Part 12 (2/2)
Evan tapped on Bronwen's front door. Bronwen appeared wearing an ap.r.o.n and with flour on her hands. There was even a smudge of flour on her nose, which Evan found very appealing.
”Oh h.e.l.lo,” she said. ”You've just caught me in the middle of trying my hand at Madame Yvette's souffle recipe. You wouldn't like to be a guinea pig, would you? I should warn you I've never made a souffle 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 souffle 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 Suss.e.x?”
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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 sc.r.a.ped 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 very proud of it. You're one of his current heroes, by the way. You and Charlie's grandson. When he grows up he's going to be a fireman and a policeman, so he says.”
Evan smiled. Bronwen bustled around, clearing away cooking utensils and laying the table.
”Is there something I can do?” he asked.
She handed him the mixing bowl. ”You can put that in the sink, and find us a bottle of wine.”
”White or red?” Evan asked. ”I'm never sure of what's proper.”
”White with a souffle, I'd a.s.sume,” she said. ”I think I've got an unopened Chardonnay in the fridge.”
”All right.” Evan found the bottle and set about uncorking it.
”So what do they know about the body? Have they identified it yet?” Bronwen asked.
”No. In fact it's quite a little puzzle for us.”
”No ident.i.ty, you mean?”
Evan nodded. ”The only lead we have so far is an abandoned rental car, rented by a Frenchman under a false name.”
He saw Bronwen react to this. ”Evan, do you think it could have been that man who came into the restaurant while we were eating? He looked French, didn't he?”
”My thoughts exactly,” Evan agreed. ”But we've no way of proving it.”
”There were some strange vibes going on between him and Madame Yvette at one point, don't you think? She nearly set fire to our crepes suzette.” Then she paused and shook her head. ”But he left before we did. We were the last ones there before she closed up, weren't we?”
”We were. But there was something going on between her and that man at one point. At least, the man said something that upset her, but she claimed it was just that he wanted lobster and she didn't have any.”
”I suppose it could have been something as simple as that,” Bronwen said. ”What exactly do you know so far?”
Evan poured the wine and handed her a gla.s.s. ”It's hard to know where to begin,” he said. ”The body was burned too badly for fingerprints. We've got a dental chart but you need to know where a person comes from before you can match up his teeth.”
”Poor Madame Yvette,” Bronwen said. ”I've been thinking about her. It must be awful. She's lost everything and now there's a strange man dead in her restaurant. It must be like a nightmare.”
Evan said nothing. He didn't think that he should let on that the body had been stabbed and that Madame Yvette had to be considered a prime suspect at this time. Nor did he want to suggest any kind of drug connection.
”So what will she do? Where will she stay?” Bronwen asked.
”She's staying at the Vaynol Arms at the moment,” Evan said. ”She can't go anywhere until this business is sorted out.”
”But how miserable staying at a pub, with no clothes, no nothing,” Bronwen said. ”I'll look in my wardrobe and see if I've got anything that she could wear, and I'll ask the village women, too. I'd have her to dinner here, only I wouldn't dare cook anything for her . . .”
”You're a kind person, Bronwen,” Evan said.
”Yes, I do have some good points, I suppose,” she said, making him wonder yet again if the Llanfair spies were so good that she had already heard about Glynis.
”I wish you were coming down to Eastbourne with me. It would be fun.”
”I don't think the police would fund naughty weekends.” Bronwen tossed him a challenging look. ”And three is definitely a crowd. You've got Sergeant Watkins to keep you company. Besides, I have to keep thirty kids in line and stop young Terry from blowing anything up-”
She stopped, open-mouthed. ”Evan, you don't think . . . ?” she asked.
He picked up her thought instantly. ”That he started the fires?”
She nodded.
”He was at all of them,” Evan said thoughtfully. ”It did cross my mind, especially since he seems so obsessed with violence at the moment.” Then he shook his head. ”I just don't see how it's possible. A little kid like him-where would he get a can of petrol? How would he lug it up the hill without being seen? And someone would surely have noticed him at the Everest Inn . . .”
”But you have to admit it's just possible,” Bronwen said.
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