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  “Fifi LeChou was pronounced dead 10 minutes ago,” a burly paramedic announced gravely. “Right before you got here, Detective Langford. We couldn’t revive her.”

  I nodded curtly, visually inspecting the body and finding no signs of blood or trauma. “When did you find her?” I asked Lady Milton.

  “Right before I called the ambulance of course,” she replied with a hint of defensiveness.

  “Was she dead when you found her?” I continued.

  “Dead as a doornail,” Lady Milton sighed as I flinched at the crass metaphor.

  “How do you know that she was dead?” I challenged.

  “Because she wasn’t moving!” Lady Milton replied as though I were a complete moron.

  “Did you touch her?” I probed.

  “Heavens no!” She shivered violently.

  “How do you think she died?” I quizzed her.

  “Well, it looks like she was electrocuted by the vacuum cleaner. The thing must have short circuited somehow,” Lady Milton theorized, pointing to the vacuum hose that the corpse was strategically gripping.

  “Yes, that is what it looks like,” I said meaningfully. “But there are other possible explanations for how she died.”

  “Such as?” Lady Milton asked haughtily.

  “Such as murder,” I stated emphatically as Lady Milton’s eyes became glassy with fear and her breath shallow as salt water washed upon the shore…

  The French Maid Murder - Kindle edition by Anisa Claire West. Mystery, Thriller & Suspense Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.

  Special Preview of Anisa Claire West’s

  A PASTRY THIEF IN PARIS

  Prologue

  Paris, France

  Sometime after Midnight…

  Forget all the romantic images of Paris where starry-eyed tourists climb to the top of the Eiffel Tower and kissing lovers sail along the River Seine. Make no mistake. Paris after dark is a ruthless jungle, and it’s no place for a woman to be roaming the streets alone. Fatefully, on one chilly night when the moon was full and the air was thin, I learned this truth the harsh way.

  Strolling outside my apartment by Collette’s Pastry Shop, where I worked part-time during daylight hours, I gasped to see a sleek figure dressed from head to toe in black. Donning a ski mask and carrying a burlap sack in one hand, the figure slipped away into the Parisian night before I could make sense of what had just happened. Creeping over to the shop, I flinched to see the door wide open. The figure in black had been inside the shop!

  Softly, I made my way inside, holding my breath as though another criminal were about to jump out and attack me. But the door hadn’t been broken or disturbed at all. Oddly, the cash register was also intact and not a single Euro was missing. The shop hadn’t been looted and nothing appeared out of place. Slithering into the kitchen, I used the moonlight drifting in to illuminate my view of the room. All the appliances were in their proper spot and, again, nothing had been ransacked.

  Opening up the refrigerator door, I blinked, wondering if my eyes were deceiving me. Several trays of pre-made pastries were tidily lined up for the next day’s sales. Thick orange mousse filled up cannoli shells and glazed strawberry tarts were in their designated place. But one shelf of the refrigerator was conspicuously empty.

  “The cream puffs!” I exclaimed, realizing that an entire tray of the French sweets was missing.

  Feeling like Alice in Wonderland, I groped around in my purse for my phone and called the police to report a most unusual robbery.

  Chapter 1

  The Next Day

  Collette’s Pastry Shop

  Paris after midnight is perilous, but the city can be even riskier during broad daylight. At every street corner, rich, buttery temptations lure hapless victims in. Just a bite of a toasty croissant. Can’t hurt. One nibble of a fresh fruit tart. Won’t do any harm. Until you find yourself ten pounds heavier after being in Paris for just a month. Multiply the temptation by 1,000 if you happen to work in a pastry shop like I do. All morning, I had tried to keep my sticky hands off the sweets as I conveyed to my boss, Collette, what I had witnessed the night before.

  “And he just evaporated into the night. Like something out of an American spy movie! Just completely vanished in the dark!” I completed my story with a dramatic wave of my arms for effect as the older woman squinted at me skeptically.

  “Did you drink too much Pinot Noir last night, Isabelle? Really this is a crazy tale you tell. No wonder the police didn’t believe you!” She addressed me in my native English even though I was also fluent in French. Growing up in Barbados with a Caribbean mother and French father had made me perfectly bilingual.

  “Mais non! It’s not that they didn’t believe me,” I argued. “They just didn’t have time to investigate a tray of stolen pastries.” I felt foolish as I spoke, wondering if my evening glass of wine had actually caused me to hallucinate.

