The Eulalie Park Mysteries Box Set 2

by Fiona Snyckers

“You have been very helpful, Mademoiselle D’Arnot. Thank you for your…”

  “Ms. Park.”

  A familiar voice made her turn around.

  “Mr. Pringle.” She couldn’t bring herself to call him Lord Pringle.

  “Checking up on me, are you?”

  He encountered a look of such blank incomprehension that he laughed and said, “Just joking. I presume you’re here on business.”

  Sophie D’Arnot’s smile blossomed at the sight of Peter Pringle’s handsome face.

  “Lord Pringle. How may we assist you today, sir?”

  “Oh, nothing in the world, my dear. I just happened to see this lady talking to you and found myself wondering what it could possibly be about.”

  He looked brightly from one woman to the other. When neither of them responded, he laughed again.

  “That pesky confidentiality, eh? That’s fine. I can respect that. You girls like to have your little secrets. I’ll just go back to thinking you were spying on me, Ms. Park.”

  Chapter 9

  “Now, why would I do that, Mr. Pringle?” said Eulalie. “I only met you today.”

  “Well, you must admit it’s odd. At lunchtime I tell you that I’m staying at the Four Seasons. By teatime I find you here asking questions of the receptionist. What am I supposed to think?”

  “That the world doesn’t revolve around you? That I’m a private investigator on a case, and that asking questions is part of my job.”

  The charming smile swept across his face again. “You’re right, of course. Once again, I was just kidding. One of the things I love about Fleur is that I never have to explain my jokes to her. She always gets my sense of humor.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll find that I’m much slower on the uptake than Fleur. Much more likely to jump to negative conclusions. We’re quite different, Fleur and I, but we balance each other out. We look out for each other.”

  His smile didn’t slip. “That’s good to hear. I like knowing she has someone like you in her life. You mean the world to her, I know.”

  “Tell me, Lord Pringle. Do you have any plans to take your seat in the house?”

  His smile became a little frozen. “Ha! Take my seat in the house. That’s a very good question.”

  “Surely it’s quite simple? Do you plan to take your seat or not?”

  “Well, of course I do.” He threw himself into one of the armchairs in the lobby. “There we go!”

  When Eulalie just looked at him, he hopped up again. “Just joking of course.”

  “That’s very funny. Perhaps when you’ve had time to think about it, you’ll tell me whether you plan to take your seat. I’ll be interested to hear your decision. Goodbye for now.”

  As Eulalie turned to leave the hotel, Peter Pringle stood and watched her retreating back.

  As she walked to her Vespa, Eulalie was already texting Mrs. Belfast.

  Eulalie: See if you can get me a face-to-face meeting with someone senior at Waylon Construction this afternoon. Sawyer Blakely had a meeting scheduled with someone from that company at the Four Seasons two days ago. He never made it, obviously.

  The reply came just as she was putting on her helmet.

  Lorelei Belfast: On it.

  Eulalie: Don’t forget to play the police investigation card if they’re reluctant.

  Lorelei Belfast: Of course, dear. I’ve been playing that card ever since you were appointed as police liaison for the village. That’s how I get most of your appointments.

  Not for the first time, Eulalie marveled at how much easier her professional life had become since she had hired Mrs. Belfast. Apart from the peace of mind of knowing that her office was open and functioning while she was out in the field, there was also the luxury of having her appointments made for her in advance.

  In the past, she had spent almost as much time trying to set up interviews as she had conducting them. And if she couldn’t set up an interview, she used to wait outside people’s offices for hours in the hope of catching them arriving or leaving.

  This was much better.

  By the time Eulalie got back to her office, the appointment had already been set up.

  “101 Belmont Avenue, West Industria.” Mrs. Belfast looked up as Eulalie walked in. “I sent the Google Maps link to your phone. You’ll be meeting with one of the owners – Herbert Waylon. He’ll see you at four.”

