The Complete H-Series of The Eulalie Park Mysteries

by Fiona Snyckers

  Chief Macgregor sat in silence, thinking.

  “This is all very interesting, and if it were our only lead…”

  “You’d be all over it like a rash,” she suggested.

  He smiled. “I would. But the fact that Sawyer Blakely came here as a fixer for a theme-park consortium, changes things somewhat. You are familiar with the principle of Occam’s Razor?”

  “That the simplest explanation is the most likely to be true.” Eulalie had done a year of philosophy at college.

  “That’s it. I have to assume that Blakely was killed because of who and what he was. The fact that mammoth tusk-hunters may also be active in the area is interesting, but I don’t see how it’s connected yet.”

  She had to admit that she didn’t either.

  On her way to the office, Eulalie stopped off at La Petite Patisserie to pick up coffee for herself and Mrs. Belfast. The smell of fresh pastry in the bakery enfolded her like a velvet blanket. Before she knew what she was doing, she had added two almond croissants to the order.

  As she crossed the road to her office, she noticed that Eulalie Park Investigations had acquired a new accessory - a handsome wicker basket with a puffy tartan cushion, topped off with a large Siamese cat. She had to admit it made an arresting sight.

  “Morning again, Paddy.” She bent to rub his head. “Thanks for pulling me out of the riverbed this morning.” He responded with a creaky meow.

  “Morning, Mrs. B.” She entered the office bearing two coffees and a bakery box. “You’re going to love me so much for what I’ve brought you that you’ll forgive me for the work I’m about to dump on you.”

  “Now, dear,” Mrs. Belfast tutted. “You know I’m not afraid of hard work. In fact, I relish it.”

  “A café latte with a shot of caramel, and an almond croissant.”

  “Thank you, dear.” Mrs. Belfast took the lid off her go-cup and inhaled the aroma. “Lovely.” She looked up to see Eulalie staring at the cat’s basket. “What is it, dear?”

  “He does have a basket. I thought so. Why is there a new basket outside?”

  “That’s his outside basket, dear. This is his inside basket.”

  “And I suppose the one in my apartment is his upstairs basket?”

  Mrs. Belfast smiled. “Exactly.”

  “He seems to prefer my bed.”

  “Well, of course he does, dear. You’re in it.”

  “Hmm.” Eulalie tapped at her phone. “I’ve just emailed you details about our John Doe. His name was Sawyer Blakely and he was from New York City. He was here to negotiate a real estate deal whereby part of the deep forest would have been turned into a jungle theme-park.”

  She paused while Mrs. Belfast choked on a sip of her latte. The secretary coughed violently.

  “A jungle theme-park?”

  “With a casino and soft-play area. So, what I need to know is who his contacts were on Prince William Island. Who was he scheduled to have meetings with? Who was he reporting to? Where was he staying? I presume he had meetings set up with someone from the governor’s office. Maybe someone in planning and development. If you can identify who that might have been, I’d be very grateful.”

  Mrs. Belfast opened her email. “I’ll get onto that right away.”

  “I’ll work here until one, and then I’m going to have lunch with Fleur.”

  Eulalie went into her office to start researching who Sawyer Blakely had been working for. The corporation behind the theme-park was called Megamoxy Productions. It began in Texas as a small company that organized and ran a travelling rodeo show. In an effort to stand out from all the other rodeo shows in the Lonestar state, Megamoxy had introduced themed events that went way beyond the usual rodeo clowns and western dress-up. They provided entertainment for adults and kids alike, as well as rodeo-themed food and drinks, of both the alcoholic and non-alcoholic variety.

  Soon the company was in a position to buy its own little patch of land and build a western theme-park, with a rodeo show that performed every hour on the hour. Soon these theme-parks had sprung up all over the state, and the owners were looking to go national.

  Wisely deciding that a western theme wasn’t to everyone’s tastes, Megamoxy diversified into theme-parks that were appropriate to each new location. Now the headquarters were located in New York rather than Houston, and the rodeo origins of the company had been neatly scrubbed from the website.