  Collette rolled her eyes. “What were you doing walking the streets by yourself at that hour anyway? That’s a very stupid thing for a pretty young woman like you to do.”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” I replied honestly. My obscenely difficult classes at the University of Paris Law School were interfering with my sleep cycles and making me so jittery that sometimes I couldn’t even shut my eyes.

  “Well next time you should try counting sheep,” Collette scoffed as I forced a tight smile.

  “I’ll try,” I replied through pursed lips.

  “Isabelle Nouvelle!” She chided, using my full name like I was her daughter. “Get back to work. Yves needs help in the kitchen.” She pointed in the direction of the ovens as I woodenly walked away from the counter to help Yves, the head baker. In his early sixties and with a rotund belly that resembled a jiggling bowl of custard, Yves was an unfriendly man who barked out orders as nastily as Collette did.

  “Bonjour Yves,” I greeted with as much cheerfulness as I could muster. Vowing to start crossing days off my calendar until I received my shiny law degree, I tried not to dwell on how demeaning it was to be everyone’s gopher. Working at Collette’s Pastry Shop was a necessary evil if I wanted to support myself and not get evicted from my third floor walk up apartment in the heart of the chic 6tharrondissement.

  Chronically domineering, Yves directed in his posh Parisian accent, “These pastries need decorating. Get some berries and cream from the refrigerator. Vite! Quickly!”

  Robotically, I performed every task that was tossed at me until 4 pm arrived and my shift finally ended. Sighing as I crumpled up my apron and shoved it into my purse, I waved a curt goodbye to Yves and Collette before stepping out into the Parisian afternoon. Clouds were obscuring the sun, and the sky carried a strong threat of rain. Buttoning up my light jacket, I headed down the rue towards my apartment.

  As I hastened my speed, eager to beat the pending rainstorm, I heard a familiar male voice call out to me. “Mademoiselle, wait! Won’t you let me paint you today?”

  I glanced over my shoulder at the scruffy man in tattered pants and a loose fitting button down shirt. At least half a foot taller than me, (always a treat considering I stand at 5’10” and many men are shorter than me) the painter was relentless. In spitfire French he kept calling to me even as I shrugged my shoulders and turned my back to him. My father had warned me about men like him in Paris. Men who pose as artists with the unsavory objective of taking nude photos of women. Something in the stranger’s soulful eyes and casual clothes told me that maybe he was an authentic artist, but I couldn’t take the risk. In less than a year, I would be a licensed attorney, and I couldn’t let anyone interfere with that goal. Not even a handsome and mysterious “painter” who called out to me from his easel every time I passed by…

  A Pastry Thief in Paris - Kindle edition by Anisa Claire West. Mystery, Thriller & Suspense Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.

  Dear Reader:

  Thank you for reading Murder in the Outback. I hope you enjoyed reading about Rita’s sleuthing and relationship with Clive!
I welcome your feedback and make an effort to personally respond to every email I receive. Write to me at [email protected].

  Happy Reading!

  Cordially,

  Anisa Claire West

  Titles Available by Anisa Claire West

  COZY MYSTERY

  & ROMANTIC SUSPENSE

  A Fashion Felon in Rome

  A Pastry Thief in Paris

  Cake Battered

  Cappuccino Twist

  Champagne Deception

  Cookie Dough Crook

  Cupcake Shop Clues

  Dark Chocolate Murder

  Deep Dish Lies

  Hotcake Homicide

  Hot Fudge Fraud

  Murder in the Outback

  Northern Moonlight

  The French Maid Murder

  The Scarlet Suit Murder

  Vexed in Venice

  Wild Autumn

  FANTASY

  Silver Goddess Series:

  Island Tango, Book 1

  Orca Dance, Book 2

  Leopard Rhythm, Book 3

  Mermaid Gold, Book 4

  HISTORICAL ROMANCE

  Eternal Melody

  ANTHOLOGIES

  Chocolate Covered Crimes

  Deadly Bites

  Exotic Daydream

  Fashionable Crimes

  Passion’s Raindrops

  Pick a Poison

  Silver Goddess

  Sweet as Pie Crimes

  Tasty Crimes

  About the Author

  Anisa Claire West graduated with honors from Yale University and also holds a Master of Arts degree in Literature and Teaching. Learning about cultures is Anisa’s passion, and she has studied more than half a dozen languages including French, Arabic, and Italian. A certified yoga instructor, Anisa embraces mind-body fitness, animal advocacy, and a compassionate lifestyle. She also enjoys international cuisine and has sampled more than a few of the Australian recipes included in this book!