  Eulalie checked her watch. “Perfect. Thanks, Mrs. B.” She was heading to her office when she turned around suddenly. “Oh, Mrs. B?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “If you were a British aristocrat – an actual peer of the realm – and I asked if you had any plans to take your seat in the house, would you know what I was talking about?”

  The secretary looked surprised. “Of course, dear. You would be talking about taking one’s seat in the House of Lords. The answer would probably be no, because the House of Lords is mostly occupied by life peers these days, rather than hereditary peers. But it is still possible to apply for election.”

  “But there’s no way that a British peer would not know what I was talking about, right?”

  “Quite right. Have you been setting traps for people again, dear?”

  “Just one little trap. A clumsy creature stumbled right into it.”

  “If I may say so, I don’t think there are many British people from any walk of life who would not know what you were talking about.”

  “I see what you mean. So, he might not be British at all? Interesting.”

  Eulalie spent the time before her meeting checking out Waylon Construction online. It was a family business founded by two brothers – Herbert and Howard Waylon. They had been in business for thirty-five years and had a solid reputation. The only ding against their name was a complaint about shifting foundations at an office building they had built in the Dockside neighborhood. The matter had gone to litigation and was working its way through the courts.

  The brothers were in their mid-fifties. They were family men who lived solid and unexciting lives. Herbert Waylon was still married to his first wife and had two grownup children. Howard Waylon had got divorced two years earlier and recently remarried. He had three adult children with his first wife and a new baby with the second.

  Both men belonged to the Rotary Club and were regarded as pillars of Queen’s Town society - just as their literal pillars held up buildings all over town. It seemed unlikely that they would get involved with the likes of Sawyer Blakely and Megamoxy, but no doubt they had their reasons.

  “I’d better go now.” Eulalie stood up and draped her messenger bag cross-body over her shoulder. She smiled when a furry head popped up over Mrs. Belfast’s desk. “Don’t tell me you can work with that heavy beast on your lap, Mrs. B. Tell him I’ll feed him when I get back later. I’m having dinner at Angel’s Place tonight, but I’ll stop off here first to make sure he gets his dinner.”

  She headed out the door and climbed back on her Vespa. West Industria was a light industrial area just outside of town.

  She took the Coast Road to get there, sweeping past the funicular station, past Edward Heights with its mixture of gracious old houses and enormous McMansions, and past a dramatic stretch of coastline with such precipitous switchbacks that she had to slow down and navigate them carefully.

  She turned off the Coast Road and followed a route that led inland to a flat coastal plain that had become Queen’s Town’s light industrial area. If you kept going, you would hit the heavy industrial area where the factories were, but Eulalie didn’t need to go that far. She found 101 Belmont Avenue easily enough and went inside to announce herself to the receptionist.

  After a surprisingly short wait – Eulalie had barely sat down – an assistant emerged to lead her through to Herbert Waylon’s office. What she found in there was a visibly anxious man. She knew from her research that he was fifty-seven years old, but he looked older thanks to the worried expression he was wearing and the signs of strain around his eyes. He was of medi
um height with thinning brown hair and a slight paunch. A pair of spectacles sat precariously on the bridge of a button nose.

  “Herbert Waylon.” He shook hands quickly. “Thanks for seeing me, Ms. Park.”

  “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Waylon. I’ll try not to take up too much of your time.”

  “Time is one thing I have plenty of at the moment.” He peered at her over his spectacles.

  “Business not good?”

  “It’s this law suit. You’ve probably read about it?” When Eulalie nodded, he continued. “It has really hurt us, even though nothing has been proved in court. We’ve had clients cancel their contracts with us. We’ve had clients pay us late because they claim there’s something wrong with the quality of our work, which of course there isn’t. We’ve had meetings with prospective clients cancelled without explanation. All bad news. But you didn’t come here to talk about that. I got a message from my secretary that you want to know about a meeting between someone at Waylon Construction and an American by the name of Blakely?”

