The Complete H-Series of The Eulalie Park Mysteries

by Fiona Snyckers

“I know it’s you, Abelino.” She pulled out a plain manila envelope and handed it to him. “You’ve been served.”

  He put his hands behind his back and shook his head like a toddler refusing a mouthful of food.

  Eulalie took out her phone, switched the camera to selfie mode, and took a photo of the two of them with her handing the envelope over.

  “You’ve been served, Abelino,” she repeated. “It doesn’t matter if you leave the summons lying here on a table. You are now legally obliged to appear in court to answer for your debts. Should you fail to appear in court, default judgment will be granted against you, and the sheriff of the court will start seizing your assets. That means your car, Abelino. And that forty-five-inch flat-screen you like to boast about.”

  His face closed down, but he took the envelope. Then he turned and walked out the door.

  Fleur appeared at Eulalie’s shoulder, carrying a broom.

  “He stiffed me on the bill again. I can’t believe it.”

  “You can add it to your claim against him.”

  “I suppose, although I’ll get no more than a few cents in the dollar. Still, it’s better than nothing.”

  “Why does he do it? It’s not like he can’t afford to pay for what he wants. Why does he run into debt like this?”

  Fleur picked up a sugar bowl that had rolled under a table and began to sweep up sugar.

  “It’s like a game for him. A compulsion.”

  “Sorry about the mess.”

  “Don’t worry about it. The main thing is that you got him, and now we can start recovering some of the money he owes us.”

  Eulalie’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen.

  Angel de la Cour: Come to the school right now. Something is happening. I called Chief Macgregor too.

  “What is it?” asked Fleur.

  “It’s Angel. She wants me to go to the school.”

  “What’s she doing there?”

  “I don’t know. It could be anything. She’s on the board of governors. It sounds urgent.”

  “You should go then.”

  Eulalie looked down at herself. “Have you seen what I’m wearing? I can’t go to the school looking like this.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Fleur suppressed a smirk. “I think you look nice. I haven’t seen those shorts since college.”

  “Exactly. I look unprofessional. There’ll be teachers there who remember me from high school. They’ll think I ended up as a beach bum.”

  This time Fleur couldn’t hold back her smile. “Everyone knows what you do. You’ve got that big sign up on Bonaparte Avenue.”

  “Even worse. They’ll think this is how I dress for work.”

  Fleur tapped her watch. “You’d better get going. If you’re willing to keep Angel waiting, you’re a braver woman than I am.”

  Eulalie sighed. She messaged her grandmother to let her know she was on her way. Then she stepped out onto Lafayette Drive to hail a cab.

  Queen’s Town School was a place Eulalie had managed to avoid for the past ten years, ever since she had graduated at eighteen.

  Her memories of high school were a mixed bag. There had been good times, but there had also been loneliness, isolation, and a sense of not fitting in. There were people she remembered fondly, like Amelie and Zeenat. They were both working overseas. And there were others that she was happy to think she would never lay eyes on again.

  Her first thought as the cabbie dropped her off at the gates was that the school seemed to have shrunk. Everything was smaller than she recalled.

  She remembered the entrance gates as huge. Now, they barely came up to her shoulders. The growth spurt she had hoped for at thirteen had never materialized, but she had managed to put on a couple of inches since then to reach five-foot-three.

  She walked up the path to the front office, half expecting to find Lorelei Belfast there. Her secretary had been the school office administrator throughout her middle and high school years. Then Mrs. Belfast had moved to the police station where she had worked for a succession of chiefs of police, including the current incumbent, Chief Donal Macgregor. At the age of sixty, she had been forced to retire, in accordance with the compulsory pension age for civil servants, as set down by the governor’s office.

  Eulalie had hired her two days later, knowing that she could search the whole island without finding anyone as skilled and efficient as Mrs. Belfast.

  So far, the arrangement was working well, if you were prepared to overlook the fact that Mrs. Belfast had tricked her into adopting a cat.