  It was five years since the company had gone international, and so far, they had created a space exploration theme-park in Hong Kong, and a snowy wonderland in Poland. As far as Eulalie could tell, this was their first venture into an environmentally sensitive area where the land was protected by local law. Realizing what they were up against, they had called in Sawyer Blakely to smooth the way for them.

  Megamoxy had not gone public with its plans for Prince William Island. There were vague promises on the website about ‘something new and exciting’ that was coming, but with no hint as to what that was. Eulalie had to go into the deep web – that part of the internet that was not searchable by conventional search engines – to find minutes of meetings and PDFs of plans, which confirmed that the jungle theme-park was to be Megamoxy’s biggest project yet.

  Eulalie stared at the plans.

  The proposed theme-park was so huge - so utterly enormous and brash and over the top – that it was hard to imagine how the developers had imagined it would be approved. Prince William Island was tiny by international standards. The thought of destroying half of its indigenous rainforest to create this monstrosity was inconceivable. Did the developers know something that she didn’t? Did they have a connection in the governor’s office?

  Eulalie looked up from her computer and saw that it was already almost one. She would be late for her lunch date with Fleur. They hadn’t spoken in a few days. She was looking forward to a one-on-one chat, and the opportunity to bounce details of the investigation off her friend. That always helped to clear her thoughts. Eulalie knew Fleur had had a pitch a couple of days earlier at the Four Seasons Hotel and wanted to hear how it had gone.

  “I’m heading out to lunch, Mrs. B. See you later. You should go out for lunch too. It’s good for clearing the head.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Chapter 8

  Eulalie walked into the coffee shop and confectioners known as Sweet as Flowers expecting to take a seat in her usual place at the counter next to the cash register. It was a slight shock to realize that someone was already sitting there.

  The someone was about five-foot-eight and male, with sandy-brown hair and a fair complexion. He sat with his back to the restaurant, scrolling through his phone.

  It was only as Eulalie got closer that she saw it was in fact Fleur’s phone.

  “Hello!” she said brightly. “Who are you?”

  If he jumped, it was only very slightly. “My name is Peter Pringle.” He held out his hand. “How do you do?”

  The accent was British, Eulalie thought as they shook hands. Upper class English, although some of his vowels sounded odd.

  Eulalie’s hand flickered, and the next moment Fleur’s phone was in her hand instead of his.

  “I do believe this belongs to my friend.”

  He just blinked at her. Then a charming smile swept over his face.

  “Of course it does. I was just…”

  “Eulalie!”

  They turned to see Fleur coming out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron. “Have you met Peter? Peter, this is my friend Eulalie Park that I was telling you about.”

  “Of course.” He made her a mock bow. “The best friend. It’s lovely to meet you at last.”

  “At last?” said Eulalie. “How long have you two known each other?”

  Fleur snuggled into the man’s side and put an arm around his waist. “Only three days, but it feels like longer, doesn’t it, darling?”

  “The time of life is short; to spend that shortness basely were wrong,” he said. “That’s Shakespeare
.”

  Fleur gave a delighted shiver. “Shakespeare. And in that gorgeous accent. Is it any wonder I’m crazy about you?”

  “Where did you two meet?” asked Eulalie.

  “I was in the lobby of the Four Seasons a few days ago, organizing the time and venue for my pitch. And Peter here – or should I say Lord Pringle? – was checking into the hotel. He asked if I could tell him where to find the best drycleaner in town, and we got chatting. And the rest, as they say, is history. We haven’t been apart since.”

  “You’re from England, Peter? I have a good friend who is Scottish.”

  He chuckled. “Hardly the same thing, my dear.”

  “Very true. Whereabouts in England are you from?”

  “My family has a place in Surrey, but I prefer my apartment in town. Belgravia is so convenient.”

  “And you’re staying at the Four Seasons?”

