Sweet as Pie Crimes Page 9

  “There you are! Where have you been? I was really worried about you,” he scolded like an older brother as I gave him a queer look.

  “Why? I didn’t think you would even notice that I was gone. You usually go to bed so early,” I replied airily, stealing a wedge of doughy baguette from his plate.

  Coldly, Xavier clipped, “There’s more bread in the basket if you want some.”

  “No, that’s okay. What I really wanted tonight was a cup of coffee, but we were all out.” My voice pointed an invisible finger at him as my hands framed my hips.

  “Oh really? And did you get some? I don’t see any grocery bags in your hands,” Xavier retorted.

  “I went to the café next door for a cup of espresso,” I explained unapologetically.

  “And you stayed there by yourself all this time?”

  “No, I met up with a street artist and had a nice conversation with him.”

  “Street artist? You mean that sleazy guy who plants himself on the corner all day and calls out like a maniac to every woman who walks by?” Xavier scoffed as my ego instantly deflated. Patric called out to other women? Of course he did. I wanted to slap myself for thinking even for a second that I was unique and he desired me for an artistic muse. Surely, there was only one thing a Romeo like him desired…

  “Listen, it’s late. I’m going to bed.” Avoiding Xavier’s eyes, I retreated to the quiet loneliness of my room and threw myself on the unmade bed.

  Injected with enough caffeine to complete an Ironman competition, I knew that sleep would elude me that night. Taking advantage of my insomniac state, I dove into my books, speed reading my way through the material as thoughts of my evening with Patric surfaced along the edges of my mind.

  ***

  Sunrise ignited, and I hadn’t managed to get even one hour of sleep. My body dehydrated from too much coffee, I hobbled into the kitchen for a glass of water and chugged it down. Plodding back to my room, I threw my books into my shoulder bag and donned a blue cotton dress with a pair of dark sunglasses as my only accessory. I didn’t feel like looking anyone in the eyes---especially Patric should our paths cross as they usually did.

  Predictably, Patric was at his self-appointed station, swirling a paintbrush around a large circular canvas. He waved to me eagerly from across the street and sent a butterfly-stirring smile my way. Mechanically, I waved back before turning around and heading towards the metro station.

  Impatiently, I stood at the ticket machine, vowing to buy a monthly pass and not waste so much time every day. As I searched my wallet for coins, a very familiar voice bellowed behind me. “Isabelle! Why did you just turn and run like that? I thought maybe you would come and chat with me.”

  He appeared genuinely hurt by my dismissal of him, making me wonder if I had judged him too rashly. Maybe Xavier was exaggerating and Patric didn’t call out to that many women. In fact, Xavier had been acting weird lately; first complimenting me on my white dress and then acting so worried when I came home late. Was it possible that he had feelings for me? If Xavier did have feelings for me, then he would have been jealous of my surprise rendezvous with Patric. Maybe he had invented the womanizing detail about Patric in order to make me lose interest in the artist…

  “I’m sorry. I’m just in a rush to get to class,” I half-fibbed as Patric continued to look at me through stricken eyes. Hesitantly, I added, “Maybe we can talk later this afternoon. I have a break between class and my shift at the bakery. Maybe I’ll even see your artwork finally.” As I alluded to coming up to his apartment, Patric’s eyes sparkled optimistically.

  “Bon. It’s a date. You know where to find me.” He winked and gave my hand a little squeeze before walking out of the metro station leaving me feeling numb and spellbound.

  Chapter 4

  Classes breezed by that day as I anticipated meeting up with Patric. Not only was I eager to visit his studio now that I felt confident he wasn’t the Big Bad Wolf, but I also wanted to discuss the pastry robbery with him and see if he would help me solve the crime. Emerging from the metro station onto my street, I immediately scoped out the street corner for Patric. Tourists carrying gigantic plastic shopping bags obscured my view of his spot as I edged closer.

  Tangling the handles of their shopping bags through my shoulder strap, the tourists giggled as they maneuvered the crowded street. Irritated, I pulled my purse closer to my body, frowning to see that Patric wasn’t in his usual spot. How ironic that just yesterday I was trying to avoid the man and now I wanted nothing more than to see him.

