Aunt Bessie Considers Page 12

  She studied the small crowd of people on the beach, wondering whether a walk in the sand would be more enjoyable than a stroll through the city centre. In the end, she didn’t have to decide.

  “Bessie? Bessie Cubbon? Is that you?”

  Bessie looked up in surprise and then smiled broadly. “Bahey Corlett? What are you doing here?” she asked her old friend. Bessie had first met Bahey many years earlier, shortly after she returned to the island from her childhood in America. Bessie hadn’t yet turned twenty, and Bahey had been a child. The pair had little in common in those days, but now that Bahey was retired, the age gap felt insignificant.

  Bahey grinned. “Surely I should be asking you that question,” she told Bessie. “Seeing as how I live down here and you don’t.”

  Bessie laughed. “Fair enough,” she replied. “Are we not far from your new flat, then?”

  “Not far at all,” Bahey told her. “I’m just up there, down that alley.”

  Bessie stood up and looked where Bahey was pointing. She could see a neat row of recently built flats that disappeared along a narrow road behind the row of hotels that stood along the promenade.

  “I have a great view of the sea from my bedroom,” Bahey told Bessie.

  “How wonderful,” Bessie replied. She had her own spectacular and uninterrupted sea views from nearly every room of her cottage, but she didn’t feel it was polite to mention that.

  “Oh, I know you’ve got better views,” Bahey laughed, clearly reading Bessie’s mind. “But I never imagined I’d retire and have my own place, so I feel pretty good about where I’ve ended up.”

  “I’m so glad that you’re enjoying your retirement,” Bessie smiled.

  “Yes, well, after all that unpleasantness in March, it’s nice to get back to my simple life.”

  Bessie wasn’t sure she’d call the two murders, coupled with the two attempts on her life, simply “unpleasantness,” but she didn’t argue. “I’m glad things are back to normal,” she said instead. “How’s your sister?”

  “Oh, she’s dandy,” Bahey told her. “Her William has finally started to take a bit of notice of his old mum. I’m sure it’s his new girlfriend that he’s really trying to impress, but he’s paying for someone to come in once a week and clean and tidy for Joney. He’s having some necessary work done around the house as well. A bit of painting and decorating and just a general spruce up. You know it needed it.”

  “It did indeed,” Bessie agreed. “I’m glad that William can help her out.”

  “Well, it’s harder for us women on our own, isn’t it?” Bahey asked. “I’m lucky that Mr. Pierce looked out for me so well, but when I need some painting done I’ve got to just do it myself or pay someone to do it for me. Sometimes I do think it would have been handy to have a kid or two around.”

  Bessie laughed. “They don’t always turn out the way you want them to, though,” she reminded her friend.

  “Oh, aye, I guess we’ve both seen plenty of that, not just recently, but over the years as well.”

  “Indeed,” Bessie agreed.

  “Well, I was just off to do some shopping,” Bahey told Bessie. “You doing the same or did something else bring you into Douglas?”

  “I’m attending the conference at the museum,” Bessie answered. “We had a short break, so I snuck away for some fresh air and to stretch my legs.”

  “Oh, my,” Bahey said. “I heard that someone died. Is that true?”

  Bessie frowned. “Unfortunately, yes,” she told her friend. “Dr. Mack Dickson was a very talented archeologist and, sadly, he had an allergic reaction to something he ate and passed away.”

  “Those allergies are something, aren’t they?” Bahey asked rhetorically. “I mean, in my day no one was allergic to anything. We just ate what we were given. Now it seems like everyone I know is complaining about not being able to eat this, that, and the other. One of the women down the hall from me daren’t eat anything but white rice and fruit. Everything else makes her itchy and what not.”

  “I do seem to know a lot more people with allergies now than I used to,” Bessie said. “I’m sure the medical profession is working on trying to find out why that is.”

  Bahey shrugged. “It’s a shame about your friend, though. I hope you wasn’t close friends.”

  “We weren’t close,” Bessie replied. “But it is still very sad.”

