by Rhys Bowen
“Lady Annabel. This is Detective Constable Davies,” Evan said. “She’s the one who is looking into the missing American girl.”
“But I thought we established yesterday that she hasn’t ever stayed here.” A frown of annoyance cracked the perfect makeup.
“Oh, yes, we know she was never a guest,” Glynis said. “But you weren’t entirely truthful with Constable Evans, were you?”
“In what way?”
“One of your staff recognized the girl. We understand that she used to work for you.”
“A staff member?” Annabel sounded genuinely surprised. “I had no idea we hired college students. I thought the staff were all locals. I really don’t have that much interaction—it is Mrs. Roberts, my housekeeper, who does the hiring and firing. Wait while I get dressed and I’ll take you to see her. Michael, go and locate Mrs. Roberts for me, would you? This whole thing is most disagreeable.”
Evan and Glynis waited again. “If the wonder boy is so psychic, then why didn’t he know that she was working for him?” Evan muttered to Glynis, who grinned.
“I have to meet this wonder boy,” she said. “If he’s half as gorgeous as Betsy tells us, then …”
“I don’t think your boyfriend would like it. Neither would Lady Annabel.”
“I’m getting rather bored with that particular boyfriend, as it happens,” Glynis said. Now, why exactly had she told him that? Evan wondered. At that moment Annabel reappeared, now dressed in a purple velour tracksuit.
“Right. Let’s go and find Mrs. Roberts. I am most sorry that you had to come back here again, but you did only ask about guests, didn’t you? I had no idea that staff might be concerned … .”
While she was talking, she started off at a great pace up the steps and into the main house. For someone who carried excess weight, she was certainly light on her feet and full of energy, Evan noticed. Maybe there was something to this hocus-pocus after all.
Mrs. Roberts was found in a small, austere office behind the kitchens. She had the typical Welshwoman’s face, one that has become the stereotype of the witch—long, thin, with pointed chin and high forehead. She got to her feet as they came in and she appraised Evan and Glynis critically.
“Mrs. Roberts is my wonderful housekeeper,” Annabel said. “She’s been with my family since the year dot. She can tell you anything you want to know. There’s not much that escapes her eagle eye around here, is there, Mrs. R?”
Mrs. Roberts’s face didn’t even crack into a smile. She nodded. “What is it you’re wanting?” she asked, looking directly at Evan.
“I’ll leave you to it then,” Annabel said. “I have guests arriving in half an hour. I don’t want to greet them looking sweaty and unkempt like this.” She went, leaving Mrs. Roberts still staring at Evan.
“Mrs. Roberts, I’m Detective Constable Glynis Davies.” Glynis stepped forward to let her know that she was the one conducting the investigation. “We’re here checking on a missing girl. An American college student. Her name is Rebecca Riesen and we understand from another member of your staff that she worked here earlier this spring.”
“Rebecca?” The elderly woman frowned. “Yes, I do remember an American girl. She begged to be hired and then walked out within the week, but then I hear Americans are flighty—like the mistress’s present husband. Wants one thing for his dinner and then changes his mind or leaves half of it. Flighty.” She glanced around then asked, lowering her voice, “Do you have Welsh?”
“Constable Evans does,” Glynis said. “I’m afraid mine is rusty.”
“Pity.”
“So what can you tell us about Rebecca?” Evan asked.
“Nothing much. She showed up in February, I think it was. She wanted a job and we were short a girl at the time. So many comings and goings these days. When Lady Annabel was growing up, we ran the place very nicely with a staff of four and a gardener. Now you never know who is who around here—masseurs and priestesses and God knows what. Change is never for the good, is it? And Lady Annabel never was one for making good decisions. Ever since she left her first husband, she’s taken up with a succession of rotters.” She smoothed down her dark skirt. “But getting back to this girl. She arrived. I put her to helping out in the kitchen and the laundry. General odd jobs, you know. Then it hadn’t been a week but one of the staff came and told me she’d upped and left. It seems the staff weren’t too unhappy to see her go—something of a God botherer, if you know what I mean. She didn’t like the un-Christian things that were going on here and felt she had to do some converting.”
