
A Patisserie Mystery 3: Baguette Murder
Author
Harper Lin
Reads
18.6K
Chapters
18
Chapter 1
ClĂ©mence Damour knew she lived a charmed life. As the heiress to the Damour patisserie chain, baking was in her blood. She spent her days developing new dessert flavors with her head baker, Sebastien Soulier, in their flagship patisserie in the 16th arrondissement; and her nights out with her friends to all the fine restaurants and bars that Paris had to offer. Aside from a few grisly murders that had happened in her neighborhood recently, things were going swimmingly. Now that she wasnât mixed up with those murder cases and Inspector Cyril St. Clair was off her back, she had more time for all the things she wanted to do, like painting.
She was just starting to get the hang of the work-life balance. Perhaps it was easier because she didnât have a boyfriend. Sure, there were a couple of guys who were interested, but ClĂ©mence found them to be wholly unsuitable. Besides, trust wasnât something that ClĂ©mence doled out easily anymore. Relationships were complicated. This was exemplified in Roseâs relationship with Pierre.
Rose, whom ClĂ©mence had known since she was thirteen, had been fighting with her live-in boyfriend lately. When Rose asked ClĂ©mence to take off for a spa weekend in Switzerland, ClĂ©mence didnât hesitate. She also deserved a break after a hectic few days of trying to prove an employeeâs innocence in a murder case.
Rose desperately needed a break from Pierre, as he had been a curmudgeon in the past few weeks, always finding faults in whatever Rose did or said, and starting fights for no reason that she could find. Perhaps Pierre was stressed from the long hours at his finance job. He seemed to be coming home later and later in recent weeks. Nine p.m. was typical, but once in a while, he came home as late as eleven. Rose was at a breaking point. When Clémence agreed to get away on Thursday, Rose booked the trip and packed so she could leave as soon as possible when she got home from work that Friday evening.
At the Dolder Grand Hotel and Spa in Zurich, the girls spend the entire weekend getting pampered. The balcony of their suites had a stunning view of the Alps and the lake. They received shiatsu massages with gentle tapping with bamboo to stimulate the senses, organic facials with deep pore cleansing, and they dipped in calming thermal baths and listened to meditative music. By Sunday evening, they emerged from the hotel as serene and rejuvenated as theyâd ever been in their lives. Their skin was as soft as newbornsâ, and every muscle in their bodies were relaxed.
However, on the plane back to Paris, Roseâs problems began to resurface. They were flying first class and drinking champagne, but it didnât seem to assuage matters.
âWeâre probably going to break up,â she announced.
Clémence had avoided the subject all weekend because she could see that Rose wanted to escape from her relationship troubles. Now that they were going back to Paris, back to reality, she had to face the music.
âWhy do you say that?â ClĂ©mence asked. âMaybe youâll work it out.â
Rose shook her head. âHe has never been this nasty before. It just gets worse and worse. I have a feeling that heâs being this way so he doesnât have to break up with me. He wants me to break up with him.â
âYou need to talk to him,â ClĂ©mence said. âMaybe heâs just stressed and doesnât know what heâs saying half the time.â
âIâm afraid to. What if thereâs someone else?â
âOh Rose, donât jump to conclusions. Iâm sure that if you just sit down with him, youâll get some answers. Heâll either change or he wonât. If youâre sure that he wonât, then I agree, maybe it is best to part ways.â
Rose nodded meekly. âYouâre right. I just canât take it anymore. Itâs just unfortunate because weâve been together for over two years. I always thought we were going to get married. I mean, we havenât talked about it, but I just assumed.â She began to sob quietly so the other passengers wouldnât hear. âI wish things could go back to the way they were. He used to be so romantic in the first few months we were togetherâthe lengths heâd go to impress me, and the presents he used to buy. And now? Nothing but meanness, insults, and taking me for granted. I do agree that his job is stressfulâand it has always been stressful, but I think itâs something else. Heâs hiding something, but I canât put my finger on it.â
âPierre doesnât seem like the type to express himself,â ClĂ©mence agreed. âI donât really know him that well, to tell you the truth.â
ClĂ©mence had met Pierre only a couple of times, since sheâd been away from Paris for two years to travel around the world. He was handsome in the typical Parisian way: dark haired, scruffy facial hair, well dressed, and exuding a prominent arrogance. She didnât find him entirely memorable.