  “Anyway, I’m going to do some shopping. I don’t suppose you want to tag along? I need a new dress for tomorrow night.” Bahey looked up and down the promenade and then leaned in close to Bessie. “I’ve got a date, you see.”

  Bessie hoped that she managed to keep her face from showing the shock she felt. She had to bite her tongue to keep from blurting out something that would have been rude. After a moment, she smiled and managed a reply. “How nice,” she said, somewhat lamely.

  Bahey looked sheepish. “I know, it’s kinda weird, like, me dating at my age and all, but he’s a neighbour in the building. I don’t know if he really likes me or if he’s just being polite, like, and taking me to dinner because he’s new to the building, but I want to look nice anyways.”

  “Of course you do,” Bessie replied, feeling slightly more composed. “I’d love to come with you to find something,” she said impulsively. Bessie hadn’t been shopping with a friend for “date” clothes since she was a young teen in America. Of course, in those days, some fifty or sixty years earlier, money was much tighter and she and her friends usually just window-shopped for things they’d have bought if only they could have afforded them.

  As the pair made their way back across the road towards the shops, Bessie remembered a long-forgotten shopping trip she had taken only a week or two after she’d met Matthew, the man she’d come to fall madly in love with. She had taken every penny of her savings with her and had just enough money to buy herself a new skirt. She’d been so excited when she’d put it on the next day, heading to a friend’s house where she was sure Matthew would also be.

  Bessie sighed to herself. Those had been almost magical days and she wondered what she might have done differently if she could have seen the tragedy that was to come. She shook her head. There was no use dwelling on the past. She was a very happy woman now and if she went back and made changes along the way, she might not have ended up where she was. She couldn’t imagine being any happier anywhere else at this point in her life.

  The pair had great fun for the next half hour, with Bahey trying on several dresses and checking for Bessie’s opinion on each one.

  “Too short,” they both agreed about one.

  “Too young,” Bessie said about another.

  “Don’t want to look like mutton,” Bahey had agreed with a sigh. “It is a lovely dress, though.”

  Finally they agreed on a pretty but sensible black dress.

  “At least I know I have shoes that will go with it,” Bahey said as they waited for the clerk to ring up the sale. “I have enough pairs of black shoes to open my own shop.”

  Bessie laughed. “I’d better get back up the museum,” she told her friend. “It was great seeing you. I’ll call you next week and we’ll make plans to have lunch or something.”

  “That sounds good,” Bahey told her. “I’ll tell you all about my date.”

  Bessie grinned. “I’d like that.”

  There was a lot on Bessie’s mind as she made her way back to the museum. Her interlude with Bahey had been fun, and she wasn’t looking forward to getting back to the conference. After months of looking forward to it, there was no doubt that Mack’s death and the subsequent police investigation had cast a long and dark shadow over what should have been a very enjoyable weekend.

  She got back to the museum just minutes before seven.

  “Hey, Aunt Bessie. Everyone’s on their way to the café for dinner,” Henry told her as a greeting from his post behind the front desk.

  “I guess I’d better head there, then,” she replied. “Thanks.”

  “Dr
. Smythe is still with Inspector Corkill,” Henry told her in a whisper. “He’s been in there for almost an hour now. Everyone else was in and out in like ten or fifteen minutes.”

  Bessie shrugged. “I guess the inspector has found a lot to discuss with Harold,” she said in a neutral tone, while her mind was racing. What on earth could the two be talking about for this long?

  Henry shrugged as well. “I just thought it was interesting,” he told Bessie.

  “It certainly is that,” she agreed. “But there’s probably a perfectly good explanation.”

  “I guess.” Henry seemed disappointed.

  “What’s on the menu for dinner?” Bessie changed the subject.

  “It’s an Italian feast,” Henry told her. “Pasta and that sort of thing.”

  “I love Italian food,” Bessie said happily.

  Henry nodded. “They originally planned to have a Manx buffet, but apparently George Quayle doesn’t like kippers or queenies.”

  “I guess, if he’s paying for a lot of it, he can have a say in the menu.”