  Collecting myself, I crossed the street to grab a cup of coffee at the café where Patric and I had talked. The café was bustling with teenagers grabbing an after-school snack and other random customers who looked nothing like le beau Patric.

  “Isabelle, is that you?” The male voice sent a jolt through me.

  I whirled around and found Xavier sitting at a table with no company other than a laptop computer. I smiled and waved from my place in line. After picking up my order of decaf tea---I had drunk enough coffee the night before to fill an ocean---I joined Xavier at his table.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked casually as he pushed his laptop away and folded it up.

  “Just a little writing,” he replied reluctantly.

  “Writing what?” I pursued curiously. “What’s so secret about it?”

  “Nothing. Never mind. What are you doing here? Don’t you have to get to work at the pastry shop?”

  “In about an hour. But come on, why won’t you tell me what you were writing on your computer? Was it about me?” I joked as he regarded me humorlessly.

  “Isabelle, it’s private. Mind your own business.”

  “Oh, excuse me, I was just joking,” I apologized, feeling bruised.

  “It’s okay. I’m sorry. Listen, I have to go now anyway. I’m working the late shift at the bookstore and have to catch my train. See you later.” Slipping his computer into its case, Xavier walked out the door as I stared after him, more bewildered than ever by the man’s lukewarm behavior.

  I lingered at the café, ordering a second decaf tea with English scones before dragging myself over to Collette’s Pastry Shop. The atmosphere was oppressive from the moment I walked in as Collette and Yves were embroiled in a heated argument in the kitchen. Sighing, I put on my apron and stayed near the neutral zone of the storefront, not wanting to get involved in any more drama. Busying myself by dusting the glass countertop, I tried not to eavesdrop on the argument, but they were so loud that I couldn’t help but overhear every word.

  In strident French, Yves shouted, “You cannot fire me! I’m one of the most sought after pastry chefs in Europe!”

  “You’ve been making too many mistakes lately. I need to bring in someone younger. I’ve already hired a recent Cordon Bleu graduate to replace you,” Collette informed in a more level tone as I strained to hear, all notions of privacy abandoned as the juicy confrontation unfolded.

  “I cannot tell you how much you will regret this decision. I don’t need you. You need me! This bakery will crumble without me!” Yves roared.

  A second later, he was stomping across the store, throwing his chef’s hat and apron on the floor theatrically before muttering just loud enough for me to hear, “I was getting ready to quit anyway.” Without any further outburst, Yves wedged his way out the front door, his big pastry belly getting in the way. Collette watched him through detached eyes, scooping up his discarded uniform and laughing softly to herself.

  “What are you looking at?” She asked accusingly as I quickly lowered my eyes. “This is not entertainment. Get back to your dusting.”

  “So we’re getting a new baker?” I inquired gently while scrubbing the countertop as roughly as I could.

  “Yes, but it’s no concern of yours. The new baker will be here in the morning. You’ll meet him in the afternoon,” Collette announced.

  “But tomorrow is Saturday,” I protested. “That’s my day off.”

>   “Oh, so it is. Then you’ll meet him when you meet him. Now stop chewing my ear off. I have to go over the books. You stay here and tend to the customers until closing.” As she flounced out of the room, I thought again of Xavier’s offer to work at the bookstore. If only he hadn’t been acting so erratic lately, I might have considered it at that point.

  A drizzle of customers entered the bakery, and sales were slow enough for me to disappear into the kitchen to do a little detective work. Since Yves was no longer ruling the place with an iron fist and the new baker wouldn’t be starting until the next day, it was the perfect time to do a little snooping. How gratifying it would be to solve a crime just before receiving my law degree. Granted, it was a fairly silly crime, but it could build my name in the legal field nonetheless. Perhaps the odd nature of the crime would make it even more sensational and newspapers all across Paris would scream the headline: BRILLIANT LAW STUDENT SOLVES THE MOST RIDICULOUS CRIME PARIS HAS EVER SEEN.

