by Rhys Bowen
“Did he talk to you much about his life in London?” Evan asked.
“I didn’t like to ask,” Mrs. Owens said. “He was a paying guest, after all. It wouldn’t have been proper to gossip. But I know it wasn’t much. He had his walks around the park and the library and his club, maybe a night out at the pictures once a week. Not much of a life, poor man. He’d outlived all his friends and relatives, look you.”
“So he didn’t get any visitors then?”
“Never had a visitor in all the years he’s been here.”
“And what about letters? Did he get letters or phone calls from London?”
“Nothing. The poor man had nobody in the world, did he?”
“It seemed that way,” Evan said. He got up from the hard kitchen chair. “At least you made his last days happy, Mrs. Owens. That’s something worth thinking about, isn’t it?”
Mrs. Owens nodded and blew her nose again before she got up and opened the door for him. He retraced his steps across the Owenses field, pausing to stare up at the slopes above where the colonel had made his great discovery. Was there any way that his death could have had something to do with that? Had somebody not wanted him to find the ruin? If so, then they were too late, weren’t they? Now the whole village knew about it, and they were excited about it too.
Evan lay awake thinking most of the night. The colonel had had no enemies, no friends either. His only encounters seemed to be in the pub, but there was nobody he knew well. Not well enough to make him a target for murder. Nothing made sense.
Who would possibly benefit from his death? That was the first question they always taught you to ask in detective training. The colonel had outlived his family and friends. He had no fortune to leave to anyone. In fact Evan got the feeling that the colonel had just about made do on his pension. His well-worn clothing attested to that. Not exactly the kind of man who got bumped off for his money—unless he was one of those old eccentrics who lived like paupers but had pound notes stuffed in the mattress. Even knew that such people existed, but he doubted that the colonel had been one of them. For one thing the colonel was a generous man. He had never been slow to return hospitality in the pub. Oh well, no use speculating until they had the pathologist’s report on Monday. He could be quite wrong …
* * *
Sunday dawned clear and bright and Evan looked out of his window wondering if he should even think about taking a day off. Would it be too crass and unfeeling to go out hiking the day after the colonel’s death? Might someone dare to cross the police tape and tamper with the site while he was gone? Was it possible that he’d be needed if some kind of evidence turned up?
Then he reminded himself that he wasn’t a detective, in fact he had been told to mind his own business and not do any detecting on his own. If they were dealing with a murder, he had done what was required of him—he had alerted the criminal investigation unit in Caernarfon and now it was up to them. He was a humble bobby and it was his day off.
He put on his climbing boots and went downstairs. There was no radio playing in the kitchen. Mrs. Williams greeted him with a somber nod. She was dressed in black and she looked in horror at his sweater and cords.
“You’re never going up to the mountains today, Mr. Evans?” she asked in a shocked whisper. “And the poor colonel not even buried decently yet?”
Evan shrugged. “There’s nothing I can do, is there, Mrs. Williams? And I’m sure the colonel wouldn’t mind if I went out walking. After all, it was what he loved doing best.”
“That’s true enough,” Mrs. Williams nodded. “A kind of tribute to him, then, poor dear man.” She took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “Such a terrible tragedy. I always said that little bridge was unsafe. Why couldn’t he have gone up the road instead of taking that stupid shortcut. Then he’d be with us still.” She fought to control herself. “Life must go on,” she said stiffly. “You’ll be wanting your breakfast then, is it?”
“Just some toast will do,” Evan said. He was really looking forward to bacon, sausage, and the works, but for once it didn’t appear that these were being offered.
Mrs. Williams nodded as if toast was a fitting meal for those in grief. “I’ll make you some toast, then I must be away off to chapel,” she said, cutting off two large slices of bread. “You’re not coming to chapel then?”
“Not this morning,” Evan said. “I’ll probably go tonight.”
“I hope you men will have the decency not to go sneaking round to the pub after chapel,” Mrs. Williams said.