  “I’m looking for Angel de la Cour,” she told the administrators in the school office. “I got a message to meet her here.”

  “They’re all down on the middle-school playground,” said the receptionist. “Do you know the way?”

  Eulalie assured her that she did and stepped out onto the school grounds.

  A group of people were standing around in a loose knot at the bottom of the playground, where the fields ended and the grassy paddock began. The land sloped downwards to the perimeter fence that marked the end of the school property.

  It struck Eulalie that everyone was somewhat overdressed for a random Tuesday morning. Her grandmother wore a linen shift dress in watermelon, with a cranberry silk scarf and matching shoes. There was a tiny pillbox hat on her head.

  The men were in suits, and the women were dressed for a garden party.

  Even more peculiar was the fact that the men were carrying spades, which they had clearly been using to dig holes all over the paddock.

  The fact that everyone was so formally dressed made Eulalie feel even worse about her clothes. By no stretch of the imagination could her micro-shorts and strappy top be regarded as appropriate for this gathering.

  Angel looked up and spotted her as she approached the group.

  “Ah, bon.” She hurried over to meet Eulalie. “Thank you for coming, ma petite. We have found something very strange and disturbing. It may be nothing more than a prank, but we cannot be sure. Why this had to happen today of all days, I do not know.”

  Eulalie switched to Guillaumoise, the language of their village home. She did not want to be overheard.

  “What is happening here? Why are you all so dressed up, and what are those holes in the paddock?”

  “But it is Hatching Day, mon ange. Surely you have seen the flyers?”

  “Hatching Day?”

  “Mais oui. We advertised it on the radio and in the local papers. You must recall. Fifteen years ago, the senior class buried time capsules here in the paddock. Today is the day that was appointed for them to be dug up.”

  A memory tickled the back of Eulalie’s mind. “Actually, I do remember something about that. I think I was still in middle school. I remember the seniors coming onto our campus to bury their time capsules because we had the empty paddock.”

  “We decided to turn it into a fundraising opportunity,” said Angel.

  “Of course you did.”

  “Indeed, and why not? We invited students from that year to come and participate in the hatching. We invited teachers who had left the school, and also parents of the seniors. We charged them an admission fee for a garden party to celebrate the hatching. It was all going really well. And now this has occurred.”

  “What went wrong. Weren’t the time capsules where they were supposed to be?”

  “No, they were there all right.” Angel indicated a pile of egg-shaped objects next to the drinks table. “They were exactly where they were supposed to be, according to a map that the seniors left for us. They are amazingly well preserved, and the contents are dry and unspoiled.”

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  “You had better come and see for yourself.” Angel led Eulalie to where a group of people were standing poring over a piece of paper that one of them was holding.

  Eulalie recognized the man holding the paper as Emil Foucault – a teacher she remembered from middle school.

  “Mr. Foucault.” S
he stepped forward with her hand outstretched. “How are you?”

  The man blinked at her for a second. Then he shook her hand warmly.

  “Eulalie Park! What a surprise. I have hardly laid eyes on you since you graduated. You know I am headmaster here now?”

  “I heard. Congratulations.”

  “Your grandmother said she was going to call you. Have a look at this.”

  Emil held out the piece of paper for her to see. Instead of taking it, Eulalie pulled a pair of latex gloves from her messenger bag and slipped them on. Then she took the piece of paper by one corner and read it.

  I killed Rochelle Chirac. She was a bitch and she deserved to die.

  Chapter 2

  Eulalie looked up. “Where did this come from?”

  “It was inside one of the eggs,” said Emil. “We thought it felt a bit light, and when we opened it there was only one thing inside, and that was this note.”

  “How many people touched the note?”

  Glances flew from person to person.

  “I did,” said Emil.

  “And so did I,” said Angel. “And quite a few of the people here.”

