Aunt Bessie Provides (An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Book 16) Read online

  “And I eat far too much,” Bessie said with a rueful grin. “It isn’t the food as much as the biscuits and the puddings.”

  “Puddings,” Hugh sighed. “Grace keeps insisting that a piece of fruit is a perfectly acceptable pudding. I mean, I like apples, but I like them better when they’re baked into a pie.”

  “Or a crumble,” Bessie said, patting her tummy. “All this talk about food is making me hungry.”

  “Me, too, but I’m always hungry,” Hugh laughed. “But I still have a few hours left of my shift before dinner.”

  “Take a few biscuits to keep you going,” Bessie said. She emptied the plate on the table into a small plastic bag.

  “Let me do the washing-up before I go,” Hugh said after he’d tucked the bag into his pocket.

  “Don’t you worry about the washing-up. I don’t mind doing a few extra cups with my dinner dishes.”

  She followed Hugh to the door and let him out. “I’ll ring you tomorrow, after I’ve talked to everyone I can think of to ring.”

  “I’d appreciate that. I’m talking to Dan Ross at the Isle of Man Times tomorrow morning. There should be an article in the local paper on Friday about the case.”

  Bessie made a face. She didn’t like Dan Ross. To her mind he was nosy, rude, and obnoxious. She shut the door behind Hugh and then leaned against it for a moment. While she was eager to help the man with his work, thinking about the case made her feel sad.

  “Someone will be happy to learn what happened to their son or brother or cousin or whatever,” she told herself in a loud voice. “Twenty years is a long time.”

  Feeling restless after her talk with Hugh, Bessie decided that she needed a walk on the beach. She’d taken her usual morning walk not long after six that morning, but she often enjoyed a second walk later in the day. She started walking briskly, but quickly had to slow down.

  It was the beginning of the busy summer season for the holiday cottages that stretched along the beach where Bessie walked. Every cottage appeared to be occupied, aside from the one furthest from Bessie’s. And it felt as if every guest was somewhere on the beach, building sandcastles, throwing balls around, or just lying on the sand. Bessie found herself dodging small children and skirting around beach towels as she crossed the sand. She nodded and smiled at everyone she saw, trying to look friendly but not encourage conversation. Her brain was busy trying to work out what she was going to say to her friends when she rang them.

  The crowd of people ended abruptly as Bessie reached the stairs to Thie yn Traie, a huge mansion perched on the cliff above the beach. It had been built as a summer home for a wealthy UK family, but Bessie’s friends George and Mary Quayle had recently purchased it. To Bessie it seemed as if they moved back and forth between Thie yn Traie and their larger mansion in Douglas nearly every week, but she knew that they were currently in Douglas as they were having the master bedroom suite at Thie yn Traie completely redecorated. Their daughter, Elizabeth, was still living at the Laxey mansion, but Bessie rarely saw her on the beach.

  With no desire to immediately walk back through the crowds, Bessie continued along the beach, enjoying the solitude that continued for a long stretch. There were a few people on the beach in front of the new houses, however, as Bessie continued on her way. She waved to the nice young man with the dog whom she’d met some weeks earlier.

  “Ah, Aunt Bessie,” the man called. “How are you today?”

  “I’m fine, Jack. How’s Spot?” she asked, gesturing towards the dog who was chasing waves.

  “He’s happy,” Jack told her. “He loves living on the beach, even if it does mean that I have to give him a bath every day.”

  Spot jumped over a wave and then barked excitedly as another washed over him.

  “He does seem to be enjoying himself. How are you and your wife liking life on the beach?”

  “I love it. Laura isn’t so sure, but that’s mostly down to what happened last month.” Jack nodded towards a house that had curtains tightly shut at every window. “She doesn’t think we’re as safe here as we would be elsewhere.”

  “She’s wrong,” Bessie said stoutly. “I’ve lived on this beach for my entire adult life. The murders last month were horrible, but that doesn’t make Laxey or the island any less safe. The killer is behind bars, anyway. Your wife doesn’t have anything to worry about.”

  “Maybe I should have you talk to her,” Jack said with a sigh. “I don’t want to move, but she keeps talking about going back to Peel or maybe trying the south of the island. A few of the neighbours have already gone.”

  “I did hear that some people were selling, but I understand the housing market is booming. You should get new neighbours fairly quickly.”

  “Two of the properties have already sold, but for less than what the original buyers paid for them,” Jack told her. “I’ve told Laura we’re holding on until we can at least get back what we paid, even if that takes a year or more. I think it will help if they can sell the house where the murder happened. They need to sell it or tear it down, one or the other. It’s very unsettling the way it is.”

  Bessie looked at the empty house again. She could see what Jack meant. Even though it was probably just her imagination, the house looked creepy. “It would look odd if they tore it down, since it’s in the middle of the row,” she said.

  “Yes, but I can’t believe anyone will ever buy it, not knowing what happened there.”

  “If housing keeps getting more and more expensive, someone will,” Bessie predicted. “And they’ll be happy to get a bargain, I’m sure.”

