by Harper Lin
“Well, Nicole didn’t exactly get along with her co-stars. It wasn’t a secret. It’s true that Nicole could be a diva sometimes. That was Nicole’s fault. She’d either decide she liked you and would charm your pants off, or she’d treat you as if you weren’t fit to be the gum on the bottom of her shoe.”
Clémence nodded. “I heard that Sarah Briar didn’t get along with her.”
“They didn’t at all. Sarah turned thirty-four recently, and Nicole was starting to get the kinds of roles she used to get. Nicole was the director’s favorite too, and she had first pick of wardrobe. Sarah just never spoke to her unless they had to do a scene together. It could get pretty awkward on set.”
“Did anyone else hate her?”
“Zach Brant. He was playing Nicole’s love interest in the movie, but they just couldn’t stand each other. The funny thing is, once the cameras were rolling, you could’ve sworn they were in love. But otherwise, they often made jabs at each other. Zach thought Nicole was a complete monster, and Nicole taunted him for his bad acting, among other things. The truth is, Zach isn’t the best actor. He’s okay playing the handsome male lead where he has to look pretty, but in the emotional scenes, Zach could barely keep up with Nicole, who could cry on demand. At first I thought their feud was because of some sort of romantic tension, given the amount of time Nicole would rant about him to me. I don’t know. What girl could resist Zach Brant? But after talking to Zach, I realized he genuinely didn’t like her either. Besides, he had a long-term girlfriend.”
“I’d like to talk to Zach and Sarah individually,” Clémence said.
“I’ll get you an introduction,” Rachel said. “Now that Nicole’s, you know, off the project, I’m working for Sarah Briar as her assistant. She didn’t have one before.”
“Cool.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “I don’t know about that. Nicole never liked her, and she does seem quite—oh, what am I saying? Honestly, I don’t know Sarah Briar that well. Maybe I have Stockholm syndrome after working for Nicole.”
“Well, let’s exchange numbers,” Clémence said. “Keep me informed, and let me know when’s a good time to visit the set. In the meantime, I’ll try to decode this thing.”
“Sure.” Rachel took out her phone, and she keyed in Clémence’s number. “And if you have any questions, you can always call or text me.”
“Where are you shooting now?”
“In a house in Montmartre, where the characters are supposed to be living. They also rented out a house across the street for the cast and crew to rest in between takes. We just started.”
“What’s going to happen to Nicole’s hotel room? Have police gone through it?”
“Yes,” Rachel said. “They went through her belongings. They found nothing, so all her designer clothes, bags, and shoes are still there. Her family’s supposed to get back to me as to whether they want her things back. Otherwise, we’re going to donate her things to charity.”
“Wait, do you have access to her room?”
“Yes. I do have her key. She left it behind in her Gucci tote.”
“Get me in there,” Clémence said with excitement.
Chapter 5
Clémence made plans to meet with Rachel at the Athena Hotel the next morning. Most of the cast and crew would be on location shooting the film, so Rachel would be able to sneak her into Nicole’s room. Whenever she was investigating a case, she found it difficult to bake at Damour, to paint—or to do anything, really. The only thing she could do was relax a bit before her 10:00 a.m. appointment by taking Miffy for a walk at Champ de Mars.
She’d stayed up for a couple of hours, trying to decode Nicole’s agenda. She thought the words might’ve been anagrams, so she tried rearranging the letters of a few coded words. That didn’t work. It couldn’t have been Pig Latin because the words didn’t end with -ay. Had it been Nicole’s own brand of gibberish that she made up so no one else could understand it?
It wasn’t an advantage that only a small portion of the content was written in code. If the entire agenda had been in code, she could’ve figured out where Nicole had been in the appointed times. Even figuring out one event could’ve helped her decode everything else.
In August, there were two different codes: “OVUJOV” and “ILILIL”.
