“I keep getting distracted by how beautiful this house is. Have you ever seen anything as tasteful as that wainscoting above the windows? It’s gorgeous. Emma must have been a genius at interior design.”
“Mm.”
“I wonder what the house looked like before? It couldn’t have been nearly as nice as this.”
“It was beautiful,” said Priscilla. “My sister chose every hanging, every cushion cover, every vase. It was her work, all of it. Now you won’t find so much as a photograph of her in this house.”
“Surely it’s understandable that a new bride wouldn’t want to live in the shadow of her husband’s first wife?”
The anger that blazed in Priscilla Bosworth’s eyes surprised Eulalie.
“Not when the children of that first wife are still living in the same house! Not when she hasn’t even been dead a year. Not when the people who loved her haven’t been able to catch their breath after the shock of losing her.”
“You think they should have waited until a full year was up before changing the house?”
“No, that’s not it. It’s just the most incredibly insensitive thing to do – to march into another woman’s home when she’s not even cold in her grave and start throwing away all the things she chose with such love and care. And to do that while her grieving children are still living in the house. It beggars belief.”
“Why didn’t Mark step in and tell her it was too soon?”
“Because he’s a spineless worm. He can no more stand up to Emma than he could stand up to Mary. She has him wrapped… had him wrapped around her little finger.”
“Were the girls upset at all the changes to their home? Mark and Mary’s daughters, I mean.”
Priscilla Bosworth looked down at the table. When she looked up again, the anger in her eyes had been replaced with sadness.
“I don’t know. It’s hard to tell. They’re teenagers, which makes them difficult to read. There was a time when I knew them like I know my own children. I understood every fleeting emotion they felt. When Mary died, I thought they would turn to me as a surrogate mother to help them get through it, but they didn’t. Instead they turned to friends and boyfriends and social media.”
“That’s natural at that age.”
“I know, but the net result is that I honestly don’t know what they thought of Emma. When I tried to ask them about it they gave me superficial answers. Like how well-dressed Emma was, and what good taste she had. They might have been trying to hurt me. Teenagers have a knack for that. They know exactly how to twist the knife into your fleshy parts.”
“You and your husband don’t live on Prince William Island anymore?”
“That’s right. He was offered a transfer to America - to upstate New York. We decided to take it. There was nothing left for us here. If I’d thought I could make a difference in Mary’s daughters’ lives, perhaps I would have insisted on staying. But they made it clear that they didn’t need me or want me, so we left. I’m here on vacation, my first since we moved. I wanted to see how the girls were doing and catch up with the family.”
“There are worse places for a holiday.”
“There certainly are. I came here to enjoy the beach and the weather. Upstate New York was a shock after Prince William Island, I can tell you. I was really looking forward to this vacation. And now this had to go and happen.”
“It sounds as though you didn’t really like Emma Egger. Did you resent her too?”
Priscilla’s mouth twisted. “I wouldn’t put it as strongly as that. Mark is one of those men who can’t bear to be alone. He was always going to marry again after Mary died. We all knew that. We just didn’t think it would be quite so soon. But he’s much better off married than he is single. It’s even better for the girls for their father to be married and taken care of. So, while I might not have liked her personally, I’m sorry that the family has to deal with another death. And if it turns out that one of them did it, it’s going to break Mark.”
It was time for the bombshell.
“Did you know Emma was pregnant?”
Priscilla didn’t miss a beat. “Of course I did. She told all of us – in the strictest confidence, of course. I think she told just about everyone on the island. She was so smug about it. She was convinced it was going to be a boy, because her other two children are boys. She would be the one to give Mark the son he’d always wanted. Of course, it was very early days, and she was what? Forty-one? There’s no saying that pregnancy would have gone the distance.”
“Why didn’t Mark tell me about this when he hired me? I had to find out from the final autopsy report. It wasn’t even mentioned in the preliminary report.”
“Mark was very conflicted about it. He always said he didn’t want any more children. He never liked the baby and toddler stage. He was glad they were grown up now, so he could do the things he enjoyed, like travelling.”
“I see. And can I ask where you were when Emma was murdered?”
“I had just popped into the kitchen to get some soy milk for my coffee. I’m lactose intolerant and Talia always forgets. I didn’t want to bother the servants, so I grabbed it out of the fridge myself. The servants were in the scullery washing up. I was just walking back to the drawing room when we heard that awful scream.”
“Were you aware of where the others were?”
She thought for a moment. “I remember hearing the soundtrack of a Disney movie that the kids were watching, even the teenagers. I think it was The Lion King. And I remember hearing someone on the stairs. I didn’t see who it was. And that’s about all.”
“Can you remember who reached the body first?”
“I think it was one of the servants. It might even have been the guard from the gatehouse. All I know is, we were all charging up the stairs to see what had happened, when the servants called to tell us that she was outside in the courtyard. It was a dreadful sight. I only caught a glimpse of the body, but that was enough for me. I had to put my head between my knees so as not to throw up.”
“What do you think happened to her?”
