Evan and Elle - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,45
the air and mingled with the smell of dinners cooking. From the field behind the village hall came the shouts of boys playing football.
Evan smiled to himself. It was in moments like this that he knew why he had come here. Instead of heading to his landlady’s house, he turned left and walked up the village street. People coming home from work called out to him as he passed. Evans-the-Meat waved as he lowered the blind on his shop.
“See you in the Dragon, then?” Charlie Hopkins called as he drove past.
“You might,” Evan yelled back.
He continued his walk. A motorbike roared past. When the driver stopped and took off his helmet, Evan saw that it was young Bryn, Charlie’s grandson, who disappeared into his grandparents’ cottage. It was nice the way he visited the old folks, Evan decided. This led him to thoughts of his own future. He tried to picture himself with kids and grandchildren someday, but when it came to concrete pictures of the future, his brain somehow switched off.
When he reached the school playground, he saw smoke curling from Bronwen’s chimney. He decided he should pop in to tell Bronwen that he was making this trip. The news would soon be all around the village, and it wouldn’t be right for her to hear from someone else.
Evan tapped on Bronwen’s front door. Bronwen appeared wearing an apron and with flour on her hands. There was even a smudge of flour on her nose, which Evan found very appealing.
“Oh hello,” she said. “You’ve just caught me in the middle of trying my hand at Madame Yvette’s soufflé recipe. You wouldn’t like to be a guinea pig, would you? I should warn you I’ve never made a soufflé before.”
“All right.” He stepped inside, hesitantly, as if somehow Bronwen must know of his encounters with Glynis. “Although I don’t think I’m a soufflé kind of bloke.”
“Real men don’t eat quiche, eh?” She gave him a teasing glance. “Don’t worry. I won’t let it get around the village and ruin your reputation.”
“Everything gets around this village,” Evan said. He pulled out a stool at her pine kitchen table and sat.
“Oh, before I forget,” she said. “There’s a concert at the university in Bangor this Friday night. I’d like to go. I wondered if I could drag you along. It’s harp music, and I know you’re not madly keen on that kind of thing, but . . .” She looked at him, her blue eyes silently appealing.
“I’m sorry love, but I’m not sure if I’ll be here. I’ve got to go to Eastbourne with Sergeant Watkins.”
“Eastbourne? You mean the Eastbourne in Sussex?”
Evan nodded. “Madame Yvette’s last restaurant was in that area. We’re not getting anywhere with this investigation and she’s not being overhelpful, so Sergeant Watkins decided to look into her background. And he’s taking me along as his driver.”
Bronwen grinned. “His driver! He’s taking you along because you’re better at solving crimes than any of their bloody detectives and they all know it.”
“No, I’m not. I’ve had a couple of lucky breaks, that’s all. Watkins is a good man. He’s just a lousy navigator. He reckons he’d wind up in Carlisle if he went alone.”
“I see.” She was still smiling. “So what do you hope to turn up in Eastbourne, or is it all hush-hush?”
Evan shrugged. “We’ve no idea really. But you’ve heard that there was a body in the restaurant, I suppose?”
“My kids could talk about nothing else,” Bronwen said. “Young Terry was absolutely thrilled, as you can imagine. He was full of theories about crooks and mafia and shootings. He said he saw a foreign man with a gun that night and he just knew he was going to blow up the restaurant.” She shook her head as she scraped the last of the batter into a tall dish.
“A foreign man with a gun? He might have seen the same man we did, but I don’t know where he got the idea that he saw a gun.”
“His imagination, I suspect. That child lives for violence. I’ve recommended that his mother take him to a psychiatrist. It’s verging on the unhealthy.”
“I don’t think it’s too unhealthy,” Evan said. “He’s angry at his dad for walking out on them and this is his way of handling his feelings. But I agree he’s a handful. I caught him out on his bike after the fire—and that must have been close to midnight.”
“I know. He told me you drove him home. He was