“OVUJOV” had appeared twelve times in her book that month. Four of them were in the mornings, at sporadic times, but never after nine a.m. It was probably because Nicole had to shoot her film. The other four took place in the evenings, anywhere from nine thirty to eleven. “ILILIL” had only appeared once, in an afternoon slot. Was it a person? A place? The entry had simply said, “Visit ILILIL.”
When she saw Rachel, she had to ask for Nicole’s filming schedule.
Once Clémence and Miffy reached Champ de Mars, Miffy began running. She pulled at her leash, and Clémence decided to run with her. She felt the cool air against her skin; autumn was definitely on its way. The leaves of the neatly trimmed trees that lined either side of the park were already changing colors. There were still a lot of tourists, but the park felt more peaceful since it was an early weekday morning. There were some people who were picnicking on the grass already, as well as locals reading newspapers and books on the benches.
She kept up with Miffy at a jogging pace, glad that she’d worn comfortable quilted black Chanel flats that morning. She laughed as Miffy dragged her from bush to flower to tree. Sometimes Miffy was too curious of a dog; she’d put anything in her mouth. Clémence had to drag her away from a bag of pretzels that had been spilled on the ground. One of the reasons why she hardly ever took Miffy into Damour was that sometimes the customers wanted to feed her. Once, a sweet old lady almost managed to give Miffy a piece of a chocolate éclair. Chocolate was lethal for dogs, and Miffy could’ve been a goner if Clémence hadn’t come to the rescue.
As she looked around the peaceful park, she felt a tinge of sadness that summer was ending. While the murders around Paris had caused a lot of stress and chaos, she’d had the best summer of her life with Arthur and all of her friends. She took a deep breath, taking in the fresh air that was already tinged with autumn’s crispness, and then began walking back to her home.
After she dropped Miffy off in the living room to play with her toys in a corner, Clémence left for the Athena Hotel. The luxury hotel was only a ten-minute walk from her place, so she walked some more. Clémence didn’t mind the exercise. Her thighs had gotten stronger after all the biking in the Netherlands, plus now that she was back working at Damour, she was surely going to be eating more sweets, so any exercise was good in her book.
The Athena Hotel had beautiful red flowers on every balcony, and as Clémence approached, she couldn’t help but look up to admire the vivid color against the beige facade. Some of her friends and distant relatives stayed at the four-star hotel whenever they visited her in Paris. Clémence had drunk in the hotel’s famous Blue Bar, its high class but cozy bar with plush, blue velvet seats and mahogany walls adorned with black and white headshots of movie stars from the golden age.
As Clémence walked, she texted Rachel to confirm that she was coming, but Rachel didn’t text back. They had made the rendezvous only yesterday, so Clémence assumed Rachel would keep her word. Rachel had already given her the room number she was staying in, so Clémence could go there directly.
Passing porters in elegant red uniforms trimmed with gold, and smartly dressed hotel staff, Clémence took the elevator to the third floor.
She knocked on the door of room 305 and waited. After a few seconds passed, Rachel didn’t come to the door, so Clémence called her on the phone.
She heard the phone ring on the other side of the door. It kept ringing and ringing. Clémence wondered if Rachel had been called onto the set at the last minute and had forgotten her phone at home.
If Clémence had known where exactly they were filming, going there might’ve been an option. Since she didn’t, she decided to go back downstairs and wait in case Rachel were to
come back. Since Clémence was already at the Athena, she could have a drink at the Blue Bar and try to search the gossip blogs on her phone to see where the crew was shooting.
When the elevator door opened on the ground floor, Clémence came out and ran into a young woman with a short pixie haircut. The woman had a precious face with large doe eyes and dimples.
“Clémence!” Sophie Seydoux exclaimed.
“Salut, Sophie.” Clémence greeted her with a bisou on each cheek.
Sophie was heiress to the famous gourmet chocolate stores, Chateau du Chocolat, along with her sister Madeleine. They were both It girls and socialites who were often stalked by the paparazzi and appeared in fashion and tabloid magazines. After Sophie’s infamous kidnapping incident, their fame rubbed off on Clémence for a while before the paparazzi got tired of her boring life and got distracted by the real celebrities who’d shown up in Paris for the summer to shoot Hollywood films. Clémence was now good friends with both Seydoux sisters. She was starting to lunch with them quite frequently before she went on summer vacation.
