Free Harper Lin - Patisserie 06 - Crème Brûlée Murder by Harper Lin Page A

him. Sometimes, the waiters in Paris could be friendly.  

    She took a sip and waited. The wine was a bit bitter for her taste, but she didn’t want to hurt the waiter’s feelings by sending it back. She checked her phone. There was a text message from Arthur saying he missed her, to which she texted back her own sweet nothings.  

    The front door opened, and Clémence looked up. It was a friend she recognized from university.

    “Sylvie?” Clémence stood up.  

    The woman was a redhead—artificially so, as she’d always been. At the sound of her name, Sylvie jerked her head to Clémence. Surprise contorted her mouth into an O. “Clémence? Clémence Damour?”  

    Sylvie rushed over to Clémence to hug her. She was dressed head to toe in pink. Since they’d met in art school, Sylvie had never been shy to stand out from the crowd. Lime bangles clacked on her wrists, and silver eye shadow was blended up to her eyebrows. Her big plastic neon orange purse knocked Clémence’s wineglass from her table as the girls pulled apart.  

    “ Oh là là! ” Sylvie exclaimed. “I’m so sorry!”  

    The wine had splashed all over the wooden table. Their waiter had been busy attending to someone else, but the bartender came over with a rag.

    “It’s okay,” the bartender said. He put the rag over the table, letting the wine soak it up. “Let me get you a new glass.”  

    “Really?” Clémence said. “ Merci beaucoup, Monsieur. C’est gentil. ” When he left, she turned back to Sylvie. “What are you doing here?”  

    “I work right around the corner, so I’m a regular here,” Sylvie said. “What about you?”  

    “Oh, I’m waiting for someone. Wait—it wasn’t you, was it?”  

    “What do you mean?” Sylvie asked.  

    “Did you call me asking me to meet you?”  

    “No. I haven’t seen you for years, and I don’t even think I have your number.”

    “Oh.” Clémence looked around again. Her caller hadn’t shown up.

    “You mean you don’t know who you’re meeting?” Sylvie asked.

    “No. It’s a bit of a long story.”  

    Before Clémence could elaborate, she felt her throat closing up. She coughed, putting both hands around her neck. It felt as if her throat was being sealed, and she couldn’t do anything about it.  

    “Wa-ter,” she gasped.  

    “Water,” Sylvie repeated. She tried to hold Clémence steady. “She said she wants water! Somebody!”  

    But before she could drink anything, Clémence was falling to the ground and then she saw pitch black.  

Chapter 13
    She had a rancid taste in her mouth when she came to. Which was odd, because she’d dreamt of eating mango and raspberry macarons, the new recipes she’d been working on. But even in her dreams she couldn’t taste them. They were simply devoid of taste when she bit into them.  

    When she woke up, she found herself staring at a peeling cream ceiling. Her stomach felt as if somebody had stabbed her with a rack and left it there. Her head hurt, and her tongue felt fuzzy with that horrid taste. Was there a trace of her own vomit?  

    “Where am I?” Clémence asked no one in particular. Why was her voice so groggy?  

    She craned her head up and saw Arthur jumping out of his chair. Next thing she knew, he was by her side.

    “Clémence? Are you okay?”  

    Berenice and Sebastien were there, as well, concern written on their faces—and so was Sylvie, her friend from university. What was she doing here?

    “I don’t know,” Clémence asked “What happened?”  

    “You’re at the hospital,” Berenice said.  

    “Oh my gosh, it was so scary,” Sylvie exclaimed. “One minute we were chatting, and the next you were falling to the ground. I thought you were dead!”  

    “I don’t know what happened,” Clémence said wearily. “I just feel like hell. What did the doctor say?”  

    “I’ll go get him now.” Sebastien went out.

    “They ran some tests,” Arthur said, “when