The Eulalie Park Mysteries Box Set 1

by Fiona Snyckers

  Fleur was crazy about horses, having grown up with them. Perhaps Eulalie would persuade her to leave Jethro in charge of the coffeeshop for the afternoon and accompany her to Queen’s Cay.

  The headquarters of the Leonov Corporation were in downtown Lafayette. The location told her that keeping a cap on expenses was not a priority for the organization. Downtown rental prices were astronomical. That was why so many companies had moved out to the Dockside neighborhood, or to sprawling office-parks out of town, like Faberge Industries.

  It was eleven-thirty by the time she handed her card over to the receptionist at the Leonov Corporation. The woman looked unimpressed, especially when she asked to see Sergei Leonov himself.

  “No one sees Mr. Leonov without an appointment,” she said. “No exceptions.”

  “Then I’d like to make an appointment, please.”

  “I don’t keep his diary. I can’t make appointments on his behalf.”

  “Could you put me in touch with his secretary, or whoever does keep his diary?”

  The receptionist sighed. “I suggest you send an e-mail rather. Then she can get back to you with a suitable time.”

  “Or ignore me completely, which is more likely. If you don’t let me see him now, I will come back with the chief of police Donal Macgregor, and we will interview him together.”

  The woman picked up her phone and had a hushed conversation with someone called Natalia.

  “You can go up to the top floor, Ms. Park. Mr. Leonov’s secretary will meet you there herself and explain why an appointment won’t be possible in the foreseeable future.”

  The top floor was a whole different world. Whereas the ground floor was all chilly white tiles and glass, this was a vision of oriental rugs and gold-leaf pillars. Leonov’s secretary, Natalia, turned out to be even more inflexible than the receptionist.

  “Look,” Eulalie said, trying to adopt a reasonable tone. “I’m not demanding to see him right now. I am just asking to be allowed to make an appointment for some future date when I can interview him. I am investigating the murder of his business rival, Marcel Faberge.”

  “Mr. Leonov is the chairman of the board, Ms. Park. He doesn’t deal with members of the public. If you’re prepared to wait a few weeks, I can get you an appointment with one of our junior executives who should be able to answer your questions.”

  “That would be too late. Couldn’t you let him know who I am and why I want to see him? Then he can make up his own mind.”

  Natalia suppressed a smile. “You have obviously never worked in the corporate world, Ms. Bark. That’s not how it works. People like me exist to ensure that men like Mr. Leonov are not troubled with decisions like that in their daily lives.”

  “It’s Park,” Eulalie said clearly. “Eulalie Park.”

  Natalia was just rolling her eyes when a door opened nearby and a young man in a grey suit came out. He bent down and whispered something in Natalia’s ear. Eulalie couldn’t make out the words, but she could hear he was speaking Russian. When he straightened up, Natalia’s carefully shaped eyebrows were raised as high as her Botox would allow.

  “Uh … Ms. Park, you can go on through. Apparently, Mr. Leonov will see you now.” She sounded as surprised about this as Eulalie felt.

  She followed the young man into Leonov’s office, wondering what had just happened.

  Sergei Leonov was a barrel-chested man with a sallow complexion and thick black hair. He grunted at Eulalie, indicating that she should take a seat.

  “Who are you working for?”

  He had a noticeable Russian accent, but it was overlaid with a certain pinching of the vowels that made Eulalie suspect he had learned to speak English in Boston.

  “My client owns an organic candy and coffeeshop in town. She has been interviewed by the police in connection with the murder of Marcel Faberge. Since she didn’t do it, she has a natural interest in finding out who did.”

  “Ah, yes.” He tugged his hair. “The redhead, da? She has the temperament for it, but perhaps not the follow-through.”

  “I am interviewing everyone who had dealings with Faberge before his death. You and he were rival bidders for the contract to administer the national lottery, which is soon to be awarded by the office of the Governor.”

  “It’s true. We were.”

  “A large amount of money was at stake. It is a lucrative contract with the option to renew after five years.”

  He inclined his head in agreement, but didn’t speak.

  “It would not be unusual for a rivalry of this nature to become acrimonious,” said Eulalie. “The media reported rising tensions between your two companies.”

  “We went through a bad patch, this is true.”

  “With so much at stake, don’t you think it’s possible that someone connected with your company might have targeted Marcel Faberge?”

  Leonov smiled. “Quite impossible, my dear. If your friend is looking in this direction to save herself from police scrutiny, she is destined to be disappointed.”

  “How can you be so sure? You can’t know what all your employees are doing at all times. One of them could have gone rogue and you wouldn’t even know about it.”

  “That is so unlikely as to be unworthy of consideration.”

  Eulalie swallowed her frustration. She had been prepared for denial, but not for this calm dismissal. She had expected him to bluster and become indignant. Instead, he was treating her like an adult treats an importunate child.

  “Look, Mr. Leonov,” she said. “You obviously think you know something that I don’t. Please stop fencing with me and tell me what it is.”