After they exchanged pleasantries about their summer escapades, Clémence congratulated Sophie on her role in the film.
“It’s not a major part,” Sophie said modestly.
“I heard you’re playing Zach Brant’s girlfriend, right?” Clémence said with a sly smile.
“Yes, and we don’t even have a kissing scene.” Sophie laughed. “I shot two scenes with him and that was it.”
“So what are you doing here? You’re not dating him now, are you?”
“Oh, no. Don’t believe those rumors,” Sophie said. “Actually, I’m here to meet with the director. Since Nicole Blake, well, passed away, he and the writers had to change the script. He wanted to talk to me about expanding my role.”
“Congrats,” Clémence said. “You’re going to be a movie star in no time.”
“I always wanted to act, but it’s a bit funny getting a bigger role as a result of someone else’s tragedy, you know? Poor Nicole.”
“Did you know her well?”
“Not really. She was in one of the two scenes that I shot. She was pleasant enough but didn’t take an active interest in me or anything. Then again, Nicole had a full shooting schedule, and she seemed to be very busy and distracted.”
“Her assistant came to visit me yesterday,” Clémence said. “She said you recommended that she speak to me?”
“Oh yes, Rachel. She’s sweet, isn’t she? She told me that she thought Nicole was murdered. I didn’t know what to think about that, but I figured she’d benefit from talking to you. I figured if anything, you would be able to help more than the police would. What do you think so far?”
“Not too much,” Clémence said. “But I’m supposed to be meeting Rachel now. Any idea where she is? She’s not in her hotel room.”
“And you tried calling her?”
“Yes. She left her phone in the hotel room. Do you think she’s on set?”
“Well, I don’t know. I’m meeting with Chris now, so they must not be shooting, unless the second unit director is shooting some B-roll of the streets. Maybe Rachel’s doing some errands for Sarah Briar now that she’s working for her. I know that Chris is supposed to be on set in another hour or so, after our meeting.”
“Okay,” Clémence said. “That makes sense if Rachel left to help Sarah. But maybe you can help. I want to talk to some of the cast to learn more about Nicole.”
“Why don’t you come meet Chris? I’m going to have a chat, but if you wait outside, I can make an introduction after I’m done.”
“That would be great.”
“Let’s get in the elevator,” Sophie said when one became available. “I don’t want to be late. Chris hates tardiness.”
“I’ve seen his work,” Clémence said. “At least a couple of his films. He’s very versatile, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, I enjoyed working with him. He was so on top of everything. Then again, I haven’t worked on many films to compare.”
On the sixth floor, Clémence waited in the hall when Sophie went in. She tried calling Rachel again, only to get the voicemail. Clémence texted her to let her know she was still in the hotel, in case she did happen to go home for her phone.
As Clémence waited, she read the newspaper articles about Nicole Blake’s death on her smartphone. A recent article said that her pink Chloe purse had been found by a local. It had been floating near the edge of the Seine near Notre Dame. The purse had been empty, the contents probably scattered around the bottom of the Seine. They were still awaiting autopsy results; the cause of death was still unknown.
“Clémence?” Sophie poked her heart-shaped face out the door and smiled. “Come on in.”
Chapter 6
Chris Collins’s suite was practically the size of Clémence’s own apartment. It must’ve been a family suite. The director was sitting on one of the black leather couches in the living room. He faced the windows, which had a view of the rooftops of Paris. When Clémence approached, he stood up to greet her. At six foot two, he was quite a bit taller than Clémence’s five-foot-four frame, and as he shook her hand, she felt as if she was a kid being looked down on by a grownup. He had dirty blond hair and green eyes framed by thick lashes, and while not movie-star handsome, he was someone Celine would definitely find chase-worthy. But then again, Celine wasn’t the pickiest girl in the world when it came to men.
