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Clémence entered the front doors of the École Elémentaire Paul Cézanne in the 6th arrondissement. Classes were already over, but Rose had told her that Adam worked after school hours on Mondays and Wednesdays as part of the after school program for the kids whose parents worked late and couldn’t pick them up when classes ended. Many families in the wealthy arrondissement employed baby-sitters or nannies, since parents usually worked until seven p.m. or later, but some families preferred enrolling their kids in the after school program so they could get help with their homework, or take part in Adam’s sports program. Clémence kept on the same outfit she’d worn to F.R.Fraser so she could look to part of a working mom, and her presence wouldn’t be questioned. She supposed she was old enough to have a child in elementary school, since she was 28. Adam was in the playground area, blowing on his whistle as a dozen or so cute children skipped rope. She recognized Adam from the photos Rose had shown her on her smartphone. At 6’2”, Adam had black hair, and overly toned upper body. He wore a ratty Rolling Stone T-shirt, blue gym shorts and sneakers. She didn’t mind watching the fit guy from the glass door as she waited for a chance to speak to him. When the children had some free time in the playground to choose and play their own activities, Adam went to the benches to sit down and drink some water. Clémence took the opportunity to approach him. “Vous êtes Adam?” “Oui.” He gave her a quick once-over. The way his eyes widened conveyed that he liked what he saw. “Je m’appelle Clémence. You don’t know me, but I’m Rose’s friend.” Adam stood up. “Enchanté. It’s so unfortunate what happened to Pierre.” “Yes, and you can guess why I... ... middle of paper ... ...ctive. He liked blondes.” It was too bad she couldn’t go through Pierre’s cell phone. The police had it. “It’s crazy.” Adam shook his head. “I texted Pierre a couple of times this weekend and he didn’t respond. I thought it was weird, but figured he was busy. Now I know why.” “I’m sorry for your loss,” Clémence said. “The inspector might want to ask you similar questions, if he ever comes around to it, just so you know.” “What inspector?” “The one on the case.” “I thought you were on the case. So you’re really not a cop?” Clémence shook his head. He was as dumb as they came. “Oh. You’re too pretty to be a cop,” Adam said. “But I’m disappointed. Hey, can I get your number? I can call you if I ever get more information.” Clémence wanted to turn him down, but she supposed that it would help if Adam did have any new insights, however unlikely that was.

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