  “Yeah, and don’t tell anyone, but I rather agree,” Henry laughed. “I’m really looking forward to when my replacement gets here and I can get in and get something to eat myself.”

  “I’ll see you later, then,” she told the man. She could smell the delicious aromas of garlic and tomatoes as she neared the café.

  Marjorie was standing near the door as Bessie arrived and Bessie could see that her friend was glad to see her.

  “Did you enjoy your walk?” Marjorie asked.

  “It was very nice,” Bessie told her. “I hope your session with Inspector Corkill wasn’t too hard on you?”

  Marjorie shook her head. “I think you may be right about him still thinking it was an accident,” she told Bessie. “He only asked me a few questions and he didn’t really seem interested in my answers. I think I only spent ten or fifteen minutes with him, although it felt longer.”

  Bessie smiled. “I’m sure it did, but at least it’s over now and you’re not keeping any secrets from the police anymore.”

  Marjorie smiled uneasily and muttered something under her breath. “I guess we should get something to eat,” she said to Bessie in an artificially bright voice.

  Bessie stared at her friend for a moment, wondering what had just gone unsaid. But this wasn’t the time or the place for asking. Instead, the pair joined the short queue waiting to fill plates from the buffet. Bessie glanced around, noting who was there and who was missing. When she’d reached the front of the queue she decided that she’d spotted everyone she’d expected to see, except for Harold, who was presumably still talking with the inspector.

  The food looked even better than Bessie had anticipated and the fresh sea air had stimulated her appetite, so she loaded her plate with pasta smothered in tomato sauce, crunchy-looking garlic bread that was dripping butter and had big chunks of garlic studded across it, and a large scoop of grilled vegetables. She had to set her plate down to fill a bowl with mixed salad greens that she topped with dressing and a few croutons. With both hands full, she surveyed the room, looking for somewhere she and Marjorie could sit.

  Liz Martin waved to her from a nearly empty table in one corner of the room. Bessie gratefully moved towards her after telling Marjorie, who was still building her salad, where she was headed.

  “I didn’t know you were still here,” Bessie remarked to Liz after she’d taken her seat.

  “I went home for a little while and fed everyone dinner, but since I paid for the full conference, I figured I should come back and have my dinner here. If they hadn’t changed the time, I would have missed it, but I’m really glad I didn’t, because everything is delicious.”

  Bessie smiled. While Liz had been talking, she’d tried the food. “It is really good,” she agreed.

  Liz laughed. “Actually, anything I don’t have to cook is good for me,” she told Bessie. “I was ridiculously pleased to be making food for hubby and the kids knowing that I wouldn’t be eating it.”

  “Why didn’t you just have hubby cook?” Bessie asked, perhaps a bit nosily.

  “Bill’s actually a good cook,” she told Bessie. “But when he cooks he goes all out and does fancy dishes. The kids don’t usually like it and it isn’t worth the effort for just him.” She shrugged. “If there had been something else going on here that I’d wanted to attend, he would have handled it, but I wasn’t that interested in the discussion group anyway, so I was happy to pop home. We’re only just around the corner from here.”

  “I remember Marjorie saying you were neighbours,” Bessie replied. “And I know she doesn’t live far away.”

  “Did I hear my name?” Marjorie asked as she arrived at the table with a very full plate of food.

  “We were just talking about how you and Liz live close by,” Bessie answered.

  “We do, indeed,” Marjorie said. “And mostly I love living close to work.”

  The threesome kept their dinner conversation light and inconsequential. Dessert was tiramisu and Bessie felt as if she couldn’t possibly ever eat another bite once she’d finished it. “Everything was excellent,” she told Marjorie. “My compliments to whoever arranged for it all.”

  Marjorie smiled. “I arranged this one,” she replied. “Harold was in charge of lunches and I said I’d sort out dinner tonight.”

  “Who arranged for yesterday’s dessert bar, then?” Bessie couldn’t help but ask.

  Marjorie shrugged. “The idea came from Joe Steele. I guess Harold must have set it all up, though. I know I didn’t do it.”

  “Maybe that’s why the inspector is spending so much time with him?” Bessie suggested.

