2 Éclair Murder Read Free Page B

hesitant with her paint brush. Although she was proud to have graduated from one of the best art schools, she had never been considered the best in her class.  

    One of her professors used to tell her that her paintings were average and forgettable. She had been in awe of a couple of her classmates who were so talented and so sure of themselves. Clémence didn’t have the same confidence when she held her brush. She hesitated, which was why she never made it as an artist. Plus, she hadn’t really given it a good shot.  

    She was good at inventing pastries, and her skills could rival any top baker in Paris, but she’d learned that through osmosis. Her parents were the talented ones. It was in the blood. Baking, to her, was a lot simpler. It was a matter of picking and choosing ingredients and deciding which ones would work well together. The fun was in the “lab”, the kitchen where she’d try and fail until she got the combination right. It was a lot of adjusting and patience.  

    So why couldn’t she apply the same patience, certainty and perseverance to her art? It was probably because she took it too seriously. Baking and experimenting in the kitchen was fun, while painting and trying to figure out what it was that she wanted to express through lines and colors was work. Painting conjured up insecurities, and it was easier to stick with what she was good at.  

    When she was living with her ex-boyfriend in Le Marais before she went on her two-year tour around the world, she had been the girlfriend of a talented artist. Mathieu had been her classmate, and the one deemed “talented” in school. His technique did in fact rival the masters. His portraits of people were incredible.  

    The last she’d heard, Mathieu had put on a small exhibition, portraits of farmers from the countryside. She read one of the glowing reviews in the papers. As everyone had predicted, Mathieu was on his way. She wondered if he was still with the girl he’d broken up with her for, Susanne whats-her-name. He had scouted her from the streets and asked her to pose for one of his portraits. What a clichéit had been, the artist and the muse getting romantically involved.

    The whole breakup had turned Clémence off from dating artists—and creating art. After it happened, she decided to go off and travel, which had been one of the best decision she’d ever made.  

    She’d been together with Mathieu for three years, and she used to be crazy about him. Mathieu was so brilliant and charming, but ultimately, he didn’t think Clémence was good enough for her. Looking back now, he had hardly been encouraging about her work. He was condescending towards her efforts, paying false compliments as if he was a parent praising the ugly scribbles of a child. There could only be one artist in a couple and it certainly hadn’t been Clémence.

    “Oh what the hell,” she said to Miffy. “If I’m no good as a painter, I might as well just have fun with it, right? I already have a pretty good job. I’ll just do it for the enjoyment of it.”  

    Clémence looked at La Tour Eiffel for support as well, which seemed to be emitting the positive response that she needed.  

    “If it sucks, I’ll just throw the painting away, right? It’s just practice.”  

    Clémence went ahead and sketched Miffy on the canvas. She painted her on top of a Parisian rooftop, since that was her view from the balcony.

    Time seemed to fly as she painted. Miffy barked every so often to cheer her on.  

    When Clémence took a break in the kitchen to eat a snack, she heard knocking at the kitchen door.

    It was Ben, the Englishman who lived in one of the former servant rooms on the roof. He rented the room from her parents.  

    “Hey.” The goofy Englishman was dressed all in black, his signature attire, and he was holding his laundry bag. “I saw that you were in and I figured I’d be able to do the laundry. I tried calling you.”

    “Come on in. Sorry,