Evan expected to find Rhiannon sitting lost in contemplation on the floor of her mediation room. Instead, she came out to meet them before they had reached the building. She was dressed again in jeans and a black sweatshirt with a silver Celtic knot design. She looked like any middle-aged woman about to go hiking or even shopping.
“You’ve found something, haven’t you?” she asked, in her deep, rather masculine voice. “I knew you would. It was only a matter of time. Please, come inside. I’ve made conee—good and strong, not like that revolting decaf nonsense they drink up there.”
Hughes gave Evan a quizzical glance as they went inside.
“Why did you expect us to find something?” Hughes asked as she went ahead of them to a little kitchen. There were three hand-thrown pottery mugs waiting on the table. One of them had sugar and milk in the bottom. Rhiannon poured coffee without answering.
“Did you have a premonition or some sort of psychic message that something had happened to Randy Wunderlich?” Hughes insisted.
Rhiannon handed him a coffee cup. “I assume you take it black.”
“Yes, I do.”
“And the constable here no doubt likes coffee only when it is disguised with milk and sugar.”
Evan laughed. “Yes. I do. Thank you.”
Rhiannon ushered them out of the kitchen to a small sitting room with comfortable chintz-covered armchairs.
“Now,” she said. “To answer your question—it had nothing to do with intuition or second sight. It was merely observation. The man was incredibly fit. I used to watch him jogging along the beach, swimming in the sea. He was a powerful swimmer. There’s no way he’d have let himself be drowned in a cave—without outside intervention.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions,” Hughes asked in a rather subdued manner for him.
Rhiannon nodded graciously.
“Your full name is?”
“Rhiannon.”
“And last name?”
“Just Rhiannon. Having a last name implies owning or being owned or belonging to the tribe. I don’t subscribe to that idea. I am my own free person, belonging only to the universe.”
“So when you file your income tax forms, you just put ‘Rhiannon’ on them?”
“I don’t file income tax forms. I don’t believe in money. Useless commodity. Nothing good ever comes of owning it.”
“So you’re not paid to be here?”
“I made what I thought was a good agreement. My own cottage on the grounds, my meals, and running expenses in return for my presence here and my endorsement of the center.”
“So that’s what made you come here?” Hughes asked.
“When I first heard about it—a center for Celtic spirituality and myself a key part of it—I thought I’d died and gone to what you Christians call heaven. Later I found that the reality didn’t exactly measure up to the promise.”
“It wasn’t what you’d hoped for?”
“It was all a sham. They were playing at these things. Not a serious New Age believer among them. It was just another way to attract tourism.”
“But Randy Wunderlich was a world-renowned psychic.”
“Randy Wunderlich was a charlatan, or a showman, if you like. He wanted me to hold weekly ceremonies on the lawn for the guests, and could I throw in some more visually dramatic elements—a chalice or two, flaming brands, swords, probably sacrifice a white cockerel, for all I know. I asked him if he’d suggest the same to the minister of the local chapel. He looked surprised—stupid man.”
“So you didn’t like him?”
“I disliked him, if you must know.”
“But you didn’t leave.”
“If true seekers came here, I wanted them to find at least one person who could guide them. And I do get a chance to hold my ceremonies in a real sacred grove. We have one of the most important ceremonies of the year approaching, you know. Galan Mai, we say in Welsh. In English it’s called Beltane. The spring festival of the new fire. You should come to it. I hope I’ve already persuaded Constable Evans to come—since he’s one of us.”
Hughes glanced at Evan.
“A Celt, she means,” Evan said quickly.
“To get back to Randy Wunderlich,” Hughes said. “Can you think of anyone who wanted him dead? Apart from yourself, of course.”
Rhiannon did not return Hughes’s grin. “What makes you assume that I wanted him dead? Negative thoughts are never productive, you know. They surround the thinker with her own negativity until it stifles her. I have never wished anyone dead. I wished him enlightenment—and a few brains wouldn’t have hurt either.”
“And if others were less charitable than you?”
“I wouldn’t presume to read the intentions of others.”
Evan noticed that Hughes was getting agitated.
“On the afternoon that Randy Wunderlich vanished—can you account for your movements?”
“I can. I was out and about, wandering over the property, looking for the perfect site for our ceremony on the First of May. There must be oak trees, you know, and enough space for a bonfire and a large circle. I expect a good crowd.”
“Did you see anyone?”
“If you mean did anyone see me, the answer is probably no. Although I did hear somebody or something.”
Hughes looked up from his notes.
“Some large presence was moving through the woods, out of my range of vision. It could have been an animal, of course—a large dog—but it could have been a person in a hurry.”
“About what time was this?”
“I have no idea. After lunch and before dark. I have little idea of time when I’m contemplating.”
“Thank you.” Hughes got to his feet. “You’ve been most helpful.”
“I should say I’ve probably been most unhelpful, but I’ve told you all I know. Randy Wunderlich invited his own death, you know. The universe will not be mocked. The Goddess especially will not be mocked. Good day to you.”
They had been dismissed.
“Well, that about rounds out the principal players, doesn’t it, Evans?” Hughes asked as they climbed the stairs. “What a strange woman. It’s amazing how odd some unmarried women get after fifty, isn’t it?”
Evan decided that Hughes would never win a medal for tact. It was amazing that a similar comment hadn’t managed to offend someone of importance on his way up the promotion ladder. Lucky that the chief constable wasn’t a woman.
Hughes checked his watch. “They should have the staff assembled by now. I’ll give them a little speech and then you can take their statements after I’ve gone. I have a luncheon appointment in an hour, so I’m in a bit of a rush. We just need to find out what they remember about the afternoon Wunderlich disappeared, whether they noticed anything unusual, and whether anybody saw him after two-thirty. See if you can pick up any gossip as they talk to you. I’d be interested to know whether Annabel adored her husband as much as she claims. Just let them chat, Evans. They’ll probably feel comfortable with you. They might even want to speak Welsh and I know that’s your forte … .”
“Very good, sir,” Evan said. Again he wondered how Hughes could have risen so easily through the ranks when even his compliments managed to turn into insults. He attacked the flight of steps at a good pace. He noticed that Hughes was huffing and puffing by the time they reached the top.
“Where have they assembled the staff, do you suppose?” Hughes managed to gasp when the front doors were swung open and Emmy Court came striding out to meet them.
“How much longer exactly am I to be kept waiting?” she demanded. “I’ve got a flight to catch, you know, on a nonrefundable ticket. Do you guys plan to buy me a new ticket if I miss the plane?”
“And we have a possible murder investigation to conduct,” Hughes said. “We’ll let you know when you are at liberty to leave the area.”