Free Evan's Gate by Rhys Bowen Page B

the limit of his culinary skills. When he got home, he was usually so tired and hungry that it was easier to fry up eggs and bacon than learn a new cooking skill. And at the back of his mind was the thought that someday soon Bronwen would be doing the cooking.
    The place felt cold and damp as he let himself into the front hall, this being one of the few homes that had never had central heating installed. It had never really warmed up after the winter, and he was usually home too late to think about making a fire. Instead he put on the kettle to make some tea, then opened the fridge to see what he might eat. The choice was egg or cheese, and he didn’t fancy either. He turned off the gas under the kettle again and did something he’d promised he’d never do. He went across the road to the pub.
    The RED DRAGON sign was swinging in the stiff breeze, each swing being accompanied by a loud squeak. Evan pushed open the outer door, then ducked under the oak beam that led to the
main bar. He was greeted by warmth, voices, and Frank Sinatra in the background—the village’s taste in music being a little behind the times. A fire was burning in the fireplace at the far end of the bar. A group stood around it, silhouetted against the firelight. Another group stood around the bar, in the center of which was a tall young man wearing a turtleneck and smart sports coat. Evan took a moment to register that the man was Barry-the-Bucket, the local bulldozer driver who had never been seen in anything but dirty overalls until recently. He was leaning on the polished wood bar, his face inches from barmaid Betsy’s as he whispered something to her and she responded by blushing and slapping him playfully.
    A minor miracle had taken place in the village when Betsy and Barry fell for each other, Evan decided. He welcomed it as it meant Betsy had stopped her relentless pursuit of him. She was no longer wearing sexy sweaters and exposed midriffs, but a demure white blouse. As she moved away from Barry, she spotted Evan making his way through the crowd to the bar.
    “Well, here he is at last, then,” she said loudly. “We thought you’d got lost, Evan bach. What will it be? The usual?”
    Her hand had already moved to draw a pint of Guinness.
    “Lovely, thanks. And what have you got to eat tonight then, Betsy? What delicacies to tempt a hungry man?”
    “Ooh, listen to him,” one of the men chuckled. “You want to watch it, Evan, boyo. Barry’s standing right here and he gets awfully jealous.”
    “I thought you were supposed to be learning to cook.” Betsy gave him a stern frown. “I’ll have to tell Bronwen if you keep popping in here for your dinner.”
    “I don’t keep popping in. I’ve been looking for a missing girl since this morning, and I’m starving.”
    “Missing girl, eh? Oh, that’s bad. Did you find her?” Old Charlie Hopkins turned to Evan from where he had been propping up the bar, his hands nursing a half-empty glass.
    “Not yet. It seems she might have been taken by her father.”

    “That’s what always happens when people get divorced, isn’t it?” Betsy said. “They do it to spite each other and don’t think about how it might upset the children. They should make sure they’re marrying the right person before they start bringing children into the world, that’s what I say.”
    “Quite right, you tell’em, cariad, ” Barry said, patting her hand. “But not everyone can be as lucky as you, meeting a spectacular bloke like me.”
    “Anyone would think you were Irish, the amount of blarney you talk, Barry,” she said, pushing his hand away. “I hope you find her, Evan bach. Now what were you wanting to eat? I’ve got a nice toad in the hole or I can do you some plaice and chips.”
    “Toad in the hole will do nicely, thanks, Betsy.”
    “I’ll just pop it in the microwave. It won’t take a second,” Betsy said, darting away from the bar.
    “Are you going out tonight then, Barry?” he asked