Private Paris (Private 10)

“Oh, that’s sad.”

“Heartbreaking, actually,” Justine said. “He kept talking about how she loved hot chocolate, and how her favorite place in Paris served the best hot chocolate in the world.”

“Okay…”

“I’m just giving you a report. Nothing on your end?”

“Kim’s vanished. And honestly, we haven’t had a minute to look for her.”

“Who has the beef with Les Académies?” she asked.

“Jacques Noulan, for one.”

“Noulan,” she said, impressed. “I owned one of his dresses once. Made me look glamorous.”

“You always look glamorous.”

“Sweet,” she said, softening. “And you almost always look dashing.”

“How’s Cruz’s mother?”

“Fading,” she said. “Going into congestive heart failure.”

“Sucks.”

“It does. I’ll be back to talk with Sherman in the morning, and I’ll call you afterward with an update.”

“That works,” I said, and hung up.

After a deliciously hot shower and a shave, I tried Michele Herbert and got her machine. I left a message that I was sorry to have missed her call. I dressed and ordered a croque monsieur sandwich and a salad. The melted ham and cheese on a fresh baguette was fantastic, and I was thinking I should order another when something dawned on me, and I picked up my phone again.

“You awake?” I asked Louis Langlois.

“I never went to sleep,” he said.

“Are you some kind of freak of nature?”

“You hadn’t noticed before?” Louis laughed.

“Can you come get me?”

“Of course,” he said. “Where are we going?”

“To search for the best hot chocolate in Paris.”

“A much debated subject, Jack,” he grunted. “Liable to start a fight. Or a squabble, anyway.”

Chapter 52

ACCORDING TO LOUIS, every Parisian has his or her own idea of where the best foods can be found in the city, from croissants and baguettes to cassoulet and goat cheese.

“But with hot chocolate, the argument verges on impossible,” Louis said as we stood outside the Plaza waiting for an Uber car.

“C’mon,” I said.

He shrugged and walked over to several other patrons of the hotel who were waiting for cars or taxis.

“Mon ami,” Louis said loudly to the doorman. “Where is the best hot chocolate in Paris served?”