“Us? Sneak to the pub? Whatever gave you that idea?” Evan asked innocently.
Mrs. Williams sniffed. “You think we don’t see you? There’s not much goes on in this village that isn’t common knowledge, Mr. Evans. And I think you should respect the colonel’s memory for once and not go drinking on the Sabbath.”
Evan thought of saying that he thought it was likely the colonel would have approved of everyone having a drink in his memory, but he swallowed back the words at the last minute. They took death very seriously in Llanfair.
“So do you think they’ll postpone the village meeting tomorrow night?” he asked.
Mrs. Williams shook her head. “Not from what Reverend Parry Davies was saying. He said he thought we should forge ahead as the colonel would have wished—although I don’t exactly see what we need a meeting about. I mean, either the ruin turns out to be the saint’s grave or not.”
“There’s more to it than that, Mrs. Williams,” Evan said. “There are all sorts of crazy ideas floating around about changing Llanfair’s name.”
“Changing our name? What on earth to?”
Evan grinned. “Who knows? They started by suggesting that we now call ourselves Llanfair BG, short for Llanfair Bedd Gelert.”
“Like they do with Llanfair PG, instead of having to say the whole long mouthful?”
“Exactly. And then someone wanted to make it longer than that other Llanfair, so that we can get into the Guinness book of records.”
“I’ve heard some daft things in my time, but that takes the cake.” Mrs. Williams sniffed. “Getting too big for their boots, that’s what they are, and no good ever comes of that. I think I’ll go to that meeting and tell them so.”
“You do that, Mrs. Williams,” Evan encouraged, smiling.
Mrs. Williams didn’t smile. “Sometimes it needs a woman to make men see sense,” she said. “You wait till you’re married, young man. Then you’ll find out—which reminds me. Now what does it remind me of?”
Evan could guess what was coming next. If he wasn’t careful he was going to be set up for another encounter with Sharon.
“My toast isn’t about to burn, is it?” he asked quickly. “Don’t worry. I can get it. You best hurry to chapel or you’ll be late.”
“Well, if you’re sure you’ll be alright,” Mrs. Williams said hesitantly. “I don’t like leaving you to fend for yourself.”
“I’ll be fine. Off you go,” Evan encouraged.
He sighed with relief as the front door closed and settled down to toast and Mrs. Williams’ homemade marmalade.
He found he didn’t have much of an appetite after all, so he cleaned up the breakfast table and was well away from the house before Mrs. Williams returned from chapel. Not that she’d be back in a hurry today, he decided. With the tragedy to the colonel and the upcoming village meeting, there would be more to gossip about than usual this morning.
* * *
Evan paused as he crossed the bridge. The water splashed and sparkled among the rocks as if there had never been a tragedy further upstream. He gazed at the police tape still sealing off the bank where the colonel’s body had lain. He was tempted to examine the area for blood spots or signs of a heavy body being dragged, just in case the rain came in before the lab boys got there. One good Welsh rain would wash any evidence away. But then he reminded himself that D.I. Hughes had a very short temper and had told Evans once before that he’d be in serious trouble i
f he interfered again.
Evan sighed and walked on. It was times like this that made him regret dropping out of detective training.
“Yoo-hoo! Evan!” He looked up as he heard his name being called and saw that Annie Pigeon was hurrying down the street toward him, dragging a reluctant Jenny beside her.
“Lovely morning, isn’t it?” she asked as she stopped beside him. “Are you going walking?”
“I was thinking about it.”
“I thought we might go for a little walk ourselves,” Annie said cautiously. “Although I’m a bit nervous about going up to the hills by myself.”
“Oh, it’s quite safe,” Evan said. “I wouldn’t worry.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.” Annie’s voice had just a tinge of sharpness. “I meant about getting lost and falling down old mines. I’ve never lived in a place like this before. I don’t know a thing—which paths are safe, which plants are safe, whether sheep attack you…”
She gazed up hopefully at Evan. “What I really need is a guide who knows the place. You wouldn’t like to have us tag along would you—just this first time, so that we get the hang of it?”
