Opera Cake Murder (A Patisserie Mystery with Recipes Book 8)

by Harper Lin

  “Who are Gabrielle’s friends?” Clémence asked. “Does she mostly hang out with other celebrities, or does she have, say, childhood friends?”

  “I don’t know about childhood friends. Actually, I don’t know, now that I think about it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Gabrielle outside of work events. At parties, she’s usually with her fiancé.”

  “So she’s not a girl’s girl?”

  “I don’t know. Is that important for this campaign?”

  “Yes. I just want to get a better idea of who Gabrielle is. We want to sell a macaron that represents her.”

  “Of course,” Alice said.

  “Perhaps it’s better if I have a chat with Gabrielle directly?”

  “Her schedule is jam packed this week. She’s flying back to Paris tonight after a photo shoot for Vogue in Morocco.”

  “This will be a huge campaign. One that we’d like to get started right away for Christmas, if Gabrielle accepts. If it’s possible, I could even go on one of her shoots and just have a chat with her. I mean, models have a lot of downtime in between shoots, don’t they?”

  Alice thought about it. “That might be arranged. She’s doing a commercial for BISOUX Cosmetics in the next two days. I’ll call Gabrielle and try to arrange something.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  Alice’s phone rang, and she answered it, speaking in rapid tones. Clémence figured it was time for her to leave. All she wanted to do was speak to Gabrielle. A fake collaboration had seemed the best way to do it, and it worked.

  When Alice got off the phone, Clémence was gathering her things to leave.

  “Clémence.” Alice smiled again, her burgundy lips spreading across her pale face. “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Are you interested in modelling?”

  “I’m no model. I work at a patisserie.”

  “But you could be more. Our agencies sign singers, athletes, and other personalities. You don’t need to be a model model to be in magazines. I’m sure, if you wanted to, I could land photo shoots for you, and they can even interview you about your chain. You can be the face of your company, even more so than you are now.”

  “Thanks. I take that as a big compliment. At the moment, I don’t think I’m comfortable being the face of anything.”

  “Come now. You’re too modest. Well, give me a call if you ever feel you’re ready.”

  Alice passed her a business card. Girls would kill to land a contract with Alice. Clémence didn’t even have a desire to be a model, and Alice wanted to sign her.

  Girls would kill to land a contract with Alice. Girls would kill to be a model.

  Was that why someone would kill Natalie? Had she been in someone’s way?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  M arcus had told her that Natalie’s funeral was later at seven in the evening. Clémence planned on going with him.

  Natalie was often mean to the models. What if Natalie was a failed model herself and resented the successful ones? She was about Clémence’s age, but she was tall enough to be a model, with the figure to match.

  Maybe Natalie had had a few heated words with Gabrielle in private, and Gabrielle was angry enough to grab the nearest thing around and stab her. Gabrielle was blinded with anger and then went back to the washroom to wash off any traces of blood before sitting back in the makeup artist’s chair to remove her makeup.

  It was only an idea; Clémence had no proof of any of this. But what she did have was some time. Since she had to wait to hear back from Alice in regards to meeting Gabrielle, she could do more research on Natalie.

  Clémence had some time to kill before Natalie’s funeral. She didn’t want to go back to work; whenever she was solving a murder case, she could never get into the spirit of baking. All she wanted to do was study the case until it was closed.

  She decided to pay her friend Cyril a visit.

  The police headquarters was at 36 quai des Orfèvres. It was still windy out, but Clémence decided to walk. She went east to Rue du Louvre, then walked down the rest of the way along the Seine.

  Clémence couldn’t pick out her favorite neighborhood of Paris; each arrondissement was so different with its own delights and misgivings. Her favorite place to walk had to be along the Seine. Even if sometimes tourists with cameras got in the way, the view was something she could never get tired of.

  The police station was on the Cité island, near Saint Chapelle. When Clémence entered, she saw that the receptionist was preoccupied with a group of police officers. Since Clémence knew exactly where Cyril’s office was, she slipped away up the staircase.

