The Complete H-Series of The Eulalie Park Mysteries

by Fiona Snyckers

  “You think he was drugged? Has the tox screen come back yet?”

  “A full toxicology screen was done of Mr. Faberge’s blood and tissue. Dr. Autry has given me only preliminary results so far. He didn’t have any major illegal opiates in his system. No heroin, no cocaine, no morphine-based derivatives. We’ll know more in a few days.”

  “Okay. Well, thanks for sharing your progress with me.”

  As Eulalie finished her salad, they slipped into a companionable silence. Chief Macgregor almost seemed to forget she was there. He picked up his cellphone and started scrolling through international weather apps. As he flicked from country to country, Eulalie could see him relaxing. His breathing slowed, and some of the tension went out of his face. So, this was how he soothed himself.

  “What’s the dewpoint in Phnom Penh tonight?” she asked.

  “27 degrees Celsius,” he answered automatically. Then he looked up. “Sorry, most people don’t like it when I do that.”

  “I’m not most people. I’m fine with a bit of silence. And I have my own ways to self-soothe that others might find a little odd. You can be yourself around me, Chief. I might tease you from time to time, but I don’t believe in trying to change people.”

  “I’ve had to change myself to learn to be with others. And I’ll have to change myself more if I want to have a family, which I do.”

  “You’ve thought about that? About having a wife and kids some day?”

  “Yes, of course. Haven’t you? Lately I’ve been thinking that you might be the wife for me.”

  Eulalie spilled her water.

  “The wife for you?” It came out as a squeak. “Me? You really have no filter between your mind and your mouth, do you?”

  “No,” he agreed. “I don’t.”

  Eulalie signaled to the stringy woman to bring their bill. “This is definitely a conversation for another day. Or possibly never.”

  “Let me get this,” he said when she rummaged in her messenger bag. “You bought dinner last time. It’s the least I can do for my future wife.”

  Eulalie jumped to her feet and nearly ran for the door. Then she looked at his face.

  “You’re joking.”

  He inclined his head. “Just about that last part.”

  “Ha,” she said hollowly. Then she got out of there before he could say anything else.

  Eulalie: Hey. Want to come to a sex club with me tonight?

  Fleur: But of course. What’s the occasion?

  Eulalie: Marcel Faberge was a regular at this club. I want to find out more about that side of his life. I already talked to some of the women there, but now I’ve got more questions. I feel like I might make better progress if I have my wing-woman with me.

  Fleur: Dress code?

  Eulalie: I’ll leave that to your discretion. Thanks, Fleur. I owe you one.

  Fleur: Since you’re doing this whole thing to help me, the pleasure is all mine. What are you doing this afternoon?

  Eulalie: Having tea with a botanist.

  Fleur: That sounds like a euphemism. If you score any strong weed, bring some back for me.

  Eulalie smiled and shook her head as she slipped her phone back into her pocket. Dr. Alexandre Dupont was not the kind of person you asked to hook you up with strong weed. He was a world authority on tropical and sub-tropical plants, particularly those that grew in isolated biomes like Madagascar, Mauritius, and Prince William Island. A tenured professor at the University of Queen’s Town, he spent much of the year out in the field on one or other of those three islands.

  Eulalie had guided him on an expedition into the deep forest several years earlier. It had been back when she was just starting out and needed money badly enough to take on a one-off guiding job.

  Guiding Professor Dupont had been surprisingly pleasant. He had asked no intrusive questions and never complained about sore feet, mosquito bites or the heat. In his own quiet way, he had taught Eulalie a lot about plants. She knew her eukaryotes from her prokaryotes, and her mutualism from her parasitism thanks to Professor Dupont. She was relying on him now to tell her all about the youth lily.

  She opted to walk to the campus of the University of Queen’s Town, partly to burn off lunch, and partly to burn off the uncomfortable, panicky emotions Chief Macgregor’s words had woken in her. Eulalie’s feelings about domestic bliss were complicated, to say the least. Her father had left the island before she was even born. Her mother had waited until a few weeks after her birth, and then she had left too. Concepts like marriage and commitment had the power to make Eulalie break out in a cold sweat.

  Angel was the only permanence she had ever known. Her grandmother was the only absolutely unchanging, dependable thing in her life. Everything else was temporary. To think otherwise was to open yourself up to being hurt. Eulalie had experienced enough rejection in her life, and had no desire to add more.

  When she got to the campus, she looked around at its pretty, tree-lined avenues, gracious ivy-covered buildings, and attractive cobbled squares, and wondered why she had been so adamant about not spending her own college years here. At the time, it had seemed important to leave Prince William Island, to try out her wings somewhere else. She didn’t regret the years she had spent in Cape Town. If nothing else, they had taught her that there was nowhere she wanted to live except Prince William Island.

  The University of Queen’s Town was small, but some of its departments were leaders in their fields. The Department of Botanical Sciences under Professor Alexandre Dupont was one of these.

  If anyone could tell her the secret of the youth lily, it was him.

  Chapter 16

  “Mademoiselle Park.” Professor Dupont greeted her in French. “Welcome! Come in, come in. Please sit down.”

  Eulalie looked around his office.

