Aunt Bessie Considers Page 7

  “Well, I didn’t see any evidence of any injector,” Bessie replied.

  “Did you know that he had severe allergies?”

  “Oh yes,” Bessie nodded. “And before you ask, anyone who has ever been to a conference with the man knew about them. Obviously, his allergies were very serious, but he was something of a bore about them. At every meal and every tea break he would make an elaborate show of talking with the catering staff about ingredients, and shaking his head over every answer. Most of the time whoever arranged the conference would order in special food just for him, but he usually wouldn’t eat it. More than once I watched him sniff at something and poke at it, and then sigh and shake his head and mutter something like ‘mustn’t risk it,’ and throw it away.”

  “So pretty much everyone in the room knew how to kill him,” Rockwell sighed.

  “I guess so,” Bessie replied. “But honestly, I think most of us thought he was overdramatising his condition. I guess we were wrong.”

  Rockwell sighed. “I’m too tired to think anymore,” he confessed. “What’s happening next with your conference?”

  “According to Inspector Corkill, everything can go ahead as planned. The museum will have to find us another space to use for lectures, but otherwise, we should be back on as scheduled tomorrow morning at eight.”

  “What time do you wrap up tomorrow night?”

  “The last talks begin at half seven. They should finish by nine, even with lots of questions. There will be some sort of food and drink after that. I think it’s just tea and coffee tomorrow night.”

  “So if I were to arrive sometime around nine, you would be ready for a ride home?”

  Bessie flushed. “I don’t like dragging you back into Douglas again,” she protested. “I can get a taxi. It isn’t a problem.”

  “I’m sure you are perfectly capable of getting a taxi,” Rockwell grinned. “But you’re on the inside of what might be another murder investigation and I can’t help but be intrigued. I’ll give you a ride home and you can give me all the skeet from the scene of the crime.”

  Bessie laughed. “I guess that’s a fair deal,” she told her friend.

  Chapter Four

  It only took Bessie a few minutes to tidy up the kitchen after the inspector left. She made a quick telephone call to her taxi service, reaching their answering machine as expected. After leaving a message asking for an earlier pickup the next day than originally scheduled and cancelling the ride back home that she would no longer need, she finally headed for bed. She was feeling physically exhausted but mentally energised. In spite of the way her mind was racing, she managed to fall asleep quickly and slept well.

  Six o’clock came far too soon, however, after the unusually late night. Bessie sighed as she slid out of bed and headed for the shower. She wasn’t going to be able to get properly caught up on her sleep until the conference was over. This morning called for coffee, rather than tea, but she’d have to wait until she got to the conference to get it.

  Her day improved when Dave, her favourite driver, appeared in front of her cottage at exactly the time she’d requested in her late-night message.

  “Good morning, my dear,” he greeted Bessie with a huge smile, climbing out of the car to open the passenger door for her. He waited until she was safely tucked up inside the vehicle before he closed the door behind her and returned to the driver’s seat.

  “How’s my favourite passenger?” he asked as he fastened his seatbelt and started the engine.

  “I’m fine, Dave. How are you?”

  The pair chatted amiably as Dave drove into Douglas. If he’d heard anything about Dr. Dickson’s untimely death, he was kind enough not to mention it to Bessie. She wasn’t about to bring the matter up, either.

  Dave didn’t ask Bessie where she wanted dropping off. He simply pulled into the museum car park and parked as close as he could to the building’s front door.

  “Here we are then.” He grinned at her after he’d climbed out of the car and opened her door for her.

  “Thank you so much.” Bessie smiled back at him. She took the two small steps to the front door, but it was locked. Bessie frowned. It was only half seven and the museum didn’t open until ten, but the conference schedule showed registration and breakfast from eight. She had assumed, when she’d ordered the earlier taxi, that someone would be there working out the changes that Mack’s death had necessitated. She’d hoped she could be helpful, but first she had to get inside.

  “Do you want to try the back door?” Dave asked her.

  “I suppose,” Bessie replied.

