by Rhys Bowen
“Well done, chaps.” D.C.I. Hughes poked his head around the door. “I just heard the news. It’s always satisfying to write case closed on something, isn’t it?”
“Not so satisfying for her parents,” Watkins said gravely. “Her mum was so hopeful when we left her. I don’t envy the local Bobby who has to break that news to her.”
“I hope Bron’s parents realize how lucky they are,” Evan said. “I certainly do.”
“You’ve been through an ordeal this week, Evans,” Hughes said, with uncharacteristic kindness. “Why don’t you take a few days sick leave. Give you a chance to prepare for the wedding.”
Evan’s brain raced quickly though seating plans, flower arrangements, his mother’s sausage rolls, Mrs. Williams versus the caterer … “I don’t think I’m actually that sick, sir,” he said. Watkins chuckled.
The wedding morning dawned bright and clear. Evan’s mother appeared at an indecently early hour, clucking and shaking her head. “You know what they say about fine before seven, rain by eleven, don’t you? I hope you’ve got a nice big umbrella so that Miss Price doesn’t ruin her headdress.”
“Don’t be such a pessimist, Mam,” Evan said. “And I must say I’m glad you’ll finally have to call Bronwen by her first name after today. Or are you going to call her Mrs. Evans?”
“Don’t be silly,” Evan’s mother pushed past him. “I’ll welcome her into the family. It’s only Christian charity, isn’t it? Of course, if you were both real Christians, you’d be getting married in the chapel here in the village, not traipsing down to some high-faluting Church of Wales. They’ll probably be swinging incense and praying to statues and all those heathen kinds of things.”
Evan laughed. “It’s a simple wedding ceremony, and we’ve asked the minister at Capel Bethel to come and say a blessing, too. Now are you satisfied?”
Mrs. Evans searched for a long moment for something else to complain about, then shook her head. “At least you’ve got plenty of sausage rolls so that the guests don’t go hungry,” she said as her parting shot. Then she paused in the doorway and came back. “Your da would have been proud of you,” she said quietly. “I just wish he was here to see this day.”
“I wish so too, Mam.”
“Right,” she said, with a deep sigh. “Can’t stand around here chatting. There’s work to be done. All those pastries to get down from Mrs. Williams’s house to the tent. See you in church then, eh, son?”
“See you in church, Mam.”
Evan glanced at his reflection in the speckled glass mirror as he left the cottage. An unfamiliar figure in a dark suit, silk tie, and neatly combed hair stared back at him. “Oh well, then, no sense in hanging around,” he said to the reflection. “Better get it over with.”
He arrived at the church to find Mrs. Price fussing around. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here, Evan. And where’s your best man? He’s not here yet, either.”
“He’ll be here,” Evan said, glancing at his watch.
“He won’t have been called out in an emergency, will he?” Bronwen’s mother asked anxiously.
“I’m sure he’ll make it,” Evan said and wished she’d go away.
Guests arrived and were seated. Mrs. Williams and Evan’s mother were seen carrying trays of food over to the large tent. Caterers scurried to and fro. The inhabitants of Llanfair, all good chapelgoers, glanced at each other with apprehension as they entered the church, expecting to be struck on the spot by the wrath of God.
“It will all be very Papist, I’m sure,” he heard Mrs. Powell-Jones say loudly to her husband, the minister. Evan grinned to himself. At least they’d come. He wished Bronwen was here beside him at this minute. It all felt very strange and unreal. Why had they let themselves get caught up in all this?
At the last minute a police car screeched to a halt and Inspector Watkins jumped out, straightening his tie as he hurried toward the porch where Evan was waiting.
“Sorry about that, boyo,” he said. “I hope I didn’t give you a fright.”
“I knew you’d get here,” Evan said. “Something came up, did it?”
“It did. I got a call that a man’s body had been located by the Parks Service in a wild area on Cader Idris. Single gunshot wound. A suicide note was on the ground beside him.”
“Paul Upwood?” Evan asked.
Watkins shook his head. “Rhodri Llewelyn,” he said. “Your instincts weren’t wrong, after all. Apparently he had been quietly embezzling from the bank for years. He thought we were onto him and he couldn’t face the consequences.”
“I must say it did cross my mind that Shorecross had done away with him too,” Evan said. “So he took his own life.”
“He wanted to save his mother from any embarrassment, so the note said.”
“Right.” Evan paused in the doorway. “Well, that’s that, then. We’d better get inside before Bronwen’s mum gets hysterical.”
“Got her knickers in a twist, has she?” Watkins put a hand on Evan’s shoulder. “This is it then, boy. Last moments of freedom. Good luck.”
“I’m not going to the gallows, you know,” Evan answered with a grin. “This is supposed to be the happiest day of my life.”
