The Complete H-Series of The Eulalie Park Mysteries

by Fiona Snyckers

  “The school was always trying to interfere in our lives,” said Genevieve. “Do you remember that, Mish? That teacher came around once to tell me how Rochelle was feeling ‘alienated’ by the divorce and we should present a ‘united front’ for her sake. I sent him off with a flea in his ear, I can promise you.”

  “Can you remember his name?” asked Eulalie.

  “It was Mr. Richmond,” said Michelle. “He thought the sun shone out of Rochelle. Them teachers always had their favorites.”

  “Your ex-husband says that he had invited Rochelle to come and live with him just before she disappeared. He says she was very excited about it. Were you aware of that?”

  “He might have said it, but he didn’t mean it,” said Genevieve. “You didn’t know him in those days. He was the most selfish man alive. He liked to have Rochelle around to flatter him, but the moment he got tired of her he parked her back on my doorstep faster than you could say knife. He might have thought it would be nice to have Rochelle cooking and cleaning for him, but he didn’t know what it was like when she got into one of her moods. He wouldn’t have put up with that. She would have been knocking on my door within days wanting her old room back.”

  Eulalie couldn’t argue with this. She had come to the same conclusion after speaking to Roland. She turned to Rochelle’s sister.

  “Michelle, did you ever hear Rochelle talking about something called the club?”

  “I don’t think so. What club? Was it here on Beach Road? All the best ones are, except for the clubs on Logan Cay.”

  “It was a different kind of club. What about you, Genevieve?”

  “Never heard of it. What was that all about then?”

  “Some of Rochelle’s friends were getting prescription medication from doctors and then selling it to an outside dealer. About a month before Rochelle disappeared, they brought her in on it and she joined the club.”

  Michelle pouted. “Bitch didn’t tell me about it. I could have made a killing.”

  Genevieve frowned at her. “I knew nothing about it, but I’m not surprised. I remember her complaining about shoulder pain and not being able to sleep. I took her to the doctor and he gave her a prescription. Sneaky cow.”

  “Michelle, what do you think happened to your sister?”

  “She got herself killed, didn’t she? I reckon she slept with the wrong guy and then threatened to tell his wife or something. He probably killed her to keep her mouth shut. He would have been the first person on earth who succeeded in doing that.”

  “And you, Genevieve? What do you think happened to her?”

  “I reckon she went down to the docks and signed on as some kind of skivvy on one of the boats there. It was real easy in those days. I reckon she went to America to start a new life. Probably laughing up her sleeve at us all this time.”

  “What about the time capsule?” asked Eulalie. “Someone wrote a note fifteen years ago confessing to her murder.”

  Genevieve’s laugh sounded scornful. “That note was a load of bollocks. No murderer never left that note. That was some kid playing the fool.”

  Eulalie stood up. “Thanks for your time. I hope you enjoy your stay on the island.”

  “Yes, well, it looks like we wasted our time, doesn’t it? He’s not dying, after all.”

  Eulalie looked at her watch. “I’m going to the hospital now to see if I can talk to him. He might be able to identify his attacker. I’m sure he would like to see Michelle.”

  Mother and daughter pulled identical faces.

  “Ooh, I don’t know about that,” said Genevieve. “We was going to work on our tans this morning. If we had to come all this way for nothing, the least we can do is go back with a lovely bit of color.”

  The walk back to the office helped to clear Eulalie’s head. She felt much the same as she had after interviewing Roland for the first time – as though she needed to take a shower in some strong detergent. Whatever Rochelle had done, whoever she had hurt and betrayed, it was her family who had made her that way.

  Lafayette Boulevard was much busier than it had been before eight. The day was heating up fast. Eulalie picked up two go-cups of coffee from a sidewalk café before turning down Bonaparte Avenue.

  Mrs. Belfast was at her desk sorting through a pile of mail. She looked up when Eulalie put the coffee on her desk.

