The Complete H-Series of The Eulalie Park Mysteries

by Fiona Snyckers

  As she sat up, it came back to her.

  Angel.

  The way she had reacted to the sight of that arrow. She had come close to collapsing. Whatever it was had disturbed her deeply. Unless of course it had nothing to do with the arrow. Perhaps Angel was just ill. Perhaps something was terribly wrong with her.

  No. Eulalie pulled herself together and swung her legs out of bed. Of course, it had been the photograph. It was obvious that faintness had overcome her the moment she looked at it. Something about that photo had shocked her deeply, and she had promised to explain it this morning.

  There was no point in panicking until she knew what it was she was panicking about. She would go and visit Angel for breakfast and find out exactly what was going on. Her grandmother had never lied to her. If there was something she didn’t want to tell her, she would simply say so rather than giving false information.

  Eulalie fed the cat and took a shower, turning the dial to cold at the end to help wake herself up. She didn’t want a lecture from Angel on looking heavy-eyed.

  She switched her coffee machine on while she got dressed in a pair of lightweight Capri pants and a strappy top. The forecast was for unusually hot weather, so she left off her customary blazer. It might have made her look more professional, but with highs in the nineties, she couldn’t face it.

  She let her hair dry naturally and pulled it back into a thick tail at the nape of her neck.

  After two cups of coffee, Eulalie felt considerably brighter. She went downstairs to greet her secretary who was opening the office for the day.

  “Hello, darling,” Mrs. Belfast crooned. “Aren’t you looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning?”

  It took Eulalie a moment to realize that she was addressing the cat and not her.

  “Oh, good morning, dear.” Mrs. Belfast straightened up when she had finished fussing over the delighted feline. “Late night?”

  “Oh, man.” Eulalie pulled out her phone to check her reflection. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Not at all, dear, but we mothers can always tell these things. Don’t fuss – you look lovely.”

  Eulalie put her phone away, struck once again by how little she knew about her secretary’s personal life.

  This wasn’t the first time she had talked about being a mother, but she had never given any indication of how many children she had, or where they might be. Presumably there had been a Mr. Belfast at some point, but whether he was divorced, deceased, or still around was a mystery. Angel seemed fairly sure that Mrs. Belfast was currently single, and she was usually right.

  With all the resources at her disposal, Eulalie could find out the details of her secretary’s personal life in a matter of minutes, but she had no intention of invading her privacy like that. She still hoped that Mrs. Belfast would trust her enough one day to give her more details.

  “I’m going to see my grandmother this morning,” she said. “How is your workload for the day? Can I add to it?”

  “Of course, dear. You know I like to be busy. What can I help you with?”

  “I think Sawyer Blakely was in town to meet with someone from the governor’s office who could push through an amendment to the environmental laws that protect the deep forest from development. He was either here to identify key players that he could corrupt, or he had already identified them and was here to discuss strategy.”

  “We’re talking about kickbacks?” Mrs. Belfast took notes. “About actual corruption in the governor’s office?”

  “I’m not sure. It could have been dressed up in a polite form. He might have tried to convince them that a giant theme-park would be good for the economy. There might have been an implied understanding that the person’s career could benefit from contact with Megamoxy. Or there might have been real bribery.”

  “Right, right…” Mrs. Belfast nodded as she scribbled. “So, you want me to look for people who are financially vulnerable – who might have been open to bribery?”

  “Yes, but not only them. The kind of money Megamoxy has at its command is enough to tempt anyone, even the financially stable. I want you to look at people who might be useful to them in unusual ways – climate-change deniers, environment hawks, anyone whose personal life has left them open to blackmail. Officials with a poor ethical track record. That sort of thing.”

  “Got it. I’ll get started right away.”

  “I know it’s a big ask, but I’ll be back later to help you filter through the list.”

  “I’ll enjoy doing it,” Mrs. Belfast assured her. “I’m having more fun working here than I ever did at the school or the police station. I especially enjoy sifting through piles of irrelevant information looking for one helpful clue. It’s like a treasure hunt.”

  “Good. Because that is my least favorite part of the job – apart from divorces and domestics, of course. Nothing was worse than that.”

  “Most unpleasant indeed. Go and see your grandmother, dear, and remind her that it’s my turn to pick her up for yoga tonight.”

  “Right.”

  Eulalie was still slightly weirded out by the thought of Mrs. Belfast and her grandmother doing yoga together. And if Manny the desk sergeant were to join them, it would be weirder still.

  She decided to file this under the heading of things she could do nothing about. Then she headed out into the limpid early morning light. The air was mild, but it was barely eight o’clock. A heat haze in the eastern sky held the promise of a scorcher.

  By the time she got to Angel’s Place, Eulalie’s ponytail was starting to curl wildly from the humidity. She walked around the restaurant to the back entrance and climbed the stairs that would take her up to the apartment she had grown up in from the age of twelve.

  She tapped lightly on the door, before using her own key to let herself in. The unease she had been feeling earlier that morning had mostly dissipated, but a small part of her was afraid of what she might find as she opened the door.