  Eulalie raised her voice. “Everyone who touched the note must give their names to Mr. Foucault. He can then give the list to Chief Macgregor. This note is a piece of evidence. The crime scene technicians will have to exclude your fingerprints when they come to examine it.” She glanced at the pile of opened eggs next to the drinks table. “Did you make a note of which egg the piece of paper came from?”

  Angel indicated an egg that had rolled under a chair. “It is this one. I have been keeping an eye on it because I thought it might be important.”

  “Are you sure of that, Grandmère?”

  “Yes. It was this one. Definitely.”

  One of the women bent to pick up the egg but stopped when Eulalie yelped at her.

  “That is also evidence. Let’s keep it as clean as possible. We’ll also need a list of people who touched the egg.”

  “Here comes Chief Macgregor now,” said Emil.

  Eulalie turned to see the chief of police walking across the field. He was wearing a suit, so he had probably been in meetings that morning.

  He shook hands with the headmaster and submitted to a double cheek kiss from Angel. He nodded to the rest of the company. Then his eyes landed on Eulalie, and a rare smile tugged at his lips.

  “Casual Friday is it?”

  Angel smothered a laugh.

  “I was working undercover this morning,” said Eulalie. “Hence the beachwear. I didn’t have time to change back into my work clothes.”

  Chief Macgregor held up his hands. “No explanation necessary. I’d be the last person to object to those shorts. Now what do we have here?” He indicated the note Eulalie was holding.

  She waited while he gloved up and then handed it to him.

  “I killed Rochelle Chirac,” he read aloud. “She was a bitch and she deserved to die. Where did you get this?”

  Emil Foucault explained about the time capsule project from fifteen years earlier. “Today was the official Hatching Day. Everyone was enjoying it, until this happened.”

  “Who is Rochelle Chirac, and why does that name sound so familiar?”

  “It came up when we investigated the Task murders, remember?” said Eulalie. “You got Detective Wright to look into missing persons cases from fifteen years ago.”

  “Ah, yes. He came up with two names, didn’t he? Rochelle Chirac and Agnes Nilsson. Our victim turned out to be Agnes. I thought Rochelle was believed to be a runaway?”

  “That’s right,” said Emil. “I was teaching middle school at the time, so I didn’t know her personally. But I do recall that she was regarded as a troubled teenager. Her disappearance caused a big stir. We thought she had dropped out of school and run away from home.”

  “Was she ever heard of again?” asked Chief Macgregor.

  “If she was, I never knew about it,” said Eulalie. “I was thirteen when it happened. We talked about nothing else for days, and then it died down.”

  “Did she disappear on the day of the time capsule project?”

  “I’m trying to remember.” Eulalie pressed her fingers against her eyes until she saw orange swirls. “I think she had been missing for a few days already, and people were just starting to get worried.”

  “It will be easy enough to check. We will compare the date she was reported to have gone missing with the date of the time capsule project. Then we’ll get hold of her family and see if they’ve had any contact with her since. Does anyone know if they still live on the island?”

  Angel and Emil shook their heads. They knew nothing about the family.

  “Well, this is a police matter now,” said Eulalie. “Chief Macgregor and his team will take over from here. I should get back to the office.”

  “I’ll walk with you a little way,” said Angel.

  They turned and headed back to the school buildings. Soon, a bell would ring, and the children would go to lunch. Then they would swarm out onto the field. Chief Macgregor’s team would have to set up police tape to keep them out of the paddock.

  “Why don’t you stay and help?” asked Angel. “That is why I called you in, after all. I thought you would find it interesting.”

  “I can’t take on every case I find interesting. I need a client to hire me first.”

  “Couldn’t you simply assist the police with it? You have done so before.”

  “I’m the liaison officer for village affairs. That means I get called in when a case is connected to the village. This isn’t. I can’t stick my nose in where it’s not wanted.”

  “I’m sure Chief Macgregor wouldn’t mind.”

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t too, but I have a living to earn. I can’t give up the cases I’m currently working on just to help the police when they haven’t asked for it.”