  Laughing at my own unlikely reverie, I opened up the refrigerator and took a peek. The stolen cream puffs had long since been replaced---many times over---and everything looked as it normally did. I combed through the refrigerator shelves, feeling for any clue that might have been left behind. Yves might have been a master baker, but he didn’t enjoy cleaning very much, and my guess was that the refrigerator hadn’t been scrubbed since the crime occurred. The refrigerator light went off unexpectedly, leaving me only with my sense of touch to explore the shelves. I glanced over my shoulder, hoping that Collette wouldn’t sneak up and yell at me for leaving the storefront unattended. Firing two people in one day would probably give the tyrant more joy than a group of Christmas carolers handing out hot chocolate and wrapped gifts.

  Convinced that she was downstairs in the basement office, I returned my attention to the refrigerator, feeling around for some sort of clue. My hand came into contact with something hard, like a round little pebble. Grasping the object, I pulled my hand out of the refrigerator and examined it. Shiny and irregular, the object looked like a gemstone. My eyes perceived the green color as I contemplated whether I could be holding a real emerald in my hand. What other gem stones were green? Jade was green but deeper and more solid in color. I knew my birth stone, red garnet, also came in a shade of green, but it didn’t look like this either. Discreetly, I tucked the little rock in my pocket, resolving to get it appraised. Someone in the vast University of Paris system must have expertise in gemology and would be able to identify whether or not this was an emerald. If it was an emerald, though, how and why did it get into the refrigerator of a pastry shop?

  ***

  That evening, I sat in the kitchen of my apartment, nibbling on a bunch of grapes and a generous slice of Brie cheese. I hadn’t seen Patric since he chased me down to the metro station, and I couldn’t help but feel stood up. He had seemed so excited to show me his paintings that it baffled me why he would disappear. Maybe I had turned him off by constantly running away. But no, that didn’t make sense. Men thrive on the chase, and the more likely reason for his absence was that he felt he had finally caught me and was becoming bored. Either way, I had other priorities to concentrate on---like my studies and the possible emerald that was sitting in my pocket.

  I took the gem out and examined it under the bright fluorescent lighting in the kitchen. There was nothing else in the world it resembled other than an emerald. As I held the discovery between two fingers, peering at it as though hypnotized, Xavier walked through the door. Weaving through the kitchen to get to his bedroom, he stopped short when he noticed me at the kitchen table.

  “What have you got there? A crumb?” He chuckled with a sardonic note in his voice. “If I had known you were so bored, I would have come home earlier.”

  “I’m not bored. I’m investigating something,” I replied sharply, not taking my eyes off the gem.

  Coming closer, Xavier stared at the mystery stone in my hands. “Looks like a little jewel. Did it fall off one of your necklaces?”

  “No, it didn’t,” I answered tersely. Looking up into his stubborn but kind eyes, I considered telling him the truth. But he had already mocked me once about the cream puff heist. No doubt he would voraciously do so again if I told him about my amateurish refrigerator crime scene investigation.

  “Okay, whatever,” Xavier sighed, striding across the room towards the hall.

  “Wait a second!” I called after him as he immediately started to walk back towards me. “If I tell you something, do you promise not to laugh?”

  “Sure,” he replied as I looked at him skeptically. Grinning, he corrected himself, “I promise to try not to laugh.”

  Tentatively, I told Xavier about my kitchen sleuthing and the revelation of what I believed to be an emerald. To my surprise, he didn’t laugh at all. Instead, he put his hand out so he could touch the gemstone. He gazed at it closely as I waited to hear his reaction.

  “I’m no expert, but I think this is an emerald too. Even though it’s so small, you can feel how solid it is. An imitation would feel light and hollow.”

  “Exactly! It has to be real, but what was it doing in the refrigerator at Collette’s Pastry Shop? I mean, who put it there, and why?” I spoke animatedly as he remained cool.

  “Slow down, Isabelle. I don’t think this is such a big mystery. One of the women at the shop was probably wearing an emerald necklace or bracelet and one of the stones came loose. I don’t think someone planted the emerald in the refrigerator.”

