The Complete H-Series of The Eulalie Park Mysteries

by Fiona Snyckers

  The cheating spouses had got to her in the end. Constant exposure to the deceptive side of human nature had burnt her out, and she had let her clients know that she was no longer available for matrimonial disputes.

  Eulalie raised the binoculars and used them to peer into the café. The light had shifted, and she now had a clear view of the reception desk and the top of the clerk’s head. He was talking on his cellphone. She wondered if he was warning Odysseus Pryor off.

  She shifted the angle of her binoculars when she saw a man coming out of the café. He was young and on his own, and his T-shirt advertised the game Call of Duty.

  Eulalie put down her binoculars and popped a caffeine pill. The fatigue of the day was starting to hit. All the adrenaline dumped into her system by the knife attack was draining away, leaving her feeling depleted.

  She popped a mint into her mouth and the fumes jolted her brain into alertness.

  Watchful waiting was a skill she had practiced since early childhood. Growing up in the forest, she had been taught to hunt and stalk like all the other children. Those who showed an aptitude and enjoyment for it would grow up to become hunters by profession.

  Eulalie remembered many hours spent in a hide near the river waiting for deer to come and drink. Her weapons had been a bow and arrow and a short stabbing spear because a quick and painless kill was the mark of a good hunter. Her main competition had been the fresh-water crocodiles that were the top of the food chain on Prince William Island. They too lay in wait for unsuspecting animals coming to slake their thirst.

  Eulalie had been a first-class hunter, like her father before her. It was unusual, but not unheard of, for a girl to grow up to be a hunter. She remembered the triumph of slinging a deer over her shoulder and carrying it to the village to receive the congratulations of her peers. Every part of the animal was used – the flesh for meat, the hide for clothes and shoes, and the bones and hooves for fashioning tools and musical instruments.

  Her intentions were less murderous today, but she found herself slipping back into that same watchful mode. Her breathing and heartrate slowed. Her movements were minimal. Only her eyes remained active, darting from the café to the street and to the rooftops around her. A good hunter never allowed herself to become the prey. She remained aware of her surroundings at all times.

  As the hours passed, the shadows lengthened. Sunset was always sudden on Prince William Island. The west side of the island was all cliffs and mountains, which cast long shadows over the eastern side. There were no lingering twilights. When the sun sank below the western horizon, night arrived like a blanket dropped over a bird cage.

  Eulalie fitted a night scope over her binoculars. The illumination it provided was faint, but enough for her to be able to recognize faces at street level. There had been little movement in and out of the café. It was mostly solitary young men coming and going.

  At about nine, a car with tinted windows drew up outside the entrance to the café.

  Instinct had Eulalie packing up her possessions and slinging her messenger bag across her body while the car was still moving down the street. She began her descent from the rooftop before it had begun to slow down. There was no time to reach the drainpipe, but the corner of the building was decorated with moldings that provided her with hand and footholds all the way down.

  As her feet hit the sidewalk, she saw the car door open and two men get out. One of them was clearly Odysseus Pryor. The ponytailed clerk at the café stepped forward to intercept them. He shook his head and gesticulated. He was warning them off.

  Eulalie took off at a run across the road. The men were already climbing back into their car. The driver gunned the engine. Eulalie reached the car just in time to slap a hand on the trunk before it laid rubber and pulled away with a screech. She saw that the license plates were heavily caked with mud and illegible.

  “You warned him off!” She turned to the ponytail guy.

  He shrugged. “He’s an old client. You’re not.” Then he went back into the café.

  Eulalie watched him go in frustration. She had to resist the urge to barge into the café and wring his scrawny neck.

  All those hours of surveillance wasted. She still didn’t know who Odysseus Pryor’s client was.

  Still, at least she knew he was still on the island. She had got a good look at him as he turned to get back into the car. It was definitely him. That would have to be enough for now.

  Eulalie wasn’t used to failure. As she collected her Vespa and made her way back to her apartment, she couldn’t help second-guessing herself. She should have got to the ground faster. She should have known that the clerk would be just waiting to warn Pryor.

  She got home to a rapturous welcome from the cat.

  “Don’t try to con me that you haven’t had dinner,” she said. “I know very well that Mrs. B fed you. I’m the one who has good reason to be hungry.”

  She fixed herself a tuna sandwich and ate it on the couch with a glass of wine, watching an old episode of Spartacus on her iPad. The cat sat heavily on her lap the whole time. She had to balance her plate on his back. It was a warm night, but she didn’t have the heart to push him off. He was a solid and comforting presence.

  By ten-thirty, she was in bed, worn out by the day.

  The morning brought a renewed determination to crack both her cases. This was the day she would get things done.

  Odysseus Pryor knew she was on his tail. He’d had a taste of how fast she could move. There had been a second the night before when he had looked up and seen her jumping the last ten feet down to the sidewalk and sprinting across the road towards him. Their eyes had met, and she had seen real alarm on his face.

  He would be panicky now. He would be feeling the hot breath of pursuit on the back of his neck and be more likely to make bad choices.

  Besides, she reminded herself, catching up to him personally was not her only option in finding out who he was working for. There might be something in his cyber trail that could give her that information.

