Harper Lin - Patisserie 07 - Madeleine Murder (10 page)

“That sounds like a nightmare,” Clémence said. “So Nicole didn’t date anyone else throughout this?”

Sarah couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the thought. “Oh, of course she did. But it was mainly for her own gain.”

“What do you mean?” Clémence asked. “As far as the public was concerned, she was single.”

Sarah looked her in the eye. “The movie was about two sisters with equal screen time when I signed on. A few weeks into it, her role was expanded into the starring role, and I was the supporting actress.” Sarah tilted her head to Chris Collins. “People might think it, but I’m not naive.”

Clémence gasped, looking at Chris as he enthusiastically told the crew what to do. “Nicole was having an affair with Chris?”

“You’re arresting Chris Collins,” Clémence said. “He did it. He killed Nicole Blake.”

“Who?” Cyril asked.

“The director of this film,” Clémence said with exasperation. “He’s out there right now. This is his wife Cynthia. At first I thought it was her, but I just confirmed it was Chris. It was Chris all along. He had the stronger motive.”

“Why did he do it?” Cyril asked.

“Bring him here, and we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“Are you sure you’ve got the right man?” Cyril asked. “Don’t want to look foolish now.”

“Oh, Cyril.” Clémence grinned. “Have I ever made you look foolish?”

He scowled.

“If I’m wrong, you don’t have to write that letter,” Clémence said.

“What letter?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

Cyril stared at her for a couple of seconds, but he relented. “Fine.” He waved to his men. “Come on.”

“Not that you were going to write it anyway,” Clémence muttered under her breath.

A minute later, they came back in with Chris.

“What’s this all about?” Chris asked.

Clémence crossed her arms. “Don’t play innocent, Chris. It’s you.”

“Me?” His voice was calm, but his lips had a slight quiver.

“You’re the killer. You killed Nicole, then you killed Rachel.”

“Why would I kill my star and ruin my own film?”

“Why don’t you tell us?” Clémence tilted her head at him. “I’m all ears.”

“That’s crazy. I’ve got nothing to gain from it. Her death messed up the entire film’s schedule. We had to rewrite the script, and we’re over budget.”

“Tell us about the affair,” Clémence said.

Chris looked between Clémence and Cynthia. “What affair?”

“Your affair with Nicole Blake.”

“There was no affair,” he said. “Cynthia. Tell them.”

Tears streamed down Cynthia’s face, but she only turned away.

“Cynthia, honey—”

“She’s said all she had to say to me,” Clémence said. “Now it’s your turn to do the talking. Nicole had a red leather agenda, where she’d written in her meetings. They were coded, but I’ve managed to decipher the codes. Honcho. That’s who she was meeting the night before her body was found. Your wife tells me that it’s your little nickname. What you like to be called in bed. Head honcho.”

“Cynthia!” he protested, but his wife still wouldn’t look at him.

“Nicole showed up for your meeting. You met at the riverbank of the Seine for a little evening stroll, and perhaps a little nightcap in the boat you rented for your stay here in Paris. Your wife told me about that. You take your family around in the Seine during the day, then your mistress for a roll during the night. You were careful, only going out one morning and one evening each week, whenever your schedule permitted it. After you cheat on your wife once, you can’t have a second strike against you, can you? If you got caught again, Cynthia was going to divorce you, and you would lose everything.”

“It’s true that I cheated on my wife once,” Chris said. “But that was a long time ago. I didn’t have an affair with Nicole Blake.”

Clémence rolled her eyes. “A cheater and a liar. She told you she was pregnant, didn’t she? Wanted you to leave your wife. Nicole loved seeing people squirm, backing people into corners. And you squirmed, alright. A child would ruin you. Not just your family, but your career. You work for Harper Studios. If you lost your wife, you’d lose all the things you’ve worked hard for: your reputation, your burgeoning career, and the luxurious lifestyle that your wife’s family’s money and connections have provided you.