“If you mean who do I think killed her, I haven’t the faintest idea. If you’re talking more generally, I suspect she put her foot in it one time too many. Probably made one of her famously insensitive remarks to the wrong person at the wrong time. You cannot begin to imagine how infuriating she was.”
It was time to take a look at the crime scene.
Eulalie ventured out of the morning room and had a look around. The children were playing in a different part of the house, so everything was quiet. She wondered if the staircase would take her all the way up to the turret room with its widow’s walk.
She decided to chance it.
“Can I help you, Mademoiselle?”
Eulalie turned. It was the housekeeper, Talia.
“I need to take at look at where Mrs. Egger died.”
“I will guide you, Mademoiselle.”
“Thanks. And then do you think I would be able to speak to Mr. Josef Egger afterwards?”
“He is having a nap, Mademoiselle. He always sleeps for three or four hours at this time of day. Then he has a late lunch. It helps him make it through the afternoon until dinner time. I have strict instructions not to wake him. You wouldn’t get much sense out of him now anyway.”
Eulalie denied any desire to barge in on the old man’s nap, and they continued up the stairs.
“How many bedrooms does this place have exactly?” she asked as they passed floor after floor.
“Eleven double bedrooms, all of them en suite. There are also four reception rooms on the ground floor, a kitchen, a butler’s pantry, a laundry, a scullery, and a mud room. Then there are several games and TV rooms around the house for the kids. And each of the three girls has her own sitting room attached to her bedroom.”
It was a different world, all right.
“Was the turret room a new addition?”
“It certainly was. My new Madame had the idea to bui
ld it. She wanted a large bedroom with three-hundred-and-sixty-degree views and two en suite bathrooms, his and hers. They paid the builders overtime. The builders worked in shifts around the clock for weeks to get it done before the wedding. The widow’s walk was Madame’s idea too. She had seen a picture of one in an interior design magazine and had wanted it ever since.”
“I presume Mr. Mark Egger has not still been sleeping here?” Eulalie asked as they reached the threshold of the turret bedroom.
“No, but I believe he will move back in tonight. He has been camping in one of the double bedrooms on the fourth floor. For the first few days after her death, the police wouldn’t even let him in here to collect his clothes. It was just yesterday that they opened this room up for us.”
Talia unlocked the door and invited Eulalie to enter. She hung back while Eulalie had a look around.
Eulalie had thought that the room would be round, but it wasn’t. It was a large square, the easiest shape to furnish and decorate. There were bathrooms to the left and the right, and those weren’t round either. They also weren’t remotely similar.
Mark Egger’s bathroom was positively monastic compared to Emma’s. It was only slightly bigger than Eulalie’s bathroom back home. It contained a standard double basin, bath, toilet, and shower. It had been equipped with modern fittings and was more than adequate for one man. But it paled into insignificance compared to Emma’s.
Emma had not stinted herself in the bathroom department. There was a free-standing, claw-footed tub with rubbed brass fittings and hot-tub jets. There was a fireplace with a couch and two armchairs arranged in front of it. The shower was large enough to host a cocktail party in, and the basins were a miracle of the latest bathroom technology. A floor-to-ceiling glass-fronted cabinet held all the many designer potions Emma had considered necessary to maintain her youth and beauty.
Eulalie walked back into the bedroom. The focal point was a giant sleigh bed. It was wider than a king-size and longer than an extra-length. It must have been custom-made for them.
All evidence of the police search had been carefully tidied away. The bed had been remade with fresh linen and everything looked immaculate.
Eulalie would rather have seen the untouched murder scene, but that wasn’t possible now. She had been brought into this case too late.
At least she could rely on the fact that the evidence had been properly collected. The interviewing techniques of the Queen’s Town Police Department might leave something to be desired, but the crime scene team were excellent. Chief Macgregor had handpicked them himself.
A pair of French doors led from the bedroom to the widow’s walk and Eulalie stepped through them now. Had Emma Egger been speaking to her attacker out here when the murder happened, or had they been in the bedroom? Eulalie imagined someone grabbing Emma and forcing her backwards, out onto the balcony. That same person would have had to lift her, detach her clawing hands from the parapet, and push her repeatedly to make her fall. Emma’s injuries were consistent with a protracted struggle.
Curious about the details, Eulalie hopped up onto the parapet and sat down with her legs dangling. Yes, the parapet was exactly as wide as it had appeared in the crime scene photographs. It was as high as the average person’s chest, presumably to discourage accidental falls. A short or physically frail person could not have managed to lift Emma up and shove her over the edge.
Emma had not been tall, and her body weight was low, but the autopsy revealed that she had fought like a demon to live. Only a strong and capable person could have got her over that parapet.
That probably ruled out old Josef Egger, and any children who had been in the house at the time. A big teenager could have managed it, but not a child.
There was always the possibility that more than one person was responsible for the murder, so Eulalie would keep an open mind about that.
Eulalie swiveled on the parapet and dangled her legs over the courtyard far below. Then she twisted gracefully and landed with her hands gripping the parapet wall and her body hanging down into space.
She was just thinking about pulling herself back up again, when a high-pitched scream made her freeze.
