The Eulalie Park Mysteries Box Set 2

by Fiona Snyckers

  “No. I can count on my fingers the number of people who have left the village during my lifetime. Eulalie’s parents were the only people to do so in the space of a decade.”

  “Did they leave together?” Dr. Autry asked.

  “A few months apart. Lucien left a couple of months before Eulalie was born, and Fauve left three weeks afterwards.”

  “Could she have gone to join him?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Angel.

  Eulalie shook her head. “No. Definitely not.” She didn’t explain how she knew this.

  Chief Macgregor put the robe to one side and drew out a pair of shoes. In their decayed state, they were barely recognizable as espadrille sandals.

  Angel look at them closely. “Again, there is nothing distinctive about these except that they were definitely handmade in the village and could easily be the ones Fauve was wearing when she left.”

  “There was also this.” Chief Macgregor drew out a necklace. “It seems like a more personal item.”

  The necklace was as soiled as the robe and the shoes – the string broken in places. Eulalie had to look closely to identify the tiny beads and shells that made up its unusual pyramid design. She noticed that Angel had become very still.

  “Grandmère? Are you okay?”

  Angel stretched out a hand to touch the tip of the necklace. Her fingers were trembling.

  “This was hers,” she said. “My Fauve. My baby. This was her necklace. My late sister gave it to her when she was a little girl. She wore it always. I haven’t laid eyes on this necklace in twenty-eight years, but I would know it anywhere. Where did you find it?”

  “It was around her neck,” said Dr. Autry.

  “Yes.” Angel nodded. “She never took it off.”

  “Well, it will be up to the coroner,” said Chief Macgregor. “But I think we can regard this as definite. Even in the absence of x-rays or dental records, I believe the deceased to be Fauve de la Cour.”

  Eulalie glanced at her grandmother. Angel’s face was still, but tears were pouring down her cheeks.

  “I need to know who did this.”

  “There’s one last item in the bag,” said Chief Macgregor. “It was tied around her wrist.”

  He reached in and pulled out a length of red satin ribbon. It had also been stained by time, but its glossy veneer had been more successful at repelling the dirt.

  Eulalie and Angel wore identical expressions of puzzlement.

  “I have no idea what that is.”

  “I don’t either. It definitely didn’t come from the village.” Angel touched it briefly and then pulled her hand away as though repelled by the object.

  “It could be something she picked up after leaving the village,” said Chief Macgregor. “Or it could be something that belonged to her killer.”

  “I don’t want it back,” Angel said suddenly. “Eventually, I will want her possessions returned to me, especially the necklace. But I don’t want this red thing. I don’t like it.”

  The four of them looked at the length of ribbon that seemed to glow redly against the evidence bag. If you glanced at it quickly, it looked like a smear of blood on the table.

  “I’ll get us a cab,” said Eulalie as they stood outside the police station. “Let’s get you home. That was a grueling experience.”

  “But I don’t want to go home, mon ange. Let us go to your place rather.”

  “Okay.”

  Normally, Angel would be itching to get back to her restaurant to supervise the set-up for the Sunday lunchtime service. But if she wanted to go to Bonaparte Avenue, then that was what they would do.

  A cab dropped them off outside Eulalie’s office. As Eulalie walked around to the side entrance that would take them up to her apartment, Angel spoke.

  “No, not the apartment. I want to go in here – to your office.”

  “All right.”

  Eulalie unlocked the office and switched on the lights. Then she crossed the road to the little bakery know as La Petite Patisserie to get coffee and pastries. They needed the sugar and caffeine boost after the morning they’d had. When she got back to the office, Angel was sitting on the sofa usually occupied by clients, and Paddy was sitting on her lap.

  “He’ll get fur all over your skirt.”

  Angel stroked the cat from head to tail. “Leave him. He is a comfort to me. There is something about his purr that is very soothing. I can see why he does a good job of looking after you at night.”

  Eulalie sat in an armchair and they sipped their coffee and nibbled their pains au chocolat.

  “You have a good set-up here,” Angel commented, looking around. “It looks professional but not alienating. The pot-plants are new.”

  “Mrs. Belfast’s touch. Every now and then, she’ll introduce something new to make the place look more homely.”

  “It was a good day when you hired her.”

  “It was indeed. It would have been a terrible waste of talent and ability for her to sink into retirement when she still had so much to offer. I’m lucky to have her.”

  “And she’s lucky to have you.” Angel took a breath. “Your mother would have been proud of you.”

  “Oh, Grandmère,” Eulalie said sadly. “How can you possibly know that? She was a girl when she died. I hardly realized until today how young she was.”

  “She believed that women should be free to do whatever they liked. That was part of what made her restless in the village – the limited number of options for women as they reached adulthood. Believe me when I say she would have been proud to see her daughter creating a career like this for herself.”

  “I sometimes wonder how different my life would have been if she had lived. Would I still be here doing what I do, or would I be married and a mother of three or four children living in the village? I suppose we’ll never know.”

  “I am not content to think that I will never know,” said Angel. “That is why I asked you to bring me here today. I want to hire you to find out what happened to my daughter.”