“And you don’t know where she went?”
“No idea. She just told one of the staff she was leaving, she’d had enough, and then she was gone. Didn’t even stay long enough to collect her first week’s paycheck. But then Americans are supposed to be rich, aren’t they?”
“Is Mr. Wunderlich rich?” Evan asked.
“Famous TV star over there, so I’ve heard. But it’s not right for me to go talking about my employers, is it? I think I’ve told you all I can.”
“Diolch yn fawr, Mrs. Roberts,” Evan said, breaking into Welsh. “Now I wonder if we could just have a word with the staff she worked with. I understand the girl Bethan was the one who recognized her picture.”
“Bethan, yes. She might have been put to help Bethan. I’ll have her sent up here.”
“And the kitchens, you said. Could we go through there and ask some questions? She might have dropped a hint to someone where she was going when she left here.”
“I suppose so,” Mrs. Roberts walked ahead of them into the dark hallway and then into the kitchens. The main kitchen was decidedly part of an old manor house, but nothing inside it was old—stainless-steel countertops, the biggest and best stoves and refrigerators lined the walls. No expense had been spared here. Evan stood watching while Glynis questioned the chefs and kitchen helpers. Most of them were from Spain or Italy, spoke only broken English, and couldn’t even remember the girl.
When they got back to Mrs. Roberts’s office, Bethan arrived, breathless.
“I was down at Meditation,” she said. “I ran all the way up.”
Glynis nodded to Evan. “Bethan,” he said “you said you remembered the American girl whose picture I showed you. Rebecca Riesen.” He spoke in Welsh.
Bethan nodded.
“What can you tell me about her?”
“Very quiet, shy,” Bethan answered, hanging her head as if she were answering a teacher in school. “Didn’t say much. But nice enough. We folded linens together one day. That’s when we had a little chat. She said she came from California and I said it must be wonderful and she said yes it was. That was about it.”
“Did she say anything about Druids?” Evan asked. “Anything about being interested in Druids?”
“Druids? I’m sure she didn’t. She was very religious. She told me it upset her what was going on here. ‘A lot of pagans,’ she said.”
“So did she try and convert anybody?”
“Convert? How do you mean?” Bethan frowned as she looked up at Evan.
“Preaching at people?”
“I’m sure she didn’t. Like I said, she was very quiet and shy. She only started talking to me because we were in the linen closet together. Otherwise, she pretty much kept to herself.”
“So you don’t know why she left? Do you think it was because the people here were pagans?”
“It could have been. I didn’t realize she was gone until they told me. ‘Where’s the American girl?’ I asked. ‘Up and hopped it,’ someone said. ‘Just left a note.’”
“Well, at least we’ve established something positive,” Glynis commented as they drove out of the compound. “We have the dates when she was here. Now, the next thing to check would be buses and trains out of Porthmadog. Damn, I didn’t think to ask whether she had a car. Hardly likely to, being a college student, would you think?”
Evan shrugged. “You could check with the rental companies, but cars c
ost money. Did you say the family was rich?”
“Very ordinary. It was hard for them to come up with the cash to come over here looking for her. She wasn’t any spoiled little heiress, if that’s what you’re getting at.” The car swung onto the main road and joined the line to cross the estuary. “By the way, thanks for agreeing to meet her parents when they arrive. You’re the sort of person who knows what to say on occasions like this. I’m terribly awkward, I’m afraid. It’s something I’ve got to learn.”
“It’s never easy,” Evan said. “I’ve had to bring bad news quite a few times now and it doesn’t get any easier.”
“That’s what Sergeant Watkins says.” Glynis glanced up at him. “Look, do you want to go for a pint somewhere? I said I owed you one, didn’t I?”
“I’ll take you up on that sometime,” Evan said, “but I have to get straight home tonight. I’m cooking dinner for my girlfriend.”
“Oh.” A definite pause. Then she said lightly, “A gourmet chef as well as all your other talents?”