“After all those years of making crappy commercials, you’re just starting to gain momentum with your features. It was only supposed to be fun, wasn’t it, your time with Nicole and God knows who else? You never expected the baby, and you never expected Nicole to rub it in your face, twist your arm so backwards. You knew she checkmated you, so you got angry. She wasn’t the director, you were. How dare she pull your strings? So you smacked her unconscious then ducked her head into the Seine, made sure she was dead, and threw her body into the river.”

Chris remained silent. Clémence could see Sophie and Sarah poking their heads into the café, trying to figure out what was keeping Chris.

“And Rachel,” Clémence continued. “You were in her room, trying to find Nicole’s agenda. You’d taken Nicole’s purse and destroyed her phone, but you knew about the agenda, and it wasn’t in there. So you went into her hotel room and found nothing. The next thing to do was to go into Rachel’s room. She was supposed to be out, running an errand for Sarah, but she must’ve gone back for something she’d forgotten. She surprised you, so you choked her and tried to make it look like she hung herself. Messy business, but why not kill her? You’ve already killed one person.”

“There’s no proof of any of this,” Chris said.

“Oh, there will be,” Clémence said. “Surely you’ve left DNA in that room. The police found it. Why would you be in Rachel’s room otherwise? Little did you know who really had the agenda: me.”

Chris let out a loud laugh. “Clémence. When you came into my hotel suite, I thought you were the cutest thing. Poking around, claiming there was a murderer on set. But enough games. This is all ridiculous!”

“Your wife is going to testify,” Clémence said. “She confirmed that you made an excuse to go out on the evening of Nicole’s death. Your alibi that you were going to a restaurant for a late meeting with a producer doesn’t check out.”

“Cynthia, please!” Chris begged. “Tell them it’s not true.”

Cynthia slowly turned to face him. Her green eyes shone as she met his. “It is true. I know it is. I knew I couldn’t trust you again. I knew you never loved me, and deep down, I know you’re ambitious and ruthless enough to do this.”

Chris laughed again, a crazy Joker laugh. “I know you were angry about that time, but to be so vengeful you accuse your husband of murder!”

“I’ve heard enough,” Cyril said. “Arrest him. You better get yourself a good lawyer to get out of this one, Monsieur Collins.”

Clémence had rounded up her best girlfriends for a girl’s night out. Berenice, Celine, and Sophie all showed up at Le Schmuck, a gorgeous Baroque-inspired restaurant in the 6th arrondissement. After another crazy week, Clémence needed some downtime with her friends.

Madeleine was the last girl to arrive at the table. She was grinning, holding up her left hand, and trying hard not to squeal too loudly in the restaurant. She’d been waiting for her boyfriend Henri to pop the question for some time now, and he finally did the night before.

“It’s been so hard keeping it a secret,” Madeleine said, “but I wanted to tell you girls all at once. Only Sophie knows, of course.”

She held out her left hand, and the girls all leaned in to admire the ring. The diamond was pink, surrounded by smaller white diamonds.

“It’s beautiful!” Celine exclaimed.

“Congratulations,” said Berenice. “When’s the wedding?”

“Oh, I’m still in shock,” Madeleine said. “We haven’t talked about dates yet. I don’t think it’s hit me yet that I’m engaged.”

“When she comes back down to earth, I’m sure my sister will transform into a giant bridezilla,” Sophie joked.

“I wouldn’t put it past me,” Madeleine said. “But it’ll be at least a year to plan, so be prepared.”

“Let me see that ring again,” Clémence said.

“Here.” Madeleine took off the ring and passed it to her so she could have a closer look under the dim restaurant lighting.

“Remember when we were at the Royal Jewels exhibit at the Grand Palais and you said you wanted a pink diamond just like this one?” Clémence said.

“Well, I wasn’t exactly subtle with Henri.”

“I’m sure you weren’t.” Clémence laughed.

“What are we drinking tonight, girls?” Madeleine asked. “Aren’t we supposed to be eating dinner?”

Clémence poured her a glass of rosé from the bottle they’d already opened.

“We couldn’t wait,” Berenice said. “So it’s drinks first, dinner, then dessert, then back to drinking.”

“Sounds like my kind of night,” Madeleine said.

Sophie suddenly shuddered. “I can’t believe I’ve been alone in a room with that man.”

“Who?” Celine asked.