  There were two different talks on the schedule that evening. Originally intended to begin at half seven, the revised start time was an hour later.

  Not long before eight, Harold rushed into the café, a scowl on his face. He fixed himself a plate of food and carried it to an empty table near the door. Bessie finished the last of the cup of tea she’d been nursing while chatting with the others and stood up.

  “I’m going to go see how Harold’s doing,” she told her companions.

  “If he needs me for any conference business, let me know,” Marjorie requested.

  “Will do,” Bessie promised.

  Harold was busily shoveling his dinner away as Bessie approached. “Mind if I join you?” Bessie asked him as she slipped into the seat next to him.

  Bessie watched his face, as politeness fought with his desire to be alone. In the end, courtesy won out. “Of course not,” he muttered unconvincingly.

  Bessie grinned to herself. She was too nosy to let the unenthusiastic welcome deter her. “I hope Inspector Corkill didn’t annoy you too much,” she said. “I guess he’s just doing his job.”

  “Ha! He’s witch-hunting is what he’s doing,” Harold said forcefully. “This is all that stupid Bambi woman’s fault. I swear I could kill her.” Bessie could tell from his expression that as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Harold realised how unfortunate they were.

  “You know what I mean,” he muttered, looking down at his now nearly empty plate.

  “I do,” Bessie agreed. “But I don’t think you should be too hard on Bambi. Her logic seems perfectly sound to me.”

  Harold made a face and pushed his empty plate away. “Inspector Corkill is the expert,” he argued. “If he thinks Mack’s death was an accident, then I’m inclined to believe him.”

  “But does he think it was an accident?” Bessie asked. “After all the time he spent with everyone this afternoon, I’m wondering if he’s changing his mind.”

  Harold shrugged. “I wasn’t asking the man any questions,” he told Bessie. “I was simply answering them. I’ve no idea what the inspector thinks happened to Mack.”

  “What sort of questions was he asking?”

  “You’d be better off asking me what he didn’t ask,” Harold replied bitterly. “He wanted to know all about the plann
ing we did for the conference, how we selected the speakers, who made everyone’s travel arrangements, when I found out Mack was coming, et cetera, ad nauseam.”

  “I would have thought he’d have asked all of those questions last night,” Bessie remarked.

  “Maybe he is changing his mind about what happened, then,” Harold said. “Whatever he’s thinking, he’s definitely ruining the conference.”

  “It certainly hasn’t gone to plan,” Bessie agreed.

  “Not even close,” Harold said miserably. “I can’t help but blame George Quayle for a lot of what’s gone wrong. If he had told Mack he couldn’t speak, Mack wouldn’t have even been here.”

  “Where is George?” Bessie asked, refusing to be drawn into that particular discussion.

  “He had a dinner meeting, but he’ll be back for tonight’s talks. He said he was planning to go to Paul’s presentation.”

  “I was as well,” Bessie replied. “I wonder if George will bring Mary with him again.”

  “I doubt it,” Harold said. “George loves this sort of thing, but Mary only comes when she has to. She’s actually painfully shy, you know.”

  “I did know that,” Bessie grinned.

  People were starting to trickle out of the café now, heading for home or back upstairs for the final talks of the day. Harold stood up abruptly.

  “I need to get back upstairs and make sure everything’s ready for the last of today’s speakers,” he told Bessie. He was walking away before Bessie managed a reply.

  “Well, okay, then,” she muttered at his departing back. She glanced around and then decided to head upstairs herself.

  In the foyer the long tables had been set with tea and coffee again, and bottles of water and trays of biscuits filled every inch. Bessie couldn’t resist grabbing a custard cream as she walked past. She helped herself to a bottle of water as well, feeling as if she’d had more than enough tea with dinner.

  Bessie looked over her schedule again. She was now having trouble deciding which lecture she wanted to attend. Paul Roberts was a nice guy and usually an interesting speaker, but she was enjoying getting to know Claire Jamison and her talk sounded intriguing. Bessie knew little about Anglesey and she thought it might do her some good to learn more.