Evans to Betsy

to the forces of the universe, whether we like it or not.”

“Never heard such a daft …” Evans-the-Meat began.

“You just wait, Mr. Evans, until I’ve got my powers developed. Then you’ll be laughing on the other side of your face. Rhiannon has been telling me about the Goddess.”

“Goddess? Betsy, don’t let the ministers hear you talking like that!” Charlie Hopkins looked around to see if Mr. Parry Davies was in his usual corner.

“It’s a free country, isn’t it? And I think a Goddess might be rather nice after having to pray to an old man in a white nightie all my life.” She gave Evan a challenging look. “She wants me to come to one of her ceremonies. I think it might be fun.”

“Just watch yourself, Betsy,” Evan said. “I don’t like that place. Never did.”

“That’s because you don’t have powers, Evan,” Betsy said.

“Powers!” Barry-the-Bucket came up to join them. “Are you still on about those powers?”

“I’ve already had one psychic dream this week, for your information,” Betsy said. “There’s no knowing where my powers will take me next. Go on, test me.”

“See if you can make that pint of Robinson’s float off the counter and into my hands, will you?” Barry-the- Bucket said.

“Not stuff like that. I’m not a magician. Things like seeing into the future.”

“All right. Predict something that’s going to happen tomorrow,” Barry said, still grinning.

“I won’t be going on a date with you, that’s for sure,” Betsy answered. “Tomorrow, let’s see.” Her face became suddenly serious. “I think it’s going to be a nice day. I can see myself feeling hot.”

“Hot and bothered when I’m near you, Betsy cariad,” Barry said, but she pushed him away, laughing. “Never give up, do you?”

“Can you come up with someone better? And don’t say Constable Evans here, because you’ll have to get rid of Bronwen Price first.”

Betsy tossed back her blond curls. “As a matter of fact I might well have someone in mind,” she said. “A gentleman I work with at the Sacred Grove. He’s a bit shy, but he’s really nice when you get to know him.” A car horn sounded outside. “That’s Emmy. I’ve got to run.” She pushed her way through the crowd, just as a group of strangers entered the pub.

“Here they are now, look you—the team from Beddgelert, come for the trivia contest,” Harry said loudly.

“Come to be soundly beaten,” a Llanfair voice chimed in. Harry ignored the comment and went on, “Welcome, gentlemen. Let’s have the Llanfair team over here, at this end of the bar, and you gentlemen down at that table in the corner.”

“How come we’re put down near the fire?” a Beddgelert man demanded. “It’s too bloody hot down here. We can’t think straight.”

“You lot couldn’t think straight if you were standing on top of a bloody mountain,” Evans-the-Meat said.

“Now, now, boys. Friendly contest, isn’t it, not a bloody war,” Harry interjected.

Evan decided to beat a hasty and well-timed retreat. He was in no mood for trivia contests, nor for keeping the peace between two sparring villages. He stepped out into the crisp night air. From one of the cottages came the smell of onions frying, reminding him that he’d had nothing to eat and wasn’t likely to get anything now. He looked wistfully down the road, wishing he could have gone with Betsy, who was now on her way to a good restaurant with Mrs. Williams and Emmy.

He started to walk up the street. At least Emmy would be gone in the morning, which was a good thing. Evan wished she had never come in the first place and never picked Betsy for her stupid tests. All this nonsense about powers and goddesses—and yet was it all nonsense? Betsy had, after all, dreamed where to find Randy Wunderlich’s body. He recalled her wide-eyed terror of that night, when she had knocked on his door.

A cold wind rushed up the pass, rattling branches and making Evan shiver. He didn’t believe in rubbish like psychic powers, and yet he had been a witness at the extraordinary events that night. Was it also possible that she had used those newly awoken powers subconsciously to bring about Bronwen’s illness? If not, why wasn’t Bronwen getting better?

Chapter 15

  Saturday dawned fine, if blustery, with white puffball clouds racing in from the Western ocean and the sigh of the wind moaning up the pass. Evan thought of going for a hike, but somehow the idea lost its appeal without Bronwen. He thought of driving down to the coast and searching for other domestic necessities at the flea market in Caernarfon, but that also lacked appeal alone. In the end he agreed to go and change Bronwen’s library books for her.

“Nothing too heavy, please,” she said as she handed him the books she had finished. “I don’t seem to have the strength for more than the lightest books—I can’t concentrate or hold them up either.” She gave a sweet smile that twisted Evan’s insides. She looked like a pale shadow of herself lying there. Why wasn’t she getting better?

“I’ll be back as quick as I can,” he said. “Maybe we could play Scrabble later and I’ll let you beat me as usual.”

Bronwen nodded. “That would be nice, although you might even win for once.”

He was just putting the books in the front seat of his old bone-shaker when his pager sounded. With a muttered damn he went back inside and dialed HQ.

“Constable Evans?” It was Megan, the witty dispatcher. “D.C.I. Hughes would like a word with you. One moment, please.” He heard her say, “I’ve got Evans on the line for you, sir.”

Then Hughes’s clipped, high voice. “Ah, Evans. Good man. I want you to meet me at that place—the Sacred Grove—in half an hour.”

Evan could hardly remind a newly appointed D.C.I. that it was his day off. Besides, if something was going on,