  Chapter 3

  Eulalie was instantly uncomfortable.

  “No, Grandmère. That is not necessary. Of course I am going to assist the police in their enquiries. You don’t have to hire me.”

  Angel shook her head. “Mais non. The police cannot afford to put all their resources behind this. It is a murder that happened nearly thirty years ago. It is a – what do they call it? – a cold case. I know they will make a few enquiries, but they will reach a dead end and then they will not pursue it further. The case will remain unsolved. You can do better than that.”

  “Chief Macgregor is very good at his job.”

  “I know he is, ma petite.” Angel patted her hand. “But his job is not to look for my daughter’s killer. He is the chief of police, not an investigator. At least half of his job is administrative. And if you’re going to tell me that the rest of the department consists of ace detectives, I will not believe you.”

  “Okay… maybe not. The problem is that he inherited most of them when he took over the department. He has done his best to give them extra training to get them into shape, but…”

  “Yes, exactly. But. I don’t want this investigation to be half-hearted. I want someone who is dedicated to solving it on a fulltime basis. However long that takes.”

  “But that’s what I’m saying, Grandmère. I will investigate it. You don’t have to hire me. She was my mother, after all.”

  “I know, my love, I know.” Angel squeezed her hand. “But you never knew her. Besides, one expects to lose one’s parents during the course of one’s life, whether early or late. To lose a child is different. It goes against nature for one’s children to predecease one.”

  Eulalie decided not to push it. If Angel wanted to claim the greater grief, that was fine. But just as Eulalie didn’t know what it was like to lose a child, so Angel didn’t know what it was like to grow up without a mother.

  “What I’m saying is that I will do it for
free,” she said. “You don’t have to pay me.”

  “Then I am saying that you are a bad businesswoman, chérie. This is your job. You should treat it professionally. I am offering to hire you at your normal rates to investigate the death of Fauve de la Cour. Can Lorelei handle your routine cases, so you can give your full attention to this?”

  “For a few days, yes. Mrs. B. is a surprisingly good investigator.”

  “Will Chief Macgregor give you access to the police’s findings?”

  “Definitely. This is a village matter, and I am the liaison officer for the village. He will share everything with me.”

  Angel stood up. “So, we have a deal?”

  There was no point in arguing. “Yes, okay. We have a deal.”

  They shook hands. Then Angel kissed her granddaughter on the cheek.

  After Angel left, Eulalie went upstairs to her apartment. The cat trailed behind her.

  It was lunchtime, but she was still full after her pastries and coffee. What she felt like now was a swim. On a beautiful Sunday like this, Cinq Beach would be packed with tourists and local families enjoying the sunny, windless conditions. Eulalie didn’t feel like joining them, but she did want to swim in the sea. With any luck, her favorite private beach would be unoccupied.

  She checked the tide schedule on her phone. At high tide, the stretch of sand she had in mind would be covered in water. It was low tide now, so she would be safe for another few hours.

  Eulalie changed into a black, one-piece swimsuit. She had been known to go skinny-dipping at this beach, but she wouldn’t risk it on a Sunday. There were too many rock-climbers who knew about the private cove.

  She sprayed herself with sunblock. The midday sun on Prince William Island was fierce, even for her olive skin. Then she pulled on her climbing clothes over the swimsuit. She wore tight black leggings and a form-fitting black top. Both were made of a technical material that wicked away sweat and kept the wearer cool and dry. She put on a pair of flexible, rubber-soled shoes.

  Stuffing a beach towel into her messenger bag, Eulalie locked up the apartment. Then she hopped on her Vespa and headed out towards the coast road. As she passed the beach, she saw that it was indeed packed with holidaying humanity.

  The temperature dropped as the road climbed higher. The east side of Prince William Island offered vista after vista of dramatic scenery. The road was a series of perilous switchbacks that required careful driving. But Eulalie knew the route well, so she used the time to admire the spectacular views of rocky cliffs tumbling down to the blue-green sea far below. Cinq Beach was a colorful mass of beach towels and sun umbrellas. The bay reserved for the yacht club showed sails of all colors bobbing around in the sparkling water.

  If she kept driving, Eulalie would come to Cliff Road which would take her up to the exclusive neighborhood of Edward Heights with its French-colonial mansions set on large properties.

  It also led to the funicular railway which carried passengers up to the cable-car. The cable-car led to a viewing platform that provided access to the deep forest if you had the stomach for a climb of several hundred feet down a sheer rock-face. From there, it was a twelve-hour hike to the village, provided you knew exactly where you were going and didn’t make a single misstep. It was no wonder that the villagers had remained largely undisturbed by outside influences for hundreds of years.

  But Eulalie wasn’t going as far as Cliff Road. She stopped at a bend in the road and parked her scooter. It was a popular lookout point, but there were no other vehicles parked there at the moment. She looped the strap of her messenger bag over both shoulders so that it sat against her back like a backpack. Then she walked up to the metal barrier and looked down.

  The ground fell away from her in a sixty-foot drop that ended in a tiny sandy beach with frothy waves lapping at its edges.

  Anyone watching Eulalie at that point would have sworn that she had jumped – just plunged to her death over the precipice.

