Aunt Bessie Enjoys (An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Book 5) Read online

  “Bessie, you must buy something to help us out,” Elinor Lewis said firmly. Elinor still looked much the same as ever: tall, slender and no-nonsense.

  Bessie looked over their table, which was full of the sort of merchandise you would normally get at a car boot sale. Mismatched cups and plates jockeyed for space with old board games and jigsaw puzzles.

  “It looks like you emptied one of my cupboards,” she told the ladies.

  “We all thought we’d have a go at clearing out a few things,” Margaret Gelling said quietly. “Any money we raise is going to a charity; I forget which one, though.” Margaret was the quietest member of the small group, often fading into the background where other, stronger personalities dominated. She, too, was grey-haired and tended towards plump.

  Bessie found a stack of old paperbacks on the table and managed to find a few books in the pile that she thought she might enjoy. She paid for her purchases while the others moved on to the next table.

  “Thank you kindly,” she told Agnes as she took the bag of books from her.

  “The children’s ward at Noble’s will appreciate your kindness as well,” Joan Carr said. Joan was perched on the edge of her chair, her fingers bent from years of suffering with arthritis, but she gave Bessie a huge smile. “You know that’s a favourite cause of mine.”

  Bessie nodded. “It’s a favourite cause of mine, as well,” she told the other woman.

  “Hang on,” Agnes told her. Agnes looked back and forth and then winked at Bessie. “Have a jar of raspberry jam,” she whispered, slipping the jar into Bessie’s bag. “It may well be the Raspberry Jam Ladies’ last-ever batch. We’re all getting too old for that sort of thing.”

  Bessie smiled. “We’re all getting older,” she replied, conscious that she was at least a few years older than the ladies in the group. “But I’ve always loved your jam. Can I pay you for it?”

  “Oh, no,” Agnes grinned. “It’s a gift. We’re only sharing it with a few very select friends.”

  Bessie caught up with her friends and they finished visiting the tables in the tent. Outside it was getting dark and the crowds were thinner as families with very small children headed for home. They easily found Hugh and Grace, and Hugh, once more, had food on his mind. Things were fairly quiet at the food stalls, so everyone ordered a last treat for the day. Then they sat together at one of the tables, watching the crowds.

  At long last, it was time for the fireworks and Bessie and her friends enjoyed the colourful display that was set to live music by one of the local bands. After it was over, there were, of course, long queues for the shuttle buses back to the car parks.

  “My car’s in the first lot,” John told the others. “I can give you all rides to your cars.”

  They all followed him the very short distance to the VIP lot.

  “Should I ask how you managed to get a space in here?” Doona asked.

  John laughed. “I was here nice and early and the man on the gate recognised me. He insisted that I park in here. I suspect it was just in case something came up and they needed someone from CID in a hurry.”

  “But nothing did come up,” Bessie said reflectively. “We got through the entire day without anything going wrong. I can’t tell you all how much I enjoyed it.”

  Chapter Two

  The skies were cloudy the next morning, a Tuesday, when Bessie woke. It was somewhat later than six, after her late evening the night before. With nothing on her schedule for the day, she took her time getting up and dressed. The rain hadn’t actually started yet, so she took her usual walk, keeping one eye on the skies as she went. She didn’t bother with an umbrella, but she did wear her raincoat.

  She was back at home before she needed it, though. As she waited for her toast to pop, she looked longingly at the jar of raspberry jam her friends had given her the day before. She thought about opening it, but she had only just started on the jar of orange marmalade and she didn’t want the marmalade to spoil while she ate raspberry jam instead. The jam would wait.

  After breakfast, anticipating rain later, she took a second, shorter walk. Then she curled up in her sitting room in her most comfortable chair, a cup of tea to hand, and lost herself in one of her favourite books. When she heard a car going past, she didn’t even look up. During the summer months, her normally quiet road became quite busy. She couldn’t ignore the sudden loud banging on her door, however.

