Constable Evans 02: Evan Help Us Read Online Free Page B

uniform, you know—bad for the image of the police force.”
    Mrs. Williams’ house was on what was considered the superior side of the street. Rather than a row of cottages all joined together, the houses opposite the petrol station were built in three semidetached pairs. They were also simple gray stone buildings, hardly more than cottages themselves, but they were considered the upscale part of Llanfair by virtue of having what Mrs. Williams called a back parlor and a front parlor, neither used except on special occasions, also what Mrs. Williams grandly referred to as her front garden—in reality a four-foot square of earth with a couple of sad roses growing in it.
    “Is that you, Mr. Evans?” Mrs. Williams’ voice sang out down the dark hallway as he attempted to close the front door silently behind him. He often wondered why the police force didn’t hire Mrs. Williams as a local radar unit. She had an incredible sixth sense that alerted her to his key in the front door, even if the TV was blaring away or she was shut in the kitchen at the back of the house. It was impossible to enter or leave unnoticed, although Evan still tried.
    “No, Mrs. Williams. It’s a burglar,” Evan called back, “who just happens to have a front door key.”
    Mrs. Williams’ face, red and beaded with sweat from cooking, appeared at the open kitchen door. “Don’t say things like that, Mr. Evans. You know I’m scared to death about burglars. It was the happiest day of my life when a policeman moved into my house. And you know what my daughter said? She said they’ll think twice about breaking in now, now that I’ve got a big strong man like you in the house. She thinks very highly of you, my daughter does. So does my granddaughter, of course. We all do.” She came down the hall to meet him and took his arm. “Come and sit you down now. Your dinner is all ready and waiting.”
    “I think I’ll wait a while to eat, if you don’t mind, Mrs. Williams,” Evan said warily. “I told a couple of the lads that I’d meet them down at the Dragon. It is Friday night, after all.”
    “But I’ve made you a lamb cawl,” she said, referring to the local thick Welsh lamb stew. “Your favorite.” Everything she made was apparently Evan’s favorite. “I got a lovely shoulder of lamb from Evans-the-Meat. And speaking of him,” she went on, “did you hear that one of those English women staying up at Morgan’s farm had the nerve to ask him why he didn’t stock any English lamb? The nerve of it. Evans-the-Meat has never sold foreign meat in his life!”
    Silently Evans complimented the efficiency of the village grapevine, then he remembered his encounter. “Did you hear that we’ve got new people living up next to Charlie Hopkins?” he asked.
    “New people? Renting old Mrs. Hughes’ cottage?” Mrs. Williams looked astonished.
    “Moved in a couple of days ago,” Evan said, delighted to be able to score a point for once. “A mother and her little girl.”
    “Well, I never,” Mrs. Williams said. “And we heard nothing about it, did we? But then I think it was let through that fancy estate agent down in Caernarfon. Are they here for the summer?”
    “For good, maybe,” Evan said.
    “And the husband will be joining them, no doubt?”
    “I’m not sure about that,” Evan said tactfully.
    Mrs. Williams sniffed. “Just watch she doesn’t try to get her claws into you,” she said. “A good-looking young chap like yourself and at the right age to settle down too. You want to find yourself a nice local girl, one that knows how to cook and look after you properly.” She broke off as if a thought had just struck her. “Now what does that remind me of?” She put her hand up to her mouth then a broad smile spread across her face. “Oh, by the way, did I tell you that our Sharon is taking one of these continental cooking classes at evening school? Last week it was spaghetti bolognese and this week it’s some kind of