  “I suppose you are right.”

  “I am.” Eulalie kissed her grandmother on both cheeks. “You had better get back to them. The police will want to take a statement from everyone who was there today.”

  “I am not sure what we will have to contribute.”

  “You’re all witnesses. That egg could have been slipped in with the other eggs this morning. Or the contents could have been taken out and substituted with the note. You are witnesses that it came out of the ground like that.”

  “Then I had better get back and behave like a good witness.”

  Eulalie took a cab to the office.

  She was not averse to walking. In fact, she enjoyed it. But she had wasted enough time today. Bagging Abelino Conte was a bonus, and she would be well paid for it by the public prosecutor’s office, but she was working on an important investigation for an insurance company and couldn’t afford to let it slide.

  She got the cabbie to drop her at the corner of Lafayette and Bonaparte, so that she could visit a food cart for lunch. She ordered a fruit smoothie and a sandwich mixte – a baguette with ham and cheese.

  On her way into the office, she stopped off at La Petite Patisserie, the bakery diagonally opposite her office. The aromas that emanated from its doors were a constant temptation to Eulalie and her secretary.

  Today, with her baguette clutched in a brown paper parcel, she could be strong against the lure of pastry. She ordered two small cafés au lait and took them across the road to her office.

  “Hello, dear.” Mrs. Belfast looked up from her desk where she was eating pasta from a plastic tub. “How did you get on with Mr. Conte?”

  Eulalie allowed herself a smile. “He’s been served. Now he has to turn up in court unless he wants a default judgment against him. Here’s a coffee to go with your lunch.” She put it on her secretary’s desk.

  “Thank you, dear. You’ve been gone a long time. I imagined you chasing Mr. Conte all over town.”

  “No, I nabbed him quickly. I sent the photo to your inbox, so you can submit the paperwork to the public prosecutor.”


  “Naturally, dear.”

  Eulalie sat on the couch next to Mrs. Belfast’s desk and unwrapped her baguette.

  “I got called to the school this morning.”

  “Oh?”

  “Do you remember a project the seniors did fifteen years ago? They made time capsules and buried them in the paddock at the bottom of the middle school playground.”

  “Of course. I was the one who ordered the time capsules from the supplier. They looked like oversized ostrich eggs.”

  “Today was Hatching Day, and one of the eggs contained a surprise.” Eulalie held up her phone to show Mrs. Belfast a picture she had taken of the message.

  Mrs. Belfast read it in silence, a crease between her brows.

  “Rochelle Chirac. I remember her slightly. Her disappearance caused a lot of consternation at the time. Runaway teenagers are not the norm in this town. Not when they never come back.”

  “Do you know if Rochelle ever made contact with her family after her disappearance?”

  “Not to my knowledge. The only family member who still lives here is her father. Her parents split up when she was young. I believe her mother moved away eventually. There was talk of Rochelle having a boyfriend, and of some involvement in drugs. She was a troubled girl.”

  Mrs. Belfast picked up Eulalie’s phone again and looked at the letter.

  “This looks as though it was written by a schoolgirl.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “I know Rochelle made some enemies with her wild ways, but she was well liked by some of the students.”

  “I’ll let Chief Macgregor know about her father. He can take it from there.”

  “Will you not be part of the investigation, dear?”

  “Now you sound like my grandmother. I can’t muscle my way into an investigation that nobody has hired me for.”

  The office cat, Paddington, had been lying curled in his basket fast asleep. Now, he sat up and stretched himself extravagantly. He wandered over to where Eulalie was sitting on the couch and looked meaningfully up at her.

  “Oh, all right,” she grumbled. “You’re just in time. I’ve almost finished.” She tore off a piece of ham, broke it in half, and held it out on her fingers. The cat practically inhaled the offering and licked her fingers thoroughly. She winced as his rough tongue rasped her skin. Then he hopped up on the couch next to her and began to wash himself as though he had just finished a four-course meal.