But he fought back the sick feeling in his stomach as he walked down the aisle to take his place. It wasn’t just wedding nerves, either. The news about Rhodri Llewelyn had startled him. His actions had caused another man to take his life. The man had committed a petty crime, to be sure. He deserved to be caught, but were a few pounds here and there worth a life? It was tough being a policeman. Sometimes they got it right and sometimes they didn’t. Simple as that.
He looked up as the organ broke into the opening prelude and the two bridesmaids came down the aisle. Then Bronwen’s sister as matron of honor and her son, dressed in a minute kilt, as pageboy. Then he saw her, silhouetted against the fierce sunlight, and the organ changed to “Here Comes the Bride.” She started to walk forward and Evan felt a lump in his throat. He had never seen anything so lovely in his life.
“You got through it without fainting,” Bronwen teased as they emerged from the church after the ceremony. The sun had disappeared behind a cloud and a wind had sprung up, streaming her veil out behind her.
“Over this way, everybody,” Mrs. Price called. “The weather doesn’t look too promising. Let’s get all the major group photos before it starts to rain and then we can do the individual shots and the more intimate couple portraits inside the church if we have to.”
She started herding people to the church porch like an efficient sheepdog.
At that moment Evan’s mother appeared. “They’ve hidden my sausage rolls,” she said angrily. “Thought they weren’t good enough, I expect. Well, I’m just going to find them again and put them out in a place of honor, too. And if they’ve thrown them away, heaven help them! Who hired those caterers, that’s what I’d like to know. They must be foreigners, English people no doubt.”
“Bronwen, do you want to touch up your makeup before the photos?” Mrs. Price called. “You do still look a little pale. Understandable, of course, but you want to glow in the pictures, don’t you?”
Bronwen squeezed Evan’s hand again. “You have that rabbit-inthe-headlights look about you. Do you hate this as much as I do?”
Evan nodded.
Bronwen leaned closer. “Look, they’ve got plenty of food and drink and music. They don’t really need us there, do they?”
“What are you saying?” Evan asked.
“I was thinking that maybe we’d let them take the group photos and then somewhere between here and the marquee we could slip away.”
“Bronwen! We couldn’t do that,” Evan exclaimed.
“Why not? It’s our wedding. We can do what we like.” Bronwen gave him a wicked smile.
“But think of all those people who’ve come a long way to be here. Think of your mum and dad. They’d be so disappointed.”
“Evan, why are you always such a Boy Scout?” Bronwe
n demanded.
“Sorry. You know what I’m like and you still married me.” Evan pushed her veil back from her face as the wind snatched it. “Look, we’ll go in, have a glass of champagne, cut the cake and then say we’ve a plane to catch, which is true. Is that all right for you?”
Bronwen slipped her arm through his. “I suppose it will have to be.”
At that moment the rain started. Guests rushed to the shelter of the tent, attempting to cover posh hats with their hands. Evan grabbed Bronwen’s hand and they sprinted across the grass. An hour later they were driving south, heading for the airport, Switzerland, and a new life.
Glossary of Welsh Words
bach—little, a term of endearment (pronounced like the composer’s name)
bore da—good day (booray dah)
cariad—darling (car-ee-ad)
cawl—thick broth, usually lamb (cowl)
Cor Meibion—male voice choir, literally choir of sons ( core meyebeeon)
Diolch yn fawr—thank you very much (dee-olch en vower)
escob annwyl—literally dear bishop. Good heavens! (escobe annwheel)
fach—feminine of bach ( vuch with the ch like the gutteral in loch)
iechyd da—cheers (yacky da)
mam—mom
nain—granny (nine)
tippen bach—a little ( tippin bach)
Yr Wyddfa—Welsh name for Mt. Snowdon ( Ur wuthva)
ysbety—hospital ( isbetty)
Also by Rhys Bowen
The Constable Evans Mysteries
Evan’s Gate
Evan Only Knows
Evans to Betsy
Evan Can Wait
Evan and Elle
Evan Help Us
Evans Above
Evanly Choirs
The Molly Murphy Mysteries
In Like Flynn
For the Love of Mike
Death of Riley
Murphy’s Law
EVAN BLESSED. Copyright © 2005 by Rhys Bowen. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.minotaurbooks.com
eISBN 9781429901772
First eBook Edition : February 2011
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Bowen, Rhys.
Evan blessed / Rhys Bowen.—1st St. Martin’s Minotaur ed., 1st U.S. ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 0-312-33206-8
EAN 978-0-312-33206-8
1. Evans, Evan (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Young women—Crimes against—Fiction. 3. Missing persons—Fiction. 4. Police—Wales—Fiction. 5. Hiking—Fiction. 6. Wales—Fiction. I. Title.
PR6052.O848E755 2005
823'.914—dc22
2005042962
First Edition: August 2005