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Authors: Rhys Bowen

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BOOK: Evan can Wait: A Constable Evans Mystery
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Charlie Hopkins chuckled. “You ask her about it, boyo.”
“And tell that film director he needs someone young and sexy in his film if he wants people to pay to watch it,” Betsy added.
“So will they be needing a bulldozer, do you think?” Barry-the-Bucket demanded. “How are they going to get their stuff up the mountain otherwise?”
“It sounded like they had the whole thing planned,” Evan said. “They were talking about bringing in supplies by helicopter.”
“By helicopter! Fancy that! I’d like to see that.”
“Just a minute, folks.” Evan held up his hand. “They asked me to tell you—They don’t want anybody around when they’re filming. I’ve been assigned to keep sightseers away, so please cooperate and make my job easy, all right?”
“You don’t need to worry about us, Evan
bach,”
Betsy said sweetly. “As if we’d give you any trouble!”
Evan shot her a glance but she was calmly pouring another pint.
“Is that you, Mr. Evans?” Mrs. Williams called as he let himself in later that evening. She always called the same thing and he was always tempted to give her a facetious answer.
“Yes, it’s me, Mrs. Williams,” he called back.
“Home early from the pub, aren’t you? Would you like a cup of cocoa? I’m just making one,” she called out.
Evan came through to the kitchen. “No cocoa for me, thanks. I’ve drunk enough for one evening.”
“How were things at the Dragon—lively, was it?”
“Lively enough,” he said. “I’ve been hearing things about you.”
“Me? They were never gossiping about me in the pub.
Escob Annwyl!
What were they saying?”
Evan smiled. “Slander, I think. Charlie Hopkins said you were a foreigner.”
Mrs. Williams put a hand to her ample bosom. “A foreigner indeed. You tell that man that I haven’t one drop of foreign blood in my veins. Welsh through and through, I am. What on earth made him say that?”
“Maybe because you don’t come from Llanfair.”
“Ah—so that’s what he was getting at!” She started to laugh. “Silly old fool. That goes back to when I first came here after
the war. My Gwillum’s friends used to tease him that he’d married a foreign girl.”
“So where did you come from?” Evan asked.
“Blenau Ffestiniog,” she said. “That’s where I was born and grew up. Gwillum was in the army with my brothers. He came to visit when they were demobbed and … . and we started courting.” She looked down shyly. “My family thought I’d never like it in Llanfair. They thought it was like moving to the end of the earth. But I’ve been happy enough here. I just wish my daughter and granddaughter hadn’t moved away. And speaking of my granddaughter, she was telling me about this dance they’re having at the Pavilion in Rhyl. She’d love to go but she wants the right escort, of course. So of course I thought that possibly you might … .”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs. Williams,” Evan said, “but no doubt you’ve heard there’s a film crew here. I’ve been assigned to be on duty night and day until they’re finished. I had to make a solemn promise to my chief that nothing would happen to them, so it looks as if I’m stuck here for a while.”
Mrs. Williams made tutting noises. “They work you too hard, Mr. Evans,” she said, but then her eyes lit up. “So it’s true what they’re saying about shooting a film up here?”
“Only a documentary, Mrs. Williams. They’re going to pull an old German plane out of the lake and take a film of it.”
“Oh, is that all? Then I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”
“But they are going to interview people who have memories of the war,” Evan said. “I don’t know if you’ll count, coming from so far away.”
He went up the stairs chuckling. Blenau Ffestiniog was all of fifteen miles from Llanfair.
The next morning, Evan took the filmmakers up to the lake. Clouds hid the mountain peaks and a misty rain swirled down the pass as they set off. Hardly the right conditions to be driving Land Rovers up mountains.
“Maybe it would be better if we walked from the car park,” Evan suggested. “It’s less than a mile and not too steep.”
“Walked? In this weather?” Grantley exclaimed. “Nonsense. Land Rovers are built to go anywhere. And we have to see where we can get the equipment up. Get in.”
Edward took the driver’s seat, Howard sat in the front seat beside him. Sandie was left behind for lack of space. She stood at the Inn doorway, staring wistfully, like a child being left out of a game.
“She’ll die of a broken heart before you return, Grantley,” Edward muttered.
“Poor child. Can I help it if she’s mad about me? Everyone is.”
“You shouldn’t encourage her, Grantley. It’s not fair.”
Grantley smiled. “Do you think she’d make my tea and give me back rubs and stay late typing up scripts if she didn’t adore me? I can’t help being irresistible, Edward. You should know that.”
He maneuvered his long legs into the backseat, where Evan was already perched.
“God, it’s like a sardine tin in here. I think we need to rent another vehicle, Edward,” Grantley complained. “An occasion might arise when we need to go our separate ways.”
