generous helping of steak-and-kidney pie.
He came out into bright sunshine and stood on the terrace with the wind from the ocean blowing on his face. The pseudo-Italian village below him glowed in the sunlight. It was hard to believe he was still in his own corner of Wales. It was hard to believe much about this peculiar case. If you wanted to kill someone, wouldn’t there be easier ways than drugging him and then leaving him to drown in a cave? Why the cave? Annabel was the only one who mentioned that Randy had gone there before for its fantastic vibes. Had somebody known he was planning to go there that afternoon, or had the murderer somehow dragged him, unconscious, to the cave and left him to die? What sort of person would have done that?
Evan glanced at his list of notes from the staff. One or two interesting things had emerged: Several of the staff reported that Randy and Rhiannon had had disagreements. The day before Randy disappeared, the groundsman had heard his raised voice yelling, “And if you don’t like it, you can always leave, you know.”
That same groundsman had been mowing the lawns on the fateful afternoon. He remembered seeing Annabel coming down the steps toward the meditation building, then returning shortly after. He also remembered seeing Ben Cresswell striding out across the property.
Not one of the staff remembered making the cup of coffee that Betsy took to Randy Wunderlich, or telling Betsy that Randy wanted a cup of coffee. Evan frowned. This wouldn’t look good for Betsy. She had admitted taking him the coffee, which might have contained the sleeping pills, but she had nobody to corroborate that she had been instructed to do so. No one even remembered seeing her in the kitchen after lunch.
Not one of them had seen Randy Wunderlich after he went into his office in the meditation building around two.
Most interesting of all—Bethan reported that Lady Annabel and Randy had had several arguments recently. She had overheard things when she was making beds in the big house.
So there had been plenty of friction at the Sacred Grove. But arguments didn’t always lead to murder, did they? Well, it wasn’t any of his business. D.C.I. Hughes and his team would be handling the investigation from now on and Evan would be lucky if he heard how it was progressing. He should take Betsy home, make his report to D.C.I. Hughes, and get on with the task of changing Bronwen’s library books. But he found he was looking down toward the meditation center and the path beyond, leading down steps to the swimming pool and then the beach. He had to go and take another look at that cave for himself.
Evan hurried down the long flight of steps. As he passed the pyramid, a pale-faced woman in a turban and robe came out and stood blinking in the sunlight.
“Amazing,” she said to Evan. “I’m a new person. Even my skin feels younger. Amethyst, you know.”
Evan nodded politely and went on his way. Down the last steps and onto the beach. The tide was still quite high at this time of day and Evan had to pick his way along a thin strip of beach. Where the tide had receded, the sand was still waterlogged and each footstep sank in with a deep sucking sound. How could anyone have possibly dragged an unconscious man this way—unless there was more than one person. He paused to consider this thought. Was it possible that several of them had conspired to get rid of Randy Wunderlich—Rhiannon and Mrs. Roberts, Mrs. Roberts and Ben Cresswell, even Annabel and Michael? All of the above? Such alliances seemed highly unlikely when he considered them, but desperation has driven people to even stranger alliances.
After five minutes of slithering along the water’s edge, he came to the rocks before the cave. He scrambled up nimbly and stood at the entrance. He knew that forensics had given the cave a thorough going-over, and the sea had been in and out a number of times since the body was discovered. Even so, he ducked his head and went inside, wrinkling his nose at the dank, rotting smell. He found himself shivering as he looked around. As he had expected, he found nothing and was thankful to step out into the sunlight again. He couldn’t imagine that Randy Wunderlich would have chosen to meditate there.
Now the higher, dryer cave definitely looked more inviting—a wide hole above the waterline, the sort of cave that would have attracted a boy wanting to play at smugglers. He scrambled up to it, using all fours over the precariously loose rocks, and stood peering into the darkness. He could see where the sea level reached the entrance. There was a line of seaweed and jetsam about three feet into the cave. Beyond that, however, the floor was sandy and dry. He noticed footprints in the sand, but they were indistinct and there was no way of knowing how long they had been there. As he turned back to face the entrance, he was met with a stunning view. The whole estuary of sparkling blue water spread before him, with the green hills rising on the other side to Cader Idris, second in height only to Snowdon.
He could see that somebody would want to come to this cave to get away from it all and think. In fact, Emmy Court had assumed the same thing. He remembered how she had tried to convince Betsy that she was heading for the wrong cave. Well, anyone would have assumed the same thing, wouldn’t he? He then realized something else about Emmy Court. When she had woken him that night, she had been bubbling with excitement as if the whole excursion was a grand adventure. But that had changed when they discovered Randy’s body. He remembered her wail of horror, “He can’t be dead!”
And yet today, in her interview with Hughes, she had acted as if Randy’s death was merely a nuisance, a hitch in her plans. Evan turned and carefully skirted around the edge of the cave, examining every inch of the floor. There was really nothing to see. There was no jetsam above the high tide line, just sand and rocks. Toward the back of the cave his eyes strained in the darkness and he wished he had brought the flashlight he kept in the glove compartment of his car. He could see something on a small rock ledge. Evan reached for it. It was a wrapped granola bar. Half-buried in the sand beneath it was a full bottle of water and beside that a miniature torch. Using his handkerchief, Evan retrieved the torch and wrapped it carefully before tucking it into his pocket. It might be nothing more than kids playing at camping out, but it could also mean that someone recently intended to spend some time in this cave.
By the time Evan returned to look for Betsy, he found her with Emmy Court. Emmy seemed calmer and resigned to missing her plane.
“If I’ve got to stay on a few days, I might as well give Betsy a ride home,” she said. “I hope Mrs. Williams hasn’t let my room yet.”
Evan accepted her offer. He was glad he wasn’t about to incur anyone’s wrath by giving Betsy a ride home on the motorbike. Instead, he drove straight to drop off the torch he had found at the forensics lab. Then he remembered he had promised to change Bronwen’s library books for her. That was the very least he could do. He felt that he should have been taking better care of her. Instead, he’d been running around all week—doing his job, to be sure, but still not there when she needed him.
When he finally reached Llanfair and pulled up outside the police station, the clouds had closed in and the formerly bright day was now heavy with the threat of rain. The first drops of rain spattered onto the tarmac as he climbed off the bike and wheeled it into the shed. No hiking today then! On the ride home he had decided to take a stiff hike up to Crib Gogh and back. He had noticed his muscles complaining at all those steps at the Sacred Grove.