  “Where?”

  It was a good question. Every surface was covered in paper, files, things growing in pots, dried leaves and herbs, and microscope slides. There was barely room for the professor to sit down, never mind a guest.

  “Right. Yes, I see what you mean. Let me just …” He swept a pile of papers onto the floor and moved some pots to a windowsill. Then he dusted of the chair he had unearthed until clouds rose into the air.

  “There you go, my dear Mademoiselle Park.” He gestured grandly to the chair.

  “Thank you.” Eulalie made a mental note to clean the seat of her pants when she stood up again.

  “Now tell me, how is everyone at the village? I have such fond memories of our time with them. I will never forget their kind hospitality to me when I was seeking the Floribundus Williamus.”

  “If by hospitality you mean that they wouldn’t let you into the village, so we had to sleep a mile away, then yes, I guess they were great.”

  Professor Dupont lowered his head and closed his eyes. “I respect their desire for separateness, and their determination to remain uncontaminated by urban life.”

  Eulalie smiled. “You’re a sweetie, Professor Dupont. And they actually do remember you. My uncle asked me just the other day how you were, and whether you would be coming back into the forest to chase after plants that were not running away from you.”

  “I’m planning a long expedition to Madagascar in the next few months, but after that, I might return to the deep forest. I suppose you are too busy to guide me these days?”

  “I’m afraid so. I’m already thinking of hiring a secretary because I’m out in the field so much.”

  “Do you know of anyone who would guide me into the forest?”

  Eulalie shook her head. “I often get asked that. I know there was a trained guide from Kenya who came out here last year and tried to set up walking safaris into the forest. He ended up having to be rescued. The poor man completely lost his bearings. You know how the canopy of trees closes over your head and shuts out the light?”

  Professor Dupont gave a heartfelt nod. “I do indeed. There is nothing quite like it.”

  “Well, it disoriente
d him, and he lost his way.”

  “I’m sure the Council of Elders were pleased that the walking safaris were cancelled. It’s an ill wind, as they say. But let me make you some tea, my dear. Then you can tell me why you have come to see me today.”

  He didn’t ask Eulalie what kind of tea she preferred, and she didn’t expect him to. With Professor Dupont, you got whatever he happened to be experimenting with at that moment.

  He picked up a plastic bag full of dried and crushed pink and yellow petals. Using a spoon, he scooped the dried petals into a tea infuser and set his kettle on to boil. Then he took out another bag of aromatic herbs and added those to a second infuser. When the kettle had boiled, he put both infusers into a teapot and poured boiling water onto them. He set a timer for three minutes, and poured out the tea.

  “What are we drinking?” Eulalie gave her teacup a suspicious look.

  “It’s the blossom of the wild elderberry tree with a tincture of forced tarragon. The two flavors blend surprisingly well together.”

  Eulalie took a cautious sip. It tasted like something she might put in her bath to scent it, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

  “Tell me about the youth lily, Professor. Is it worth dying for?”

  He nearly choked on his tea. “Worth dying for? The youth lily? I should say not. Who on earth suggested otherwise?

  “Well, a man is dead. You probably saw it on the news. Marcel Faberge, the CEO of Faberge Industries. One of the things he was involved in before his death was cultivating the youth lily to create a line of organic anti-ageing products from it.”

  “I wonder how he was planning to cultivate it.” Professor Dupont sniffed his tea appreciatively. “It is notoriously difficult to domesticate. I haven’t heard of anyone cultivating it successfully.”

  “He strikes me as a man who mowed problems down as he went along, rather than planning ahead how to deal with them.”

  “I’m also wondering where he was going to get it. Especially at this time of year.”

  “I thought it grew all over the island,” said Eulalie. “I remember it being a very common plant when I was growing up.”

  “Ah, but when last did you see one growing in the wild? Climate change has caused a massive die-back of the youth lily, as well as other lily species on the island. I believe they still flourish in the deep forest because the trees protect them from the fierceness of the sun, but elsewhere they’ve become quite rare.”

  “And what about this idea of his for turning them into anti-ageing products? Is there anything to it?”

  Professor Dupont laughed. “I assumed he was merely capitalizing on the name. A marketing strategy, if you will. The plants have no special properties - none whatsoever. All I can say with confidence is that, unlike several other species of lily, the youth lily isn’t actively poisonous to humans and animals. But it’s certainly not going to turn back the clock.”

  “Yes, that’s what I’ve heard, but it still doesn’t make sense. Why would a man like Marcel Faberge be so dead set on getting hold of this one particular plant when there’s nothing special about it except the name? He could take any old weed and call it the fountain of youth, and build a line of vitamin pills and face creams around it.”

  “Unless he was genuinely taken in by the name – youth lily. Or hoped that others would be.”

  “It’s a mistranslation of août, isn’t it?”

  Professor Dupont put his teacup down. “There’s some disagreement about that. Some people say it’s a corruption of août, while others say it’s a mistranslation of an ancient Swahili word that means white or pale.”

  “Which would make sense seeing as the flower of the youth lily is white.”