Chapter 8
The scream sounded again.
Eulalie realized she should probably have checked whether there were people in the courtyard before swinging herself off the ledge and dangling into the void.
She looked down and saw the housekeeper, Talia, staring up at her. Her eyes were wide and shocked, and she had both hands covering her mouth. Eulalie smiled at her and waved reassuringly.
The moment her right hand left the ledge, the woman screamed even louder.
“No, no!” Eulalie put her hand back on the parapet. “I’m fine. I was just checking something for my investigation.”
Shutting out the sounds of distress coming from below, Eulalie felt with her feet for a foothold. There wasn’t one. She tightened her shoulder muscles and lifted her body back onto the parapet. Then she swung her legs over and jumped down onto the widow’s walk.
She heard a pounding sound on the staircase and knew someone was coming to join her.
“Mon Dieu, Mademoiselle!” It was Talia. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Eulalie answered in French. “Pardon. I didn’t mean to scare you. I wanted to see how difficult it would be to get someone off this wall when they were trying to cling on.”
She ran her fingers up and down the parapet. It was painted with a high-gloss enamel that made it slippery. The difficult part of killing Emma Egger would have been in tipping her over the parapet in the first place. Once she was over, it would not have been all that difficult to dislodge her grip.
“Was she trying to cling?” Talia asked.
“Very much so,” said Eulalie. “The police recovered blood, tissue and fingernails right here on the parapet. She must have scrabbled desperately to keep her grip.”
“The poor lady. This is the first time I am thinking about what she went through.”
“Was she popular with the staff? Was she well-liked?” Eulalie adjusted her accent subtly to make it sound as though she came from the same background as this woman.
Talia shook her head. “I don’t desire to speak ill of the dead, but the truth is that she was not well liked. She had a way of speaking to us that was not endearing. Peremptory, you know? Impatient. She spoke English very fast and would then sigh and roll her eyes if we asked her to repeat an order. But le bon Dieu help us if we got an order wrong due to having misheard her. We were a much happier household under my poor late Madame. Mrs. Mary expected you to work hard, but she was always fair. We were desolé when she died.”
And not particularly desolé when Emma died, thought Eulalie. Had anyone been? Did anyone mourn her passing, besides her young sons?
“What about Emma’s sons?” she asked. “Where are they?”
“They were here a few days ago for the memorial service. The police have not released the body for burial yet, but Mr. Mark wanted to hold a big funeral as soon as possible. The boys came out for the day for that, but then went back to school on St. Michael’s Cay. Their father thought it was better for them not to have their routine interrupted.”
“How did they seem to you?”
“Very quiet. Very subdued. They hardly said a word to anyone.”
Eulalie rode her Vespa back to town along the Coast Road.
As she leaned her body into the curves and switch-backs of the road, she felt the urgency of life coursing through her body. Getting so close to death made her feel as though she needed to seize life by the scruff of the neck right now.
She stopped at her favorite lookout point. You could see the town, the beach, and the harbor from here, all by turning your head. Far below lay her own secret beach. She thought of it like that even though it wasn’t a secret at all, just inaccessible. It was a small cove at the bottom of a vertical cliff. The sandy beach was only ever exposed at low tide. Sometimes holiday-makers would tak
e a boat around to the cove to swim there, but most of the time it was empty. When Eulalie felt so inclined, she would park her Vespa at the lookout point and descend the cliff – free-climbing with her fingers and toes all the way to the bottom. Then she would enjoy a quick swim before climbing back up the cliff and going about her day.
Right now, she was tempted, but the rumbling of her stomach was a more urgent call than the desire to swim.
She hopped back onto her Vespa and headed into town. Her goal was the local confectionery and coffeeshop known as Sweet as Flowers.
Her purpose was threefold. She wanted to get lunch, she wanted to see her friend, and she wanted to talk about the case with someone who had known the victim.
Sweet as Flowers was owned by Fleur du Toit, a friend of Eulalie’s from college. As the owner of a popular coffeeshop in the middle of Lafayette Drive, Fleur had her ear to the ground.
“We weren’t exactly buddies,” Fleur said, handing Eulalie a menu as she sat down in her favorite spot near the cash register. “She came in here a few times, that’s all. She liked buying my products as gifts for various people in her life.”
“Not for herself?”
“Heaven forbid. I don’t think a grain of sugar ever passed her lips. She was super body-conscious. She just liked to come in here and browse, running her fingers along the shelves. She loved the big jars of candy especially - the gobstoppers, sherbet lemons, mint humbugs, that kind of thing. She loved the way I packaged up whatever she selected and turned it into a beautiful gift. To tell you the truth, I think she liked tempting her friends with the forbidden fruit she didn’t allow herself to eat.”
“That’s kind of messed up.”
“Well, that’s exactly what she was like.”
Fleur went to help with the lunch service while Eulalie glanced at the menu. She ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and side salad from Jethro, Fleur’s head waiter.
“Coming right up.”
Eulalie glanced over her notes while she waited.
The Eulalie Park Mysteries Box Set 1 Page 28
