Authors: Rhys Bowen

Evans to Betsy (16 page)

BOOK: Evans to Betsy

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So there had been plenty of friction at the Sacred Grove. But
arguments didn’t always lead to murder, did they? Well, it wasn’t any of his business. D.C.I. Hughes and his team would be handling the investigation from now on and Evan would be lucky if he heard how it was progressing. He should take Betsy home, make his report to D.C.I. Hughes, and get on with the task of changing Bronwen’s library books. But he found he was looking down toward the meditation center and the path beyond, leading down steps to the swimming pool and then the beach. He had to go and take another look at that cave for himself.

Evan hurried down the long flight of steps. As he passed the pyramid, a pale-faced woman in a turban and robe came out and stood blinking in the sunlight.

“Amazing,” she said to Evan. “I’m a new person. Even my skin feels younger. Amethyst, you know.”

Evan nodded politely and went on his way. Down the last steps and onto the beach. The tide was still quite high at this time of day and Evan had to pick his way along a thin strip of beach. Where the tide had receded, the sand was still waterlogged and each footstep sank in with a deep sucking sound. How could anyone have possibly dragged an unconscious man this way—unless there was more than one person. He paused to consider this thought. Was it possible that several of them had conspired to get rid of Randy Wunderlich—Rhiannon and Mrs. Roberts, Mrs. Roberts and Ben Cresswell, even Annabel and Michael? All of the above? Such alliances seemed highly unlikely when he considered them, but desperation has driven people to even stranger alliances.

After five minutes of slithering along the water’s edge, he came to the rocks before the cave. He scrambled up nimbly and stood at the entrance. He knew that forensics had given the cave a thorough going-over, and the sea had been in and out a number of times since the body was discovered. Even so, he ducked his head and went inside, wrinkling his nose at the dank, rotting smell. He found himself shivering as he looked around. As he had expected, he found nothing and was thankful to step out into the sunlight again. He couldn’t imagine that Randy Wunderlich would have chosen to meditate there.

Now the higher, dryer cave definitely looked more inviting—a wide hole above the waterline, the sort of cave that would have attracted a boy wanting to play at smugglers. He scrambled up to it, using all fours over the precariously loose rocks, and stood peering into the darkness. He could see where the sea level reached the entrance. There was a line of seaweed and jetsam about three feet into the cave. Beyond that, however, the floor was sandy and dry. He noticed footprints in the sand, but they were indistinct and there was no way of knowing how long they had been there. As he turned back to face the entrance, he was met with a stunning view. The whole estuary of sparkling blue water spread before him, with the green hills rising on the other side to Cader Idris, second in height only to Snowdon.

He could see that somebody would want to come to this cave to get away from it all and think. In fact, Emmy Court had assumed the same thing. He remembered how she had tried to convince Betsy that she was heading for the wrong cave. Well, anyone would have assumed the same thing, wouldn’t he? He then realized something else about Emmy Court. When she had woken him that night, she had been bubbling with excitement as if the whole excursion was a grand adventure. But that had changed when they discovered Randy’s body. He remembered her wail of horror, “He can’t be dead!”

And yet today, in her interview with Hughes, she had acted as if Randy’s death was merely a nuisance, a hitch in her plans. Evan turned and carefully skirted around the edge of the cave, examining every inch of the floor. There was really nothing to see. There was no jetsam above the high tide line, just sand and rocks. Toward the back of the cave his eyes strained in the darkness and he wished he had brought the flashlight he kept in the glove compartment of his car. He could see something on a small rock ledge. Evan reached for it. It was a wrapped granola bar. Half-buried in the sand beneath it was a full bottle of water and beside that a miniature torch. Using his handkerchief, Evan retrieved the torch and wrapped it carefully before tucking it into his pocket. It might be nothing more than kids playing at camping out, but it could also mean that someone recently intended to spend some time in this cave.

Chapter 19

By the time Evan returned to look for Betsy, he found her with Emmy Court. Emmy seemed calmer and resigned to missing her plane.

“If I’ve got to stay on a few days, I might as well give Betsy a ride home,” she said. “I hope Mrs. Williams hasn’t let my room yet.”

Evan accepted her offer. He was glad he wasn’t about to incur anyone’s wrath by giving Betsy a ride home on the motorbike. Instead, he drove straight to drop off the torch he had found at the forensics lab. Then he remembered he had promised to change Bronwen’s library books for her. That was the very least he could do. He felt that he should have been taking better care of her. Instead, he’d been running around all week—doing his job, to be sure, but still not there when she needed him.