  Bessie felt a flutter of nerves when she reached the door. It was quite unusual for anyone to be knocking on her door this early in the morning, and this sort of frantic pounding was even more worrying. She took a deep breath and opened the door, sighing with relief when she recognised Hugh on the other side.

  “You didn’t eat the jam, did you?” he demanded.

  Bessie stared at him. “Pardon?”

  “The jam, you know, that you were given yesterday by your friends,” Hugh said, speaking so quickly that Bessie could barely understand him. “You haven’t had any, have you?”

  Bessie shook her head. Hugh gave her a quick hug.

  “Thank goodness,” he said with a sigh, suddenly looking exhausted.

  “What’s going on?” Bessie demanded.

  “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but one of your Raspberry Jam Ladies was found dead this morning,” he replied. “At the moment, it looks as if her jar of jam was poisoned.”

  Bessie felt the colour drain from her face. Hugh took her arm and led her to the table, where he helped her into a chair.

  “I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly. “That came out rather more bluntly than I’d intended.”

  “But who died?” Bessie asked, feeling confused. “And why do you think the jam killed her?”

  Hugh took a deep breath. “Hang on,” he told Bessie. He pulled out his mobile phone and punched in some numbers. With the phone held up to his ear, he paced around Bessie’s kitchen. When he spotted the jam jar on the counter, he spun around. Before he could speak, however, it seemed his call was answered.

  “Ah, yes, Inspector Rockwell, I’m here with Bessie Cubbon. She hadn’t opened the jam yet, so I’ll bring her jar back with me. Obviously, she has several questions, though.”

  Hugh was silent for several minutes, nodding pointlessly with the phone in hand. Finally, he spoke again. “Yes, sir, that’s fine. I’ll see you soon.”

  He pressed a button on the phone and then turned and smiled at Bessie. “The inspector suggests that you save your questions for now,” he told Bessie. “He would like to interview you as soon as possible and he’ll answer whatever questions he can at that time.”

  “Can’t you at least tell me who died?” Bessie asked.

  Hugh nodded. “That’ll be common knowledge by now, anyway,” he told her. “Mrs. Nancy King was found unresponsive this morning by her daughter. The daughter called the emergency services, but, sadly, Mrs. King was pronounced dead at the scene.”

  Bessie sighed deeply. Nancy hadn’t been a close friend, but she was something more than simply an acquaintance. “How very sad,” she said softly.

  Hugh bent down and gave her an awkward hug. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I wish I could stay with you, but I need to get back. We have a list of folks who were given jars of jam and I’ve got to help track them all down.”

  He took a large plastic bag out of his pocket and, after putting on gloves, put Bessie’s jam into the bag and sealed it. “I was really worried about you,” he told her as he did so.

  “But why didn’t you just ring me?” Bessie asked.

  “We did,” Hugh answered. “You didn’t answer your phone.”

  Two pairs of eyes went to the answering machine sitting on Bessie’s counter. Bessie flushed as she spotted the blinking red light. She hadn’t noticed it after her second walk. She’d been so intent on tea and her book that she hadn’t given it a thought.

  “I was out walking,” she told Hugh. “I should have checked the machine when I got back, though. Sorry.”

  “It’s fin
e,” he assured her. “I would have had to come and collect the jam jar anyway.”

  Bessie followed Hugh to her door and let him out. “Is the inspector coming here or am I supposed to go into the station?” she asked him in the doorway.

  “He said to tell you that he’ll be here around midday,” Hugh replied.

  “I think I’ll make some coronation chicken,” Bessie said, as much to herself as to Hugh. “I have some leftover chicken from the weekend. No doubt the inspector will be hungry.”

  Hugh grinned. “Maybe I’ll find a way to convince him to bring me as well,” he teased.

  Once he’d left, Bessie started working on her lunch plans. She wanted to ring Doona to find out what was happening, but there was no doubt her friend was busy at the station. It would be rude to bother her under the circumstances.

