After lunch, Clémence took a quick shower and left. She wasn’t in a huge rush because she wanted to make sure that Paolo would be in the office when she got there. She had looked him up on the internet with Rose’s help. His photo on LinkedIn featured him smiling with both rows of teeth, and he was incredibly well-dressed in a well-cut suit and silk pink tie. With dark hair and tanned skin, Paolo looked too relaxed to have lived in Paris for long. But would this happy-go-lucky Italian also exhibit qualities of a killer?
As Clémence continued scrutinizing his photo and profile on her smartphone, the elevator stopped this time and Arthur got in before she had time to panic. Arthur was wearing a pink dress shirt with a fuchsia sweater tied around his neck.
“Bonjour,” he said in his usual stiff way.
“I don’t think you’re wearing enough pink,” Clémence couldn’t help but comment. While he usually wore those pieces separately, she thought he was going overboard this time.
He looked down at his beige khakis. “You’re right. I should’ve gone with the pink pants as well.”
Clémence nodded feebly, not knowing what to say.
He broke from his stony expression and laughed. “I’m kidding.”
“Phew.”
The elevator door closed. She tried to ignore his warm scent and the sudden intimacy of his arm pressing into hers in the tiny elevator.
“I shouldn’t have to defend my fashion choices,” Arthur said. “This is a classic look.”
Straight out of the preppy handbook, Clémence thought. Instead she said, “You’re right. Pink is your color. This is a free country and you should wear whatever you want.”
“Why thank you,” Arthur said. “I haven’t seen you around lately. Quoi de neuf?”
“What’s new?” Clémence repeated. “Oh, this and that. What about you...
... middle of paper ...
.... There were daily lineups around the block for their macarons and other desserts and pastries. The salon de thé were booked for weeks in advance. Her mother was just calling to update her and to ask how her trip to Zurich was. They chatted a while longer, but Clémence didn’t want to tell her about Rose’s boyfriend’s death just yet.
When she reached the building where F.R.Fraser operated, she managed to talk the security guard into letting her in. She simply told the truth: that she was collecting something for an employee who had died recently. After receiving condolences, she was allowed in through the turnstile. The main foyer was modern, with a man-made waterfall dribbling down a marble wall. There was a cafe in one corner for employees. She pressed the elevator button. When one of the elevator doors opened, the presence of the man who stepped out shocked her.
The story teller does not like her room and desires to stay in one downstairs that opens o...
“Hmm… Your ankles are getting stronger. Would you consider going to Patterson's before our next session to purchase a pair of pointe shoes?” she asked, examining at my feet.
Patrick’s muscle tightens as hear Mary coming closer to him. Is she suspecting something? He thought nervously, what should I do now? What should I say? He was lost in his thoughts when Mary walked up behind him and swung the big frozen leg of lamb on the back of his head. Patrick’s vision suddenly when darken and t-- to the ground with the sounds of overturning tables and crashing
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I shook my head and stood up to walk over to her splotchy monstrosity of a dress and considered it for a moment. "Could you dye the whole thing red?"
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