  “Hop in.”

  Bessie laughed. “I think I can walk to the back door,” she told the man. “It’s only a few steps, for goodness sake. I didn’t get my walk this morning, so I need the exercise.”

  Dave smiled. “I’ll just wait here, then, until I’m sure you can get in.”

  “You don’t have to,” Bessie assured him. “If I can’t get in now, I can just wait. I’m sure it won’t be long before someone turns up.”

  Dave shrugged and looked at the sky. It was overcast and it did look as if it might rain at any moment. Bessie hurried along the short distance to the back entrance and pulled hard on the heavy door. It opened easily.

  “I’m all set,” she called back to Dave.

  He waved and climbed back into his car. Bessie smiled as he drove past her slowly, heading for the tiny turning-around space at the back of the car park.

  There were only a few security lights on inside the museum and Bessie waited a moment to let her eyes adjust. Once she was fairly confident that she could see well enough to move through the building safely, she headed towards the front door, glancing at the displays as she moved past them.

  “Hello?” she called cautiously when she heard a noise somewhere in front of her. The silence that followed made her heart beat faster. She increased her pace, eager to reach the front of the building with its glass doors and windows. Another noise had her jumping again.

  “Hello? Is anyone there?” she called as loudly as she could, stopping and pulling her mobile phone from her handbag as she did so. She wanted to be ready to dial 999, just in case.

  “Hello?” a voice called back. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s Bessie Cubbon,” Bessie called, feeling as if she almost recognised the voice.

  “Oh, Bessie, how did you get in?” the voice shouted to her. A moment later Bessie sighed in relief as Henry Costain came around the corner into view.

  “The back door was unlocked,” Bessie told him.

  Henry frowned. “It really shouldn’t be,” he said. “I better check on it.”

  “Is anyone else here?” Bessie asked. “I came in early to see if Harold or Marjorie needed any help with rearranging things.”

  “They’re both upstairs drinking coffee by the gallon and arguing about the schedule.” Henry replied.

  “I’ll head up there, then,” Bessie laughed. Henry nodded and headed towards the back, presumably to lock it up. Bessie turned and continued on her way to the front, feeling less nervous knowing that the museum wasn’t empty.

  She passed through the front foyer, glancing through the windows into the car park. A car turned in as she passed and she grimaced as she recognised the driver. It looked like Inspector Corkill was getting an early start, too.

  Bessie slipped down the corridor to the lifts quickly, before he spotted her and tried to get her to let him in. She didn’t have keys to the building and had no idea how to unlock the doors. The inspector would simply have to press the door buzzer and wait for Henry to answer.

  As Bessie emerged from the lift on the education level, she could hear voices, but she couldn’t make out what either speaker was saying. She headed towards the noise. In the Kinvig Room, she found Harold and Marjorie having an animated discussion.

  “I’m only keeping the secrets I have to keep,” Marjorie said to Harold as Bessie crossed the threshold.

  Bessie coughed l
oudly, her fake cough causing a minor uncontrollable coughing fit. “Goodness,” she laughed as she caught her breath. “That was unexpected.”

  Harold and Marjorie were both looking at her with concerned expressions on their faces. Bessie couldn’t help but wonder if the concern was for her or came out of worry that she’d heard their conversation.

  “I’m fine, really,” she said heartily. “I could use a drink of water, that’s all.”

  Marjorie jumped up and quickly handed Bessie a bottle of water from the table at the front of the room that was already set up for breakfast. Bessie opened it and drank a sip, smiling her thanks to Marjorie.

  “I thought I would come in early and see if you needed any help with anything,” she told the pair after she’d swallowed and then joined them at a table in the middle of the space.

  “I think we’re okay,” Harold replied. “We’ve moved the talks that were scheduled for the Moore Theatre down to the Ellan Vannin Theatre downstairs. That means the museum won’t be able to show tourists the introductory movie whenever we’re using the space, but the museum has kindly agreed to accommodate us anyway.”