He wouldn’t get much of a hike with the pair of them tagging along, Evan thought. Then he decided he was being selfish. Of course she needed someone to show her which paths were easy and which were dangerous.
“I’d be glad to,” he said gallantly. “Are you ready to go now?”
“Why not? Don’t you think we’re dressed right?”
She was wearing a shiny red track suit which somehow didn’t clash with her red hair. Jenny was all girl today, dressed in a pretty cotton dress with big puffed sleeves and a pink ribbon in her hair. Evan looked at their clean white shoes.
“Normally I wouldn’t go up there without a rainproof jacket, but it’s not going to rain for a while and I don’t imagine we’ll be going too far with the littl’un along.”
“Oh, she might look frail, but she’s tough like her mum, aren’t you, Jenny?” When Jenny said nothing, she jerked her arm. “Go on, say hello to the nice policeman.”
Jenny looked down and studied her white shoes.
“You daft thing,” Annie said. “You were so excited when I said we were going to see him, weren’t you? She does nothing but talk about you at home. She tells me over and over how you saved her. She thinks you’re a proper hero. I think so too. And I don’t think I ever thanked you properly, did I?”
“I was only doing my job.” Evan gave her an embarrassed grin.
“You saved my kid’s life and that’s all that matters to me,” Annie said. “She means the world to me, you know. She’s everything.”
Evan held out a hand to help her over the stile that straddled a dry stone wall. She took his hand daintily and Evan noticed her beautifully manicured red nails. Definitely a city girl. Again he was curious about what had made her think of a spot like Llanfair. She was just stepping down the other side of the stile, still clutching onto Evan’s hand, when someone came down the street toward them, walking quickly. Evan looked up and saw that it was Bronwen.
Chapter 7
“I went to your house but there was no one there,” Bronwen said as she approached. She sounded calm enough but her cheeks were pink. “I thought we might take that hike over to Llyn Ogwen that we’ve been talking about, but I see you’re busy.”
She wasn’t wearing her usual long flowing skirts and ethnic blouses but instead well-cut twills and a cornflower-blue shirt that exactly matched her eyes. Evan swallowed hard. “I—that is Annie asked me to show her around a little.” He paused, looking from Annie, whose hand was still gripping his, to Bronwen, who was standing there with her hands on her hips.
“I don’t think you’ve had a chance to meet Annie Pigeon yet, have you, Bron?” he asked. “She’s just moved here.”
“Is that right?” Evan knew that she was deliberately not making it easy for him.
“Annie, this is Bronwen Price, our schoolteacher. Jenny will be going to her school if you stay here long enough.”
“Miss Price, eh? I’ve heard about you,” Annie said. She released her grip on Evan and extended a hand to Bronwen. “Pleased to meet you, love.”
Bronwen shook her hand.
“Annie’s never had a chance to go mountain walking before,” Evan said, “So I thought I ought to show her the easiest paths. You want to come with us?”
“I don’t think so, thanks,” Bronwen said. “I think I’ll tackle the Llyn Ogwen hike on my own then. I’ve been wanting to do it for a while. Have fun.” She hoisted her pack higher on her shoulders and strode off.
“Oh dear,” Annie said. “I’ve messed things up for you there, haven’t I? If looks could kill, I’d be in a pine box by now.” She gave Evan a little shove. “Go on, go with her if you like. Jenny and me can find our own way around. We’re not stupid.”
“It’s okay,” Evan said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “Bronwen and I will have plenty of weekends to go hiking together. She can spare me for one Sunday, I’m sure.”
“I wouldn’t want to spoil things for you,” Annie said. “I’ll go see her if you like and tell her that I was only asking for your help because you’re the one person who has been friendly to me so far.”
“There’s nothing to spoil,” Evan said. “Bronwen and I are just friends.”
“Just good friends, huh?” Annie chuckled. “That’s what they always say in the tabloids isn’t it—usually just after the cameraman has caught them in bed together!”