  They sat in silence as Eulalie grappled with the fact that yet another of her leads was evaporating. She had convinced herself that Faberge’s death was connected with his venture into the world of organic products. It was something he had taken very seriously. The fact that he had gone to so much trouble to spy on Fleur proved that. You didn’t hack someone’s computer system and bug their offices just to keep a casual eye on the competition.

  You also didn’t keep your new venture a secret from your deputy CEO unless it was not completely above board.

  Even Faberge’s association with Jimmy the Knife was an indication that he was using unorthodox methods to launch something that was important to him.

  But perhaps it was a mistake to judge Marcel Faberge by so-called ‘typical’ behavior. If this investigation had showed Eulalie one thing, it was that he was anything but typical. Perhaps her assumptions about his motivations were wrong. Perhaps her whole estimate of his character was wrong.

  “I think I need to go back to someone who knew this guy well and try to get a better handle on who he was.” Eulalie put her empty teacup down. “Faberge’s wife might not have shared every aspect of his life, but she probably knew him better than most.”

  “Wives usually do.”

  Eulalie and Fleur bought grilled fish with fries from a street cart and took them down to the beach for dinner.

  There were several public benches facing the sea, but they gave way to temptation and sank down onto the soft sand instead. Something about the conditions in this corner of the Indian Ocean had pounded the sand so finely that it looked and felt like powdered sugar. It was wonderful to dig your toes into it and to let it run through your fingers.

  Eulalie remembered how fascinated she had been by the sea when she had first come to Queen’s Town at the age of twelve. All her life she had lived within miles of the ocean, and she’d had no idea. Angel had told her about the sea, but she hadn’t been able to imagine it. She certainly hadn’t guessed how big it was.

  A yellow blade of light sliced back and forth across the sea. The Prince William Island lighthouse had saved many a ship from foundering on the coral reef. Even today with shipping maps being as precise as they were, no one would try to sail around the island in the dark without guidance from the lighthouse.

  A couple of faint lights out to sea told them that there were ships rounding the peninsula and heading for Madagascar. The sight of a ship at sea never failed to give Eulalie a thrill. There was something romantic about a tiny vessel pitting its strength against the vast ocean.

  “Here, wipe your hands on this.” Fleur handed Eulalie a napkin. “You’re going to get sand all over your fries.”

  “I can’t help it. It’s so lovely and powdery.”

  They could hear the pounding of the ocean on the other side of the coral reef. However violent the waves got, the water in the lagoon remained as mild as a puddle in the springtime. The water of the lagoon lapped at the sand, inviting anyone with a soul to come in for a swim.

  “No, we are not going skinny dipping.” Fleur gave Eulalie a stern look.

  “I wasn’t thinking about …”

  “Yes, you were. You were getting that yearning look. All I’m saying is, I’m not going to a sex club with sand in my hair.”

  “There would be time to change.”

  “We’re going to have to change anyway. What do you wear to a sex club? I don’t want to get it wrong and have the other girls look down on me.”

  “They’re going to love you. With your red hair and milky skin, you’ll be a sensation. This is why I need you as my wing-woman.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask, what have you heard about the Hugo father-and-son team and their breaking and entering at your office?”

  Fleur sighed. “Not much, to be honest. I know they’re both out of prison by now. They had no previous convictions, so the judge didn’t hesitate to grant them bail. And they’re sticking to their story.”

  “You mean about why they wanted to remove the bugs from your office?”

  “Yes. The older one, Jean-Luc, says he became aware of the surveillance of my office only after Marcel Faberge was killed. He knew it was illegal. He says he didn’t want Faberge Industries to take the fall for something
its late CEO had done. I don’t know if that’s true. It doesn’t seem like enough motivation to send your son out at night to do your dirty work. But if that wasn’t his real reason, I can’t imagine what was.”

  Eulalie couldn’t either, and that was the problem. Every time she seemed to have come across a strong motivation in this case – strong enough for murder – it faded away to nothing. She needed to speak to Stella Faberge. After three days of dedicated investigation, she felt as though she still didn’t have a real understanding of who Marcel Faberge was.

  Eulalie and Fleur got coffee from a nearby espresso bar, and then went home to change. Back in her apartment, Eulalie reached into her closet for a pair of fishnet stockings. Then she paused. Why did she need to dress up at all? It wasn’t as if she were going under cover. After her last visit, the regulars at Trixie’s Bar knew who she was. What was the point in trying to fit in? They would just have to accept her as she was.

  Eulalie sent Fleur a quick text letting her know there was no need to dress up if she didn’t feel like it.

  Then she put on black jeans, black boots, and a jacket. She fastened a hip holster around her waist and slipped her 9mm semi-automatic into it. She was licensed to carry it openly on her person, and decided it made her look as much of a bad-ass as fishnets and stilettos would have done.

  She walked the few blocks up to Fleur’s apartment and sent her a message to let her know she was waiting downstairs.

  When Fleur finally arrived, Eulalie tried and failed to keep a straight face.

  “I knew it!” said Fleur. “You’re laughing at me. I look ridiculous. I knew this was going to happen.”

  Eulalie wiped the smile off her face with an effort. “No, no. You look great, actually. You really do. I’m just not used to seeing you like this.”