  “For now, yes. I might be looking to make more permanent arrangements soon.” He laughed as Fleur leaned in to kiss his cheek.

  “You warned me that I’d get the third degree from your friend,” he said. “Looks like you were right.”

  “I have an enquiring mind.” Eulalie sat at the counter next to him. “That’s probably why I became a private investigator. I’d better order something to eat. Will Peter be joining us for lunch?”

  Fleur started to say that he would, but he shook his head.

  “Sorry, ladies. I have family business to take care of. I’ll pop in later, darling.”

  They wrapped their arms around each other and kissed for an uncomfortably long time. When they finally broke apart, Fleur’s eyes were sparkling.

  “Missing you already.”

  “Missing you more.” He blew her a kiss and gave Eulalie a wave. Then he was gone.

  Fleur’s smile was huge. “Isn’t he incredible?”

  “Yes,” Eulalie said sincerely. “He really is.”

  “Can you believe he’s a lord? An actual English lord? My mother would die. She would literally collapse and die.”

  “I just can’t believe it.”

  “Right? It’s like a dream. And that he should be interested in me of all people. I feel like pinching myself.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about him?”

  “You were in the forest, remember? I met him on the day you and Angel left. You only got back yesterday afternoon. I was desperate to phone you, but I thought it would be better for you to meet him yourself, so you could see how amazing he is. I just wish he’d stayed for lunch.”

  “He didn’t seem overly keen on private investigators.”

  Fleur laid a hand on Eulalie’s arm. “You know how it is, babe. Some people think you spend your days creeping around following people who are having affairs. I’ll explain to him that you do exciting cases like murders.”

  “Tell him I also do insurance scams and identity theft. He might find that interesting.”

  The old Fleur would have picked up on her tone immediately. This new, infatuated Fleur didn’t even blink.

  “What would you like for lunch? We have a chicken curry on special, or you can have your usual grilled cheese sandwich.”

  “I’ll have the curry, thanks.”

  Fleur went to the kitchen to give the order, leaving Eulalie to wonder how she was going to handle this new influence in her friend’s life.

  Eulalie met Mrs. Belfast returning to the office a few minutes before two o’clock.

  “You took my advice and went out for lunch, Mrs. B? It’s going to snow for sure.”

  “I did, dear, and it was rather pleasant. I walked down to Beach Road and had a nice stroll up and down the boardwalk. Then I sat on a bench and ate my packed lunch and threw bread to the seagulls. I saw a friend of mine from bingo, and she joined me for a while. I feel quite refreshed.”

  Eulalie couldn’t help gloating. “This is what I keep telling you. Getting out of the office, even for half an hour, makes all the difference to one’s day.” She unlocked the front door. “See, even Paddy the cat went out for a midday constitutional.” As she spoke, the cat slipped back into the office through a window.

  “Did you have a pleasant lunch with your friend Fleur, dear?”

  “I don’t know about pleasant. The food was good as always. Fleur has a new boyfriend. An English lord, apparently.”

  “Is that so?”

  Eulalie had no difficulty interpreting the skepticism in her secretary’s tone.

  “That’s what he says anyway.”

  “Would you like me to do some research…?” Mrs. Belfast nodded at her computer.

  Eulalie thought about it. “Tempting. But no. I don’t want to go behind Fleur’s back. I’ll keep that possibility in reserve in case this guy really starts giving me bad vibes. What did you find out about Sawyer Blakely?”

  “I emailed you the information. He wasn’t an independent consultant. He worked for a company called Triumph Real Estate Conversions. They facilitate real estate transactions for large corporations. Blakely was their biggest rainmaker. So, when Megamoxy wanted someone to smooth the way for them to develop part of the forest, Blakely was the obvious choice.

  “And what about here on Prince William Island? Who were his contacts? Who was he here to negotiate with?”

  “I don’t have the names yet. All I know is that he was staying at the Four Seasons. They might have a record of who visited him and who he had meetings with.”