When he finally reached Llanfair and pulled up outside the police station, the clouds had closed in and the formerly bright day was now heavy with the threat of rain. The first drops of rain spattered onto the tarmac as he climbed off the bike and wheeled it into the shed. No hiking today then! On the ride home he had decided to take a stiff hike up to Crib Gogh and back. He had noticed his muscles complaining at all those steps at the Sacred Grove. That’s what happened after several weeks without exercise—he was getting
soft and needed some conditioning. Also, walking in the high country had a wonderful way of clearing his head. Up above the rest of the world, he was able to see connections that hadn’t been obvious before, and Evan was a great believer in connections. Find the missing links and you were well on the way to solving the case—if he was going to be given the chance of future involvement. Evan kicked at a pebble and sent it skidding across the wet street. Then he tucked Bronwen’s books under his jacket and plodded up the hill to the schoolhouse.

He was about to open the gate to the school playground when he heard his name being called and sighed as Mrs. Powell-Jones came bearing down on him, her unbuttoned cardigan flying open like the wings of an avenging angel.

“Constable Evans! Stay right where you are. I wanted a word with you, urgently.”

Evan was in no mood to be forbidden to see Bronwen again. “I’m taking Miss Price the library books she wanted,” he said quickly.

“It’s not Miss Price I’m concerned about. It’s Betsy Edwards,” Mrs. Powell-Jones said.

“Something’s happened to Betsy?”

“To her immortal soul, if we’re not careful. I was speaking to her not an hour ago, and what I heard has appalled me, Constable. Absolutely appalled me.” She pushed a rain-sodden wisp of hair from her face. She wasn’t wearing any kind of raincoat and her pea green hand-knitted cardigan was giving off a strong odor of wet sheep. “I had my doubts about this so-called healing center since I first heard about it,” she went on, wagging a finger at Evan. “Pagan spirituality indeed! As if pagans can have any spirituality. But now I’ve had a chance to question Betsy thoroughly and what I’ve heard is worse than I feared. Did you know there is Druid worship going on at that place? Betsy says there is actually a Druid priestess who holds her ceremonies there. No wonder someone has been murdered. The Druids were a most bloodthirsty sect, you know. They went in for human sacrifices. It must be stopped, Constable Evans. Stopped now, before it’s too late!” She thrust her face into his,
peering at him with her sharp, pale eyes. “I take it that the police will be shutting it down, after what has happened?”

“I don’t know, madam,” Evan said. “I’m just the local constable. I don’t make the decisions.”

“Then I shall call your superiors immediately. And if the police don’t close it, then steps will have to be taken. We Christians have a moral obligation. I’ve told young Betsy that I forbid her to go there again.”

“She has a good job there, Mrs. Powell-Jones,” Evan began, but the minister’s wife peered into his face again.

“A good job, you say? No good can come of cavorting with the devil, you must know that. You must stop her, Constable Evans, before it’s too late. Good day to you.”

She stalked back to her house, her shoes making an unpleasant squelching sound as she walked. Evan watched her go, then pushed open the schoolyard gate.

“Goodness, you’re soaked,” Bronwen greeted him from where she was sitting, wrapped in her eiderdown in the armchair by the fire. “Were you caught in the downpour when you were on your bike?”

“No, I got caught by a belligerent Powell-Jones,” Evan said. “I’ve been told to close the Sacred Grove immediately, or else steps will be taken. And she’s forbidden Betsy to go there again.”

“Oh, dear.” Bronwen managed a weak smile. “I wouldn’t like to be the people at the Sacred Grove if Mrs. Powell-Jones gets her teeth into them.”

“So how are you feeling?” Evan crossed the room and gave her a little kiss on the forehead. “You’re sitting up. That’s a good sign.”

“I hope it is. I still feel as weak as a newborn kitten.”

“You need building up again.”

“Not Mrs. Powell-Jones’s calves foot jelly, please.”

Evan smiled. “I’d offer to make you some soup, only my cooking doesn’t seem to agree with you too well.”

“Don’t say that. This obviously wasn’t anything to do with your cooking. Just an unluckily timed bug, as the doctor says.”

“I hope so. But most bugs I’ve seen don’t linger on as long as
this. I’ve got you some new library books, by the way. I hope you approve of my taste.”

“In women at least.” She gave him a weak smile, reached for the books, and let them flop onto the eiderdown beside her.

Evan gave her a worried glance. The hands that took the books from him seemed frail and transparent as alabaster and belonged to an ethereal creature, not the Bronwen he knew.

“So what’s the latest excitement from the Sacred Grove?” She patted the arm of her chair and he perched beside her. “Has Betsy had any more psychic dreams and found any more bodies?”

“Plenty of excitement,” Evan said. “It turns out that Randy Wunderlich’s death wasn’t an accident. It looks as if someone drugged him so that he was asleep when the tide came in.”

“What a horrible thing to do!” Bronwen shuddered. “Any suspects?”

“Plenty, it seems,” Evan said. “He wasn’t very popular with several residents of the Sacred Grove, and one of the maids said he argued with his wife a lot too.”

“So what do you do next?”

“Me, nothing, I expect. Hughes will no doubt bumble his way through, insulting everybody, unless he puts Watkins and his partner on the case.”

Bronwen reached out and touched his hand. “You know you’re cleverer than any of them, and they know it too. What are your thoughts so far?”

