Evan and Elle - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,33

at the table again. It was an old surface, much scratched, and decorated with graffiti like a school desk.

“Was he a Frenchman?”

Again the briefest wary look and another shrug. “We speak to each ozzer in English. It ees possible ’e ’ave an accent. I really can’t remember everysing zat happen wiz every customer who come ’ere.”

“Have you notified your insurance company yet?” Hughes asked.

“I will do it today, I suppose,” she said. She gave a long sigh. “I do not look forward to zee days ahead. It ees not easy to begin again when you are a woman alone in zee world.”

“You don’t have a husband or family?”

“Neither, monsieur. My husband died five years ago. I ran our restaurant alone and zen I was very sick in zee hospital and zen I was recovering for about a year.”

“Where was this restaurant?”

“On zee South Coast, near Eastbourne. Do you know it?”

“I might have been there once. Sort of genteel place like Bournemouth where old rich people go to retire?”

She nodded. “Old rich people. You are right. My ’usband sink zat people ’ave time and money to eat at good restaurants.”

“And did they?”

“Not enough of zem. And we were outside of town. Old people do not drive at night.”

“So why come here?” Hughes asked.

She gave a tired smile. “I come where I can afford to buy property. And where zay do not yet ’ave too many French restaurants. After zis—I ’ave no idea where I go next.”

Hughes got up. “I think that will be all for now, Madame. But please don’t go anywhere for the time being. We’ll need to talk to you again and I’m sure you want this whole thing cleared up as quickly as we do.”

“But of course. Please do your very best for me, Inspector. I am counting on you.” She held out her hand to him. For a second Evan thought that Hughes was going to kiss it, but he changed his mind and gave it a brief shake.

“You didn’t tell her about the body, sir,” Evan mentioned as they came out into the bright sunshine.

“No.” Hughes smiled. “I thought I’d wait awhile after all. If she knows nothing about it, then no harm’s done. If she does, then it might do her good to stew for a while.” He squinted as he stared up at the green slopes. “She’s a cool customer, Evans. She had an answer for everything, didn’t she?”

“Either that, or she was telling the truth, sir.”

“As you say. Oh well, time will tell, I’d imagine.” He strode out briskly toward Watkins’s police car.

Chapter 11

Llanfair was still quiet and deserted when Evan returned. No sign of Evans-the-Milk delivering or Evans-the-Post reading postcards or children running to school. He looked about him in bewilderment, wondering what could have happened, until he realized that it was Sunday morning. As he opened the car door he heard the sound of a distant church bell, mingling with the bleating of sheep on the hillside. Smells of Sunday morning fry-ups wafted from windows. Harry-the-Pub came out with a bucket and started washing down picnic tables and putting up umbrellas in the hope of catching late-season tourists.

It always surprised Evan that life could go on its normal peaceful way right next door to tragedy and violence.

Evan glanced at his watch—only nine o’clock. He felt as if he’d already done a day’s work and by his reckoning it should be lunchtime. Then he remembered that he’d gone out without breakfast. No wonder his stomach was complaining. He expected he might be needed again on duty later in the day, so he’d better nip home while he could. With any luck Mrs. Williams would have his normal Sunday breakfast waiting . . .

“Oh there you are, Mr. Evans,” his landlady greeted him as he put his key in the front door. “Treadful just, isn’t it?”

“What is, Mrs. Williams?” Evan asked. Dreadful was one of the few English words Mrs. Williams often used, only she pronounced it with a t.

“They say there was a body in that chapel!” She spoke in a hushed whisper, even though they were alone.

Again Evan had to admire the efficiency of the Llanfair grapevine.

Evan saw no point in denying it. “How did you hear about it, then?”

“I saw Mair Hopkins when I went to get the newspaper.” Mrs. Williams leaned closer. “And she said that Charlie had been driving past to make an early delivery and saw the van and Dr. Owens. He knew what that usually meant