  “But I’m the only woman who works there other than Collette, and I’ve never seen her wear any jewelry.” I quickly shot down Xavier’s theory, but he appeared unmoved.

  Shrugging his broad shoulders, he said, “Who knows how it got there? Why does it really matter anyway?”

  “Because of the tray that was stolen! This emerald must be linked somehow to the tray of cream puffs…” I trailed off as a new idea occurred to me. “Maybe the thief was a woman. It was so dark outside that I couldn’t see clearly. And the person was slender…it could have been a woman! Maybe she was wearing emerald jewelry when she stole the cream puffs and…”

  Finally, Xavier began to laugh as I clammed up, feeling foolish again. “So a woman who owns emeralds needs to steal a tray of cream puffs? Because she’ll just die of starvation if she doesn’t get a cream puff in the middle of the night, right?”

  “Go ahead and laugh at me, Xavier. I don’t care. I know I’ve uncovered a clue.” I insisted, snatching the stone from his hand.

  “Well maybe you have,” he allowed, although I felt like he was just trying to appease me.

  We glowered at each other for a long moment until an insistent knock on the door diverted our attention. Bolting up from my chair, I shuffled to the door and queried, “Who’s there?”

  A man replied in a low, intimate voice, “It’s me. Let me in.”

  Chapter 5

  Recognizing Patric’s voice, I swung the door open as he eagerly walked through. “Bon soir, Isabelle, I’m so sorry I missed our rendezvous today. I had to help my sister pack. She moved back to Toulouse this afternoon.” Suddenly noticing Xavier scowling in the background, Patric asked, “Did I interrupt something? I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend!” I said reflexively as Xavier’s expression darkened even more. “This is my roommate, Xavier. Xavier, this is Patric.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen you before,” Xavier said coldly, staying in his spot and making no effort to shake the man’s hand.

  “Really? I’ve never seen you before,” Patric commented through narrowed eyes.

  “You’ve never noticed me. But I pass by you and your easel every day on the corner.” Contempt flared in Xavier’s tone and his features, as I became certain in that moment that he did have feelings for me. But he had a damn strange way of showing it!

  “Oh okay.” Patric nodded his understanding, then turned back to me. “Would you like to go for a cup of coffee? I would have called, but you didn
’t give me your phone number.”

  “Oh that’s right, I didn’t. Well I’m glad you came by,” I said in a gentle tone meant only for Patric’s ears. But I could feel Xavier’s eyes boring into me from behind.

  “What’s that in your hand?” Patric inquired as the gem reflected in the foyer light.

  “I think it’s an emerald…” I started to say before Patric swiftly interrupted me.

  “Where did you get it?” His tone was accusatory and brusque.

  “Actually, I found it in the refrigerator at work. I think it might be a clue to solving the cream puff crime,” I explained as Patric’s face turned a burning shade of red.

  “I highly doubt that,” he said tightly as I looked at him through quizzical eyes. Why was he having such a strong reaction to the emerald? Suddenly, I was suspicious of him again. “Did you say your sister moved back to Toulouse today? Why did she leave so suddenly?” I tossed the questions at him as he paused before answering evasively.

  “Chérie didn’t really care for Paris. She was homesick.” He continued to stare at the emerald in my hand. “Is it too late to grab a cup of coffee or would you like to join me at our café?” How presumptuous of him to call it “our café” after we were only there once. Rapidly, Patric’s true colors were becoming bolder.

  “Actually I’m kind of tired. I didn’t get any sleep last night. Maybe we can take a raincheck,” I offered, although I wanted to postpone the meeting indefinitely. Alarms were ringing loudly in my head as my gut tightened uncomfortably at the prospect of being alone with Patric. Especially in his apartment. There was no denying how charismatic he was, but charm is often false and misleading, I had learned only too well after my monumental heartache with smooth talking William.

  Patric nodded slowly. “Okay, we’ll take a raincheck then. Bonne nuit, Isabelle.”

  “Good night Patric,” I replied in English, shutting and locking the door behind him.