A Patisserie Mystery 9: Chocolat Chaud Murder

Clémence wasn’t one of those girls who grew up dreaming about her wedding day. She always thought she would get married but she never quite understood what all the fuss was about when it came to the wedding planning, or why it took some people more than a year to get ready for the big day.

Clémence felt she was close. At La Belle, a small boutique in the 6th arrondissement, she’d already tried on six gorgeous white dresses. If only she could make up her mind. The problem was she was trying on dresses alone.

After wolfing down a quick lunch at Damour, the flagship store of her family’s patisserie chain, she’d hailed a cab to her appointment. On an early Wednesday afternoon, all her friends were at work. Celine, who worked as a hostess at Damour, was supposed to come with her, but another hostess had called in sick, and Celine had to cover for her. Without a friend by her side, Clémence didn’t have an objective second opinion.

The first three dresses she’d been drawn to were all classic strapless styles. The fourth had a ball gown skirt, and the fifth and sixth were more daring designs with corset waists. One of the corsets was encrusted with diamonds. She didn’t have the budget for a dress like that, but at the urgency of Eva Vincent, the salesgirl, she’d tried it on for fun.

Eva insisted she looked great, but Clémence felt a little ridiculous, as if she were a fairy godmother with a bit of showgirl thrown in. She figured she would probably end up with one of the classic styles. She usually preferred modest clothing. Her clothes, considered stylish by most people, were all classic pieces, similar to what every other girl in Paris wore—tailored basics that were so tasteful, they were almost boring.

Even though she was an heiress to Damour, Clémence shied away from attention. She represented the Damour family brand sometimes and had attended events with her parents since she was a teenager. Once the media had gotten wind of her socialite status, she had been a fixture in the entertainment sections of papers and blogs until she’d abandoned everything to travel the world. She’d returned to Paris less than a year ago, where she had slowly gotten her life back together.

After she’d come back, she’d been a bit hesitant to oversee the family business while her parents spent time in Asia to open more patisseries, but she’d learned to embrace her leadership skills and public exposure. Sometimes, the exposure was for other reasons—getting mixed up with the police while solving murder mysteries, for example—but that was another story.

She had always been uncomfortable with people staring at her. She hoped she would feel differently at her wedding. If she had her way, she would elope with Arthur to a tiny church in the countryside and avoid all the usual theatrics, but she couldn’t. In essence, a wedding seemed to be a celebration for everyone else, and the couple had to put on the show, especially to please their families.

Meeting the man she was going to marry was the best thing that had happened in the past year. Their love story began as the typical love-hate relationship often found in romantic comedies. Clémence had laughed when she’d told Eva the story of how she had started dating Arthur. He had been right under her nose the entire time. Quite literally. He’d lived two floors below her family’s apartment in the 16th arrondissement.

She’d always thought of him as an arrogant playboy, a finance guy who was a total bore. Yet the more she got to know him, the more she fell in love with him.

Their mothers had wanted the two of them to date before they’d known they liked each other, and the women would have a fit if she and Arthur didn’t get married in a proper ceremony. Arthur was also very private and low-key, but he’d been more enthused about wedding planning than she’d thought he would be. He’d already selected his suit and helped her choose the invitations.

Arthur’s mother had generously suggested using her house in Normandy as a venue, and Clémence might just agree to it. The house was really a mansion, with an even bigger garden. It was the perfect size for the seventy guests she planned to invite. Compared with other weddings Clémence had attended, hers was going to be small and intimate. She wanted the experience to be as laid back as possible.

Finding the right dress was the most stressful part of the process so far but also the most fun. After changing back into one of the three strapless dresses for a second look, Clémence asked Eva, “Can I take a photo of myself in the dress? I want to show my friends.”

Eva, a pretty brunette in her early thirties, shook her head apologetically. “I’m sorry. The owners have a strict no-photo policy.”

“Really? Why is that?”

“I don’t know why exactly. I think Adine, the designer, just doesn’t like it.”