  “Morning, dear, and thank you. You’ve been out already?”

  “Rochelle’s mother and sister are in town. I went to speak to them.”

  Mrs. Belfast shook her head. “Poor souls. First Rochelle and now Mr. Chirac. They must be devastated. It’ll be a comfort for him to have them at his side.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But it turns out they only came here because they thought he was dying and they could collect on the inheritance. And as for poor old Rochelle, they didn’t seem to care at all what happened to her.”

  “You must be mistaken, dear. Nobody could be that unfeeling.”

  “You haven’t met these two ladies.”

  She sipped her coffee and held out her ankle boot for the cat to rub his head against.

  “I sent you a memorandum about my close encounter with your brother last night, Mrs. B.”

  “I haven’t checked my email yet, dear. Are you telling me he got away from you?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Your brother seems to inspire loyalty. The clerk at the internet café warned him about you.”

  “That is typical of Odysseus. He’s too charming for his own good.”

  “I realized I don’t need to speak to him face to face. I can find out who he’s working for by other means. Then I can draw up my final report for Queen’s Town Federal Life, and finally get this matter off my desk.”

  “Will you be in this morning?”

  “No, I’m going to the hospital as soon as I finish my coffee. Chief Macgregor let me know that the doctors are withdrawing Roland Chirac’s sedation today. He should be starting to wake up after ten. I’m hoping he remembers something about the person who attacked him.”

  Eulalie finished her coffee and took her Vespa to the private hospital. It was just after ten when she buzzed at the door to the ICU up on the second floor. A nurse came to the door, looking forbidding.

  “Visiting hours are from eleven until twelve only.”

  Eulalie held up her ID. “Chief Macgregor organized for me to come in and question Roland Chirac this morning.”

  The nurse checked Eulalie’s ID against his own paperwork. Apparently, it matched because he pressed a button to release the door and let her in.

  “The patient is still under guard. The guard stays in the room no matter what.”

  “That’s fine. I don’t care who else hears what he has to say.”

  “They started withdrawing sedation early this morning. He became restless at nine o’clock. He is showing signs of discomfort and distress.”

  “Can’t you give him more pain medication?” asked Eulalie.

  “Not if you want to get any sense out of him. He’s on morphine. When we give him the next dose, he’ll be high for a while.”

  He led her through the ICU with its glaringly bright lights, beeping machines, and very sick patients. He took her to a private room with an armed police officer stationed in the doorway. The man acknowledged her with a nod and stepped aside to let her through.

  Roland Chirac seemed much diminished in his post-operative state. His skin was gray and slack looking. He appeared visibly shrunken under the sheets. The room was dominated by machines that monitored his heart rate and respiration. A drip-stand next to his bed held a half empty bag that was slowly draining into his arm.

  Eulalie could see that his sleep was restless. He tossed his head from side to side and snored sporadically. The nurse pulled out a chair for her to sit, and then withdrew. The police officer remained in the room, straddling the doorway.

  His eyelids were fluttering, and he kept uttering little groans of discomfort.

&nbs
p; “Mr. Chirac!” said Eulalie. “Mr. Chirac, can you hear me?”

  His eyelids opened for a second, before crashing shut again.

  “Mr. Chirac. It’s Eulalie Park. You hired me to look into your daughter’s disappearance. I need to talk to you. Please wake up.”

  His lips moved, and he muttered something incomprehensible. Eulalie wanted to touch him to get his attention but was afraid of hurting him. She tapped his hand gingerly with an outstretched forefinger.

  “Mr. Chirac!”

  His eyes opened blearily. This time they stayed open and attempted to focus on her face. His mouth moved as he tried to form words, but his throat was too dry.

  Eulalie found a glass of water at his bedside. It had a straw sticking out of it. She held it for him, encouraging him to drink so he could moisten his mouth and throat.

  “Who… who are you?”

  “I’m Eulalie Park, Mr. Chirac. You hired me, remember? I’m looking into the disappearance of your daughter, Rochelle.”