Clémence knew that Chris had started directing movies only four years ago. Now at thirty-seven, he was finally making a name for himself in the industry.
“Hi, I’m Clémence,” she said in English.
He smiled broadly, in his American way. “Chris Collins.” He shook her hand. “Enchanté. My French is still bad even after all these weeks here. Where’s my translator when I need her?” He let out an easygoing laugh.
“Nice to meet you too, Monsieur Collins,” Clémence said.
“Call me Chris. S’il vous plait—” He gestured the seats in the spacious living room. “Please sit.” Clémence took the single sofa next to his couch. Sophie sat in another single sofa beside her. “Sophie tells me you’re the Clémence Damour of the Damour patisseries? Your family’s famous among my crew. We’re all obsessed with your macarons and pastries.”
“So I’ve heard.” Clémence smiled back. She felt a surge of pride every time she received a compliment about the Damour desserts.
“Personally, I’m addicted to your millefeuilles. I can’t believe I haven’t had one before coming to Paris.”
“If it’s one thing Parisians are good for, it’s the desserts.”
“I’ll say. Sophie tells me you wanted to meet me.” He tilted his head, examining her. “Are you an actress?”
“Moi? Mais, non,” Clémence protested.
“You’re not? I thought you wanted to talk because you were looking for a part in the movie. We’re looking for someone to play Sophie’s French friend in the film, now that her role has been expanded.”
“I’m really not an actress.”
“Neither was Sophie here, but now she’s about to sign a contract for a supporting role.”
“Sophie has talent, but I’m not cut out for the spotlight, trust me.”
Chris was still examining her, as if she were a rare jewel he had to authenticate. Being examined made her squirm, which was precisely why she didn’t want to be back in the limelight.
“That’s too bad,” he said. “You have the bone structure for the big screen, and your features are certainly striking.”
“Thanks,” Clémence replied modestly.
Clémence had blue eyes that others, like Arthur, called electric since they were such a vivid blue. She had a dark, almost black bob and porcelain skin. She was no better looking than most women walking down the streets of Paris, but she was flattered nonetheless. A world-class director was telling her that she had potential to be a movie star. Who wouldn’t get a big head from that?
“If you don’t want to
act, what did you want to talk to me about?” Chris asked.
“It’s a sensitive issue, but, well, as you know, the circumstances surrounding Nicole Blake’s death are a bit mysterious. I was wondering what you know about Ms. Blake.”
Chris gave her an amused, mildly flirtatious smile. “I didn’t know you also work for the French police, Mademoiselle Damour.”
Clémence shifted uncomfortably. “Someone working on your set has reason to believe that Nicole Blake had been murdered. I thought you’d want to know so you can, well, keep an eye on things.”
Chris raised an eyebrow. He was still amused and looking at her as if she was the most adorable thing in the world. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I’ve worked with many of my crew members for years, and these movie stars aren’t killers. We’re like a big family. Sometimes we get mad at each other, and tensions can rise when we’re in each other’s company for too long, but that’s normal for a film set.”
“So you don’t think that anybody had the motive to harm Nicole?” Clémence asked.
Chris sighed and shook his head. “Nicole…it’s such a shame. She was wonderful to work with.”
“Rumor has it that she could be difficult on set. Did you find that to be the case?”
“No. Nicole was always extremely professional. She knew all her lines and never wasted any film. She knew her angles; she was well trained. I mean, yes, sometimes she butted heads with the other actors, but it didn’t necessarily affect the work. In fact, it might’ve made things better, since there was plenty of heat and chemistry in this drama.”
“Have you ever seen her argue with her co-workers?”
“Well…” His eyes rolled to the ceiling as he contemplated the question. “She wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy with them offscreen. That’s okay, as long as we get our work done. Ideally, I’d like everyone on set to get along and have a good time, like a family, but this industry is full of people with egos, and some actors don’t come on set to make friends, which is fine. But to answer your question, no, I hadn’t seen her argue with her coworkers myself. She’d always been professional on set.”