  What she had really done was begun to descend the cliff in a dizzying free climb. Eulalie knew how to climb with ropes and clamps, but she had been a free-climber her whole life and that was her preferred method. She descended the cliff like water running over rock – never hesitating, never reaching for a handhold. In less than a minute, she was standing on the little beach below.

  Climbing was a tool for her – something she used for getting from point A to point B on this extremely rocky island. The day she could no longer climb, even with equipment, would be the day she was unable to get back to her village. She hoped that day was far off.

  Eulalie dropped her messenger bag onto a rock and took out her beach towel. She stripped down to her swimsuit and left her clothes lying on top of the bag. It wasn’t likely that anyone would disturb them. On either side of the tiny cove, the rocks rose up, sharp and treacherous, discouraging all but the lightest of pleasure boats from approaching.

  She walked on the beach, enjoying the feeling of the sand rippling up between her toes. The sea had been her single greatest discovery when she had left the village at the age of twelve. It was her consolation for having to leave the only home she had ever known. Now, she couldn’t bear to be away from it.

  Had Fauve seen the sea before she died? What dream had she been chasing when she left the village twenty-eight years earlier and went to Queen’s Town? Had she been suffering from postpartum depression? Had she felt overwhelmed by the responsibility of looking after a baby when she was no more than a child herself? What effect had Lucien’s disappearance had on her?

  Eulalie imagined that she must have felt resentful. There he was - equally responsible for creating this little life - but free to swan off forever and leave her to bear the consequences.

  When Fauve was dizzy from sleep deprivation and unable to see her way out of the dark tunnel of motherhood, it must have been tempting to believe that she could escape too. The question that gnawed at Eulalie’s soul was this – had Fauve intended to leave forever or did she mean to come back before death interrupted her? Perhaps she had only wanted to take a few days’ break, knowing that her baby would be safe with Angel. It was a scenario Eulalie had comforted herself with as a child.

  Angel was obsessed with knowing the identity of Fauve’s killer, but Eulalie was obsessed with knowing whether she had intended to go back to her child. Perhaps this investigation would give them both the answers they sought.

  As the ground sloped downwards, Eulalie took a breath and plunged into the water. Like all village children, she had been taught to swim in toddlerhood. The village was too close to the river for anyone to live there safely unless they were water safe.

  When she had come to Queen’s Town she’d had to learn never to underestimate the power of the sea. A large coral reef protected the eastern side of the island from being battered by the Indian Ocean, but the tides could still be strong at times.

  Eulalie opened her eyes briefly to enjoy the greenish underwater glow of the water. Then she shut them again as the salt stung her corneas. She swam out beyond the break to where the water was calm and rolled over to float on her back. The cliffs rose up on all sides with the road barely visible, winding up out of sight.

  The warm ocean cradled and rocked her just as she had been cradled and rocked as a child – not by her mother, but by her twenty-eight-year-old grandmother.

  Eulalie tried to imagine how it would feel at twenty-eight – the age she was now – to be saddled with an infant granddaughter who was now your sole responsibility. Just the thought of it made her want to hyperventilate. Never once had Angel expressed a word of resentment, or made Eulalie feel that she was anything but a blessing in her life. Never once had she asked for anything in return.

  Now she was asking for one thing – to be allowed to hire her granddaughter on a professional basis to investigate Fauve’s death. So, Eulalie would do this thing for her and she would do it gladly.

  She spent an hour in the water, diving, swimming, and floating. When she swam
back to shore, she saw that there were only a few feet of beach left. The tide was coming in.

  Her messenger bag, with her towel and clothes on it, was still sitting high and dry on one of the rocks. In an hour’s time, that rock would be under water.

  Eulalie dried herself and put her clothes on over her swimsuit. Then she began the climb up to the road. If she had looked like water flowing over rock coming down the cliff face, she now resembled a cat going back up it.

  As her head popped up over the metal barrier, she was startled to come face to face with a middle-aged woman who stumbled backward with a cry.

  “Lord above!” the woman said in an American accent. “Where did you come from?”

  “I’ve been swimming.”

  The woman edged towards the barrier and peered down.

  “Down there? That’s impossible. How did you get there?”

  Eulalie saw a man of about the same age approaching them from a parked car. The only problem with this spot was that it was a popular lookout point. People often pulled their cars over to enjoy the view. It was recommended on several tourist websites.

  “I’m a rock-climber,” she explained, edging towards her scooter. “I climbed.”

  “Where’s your equipment?”

  Eulalie shoved her helmet into place and threw a leg over her scooter. “Excuse me. I have to go.”

  “Dexter!” the woman called. “This girl just popped up out of nowhere. It’s like she grew wings and flew. Don’t look at me like that, Dexter. It’s true.”

  Eulalie gave a quick wave and drove off with a roar.

  On the way home, she stopped off at Angel’s Place to collect a lasagna she had ordered the day before.

  While undoubtedly a master at pouring sugary cereal into a bowl and topping it off with milk, she would be the first to admit that her culinary skills didn’t extend much further. She usually ate out, ordered in, or consumed whatever she could slap between two slices of bread.