  It was a relief to see her grandmother perched elegantly on a chair at the kitchen table wearing a peacock-blue silk robe, holding a cup of coffee in one hand, and swiping through the news of the day on her iPad with the other.

  “Bonjour, chérie.”

  She stood gracefully to embrace Eulalie and give her the traditional double-cheek kiss. “I must apologize for causing such an uproar last night. It was not my intention to worry you.”

  “Of course not. How are you feeling this morning?”

  “Quite restored to health, thank you, ma petite.”

  The kitchen table was laid with a white linen cloth and groaned under an array of baguettes and croissants, served with fresh butter from the farmer’s market and various jars of preserves.

  Eulalie split open a croissant and spread it with butter and strawberry jelly. Sugar-laden cereals might be her breakfast of choice when she was on her own, but she had to admit that a traditional French breakfast was good too.

  “Eat this.” Angel nudged a pot of fromage frais and another of pear purée towards her.

  Eulalie shrugged and complied.

  It was only when they had finished eating and were sitting back with their coffee that Angel returned to the subject of the arrow.

  “I’m ready to tell you about it, if you are ready to listen, ma chérie.”

  “I’ve been ready since last night.”

  “As you surmised, I recognized the carvings on the arrow you showed me. I know who made it. His style is unmistakable.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Years ago, there was a man in the village who was an expert fletcher. He loved his work - both the creation and the balancing of the arrow, and the carvings too. His artistry was unmatched. Anyone old enough to remember his work would recognize that arrow as his.”

  “How long ago was this?” asked Eulalie. “Would he still be alive?”

  “It was twenty-eight years ago that he was last seen in the village.”

  Eulalie felt a chill settle on her skin. />
  “Twenty-eight years ago? Who was he, Grandmère? Tell me at once.”

  Angel’s eyes were full of pity as she looked at her granddaughter.

  “He was your father, mon enfant.”

  Chapter 13

  Angel’s bright kitchen drained of light and color. A clanging sound could be heard from far away. The air had become very cold.

  Eulalie was lying down. She was a simpler, more primitive version of herself. She didn’t have the strength to lift her head. Anything further than fifteen inches away was out of focus.

  Something swam into her vision. It was him. Not the mother, but the other one. He had big, dark eyes set in a pale face. Paler than the mother’s. His lips were tight and unhappy.

  His fingers brushed her cheek.

  “I am sorry, little one.” His voice was thick with regret. “I have to go.”

  Her hand flexed like a star fish, but she lacked the coordination to reach for him.

  Then his face was gone, leaving a howling void behind.

  Her shoulder was seized and shaken. A voice spoke in her ear.

  “That’s enough, Eulalie. Come back now, petite. Come back to me.”

  The shaking was persistent and annoying.

  Eulalie opened her mouth to protest, but instead air flooded into her lungs. Her eyes snapped open, and she was breathing again, gulping at the air like one who has been underwater.

  Angel patted her shoulder and went to sit at the table. She was perfectly composed. Only the pallor of her face indicated that she had been under strain.

  “Does it always happen like that? Do you always stop breathing?”

  “I don’t know.” Eulalie shook her head to clear it. “I think so. That is what has been happening lately.”

  “Then, more than ever, I am glad I insisted on the cat. If he can bring you out of that state and make you start breathing, then he is precious indeed.”

  Eulalie shrugged. “He’s all right.”

  There was silence as they processed what had happened.

  “My father,” Eulalie said at last. “You couldn’t be mistaken?”

  “His carvings are very distinctive. There is no doubt in my mind that he made that arrow. But that is all it is – an arrow.”

  “That’s right,” said Eulalie. “It is just an arrow. It means nothing. Anyone could have found it. It could have been lying around the village all these years. Anyone could have taken it.”

  “The only thing is… your father took his arrows with him when he left. The ones he made for other people were used and discarded years ago. Arrows don’t last forever, as you know. They split and break and have to be thrown away. I have not laid eyes on one of Lucien’s arrows for nearly three decades. That’s why it gave me such a turn.”

  “He came to see me before he left.”

  “What? What do you mean? How can you possibly know that?”

  “He touched my cheek and said he was sorry. His voice was full of regret. He said he had to go. He called me his little one.”

  “That’s impossible. He left the village before you were born.”

  “Then he must have come back. It wasn’t the first time I had seen him. I recognized him as a familiar face. He had been to see me several times.”

  “You saw this in the vision you had?”

  Eulalie shook her head. “Not a vision. Don’t call it that. It was… a memory. A fragment of memory.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “He was young – so much younger than I expected. He was no more than a boy.”

  “He was seventeen years old – a man in our culture.”

  “He looked like a boy to me. His face was pale. His skin was light for a villager. His eyes were big and dark. He had curly black hair that almost touched his collar.”

  “His collar? What was he wearing?”

  Eulalie thought for a moment. “Western clothes. Yes, that’s right – a grey shirt with a collar. Not the traditional hemp cloth of the village.”

  Angel stood up and paced the kitchen.