  Eulalie wondered whether Roland Chirac was still alive. She rolled out of bed and grabbed her phone to send a message.

  Eulalie: Is Chirac still breathing?

  The reply came back fast.

  Chief Macgregor: He made it through the night. His condition has been downgraded from critical to stable. He is still in ICU because there’s some concern about post-operative infection.

  Eulalie: Has he regained consciousness at all?

  Chief Macgregor: Once, briefly, last night.

  Eulalie: Were you there? Did anyone speak to him?

  Chief Macgregor: I was at the station. Detective Wright was there. He tried to speak to him, but he was out of his mind on pain meds. Nothing coherent. They’re withdrawing sedation this morning at about ten.

  Eulalie: Can you arrange for me to be there and for Detective Wright to be somewhere else?

  This time the reply took a little longer.

  Chief Macgregor: If Detective Wright asks me directly, I won’t lie to him, but I won’t go out of my way to tell him either. My condition is that you tell us everything Chirac says.

  Eulalie: Deal.

  Feeling energized at the prospect of being able to speak to Roland, Eulalie showered, dressed, and hit the kitchen for some breakfast. The Monster Marshmallow Puffs were finished – a box of cereal never lasted long under her roof – but she had something called Frosted Strawberry Flakes to try instead. They were most satisfactory, offering just the right combination of tartness and sweetness that she expected from anything with the word ‘strawberry’ on the box.

  Over coffee, Eulalie consulted the notes she had made the day before and realized she would have to bother Chief Macgregor again.

  Eulalie: Did Detective Wright ever find out where in the UK Rochelle’s mother and sister were staying? I want to set up a telephone or Skype interview.

  Chief Macgregor: No need. They flew into Queen’s Town last night. They’re staying at the Hitch-a
-Ride lodge on Beach Road.

  Eulalie knew it well. It was a popular youth hostel for spring-breakers and other students. The fact that Genevieve and Michelle Chirac were staying there told Eulalie that saving money was a priority for them.

  She decided to pay them an early visit. They’d be disoriented and jet-lagged, and perhaps more likely to talk to her. Hitch-a-Ride served breakfast between seven-thirty and nine. If she got there at eight, she would stand a good chance of catching them at the breakfast table.

  It was a beautiful morning and she had plenty of time, so she decided to walk. Leaving the cat washing himself on the rug, she set off towards Beach Road.

  Prince William Island was beautiful in the morning. The sun rose out of the sea in a ball of pink fire. There was a slight coolness in the air as the sun had yet to gain its full strength. An on-shore breeze carried a salty tang from the night-cooled sea.

  The aromas of baking and fresh coffee emanated from every café. It was still a little early for the tourists. This was the one time of day that the islanders had the town almost to themselves.

  Eulalie turned into Beach Road, enjoying the long fingers of sunlight sparkling on the sea. It was much quieter than Lafayette Drive. The nightclubs were closed and there were only a few surfers in the water that early. Eulalie stopped outside Hitch-a-Ride and looked up at it, remembering the last time she had been there. The owner had hired her to investigate the disappearance of an American college student who had been staying at the lodge.

  Eulalie walked up the stairs and into the lobby where she found her erstwhile client sitting behind a desk and staring at a computer screen.

  “Hey, Eulalie,” said Nancy Shrike, looking up from the screen. “What brings you here this morning?”

  “I believe you have the Chiracs staying here – Genevieve and Michelle. Mother and daughter.”

  “That’s right. They flew in from London last night. Apparently, they’re related to that poor guy who got stabbed yesterday morning.”

  “That’s right. Do you know if they’re up and about yet?”

  “Let me see.” Nancy called up the breakfast register on her computer. “You’re in luck. They went into breakfast ten minutes ago. It’s nothing fancy. Just a cold continental buffet. But it’s included in the room rate, so people appreciate it.”

  “Are they sitting out on the deck? Can you point them out to me?”

  “No need. You’ll spot them immediately. They’re English tourists.”

  “Thanks, Nancy. The funny thing is, they were born right here on the island. But they’ve lived in England for the past twelve years.”

  Eulalie went onto the deck and saw immediately what Nancy meant. Among the hungover students and drifters were two women with cheesecake-yellow hair and painfully pale skin overlaid with patches of orange self-tan. They were unmistakably tourists.

  Eulalie got her police ID card ready and walked up to their table.

  “Sorry to bother you over breakfast, but are you Genevieve and Michelle Chirac?”

  “We are, love,” said the older woman. “Are you from the hospital?”

  “No, I’m working with the police in investigating your ex-husband’s stabbing. Do you mind if I sit down and speak to you?”

  “Please yourself, love. Free country, innit?”

  Eulalie sat.

  “This must be a difficult time for both of you.”

  “Don’t you worry about that. Tough as old boots we are. Isn’t that right, Mishy?”

  “Absolutely right, Mum. We had to be tough, didn’t we?”

  Genevieve nodded solemnly. “That we did, my love.”

  The women spoke with an English accent, but underneath it Eulalie could hear the familiar lilt of the island.

  “I’m sure you’ll be wanting to get to the hospital as soon as possible. But I must…” Eulalie broke off at the sight of their faces. “What’s wrong?”