  “That’s right. The meeting was scheduled for two days ago, but never took place because Mr. Blakely was already dead by then. I’m helping the police department with their enquiries into Sawyer Blakely’s death, and it would really help to know why he was here and who he was meeting with.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Your guess is as good as mine, Ms. Park.”

  “What about the person who set up the meeting? Wouldn’t they be able to tell you what it was about?”

  “In theory, yes. But I have no idea who that was.”

  “Surely one of the members of your firm would know? It was probably someone quite senior.”

  “I’ve asked around, and no one seems to know anything about it.”

  “It was a fixed appointment, Mr. Waylon. The Four Seasons had it down in their diary – a meeting between Mr. Sawyer Blakely and a representative of Waylon Construction.”

  “I’m not doubting your word, Ms. Park. It’s just that I have no idea who…”

  His office door flew open and crashed against a bookcase.

  A young woman of about Eulalie’s age stormed into the room. She wore tight jeans with a leopard-print crop top and stiletto heels. Her hair was magenta and teased out to triple its natural volume. She looked mad enough to commit murder.

  “Where is he, Herb? Where is that son of a bitch?”

  Herbert Waylon shot to his feet. He took a step towards her and slammed his thigh into the corner of his desk.

  “Nattie!” He winced. “I’m in a meeting. I’ll talk to you as soon as I’m finished.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. “Liar! You know exactly where he is and you’re not telling me. You are one lying, messed-up family. You tell me exactly where he is right now, or I’ll make sure you never get another contract in this town ever again. You!”

  “Me?” Eulalie was startled to be singled out.

  “Yes you, bitch. How do you feel about doing business with a company that abandons women and children, and leaves them in the street to starve?”

  “I’m not actually here to do business with...”

  “Liar! You’re as bad as he is.”

  “Now, Nattie,” said Herbert.

  “Don’t you Now Nattie me. I know what’s going on here. I know you’re hiding him. You don’t care that he’s left me and his tiny baby daughter destitute in the streets.”

  “Nattie, you’re living in a five-bedroom house with a cook and a nanny and a cleaning service. I don’t think you’re on the streets yet.”

  “Where is he?” Her voice rose to a supersonic screech. “Where is the bastard? I know you’re hiding him. I know it.”

  “I swear to you on my life, I don’t know where he is. I swear it on my children’s lives. Do you think it’s convenient for me to have my senior partner disappear now of all times? This place is falling apart, and I have to make all the decisions on my own. Don’t you think I’m worried about my own brother?”

  “Worried about him? I’m the one you should be worried about. He’s on a beach somewhere in Acapulco with all our money. He’s not the one you should be worried about.”

  He gave her a narrow look. “Nattie, tell me honestly – do you have a reason for thinking Howie is in Mexico? Has he ever mentioned Mexico to you? Because if he has, you need to tell me now.”

  “Stop lying! Stop pretending.”

  “I swear to you, Natalie…”

  Eulalie’s head had been swiveling from one to the other, as though she were watching a tennis match. Now she turned to Herbert and said, “Duck.”

  “What?”

  The next moment a bunch of keys was flying at his head. He ducked, but not quickly enough. The edge of a key caught him on his forehead, leaving a deep gash.

  Natalie Waylon turned on her stilettoed heel and marched out of the office, slamming the door behind her.

  Eulalie turned to the bleeding man. “I told you to duck.”

  “I did duck. Just not fast enough.” He pressed a tissue to the cut on his forehead and applied pressure. “How the hell did you know she was about to do that?”

  “She seemed mad enough to start throwing things.”

  “Crazy woman.”

  “Your sister-in-law, I presume?”

  “For the past two years. My real sister-in-law – the one who lasted thirty years – would not behave like this.” He sat down and tried to compose himself.

  “What’s going on, Mr. Waylon? Your brother is obviously missing. Was he the person who made the appointment with Sawyer Blakely?”