“Chris Collins. The murderer. He was a better actor than any of us. It took Clémence to expose his lies.”

“I wonder how many years he’ll get,” Berenice wondered.

“A lifetime, I’ll bet,” Madeleine said.

“And I can’t believe Zach Brant is gay,” Celine said. “When his rep made the statement, I wanted to cry. But I guess I wasn’t completely surprised.” She sighed. “I don’t know why I always chase after the wrong guys.”

“Maybe you need to stop doing the chasing,” Clémence said. “Let the guys come to you.”

“I agree,” Sophie said. “When you make them work for it, they make more of an effort.”

“It’s probably true,” Celine said. “But that’s a lesson I missed as a girl. My mom was the biggest flirt. And she’s been divorced twice. She’s onto husband number three now, and it’s not exactly smooth sailing. I don’t want to end up the same way.”

“Then just try it,” Sophie said. “Resist flirting for a while and see who’s really interested in you.”

Celine thought about it and nodded defiantly. “You’re right. I’m ready for a real relationship. I don’t think I’ve ever even dated a guy for more than three months. I’m going to cool off a bit. Stop dating. Just hang out with you guys, enjoy my girl time and my alone time.”

Berenice smiled at her in approval. “That’s the spirit.”

“Love comes when you’re least looking for it,” Sophie said.

“And so do psychotic kidnappers,” Madeleine joked.

“And murderers,” Sophie added. “Hey, Clémence, did Marcus ask you to walk in his show?”

“He did,” Clémence replied. “But I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’d be terrible. I can’t even walk properly in heels in day-to-day life. I’m sure I’ll fall flat on my face. Besides, I had a taste of the spotlight, and I hated it. I don’t know how you girls put up with a dozen men chasing after you.”

“It’s annoying,” Sophie said.

“Sure it is.” Madeleine rolled her eyes. “You love the attention.”

“So do you,” Sophie retorted. “You’ll be at the show at least, right, Clémence?”

“I will. Even better, Marcus has asked us to make cakes to feature in his show, since his collection is inspired by French desserts. Sebastien and I went into his office yesterday to look at his latest collection, and we’ve sketched up some cake ideas that would go with his clothes.”

“It’s going to go down the runway?” Madeleine asked.

“Yup.”

“Who’s going to hold the cakes?” Sophie asked.

“Models,” Clémence said. “But don’t worry, they’re going to be styrofoam inside.”

“Oh good,” Sophie said. “Some of these models don’t have a lot of muscle mass.”

“They probably can’t eat the cakes either,” Celine said.

“We are making an edible cake,” Clémence said, “for the backstage celebration. The models will be tempted to eat at least a little bit.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you guys about the astrology reading that Ben’s mom gave me,” Berenice said.

“Right,” Clémence said. “Spill.”

“She said something about one of my planets being in Jupiter, and that Jupiter was the planet of expansion. She was certain I was going to have a lot of kids.”

“You? Kids?” Celine laughed. “I thought you hated kids.”

“I do. So I was surprised. I guess we’ll see.” “Did she say something about whether you’d be married?” Sophie asked.

“No. She didn’t mention it, and I didn’t ask because it’s kind of awkward, since she’s Ben’s mother.”

The waiter came back around. “More rosé?”

“Yes, please.” Celine grinned at him. He was cute. Berenice shook her head at her to remind her to back off from flirting. Celine’s smile dropped.

“I don’t think we’ve had a toast yet,” Clémence said. She raised her glass, and the others did the same. “Congrats to Sophie on her first American movie and to Madeleine on her engagement. And Berenice for her future bundle of rugrats. Oh, and Celine for her dating detox.”

“Don’t forget about yourself,” Berenice said.

“Me?” Clémence frowned. “What about me? You mean for making cakes for Marcus?”

The girls laughed.

“You’ve forgotten already?” Celine said. “The murder. You solved another murder.”

“Oh, yeah,” Clémence said sheepishly. “Sure. Let’s toast to that.”

In
Opéra Cake Murder
, Book 8 of
The Patisserie Mysteries
, Clémence investigates a murder during Paris Fashion week. Sign up for 
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