“Not even close. I’ve just moved into my own place and most of my attempts have been disasters. Tonight I’m attempting spaghetti and I don’t think that even I can mess that up too much. Spaghetti with a bolognese sauce and a tossed salad. Do you think that’s all right?”
“Sounds wonderful,” Glynis said. “She’s a lucky lady.”
Chapter 10
Later that evening Evan was standing in his kitchen, surrounded by saucers and bowls of chopped onion and garlic, minced beef, and tomatoes. Survival Cooking for One was propped on the shelf beside him. A large pot of water was bubbling on the stove and he was just heating some oil in a frying pan when the front doorbell rang.
“Damn,” he muttered. It couldn’t be Bronwen, surely? He’d begged her not to be early and made it very clear that he didn’t want her to help him. He wiped his oniony hands on a tea towel and went to the door.
“Hello, Evan.” Betsy was standing there, looking young and fresh and rather lovely. Usually she went in for ultrahip, sexy clothes that left little to the imagination. Today she was wearing jeans and a hand-knitted sweater a couple of sizes too big for her.
“Oh, Betsy. Is something the matter?”
“No. Nothing. I just thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing. I’ve just been over at Mrs. Williams’s and had a bite to eat with Emmy. Mrs. Williams is a lovely cook, isn’t she? She makes the lightest pastry, even better than my old nain used to. So we got to talking about you and Mrs. W hoped you were doing all right, so I said I’d pop in and see on my way home.”
“I’m doing just fine, thank you,” Evan said. “To tell you the truth, I’m in the middle of cooking—in fact, I have oil heating on the stove.” He ran back into the kitchen and rescued the smoking pan in time.
“Oh, look at you!” Betsy said in admiration. “What are you cooking? Looks very fancy.”
“I’ve got Bronwen coming to dinner in half an hour,” he said. “I’m making a sauce for the spaghetti.”
“You can buy that out of a jar,” Betsy said.
“Yes, but it’s not the same. I have to show Bronwen that I can do this.”
“Do you want some help?” Betsy was already pushing up her sleeves. “I’m quite handy in the kitchen myself, having cooked for that ungrateful Harry Lloyd at the Dragon all this time. Want that lettuce washing, do you?” Before Evan could answer, she had it pulled apart and was running it under the tap. “He’s regretting it already, I’m sure,” she went on. “I peeked in there tonight and you know there’s only a couple of blokes in there. Charlie Hopkins and Evans-the-Meat. Dead as a doornail in there. I knew it.”
She shook out the lettuce so that spray went everywhere.
“Hey, watch it,” Evan said, laughing. Betsy gave him a mischievous smile and flipped the lettuce spray into his face. It was a deliberately flirtatious move and Evan stopped himself as he was about to grab her wrist. Any physical contact with Betsy and who knew where it might lead!
“Stop distracting me, will you? I’ve got to get this sauce simmering. Now let’s see. First the onions and the garlic.” They fell into the pan with a sizzle.
“So did you find out any more about that missing girl?” Betsy asked. “Bethan said you’d been back to the Sacred Grove today.”
“Only that the girl was there for less than a week then left again. It’s not much to go on.”
“So she could be back in America by now.”
“It’s very probable.”
“Too bad I’m not further along with my psychic training. I could just close my eyes for you and pick up her vibrations.”
“Your guru, Randy, tried to do that and didn’t come up with anything. How did your session go with him today?”
“It didn’t. He wasn’t there. I went to his office but he didn’t show up. I expect he got called away for something more important than me. I know they had new guests arriving today. He’ll fit in my sessions when he can.” She leaned against the edge of the draining board, watching him. “Emmy says that my powers may be remarkable. She says that I may be able to see other people’s lives and even make things happen. She says the most powerful psychics can just picture something in their head and it happens, just like that. Isn’t it exciting?”
“I’d take it all with a grain of salt if I were you,” Evan said as he dropped the spaghetti into a huge pot of boiling water. “These people believe in all that stuff, but I’d want some proof, myself. I’ve never yet met anyone who was truly psychic.”
“My old nain used to see the Derin Corff, didn’t she?” Betsy demanded.