  Bessie nodded. “That was nice of them,” she said.

  Harold and Marjorie exchanged looks that left Bessie wondering just how “kindly” the museum had agreed to the change.

  “Anyway, I think everything is sorted out and we’ll be ready to open the doors at eight for breakfast and registration.”

  “I hope I don’t have to change your plans.” The voice from the doorway startled them all.

  Bessie turned around and forced herself to smile at Inspector Corkill as he walked into the room.

  “Good morning,” Bessie said politely.

  “Good morning,” the inspector muttered, looking past Bessie to focus on Harold. “Dr. Smythe, I hate to bother you, but I need to ask you a few more questions”

  Harold frowned. “I’ve told you everything that I know,” he said, too loudly. “Hem, er, that is, I’m happy to help in any way I can,” he said, in a carefully modulated tone. “But I can’t think that there’s anything I can usefully add.”

  “I’ll have to be the judge of that, won’t I?” Corkill smiled humourlessly.

  “I suppose so,” Harold shrugged.

  “Bessie, why don’t we go down to my office for a few minutes?” Marjorie suggested. “I have those documents we were talking about last night and we can get out of the inspector’s way.”

  “That sounds great,” Bessie smiled. She took the arm Marjorie offered and the pair made their way out of the room. Bessie spent the ride down in the lift wondering what Marjorie wanted to talk to her about. She’d played along in front of the inspector, but she hadn’t talked to Marjorie about any documents in months.

  The pair were silent as they walked through the dimly lit corridors in the still-closed museum. Marjorie unlocked her office door and flipped on the lights. Bessie blinked at the sudden brightness.

  “Please, have a seat,” Marjorie told her. Bessie dropped into one of the two visitor’s chairs in front of Marjorie’s desk. As ever, the desk was covered in papers, books and a few odd artifacts. Marjorie slid into her padded desk chair and sighed deeply.

  Bessie gave her a sympathetic smile. “This conference isn’t going at all like you planned, is it?” she asked gently.

  Marjorie laughed harshly. “It’s all so awful,” she told Bessie. “I almost packed my bags and headed for the Sea Terminal last night when I got out of here. If I thought I could just disappear and never be found, I might have tried it.” She sighed again. “The only thing that stopped me is knowing that, if I left, I would definitely jump to the top of the suspect list.”

  “I know Mack’s death is upsetting, and so was his forcing himself into the conference programme, but I’m not sure why those things would make you want to run away. Besides which, Inspector Corkill seems to think it was just an accident. He probably doesn’t even have a suspect list.” Bessie leaned forward to pat her friend’s hand. “Even if he does have a list, there’s no real reason for you to be on it, is there?”

  To Bessie surprise, the usually calm and collected Marjorie burst into tears. Bessie pulled a pack of tissues from her bag and handed tissue after tissue to the woman, waiting patiently as Marjorie sobbed. After several minutes, Marjorie gave her a watery smile.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said softly.

  “And that’s my last tissue, so you need to stop now,” Bessie told her with a wry smile.

  Marjorie managed a weak chuckle and then sat up straighter. “I am sorry,” she repeated herself. “But I really needed that. I’ve been holding it in since yesterday afternoon.”

  Bessie nodded. “You looked upset last night, but I never got the chance to ask you what was wrong.”

  “I need to make some tea,” Marjorie told Bessie. There was a small table in the corner of the office with everything necessary. Bessie sat silently as Marjorie filled the kettle from a large bottle of water and then switched it on. While they waited, Marjorie found some custard cream biscuits in a drawer and dumped them unceremoniously onto a paper plate.

  Bessie grinned and grabbed one when Marjorie offered the plate. Marjorie fixed cups of tea for them both and Bessie was relieved to see that Marjorie was much calmer when she sat back down with her drink.

  She gave Bessie what looked like a genuine smile and then sighed. “I’m sure you heard the rumours when I first moved to the island,” she began. “I came here because I was running away. I’d had my heart comprehensively broken and I wanted a completely new start.”