  She knew she could usually find Cyril in his office. He was the type of man who would rather relax in an office than do the dirty work of being out in the field. He’d rather command from the height of a throne than perform any of the labor himself. Come to think of it, he wasn’t much of a thinker, either. In Clémence’s eyes, he was pretty much a village idiot who lucked out and somehow got to be a detective.

  How did that happen? Clémence often wondered. Did he come from a connected family? Did he have friends in high places? It was one mystery Clémence would never solve.

  His door had his name stenciled on the glass window. She knocked. Someone inside could be heard shuffling papers.

  “Oui?” came Cyril’s bored tone.

  It would’ve been wasted effort to ask Cyril if she could come in, so Clémence simply let herself in.

  “Oh,” Cyril’s voice deflated even more at the sight of her. “What do you want?”

  The detective was tall and skinny like a beanpole, with beady green eyes and a hawk-like nose. He had his legs crossed and propped up on his desk; they were so long that they reminded her of grasshopper legs. He was in his mid-thirties and a bachelor. Clémence couldn’t imagine a woman who would put up with someone so insufferable.

  “I thought you’d be happy to see me,” Clémence said.

  “Aren’t I always?” Cyril snorted.

  “You should be. Especially since you know that I solve all your cases for you.”

  “Hardly. You solve the cases that involve products from your patisserie chain. I’m starting to wonder if it’s a marketing strategy.”

  Clémence suppressed an eye roll. It was too easy to get sucked into an exchange of insults with Cyril.

  “I didn’t come here to banter,” she said.

  “Then why are you here?” Cyril asked, shuffling some papers in his hands to make it seem as if their contents were far more interesting than interacting with Clémence.

  “I just wanted to see how you were doing with the case. I heard you arrested Karmen Meri.”

  “What’s it to you?” Cyril sneered. “Jealous that we nailed the perp this time?”

  “How do you know it’s Karmen? Do you have proof?”

  Cyril crossed his arms. She detected a defensive expression on his face, and she leaned back, anticipating the information that she had come to hear.

  “Karmen Meri has family in the Estonian mob. They have a history of violence. She was missing at the time of the murder, and she was wearing Styra shoes.”

  “Where was she?” Clémence asked. “Where did she say she was at the time of the murder?”

  “Some story about how she was in the bathroom, throwing up.”

  “Bulimia?” Clémence asked. She found that more believable than Karmen killing Natalie.

  “Yes, but no one saw her in that bathroom, or going in or out of it.”

  “What’s her connection to Natalie? Why would she want to kill her?”

  “We interrogated a lot of people. A couple of girls admitted that Karmen was not a fan of Natalie, that she had even mocked her.”

  “What else?”

  “Karen didn’t like Natalie.”

  “That’s it?” Clémence asked. “That’s all you have to incriminate her for murder?”

  Cyril’s eyes bugged out. “What else do you need? There is no one else. Like
I said, someone from a mob family must have a pretty quick temper. Perhaps Natalie said something to annoy her, and she just wanted to hurt her and stuck a knife in her.”

  “Karmen gave a candid interview in an article I read on my phone on the ride over here,” Clémence said. “Modelling was her ticket to a better life. It was her stepfather and stepbrother who were connected with the mob, and she didn’t grow up with them, nor was she ever influenced by the mob. As soon as her mother married into the mob and didn’t seem to want to get out of it, Karmen was starting to get modelling work, and she moved to Paris shortly afterwards. The mob connection is not very incriminating. Everyone I’ve talked to said she’s a sweet girl.”

  “It’s always the sweet ones.”

  Clémence sighed, trying not to lose her patience with him. It was like talking to a brick wall most of the time.

  “Look, this girl might be innocent, and you don’t sound like you care.”

  “All right, who do you think is the killer? Do you have any better ideas?”

  “What about Gabrielle?”