  “I think he must have been. It’s the only thing that makes sense. He has started doing this recently – making unilateral business decisions and letting me find out about them afterwards. If you can tell me who this Blakely guy was and what kind of construction work he needed done, I can tell you if it was part of our existing business plan.”

  “Sawyer Blakely was a negotiator – a kind of fixer. He represented an organization called Megamoxy from Texas. They were going to build a jungle-themed resort with a hotel and casino in the deep forest.”

  Herbert Waylon’s mouth dropped open. He was either an excellent actor, or this was the first he was hearing of it.

  “A theme-park? In the forest? Isn’t that a protected area?”

  “That’s what Sawyer Blakely specialized in – getting environmentally and culturally sensitive land approved for development.”

  “I don’t know what to say. We used to be an ethical company. We gave to charity. We were pillars of the community.”

  “Mr. Waylon, are you telling me you would turn the contract down if it were up to you? Let’s say all the obstacles had been cleared, by hook or by crook. Would you really turn down a multimillion-dollar contract?”

  There was silence on the other side of the desk.

  “That’s a difficult question,” he said at last. “We’re in serious financial trouble. If this lawsuit doesn’t go away soon, we might have to close our doors. I get what Howie was trying to do. He was grasping at straws. I don’t approve of it, but I understand it. All I can say is that if it came to it, I hope I would have the strength to resist a contract like that. But I’m not sure I would.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “You say this man ended up dead?”

  Eulalie nodded.

  “And now my brother is missing, and my sister-in-law is freaking out because she’s convinced I’m hiding him. What happened to him - this Blakely guy?”

  “He was killed by an arrow near the village in the forest.”

  His face cleared. “So, it was one of them – a villager. They must have killed him because he was threatening their home. They wouldn’t come after Howard, would they? They don’t ever leave the forest.”

  “When exactly did your brother disappear, Mr. Waylon?”

  “Three days ago. He told his wife at about five-thirty that he was going into a meeting and would be home after that. She never heard from him again.
The last time anyone saw him was here at the office at about five. It’s like he vanished into thin air.”

  Chapter 10

  The cat was waiting for her when she got home.

  As she opened her apartment door, he came trotting towards her with his tail up. His fur was fluffed out in what she had learned to recognize as a sign of happiness. It was not to be confused with the hedgehog look, which was not a sign of happiness at all, and which usually meant that he had seen a dog or another cat.

  He meowed creakily and rubbed his head against her legs. She bent down to stroke him because she liked the way he braced his legs and arched his back against her hand.

  “Dinner for one, coming up.” Eulalie checked through her selection of individual gourmet food pouches. “What do you feel like tonight? How about roast duck in gravy?”

  She decanted it into his bowl and he ate heartily.

  Eulalie brushed her hair and put on lipstick in preparation for meeting her grandmother’s critical eye. She was about to turn away from the mirror when she realized her face was shiny from a day spent on the back of a motorcycle. Sighing deeply, she took out a compact and powdered herself down.

  “Are you going out on the tiles tonight?” she asked the cat as he gave himself a post-dinner wash. He looked up and squeezed his eyes at her. “Of course you are. Just stay out of the road and don’t get back late.”

  As she left the apartment, she saw his tail disappear through the kitchen window.

  Angel’s Place was one of the landmarks of downtown Queen’s Town. Housed in an old French-colonial building, it was a bar and restaurant that specialized in island cuisine. There was live music three nights a week – usually performed by a beautiful and talented torch singer.

  The food was good, but that was to be expected in Queen’s Town. The island was so saturated in French history that it wasn’t possible to survive as a restaurant unless the quality of your food was high.

  What made Angel’s Place stand out was the atmosphere. The tourists flocked there for an authentic nightlife experience. The locals kept coming back because they were assured of a warm welcome and an excellent dining experience. Whether you wanted dinner, or just to sit at the bar sipping the local cane brandy, Angel’s Place was where it was at.