“The foundation has lent us a Land Rover,” Edward said, without turning to look at him. “I think we have to make do with it for now. We have to keep within budget and that salvage equipment doesn’t come cheap.” He turned out of the Everest Inn car park onto the bleak road heading up the pass. “If the operation takes more than a week, I’m not sure what we’ll do. I’ve got my own money sunk into this, remember.”
“Then we get a loan from the bank on the strength of the future documentary,” Grantley said in an exasperated voice. “Tell them we’ve got Howard Bauer directing and BBC2 have more or less promised to buy it. This whole thing is a guaranteed moneymaker, I tell you.”
“It better be, Grantley,” Edward said coldly. “A couple of weeks ago you said that BBC2 had made an offer. Then it was a promise. Now it’s almost promised. I’ve risked a lot on the strength of this bloody film doing well.”
“Turn right here.” Evan tapped Edward Ferrers on the back.
“Here?” Edward sounded startled as he looked at the mountain rising before them into cloud. A track, just wide enough for two people to walk side by side, led up and over a ridge.
“Holy cow,” Howard muttered. “You’re not going to try and take a car up that?”
“What’s the matter, Howard?” Grantley asked. “You’re supposed to be the intrepid one.”
“Knock it off, Grantley. I’ve never been suicidal.”
“This was the way they used to bring copper out of the old mine,” Evan said.
“You see, Howard. A well-used vehicular route,” Grantley said.
“Actually, it was donkeys,” Evan pointed out. “They brought all the copper out on donkeys.”
“Well, that’s bloody reassuring,” Edward muttered. “I can’t see where I’m going. We’ll be in the cloud in a minute.”
The Land Rover lurched and bumped its way up the path. Evan was glad that the mist concealed the drop that he knew was on their left. They reached the top of the ridge without incident, then bumped and slithered down a short drop to the lakeshore. Nobody spoke until they stopped beside the black, still expanse of water.
“It’s over here,” Edward said, as they clambered out, uncoiling stiff limbs. “Right below that big rock.”
“I think you’ll need to have the equipment helicoptered in, Edward,” Grantley said.
“It’s not very large,” Edward said. “I think it will make it up that track all right.”
“How are you going to lift the plane? Won’t it take a large crane to do it?” Evan asked.
Edward’s face lit up. “No, actually, that’s the beauty of it. We’re trying something that has worked in other deepwater salvage expeditions. You get divers to place an inflatable collar around the plane, then you pump in compressed air to inflate it. When it’s full of air, hopefully it will float to the surface.”
“That’s very good,” Evan agreed.
“Yes, isn’t it?” Edward was still beaming. “Of course the Dornier-17 wasn’t very big compared to modern planes. We’re not dealing with a jumbo jet here. It should float easily enough.”
“Unless it’s caught on a rock or somehow trapped in the mud,” Grantley said sweetly.
“It will work. Trust me.”
“I always do, Edward. It’s just that you don’t always trust me.”
Evan looked from one to the other. He hadn’t figured this one out yet. Howard Bauer was supposed to be the director, therefore in charge of the project, yet he hardly ever said a word and stayed clear of the other two. Grantley Smith was the producer, but apparently Edward had the money for the project. So why did the other two let Grantley Smith act as if he was God?
“We can’t film in conditions like this,” Howard muttered. “You’d better pray that the clouds lift sometime soon.”
“The weather will clear,” Edward said.
“Edward the eternal optimist.” Grantley went to stand at the edge of the lake. Cold mist swirled around his knees, drifting in strands over the surface of the water. There was no sound except for the sigh of the wind through dead bracken. Grantley bent to pick up a rock and threw it into the lake. The plop was unnaturally loud. Perfect, round ripples spread across the black surface.
“God, it looks like something out of a horror movie,” Howard commented. “Let’s hope you haven’t woken the beast that lives in the lake, Grantley.”
“Is there a beast that lives in this lake, Constable?” Grantley asked with a smile.
“Not that I’ve heard of,” Evan said. “But they say that the Lady of the Lake lived up here and gave Excalibur to King Arthur from this very lake.”
“Grantley would accept Excalibur like a shot if it’s offered him. He’s always wanted to be king,” Edward chuckled.
“I can’t think why any lady of the lake would choose to live up here. I’ve never seen a more dreary place.” Grantley threw a second rock into the lake. “Nothing lives up here. The whole place is godforsaken.”
“Oh, it’s quite nice up here when the sun comes out,” Evan said. “The lake is very blue and you can see the mountains reflected in it. It’s especially dramatic when they’ve got snow on them.”
“Snow?” Grantley shot him a horrified look. “Now that’s all we need. Grantley Smith lost in a snowdrift. Dog teams mushing to my rescue.”
“Stop being so bloody dramatic, Grantley,. and let’s get to work. We need to decide where a helicopter could land, where we can set up the generator.”