  “What about her? We talked to her at length, and she didn’t do it.”

  “How do you know that? She was also missing backstage during the time of the murder, and she was wearing Styra shoes. Plus, she went out before the police came.”

  “Yes, Clémence,” Cyril said in a patronizing tone. “We’re aware of that. Like I said, we looked into it, and she’s innocent.”

  “Really? How?”

  “Gabrielle is too…charming to be a killer.”

  “You’re basing her innocence on charm? You know, there are psychopaths out there who are extremely charming.”

  “Clémence, you don’t know what you’re talking about. We don’t have anything on Gabrielle or the blogger or the other model, whatshername. It’s Karmen.”

  “What about Natalie?”

  “What about Natalie?” Cyril retorted. “She’s dead. She’s not a suspect.”

  “I know that.” Clémence wanted to tear out her hair. Of course Natalie wasn’t a suspect in her own murder. “I mean, what do you know about her? Why would anyone want to kill her?”

  “Natalie Albert…she was not very significant. She went through school an average student, didn’t go to college. Modelled for a while, then worked for Savin.”

  “What did she model for? I didn’t know she was a model.” Although she had suspected it.

  “She did some lingerie modelling. Catalogs, websites.” Cyril smiled. “I checked out her work.”

  Clémence couldn’t suppress an eye roll this time. “Classy, checking out a dead girl.”

  “It’s part of my profession.”

  “Why did she quit?”

  “Her agent dropped her.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she wasn’t getting the right work.”

  “Who was her agent?”

  “The Dexter Agency.”

  “Haven’t heard of it,” Clémence said. “It must be a smaller agency. Do you know if she really wanted to be a model?”

  “She moved here from a small town to model, with no education and no other backups, so I might say so. Why? Where are you going with this information?”

  Clémence brightened up. “Merci, Cyril. Sometimes I really don’t know how you got this job, but I suppose you do do your homework once in a while.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  M arcus Savin was a sobbing mess at Natalie’s funeral. Clémence knew Marcus was sensitive and dramatic, and with that combination, there was no stopping him from making those kinds of scenes. He was wiping his tears away with a purple silk handkerchief monogrammed with his initials, then blowing his nose into it.

  There were few other people at the funeral. A few members of Marcus’s fashion team, Natalie’s mother, and a friend named Clarisse.

  Natalie’s mother’s speech made Marcus cry even harder.

  “…She was my little girl, and I’ll always miss her. Natalie was my only child. I lost her once when she moved away, and I can’t believe I’m losing her again, this time forever. Natalie was always strong willed. She grew up wanting to work in the fashion industry. Her room was plastered with magazine cut-outs of her favorite models and actresses. She had a dream. A dream to go to Paris and work in the field that made fantasy a reality on celluloid. I hope wherever she is now, she’s living that dream for eternity. Thank you.”

  She stepped down, sobbing into a tissue. Guests consoled her, giving her their condolences.

  The first person Clémence went to was Clarisse. She seemed like a shy creature, very pale and very small. She didn’t look like she was from Paris, judging by her oversized black sweater and pleather shoes. Clarisse was probably Natalie’s childhood friend.

  “Hi,” Clémence said. “It’s so sad, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Clarisse nodded somberly. “How did you know Natalie?”

  “She worked for my friend Marcus.” Clémence nodded in the direction of Marcus, who was sobbing in Natalie’s mother’s arms. “What about you?”

  “We went to school together.”

  “Were you close friends?”

  Clémence noticed that Clarisse’s mouth twitched. “Well, we met when we were twelve, and we stayed friends for a long time until in high school. Best friends, in fact. Then we grew apart. I was more interested in books and she in fashion.”

  “Oh, I see.” It was natural that friends would drift apart at that age. Clémence hardly spoke to her childhood friends anymore.

  “So what was Natalie like?” Clémence asked. “I didn’t know her well.”

