help you?” He peered at Evan shyly through round wire-rimmed glasses.
Evan was surprised to find that the voice wasn’t local Welsh but betrayed a recent stint at an English public school.
“North Wales Police. I’d like to speak to the owners, please,” Evan said.
“I think you’ve come to the wrong place. We haven’t reported any ‘incidents,’ as you would say, and I don’t think we have any c-criminals on the premises either.” Evan sensed an uneasiness behind the banter. He suspected that the boy was shy by nature, but had picked up the upper-class innate arrogance when dealing with authority.
“It’s about a missing person.”
“Nobody’s missing from here.” The young man grinned. “Everyone was p-present and accounted for at breakfast, I can assure you.”
Evan sensed that the boy might have been sent to hedge. “This person might have stayed here a couple of months ago. Now if you’d just take me to the owner.”
“All right. This way then. I think Annabel’s in her study.”
“And you are?” Evan asked.
“I’m Michael. General dogsbody.”
He set off at a brisk pace. Evan found to his astonishment that
he was walking down a narrow cobbled street lined with pink-and-white stucco cottages, tiled porticos, old archways, and battlements. It was as if he had been teleported to a mixture of the Italian Riviera, medieval Germany, and Disneyland.
“Bloody ’ell,” he exclaimed as the cobbled street came out above an area of reflecting pools and lawns. Rows of Greek columns lined the path. The lawns were bordered with statues. The pools were adorned with spurting mythical beasts.
“Yes, it does rather knock your socks off the first time you see it, doesn’t it?” Michael said. “The old man who built it was quite crackers, of course. But in a lovable kind of way. He created this fantasy around him. Was still working on it when he dropped dead.”
“His daughter owns it now, does she?” Evan asked. “That would be Lady Annabel?”
“She and her husband,” Michael said flatly. “Co-owners.”
Evan picked up his tone. “Her husband?”
“Her third husband. The American wonder boy. Randy Wunderlich.”
“Wunderlich?” Evan gave him an amused glance. He wondered if the boy was having him on.
Michael returned the grin. “His name really is Wunderlich. Isn’t that convenient? I bet it started out as plain old Smith. Randy Wunderlich, world-famous psychic and almost young enough to be her son. She married him last year.”
He cut up a flight of steps, past a medieval church, and under another archway. Evan found himself outside a very different building, this one with the simple elegance of the Georgian period, and genuine too. This was obviously the original stately home around which the fantasy land had been built. Michael led him in through a set of gracious double doors. “This is our main building. Offices, admin. The guests, when there are any, stay in the cottages.”
Evan shot him a glance. “I thought the place was heavily booked.”
“Not yet,” Michael said. “Cold, gloomy weather doesn’t encourage
meditation and dancing in the dew. We’re hoping it will pick up in the summer.”
They were in a tiled entrance hall with a grand chandelier over a curved dark wood staircase. “Wait here, please,” Michael said. “I’ll go and see if Annabel is receiving visitors. What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t,” Evan said, “but it’s Constable Evans.”
“Right-oh. B-back in a jiffy.” The boy disappeared down a hallway, then returned almost immediately. “She’ll see you now.”
It was like being summoned to a royal presence. Lady Annabel was seated at a large desk. She had been reading but took off her glasses hastily as Evan was ushered in. “Thank you, sweetie,” she said to Michael. “Now please go and see if those idiots have got the loo in number eighteen unclogged.”
“You give me all the fun jobs.” Michael pushed his
Evan was surprised to find that the voice wasn’t local Welsh but betrayed a recent stint at an English public school.
“North Wales Police. I’d like to speak to the owners, please,” Evan said.
“I think you’ve come to the wrong place. We haven’t reported any ‘incidents,’ as you would say, and I don’t think we have any c-criminals on the premises either.” Evan sensed an uneasiness behind the banter. He suspected that the boy was shy by nature, but had picked up the upper-class innate arrogance when dealing with authority.
“It’s about a missing person.”
“Nobody’s missing from here.” The young man grinned. “Everyone was p-present and accounted for at breakfast, I can assure you.”
Evan sensed that the boy might have been sent to hedge. “This person might have stayed here a couple of months ago. Now if you’d just take me to the owner.”
“All right. This way then. I think Annabel’s in her study.”
“And you are?” Evan asked.
“I’m Michael. General dogsbody.”
He set off at a brisk pace. Evan found to his astonishment that
he was walking down a narrow cobbled street lined with pink-and-white stucco cottages, tiled porticos, old archways, and battlements. It was as if he had been teleported to a mixture of the Italian Riviera, medieval Germany, and Disneyland.
“Bloody ’ell,” he exclaimed as the cobbled street came out above an area of reflecting pools and lawns. Rows of Greek columns lined the path. The lawns were bordered with statues. The pools were adorned with spurting mythical beasts.
“Yes, it does rather knock your socks off the first time you see it, doesn’t it?” Michael said. “The old man who built it was quite crackers, of course. But in a lovable kind of way. He created this fantasy around him. Was still working on it when he dropped dead.”
“His daughter owns it now, does she?” Evan asked. “That would be Lady Annabel?”
“She and her husband,” Michael said flatly. “Co-owners.”
Evan picked up his tone. “Her husband?”
“Her third husband. The American wonder boy. Randy Wunderlich.”
“Wunderlich?” Evan gave him an amused glance. He wondered if the boy was having him on.
Michael returned the grin. “His name really is Wunderlich. Isn’t that convenient? I bet it started out as plain old Smith. Randy Wunderlich, world-famous psychic and almost young enough to be her son. She married him last year.”
He cut up a flight of steps, past a medieval church, and under another archway. Evan found himself outside a very different building, this one with the simple elegance of the Georgian period, and genuine too. This was obviously the original stately home around which the fantasy land had been built. Michael led him in through a set of gracious double doors. “This is our main building. Offices, admin. The guests, when there are any, stay in the cottages.”
Evan shot him a glance. “I thought the place was heavily booked.”
“Not yet,” Michael said. “Cold, gloomy weather doesn’t encourage
meditation and dancing in the dew. We’re hoping it will pick up in the summer.”
They were in a tiled entrance hall with a grand chandelier over a curved dark wood staircase. “Wait here, please,” Michael said. “I’ll go and see if Annabel is receiving visitors. What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t,” Evan said, “but it’s Constable Evans.”
“Right-oh. B-back in a jiffy.” The boy disappeared down a hallway, then returned almost immediately. “She’ll see you now.”
It was like being summoned to a royal presence. Lady Annabel was seated at a large desk. She had been reading but took off her glasses hastily as Evan was ushered in. “Thank you, sweetie,” she said to Michael. “Now please go and see if those idiots have got the loo in number eighteen unclogged.”
“You give me all the fun jobs.” Michael pushed his
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