The Eulalie Park Mysteries Box Set 1

by Fiona Snyckers

  Chapter 12

  Eulalie watched as the figure looked cautiously from left to right before stepping into the service alley that ran down the side of the building.

  Looking a little like Santa Claus, the figure tiptoed up to Bonaparte Avenue and turned right. It took a remote out of its pocket and pressed a button to open the trunk of a small Honda. It was just lifting the sack off its shoulder when Eulalie came up behind it.

  “Mrs. Belfast.”

  Her secretary jumped vertically into the air. Then she bundled the sack into the trunk and slammed it closed.

  “Goodness, dear,” she said. “You startled me.”

  “Sorry about that, but you startled me too, coming out of the side entrance in the dark like that.”

  “Yes… uh… I left some shopping in the office earlier and came back to get it.”

  “So, that’s what was in that sack, was it? Your grocery shopping? Not, for example, a human body?”

  “Ha! No, just my shopping.”

  Eulalie sniffed the air. The sack of groceries had left a distinctive whiff behind it.

  “I’d better get on,” said Mrs. Belfast, edging towards the driver’s door of her car.

  “Sure. Have a good evening, Mrs. B. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Her secretary jumped into the car and laid rubber getting out of there.

  Eulalie shook her head. She had a vague idea of what Mrs. Belfast was up to, but it could wait until morning. She needed to think about what to say and how to handle it.

  Eulalie let herself into the office and switched on the lights. She wanted to update her case notes and send a summary to Nancy Shrike. So far, the only expenses she had incurred had been the price of a return ferry ride to Monk’s Cay and some gas money for her Vespa. That was over and above her hourly rate.

  She typed up her summary and included a running total of her account. She liked to do that, so her clients could let her know if the job was getting too expensive for their liking. She sent it off by email.

  When she looked up, a tall figure had appeared in the doorway. Eulalie beckoned to let him know that the door was unlocked.

  Chief Macgregor came in clutching two brown bags.

  “I brought dinner.” He put one of the brown bags down in front of her. She eyed it suspiciously.

  “If there’s salad in here, I’m going to be very disappointed.”

  “Open it.”

  She did and was immediately enveloped in fragrant steam.

  “Is this the chicken chow mein from the Red Dragon in Little Taiwan?”

  “With extra noodles.”

  She broke open the chopsticks and picked up a piece of chicken. “Oh, my word, I love you. This is my favorite, thanks!”

  “You’re welcome, and I love you too. I thought we weren’t supposed to say that yet.”

  She winced. “No… I mean… it was more of an expression. Of gratitude, you know? We’ve only known each other a few months, and gone on, like, two dates.”

  He gave her a placid smile. “Okay.”

  Flustered, she popped some chicken into her mouth.

  The food calmed her down, and soon she was smiling again.

  “How are the arrangements for the parade?”

  “I’ve been talking about them almost continuously since eight o’clock this morning. I’d much rather hear your news. There was something you wanted to ask me?”

  “Yes. Do you remember that smuggling case you were working on a few weeks ago?”

  “Of course. Premium export labels of cane brandy have been going missing from multiple storage points. It’s still an open and active investigation. I’ve just been overwhelmed with the Parade Day arrangements. But my officers are pursuing it zealously.”

  “Zealously?”

  “Well…”

  “I’m kidding. The thing is, I think I’ve found out where the brandy is being kept before it gets sold on to whoever is buying it.”

  She watched him absorb and process this information. “Tell me what you know. How sure are you about this information?”

  “Not sure at all, but I think I’m right. I found an area on Monk’s Cay that has obviously been used to store heavy boxes or crates recently. It’s an hour’s hike through thick forest to get there, so someone is obviously highly determined and motivated.”

  “Why do you assume it’s brandy?”

  “I was thinking about the old days when the monastery was first abandoned during Victorian times. The ghost rumors started up almost immediately. I remembered reading how customs officials used to be highly suspicious of haunted houses and haunted coves.”

  “Because they were usually associated with the smuggling trade.” Chief Macgregor nodded. “Very true. But the haunted monastery on Monk’s Cay has been a legend for the last hundred and fifty years. I doubt it has been a smuggler’s den for that long.”

  “But that’s not all. Yesterday, I had a visit from some members of the UFO Society. They’ve noticed lights flashing at Monk’s Cay for years now. They’ve even kept records of them.”

  “You think that was some kind of signaling system – for drop-offs and pick-ups, perhaps?”

  “I think it’s worth investigating.”

  Chief Macgregor forked up the last of his beef and vegetable. “What about Jessica Manilow? Do you see her disappearance as connected to this?”

  “I’m not sure. I don’t see how it could be. The smuggling is a recent thing.”

  “The vendors who reported it to us say it’s been happening for months, not years.”

  “It’s hard to see a connection, but it’s a whole new angle, and it needs to be looked into.”

  They finished their meals in silence.

  Eulalie could see that Chief Macgregor was starting to relax. The faint line that had bisected his brows when he’d walked into her office had faded and disappeared. He looked younger and lighter. It made her happy to think that talking to her had the power to make him feel better.