  Bessie nodded. The heritage community on the island was small and close-knit. Every new MNH staff member was discussed and when someone from the UK who was highly qualified but had no real background in the island’s history applied for a position, his or her possible motives for moving to the island were dissected endlessly. Bessie had heard tell that Marjorie was fleeing from a failed romance and she had a sinking feeling she knew what was coming next.

  “The man who broke my heart was Mack Dickson,” Marjorie continued, confirming Bessie’s fears.

  “Marjorie, I’m so sorry,” Bessie said quietly.

  Marjorie’s eyes filled with tears again. “Don’t be nice to me,” she told Bessie. “I don’t have time to cry again.”

  Bessie laughed. “And I really don’t have any more tissues.” Marjorie managed a shaky laugh before she downed her tea and quickly fixed herself another drink.

  Bessie waited patiently while her friend composed herself. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” she said softly, after Marjorie returned to her seat with her drink.

  “I know I don’t have to,” Marjorie replied, “but I need to tell someone and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather talk to about it than you.”

  Bessie smiled. “I’m flattered, and I’m happy to listen. Hopefully, I’ll be able to help as well.”

  Marjorie shrugged. “It isn’t much of a story anyway,” she said. “We met, I fell hard, he cheated, and I left. That’s pretty much the whole thing in a nutshell.” Marjorie flushed as she realized what she’d said.

  “No pun intended, I’m sure,” Bessie remarked, hoping to defuse the awkward choice of words.

  Marjorie shook her head. “The thing is, I’m just as sure as Bambi is that it was murder, whatever Inspector Corkill seems to think.”

  “Why?” Bessie asked the obvious question.

  “Mack was too careful. He would never have even so much as sniffed food that he wasn’t totally sure about. He’d had a terrible reaction once as a teenager and it scared him enough to make him extremely cautious. Apparently before that he never really paid much attention to his allergy and just thought his parents were being overprotective. When he nearly died, he learned that they were right. He was just lucky that someone else in the group he was with also had an allergy. His friend recognised the warning signs and jabbed him with his own adrenaline injector before he called 999.”

  “That
was lucky,” Bessie remarked. “Too bad his friend wasn’t around last night.”

  “He didn’t need to be,” Marjorie said intently. “Mack knew what to look out for now and he would have realised what was happening. He would have called 999 and jabbed himself as soon as he started to feel the reaction start.”

  “Maybe he did,” Bessie suggested. “Well, not calling 999, but maybe he gave himself a injection, but it didn’t work. Is that possible?”

  “It’s very possible,” Marjorie told her. “That’s why Mack always carried at least three injectors with him at all times. If the first one doesn’t do enough to stop the attack, it’s safe to use a second one. Mack always said the third one was ‘for a friend.’”

  “With his history, that makes sense,” Bessie said. “But maybe the attack was just too quick for him to do anything. Maybe the police found his injectors in his pocket where he could have grabbed them if he’d only had a little bit more time?”

  Marjorie shrugged. “Okay then, here’s a question for you. Where did the brownie come from?”

  “There was a whole table of them in the foyer,” Bessie reminded her.

  “Did you see Mack in the foyer?” Marjorie demanded.

  Bessie frowned. “No, I didn’t,” she admitted after a moment. “He went into the cuillee after his talk and I didn’t see him after that.”

  “That’s because he never left the cuillee,” Marjorie told her. “He would have been swamped by people throwing questions at him. He was quite happy tucked away, letting the tension build up until he was ready for the question-and-answer session. He wouldn’t have left the room. Someone took the brownie to him.”

  “Maybe he grabbed one before he started his talk?” Bessie suggested.

  “They didn’t start putting them out until after Mack started speaking,” Marjorie told her. “I was standing in the foyer until I heard Mack begin and then I slipped in, after I told the catering staff to clear away the food and start putting out the dessert bar.”

  Bessie sighed. “We could quiz the catering staff. Maybe someone saw Mack grab one just before they started putting things out?”