The Eulalie Park Mysteries Box Set 1

by Fiona Snyckers

  Eulalie arrived at Angel’s Place to find her grandmother’s head-waitress, Gigi, taking a five-minute break outside. She gave Eulalie a smile and a nod and addressed her in French.

  “Everything looks good for the parade, does it not?”

  “Exactly what I was thinking. No one would guess we’d had a storm recently.”

  The Prince William’s Day parade was an annual institution. Schools, businesses, and civic organizations spent weeks preparing elaborate floats that would parade up one end of Lafayette Drive and down the other. The parade would be led by drum majorettes and a marching band.

  Eulalie had agreed to work as additional private security on the day to help Chief Macgregor out.

  “I can’t wait to get my hands on my first cone of Cajun-spiced fries,” said Gigi. “Those are my favorite part of parade day. Why don’t they sell them all year round?”

  “I guess we wouldn’t love them as much if they were available every day.”

  “I suppose not. Angel said I should offer you a cup of her home-brewed elderflower and acai berry tea when you arrived. Okay, maybe not,” she added when she saw the expression on Eulalie’s face.

  “Definitely not, but I’ll take a double cane brandy on the rocks.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” They walked into the restaurant together and Eulalie headed to the bar.

  The seat on the right side of the bar next to the wall was hers, and always had been, ever since she used to do her homework at it as a teenager.

  She had only been there a few minutes when Gigi brought her a glass of red wine.

  “Your grandmother says it’s better for you than cane brandy. More antioxidants.”

  “Is she here? I thought she might only come in later.”

  “She’s been here all afternoon doing readings.”

  Eulalie tried not to roll her eyes. Her grandmother’s psychic readings were a thorn in her side. She took her notes out of her bag and spread them out on the bar counter. She wanted to write up her interview with Raimond Augustin while it was still fresh in her mind.

  His delay in reporting the matter to the harbormaster was significant, and the lights he had seen at about eleven-thirty were a new factor. It was possible that the students’ motorboat had encountered another vessel which had flashed warning lights at it, but it was worth knowing for sure.

  As she scoured the interview for clues, Eulalie kept hoping the case could be solved right here on Prince William Island rather than on Monk’s Cay. The thought of going back there filled her with dread.

  She kept remembering a cowled and hooded figure with its long arms and bony fingers reaching out to touch …

  “Chérie...”

  Eulalie jumped when a hand touched her shoulder.

  “Petite,” said Angel remorsefully. “I didn’t mean to startle you. You were so engrossed in your work you didn’t hear me say your name.”

  Eulalie hugged her grandmother.

  “It’s okay. I was being silly.”

  “How do you feel about grilled line-fish with baby carrots and new potatoes for dinner?”

  “What is the line-fish?”

  “It’s angel fish.”

  “Okay, I don’t mind that. Swap the new potatoes for fries and give me a side of kale.”

  “Done.” Angel gave the order to Gigi. “Are you working on a new case?”

  “Yes. A walk-in client from this morning - Nancy Shrike who runs the youth hostel.”

  “Of course. I know her.”

  “Naturally.” Angel knew everyone. It was a fact of life. “She has hired me to look into the disappearance of that girl who went missing on Monk’s Cay five years ago – Jessica Manilow.”

  “I hope you can give her some answers. What happened to that girl has haunted her for five years. She still talks about it. I think she feels responsible.”

  “I think so too. It’s odd that the girl’s body was never found.”

  “The sea doesn’t give up its victims easily.”

  “Actually, the tide patterns are quite predictable. Anything that went into the sea at Monk’s Cay should either have washed back up onto the beach there or on Prince William Island.”

  Gigi brought their dinner orders.

  “Angel fish with fries and vegetables,” she said, putting a plate down for Eulalie. “And angel fish with vegetables and new potatoes.”

  And that, thought Eulalie, explained why Angel at fifty-six had the same slim figure she’d had at eighteen. Perhaps when Eulalie reached her fifties she would also ditch the fries, but she wasn’t looking forward to it. In the meantime, she stayed active enough to be able to afford fries occasionally, and that was a good thing.

  They ate in silence. The meal was delicious as always. Everything that came out of the kitchen at Angel’s Place was good, even if it involved kale.

  “What do you think happened to Jessica Manilow?” Eulalie as she finished her meal.

  “I think those four kids were all drunk and hyped up on ghost stories. They probably heard something – maybe a bird or an animal - and panicked. They ran back to the boat. The girl might have been with them at that stage. She probably fell overboard when they started the motor, and nobody noticed until they were underway. I suspect the poor child drowned and became food for the fish.”

  Eulalie had to admit it sounded probable. No mystery, no outside agent, and no ghostly monk. Just the kind of misadventure that could easily happen to drunk college kids who had forgotten that the open sea was a dangerous place.

  “You may well be right, but I have a duty to my client to explore every avenue. She thinks the police cut corners in their investigation. I think she’s right. So, I’ll explore all the possibilities, including yours.”

  “I hope you can give her something more concrete than my guess.”

  “Have you…?”

  “Have I what?”

  “Nothing. I’ve forgotten what I was going to say.”

