Evan was beginning to get the gist of what the postman was saying. “Wait a minute—are you saying that this is your bike?”
“Not mine. No, indeed. Belongs to the post office, doesn’t it? And they’re welcome to it. Telling me I’m not productive enough just delivering the letters to this village. Been doing it for twelve years now, haven’t I? Never missed a day sick and they’re not satisfied. And they think I should be taking the mail out to all the farms too—and right over to Capel Curig. The nerve of it.”
Evan went ahead of him, picked up the bike, and switched off the engine. “You’re lucky,” he said. “It doesn’t seem much the worse for wear. You’d have been in big trouble if you’d wrecked their bike, wouldn’t you?”
“Do you think they’d have fired me?” The basset-hound eyes fixed on Evan. “They wouldn’t fire me, would they?”
“They could,” Evan said. “You’re just going to have to get used to that thing, you know. I’ve been given one too, and I’m not too thrilled about it either.”
“Ah, but it will help you catch crooks, won’t it?” He grinned like a ten-year-old. “Tell you what—I’ll learn to ride mine better and we’ll have a race someday.”
“You’d better start off going up hill.” Evan helped him onto the saddle and adjusted his mailbag for him. “That way you won’t go so fast.”
“Or gore, plisman,” Evans-the-Post said. “All right. If you say so. I think I’ll go up to the youth hostel first. They always get a lot of letters with interesting foreign stamps on them. There’s one from America today. It’s from this girl’s boyfriend. He says he’s coming out to join her. Won’t she be surprised, eh?”
“Dilwyn—how many times have I told you you’re not supposed to read the mail?” Evan said.
“There’s no harm to it. Not when it’s postcards.” Evans-the-Post sounded hurt. “Postcards are meant for everyone to read, or they’d be in an envelope, like letters.”
Evan turned for home, then checked himself. “I’ve just had an idea,” he said, touching the postman’s shoulder. “How would you like to help the police? If you have to deliver any mail to a girl called Rebecca Riesen, will you come and tell me about it?”
“Is she a crook on the run?” Evans-the-Post’s long, lugubrious face lit up.
“No, she’s a missing American student. I’ve been around all the youth hostels to see if she’s stayed there. So far no luck.”
“Rebecca Riesen. Right you are,” Evans-the-Post said importantly. “Off I go then.” And he set off up the hill, the bike still wobbling dangerously under its heavy load.
Evan went back to cold tea and cold toast, then went to open up the police station. His bike was where he left it the night before and he chuckled when he thought of his encounter with Evans-the-Post. If only all postmen read every piece of mail like Dilwyn Evans, maybe they’d have tracked down the missing girl by now, and solved a few crimes too!
As he came out of the lean-to, a white Ford Fiesta drove past, slowed, and honked at Evan. Betsy wound down the window and put her head out. “Guess what, Evan—I’ve got the job! Emmy called them this morning and they said they could use me right away, so Emmy’s driving me down there. Imagine me, working with famous people and swimming pools!”
“Have you told Harry?” Evan asked her. “It’s not really right to walk out on him and leave him stuck, is it?”
Betsy’s face fell. “I wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t been such a grumpy old devil,” she said. “He’s never done a thing to praise or encourage me, all this time. And I’m the one who brings in the customers for him. Let him see how full the bar is when there’s no pretty girl to gape at, that’s what I say.”
“I still don’t like it, Betsy. And I don’t think it’s like you, either.”
“I’ve got to take my chances in life, haven’t I? You were the one who told me to follow my dreams, remember? Well, now I’ve got a real opportunity. If my powers are as strong as Emmy thinks they are, maybe I’ll turn into a proper psychic someday, like Randy, and people will watch me on TV.” She leaned out of the window as the car sped up again. “Wish me luck, Evan.”
Evan watched her white hand fluttering in a wave as the car disappeared down the pass. Poor Betsy, always dreaming of big things. He did wish her luck. He hoped this turned out to be the break she wanted, but he didn’t have good feelings about this Sacred Grove place. Not that he knew anything about it, but he was inclined to think that all these so-called spiritual healers and psychic types were a lot of bosh. Of course, naïve people like Betsy were easily impressed. She was so thrilled to be among—he paused as he remembered her actual word—“priestesses,” she had said. Hadn’t the American girl written about a date with Druids? Then he remembered that Druids used to worship in sacred groves.
He went inside and called headquarters.
“Constable Davies, it’s Evans here, from Llanfair.” Better keep things on a strictly professional level. “Any developments on your missing girl yet?”
“Oh, hello, Evan. No, nothing at all yet. Thanks for putting up the flyers in the youth hostels for me. I feel so bad that her parents are coming and I’ve got nothing positive to tell them.”
“Listen, Glynis, I’ve had a thought,” he said. “What do you know about that new healing center near Porthmadog?”
“Oh, yes, I’ve heard about it. Ever so posh, isn’t it? Five-star rates to have your aura read?” She chuckled.
“It’s called the Sacred Grove,” Evan said. “And someone from our village who has just been there spoke of priestesses.”
“Priestesses?”
“Yes. So I wondered if it might be a place where we’d find Druids.”
“How very interesting. Look, you don’t think you could go and check it out for me, do you? Sergeant Watkins has started on his course this weekend, so I’ve got all his work dumped on me. Stolen property at the flea market again. I’m supposed to stake it out.”
“I’d be happy to go down there for you. I’ve been told to get out and practice on my new bike.”
“You want an excuse to play with your new toy.” Glynis laughed, then checked herself as if this might have overstepped a boundary. “But seriously, I’d be really grateful if you went and had a look. Have you got one of the flyers left?”
“I put one up on the board outside the station here,” he said.
“Brilliant! You could show it around and see if anyone there has seen her.”
“All right. I’ll do that.”
“Thanks. I owe you a pint.”
Evan put down the phone. It was hard not to like Glynis. At least he had an excuse to check out this Sacred Grove for himself and keep an eye on Betsy, too.
Chapter 7
Evan forced his eyes back to the road as the first of the hairpin bends approached. He knew too well how easy it was for a vehicle to misjudge the turns here. He had seen it happen. The bike, which had behaved itself perfectly on the ride up to Llanfair from Caernarfon, now felt as if it might run away with him on the steep descent. Trying to regulate his speed and remembering to lean into each of the bends, Evan found that he was sweating with concentration by the time he rode over the stone bridge and into Beddgelert. The attractive village was all decked out for the first spring tourists—tubs and wheelbarrows planted with spring flowers gave the place a festive air. A coach was parked outside the Goat Inn and tourists were already heading off to find Gelert’s Grave or morning coffee.