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Authors: Rhys Bowen

Evan's Gate

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I have several people to thank for their help with this book.
First, my buddy Paul Henshaw of the South Wales Police, who was kind enough to answer my questions yet again and put me on to D.I. Chris Parsons of the South Wales Police, who filled me in on child abduction in the United Kingdom.
Dr. P. Willey, professor of forensic anthropology at Chico State University, graciously gave of his time and attempted to set me straight on identifying and dating a skeleton.
And as usual Clare, Jane, and John gave me their brilliant insights.
This book is dedicated to Jane Finnis, my friend of forty years (yes, we were infants when we met). She has been my songwriting partner, the other half of my cabaret duo, my fount of information on the National Parks Service, and now she joins me in my current career with the publication of her first mystery novel.
Also, a special word of dedication to Jan Telesky, who was the high bidder in a charity auction of the English Speaking Union and thus won the right to appear in this book. I hope she approves of herself and I’m only sorry I couldn’t find a way to bring in her ballroom dancing prowess. You know what a poor dancer Evan is!
The small girl moved over the springy turf of the mountainside, her light feet making so little impression on the grass beneath her that she appeared to be weightless, a bright spirit only barely connected to solid earth. Her long, blonde hair floated out behind her in the wind, and she hummed to herself as she climbed higher and higher.
At last she reached the high meadow with the world spread out at her feet and stood for a moment, catching her breath, looking around in anticipation. Then she gasped. There it was, exactly as she had pictured it. She gave a small squeak of delight and ran to meet her destiny.
Suzanne Bosley-Thomas sat in her car, staring out at the bleak landscape. Snow had dusted the peaks of the Snowdon Horseshoe, and leaden clouds were heavy with the promise of more snow to come.
Bloody Wales,
she thought.
It’s supposed to be the middle of bloody May and instead it’s like the middle of bloody winter.
“God, I hate it here,” she said out loud to herself. “I wish I’d never come.”
You don’t have to go in, a voice whispered inside her head. You could start the engine and drive straight home. Nobody would ever know that you’d been here. The thought was so appealing that her hand strayed toward the car key. Then she snatched the key from its slot, dropped it into her purse, and zippered her anorak right up to her chin. She couldn’t risk not going in, not being part of this whole farce. There was too much at stake.
The wind was so strong that it almost snatched the car door out of her hand as she opened it. It took her breath away and made her eyes water as she hurried across the car park toward the Everest Inn hotel. As she got her first good look at it, she started in surprise and wondered briefly whether she was hallucinating.
The Everest Inn resembled a giant Swiss chalet, complete with carved wooden balconies and pots of geraniums, so different from the plain gray stone houses in the villages she had passed. The snow-dusted mountains behind it added to the Swiss fantasy.
“Surreal,” she muttered. Surreal was a good word to describe how she was feeling at this moment. At the etched-glass front doors she hesitated again. Last chance, the voice in her head repeated. Back to the car, down the pass to the A55, and then only an hour before you’re back in England.
She took a deep breath, pushed her hair out of her face, and stepped inside. Warmth and soft music greeted her. The hotel foyer was a large, cavernous area with a stone fireplace taking up most of one wall. Her gaze swept over the brass and polished wood reception counter, the broad, carpeted staircase. No expense spared here. Then she froze as she saw them. That group of three men seated at the round coffee table near the fire—it was them, wasn’t it? Yes, she recognized her brother, Henry. He looked just like her father at the same age. In fact the resemblance was so remarkable that she shivered and glanced back at the front doors. It was raining now, a mixture of sleet and rain peppering the glass.
“Can I help you, madam?” the girl at the reception desk asked at the same moment that one of the men at the table looked up and said, “There she is now.” He got to his feet. “Susie!” he exclaimed, coming to meet her. “It has to be Suzie. You haven’t changed one bit. God, your hands are freezing. Come over by the fire.”
“Bloody Wales,” she said, laughing in embarrassment as he took her hand. “It wasn’t always this cold, was it?”
“We were always here in August and I don’t think it snows in August, even in Wales. Come and get warm. We’ve a fresh pot of tea and would you like something to eat?”