  “Have I tried to form a connection with the girl to find out what happened to her? That’s what you were going to ask, isn’t it?”

  Eulalie shrugged.

  “The answer is yes. Back when she disappeared, and the police were looking for her. I tried to form a connection. I even tried active dreaming. Nothing worked. I didn’t get so much as a flicker. The truth is, my talent in that area is not as well-developed as yours.”

  “The only talent I have lies in following a series of clues to their logical conclusion. Anything else is hocus-pocus.”

  “You are very good at your job, that is true. But you are also the most gifted empath our family has ever produced. The day you learn to embrace both sides of yourself is the day you will become truly whole.”

  “Then I guess I won’t ever be whole.”

  Angel stood up to make espressos. “We’ll see.”

  “What can you tell me about the two local boys who stole the motorboat?”

  Angel poured herself a finger of sugar cane brandy to go with her coffee and dropped an ice block into it. Eulalie had long since given up asking why Angel allowed herself this nightly tipple but became highly disapproving when Eulalie wanted one too.

  “The one boy was a Hodge, right?” Angel asked.

  “That’s right. Damien Hodge – eldest son of John and Martha Hodge. One of our most prominent summer families. Do we still call them that? Summer families?”

  Angel laughed. “They still return to Boston every winter, so I think they’d like to keep the title. The fact that they only spend a few weeks there these days, instead of six months, is supposedly neither here nor there. Times have been hard, even for the Hodges.”

  “Do you know anything about the kid, Damien? I say kid, but he must be twenty-five by now.”

  “Not specifically. I know Martha, of course. We sit on various committees together. I do remember that the Hodge public-relations machine swung into action when that girl disappeared. If they’d had their way, it would have been covered up completely. B
ut with the international media sniffing around, that wasn’t possible.”

  “What about the other kid, Peter Costello? I associate the name with paint stores, but I don’t know much about the family.”

  “It just goes to show how democratic Prince William Island has become these days. A few years ago, the Hodges and the Costellos would have had nothing to do with each other. And now their sons are friends. They were probably at school together. The Costellos made their money selling paint. They have stores all over the world. Social status is very important to them. They would probably have preferred to cover up the incident too, but they don’t have the same clout as the Hodges. I seem to remember that the other boy was American?”

  “Yes, he went back to…” Eulalie checked her notes. “Maine, after the boys were cleared of criminal wrong-doing in Jessica’s disappearance.”

  “Then I hope the local boys can tell you what you want to know, because it’s not going to be easy getting hold of him.”

  Chapter 5

  That night, Eulalie’s sleep was disturbed by the yowling of cats outside her window. One cat seemed to have an especially piercing voice. She shoved a pillow over her head. This could go on for hours.

  She woke up the next morning feeling exhausted and thinking uncharitable thoughts about cats in general. It would take a lot of caffeine to get her through the day. By the time she dragged herself to the office, Mrs. Belfast was already there. Eulalie stared at her in confusion.

  “Am I late or are you early?”

  “I’m a little early, dear. I thought I’d get a jump-start on the day.”

  “Okay.”

  Eulalie sniffed the air, trying to identify the aroma that hung in the reception area.

  “Why does it smell like rotten fish in here?”

  “That’s just my breakfast, dear. I brought in a tuna fish sandwich this morning.”

  “If you ate tuna that smells like that, you are not going to live through the morning.” Eulalie dragged herself to her office. “Never mind, I’ll send a nice wreath to the funeral.”

  After a second cup of coffee, Eulalie began to feel better. While Mrs. Belfast tracked the whereabouts of Damien Hodge, Eulalie planned her approach in interviewing him.

  “I’ve found him,” called her secretary. “He works at his father’s firm. He’s the chief financial officer of Hodge Consortium.”

  “Please phone and see if he’ll speak to me this morning. Tell him new information has come to light about the disappearance of Jessica Manilow. That should make him nervous.”

  It wasn’t even a lie. Raimond Augustin had revealed two new pieces of information that Eulalie was looking forward to laying in front of both Damien Hodge and Peter Costello.

  “I got you a nine o’clock,” said Mrs. Belfast. “I’ve sent the address to your phone. Hodge Consortium recently moved their headquarters from downtown Lafayette to Dockside.”

  “Would that be an upwards or downwards move for them?”

  “I’m not sure. Dockside has become trendy, but downtown is very expensive.”

  Eulalie researched comparative property prices and rentals. She discovered that the Hodges had sold their premium piece of real estate in downtown Queen’s Town in order to rent new premises in Dockside. It was a move that made no financial sense unless the company were in financial trouble and trying to raise money.

  The Hodge Consortium building had sold for close to five hundred million dollars. Eulalie wondered if that injection of liquidity had solved their financial problems. She shut her laptop and said goodbye to Mrs. Belfast. Her last sight of her secretary was of her kneeling on the floor and scrabbling under her desk for something. Eulalie shook her head. Mrs. Belfast was behaving very oddly these days.

  She hopped onto her Vespa and headed for the docks.