  With the chicken salad safely tucked up in her fridge, Bessie settled back in with her book. Shortly before noon, Bessie filled three bowls with salad greens and added a generous spoonful of the chicken salad to each. She pulled out a loaf of crusty bread and cut it into thick slices. John Rockwell pulled up as she was arranging things on her kitchen table.

  “Bessie, it’s so good to see you,” he told her, giving her a quick hug as he walked into the kitchen.

  “It’s good to see you as well,” Bessie told him. “No Hugh?”

  “He’s still tracking down jars of jam,” the inspector replied. “The ladies were quite generous with it, it seems.”

  “But what’s going on?” Bessie asked.

  John sighed. “At this point, I’m not even sure,” he told her.

  “But where are my manners?” Bessie said, shaking her head. “Sit down and have something to eat,” she suggested, gesturing towards the table.

  Bessie poured iced tea into glasses and then joined him at the table.

  “This is delicious,” John said after several bites. “I didn’t realise how hungry I was.”

  “You always forget to eat when you’re working,” Bessie told him. “I figured the least I could do is feed you.”

  John smiled. “It is much appreciated, but more than food, I need information from you.”

  Bessie nodded. “I expected as much,” she told him. “And I expect there isn’t much you’re going to be able to tell me, as well.”

  “Unfortunately not,” John told her. “We’re trying to keep as much back as we can. We’ve had to admit that we suspect something was in the jam, because we’re rushing all over the island collecting every jar we can find and warning people not to eat it, but that’s about all I can share at this point.”

  “Does that mean you can’t tell me which of the ladies made the jam, then?” Bessie asked.

  He shrugged. “That’s part of the problem,” he said. “No one seems to know where the jam came from.”

  Bessie frowned. “What do you mean, no one knows?” she demanded.

  John shook his head. “Can we do this my way?” he asked. “I have a lot of questions for you and I’d really like to go through them. I’ll try to answer yours as well, but this is a police investigation. Please keep that in mind.”

  Bessie flushed. “Sorry, I think I’m just in shock,” she muttered.

  The inspector nodded back. “I really need your help,” he told her. “I need a lot of background and I need it quickly and concisely. As you can imagine, the rest of the ladies from the group are both shocked and upset. None of them were able to tell me much of anything. I’m counting on you to fill in a lot of blanks.”

  “What do you need to know?” Bessie asked.

  “Let’s start with a brief history of the Raspberry Jam Ladies, please,” John said.

  Bessie sighed. “I guess the group started in the early forties,” she began. “I was never a part of it, so I’m a little fuzzy on the details.”

  “Why weren’t you a part of it?” John asked. “You’re about the right age, aren’t you?”

  Bessie shook her head. “I think most of the ladies are a few years younger than I am,” she told him. “Besides, they first met when they all shared a midwife, I believe. They all became new mothers at the same sort of time. I simply didn’t fit into their group.”

  “And did you mind?” John asked.

  Bessie frowned. “There isn’t an easy answer to that one,” she admitted. “There were times when I would have liked to feel more a part of the community, especially in those days, when the village felt smaller and more close-knit. But they didn’t deliberately exclude me; I just had nothing in common with them. They were married with children and I was single and lived on my own.”

  John made a few notes in his notebook and then moved on. “Can you give me a brief rundown of the members of the group, then?” he asked.

  “Hugh said Nancy King was the victim,” Bessie replied. “She was probably the woman I knew the least well in the group. She had four or five children and the last I knew, they were scattered around the world. At least one is still on the island, though, but I think in the south somewhere.”

  “Yes, her daughter lives in Port Erin. She’s the one who found the body,” John told her. “There are three other children, but two are across and one is in Australia.”

  “From what I can remember, none of them were particularly close to Nancy,” Bessie continued. “There must be grandchildren and even great-grandchildren, as well.”

  “Indeed, but as you say, none of them were close to Mrs. King.”