Evan smiled. “I shall be only too delighted if you turn out to be a famous psychic. You’ve always wanted to be famous, haven’t you?”
Betsy beamed. “Imagine me on a TV show someday with Randy.”
“Sorry to remind you, love, but he’s already married.”
“Oh, he’s too old for me. He’s way over thirty. I like younger blokes myself.” She hoisted herself up onto one end of the counter and sat there, swinging her legs. “Tell me, Evan,” she said carefully, “if Bronwen wasn’t around any longer … if there was no Bronwen Price in the world, do you think you might be interested in me then?”
“Betsy!” He laughed uneasily. “I really like you. Honestly I do. But I don’t think I’m the right bloke for you. You need someone who’s more lively and fun. You know I don’t like dancing and the type of thing you like.”
“I’d also like to settle down with a steady bloke of my own someday,” Betsy said. “Oh, well, I’m not going to give up without a fight. Do you think I could use my psychic powers to make Bronwen disappear?”
“Hey—that smells wonderful,” came Bronwen’s voice as she opened the front door. “You see, I told you that you could …” She stopped short as she came into the kitchen and saw Betsy sitting on the kitchen counter beside Evan. “Oh,” she said. “I hope you haven’t been cheating.”
“I’m here on an errand from Mrs. Williams,” Betsy said, sliding gracefully from the counter. “You don’t have to worry.”
Bronwen laughed. “I meant cheating by having someone who knows how to cook help you. You haven’t been helping him, have you, Betsy?”
“Only washed some lettuce or you’d have eaten it full of caterpillars,” Betsy said. “Well, I’ll be on my way then. Enjoy your dinner. I think you’re doing just fine, Evan.”
Evan was conscious of Bronwen looking at him as Betsy closed the front door behind her. “You didn’t ask her to come and help you, did you?” she said accusingly.
“Of course not. Mrs. Williams wanted to make sure I was all right. Betsy had been having dinner with the famous Emmy, so she stopped by on her way home.”
“If you ask me, Betsy’s all too influenced by the famous Emmy. She’s been following her around like a sheep.”
“And by the famous Randy,” Evan said.
“Oh, who’s he?”
“The star psychic at the Sacred Grove. You shou
ld see him, Bron. Hair over his shoulders like Samson. Very tanned and muscled and Hollywood.”
She gave him a wicked smile. “Ooh, sounds interesting. Maybe I’ll go and check him out for myself.”
Evan grabbed her round the waist and pulled her close to him. “None of that, or I won’t share my secret spaghetti sauce with you.”
Bronwen laughed and kissed him.
“And none of that when I’m trying to concentrate,” he added. “Make yourself useful and open the bottle of red wine I’ve put on the table.”
“First sensible suggestion you’ve made all evening.” She waltzed out of the kitchen. Evan came through to join her. “I haven’t got as far as candles and tablecloths and things.”
“This will do just fine. You’ve done a lot in a week.”
“Especially since I’ve been up and down to that bloody Sacred Grove all weekend. Missing college student from America,” he added. “Turns out she was there briefly then left a couple of months ago, so we’re none the wiser.”
Bronwen poured out two glasses of red wine.
“You sit down and I’ll serve,” Evan said. He went through into the kitchen, stopped in horror, and yelled, “Bloody hell!”
Bronwen came running through. “What? What is it?”
Evan pointed silently at the huge glutinous mound that was currently creeping out of the pot and down the side of the stove. “Spaghetti isn’t supposed to behave like that, is it?”
Bronwen started laughing. “It’s like something out of a horror movie—The Blob That Swallowed Wales. Evan—how much spaghetti did you put in?”
“Well, I started with one packet but that didn’t look like very much, so I added another one.”
Bronwen wrapped her arms around his neck. “My dear sweet twit, each packet is enough for eight people. You’ve just cooked enough to feed half of Llanfair.”
“Well, I’m not inviting them to share,” Evan said, annoyed and embarrassed at her laughter. “I planned a special dinner with my girlfriend and that’s what we’re going to have. Now go and sit down and don’t watch while I serve up.”