Evan shrugged. “It could be any of them. His wife took sleeping pills, but not the same kind as were used on him. Betsy took him a cup of coffee that could have contained the sleeping pills but she doesn’t know who poured the coffee.”

“It doesn’t necessarily have to be any of them, does it?” Bronwen asked. “I mean, you said this man was a famous psychic in America. I’d imagine men like that make enemies.”

“Someone came over here specifically to kill him, you mean?”

Bronwen laughed. “It does sound rather ridiculous when you put it like that, doesn’t it?”

“No, but …” Evan paused, staring at the flames dancing in the fire.

“You’ve thought of something, haven’t you?” she asked gently.

“Emmy Court is American,” Evan said. “She just appeared over here, right before this happened. Why pick this place to start doing her research?”

“I’d have someone look into this man’s background in America,” Bronwen said, “and maybe check out Emmy Court too, while they’re at it.”

Evan kissed her forehead again. “Smart girl,” he said. “I’ll suggest it to Watkins if I can catch him between his training sessions.”

“Training?”

“They’re promoting him to inspector, didn’t I tell you?”

“Oh.” Bronwen looked up. “Does that leave a vacancy, do you think?”

He stared past her, into the fire. “Not that I’ve heard. They’ve just taken on Glynis Davies, haven’t they?”

She reached out and squeezed his hand. “Your turn will come. And there’s really no hurry, is there? You were quite content here to start with. You said you liked the quiet life—and your hiking and climbing.”

“Yes, that was before …” He paused.
Before I thought of supporting a wife and family
, he didn’t finish out loud.

That evening Evan was attempting to cook a leg of lamb.
Rather stupid really
, he thought,
to cook a whole leg for one person
. But he liked leg of lamb on weekends, and he was considering using the bone to make Bronwen a lamb stew. His mother always served him lamb stew with dumplings when she wanted to build him up. Maybe he’d have a go at dumplings tomorrow and take some over to Bronwen.

The lamb was beginning to smell appetizing and Evan was just putting frozen peas into a saucepan when there was a tap at his front door.

“Ooh, smells good. What are you cooking?” Betsy asked.

“Roast lamb.” He saw her eyes light up. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No, and there’s nothing in the house except baked beans. The old man’s down at the pub already and I didn’t fancy baked beans on my own.”

“You’re welcome to join me. I can’t eat a whole leg on my own.” Evan stood back to let her in.

“Lovely! Diolch yn fawr, Evan bach.” She gave him a beaming smile as she came in. “Do you want me to lay the table?”

She had opened the kitchen drawer and was taking out knives and forks without being asked, laying them swiftly on the table in the living room. Then she went back into the kitchen and perched herself on the counter again as Evan took the roast from the oven. “I’ve never carved one of these things before,” he said. “Where do you think I should start?”

“Absolutely clueless, aren’t you?” Betsy slid from the counter. “Your mam must have spoiled you something rotten. Look you—this is how you carve a leg. You make a vee in the top like this and then you work backward. Got it?” Her hands covered his and he was conscious of how warm and real her hands felt after Bronwen’s fragile icy ones.

“All right. I’ve got it now.” He laughed her off awkwardly. “Let me try it. I’ve got to learn.”

Several large and not very elegant chunks of lamb were put on each plate, followed by roast potatoes and a generous spoonful of peas.

“I’ve got a jar of mint sauce on the shelf, I think,” he said, “but I’m not sure what to do about the gravy. Mrs. Williams used to make lovely thick gravy with lamb.”

“I make mine with gravy mix,” Betsy said, “but I’ll do what I can with the drippings.”

“You’re quite handy in the kitchen,” Evan commented.

“I’ve had to be, haven’t I? With my
mam
gone all these years and my
tad
only good for staggering to the pub? And I’m learning a lot by watching the way they do things at the Sacred Grove. You should see how lovely they make the food look. Little swirls of color and bits of flowers and things on the plate. Ever so pretty it looks.” She sat down opposite Evan, took a mouthful of meat, then looked
up. “That crabby old cow wants me to stop working there,” she said.

“Mrs. Powell-Jones?” Evan smiled. “Yes, she gave me a long lecture about it this afternoon.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Betsy said. “Going on about devil worship and all that nonsense. I think Rhiannon makes a lot of sense. Why shouldn’t the spirit of the universe be all around us in nature? She’s asked me to help her with the ceremony this week—you know, the Galan Mai? It’s going to be so exciting—lots of people coming from all across Britain, all wearing white robes and then the fire and everything. I always did love Guy Fawkes Night when I was a little kid.”

Evan watched her as she spoke, her face alight with excitement like a small child’s.

“This is cozy, isn’t it?” She beamed at him. “I’ve waited a long time to be asked to dinner alone with you, Evan
bach.”

Evan couldn’t think of the right thing to say and went on eating.

BOOK: Evans to Betsy

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