I’ve spoken to Richard Gwynne,” Evan said. “And the German couple. Tell me about them.”
“Oh, they’re the kind of people I like,” she said. “No trouble. Clean-cut, healthy young people. No drugs or booze. Paid for a week up front, they did.”
“And they’ve been here a week, have they?”
“No, only four days.”
“Well, they’re leaving early then,” Evan said. “They were packing up when I left them.”
“They are? That’s strange. They didn’t tell me. I hope nothing’s wrong. Anyhow, they’re not getting a refund. It says no refunds, clear as crystal over the desk.”
Evan decided to pay the Germans another visit when he left Mrs. Paul. “And who else is here?”
“That’s the lot right now. There are those holiday bungalows a little farther down the beach. They’ve got people staying in them because I passed there this morning and I saw several cars parked and some boys kicking a football around.”
“So you went out this morning?”
“Only to get the paper at the newsagents. I do that every day, about nine o’clock. It was proper miserable then—drizzling and blowing hard. It’s on days like this I wonder why I ever left Birmingham.”
“Yeah, and then the sun comes out and makes you realize it’s one of the loveliest places on God’s earth,” Evan finished for her.
She gave him a motherly smile. “You’re from these parts, I can tell. Do you speak the language? I know all the police have to these days, but I mean really speak it?”
“Oh yes. It’s my first language. We always spoke it at home.”
“I never got the hang of it myself,” she said. “I tried learning
it once, but it was beyond me. I can say Yacky Da and Dee-olch and that’s about it.”
Evan got the feeling that she’d keep him there all afternoon if he didn’t make a move. He drained his teacup and got to his feet. “Thanks very much for the tea, Mrs. Paul. That was just what I needed. Lovely. And thanks for all your help too. I expect you’ll be seeing more of us if the little girl isn’t found quickly, so if you see or hear anything strange, don’t hesitate to call, will you?”
“I won’t, love. I want that little girl found as much as you do. Poor little thing. What kind of father would put his child through something like this? They’re all the same, foreigners, aren’t they? You can’t trust them an inch—like those Germans taking off early. I’ve a mind to slip down to my caravan and count the crockery and blankets.”
“You do that, Mrs. Paul. And you’d better do it in a hurry because they were rushing to make their getaway.”
“Right.” She got to her feet also and grabbed a cardigan from the back of another chair.
Evan smiled to himself in satisfaction. He couldn’t look at their car or the caravan without a search warrant, but a nosy landlady could do both.
As they came out of Mrs. Paul’s bungalow, they were just in time to see a green Volkwagon Beetle bouncing over the springy turf and out through the gate.
Chapter 7
Fr. Nicholas Thomas stood at the doorway to the bar at the Everest Inn and looked around with distaste. Even at this hour of the afternoon, a smoky haze curled around the oak beams. Having lived in Canada for so long, he had forgotten how much the British smoked. Then he spotted his brother at the far end of the bar at the same time that Val looked up and waved.
“What can I get you?” Val Thomas asked.
“It’s a little early for me, thanks,” Nick said.
“Aw, go on, we’re on holiday,” Val insisted.
“Okay. A white wine then please. A chardonnay.”
Val threw back his head and laughed. “Do real men in Canada drink wine? I’m surprised you weren’t chased out of town.”
A momentary spasm crossed Nick’s face, then he smiled too. “You forget, I’m not a real man. I’m a priest. We’re supposed to be different, aren’t we? And Canada has become very European these days.”
“Funny, isn’t it?” Val said. “You
“Oh, they’re the kind of people I like,” she said. “No trouble. Clean-cut, healthy young people. No drugs or booze. Paid for a week up front, they did.”
“And they’ve been here a week, have they?”
“No, only four days.”
“Well, they’re leaving early then,” Evan said. “They were packing up when I left them.”
“They are? That’s strange. They didn’t tell me. I hope nothing’s wrong. Anyhow, they’re not getting a refund. It says no refunds, clear as crystal over the desk.”
Evan decided to pay the Germans another visit when he left Mrs. Paul. “And who else is here?”
“That’s the lot right now. There are those holiday bungalows a little farther down the beach. They’ve got people staying in them because I passed there this morning and I saw several cars parked and some boys kicking a football around.”
“So you went out this morning?”
“Only to get the paper at the newsagents. I do that every day, about nine o’clock. It was proper miserable then—drizzling and blowing hard. It’s on days like this I wonder why I ever left Birmingham.”
“Yeah, and then the sun comes out and makes you realize it’s one of the loveliest places on God’s earth,” Evan finished for her.
She gave him a motherly smile. “You’re from these parts, I can tell. Do you speak the language? I know all the police have to these days, but I mean really speak it?”
“Oh yes. It’s my first language. We always spoke it at home.”
“I never got the hang of it myself,” she said. “I tried learning
it once, but it was beyond me. I can say Yacky Da and Dee-olch and that’s about it.”
Evan got the feeling that she’d keep him there all afternoon if he didn’t make a move. He drained his teacup and got to his feet. “Thanks very much for the tea, Mrs. Paul. That was just what I needed. Lovely. And thanks for all your help too. I expect you’ll be seeing more of us if the little girl isn’t found quickly, so if you see or hear anything strange, don’t hesitate to call, will you?”
“I won’t, love. I want that little girl found as much as you do. Poor little thing. What kind of father would put his child through something like this? They’re all the same, foreigners, aren’t they? You can’t trust them an inch—like those Germans taking off early. I’ve a mind to slip down to my caravan and count the crockery and blankets.”
“You do that, Mrs. Paul. And you’d better do it in a hurry because they were rushing to make their getaway.”
“Right.” She got to her feet also and grabbed a cardigan from the back of another chair.
Evan smiled to himself in satisfaction. He couldn’t look at their car or the caravan without a search warrant, but a nosy landlady could do both.
As they came out of Mrs. Paul’s bungalow, they were just in time to see a green Volkwagon Beetle bouncing over the springy turf and out through the gate.
Chapter 7
Fr. Nicholas Thomas stood at the doorway to the bar at the Everest Inn and looked around with distaste. Even at this hour of the afternoon, a smoky haze curled around the oak beams. Having lived in Canada for so long, he had forgotten how much the British smoked. Then he spotted his brother at the far end of the bar at the same time that Val looked up and waved.
“What can I get you?” Val Thomas asked.
“It’s a little early for me, thanks,” Nick said.
“Aw, go on, we’re on holiday,” Val insisted.
“Okay. A white wine then please. A chardonnay.”
Val threw back his head and laughed. “Do real men in Canada drink wine? I’m surprised you weren’t chased out of town.”
A momentary spasm crossed Nick’s face, then he smiled too. “You forget, I’m not a real man. I’m a priest. We’re supposed to be different, aren’t we? And Canada has become very European these days.”
“Funny, isn’t it?” Val said. “You
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