La Belle was an intimate boutique tucked into one of the small cobblestone streets. The showroom was as big as one of the many antique bookstores in the same neighborhood. No one else had an appointment at that time, and Clémence was the only customer in the store. The experience had been quite peaceful. She wouldn’t begrudge the designer for wanting to keep the shopping experience a low-key affair. After all, if she had created the most beautiful wedding dresses, she could set whatever rule she wanted at her store.

“I like all of them,” Clémence said. “Well, these four most of all. Can you help me note down which styles they are so that I can come back with friends later this week to look at them again?”

“Of course.” The young woman’s business-like expression cracked when she smiled. “It’s difficult to make a choice with such lovely options, isn’t it?”

“It really is. Adine is so talented. Can I ask for your honest opinion? Which one of these dresses did you like better on me?”

Taking the matter seriously, Eva scrutinized the five dresses on the racks and the one Clémence was wearing. “You were obviously not comfortable in the corset styles. I noticed when you were wearing them, so I think you were right to dismiss them. You looked like you couldn’t even move properly in them.”

“True,” Clémence agreed. “Comfort takes precedence over style for me, to tell you the truth. You can take away the corset options, then. At least I went out of my comfort zone and tried them on, right?”

“I’ll give you points for that,” Eva said. “The ball gown made you look too much like Cinderella, but I sense you’re not the princess type.”

Clémence laughed. “I’m glad to hear that. Yes, the dress is a bit too fluffy for me. Actually, I threw that in for my mother’s sake. She wanted me to be in something ‘fit for royalty.’ But you’re right. This isn’t me. I’m looking for something simple and chic. What do you think of this one?” She gestured to the one she was wearing—a simple ivory silk dress with a skirt that flowed and draped around the floor.

“The strapless styles are lovely, but maybe too boring.” Eva seemed more comfortable speaking frankly now.

“Really?” Clémence frowned. “Even if I were to put on the accessories?”

“I don’t mean to insult you. These dresses are great. You would look beautiful in whatever you wore. It’s just that it’s your special day. You may want to stand out more, even just a little. Wait.” Eva abruptly turned and walked to the back, where she began flipping through one of the racks. “You overlooked this one.” She held out a dress inside a plastic cover. “I know you weren’t looking for lace, but I think this would look great on you.”

“Lace?” Clémence’s face fell. “I wasn’t.” She didn’t want to look like a doily.

“What do you have to lose? Just try it on. It’s simple enough, and it’s romantic.”

After Eva opened the plastic, Clémence fingered the delicate lace. The style wasn’t strapless, as she’d wanted, but it looked as though it would hug her body even tighter than the strapless styles.

She hesitated. “It’s rather low in the front. The neckline is, well, rather plunging.”

“Don’t worry.” Eva gave a dismissive wave. “You won’t look provocative because you don’t have a big bust. Go on. Try it.”

“All right,” Clémence said with doubt in her voice. But Eva was right. What did she have to lose?

When Clémence emerged from the dressing room, she was surprised how good she looked. Even though the neckline was much lower than the other dresses she’d tried on, the dress still looked classy and elegant on her. The silhouette showed off her body in a feminine way, and the lace hugged her like a glove.

“What do you think?” Eva tried to sound indifferent, but Clémence could tell she was eager for a favorable answer by the way she arched her eyebrows.

Clémence broke into a wide smile. “I love it. It’s actually really comfortable.”

“Good.” Eva grinned back. “I’m rarely wrong.”

“You’re good at your job. I could make a rash decision and buy it on the spot, but I’m still going to bring at least one friend in for a second opinion.”

“Of course. This is not a light decision. I’ll keep your size available in the back.”

“No problem.” Eva grinned again. “I love my job.”

After Clémence changed out of the dress, she heard a loud scream. She was still zipping her jeans up when she stumbled out of the changing room to see what the commotion was.

Eva was at the rear of the store in front of the open back door. A young woman stood at the door. She looked to be about twenty-five, with wavy, long reddish-brown hair, and she looked as pale as a ghost.

“What happened?” Eva asked her.

“She’s dead!” the young woman cried.