They walked off together. Evan remained standing beside Howard Bauer. The American stared out across the bleak valley,
lost in thought. His hands were thrust deep into the pockets of a down parka. His beret was jammed down onto his head.
“Damned cold, isn’t it?” he muttered.
“I don’t suppose you’re used to the cold if you’ve spent a lot of time in Africa,” Evan said with sympathy.
“I went there to make one goddamned picture,” Howard snapped, “but it seems that nobody’s ever going to let me forget it.”
Edward and Grantley were returning.
“She definitely moved up here, didn’t she?” Grantley’s voice echoed from unseen rocks. “You should look her up for old times’ sake.”
“Oh, I don’t know … .”
“Of course you should. I’m dying to see her living at one with nature and a pet sheep.”
“You’re very cruel, Grantley. So she has slightly green inclinations.”
“Slightly? I bet you’ll find she’s growing her own bread and spinning her own underwear by now.”
“Anyway, I don’t have her address, I only heard it was a village in Snowdonia.”
“Ask the constable. I’m sure he knows everyone up here. I’ll ask him.” Grantley strode through the tall grass toward Evan and Howard. “We’re wondering if you know a young woman who moved here recently. Her name’s Bronwen Ferrers—”
“I think she went back to her maiden name,” Edward interrupted. “Price. Bronwen Price.”
Evan stared at him in disbelief. He remembered Bronwen telling him her ex-husband was crazy about old planes. But he couldn’t believe that she had ever been married to this pink, chubby, pompous prig.
Tell him you’ve never heard of her, a voice whispered in his head.
He fought to remain calm and relaxed. “I do know her, actually,”
he managed to say. “She’s our local schoolteacher.” And she’s my girl now, he wanted to add but didn’t.
“A schoolteacher in a village school. How charmingly quaint.” Grantley smiled at Edward. “See, I told you there was something definitely wrong with that girl, and you wouldn’t believe me. We must go and say hello, Edward.”
“I’m not sure that it’s such a good idea.”
“Of course it is. To bring closure, as they say in all the selfhelp books these days. You need to reassure yourself that she’s not pining over you.”
Evan felt his fingers curl into a tight fist. “If you gentlemen have finished up here, maybe we should go down before the mist gets any thicker,” he said. “You wouldn’t want to miss the track and land a thousand feet below, would you now?”
“Yes, there really isn’t much more we can do up here now, is there?” Grantley Smith walked over to the Land Rover. “Bloody godforsaken place. If I’m going to shoot a film about salvaging something, I should have chosen a treasure ship in the Caribbean.”
“Yes, but nobody funded you for that one, did they, Grantley?” Edward commented sweetly. “And people were only interested in this little venture because you dragged Howard on board—and how you managed to do that is a mystery to me.”
“Everything’s a mystery to you, Edward.” Grantley climbed, with catlike grace, into the backseat of the Land Rover.
They made it back to the village in silence and without incident.
“You run along and contact your equipment people, Edward,” Grantley said. “Maybe the helicopter is the way to go, based on the state of the track. And in the meantime,” he turned to Evan, “there’s no sense in hanging around doing nothing. Let’s do some local color, Constable. Who have you found for us to interview?”
“Oh sorry, were you talking to me?” Evan’s mind was still
trying to digest Bronwen having been married to Edward Ferrers. It took a lot of digesting.
“Yes, we want people to interview, Constable. Local color, you know. Quaint village types with stories to tell.”
Evan tried not to show his dislike for Grantley Smith. “We could see if Charlie Hopkins is at home,” he said after a moment’s thought. “He’s semi-retired these days and he has a good story about your bomber.”
“Excellent. Howard, I’ll grab a camera.” He rushed ahead of them as they pulled up outside the Everest Inn.
Howard Bauer turned to Evan. “Now he’s taking over as cameraman, too. He thinks he can do the whole goddamned thing single-handed. We’ve got my professional crew arriving tomorrow, but he thinks he can do better.”
“Why don’t you tell him to wait? You’re the director,” Evan said.
Howard shot him a glance he couldn’t interpret. “It’s not as simple as that,” he said. “You don’t exactly direct Grantley.”
Grantley rejoined them, triumphantly waving a video camera. “Lead on, Macduff!” he shouted.
Howard winced. “Isn’t it unlucky to quote from that play?”
“Only if you’re an actor, Howard. And I have moved onward and upward from my thespian days.”
The clouds were beginning to lift as they walked down the hill to the village. Slanted shafts of sunlight hit the slopes then moved on again, as if a giant searchlight was at work.
They were just drawing level with the chapels when a piercing voice yelled, “I say, yoohoo! Wait a minute!”
Evan’s heart sank as he saw Mrs. Powell-Jones running toward them. She was dressed in pea green tweeds, wellies, and a gardening apron. A large pair of pruning shears was in her hand.
BOOK: Evan can Wait: A Constable Evans Mystery
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