  He smiled. “It hadn’t been announced yet, but the Leonov Corporation and Faberge Industries were going to team up and bid jointly for the right to administer the national lottery. It was clear that we were too evenly matched, and our bids were cancelling each other out. We were doing harm to both our companies by persisting with them. The media fall-out was harmful to our public image. The office of the governor was threatening to bring in an outside service provider from off-island. We were both about to lose a tender process we had spent years preparing for. So, Marcel and I got together and agreed to join our bids. We would have been unbeatable. He brought a more established administrative infrastructure to the table and I brought a better communications network.”

  Eulalie’s pet theory had just been blown out of the water. Unless…

  “What happens now that Faberge is dead? Doesn’t it clear the field for you to pursue the tender alone, without having to share the profits with your sister bidder?”

  “If only that were so.” Leonov spread his arms wide. “The truth is, the deal is off for us too. The governor’s office believes we can’t handle it alone. Faberge’s administrative support was too important. They have already given us notice that they are bringing in that outside service provider. So you see, Ms. Park, there was no motive for anyone from my company to harm Marcel. His death is the biggest blow we have faced in years. We’ll recover from it, but it will take time.”

  Eulalie nodded.

  “Here’s another question for you, Mr. Leonov. Yesterday I was attacked by three men who warned me to stop looking into things that don’t concern me. One of them spoke Russian. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

  For the first time in the interview, Leonov looked uncomfortable.

  “Why would I know anything about that? Just because one of them spoke Russian? You assume the Russian community is so small we must all know what other members are up to?”

  “The Russian community is tiny. We’re talking a few hundred people. I’m not accusing you of anything, Mr. Leonov. I’m just asking whether you happen to know anything about the attack?”

  Leonov shifted in his seat. “What could I possibly know?”

  “That isn’t an answer, but okay. Here’s another question. Why did you decide to see me today after your secretary told me you weren’t available in any circumstances? It was
a sudden change of heart.”

  “Look,” he said. “Let’s say, hypothetically speaking, that I heard about an attack on you yesterday. Let’s say I had an idea who might have attacked you, but not why. These are people who have worked for me in the past, but who were not acting on my orders on this occasion. As soon as I heard you say your name, I knew I had to speak to you, if only to find out how much you knew, and whether you could help me figure out why you were attacked.”

  “Okay. If you didn’t tell them to attack me, who did?”

  “I don’t know. The men in question have gone to ground. I suspect they don’t want me to find them. They are working for a new master and know this would not please me.”

  Eulalie wished she could tell whether he was lying or not, but unfortunately her talents did not extend to mind reading. Her instincts told her he was being truthful, but her instincts had been wrong before.

  Fleur hung over the guard rail of the ferry enjoying the feeling of the wind whipping her hair out to the side. As always, Eulalie found her joy infectious. Fleur stretched her hands out to the side as if she were auditioning for a role in Titanic, and laughed into the wind.

  “I love you for talking me into this. This is so much better than balancing my accounts, which is what I was planning to do this afternoon.”

  Eulalie smiled back and watched as they approached a natural gap in the reef that would take them out of the lagoon and into the open sea. Queen’s Cay was only half an hour away, but it was a much wilder place than Prince William Island without the protection of the lagoon. The coast of the tiny island was constantly battered by waves, so most of the beaches had been eroded.

  As the ferry puttered out into the open sea, they immediately felt the swell take hold of them. It wasn’t smooth sailing. There would be episodes of sea sickness before the boat ever reached Queen’s Cay.

  She and Fleur would be fine, though. They were both good sailors.

  As she watched Fleur gamboling about on deck, she remembered the campaign she had waged throughout their last year at college. Fleur had been looking for a change, and Eulalie had believed she couldn’t do better than Prince William Island.

  Eulalie had spent a whole year talking up the island with its wonderful weather, booming economy, thousands of tourists, and tide of gentrification that was sweeping the capital city. She had reminded Fleur that Prince William Island was an international tax haven. For a girl who wanted to get out from under her parents’ influence, there could be no better destination. While other countries made the lives of immigrants difficult and miserable, Prince William Island actively encouraged newcomers. When Fleur had finally agreed to give the island a try, it had accepted her too. Eulalie knew she had never regretted it.

  They docked at the small marina on Queen’s Cay. The captain of the ferry reminded them that ferries ran every hour on the hour until ten at night during the summer time. Queen’s Cay wasn’t one of the party islands like Logan Cay that had ferries coming and going twenty-four hours a day. Eulalie trusted that this mission would get them home well before the last ferry left.

  “If we find a nice stable yard, I am definitely going to ask about the possibility of part-baiting a horse here,” Fleur said excitedly. “I really want to start horseback riding again. It’s been too long.”

  Eulalie and Fleur walked to the Port Authority office and hired a tuk-tuk from there. The little motorized scooters were the preferred mode of transport on the cay.

  They set off at a sedate pace past fields of sugar cane. The wind plucked fiercely at their clothes and buffeted their hired helmets. The weather was always windier and colder on the cays than on the main island. Without the protection of the reef and the lagoon, the cays were at the mercy of the elements.

  The racetrack was even busier than Eulalie anticipated. The next day was a race day and some owners had already brought their horses to the track to be stabled there overnight. There were grooms walking horses around the track, and trainers exercising others on a long lead. There were jockeys standing around talking. They would be staying at one of the B&Bs that serviced the race track. Eulalie recognized one of the jockeys as a regular at Angel’s Place, so she went over to speak to him.