  “He must have been staying in Queen’s Town. He probably came back and hid in the forest when you were born. He was good at that. He was good at staying hidden when he didn’t want to be found. He must have been sneaking into my place at night. Did he ever hold you? Did he ever pick you up?”

  Eulalie closed her eyes, trying to recapture the sensation of the dream. As usual, it was fading fast.

  “I think so,” she said. “He was very familiar to me. I knew what he felt like, what he smelled like. He was the second most familiar person after my mother.”

  Angel’s eyes closed in pain, as they always did when her daughter was mentioned.

  Eulalie leaned over to touch her hand.

  “I am sorry, Grandmère. I know this is distressing to you.”

  Angel shook her head.

  “No, not me. It is you I am thinking of. I thought you didn’t remember her at all. I thought you couldn’t miss something that you didn’t remember. I was wrong, and I am sorry for that.”

  “I didn’t remember her before today. Now I have a sense of someone who cared for me before you took over. And I have a clear picture in my mind of a boy who came to say goodbye.”

  Angel sighed and dabbed a tissue at the corner of her eye.

  “Now you know how I felt when you showed me that picture yesterday. It was as though the past had risen up to ambush me. All I could think about was how this would affect you. And, look – here you are having visions already.” She caught Eulalie’s eye. “I mean memories. It has unleashed a stream of memories.”

  “As an investigator, I have to wonder what this means for the case. That arrow is the only piece of physical evidence we have pointing to Sawyer Blakely’s murderer. I can’t ignore the fact that it points to my father, but I can’t jump to conclusions either. I have to keep an open mind. I can’t let this derail my investigation, and I really can’t let personal feelings overwhelm me.”

  Angel looked at her granddaughter and saw that this was her way of coping. She would file the untidy emotions away to be dealt with later. Unravelling mysteries calmed her – it always had. Angel had no intention of getting in the way of anything that helped her to cope.

  “Then I am an important witness,” she said, topping up their coffee cups. “You must interview me for information on Lucien Park. I am one of the few left who knew him well. Both of his parents were already late by the time he left. And all his other relatives are your relatives too. You grew up with them. But I was the one who was paying attention, because he was the father of my grandchild. So, ask away.”

  Eulalie made herself focus. Angel was right – this was an important lead. As a child, she had often asked questions about her parents. As far as she knew, she had always received honest answers. But she had been afraid to question her grandmother too deeply because all questioning led to the same conclusion – the fact that neither of her parents had loved her enough to stick around.

  Angel had tried to make her understand how young they were - how unprepared for parenthood. But Eulalie knew that Angel had also been fourteen when she had become a mother for the first time, and that hadn’t stopped her from being the best parent she could be.

  It was a sore point – the most tender spot in her psyche. It was no wonder she had been reluctant to probe it until now.

  “Tell me about Lucien Park,” she invited her grandmother. “What kind of boy was he? What kind of man would he have grown up to become?”

  “You know he was an all-round achiever. Extremely intelligent, hungry for knowledge - and also the best at everything he turned his hand to. Whether it was fishing, hunting, climbing, or building, he was the best. He could have chosen any career for himself. He could have gone in any direction. There were whispers among the elders that he would be head of the council one day.”

  “What made him go into fletching?”

  “It was his special love. He had a great gift for making arrows, and fo
r decorating them. The older fletchers in the village used to come and watch him work because his techniques were so superior. Any arrow made by your father travelled straight and true, and with great power. It was the thing he enjoyed doing more than anything else, but that doesn’t mean he gave up his other activities. He participated in everything.”

  “Was he arrogant?”

  “At times, yes,” Angel conceded. “But you must remember how young he was. A certain amount of arrogance could be tolerated because of his youth and the fact that he had lost his parents young. It was assumed that he would grow out of it.”

  “You say he left the village just over twenty-eight years ago. What was his motivation for going?”

  Angel opened her mouth to say that Eulalie knew perfectly well why he had left. Then she closed it again. This was not her granddaughter she was speaking to – this was Eulalie Park, private investigator and special liaison to the Queen’s Town Police Department.

  “The girl he had been seeing was expecting a baby. She was fourteen and he was seventeen. It was widely understood at the time that he left to avoid the responsibility.”

  “Did he tell anyone where he was going? A man like that must have had a lot of friends. Surely he confided in someone?”

  “If he did, that person never came forward to admit it. Everyone in the village was shocked by his disappearance.”

  “Who were his known associates? Perhaps the passing years would have made them less discreet.”

  “He was on good terms with all of his age-mates. The only person he was really close to was Fauve – your mother.”

  “What about when he was a child? Did he have any particular friends then?”

  “Yes, of course, but those friendships faded as he grew older. I remember that he and Antoine were quite close at one stage.”

  Eulalie’s professional façade slipped.

  “What? That idiot? Why would my father have had anything to do with him?”

  “This was back when they were boys, ma petite. Even the worst criminals start out as small children. Antoine was not a bad boy. He went off the rails later in life – after Lucien had been gone for a few years.”