  He stared at her for a long time as his eyes came into focus.

  “Oh, yes. The private detective. What happened to me? They told me I was stabbed.”

  This clearly wasn’t the first time he had woken up. The fact that he could remember what had been said to him before had to be a good sign.

  “That’s right. You’ve had surgery and now you’re stable. The doctor is pleased with your progress.”

  He sagged against the pillows. It seemed she had said the right thing.

  “What happened to me?”

  “Actually, Mr. Chirac, I was hoping you could tell me that. I’ll tell you what I know, and perhaps it will jog your memory. Yesterday morning you went out for your run as usual. Your cleaning service was coming so you left the dead bolt off the side door. Do you remember any of this?”

  “I… I think so. It’s what I do nearly every day. I’m not sure if I’m remembering yesterday or some other day.”

  “You went for your run and returned home at the usual time. One of the cleaners remembers hearing the sound of your footsteps running up to the side door. Then she heard other footsteps following you. It was a much sharper sound. Tic tic tic.”

  His body went rigid and his mouth opened in a soundless O of shock.

  “I remember. I remember that. Someone came running up behind me. I started to turn, to see who it was.”

  “The cleaner remembers hearing a scream.”

  “Yes, yes. Pain. The worst pain I have ever felt. I can feel it now, still jabbing into my back. I fought and clawed, but I was too weak. My strength was going. I tried to get away from that terrible pain. I tried to make it stop. But it kept coming – jab, jab, jab.”

  “Whoever attacked you was trying to do as much damage as possible. They were trying to hit a vital organ.”

  His bloodshot eyes bored into her soul. “Did he succeed? Am I going to die?”

  “Like I said, the doctor is very pleased with your progress. The risks at the moment are infection and hemorrhage. If all goes well, you could make a complete recovery in about three months.”

  “Why? Why would someone do this? Was it a robbery? Did they break into the house?”

  “Your cleaner scared them away. Nothing was taken. I need to know everything you remember, Mr. Chirac. Did you get a sense of how big your attacker was?”

  “I… not very big, I don’t think. He was breathing into my ear. I got the sense that it was someone of my height or smaller than me.”

  “Good. That’s good. What about their build and level of strength?”

  “I don’t know. All I can remember is that white-hot pain jabbing into my back.”

  “Did the person say anything? Can you remember what you heard?”

  He closed his eyes for so long she feared he had fallen asleep. Then he opened them, and they were completely clear.

  “He whispered in my ear the same thing over and over again.”

  “What did he say?”

  “I’m sorry. I have no choice. Just like that – over and over again. I’m sorry. I have no choice.”

  “Was it a man or a woman?”

  His eyebrows rose. “It was a man, surely? I can’t see a woman sneaking up behind me and stabbing me in the back like that. It doesn’t seem likely.”

  “Think about the voice you heard, Mr. Chirac. Was it a man or a woman?”

  “It was… a whisper. It was very hoarse, as though the person had a cold or something.”

  “Or they were trying to disguise their voice.”

  “I suppose, but I still can’t believe a woman did this to me.”

  “Just before you passed out, your attacker shouted something out loud. The cleaner heard it. She thought the person shouted, ‘This is for Michelle!’ But she agrees that it might have been Rochelle.”

  “What does that mean? What does Rochelle have to do with it?”

  “I can tell you what the police are thinking. They think you had something to do with your daughter’s disappearance, and that the knifing was an act of revenge for that.”

  Eulalie watched his face closely. He looked annoyed rather than alarmed.

  “They’ve been at my house every day since that time capsule was opened. I must have answered the same questions a hundred times over. They’ll never be able to prove that I did anything to Rochelle because I didn’t. This must be some crazy person who saw on the news that the police have been questioning me and decided to get revenge for Rochelle. Or maybe it was someone who knew her.”

  “It’s a theory. Can you remember…?”

  A commotion at the door made them both look up.