“As I said,” Evan continued, embarrassed by the way the conversation was going, “we enjoy each others company and we like the same things, but it hasn’t gone any further than that.”
“Then you’d better get moving, hadn’t you?” Annie said, raising a challenging eyebrow. “Or maybe there’s someone else you’ve got your eye on. The barmaid, for example? She’s got all the right things in the right places, hasn’t she—and doesn’t mind showing them.”
Evan laughed uneasily. “Betsy’s a nice girl,” he said, “but not my type.”
“What is your type then?”
“I haven’t quite decided,” Evan said cautiously. He wasn’t going to bare his soul to this woman he had just met. But as they continued up the track he asked himself the same question, and most of the answers seemed to point to Bronwen. He’d have to explain to Bronwen and make her understand that Annie Pigeon was no threat. He had no interest in Annie other than a professional one. The sooner he got her settled into village life, the better for all of them.
“I saw you braved the pub on Friday night,” he said. “I was going to buy you a drink, but when I looked for you, I couldn’t find you.”
“I changed my mind,” she said. “I thought it might be a good idea to go down to the pub and meet people, but when I got there, I saw it was all men, so I beat a hasty retreat. I didn’t want to start off here with the wrong sort of reputation, did I?”
“The women usually go and sit in the lounge,” Evan said, “but you’re right. It’s mostly men in the pub. We’re still rather old fashioned here in Llanfair, and rather hypocritical too. The pubs have been allowed to open on Sundays for a few years now, but Sunday drinking is still officially frowned upon.”
“So nobody drinks on Sundays?”
“I didn’t say that.” Evan grinned. “Everyone sneaks out of the back door of chapel and takes the footpath to the back door of the pub.”
Annie laughed, then a horrified look crossed her face. “Oh Lord, I’m not expected to go to chapel, am I?”
“You’ve got a good excuse. You don’t speak Welsh. The reverend Parry Davies gives his sermons in English sometimes, but not always. And attendance is dropping off too. None of the young people go now. Pity really.”
“What—that they don’t want to listen to boring old sermons?”
“No, that traditions die out.”
Annie stopped and breathed hard. “Phew. It’s quite a climb, isn’t it?”
> Evan didn’t like to tell her that they hadn’t really begun climbing yet. This was just the first sheep pasture. The real mountains rose sheer behind them. It took a long while before they finally reached the top of the pasture.
“There you are,” he said as the village spread out below them. “Now you get your first good view.”
“It’s lovely,” she said, smiling. “Doesn’t the village look small? Like dollhouses, isn’t it, Jenny love? Imagine that we’ve come all the way up here!”
“I’m tired, Mummy,” Jenny complained.
Annie looked apologetically at Evan. “She’s only got little legs and she’s not used to walking. Neither am I, for that matter.”
“Maybe we should cut back from here through Morgan’s farm,” Evan said. “The path gets pretty steep after this. See how it goes up past those rocks?”
“You mean people actually walk up there?”
“Oh yes,” Evan said. “This path goes over that ridge and joins up with one of the main routes up Snowdon.”
“I think I’ll leave that for a while,” Annie said, still breathing heavily. “I need to get in shape first. And we need to get you some proper walking shoes, Jenny. You’ve got mud all over those nice white ones.”
Evan was curious to know how she managed financially. The little girl was beautifully dressed. Maybe there was a Mr. Pigeon paying child support after all. But he didn’t ask. He didn’t want to do anything that encouraged intimacy with Annie right now.
He led her down a gentle grade that dropped steadily to the village again. Ahead of them was a solid-looking, gray stone farmhouse, and beyond it a row of new glass and wood bungalows.
“This is Morgan’s farm,” Evan said. “Those are the holiday homes Ted Morgan had built this spring.”
“Is that where the poor old bloke was staying?” Annie asked. “The one who fell in the river?”
“No, that was Owens’ on the other side of the valley,” Evan said. “See over there, just up from the river.”
