murder; Patty’s loan application was still turned down. Ironically, Marie Prieur got a loan and was able to purchase the restaurant that Patty had been looking at. Marie had decided not to go to Le Cordon Bleu after all. Another blow to Patty and Ashley came when the L’Oiseau Bleu closed temporarily as Chef Lemaire’s sons tried to work out what to do with it. The sign on its door stated that there was a family emergency – again.

  Ashley couldn’t help but feel a little bitter about the closing. Now she had to leave the neighborhood just to get anything to eat. The café owners in the area weren’t having anything to do with either her or Patty. The only person who would talk to her was the market owner where Ashley bought her groceries.

  “Everybody knows that you figured it out,” he said cheerfully. “My wife said that if I didn’t treat you well, she would leave me. It’s nice to see that crowd get shown up now and then. Also, my wife said that if you need a job, you or Mademoiselle LaFontaine, her cousin has a restaurant on Avenue du Maine where you two can have a job. And good news! Mademoiselle Khadmi has found a position, working at a tailor’s shop on Rue Hallé.” He winked at her. “And I have even better news, that is, no news at all! There is still no word from Belle’s owner. I think she is yours forever.”

  Ashley crossed her fingers, but deep inside she couldn’t believe it.

  TRACES OF CHEF LEMAIRE’S blood was found on the bottom of the griddle. He had indeed cut his hand that night and tried to conceal it by cutting it again. A small micro-camera had been found over the bed in Ashley’s old apartment. It was a wireless camera being accessed from the building’s wireless server, sending the data who knew where.

  Ashley thought about it for a moment then decided it wasn’t worth freaking out over. Apparently, it wasn’t dusty or anything. Serge must have hidden it when he had come back to get his stuff, or maybe he had installed it while she was taking cooking lessons. After all, he had been very controlling and didn’t like her taking the lessons. Either way, it meant that realistically, all he had captured was an empty room. Ashley was still staying in Patty’s apartment, at her insistence.

  “I owe you a favor I can never repay,” Patty said when she was released by the police after a second round of questioning. “Without you, I would have been convicted of murder.”

  “Without you, I would have been stuck in an apartment where my crazy ex was recording my every move. And don’t forget, you were framed by my crazy ex. You don’t owe me anything, Patty.”

  Patty held up a finger. “We’ll call it even. Partners?”

  “Partners.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Without warning, the day arrived that Ashley had been dreading. She stopped at the market to see if the owner had any peanut butter. From the second she spotted his pallid face, she knew.

  “I have ...” he swallowed hard and started over, “I am so sorry, mademoiselle. I have terrible news. Belle’s owner has been found.”

  Ashley turned her head to the side and choked back a sob. It wouldn’t do any good to cry now. She put a hand over her face. Belle’s leash was wrapped around a post outside. From the door, Ashley could see her front paws as she sat there, patiently waiting for Ashley.

  “Where ... when?”

  “Ah, mademoiselle. I have only to call him, and he will come down the street to speak to you. He is just outside.”

  “And ...this time you’re sure?” Ashley barely got the words out.

  “Oui.”

  Ashley looked out the window. Someone was crouched down outside the door. Belle had stretched out on her hind legs, her front paws on his shoulders and was licking his face joyfully. Three small children were all hugging different parts of Belle. Ashley turned away, so she couldn’t see them and said to the market owner, “I’m ... sorry. May I go out your back door?”

  “But monsieur, he wishes to thank you! He was talking about a reward for all your time spent looking after his dog.”

  “I can’t, I just can’t,” Ashley whispered around the huge lump in her throat. She had to get out of there before she completely broke down. She felt a hand touch hers gently, it was the owner’s wife, who led her through the back of the store and out to the courtyard. They stopped behind one of the little garden cottages and the owner’s wife hugged her for a few minutes until she had herself more under control.