  “She was very—” Clarisse’s eyes searched above as if for the right words to appear over Clémence’s head. “Passionate. I liked her because she was bold, you know? She never took crap from anybody. If anybody was mean to her or to me, she always stood her ground, even though she didn’t exactly pack a lot of muscle. I would always be grateful for that, even though we weren’t exactly speaking in the last two years of high school. Then she left for Paris, and this is the first time I’m seeing her since then. It’s sad.”

  Clémence nodded. She could sympathize with the young woman. It sounded like Natalie had been one of those friends who you love but who could hurt you all the same.

  “Have you heard about Karmen? The person arrested for being, well, involved in Natalie’s death?”

  “It’s surprising,” Clarisse said. “Natalie could be tough, and her aggressive personality could be off-putting to some people, but I didn’t know her to be mean-spirited. Sure, she could get on some people’s nerves sometimes, but I’ve also seen her back down and apologize when she really did hurt someone’s feelings. This model must have serious problems if she killed Natalie.”

  “Did Natalie want to be a model at some point?”

  “Well, I always knew she wanted to work in fashion. Neither of our families had a lot of money growing up, so Natalie and I used to go to secondhand clothing stores together. I just bought some necessities, but she took it to another level. She’d put together clothes in a way that was different from everybody else, and she was teased for it, but she always looked stylish. We come from a town that didn’t think much about fashion and trends.”

  “I see.”

  “I don’t know what she wanted to be. One minute she wanted to be a fashion designer. The next minute, a model, and the next, a stylist. I think she just wanted to be in the industry. I was quite surprised that she ended up working for a famous designer. I’m proud of her. She made it so far. Imagine how much farther she could’ve gone.” Clarisse began to tear up. “Anyway, if you’ll excuse me, I have to be catching my train home soon, after I pay respects to her mother.”

  “It was lovely talking to you,” Clémence said.

  “The same to you.”

  Clarisse left Clémence confused. There went her theory of Natalie being jealous of other models.

  It sounded as if Natalie had been on the right track in life. She had a
job with Marcus Savin. If she wanted to work in fashion, there was no better designer to work for. No wonder she no longer modelled.

  But was it also why she treated models with disdain, because she didn’t respect them? Did she feel superior to them once she started working for Marcus? It was a possibility. It happened in the industry, or any industry with a hierarchy.

  Gabrielle was still the main suspect. But Clémence still saw no connection between her and Natalie.

  Clémence waited for Marcus to finish speaking to Natalie’s mother, but he seemed to be pouring his heart out.

  “Clémence!”

  She turned around to find Lucie, the Le Fashion blogger.

  “Bonsoir,” Clémence said.

  “I’m so sorry that I’m late,” Lucie said. “Got caught up interviewing an up-and-coming fashion designer for my site, and things dragged on. I really wanted to be here for Natalie. Did I miss something?”

  “A speech from Natalie’s mother,” Clémence said.

  “It must’ve been an emotional speech.” Lucie watched Marcus sob.

  “It was.”

  “Well, I’m glad I caught you. How are things going?”

  “Okay.” Clémence supposed Lucie meant about the case. “I mean, the police still think Karmen did it. I’m sure they’ve scheduled the trial, but I don’t know the details. I want to talk to Gabrielle, but she seems so hard to get a hold of.”

  “Yes, she’s quite elusive, isn’t she?” Lucie said. “Be careful with her. It’s hard to dig up anything from her past. It’s like she hasn’t got one. Believe me, I tried. It’s hard to be a sleuth.” She let out a small laugh.

  Tell me about it, Clémence thought, but she only smiled in response.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” Lucie said. “But I’m sure you’re making progress. You’ll find out the truth.”

  “But what if Karmen did do it?” Clémence wondered. “It’s either Karmen or Gabrielle. What if the police are right?”

  “If you don’t try, an innocent woman will be in jail. They send people to jail all the time for crimes they didn’t commit. We can’t let the real killer get away with it just because she’s a top model and she has influence.”