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    Chocolat Chaud Murder: A Patisserie Mystery with Recipes, #9
    Chocolat Chaud Murder: A Patisserie Mystery with Recipes, #9
    Chocolat Chaud Murder: A Patisserie Mystery with Recipes, #9
    Ebook116 pages1 hourA Patisserie Mystery with Recipes

    Chocolat Chaud Murder: A Patisserie Mystery with Recipes, #9

    By Harper Lin

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    About this ebook

    From 3x USA TODAY Bestselling Author Harper Lin: the final book in the culinary mystery series that take you on a tour of Paris! Includes Hot Chocolate Recipes. 

     

    Not only is it the busy Christmas season in Paris, but Clemence Damour has a wedding to plan. When she goes wedding dress shopping at La Belle, a small boutique in the 6th arrondissement, the dress designer is found dead. Inspector Cyril St. Clair thinks it is the designer's ex-boyfriend, but as usual, he's wrong. Can Clemence find the murderer and the perfect wedding dress, as well as create new holiday-inspired French desserts for the family patisseries?

     

    Chocolat Chaud Murder is the 9th and final book in a culinary cozy mystery series set in France, featuring delicious recipes of French pastries and desserts. 

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarper Lin Books
    Release dateDec 15, 2015
    ISBN9781519916006
    Chocolat Chaud Murder: A Patisserie Mystery with Recipes, #9
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      Book preview

      Chocolat Chaud Murder - Harper Lin

      CHAPTER ONE

      Clémence wasn’t one of those girls who grew up dreaming about her wedding day. She always thought she would get married but she never quite understood what all the fuss was about when it came to the wedding planning, or why it took some people more than a year to get ready for the big day.

      The one thing that did cause her a bit of stress was finding a beautiful wedding dress. The dress was crucial. Not that beautiful wedding dresses were in short supply in Paris, but she needed to find her perfect dress. Once she did, she was sure the rest of the wedding would snowball into place.

      Clémence felt she was close. At La Belle, a small boutique in the 6th arrondissement, she’d already tried on six gorgeous white dresses. If only she could make up her mind. The problem was she was trying on dresses alone.

      After wolfing down a quick lunch at Damour, the flagship store of her family’s patisserie chain, she’d hailed a cab to her appointment. On an early Wednesday afternoon, all her friends were at work. Celine, who worked as a hostess at Damour, was supposed to come with her, but another hostess had called in sick, and Celine had to cover for her. Without a friend by her side, Clémence didn’t have an objective second opinion.

      The first three dresses she’d been drawn to were all classic strapless styles. The fourth had a ball gown skirt, and the fifth and sixth were more daring designs with corset waists. One of the corsets was encrusted with diamonds. She didn’t have the budget for a dress like that, but at the urgency of Eva Vincent, the salesgirl, she’d tried it on for fun.

      Eva insisted she looked great, but Clémence felt a little ridiculous, as if she were a fairy godmother with a bit of showgirl thrown in. She figured she would probably end up with one of the classic styles. She usually preferred modest clothing. Her clothes, considered stylish by most people, were all classic pieces, similar to what every other girl in Paris wore—tailored basics that were so tasteful, they were almost boring.

      Even though she was an heiress to Damour, Clémence shied away from attention. She represented the Damour family brand sometimes and had attended events with her parents since she was a teenager. Once the media had gotten wind of her socialite status, she had been a fixture in the entertainment sections of papers and blogs until she’d abandoned everything to travel the world. She’d returned to Paris less than a year ago, where she had slowly gotten her life back together.

      After she’d come back, she’d been a bit hesitant to oversee the family business while her parents spent time in Asia to open more patisseries, but she’d learned to embrace her leadership skills and public exposure. Sometimes, the exposure was for other reasons—getting mixed up with the police while solving murder mysteries, for example—but that was another story.

      She had always been uncomfortable with people staring at her. She hoped she would feel differently at her wedding. If she had her way, she would elope with Arthur to a tiny church in the countryside and avoid all the usual theatrics, but she couldn’t. In essence, a wedding seemed to be a celebration for everyone else, and the couple had to put on the show, especially to please their families.

      Meeting the man she was going to marry was the best thing that had happened in the past year. Their love story began as the typical love-hate relationship often found in romantic comedies. Clémence had laughed when she’d told Eva the story of how she had started dating Arthur. He had been right under her nose the entire time. Quite literally. He’d lived two floors below her family’s apartment in the 16th arrondissement.

      She’d always thought of him as an arrogant playboy, a finance guy who was a total bore. Yet the more she got to know him, the more she fell in love with him.

      Their mothers had wanted the two of them to date before they’d known they liked each other, and the women would have a fit if she and Arthur didn’t get married in a proper ceremony. Arthur was also very private and low-key, but he’d been more enthused about wedding planning than she’d thought he would be. He’d already selected his suit and helped her choose the invitations.

      Arthur’s mother had generously suggested using her house in Normandy as a venue, and Clémence might just agree to it. The house was really a mansion, with an even bigger garden. It was the perfect size for the seventy guests she planned to invite. Compared with other weddings Clémence had attended, hers was going to be small and intimate. She wanted the experience to be as laid back as possible.

      Finding the right dress was the most stressful part of the process so far but also the most fun. After changing back into one of the three strapless dresses for a second look, Clémence asked Eva, Can I take a photo of myself in the dress? I want to show my friends.

      Eva, a pretty brunette in her early thirties, shook her head apologetically. I’m sorry. The owners have a strict no-photo policy.

      Really? Why is that?

      I don’t know why exactly. I think Adine, the designer, just doesn’t like it.

      La Belle was an intimate boutique tucked into one of the small cobblestone streets. The showroom was as big as one of the many antique bookstores in the same neighborhood. No one else had an appointment at that time, and Clémence was the only customer in the store. The experience had been quite peaceful. She wouldn’t begrudge the designer for wanting to keep the shopping experience a low-key affair. After all, if she had created the most beautiful wedding dresses, she could set whatever rule she wanted at her store.

      I like all of them, Clémence said. Well, these four most of all. Can you help me note down which styles they are so that I can come back with friends later this week to look at them again?

      Of course. The young woman’s business-like expression cracked when she smiled. It’s difficult to make a choice with such lovely options, isn’t it?

      It really is. Adine is so talented. Can I ask for your honest opinion? Which one of these dresses did you like better on me?

      Taking the matter seriously, Eva scrutinized the five dresses on the racks and the one Clémence was wearing. You were obviously not comfortable in the corset styles. I noticed when you were wearing them, so I think you were right to dismiss them. You looked like you couldn’t even move properly in them.

      True, Clémence agreed. Comfort takes precedence over style for me, to tell you the truth. You can take away the corset options, then. At least I went out of my comfort zone and tried them on, right?

      I’ll give you points for that, Eva said. The ball gown made you look too much like Cinderella, but I sense you’re not the princess type.

      Clémence laughed. I’m glad to hear that. Yes, the dress is a bit too fluffy for me. Actually, I threw that in for my mother’s sake. She wanted me to be in something ‘fit for royalty.’ But you’re right. This isn’t me. I’m looking for something simple and chic. What do you think of this one? She gestured to the one she was wearing—a simple ivory silk dress with a skirt that flowed and draped around

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