  When Ashley went back out onto the street, Belle and her owner were gone. The owner of the market pressed a piece of paper into her hand with a name and phone number, and the message, “Thank you for taking care of Madame Aurélie. I know she was well loved, and we will remember you forever.” Ashley wiped her face and put the paper in her wallet, she felt like a little piece of her had died now that Belle was gone.

  Losing Belle was the last straw. Ashley wanted to go home. Desperately lonely and homesick, Ashley walked to Patty’s apartment. No one understood like Patty. Patty had the advantage of not living directly on Rue Daguerre so was spared the slights that Ashley had to endure from her neighbors.

  Ashley’s feet were dragging as she struggled to stay calm. She finally reached Patty’s door and knocked. Patty swung the door open and screeched, “Ma chère! What is wrong? Has that criminel Serge returned?”

  “Non, Patty,” Ashley replied as she started crying, “Belle’s real owner showed up. She’s gone.”

  “You must move in with me!” Patty declared. “No argument! I can transfer my lease to the two-bedroom apartment that just became available in my building. We work together well, so there is no reason we can’t live together well!”

  THE COUSIN OF THE MARKET manager’s wife, Madame Dubois, was delighted to take on both Ashley and Patty. She welcomed them with arms flung wide; vowing to do all she could to restore their love of Paris. Mere weeks after they started, Chez Dubois was the talk of the town as word spread that the ‘two Americans with France in their hearts’ were handling catering for special events from the restaurant. Of special note were their pastries!

  Chez Dubois was not too far from the police station and Ashley often saw Detective Marais come in for a snack or meal. Sadly, there was never any news about Serge – he was still a fugitive. M. Marais assured her the police were still searching for him; surely, he would not dare to come back to this area.

  As Chez Dubois’ catering business boomed, Ashley’s spirits began to rise. One day when she was cleaning out old text messages, she stumbled across one from Ryan that she hadn’t even seen; it must have come in while she was engrossed with trying to get into M. Babin’s computer. She paused, suddenly nervous about opening it now.

  When are you coming home? I have big news! Dizzy and I have left Smith Corp and we’re moving to your home town! Can you believe it! I’m finally starting my own business! Ashley couldn’t believe the words on her screen; suddenly going home to Seagrass was all she could think about.

  SPRING FINALLY ARRIVED in Paris and Ashley was packed and ready to return home. “I still wish you were coming with me,” Ashley grumbled as they sat side by side in the taxi heading to the Charles de Gaulle airport. She had been working hard to convince Patty that it was time to return to America.

  “Oh you know, ma chère,” Patty was non-committal, “there are all sorts of little things I need to arrange before I can leave for good. I’ve spent nearly 30 years here, not one short year like you!”

  “Well,” Ashley said. “When do you think you’ll be ready to come home too?”

  “I don’t know,” Patty admitted. “I know I will never be able to open a restaurant in Paris as long as Chef Lemaire’s old cronies are running the restaurant business, but I’m not sure I want to go back to Manhattan, either. I feel like that part of my life is over.”

  “You know you are always welcome to tr
y Texas,” Ashley said.

  “Seagrass Sweets doesn’t need a French chef!” Patty laughed. “That’s the name you finally settled on, right?”

  “Unless I change my mind, again.” Ashley said. She laughed at Patty’s exaggerated look of surprise “No, I’m kidding. I had to fill out a form for the business license yesterday. It’s official.”

  “It’s a good name.” Patty admitted.

  “But it’s just a catering business.” Ashley pointed out, “You could do that, too – French catering. Just think what people would do to get your frites.”

  “Or your crêpes.”

  They smiled at each other. The cab stopped at the front entrance, and Ashley stepped out. The driver helped her get her luggage out of the trunk while Patty watched from the sidewalk. Then, it was time to say goodbye.

  “I’ll miss you,” Ashley said, hugging her friend.

  “I’ll come, right after I’ve finally kicked this beautiful, annoying city to the curb,” Patty said.

