Set in midcentury Paris and starring Julia Child’s fictional best friend, this magnifique reimagining of the iconic chef’s years at Le Cordon Bleu blends a delicious murder mystery with a unique culinary twist.
“It’s Child’s ebullient personality that is the heart of the book. Part historical fiction, part mystery, Mastering the Art of French Murder is totally delectable entertainment for fans of lighthearted detective fiction.” – The Washington Post
From fine Bordeaux and freshly baked baguettes to the friendly chatter of the green market, postwar Paris is indulging its appetite for food, and life, once more, as Tabitha Knight, a young American woman, makes friends with chef-in-training Julia Child—and finds herself immersed in a murder most unsavory . . .
As Paris rediscovers its joie de vivre, Tabitha Knight, recently arrived from Detroit for an extended stay with her French grandfather, is on her own journey of discovery. Paris isn't just the City of Light; it's the city of history, romance, stunning architecture . . . and food. Thanks to her neighbor and friend Julia Child, another expat who's fallen head over heels for Paris, Tabitha is learning how to cook for her Grandpère and her Oncle Rafe.
Between tutoring Americans in French, and sampling the results of Julia's studies at Le Cordon Bleu cooking school, Tabitha's sojourn is thoroughly delightful. That is, until the cold December day they return to Julia's building and learn that a body has been found in the cellar. Tabitha recognizes the victim from a party given by Julia's sister, Dort, the night before. The murder weapon is recognizable too—a knife from Julia's kitchen.
Tabitha is eager to help the investigation, but is shocked when Inspector Merveille reveals that a note, in Tabitha's handwriting, was found in the dead woman's pocket. Now, from the shadows of the Tour Eiffel, to the Childs' tiny kitchen, to the grungy streets of Montmartre, Tabitha navigates the city, hoping to find the real killer before she or one of her friends ends up in prison . . . or worse.