  “I’m not sure what else you want to know,” Bessie said. “Her husband worked in Laxey at one of the banks, but he died in the late sixties and she never remarried. If you’re looking for motives for murder, I can’t even begin to imagine why anyone would want to kill her. As far as I knew, she was a harmless and ordinary woman.”

  “Let’s run through the rest of the group, please,” John said.

  “I think there were originally seven of them,” Bessie replied, struggling to remember. “I know Peggy Cannon passed away about five years ago. Nancy had a sister or a sister-in-law or maybe it was a cousin. Anyway, she was called Elizabeth, and she was one of the ladies for a while. She passed away in the seventies, though, after a car accident. I’ve quite forgotten her surname.”

  John flipped through his notebook. “She was Elizabeth Porter and she was a cousin to Nancy King. You’re right; she died in a car accident in the seventies. Her husband was driving and he lost his life as well. They had two children, who were both living across by that time.”

  “It seems like you already know everything,” Bessie said.

  “I have some facts,” he replied. “But I’m more interested in personalities.”

  Bessie nodded. “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but Nancy and I never hit it off. She wasn’t always the most pleasant person to spend time with, especially after Elizabeth died. I can’t see that as a motive for murder, though.”

  “So let’s talk about the rest of the jam ladies who are still alive,” John said.

  “Elinor Lewis is the driving force behind the group,” Bessie said. “If you’re looking for personality, she has some to spare. She was a schoolteacher before she married and she’s very smart. I think, if she’d stayed single, she could have had a brilliant career. Of course, in the nineteen-forties, women didn’t work after they married.”

  “I’ve met Mrs. Lewis,” John said. “She struck me as a very intelligent woman, in spite of her upset.”

  “She’s a few years older than some of the others,” Bessie continued. “And I’ve no doubt the group would have broken up many years ago if it wasn’t for her. Her husband learned all about cars and trucks during the war and when he came home he opened a garage in Ramsey. They only had the one child, a boy called Nathan. He wasn’t very bright; in fact he had learning difficulties, and I don’t think he ever held a proper job. Elinor’s husband, Nicholas, passed away, oh, goodness, maybe twenty years ago. The son died just last year, having lived with his mother for his entire life. It was tragic, really, because he dro
wned in the bath one afternoon while his mother was out.”

  The inspector made a few notes and then nodded. “I’ve asked Doona to pull the files on his passing,” he told Bessie.

  Bessie gasped. “You don’t suspect….”

  “I don’t suspect anything,” he assured her. “I’m just trying to understand the people involved.”

  Bessie hesitated. She had a dozen questions running through her mind. “Margaret Gelling has two children, but I think they’re both across. As far as I know, she doesn’t really keep in touch with them,” Bessie said, after a moment’s thought and the last bite of her lunch.

  The inspector wasn’t going to answer her questions and she needed to do what she could to help him. “Her husband was a teacher at the school here in Laxey, and he passed away in the sixties or seventies, I forget.”

  “Right, what’s she like?” John asked.

  Bessie shrugged. “Quiet and mousy,” she replied. “I can’t imagine her saying boo to a goose, really. I always thought her husband dominated her, but she hasn’t changed since she’s been widowed.”

  “Who else do we have, then?”

  “Agnes Faragher,” Bessie replied. “Her husband was an electrician. They only had one child, a son called Matthew, but he moved across as soon as he finished school. I recall hearing that he’d passed away, but I could be wrong about that.”

  “You’re not,” John said after checking his notes.

  Bessie nodded. “Agnes didn’t talk about him often. There have been all sorts of rumours over the years, but I don’t know anything definite.”

  “What sort of rumours?”

  Bessie sighed. “I hate talking about this sort of thing,” she complained. “I think people should be able to live their lives without being gossiped about.”

  “But someone murdered Nancy King,” John reminded her.

  “Whether Matthew Faragher was gay or not can not possibly have anything to do with that,” Bessie replied.

  John just made another note in his notebook. “That just leaves Joan Carr, according to my notes.”