  Spot barked at another wave and then dove into it head first. He stood back up covered in seaweed and sand. Jack laughed.

  “Maybe my wife is right. Maybe we should move further from the beach. Getting Spot clean is getting to be a bit of a chore.”

  “He’d miss the beach, though,” Bessie said.

  “Yes, and so would I.”

  It was getting close to time for dinner as Bessie turned and began to head for home. If she was honest, her legs were a little bit tired as well. She’d stopped counting birthdays once she’d received her free bus pass at the age of sixty, but she was vaguely aware that she’d had the pass for several years now. A telegram from the Queen to mark her one-hundredth birthday was still some years in the distance, but Bessie was determined not to work out exactly how many. As far as she was concerned, she was in her late middle age, and she was pretty sure she was simply going to remain there forever.

  The sign outside the door of Bessie’s cottage read “Treoghe Bwaane.” The words were Manx for “Widow’s Cottage” and Bessie glanced at them as she let herself back into her home. She wasn’t a widow, but she’d felt as if the name was appropriate when she’d purchased the house at the age of eighteen. She’d been desperately in love with a man called Matthew Saunders, but her parents had forced her to return to the island with them when they’d left America. Matthew had followed her across the Atlantic, tragically dying on the journey. He’d left Bessie everything he had in the world, which had given her enough money to buy the cottage.

  She’d lived frugally ever since on the small income from her investments. In some ways it felt to her as if not many years had passed since then, but sometimes she was very aware that she’d been living in Treoghe Bwaane for a long time. She shut the door behind her and glanced around the small kitchen.

  It was cosy but crowded, much like the rest of the cottage. Over the years Bessie had added two extensions, but she’d also accumulated a great many things. She was far too fond of everything in her home to even consider getting rid of anything. Her heirs would have to sort it all when she was gone.

  In her sitting room, she picked up her latest book off the table next to her favourite chair. She still enjoyed reading murder mysteries, even after having been involved in so many investigations herself. Some soup from the freezer, with a slice of fresh crusty bread was her dinner. She was just tidying up the kitchen when the phone ran
g.

  “Hello?” she answered, hoping it was too late in the day for insurance salesmen to ring. She usually let the answering machine take her calls, but this time she’d answered without thinking.

  “Bessie, it’s Doona,” a familiar voice said. “How are you?”

  Doona Moore was Bessie’s closest friend, in spite of the considerable difference in their ages. Twice divorced and currently single, Doona was in her forties and worked with Hugh and John at the Laxey Constabulary as civilian front desk staff. She and Bessie had met at a Manx language class about three years earlier and had become close friends as Doona struggled through the breakdown of her second marriage.

  “I’m fine, Doona. How are you?” Bessie replied.

  “I’m fine. I was just wondering if you were available tomorrow to go house-hunting with me. I’m going to look at two of the houses on the beach again. They’re back on the market at lower prices because of the murder.”

  “Yes, I’d heard that. What time?”

  “My appointment is at two,” Doona told her. “I have the afternoon off, though, so I thought maybe we could have lunch somewhere and then go over. If you’re not busy, of course.”

  “The only thing I need to do tomorrow is make a few phone calls for Hugh. He’s started investigating another cold case and I promised him I’d see if I could find out anything that might help.”

  “He asked me about that case and I told him I think he’s wasting his time. If no one has come forward to identify the dead man after all these years, it doesn’t seem likely that someone will now, does it?”

  “Well, no, not really, but I’m still going to do what I can to help Hugh.”

  Doona chuckled. “Of course you are. I wasn’t suggesting you shouldn’t. I just hope he isn’t too disappointed if he can’t find anything.”

  “After what happened last time, maybe he’s trying to find cases he thinks he can’t solve,” Bessie suggested.

  “You could be right, but when I talked to him he seemed oddly optimistic about his chances.”

  “Well, I want to do what I can to help, but I’ll start ringing people early. I should be free for lunch and some house-hunting by midday, if you’re sure you want me along.”

  “I wouldn’t have rung if I didn’t want you along. A new café just opened near the Laxey Wheel. Do you want to try there for lunch?”

  “I haven’t heard anything about it,” Bessie said. “So yes, let’s try it.”

  Doona offered to collect Bessie. Since Bessie had never learned to drive, she’d always relied on buses and taxis to get around. She always appreciated it when a friend offered to provide necessary transportation but she never took such offers for granted.

  She put the phone down and settled into her chair with the book she’d been reading. Reading held her attention for a while, but after a time she found that her mind was wandering. She couldn’t stop thinking about Hugh’s unidentified man. It was hard to imagine how he could have remained unknown for this many years. Surely someone was missing him.

  After a few more minutes spent staring at a page she wasn’t seeing, Bessie closed the book and set it aside. Another walk on the beach, this time just a short stroll behind her own home, was exactly what she needed. She thought about the man and decided what she would tell her friends and acquaintances when she rang them. With that out of the way, she made her way back home, glancing down the beach at the holiday cottages as she went.