  “Don’t come and visit. Come and stay.”

  “We’ll see.” Patty was vague, suddenly slipping a long envelope in the pocket of Ashley’s carry-on. “Don’t look at this until the wheels are up.” Ashley was dying of curiosity, but she promised her friend she wouldn’t peek.

  “I’d better go, crying is so hard on my makeup,” Patty held Ashley close in one last, fierce, hug before jumping quickly back into the taxi. The last view Ashley had of her friend was her hand waving out of the window of the cab before it disappeared in the surging traffic.

  The second Ashley was buckled into her seat, before the plane’s wheels started to roll, she took out her phone and sent a text to Ryan. Hey, Ryan! This is Ashley Adams. I’m on my way back from Paris, can you believe it?

  Ashley had no idea what he would say, she almost hoped that he would miss her text and not answer until her phone was turned off and the plane was in the air. After all, he had called her many times over the past few months, but she had always let his calls go to voice mail; she hadn’t even answered his text about moving to Seagrass.

  Fidgeting and anxious to be off, she remembered the envelope Patty had slipped in the outer pocket of her tote. The plane is rolling toward the runway, so the wheels are nearly up. Ashley looked at the envelope in her hands, it was a bulky one, full of something. She quickly ripped it open and scanned its contents.

  She couldn`t believe her eyes. It was a photocopy of an application for a business permit, just like the one she had filled in for Seagrass Sweets! Except this one was for a catering business called The Southern Bird and the name of the applicant was ... Patty LaFontaine.

  Before Ashley could properly process this exciting development, her phone chimed with a text message. She caught her breath as she read Ryan`s reply.

  Dizzy and I will be waiting at the airport. When do you get in? Welcome home :)

  Home, how good that sounded! With any luck, she would have a fresh start, a new business, and above all else ... no more murders!

  END

  PREVIEW: Murder at the Art Gallery

  The following is the first chapter of book 1 in Sandi Scott’s Pet Portraits series. Enjoy.

  Chapter 1

  The Kaye twins, in their mid-60s and still fighting over who was older, pulled up to the entrance of the Wyland Art Gallery for the opening of the gallery’s first international artist, and to meet with the owner. It was a cool fall evening in the Wicker Park neighborhood of Chicago and Georgie, an artist and the older of the two, had insisted on driving.

  The driver’s side door of her orange Volkswagen Bug opened with a spine- shivering squeal. Georgie saw her sister cringe and then looked at the crowd of people who had turned around to look at them.

  “You know I love to make an entrance,” Georgie said. “Good ol’ Pablo always comes in handy for that.”

  “Get Pablo some WD-40 for the door hinges.” Aleta Kaye scolded. “I don’t know why you didn’t let me drive. My Mercedes has air conditioning.” She opened her door on the passenger side, holding her breath in anticipation of another screech. She let out a slight sigh when there was just a burp of a squeak.

  “This is so exciting!” Georgie ignored her sister’s instructions as she usually did. “The one and only Nate Stephenson might just give me my own show. I hope I get enough time to talk to him tonight.”

  Quickly Georgie checked her bright red lipstick in the side view mirror and while fumbling through her huge satchel purse, she gave her wrists a quick squirt of Jungle Gardenia perfume then rubbed them against her neck.

  “Well, the crowd looks colorful,” said Aleta. “At least their tattoos and pink hair. I’ve never seen so many people wearing all black other than a funeral.”

  “You act like you’ve never been to an art gallery show with me.” Georgie slipped her arm through her sister’s and began leading her toward the gallery entrance. “You wouldn’t come if you didn’t enjoy it. Heaven knows there is no such thing as forcing Aleta Kaye to do anything she doesn’t want to.”

  Aleta looked at her sister and rolled her eyes.

  “I know you secretly love it. This way you get to enjoy the freedom, the risk, the adventure of being an artist without getting your frock dirty.” Georgie gave her sister a playful bump with her hip.