  She set her alarm clock for earlier than usual.

  When it went off, she’d had another broken night’s sleep and was not enthusiastic about getting up. She made herself do it, because she was determined to catch her secretary red-handed.

  She decided to try out a new cereal she had been saving for just such a morning. It was called Captain Marshmallow’s Whizzy Fudge ‘n Chocolate Bitz. Just reading the name cheered her up. She ate a large bowlful with milk and extra cream and followed it up with a strong cappuccino. It felt as though the sugar and caffeine high would carry her through anything.

  Eulalie got down to the office a full hour earlier than normal. And still, somehow, Mrs. Belfast had beaten her to it.

  This time the smell of tuna was strong enough to knock you back against the wall.

  “Mrs. Belfast!” said Eulalie.

  “Yes, dear?”

  “I know what’s going on.”

  Mrs. Belfast’s eyes flickered from side to side, but she stayed calm.

  “What do you mean, dear?”

  “You’re feeding the feral cat population, aren’t you?”

  The secretary’s wide eyes told Eulalie she had hit the mark.

  “I knew it! The mysterious plastic bowls that keep disappearing. The smell of tuna. That sack you were carrying last night that smelled as though a fish curled up and died inside it. Plus, I keep hearing them yowling outside at night. It’s keeping me awake.”

  Mrs Belfast frowned. “Yowling, dear? What time would that have been?”

  “All damn night, it felt like.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “That’s not even the point. The point is that there is already an excellent feral cat feeding scheme happening right here in Queen’s Town. I should know since as I donate to it once a quarter. It’s run by someone who calls herself Madame Le Chat. She feeds them and sterilizes them and finds homes for them when they are tame enough. She even builds places for them to sleep in.”

  Mrs Belfast nodded th
oughtfully. “Yes, I see what you mean.”

  “So, there’s really no need for you to feed them as well. In fact, you could be doing more harm than good, because Madame Le Chat has managed to concentrate the feral cat population into one particular area of downtown Lafayette. It makes it more manageable for her. By starting another feeding point this far uptown, you are just confusing matters.”

  “I see.”

  This was much easier than Eulalie had feared. “So, we’re agreed then – you will stop interfering with the feral cat feeding program, and I might have a chance of getting a decent night sleep again?”

  “Definitely. I can see that no good will come from interfering with the feeding program. It won’t happen again.”

  Eulalie smiled at her, gracious in victory.

  “That’s great. And, you know what? If you want to adopt a cat, you should go and see Madame Le Chat. She will organize one for you.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that, dear. I already have two cats at home. They’d have a fit if I tried to introduce a third.”

  “There we go then. Problem solved.” Eulalie went to sit at her desk.

  She planned to spend the day interviewing the bartenders who had been the last to see Jessica Manilow alive with the three boys. She wanted to get an idea of the dynamic between them. Some of the bartenders would have moved on to different jobs by now, but there were probably one or two that could still be traced. She set about trying to find them.

  “Remember, the office will be closed tomorrow, Mrs. Belfast,” she reminded her secretary. “I’m working security at the parade all day, and I’m not having you sitting here alone while it’s going on.”

  Mrs. Belfast smiled. “I do enjoy the parade, I must confess.”

  It was about ten o’clock when they both looked up at the sound of a rattle and a thump. A large envelope had been pushed through the letterbox next to the front door and landed on the mat next to Mrs. Belfast’s desk.

  Mrs. B. got up to investigate.

  “You’ll never guess who this is from,” she said.

  “Who?”

  “The UFO Society.”

  Chapter 13

  “The UFO Society?” Eulalie felt like a kid on Christmas morning. “Really? I didn’t think they’d come through for a skeptic like me. This could be very useful.”

  She opened the envelope and rifled through the contents. It was a copy of the records the society had kept over the last three years documenting flashing lights they had seen in the region of Monk’s Cay. It was raw data that hadn’t been collated or interpreted in any way.

  “More work for you, Mrs. B.”

  “What’s that, dear?”

  “Do you know anything about data handling?”

  “I know how to input data into a software program that will interpret it any way you like – pie graphs, bar graphs, tables, whatever.”

  “Perfect. This is a record of flashing lights that have been observed in the region of Monk’s Cay over the last three years. I’m interested in any and all patterns and frequencies that your software can throw up. The colors of the lights, the flashing patterns. The time of day, or week, or month. I want to know if they correspond with any known signaling pattern, like Morse code or shipping signals.”

  “One can’t see Monk’s Cay from Prince William Island, dear. It’s too far away.”

  “If you stand on top of the dome of City hall, you can see it. Logan Cay too. But I agree, this isn’t casual data you can pick up by standing on the beach at night. It turns out the UFO people have a telescope and an observatory. They noticed the lights while they were scanning the skies for aliens. It apparently never occurred to them that they were looking at human activity. If they’d reported it to the port authority years ago, this could all have been sorted out.”

  “We all see what we want to see, I suppose,” said Mrs. Belfast. “And sometimes when we think we have found the explanation for something, we don’t bother to look any further.”