“Tea would be lovely, thank you.” She perched at the edge of the leather armchair he had pulled out for her. “And forgive me if I sound very rude, but I’m not sure which one you are.”
The man laughed. He had the sort of attractive face usually seen
in cologne commercials, with white, even teeth, a great tan, dark hair curling over his collar, cut just a little too long to be socially acceptable. He was wearing a designer sweater, knitted in vertical lines. Suzanne had seen one in a fashion magazine and knew they were horribly expensive.
“I’m your long lost cousin Val, dearest,” he said. “You’d make a rotten detective, old girl. You must know your brother, which makes only two of us to choose from, and one is a priest.”
Suzanne blushed as she glanced at the third man and saw that he was, indeed, wearing a dog collar.
“I’m sorry,” she said, as the third man rose to his feet also. “So you must be cousin Nick, then. I didn’t realize you’d become a priest.”
“Well, we haven’t exactly stayed in touch, have we?” Nick extended his hand to her. He had a pleasant, open face, with a shy, boyish smile. “How nice to see you again, Suzanne.”
“All I heard from Mummy was that you’d gone to Canada years ago.”
“That’s right,” he said, and now she detected the Canadian accent. “I went to Toronto the moment I got out of university. I moved to Montreal a couple of years later and I decided to study for the priesthood. I’ve been a priest for about five years now.”
“God knows this family needed someone holy,” Val said, and laughed again.
Suzanne’s eyes had gone to her brother, who had said nothing so far. He was not smiling. Now that she had a chance to study his face, she was horrified at how old he looked. He couldn’t be more than thirty-seven or so, but his appearance was distinctly middle aged. His hair was graying at the sides, as their father’s had done, and deep frown lines were etched into his forehead. He caught her staring at him and nodded gravely.
“Hello, Suzie. Good to see you again. How has life been treating you?”
“Can’t complain, Henry.”
“Still working for whatshisname?”
“Yes, I’m still with whathisname.”
“What is his name then?” Val asked. “Why all the secrecy?”
“No reason at all. I seem to remember Henry always pretended he couldn’t remember the name of any of my friends.”
As if by not giving them a name he had proved that they didn’t matter,
she thought.
“I know he’s that archaeologist chappy, but I really can’t remember his name. Sorry,” Henry said. “Wrote those books about Tunisia, didn’t he?”
“Toby Handwell. Sir Toby Handwell these days.”
“Still married, is he?” Henry asked, leaning forward to pick up his teacup.
“Why, do you fancy him?”
The other two men laughed, and she realized with a rush of pleasure that she had thrown her brother off balance. He wasn’t going to find her such an easy target as he remembered.
“Here, have your tea before it gets cold.” Nick handed her the cup. “Milk and sugar?”
“No sugar, thank you. Bad for the waistline.”
“I shouldn’t think you’d have to worry about that,” Val said. “You look terrific. Still like the teenager I remembered. Unlike old Henry here, who looks as if he’s got the cares of the world on his shoulders.”
“My law practice is quite demanding, you know,” Henry said, “and I seem to have acquired the running of the family affairs since Dad abdicated the position. Grandfather’s estate and the properties here have proved most complicated.”
“He’s made his will then, has he?” Suzanne tried to sound only mildly interested. “Is this what it’s about?”
“His will was made years ago. Very straightforward. I get Maes Gwyn. Everything else is to be sold and you get equal shares.”
“Exactly how much more is there, beside the farm, I mean?” Val asked. “I have no idea at all how much Grandfather is worth. To look at him, you’d think he didn’t have two pennies to rub together. Does he still wear that awful cloth cap?”
“Absolutely.” Henry laughed. “Look, I shouldn’t really be telling you this. The old man’s not dead yet, and he’s not going to die for some time by the look of him.”
“You’ve seen him, then?” Nick asked.
“Yes, I’m staying at the farm.”
“You are? Then how come he didn’t invite us?” Suzanne demanded.
“I invited myself. If I’m going to inherit one day, I felt that I needed to get acquainted with the running of it.”
“Does he still farm it, at his age?” Nick asked.