âOh, forget about this.â Rose blew into her napkin. âWe just had a lovely weekend, and I had to spoil the end by whining about my boyfriend.â
âItâs fine,â ClĂ©mence said. âSometimes itâs good to take a break from each other when youâre in a relationship. Iâm sure itâll work itself out in the end.â
âYouâre right. Letâs get some more champagne.â
The flight attendant came around with a fake smile on her face and a bottle of fine champagne in her hands. The girls got slightly toasted on the rest of the flight back. When they landed in Paris, they were giggling too loudly and annoyed the other passengers, who gave them cut eye. Their jovial mood continued as they exited the airport and got a cabâthat was, until Rose called Pierre and he didnât pick up. She tried both the home number and his cell phone.
âHeâs not home,â said Rose. âTypical. He knew I was coming home at this time. Maybe he just wants to avoid me.â
âItâs Sunday. Is he with his family?â
âHis family lives in Lyon, and I know his parents are on vacation in Australia, so I doubt Pierre has a good excuse to be out.â Her eyes widened. âWhat if he moved out?â
âMoved out?â ClĂ©mence turned to her.
âItâs my apartmentâmy dadâs, anyway. He let me take over the apartment when he moved to Germany. Pierre and I split the rent, and he gives me a check every month. Thereâs nothing stopping him from just packing up to live somewhere else. The apartment was fully furnished to begin with, and Pierre doesnât have a lot of stuff.â
âRose, youâre getting worked up over nothing. Pierreâs probably out with friends and having a drink.â
âMaybe.â Rose pursed her lips. âWant to come over? I mean, until he comes back?â
ClĂ©mence had planned on picking up her dog from her friend Berenice, but she supposed Rose needed her since she was in such distress. Rose was her best friend. They had gone to the same middle school in Romainville, a suburb of Paris, and they had stayed close friends ever since. Rose was the cool, collected type, so it surprised ClĂ©mence to see her so anxious. Love brought out the monsters in people, so she mustâve really loved Pierre.
âBien sĂ»r,â ClĂ©mence said. âOf course Iâll come over.â
Roseâs parents were divorced. Her mother kept the house in Romainville after the split, and her father lived in central Paris for a while before he relocated to Berlin for work. HisâRoseâsâlovely apartment in Saint-Germain-des-PrĂ©s was not huge, but it was only steps away from the Luxembourg Gardens, ClĂ©menceâs favorite park in Paris. If ClĂ©mence wasnât housesitting for her parents in the 16th, she wouldâve looked into renting a studio apartment of her own in the 6th arrondissement.
Roseâs building was off in a small alley away from the tourists, in an old, narrow building with no elevators. She lived on the fourth floor, and the girls had to carry their heavy weekend carryalls up the stairs by themselves. By the time they reached the apartment door, they needed another drink.
âChĂ©ri?â Rose called when she opened the door. âPierre, are you home?â
There was no response. The apartment had a stuffy smell to it that made ClĂ©mence think that perhaps Pierre hadnât been home at all the entire weekend.
âHeâs gone, isnât he?â Rose stormed into the bedroom, and ClĂ©mence followed her. She opened the closet, but all of Pierreâs clothes were still there. âOh. Maybe he has just stepped out. Ugh. Iâm so crazy.â
âCome on. Letâs have that drink that you promised me.â
But when they stepped into the kitchen, Rose screamed. âPierre? Mon dieu!â
The Frenchman was sitting in a chair, but his face was down on the tableâsmashed onto a plate, to be exact.
âOh lord, is he conscious?â ClĂ©mence wondered out loud. She was reluctant to approach him, but considering how distraught Rose was and how she shouldâve been used to being around dead bodies by now, she took a few steps forward and cleared her throat. With hesitation, she tapped him on the shoulder.
âPierre?â
âI hope heâs just sleeping!â Rose exclaimed.
Clémence somehow doubted this. She touched his neck. His skin felt cold. When she felt for a pulse, there was nothing.
âIâm sorry, Rose. I think Pierre is dead.â