  “The Four Seasons,” said Eulalie. “That’s where Fleur’s Lord Pringle is staying.”

  “It’s a big hotel, and popular with businessmen. Didn’t Fleur have a pitch there this week? How did it go?”

  “It went well, apparently. They love the designs for her new packaging, so it’s looking hopeful that they might start stocking her products. That will take her into a different league.”

  “I just hope she’s not being taken in by an impostor.”

  “This Lord Pringle guy? I hope so too. The trouble with Fleur is that she hasn’t lived on Prince William Island long enough to know how many conmen it attracts. Fleur takes people at face value.”

  “She’s a lovely young woman. She deserves to be happy. I would love to see her find someone really nice.”

  “Like you did, Mrs. B.?”

  Mrs. Belfast’s smile was reminiscent. “Like I did, yes.”

  Eulalie waited for more, but nothing was forthcoming. She had often wondered about the late Mr. Belfast, but her secretary was tightlipped about her personal life.

  “I’ll go to the Four Seasons now to see if I can get some answers about who Blakely was meeting there. You’ll hold the fort, Mrs. B?”

  “But of course, dear. Paddy and I have got this.”

  Eulalie took her Vespa to the Four Seasons Hotel on Beach Road. Once known as the Royal Hotel, it was a marvel of French colonial architecture. The Four Seasons had taken over the Royal Hotel when it had been about to close down after years of bad management. Half the town had panicked that one of Queen’s Town’s most venerable landmarks was going to be torn down and replaced by a tower block hotel.

  These fears had proved groundless.

  Instead of tearing it down, the new owners had restored the hotel to its former glory, even going so far as to color-match the paintwork from the eighteen-hundreds, using sketches and paintings by local artists from that period as a guide.

  The building never failed to raise Eulalie’s spirits, with its elegant appeal.

  She parked her Vespa and walked into the lobby. Pretending to read messages on her phone, she kept an eye on the reception desk. There were three receptionists on duty, but only one who was clearly in charge. If anyone had the authority to release information about a deceased guest, it was her.

  Eulalie decided that she would make her approach in French rather than English. Everything about the woman, from her sleek chignon to her matte black suit, screamed Paris. This was no Prince William Island native – this was a Parisian import.

  Eulalie men
tally rehearsed her Paris accent, with just a hint of the fourteenth arrondissement for authenticity. She popped into the bathroom to touch up her makeup and re-apply her lipstick. She knew she looked like an islander with her olive skin and black hair, but she would project the confidence of a Parisian.

  She strode out of the bathroom and went up to the reception desk. The receptionist’s nametag said Sophie D’Arnot.

  “Bonjour.” Her voice was clipped. “I am here on police business.” She slid her police ID card across the counter. “I need to ask questions about a guest who was staying here until recently.”

  Sophie D’Arnot picked up Eulalie’s ID card and took a long look at it.

  “One moment, please.”

  She turned away and picked up a phone, holding the ID card between her thumb and forefinger. Eulalie guessed she was phoning the police station to check out her bona fides. She trusted that Manny would vouch for her.

  A minute later, the woman was back. She returned Eulalie’s ID card and asked how she could help. Eulalie opened an image of Sawyer Blakely on her phone and held it up for her to see.

  “This man was staying here recently, is that correct?”

  The flicker of recognition was unmistakable, but Sophie made a show of checking her computer anyway.

  “That is correct. That is also all I can tell you.”

  “And why is that?”

  “This man is a guest here. As such he is entitled to privacy, even from the police. If you come back with a warrant that says otherwise, that is fine. But in the meantime, I can tell you nothing.”

  “What if I told you that the man is deceased? Are you equally anxious to protect the privacy of a dead guest?”

  Sophie’s face registered shock. She clearly hadn’t heard the news.

  Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she went deeper into the system. What she saw there, made her face fall.

  “You’re right. He was marked as deceased last night after someone from the tourism board called to inform us. What do you want to know about the poor gentleman?”