  Aleta hmphed, “I have to ask because my impressionable adult daughter seems to think her Aunt Georgie is a fashion icon. What do you call this ... this ensemble you’re wearing?”

  “It’s called Lagenlook.” Georgie gushed as if she were wearing the Hope Diamond on her finger. “It means something like many layers. But the idea is free-flowing fabrics.”

  “Lagenlook.” Aleta shook her head. Looking back at her sister, she began to giggle herself. “Well, it certainly looks comfortable.”

  “It is. Besides, at sixty-six years old what do I care what anyone thinks of my clothes? I’m too old to care but young enough to still express myself. There aren’t many people who would wear black and hot pink at our age, yet here I am and loving every minute of it!” Georgie shimmied her shoulders making Aleta laugh aloud.

  They took a few steps in silence before Georgie stopped, shaking her head.

  “Don’t do it, Aleta,” she ordered.

  “Do what?”

  “I know what that sudden silence means and you need to stop. My cancer isn’t coming back.”

  “I know but it was just three short years ago.” Aleta’s voice cracked.

  Georgie stopped walking, turned toward her sister and held her at arm’s length. “If you are going to live life looking backward you can spend the evening with Pablo.” Georgie squeezed her sister’s arms. “Now, I’m the older of us two and...”

  “I’m sorry, Georgie.” Aleta shook her head and took a deep breath. “I just don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Georgie smiled and pulled her sister into a tight hug. “I love you too, Aleta.”

  Aleta pulled back, wiping away a tear, careful not to smudge her mascara. “Let’s talk about something else—like how amazing it will be when Nate Stephenson gives you your own exhibit here!”

  Georgie blushed. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Nate just said in the voicemail that he saw my pet portraits at Earwax Coffeehouse and wanted to connect tonight.”

  Aleta dabbed at the corner of her eye and then put her arm around her sister’s waist, pulling her toward the gallery. “Then let’s go connect!”

  WYLAND ART GALLERY was located on the second floor of a three-story loft building. The first floor was a privately-owned studio that rented spaces to local artists.

  Otto Reinholt, an eccentric local philanthropist, rented the top floor. Georgie knew the gossip about the short man with gray hair and a handlebar mustache. Once or twice a month neighbors saw him letting himself in and out of the loft. He never had any visitors or let anyone see inside his place. Despite these eccentricities, people said he was pleasant enough.

  “Is this building haunted?” Aleta asked a
s she followed her sister up a poorly lit flight of stairs.

  “Wouldn’t that be great? I don’t know. But now I must ask.” Georgie looked around while carefully holding on to the handrail.

  There was a mellow thump-thump-thump of some chill techno music coming from the second floor. A heavy door that looked like the entrance to a bank vault stood slightly ajar.

  “Is that in violation of the fire code?” Aleta pointed to the impressive door.

  “Would you quit nitpicking?” Georgie scolded. “Did you have anything even remotely this exciting to do tonight that you are missing? No. I didn’t think so.”

  Carefully, the sisters reached the landing and peeked inside. The door swung open surprisingly easy and as they stepped inside an insanely tall receptionist stood behind the semi-circular desk and studied them with sleepy eyes.

  “Name?” she purred. Her skin was the color of black coffee and her lips glowed a shimmery pink.

  “Hello. I’m Georgie Kaye and this is my plus one.” Georgie reached up to adjust her hat. The receptionist scanned a clipboard of names, flipping to the very last page.

  Without any expression on her face, she checked off their names and gave them each a black wristband.

  “Enjoy.”

  “Thank you.” Georgie smiled. “Could you tell me where I can find Nate Stephenson?”

  The receptionist flung her long, straight, black hair behind her, looked over her shoulder and pointed to a tall, blond man wearing jeans with exceptionally pointy cowboy boots.

  “That’s him with the red scarf?” Georgie confirmed.

  The receptionist nodded.