  “Why would we want to go to the hospital?” Genevieve seemed genuinely puzzled.

  “Well… I just assumed… your daughter would want to see her father.”

  “But he’s a vegetable, isn’t he?” said Michele. “I don’t see the point in going to see somebody who’s going to be dead in a few hours.”

  Eulalie wondered if she had missed an update on Roland’s condition. She glanced at her phone, but there were no new messages from Chief Macgregor.

  “Your father survived the night, Michelle. His condition has been downgraded from critical to stable. There’s every reason to be optimistic. It all depends on the next few weeks, but he might very well make a full recovery.”

  She smiled, pleased to be delivering good news.

  “You what?” said Genevieve.

  “Mum, what is she talking about?”

  “Who told you this?” Genevieve demanded.

  “The Chief of Police. He told me this morning that Mr. Chirac was stable.”

  “Mum, what is she talking about? It’s not true, is it?”

  “We’ll go to the hospital and see for ourselves, Mishy. This can’t be right. We were told he’d probably be dead before we landed last night and that he definitely wouldn’t survive the night.”

  “What was your source of information?” asked Eulalie.

  “Girl who was at school with me who works at the hospital now. She said the paramedics couldn’t believe he even made it to the hospital alive. She said the knife messed him up really badly inside. He was bleeding out. And now you tell me he’s going to be okay?”

  “I’m just saying his condition looks hopeful. But why did you come to Prince William Island if not to see him?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? Mish here is his only living relative. She’s his heir, isn’t she? There’s money owing to us and we’re here to collect it.”

  Chapter 20

  Eulalie was beginning to understand.

  “Roland has made a lot of money over the last few years, hasn’t he?” she said.

  Genevieve put her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Has he ever! I never thought he had it in him. Back in the day, I thought that solar panels were the daftest thing I’d ever heard of. But I was the daft one. I’m not laughing now, I can tell you. Last night we did a Google Street View search of his house. It looks like something out of Hello! magazine. Mishy and I were thinking we might even want to move in there and live in it. ‘Imagine us, Mish,’ I said to her. ‘Living the high life with a view of the sea in all that concrete and glass.’ Michelle is entitled. She’s his daughter, after all.”

  “And you’re his ex-wife,” said Eulalie. “Was he paying you alimony?”

  Genevieve shifted in her seat. “He used to. Thing is, see, I kind of left without telling him while Mishy here was still a minor. I reckon he knew we was in the UK, but I never sent him an address. The alimony was chicken feed anyway. It was worth it to me to be off this stupid island and living me own life.”

  “Then he only went and got rich, didn’t he, Mum?” said Michelle. “We didn’t see that one coming.”

  “You had another daughter as well, didn’t you, Mrs. Chirac?” said Eulalie. “Her name was Rochelle. Can you tell me about her?”

  Genevieve pulled a face. “Her! I’m not even sure she was my daughter. I reckon there was a mix-up in the nursing home and they gave me the wrong kid.”

  “She looked like Michelle here though, didn’t she?”

  It was true. If you took away Rochelle’s dyed black hair and piercings, and looked past Michelle’s fluorescent yellow hair, the two girls were clearly sisters. Their faces were very similar.

  “Yes, well, whatever,” said Genevieve. “The point is, she chose her father over me. We never had much to do with each other. She had no time for Mish here neither. Run off when she was eighteen, she did.”

  “Did you hear about the time capsules that were dug up at the school, and the note that was found inside one of them?” asked Eulalie.

  “Sure, I heard about that. Some copper… what was his name, Mish?
”

  “Detective Wright.”

  “That’s it. Some copper called Detective Wright phoned and told me. Like he expected me to care or something.”

  “How did you feel when Rochelle disappeared?”

  “I wasn’t that bothered, to be honest. She had threatened to run away half a dozen times. She was nearly eighteen anyway, and not much of a student. It was right that she should go off and find a job somewhere.”

  “How did your ex-husband react when Rochelle went missing?”

  Genevieve laughed. “Total drama queen! He was convinced she’d been murdered. Couldn’t face up to the fact that she was as sick of him as the rest of us. His only reason for not believing that she had run off of her own accord was that she would never leave him. How’s that for the male ego in action?”

  She laughed again, and Michelle joined in. Eulalie turned towards the younger woman.

  “What about you, Michelle? You were her sister. Did she ever say anything to you about running away?”

  “All the time. She was like a stuck record, wasn’t she? Kept going on and on about this great life she was going to have. She and her mates were going to form a girl band or some such nonsense. I didn’t listen that hard, to be honest. She was just trying to rub it in my face that I would be left behind here with…” She glanced at her mother and caught herself. “With nothing to do,” she finished.

  “Did she ever talk about any friends or boyfriends she was fighting with? Any teachers who were bugging her?”

  “I told you I wasn’t paying attention.” Michelle’s forehead creased into a frown. “She was always moaning about something, Rochelle. She was always fighting with this one or that one. Sheena, Rosie, Mikayla – they all did something to make her mad. She hopped from one boy to another. If she ever got attached to one of them, it’s more than I ever heard.”