Constable Evans 03: Evanly Choirs Read Online Free PDF Page A

minute,” Evans-the-Meat interrupted. “Did Gladys say who was renting the house for the summer? I can’t imagine Mrs. Powell-Jones letting strangers into her house. That’s not like her at all.”
    “I’ve no idea,” Reverend Parry Davies said, “but I got the feeling it was someone important.”
    “I know who it is,” a voice spoke from the back of the crowd. Heads turned to see young Trefor Dawson, a newcomer who did maintenance at the Everest Inn. “At least I think I do,” he added, conscious of being the center of attention.
    “Well, spill the beans then, man,” Charlie Hopkins said.
    “My cousin works for Jenkins and Jenkins—you know, the posh estate agents in Caernarfon?” Several people nodded. “Well, you’ll never guess who asked them to find a house in LLanfair?” He looked around with satisfaction. “Ifor Llewellyn.”
    “Ifor Llewellyn?” Mostyn Phillips demanded.
    “THE Ifor Llewellyn?” Betsy shrieked. “The famous opera singer?”
    For once the residents of Llanfair were momentarily speechless. Then Evans-the-Milk voiced what everyone was thinking. “Why on earth would he want to spend the summer in Llanfair, of all places?”
    “And what’s wrong with Llanfair?” Evans-the-Meat demanded. “Isn’t it beautiful enough for you then? And peaceful and quiet and free of all those bloody tourists?”
    “Yes, but…” Evans-the-Milk began. “It’s nothing special, is it? I mean, if I were famous, I’d be spending my summers in Nice or Monte Carlo or California, not Llanfair.”
    “Especially someone like Ifor Llewellyn,” Barry-the-Bucket added. “If what we read in the papers is true, you’d expect him to be on some woman film star’s yacht.”
    “Perhaps he’s bringing a lady friend to a little love nest in Llanfair,” Charlie Hopkins chuckled. “Maybe that Italian Carla whats-her-name.”
    “I don’t know how he does it,” Barry-the-Bucket said.
    “Does what?” Betsy demanded.
    “How he gets all those beautiful women. I mean, it’s not like he’s young and he’s heavy enough, isn’t he?”
    “I think he’s ever so sexy,” Betsy commented. “But then there’s something about big men that I find very sexy.” Her gaze moved unabashedly to Evan again. Evan hoped he wasn’t beginning to look as heavy as Ifor Llewellyn.
    “Love nest in Llanfair!” Barry-the-Bucket shook his head. “I don’t think so, somehow.”
    “No, he’s bringing his family, that’s what Gladys said,” the reverend interrupted. “Bringing his family here for the summer.”
    “He’s probably had enough of Nice and Monte Carlo,” Evans-the-Meat said. “After all, he is a local Gwynedd man, isn’t he? He’s coming home to his roots.”
    “Is that so?” Evan asked. “Ifor Llewellyn comes from around here?”
    Several heads nodded. “He lived for a while in Llanfair, didn’t he? When he was a little boy?”
    “That would be when his mother was a maid at the big house,” Charlie Hopkins informed them.
    “The big house?” Evan asked. “You mean the Powell-Jones’s?”
    “It used to belong to Mrs. Powell-Joneses’ family in those days. The Lloyds, they were. Owned the slate mine. She used to be Patsy Lloyd—” he laughed. “I remember her right enough. She was a toffy-nosed little thing, even in those days, wasn’t she? They sent her away to boarding school in England and she came back even more toffy nosed. Then the slate mine closed and eventually she inherited the house.”
    “Very handy for Mr. Powell-Jones, right next door to his chapel,” Evans-the-Milk exclaimed.
    “Why do you think he got that chapel, you dummy?” Evans-the-Meat exclaimed. “He got it because it was on land owned by her family.”
    “And Ifor Llewellyn’s mother was the maid there?” Betsy asked, leaning forward across the bar until her neckline was stretched into a dangerous view of cleavage, causing every man in the room to stop drinking momentarily. “No wonder he wants to