“Wonderful news?” Glynis asked innocently.
“About my motorbike.”
“I gather you’re not too thrilled,” Watkins commented.
“I thought it might have been better news,” Evan said.
Watkins nodded. “It will come.”
“So what did you want to see me about, Glynis?” Evan asked, steering the conversation to safer areas.
“You know about youth hostels and things, don’t you?” she said. “I thought you could help me. I’ve got to put up flyers in all the local youth hostels. We’re trying to locate a missing girl.”
“Staying at a local youth hostel?”
Glynis shook her head. “No idea. She’s an American college student, doing some kind of course at Oxford University. The course finished before Christmas. She called her parents and said she’d like to stay on over here and do some traveling before she went home. She promised she’d be home by Easter, in time for her spring term at university over there. Her parents haven’t heard anything since February and she didn’t show up for Easter. They’re worried sick, naturally, and they’ve come over to look for her.”
“What makes them think she’s been around here?”
“Her last postcard said she was going to Wales. That’s all they’ve got to go on.”
“I see.” Evan frowned. “Tough order. She could be anywhere. I presume there are other police looking into this too?”
Glynis nodded. “The police in Oxford, obviously, and the Met as well. She stayed at a friend’s flat in London over the Christmas holidays.”
“I’ll be happy to put up flyers for you at the youth hostels,” Evan said. “She was an outdoorsy type of girl, was she? Might have come here to hike or climb?”
“No, she wasn’t. That’s the strange thing,” Glynis said. “Very quiet, studious, socially conscious, played the violin. But a good sense of humor. The last postcard she wrote to her parents said, ‘Gone to Wales. Got a date with a Druid.’”
“And that’s all you’ve got to go on?”
Glynis nodded. “Not much, is it?”
“And if she’s been wandering around since Christmas, she could be long gone by now. We’d be lucky to find anyone at a youth hostel who remembered her. These kids wander around for a month at the most then disappear again.”
“That’s exactly what Rebecca’s done—disappeared,” Glynis said. “She never showed up at her friend’s flat to collect the rest of her stuff.”
“Doesn’t sound too good, does it?” Evan said. “The flyers have a picture of her on them, do they?”
“Yes, but not a very good one. I’m hoping for a better one when we meet the parents. They’re due up here in a few days, working their way from the North of Wales to the South, leaving no stone unturned.”
“Poor people,” Evan said. “I’ve always thought that must be the very worst thing—not knowing. People can take bad news as long as they know the truth.”
Glynis nodded. “You’re right. I’ll bring Mr. and Mrs. Riesen up to meet you when they get here. You always know the right things to say.”
“All right.” Evan smiled. She was a nice girl. If she wasn’t dating the chief constable’s nephew and he didn’t have Bronwen in his life, he might well … he stopped short as they got to the police station door. “I’ve just remembered,” he said. “I don’t think I’d better stop for tea with you. I’m moving house today. I’ve got a ton of things still to do and I wanted to go round the charity shops before they shut. I’ve got to furnish the place somehow.”
“So you finally did it?” Watkins grinned. “You cut the cord and moved away from your landlady. Well, good for you, boyo. Now you’ll find out what life is really like. It will be beans on toast and washing your own shirts like the rest of us.”
“I’ll have you know that I plan to become a gourmet chef,” Evan said. He tried not to smile when Watkins nudged Glynis. “No, seriously. I’ve got a fancy cookbook that Bronwen gave me and I’m going to teach myself to cook properly.”
“We’ll expect a dinner invitation, won’t we, Glynis?” Watkins said.
“Absolutely.” Glynis Davies’s large brown eyes held his.
It was with some regret that he watched them go through to the cafeteria. In spite of everything he had to admit that he still found her fascinating.
A few days later Evan headed out of Caernarfon on the new bike. He had passed the course, ridden around cones without knocking them down, and knew how to start and stop. He was ready to become a motorcycle cop. He grinned to himself at the term, imagining himself involved in the kind of high-speed chases that always seemed to happen in places like Los Angeles. The only high-speed chase around Llanfair would be with a sheep that had wandered onto the road.
He left the last of the urban sprawl behind him and let out the throttle as the bike began to climb the pass. The engine gave a satisfying roar. The first of the zigzag bends approached. He was supposed to lean into it, but it seemed such an improbable thing to do. He felt gravity pulling at him, leaned, and smiled to himself as the bike hugged the curve. Very satisfying. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all. He couldn’t wait to try it off road, but after several days of steady rain, he’d better let the hillsides dry out a little first.
Llanfair appeared ahead of him, nestled between green slopes. It was late afternoon and the village was bathed in sharp, slanting sunlight, making the gray stone of the cottages glow pink. The stream that flowed from
