Mastering the Art of French Murder by Colleen Cambridge

Author:Colleen Cambridge [Cambridge, Colleen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2023-01-17T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

I convinced Julia it wasn’t necessary for her to drive me to Mrs. Hayes’s house to pick up my money. My friend had offered to do so, but I knew how busy she was in the kitchen and, honestly, how much she preferred to be there than anywhere else. And aside from that, much as I loved Julia and her boisterousness, I craved a little bit of quiet to think about what I’d learned.

“You have mayonnaise to perfect, remember?” I told my friend as we separated on rue de l’Université, each with our own market bags. Hers was much heavier than mine.

“Oh, yes. That is very true,” she replied with a laugh. “But you’ll be back for me to help you with Madame Poulet, right?”

“Yes, of course. Let’s say three o’clock?”

Mark was picking me up at six; that should give us plenty of time to roast the madame.

“And we can use your very large kitchen!” Julia was definitely on board with that idea.

I waved her across the street and darted into my house. I’d decided that since I was going to take my bicycle again, I would exercise my right under Parisian law to wear trousers while doing so. It would keep my legs a lot warmer, and it was much easier to pedal without a skirt flaring about my calves. And since I was going to the police station, I could get my so-called permission to wear pants while there.

I rolled my eyes, snickering at the idea as I dropped off my market bag in the kitchen. Bet (or Blythe) was there, making a small luncheon for my messieurs, and she gladly took the eggs, milk, and tiny potatoes to put away.

As I dashed up the stairs to change, I decided not to stop in the salon to speak to Grand-père or Oncle Rafe; I didn’t want to be delayed. It was already after eleven o’clock, and I honestly wasn’t certain how either of them would react to seeing me in pants.

By the time I got on my bicycle, with Thérèse’s handbag, her book, the scrap of matchbook cover, and the bloody apron stowed inside the basket, I realized the sun had come out and that it was a fairly pleasant day.

Except that a murderer walked free.

It was too bad Clarice hadn’t noticed anything more about the man she saw coming around into Julia’s building. It was obvious to me, at least, that she’d actually seen the killer, but we had absolutely no factors to help identify him.

Then I scoffed at myself. There was no “we” about it, and I was fooling myself thinking there was—or should be. Leave the detecting to the experts, I told myself firmly.

The Hayes family lived in a townhouse on the Right Bank, just across the river. It was only a few blocks from the embassy. By the time I arrived, I was pleasantly toasty from my ride, and the sun was bright and warm—definitely a tease toward spring, as it was only mid-December, and we had at least two months or more of cold awaiting us.

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