  A family with four small children was visible behind the nearest cottage. The tallest of the children was building a sandcastle in the rapidly fading light while the other three chased one another up and down the beach. The mother and father were standing together holding hands and watching their offspring. For a moment Bessie wondered what her life might have been like if she hadn’t lost the only man she’d ever truly loved. Then the smallest child fell over and began to cry while one of the others took off his shoes and threw them into the sea. Bessie shook her head at the chaos and then went inside.

  She took her book upstairs with her and read another chapter before switching off the light and falling into a peaceful sleep.

  Chapter 2

  Bessie’s internal alarm woke her at six the next morning as usual. She forced herself to have oatmeal for breakfast, even though she didn’t really like it. Today was going to be a busy day and she felt the need to fortify herself for the task ahead. A long walk on the beach gave her time to think more about her plan. She was nearly home before she saw the first signs of life in any of the holiday cottages. A woman who looked completely exhausted was standing on one of the patios behind a cottage, holding a crying baby. A toddler, probably not quite three, was running in circles around her, shouting “mummy” at the top of his lungs. Bessie smiled and waved at the woman and received a tired grin in reply.

  Back at Treoghe Bwaane, Bessie made herself a cup of tea and put a few biscuits onto a plate. She’d nibble her way through them while she made her phone calls. She did have oatmeal for breakfast, after all.

  “Marjorie? It’s Bessie. I need a small favour,” she said a few minutes later.

  Marjorie Stevens was the librarian and archivist at the Manx Museum. Even though she was considerably younger than Bessie, Bessie considered her a mentor of sorts when it came to doing research in the museum’s extensive archives. Bessie was always very conscious that she was an amateur historian with no formal training, but she loved spending time studying old documents and writing papers about what she’d found.

  “You know I’m always happy to help,” Marjorie replied. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m helping Hugh with a cold case, and I need to ring around to all of my friends and ask them about missing people. I don’t want them to know that I’m helping Hugh, so I thought maybe I could tell them that I’m working on a project with you instead.”

  “Of course you can. What sort of project are we working on?”

  Bessie chuckled. “I’m so glad you’re willing to help. I’m trying to find out about people who left the island about twenty years ago and haven’t come back. Hugh has an unidentified body and he’d like to, well, identify it.”

  “Surely it can’t be anyone from the island. I mean, if it were, someone would have missed him, wouldn’t they?”

  “Maybe, but maybe not. I’m going to ring friends and try to find out who left the island at around the right time.”

  “And how is that meant to be helping me?”

  “I thought maybe I could say that we’re looking into why people leave and why they come back,” Bessie explained. “That way it wouldn’t be obvious that I’m actually looking for people who haven’t come back.”

  “That’s very clever. And it sounds like a very interesting idea, really. I’ve only been on the island for a few years, but now that I’m here, I can’t imagine ever leaving. I would be very interested to learn why other people make the choice to leave and also what brings them back, if something does.”

  “I’m going to be assembling a list of names of people who left in the late seventies. I’ll be more than happy to give you a copy of the list, and then you could contact people from it if you’d like.”

  “I might just do that. Or rather, I might just have one of my research assistants do that. We’re trying to do more social and oral history, and more research into the more recent past. Maybe one of my staff could come up with a simple questionnaire for them…” Marjorie trailed off and went silent.

  “Marjorie?” Bessie said after a minute.

  “Oh, I’m still here,” the other woman laughed. “I’m just writing all of this down. I’m genuinely interested in gathering data about these people. Please share everything you find with me.”

  Now Bessie laughed. “I didn’t mean to turn this into a project for you,” she said.

  “I know, but it’s too good of an idea to ignore. It will be months before I’ll have time to do anything about it, but I’m going to get one of my assistants started on a draft questio
nnaire today.”

  Bessie put down the phone with a smile on her face. Now she could be completely honest with everyone she rang. Not only that, but she’d be helping both Marjorie and Hugh with every phone call. That deserved a biscuit.

  “Ah, Bessie, how good to hear from you,” Jean Quayle said when she answered Bessie’s call. “How are you today?”

  The pair chatted about the weather and Jean’s three children and six grandchildren before Bessie brought the conversation around to missing people. “I’m working on a project with Marjorie at the Manx Museum. She wants to talk to people who’ve left the island, both those who left and came back and those who stayed away. She’s starting with people who left in the late seventies and will probably work backwards in time, assuming she gets good results with the first group.”

  “That was twenty years ago,” Jean replied. “I hope you aren’t expecting me to remember who left the island back then.”

  “I was hoping you might remember a few names,” Bessie said. “At least for friends of yours or family members. She isn’t looking for children who went away for university, but older men and women who left for other reasons.”

  “Oh, aye, I suppose I remember a few of those sorts of people,” Jean agreed. “There was Faith Davidson, of course. She was my husband’s niece. I think she left in seventy-seven. She was thirty or so, so really old enough to know better.”

  “I remember her, now that you’ve said her name,” Bessie replied. “Didn’t she move to the US?”

  “Aye, she did at that. Then she got married to an American, but that didn’t work out. Last I’d heard, she was on her third husband and wanted to come home but couldn’t because she’d have to leave her children behind.”