  The new premises of Hodge Consortium gave no indication that the company had fallen on hard times. It was typical of the fashionable, multi-use buildings that had proliferated near the docks. The ground floor was dominated by glass-fronted chain stores. The first three floors were occupied by a boutique hotel, while the next three consisted of furnished apartments. Above that were a few offices, and the top floor was occupied by a revolving glass restaurant.

  Hodge Consortium occupied the eighth and ninth floors – a far cry from the days when it had occupied an entire building in downtown.

  Still, their new premises looked prestigious, and that was what counted. It wasn’t public knowledge that they had changed overnight from owners to renters.

  Thanks to Mrs. Belfast’s magic, Eulalie was shown straight into Damien Hodge’s office. She didn’t miss the days of setting up her own appointments. She had never been particularly good at it.

  A clean-cut young man in a Hugo Boss suit stood up to shake her hand.

  “Hey! It’s so good to see you. Come and look at this and see if you can get it right.”

  He showed her a little wooden box on his desk. When he opened it, she saw that it contained an interlocking puzzle of the kind that had become popular as an executive toy. Two twisted pieces of metal were linked together, and the player was meant to separate them.

  “Er…”

  “Go on!” he said. “Can you separate them? It’s been driving me crazy all morning.”

  Eulalie picked up the puzzle and ran her fingers along the contours. She tried an experimental twist. Then she saw it – the series of manipulations that would separate the two pieces. It was the kind of thing she had always been able to do – three-dimensional puzzles that required a good sense of perspective and spatial awareness to solve. Seconds later, she held up the two pieces of metal for him to see.

  His face broke into a smile.

  “Look at that! You did it. And so fast. You must be, like, a genius.”

  He darted to the other side of the room and came back carrying several pieces of magnetic metal, along with a flat metal base.

  “You’re supposed to be able to fit them together to form a ball. It was in a ball when I first got it, but I haven’t been able to get it back into one since then.”

  He placed it on his desk and invited Eulalie to solve it.

  This time she made it appear to take longer than it actually did – stretching it out to almost a minute.

  “Ooh, this one is more difficult, isn’t it?” he crowed. “You’re not so fast with this one. Hey, you did it!” He held up the ball, balancing on its magnetic base, admiringly. “If only it could stay like that forever.”

  He scampered across the room to where a dartboard was mounted on the wall.

  It was a large corner office that most senior executives would earn after many years of service. There was an indoor putting set, a basketball hoop mounted over the wastepaper basket, an indoor skateboard, a baseball mitt and ball, a Rubik’s cube, a mini pendulum, a backgammon set, and – occupying one short wall – a PS4 console with a huge flat-screen monitor.

  “I’ve been practicing,” he announced, plucking the darts out of the board. “I can usually get all three inside the inner circle on my first try. Sometimes I even get a bull’s eye. Watch!”

  He threw the darts. Two landed inside the inner circle and one didn’t.

  “Wait. I can do better.”

  He tried again and got them all in the inner circle.

  “There! I told you I could do it. Now let’s see how well you do.”

  Eulalie took the darts from him reluctantly. Aiming at targets was one of her skills. Whether it was firing a gun, shooting an arrow, throwing a ball, or boules she seldom missed. Recently, she had been inspired to take up knife-throwing but hadn’t got around to it yet. Something seemed to tell her that she would get more out of Damien Hodge when they finally started the interview if she lost to him at darts.

  She threw wildly, barely hitting the board with the first two darts, and missing it completely with the third.

  Damien Hodge’s delighted laugh told her she had made the right decision.

  “Now,
you mustn’t worry about it,” he said. “Remember, I’ve been practicing for a long time, and also you’re a girl. Do you want to go again? I’ll let you stand closer this time. Maybe a foot… or no, half a foot.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “But I’m going to have to go soon, and I was really hoping to ask you some questions about the night Jessica Manilow disappeared.”

  “Right, yes, of course!” He threw himself into his chair. Then he scooped the basketball off his desk and started trying to twirl it on one forefinger. “Shoot.”

  Eulalie handed him her business card across the desk. He glanced quickly at it and commented that the patisserie on Bonaparte Avenue made the best coffee. There was none of the wariness many people assumed when they knew they were talking to a private investigator.

  “Going back to that April five years ago, Mr. Hodge – during spring break…”

  “It’s not really spring for us, you know. It’s actually fall.”

  Eulalie smiled patiently. “That’s right. We just call it spring break because the college kids from America come here on holiday.”

  “The bars and restaurants advertise spring break specials, don’t they?”

  “That’s right. Now, that April, can you tell me how you met Peter Costello and Chuck Weston?”

  “Oh, I didn’t need to meet Pete. I already knew him. We were at school together.”

  “St. Michael’s boarding school?” Eulalie asked.

  “Yes, how did you know?”

  “Just a guess.” There was only one school on Prince William Island where families like the Hodges sent their children.

  “What about Chuck Weston from Maine? How did the two of you meet him?”

  “I don’t remember.” Damien’s forehead crumpled in an effort of memory. “I think it was at a party. Or no, a bar.”

  “Can you remember which bar?”

  “Back in those days it was probably… the Katz Pajamas, or maybe Bongo Groove. Actually, I think it was Bongo Groove. We spent a lot of time there that April.”

  “Was that where you met Jessica Manilow?”