“He’s got a manager, but he gets about surprisingly well,” Henry said. “Of course he lost most of his sheep in the foot-and-mouth epidemic, but he’s enthusiastic about restocking.”
“You’re not seriously thinking of living at Maes Gwyn someday, are you?” Suzanne asked, staring at her brother.
“Grandfather doesn’t want it sold, and it’s a good property. I may want to take early retirement from the law and playing at country squire sounds like a nice notion.”
“But could you do that, after what happened?” Nick asked. “I know I had to think long and hard about coming back here at all, just for this visit.”
“So did I,” Suzanne confessed. “I almost turned around and drove straight back home.”
“Oh, come on you two. It happened so long ago,” Val said. “It was awful, but there’s nothing we can do abut it now. It doesn’t make sense to dwell on the past so much that you can’t get on with the present. If Henry wants to live at Maes Gwyn, I say good luck to him.”
“It’s probably a moot point anyway. By the time Grandfather dies, I’ll be walking around with one of those Zimmer frames myself,” Henry said, and this time he attempted a dry laugh that came out more like a cough. “You wait until you see him. You’d never believe he was turning eighty.”
“So that’s what we’re here for, is it?’ Suzanne persisted. “He really wants a big eightieth birthday party?”
“So I’m to understand,” Henry said. “We’re having a marquee, and the whole thing’s being catered.”
“God—a marquee. It will probably collapse under the weight of the snow,” Val said with a chuckle.
“So where are the rest of you staying?” Suzanne asked.
“Right here,” Val said. “Seemed convenient and comfortable.”
“But isn’t it—awfully expensive?” Suzanne glanced around.
“Costs an arm and two legs, but hey, what the hell? You only live once and you’d not catch me staying in one of those dreary bed-and-breakfasts. So where are you staying, Suzie?”
“In one of those dreary bed-and-breakfasts,” she said. “And you, Nick?”
“I’m sure Nick’s found some spartan monastery to give him shelter,” Val said, with a smirk at his brother.
“As a matter of fact I’m staying here too,” Nick said, his face lighting up with that boyish grin again.
“Good God. Then they must pay the clergy in Canada more than they do in England.”
“I live very frugally for the rest of the year.” Nick blushed. “I see no reason why I shouldn’t enjoy myself when I travel.”
“Following the example of all those Borgia popes, no doubt,” Henry said dryly. “And they didn’t exactly stint on the Vatican, did they?”
“Built for the glory of God, Henry,” Nick said. “You wouldn’t want to stint on Him, would you?”
“If he exists, Nick.” Henry reached forward and filled his empty teacup again. “Which I very much doubt. More tea for you, Suzie?”
“Please. I hadn’t realized how cold I was. This place is so delightfully warm, isn’t it?” She took the cup of hot liquid and cradled it with her hands. “So who’s coming to this bash? Not Father?”
“Oh yes. He’ll be here.”
“With his current wife?”
“No wife, current or otherwise, since I’m sure Mother’s not coming.”
“Wild horses wouldn’t drag her here; I think those were her words. And what about your wife, Henry?”
“Not coming either. She thought this should be an occasion just for family members, seeing that it might be a bit awkward. Camilla runs from anything awkward.”
“No significant others then,” Val said. “Just the four of us again. How cozy. You’re not married at the moment, I take it, Suzie?”
She tried to stop herself from turning red, but didn’t succeed. “No, Val. I haven’t been married for the past sixteen years. Not since Carl and I split up.”
“And the kid? There was a kid, wasn’t there?”
“Charlie? He’s in the army.”
“What on earth made him go into the army? What a ridiculous idea,” Henry said.
“No money for university,” Suzanne said, looking directly at her brother. “Options are limited when there’s no money, and he’s keen on mechanical things.”
Nick leaned forward in his seat. “You have a son in the army? I had no idea. Has it been that long?”
“She was very young when she had him, remember,” Henry said, and this time there was a hint of a smile on his lips.
“No children of your own yet, Henry?” Suzanne responded. “You’d better get busy. It would be sad if there was no one to inherit all that lovely property.”

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