The eleventh Aimée Leduc investigation set in Paris Business is booming for Parisian private investigator Aimée Leduc. But she finds time to do a favor for her godfather, Commissaire Morbier, who asks her to drop by the gorgeous Passy home of his girlfriend, Xavierre d’Eslay, a haut bourgeois matron of Basque origin. Xavierre has been so busy with her daughter’s upcoming wedding that she has stopped taking Morbier’s calls, and he’s worried something serious is going on. When Aimée crashes the rehearsal dinner, Xavierre is discovered strangled in her own yard, and circumstantial evidence makes Morbier the prime suspect. To vindicate her godfather, Aimée must find the real killer. Her investigation leads her to police corruption, radical Basque terrorists, and a kidnapped Spanish princess. Praise for Murder in Passy “Addictive . . . Leduc is always a reliable and charming guide to the city's lesser-known corners.” — The Seattle Times “A staccato tour de force, it’s as action and intrigue packed as others in the series . . . Also typically, while chasing the bad guys Aimée not only pounds the Parisian pavement, but also boldly scales rooftops and climbs in sewers. All this, while wearing heals and vintage clothing; Aimée is as bold and classy as ever.” — Sacramento News and Review “The ideal mix of the personal, the political, the puzzling and the Parisian make Aimée’s latest a perfect pleasure.” — Kirkus Reviews , Starred Review “Cara Black of San Francisco is one of our favorite mystery authors.” — Sacramento Bee “Black knows how to build up real suspense . . . Go to Paris. Follow Aimée. Bon soir. ” — Lincoln Journal Star “The rest of us will follow Aimee anywhere, the blinder the alley the better, thrilled to hitch a ride on the back of her scooter.” — Booklist “Full of French political intrigue . . . Atmospheric.” — Publishers Weekly “Aimée is a fantastic guide as she invites the reader along on an excursion of Paris on the back of her scooter, which most tourists traveling to the City of Light never see. Back streets and alleys, smoky bistros and Paris mansions set the backdrop for this mystery.” — New York Journal of Books Praise for the  New York Times  bestselling Aimée Leduc series   “No contemporary writer of noir mysteries evokes the spirit of Paris more than Cara Black in her atmospheric series starring P.I. Aimée Leduc . . . Fearless, risk-taking Aimée is constantly running, hiding, fighting and risking her life—all while dressed in vintage Chanel and Dior and Louboutin heels.” — USA Today                             “If you’ve never been to Paris, or you’d like to go back soon, let Cara Black transport you there.” — Linda Fairstein   “Charming . . . Aimée is one of those blithe spirits who can walk you through the city’s historical streets and byways with their eyes closed.” — The New York Times Book Review   “Leduc has such a thorough grasp of the practicalities of investigation, plus a penchant for undercover work that will have readers on pins and needles.” — San Francisco Chronicle “Black does for Paris what Dashiell Hammett did for San Francisco. She makes the city shimmer.” — Plain Dealer (Cleveland) Cara Black is the author of sixteen books in the  New York Times  bestselling Aimée Leduc series. She lives in San Francisco with her husband and visits Paris frequently. Monday Early Evening The doorbells tinkled as Aimée Leduc stepped inside the cheese shop from the cold and inhaled the warm, pungent odors. A radio blared the evening news: “. . . evading seven roadblocks erected after the shootout in the Imprimerie Nationale documents heist. In other breaking news, a radical faction. . . .” She shivered, nodding to pink-faced, rotund Victor, standing in his white apron behind the counter. Bombings, shoot-outs, she hated to think what else—and to make it worse, just before the holidays. “World’s gone crazy.” Victor shook his head. “The usual?” He gestured to a runny rind on grape leaves standing on the marbletopped counter: “Or this?” Aimée tasted the Brie dripping on the white waxed paper. “C’est parfait.” She emerged from the shop into the evening mist and rounded the corner toward her office on rue du Louvre. The reflections of the furred yellow orbs of streetlights glowed on the wet pavement. “About time, Leduc.” Morbier, her godfather and a police commissaire, his black wool coat beaded with moisture, paced before her building door. An unmarked Peugeot with a driver, engine thrumming, waited at the curb. “More like five minutes early, Morbier.” The chill autumn wind cut a swathe through the street of nineteenth-century buildings. Passersby hurried along, bundled in overcoats. A look she couldn’t read crossed his face. “We’ve got a situation in Lyon. I’m late. You’ve got the file, Leduc?” Forget the apéritif she’d expected in the corner café! She brushed away her disappointment. So they would do the exchange in the cold, wet street. She h