  It seemed to Eulalie that her secretary was trying to tell her something, but she didn’t have time to deal with it. The bars along Beach Road would be opening now. She needed to get on with her interviews. She left Mrs. Belfast to deal with the UFO data and headed out into the late morning sunshine.

  Queen’s Town was getting ready for the big parade. Yards of bunting had been strung up along both sides of Lafayette Boulevard. The city council was out in force, making sure that every scrap of litter was removed, and the sidewalks were spotless. Shopkeepers and cafe owners were putting up their own decorations, hoping to lure in the tourists once the parade was over.

  Beach Road looked just as festive. Lined with bars rather than cafés, it was expecting a younger crowd of revelers who would keep going late into the night.

  Eulalie wove her way past deliveries of alcohol and other supplies, and shop owners trying to spruce up their window displays for the big day. A number of people greeted her, but she didn’t stop to chat. Her first port of call was the Hitch-a-Ride youth hostel where she found Nancy Shrike behind the reception desk, signing in a couple of backpackers. She handed her an envelope.

  “My updated progress report and running total of how many hours I’ve put in so far.”

  “Thank you.” Nancy was clearly busy and distracted, but she opened the envelope immediately to skim the report. “You’ve done a lot. This sounds very promising. You’ve uncovered stuff the police never touched on.”

  “I’ve shared the new information with them,” said Eulalie. “They have more resources than I do. If they decide to look into this smuggling angle, it can only be good for the investigation.”

  “And now you’re going to talk to the bartenders. What are you hoping to find out?”

  “I’m going to ask them the same thing I’m about to ask you. Were you aware of Jessica being more attracted to one of the boys than the others?”

  Nancy rested her hip against the reception desk. Eulalie got the feeling that she wasn’t hesitating out of a reluctance to answer, but from an attempt to remember back five years.

  “It’s hard to say. I never met the boys, you see. I caught glimpses of them here and there when they came to pick her up or drop her off. She never mentioned them by name. They were just, ‘my friends.’ I couldn’t distinguish one from the other. It was only after she disappeared, and the media began reporting on the story that I learned who they were.”

  “That’s a shame. I really need to get a feel for the personal dynamics between them.”

  “I will say one thing,” said Nancy. “She was a changed person after she met those boys. It was as though she’d had a personality transplant. One moment she was shy and quiet and reserved, and the next, she was absolutely blooming. I thought she had fallen in love. I even taxed her with it, but she just laughed and said she was happy because she had finally made some friends. And after that, of course, I hardly saw her. She was out all day every day. When I did catch a glimpse of her, she seemed to be on that same happy high. But that’s what she looked like – a girl in love.”

  “That’s interesting, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Where are you going now? Bongo Groove?”

  “It’s the closest, isn’t it?”

  “It is. And it’s a good place to start. They spent a lot of time there. When you’re finished there, just keep going north on Beach Road and you’ll see all those places on your list. Some of them have changed name and ownership in the last five years, but some of the same people still work there.”

  Eulalie thanked her and went back outside.

  Bongo Groove was two doors up from Hitch-a-Ride. It had changed its look over the years but retained a Caribbean theme. Eulalie walked in to the smell of coconut oil and the sound of steel-pan music. She went up to the bar and asked for Rico.

  “Wait here,” said the woman on duty. She disappeared into the back. Eulalie leaned against the bar counter and looked around. The place was filling up slowly. She glanced at a menu. There
weren’t many options for lunch – just bar snacks and some generic light meals. This place was all about the rum cocktails, the beer, and the live music that got going later in the afternoon.

  “Help you?”

  She turned to see a man with a bleached blonde buzz cut and tattooed biceps watching her with sleepy eyes.

  “Are you Rico?”

  “That’s what they tell me.”

  She passed him her card. While he studied it, she explained what she wanted.

  “I’m sure you remember this case. It was all over the media.”

  She handed him a print-out from an article in the Daily Mail. It featured a full-color photograph of Jessica Manilow standing with Damien Hodge, Pete Costello, and Chuck Weston. They were all smiling and facing the camera, making it an excellent photo for identification purposes.

  “Oh, sure. I remember that. I made fifty bucks telling some TV station about how those kids used to come in here.”

  “Yes, exactly,” said Eulalie. “I believe they came in here a lot. They might even have met each other here. I want to know what you can remember about their relationship – about the interaction between the four of them. I believe you were the person who served them most often.”

  Rico put his pale head back and laughed until Eulalie could count every filling in his mouth.

  “That’s the thing, babe,” he said at last. “I fooled that reporter back then, and if you were offering me money I’d fool you too. Are you offering me money?”

  “That’s a firm no.”

  “I didn’t really remember those kids. Do you know how much blow I was doing five years ago? I could barely remember my own name. But fifty bucks was fifty bucks, so I told those reporters what they wanted to hear. I sang the sad song about a beautiful young corn-fed girl cut down in the prime of her life. I talked about what fun they had together. Hell, I probably made up stuff they said to each other. I don’t even remember. All I remember is that I lied for twenty minutes straight and got fifty bucks at the end of it. Which promptly went up my nose too.”