  Chapter 21

  “Stand aside, fool. You know who I am.”

  Eulalie sighed. She knew that voice.

  Detective Wesley Wright burst into the room.

  “You!” He glared at Eulalie.

  “Detective Wright.”

  “How dare you question my suspect?”

  “Roland Chirac is my client. He hired me to investigate his daughter’s disappearance. He was perfectly willing to speak to me, and I’m on the list of approved visitors.”

  Detective Wright made shooing motions with his hands. “Get out. Get out. This is police business. I need to question the suspect.”

  “Unless my client has been properly cautioned and informed of his rights, he is a witness, not a suspect.”

  “Witness, then. Get out of here, Ms. Park.”

  “I’m going.” She rose to her feet and looked down at her client. “Just a heads up, Mr. Chirac. Your ex-wife and daughter flew into Queen’s Town last night. They’re staying at the Hitch-a-Ride lodge on Beach Road. They might come and visit you. It will really ruin their day to see how well you are looking.”

  Chirac made a snorting sound that might have been laughter.

  “How’s that shoulder, Detective Wright?” said Eulalie. “It’s looking a little inflamed.”

  Detective Wright lifted a hand to touch his shoulder. Eulalie smiled at him and left the room. It was her grandmother who had first suggested to him that his shoulder was particularly painful. Ever since then, Eulalie had had the power to bring that pain back to life by mere suggestion.

  Outside in the parking lot, Eulalie checked her phone and saw that she had a new text.

  Chief Macgregor: Evidence collected from the scene – three shoe prints identified as belonging to Chirac, the Millie’s Maids cleaner, and the paramedic. Fourth shoe print unidentified. Size 8. Sending pic.

  Her phone buzzed again. Eulalie opened the picture and looked at it carefully. It was a clear partial shoe print left behind when someone had stepped in Roland Chirac’s blood. Notes on the photo indicated that the person had been standing behind Chirac. A Size 8 was slightly small for a man and slightly large for a woman. It was a narrow shoe with a flat sole and a medium heel.

  Eulalie: Got it, thanks. And thanks for keeping Detective Wright off my back so I could interview Chirac. He’s there now, so I’m sure he’ll get the same
information I did. Going to see a woman about a knife.

  Chief Macgregor: Pastor Ellie? Watch yourself. She sounds dangerous.

  Eulalie: So am I.

  She swung a leg over her Vespa and put on her helmet. She didn’t have an appointment, but she knew Pastor Ellie hung out at the headquarters of the Church of the Blessed Redeeming Savior. If she wasn’t doing training with Cole Richmond, that was where she would be. Eulalie decided to try there first.

  The Church of the Blessed Redeeming Savior held services once a week in the unglamorous confines of the local scout hall, but they had spared no expense when it came to their headquarters. Eulalie had been there once before and had a vivid memory of the water features, the original modern art, and the luxury office fittings. It was situated at the smart waterfront part of Dockside, where it fitted in perfectly.

  A receptionist in the lobby looked up when Eulalie approached. “Can I help you?”

  “I need to speak to Pastor Ellie.”

  “Is she expecting you?”

  “No, but she’ll see me. Tell her Eulalie Park is here.”

  “Please wait a moment.”

  The receptionist turned away and had a low-voiced conversation with someone over her headset. When she turned back, she was clearly surprised.

  “You were right – she will see you. Pastor Ellie is out back. Please observe sensible precautions, and don’t walk in front of the targets.”

  “Er… okay.”

  What targets?

  Eulalie walked through the exit door the receptionist was indicating. The door led to a passage which ended in a fire door. Somewhat mystified, Eulalie pushed down on the horizontal bar of the door and stepped outside.

  She found herself in a grassy open-air courtyard at the back of the building. Three targets had been set up on the grass. They were about the height of a person and the width of three people. They were made of tightly compacted straw and weighted at the bottom. A bull’s eye target had been attached to each one.