  “Good afternoon, Jean-Pierre.”

  “Bonne après-midi, Mademoiselles.” He greeted them in French. Then he took a closer look at Fleur and switched to English. “What can I do for you ladies?”

  “I’m looking for the trainer or groom connected to Marcel’s Pride, and the trainer or groom connected to the favorite for the Met, Legs-Alone.”

  “You’re in luck with Legs-Alone. The horse is here, along with its trainer and several grooms. If it’s the owner you’re interested in, you’ll have to go to Abu Dhabi.”

  “And Marcel’s Pride?”

  “Still at the stable yard. It’s only ten minutes away from here so they generally come through on the morning of a race day.”

  He took them to meet the trainer of Legs-Alone, and introduced him to them as Billy. Eulalie quickly realized that Billy was an Englishman, probably from the north of England. She just hoped he had some answers for her.

  Chapter 11

  “You’re interested in the favorite?” said Billy. “Come and take a look at him. He’s the best horse I’ve ever trained.”

  He led them to the far side of the racetrack to where a horse was being hacked by a groom.

  “That brown horse over there?” Eulalie asked, pointing.

  Fleur and Billy exchanged shocked looks.

  “What?” she said. “What did I say?”

  “That horse isn’t brown.” Fleur sounded scandalized. “It’s bay. A beautiful bright bay.”

  “Looks brown to me.”

  “A brown horse has a brown mane and tail as well as a brown coat,” Fleur explained. “A bay horse has a brown coat with a black mane and tail.”

  “And why did you call it a bright bay?”

  “That just means its coat is on the light-brown end of the spectrum. Bays can be so dark they appear almost black.”

  “Not to be confused with actual black horses, I presume?”

  Fleur beamed at her. “Exactly. But true black is a rare color in a race horse. Where I come from, there’s a superstition that bright bay is the best color for sprinters. I’ve always favored them myself.”

  Eulalie felt as though she were on a steep learning curve.

  “What distance is a sprint when you’re a horse?”

  “Five to eight furlongs,” said Fleur and Billy at almost the same time.

  “Eight furlongs is a mile,” Fleur added just as Eulalie opened her mouth to ask. “My friend is not a horse person,” she apologized to Billy.

  “I’d never have guessed.”

  “I am however a nosy person,” said Eulalie. “That’s why I became a private investigator. What I want to know is your opinion about the incident last month when Marcel’s Pride beat the favorite in a race right here on Queen’s Cay. The media went wild with allegations that the favorite had been sabotaged in some way. What do you think, Billy? You must have an opinion about it.”

  Billy lifted a hand and ran it along the horse’s neck as the groom brought it over.

  “He wasn’t right that morning, anyone could see it. He ate, which is always a good sign, but he wasn’t interested in drinking. They get dehydrated so quickly, these big animals. Their coat covers such a large surface area, see? More room for sweating. If they don’t drink enough, they can’t perform on the track. It’s worse in the distance races, of course, but pretty bad for the sprinters too. There’s an uphill straight over there.” He pointed across the track. “That’s where he began to feel it. The jockey told me he felt the fight go out of him right there.”

  “Did he place?” Fleur asked.

  “No.” Billy clutched at his thinning blond hair. “That’s the thing. If he’d been pipped at the post by Marcel’s Pride I wouldn’t have said a thing. It happens. The Pride is a good horse. But Legs
-Alone didn’t even place. I think he came eighth out of a field of ten. That’s just not right. Not for a four-year-old approaching his peak.”

  “Were you the one who requested the investigation?” Eulalie asked.

  “Damn right I was. After speaking to my jockey, I went straight to the betting master and made a formal complaint. Then I spoke to my groom about his lack of thirst in the morning, and I took it to the Thoroughbred Association and the Horseracing Authority as well. I knew he’d been nobbled. I knew it in my bones.”

  Eulalie watched his face closely. He seemed more upset than angry, but she knew better than most how distress could turn to blazing fury in an instant.

  “What is the procedure when a matter like that is reported?” she asked.

  “A vet examines the horse, and blood is immediately taken for testing. Everyone who had contact with the horse is interviewed. Any punters who won suspiciously large amounts of money because the horse lost are investigated too. The horse’s feed is seized and sent for testing. Investigators go over the stable, the horse box - anywhere the horse has been kept - with a fine-toothcomb, looking for evidence. It’s quite a process.”

  Fleur’s eyes were round with interest.

  “And?” she said. “Did they find anything? Oh, sorry!” She turned to Eulalie. “You’re the one asking the questions, not me.”

  “It’s fine.” Eulalie smiled at her friend. “That was going to be my next question anyway.”

  “Nothing conclusive,” said Billy. “His blood counts were definitely deranged, but that was consistent with an already dehydrated horse who had just run a race and become even more dehydrated. They weren’t able to say for sure whether anything had caused the dehydration, besides simple lack of water. The toxicology screen came back negative. But again, they said that the results could have been interfered with by the dehydration. His feed had apparently not been tampered with.”