Penny pulled the device away from her ear and stared at it again. After a moment, she closed her eyes and punched a button. “Hello?” she said into it.
“I guess that’s done it,” she said with a shrug as she tucked the phone back in her pocket. “But I have to go,” she told Bessie. “Apparently the police have been looking for me. Anyway, we’re having rehearsals all afternoon to try to get the play into proper shape before tonight’s performance.”
“Well, good luck with that,” Bessie said.
“Oh no,” Penny gasped. “You must never wish an actor luck. That’s bad luck.”
“I’m sorry,” Bessie told her.
“You should say ‘break a leg,’” Penny told her solemnly.
“Okay, well then, break a leg,” Bessie said, feeling a bit ridiculous.
“Thank you,” Penny replied. “And thank you for your time this morning. I feel so much better now than I did when I got here. You’re an excellent listener.”
“I’m glad I could help,” Bessie told her sincerely. She didn’t like the woman or the way she lived her life, but she sympathised with her in the difficult situation where she now found herself.
“I walked down from the little shop at the top of the hill. That’s where the taxi left me,” Penny told Bessie. “If I walk back up, will I find a taxi there?”
“Probably not,” Bessie told her. “But I can ring for one for you.” Bessie made a quick call to her favourite service, and they promised to have a car there in minutes.
“You’re in luck today, Miss Cubbon,” the dispatcher told her. “Mark is just dropping someone off at the Wheel, and I can have him come straight to your cottage from there.”
“That’s wonderful,” Bessie replied. “I’m not going anywhere. This is for a friend, but I appreciate the quick service.” She disconnected, feeling glad she wasn’t the one in need of a taxi. She didn’t like Mark and she wasn’t in the mood to listen to his misogynistic nonsense this morning.
After Penny left, Bessie washed up the breakfast dishes and tidied her small kitchen. The answering machine light was blinking, but she didn’t feel in any hurry to listen to its nagging messages.
Only after she was happy that the kitchen was tidy did she sit down and press play. As expected, nearly every message was a virtual repeat of one that had been left the previous evening. It seemed everyone on the island had heard about Scott Carson’s death now, and they all wanted the latest news from Bessie, who’d been unfortunate enough to be there when it happened.
Bessie noted a few names of people she’d take the time to call back, the ones that occasionally called just to say “hi” rather than waiting to pester her only when they thought she might have something interesting to discuss. The rest she deleted without guilt.
She worked through the return phone calls until lunchtime. Everyone seemed excited by the idea that she’d actually meet someone as famous as Scott Carson. His untimely death just added to their curiosity.
“I think I must be the only person on the island who didn’t know who he was,” Bessie complained to Doncan Quayle, her advocate, when she returned his call, which had been full of genuine concern.
Doncan laughed. “Market Square is one of those popular culture shows that everyone knows a little bit about, even if they never actually watch it.”
“I don’t know anything about it,” Bessie disagreed.
Doncan just laughed again. “I guess I should say most people rather than everyone,” he conceded. “It’s been on the air for thirty-odd years, though. I’m sure if you had a television you’d have caught an episode or two in that time.”
Bessie chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve missed anything,” she replied.
Lunch was a bowl of tomato soup from a tin, with some of the extra loaf of crusty bread she’d bought but not ended up taking for the previous night’s picnic. After her delicious breakfast, Bessie wanted to keep lunch light.
She spent an hour after lunch doing some necessary cleaning around her cottage, promising herself a night of reading if she finished all the little jobs she’d been putting off. The phone rang as she was putting the vacuum cleaner away.
“Bessie? It’s Doona. How are you feeling after last night’s, um, excitement?”
“I’m fine,” Bessie assured her closest friend. “I’m tired, but I’m planning to have an early night.”
“Maybe not too early?” Doona asked. “John was wondering if you’d mind if we came over to talk things through. He’s hasn’t taken your formal statement yet, either.”
“John? Oh, you mean Inspector Rockwell.” Bessie was going to have to start calling him John one day, she supposed. She regarded him as a good friend now.
Doona laughed. “Yes, Inspector Rockwell,” she agreed. “We’ll invite Hugh as well, if you’re happy to have us all over.”
“Oh, of course I am,” Bessie replied. “What time are you planning on getting here?”
“I’ll have to call John to confirm everything,” Doona told her. “He’s taken the kids home just now. I guess Sue was due back around one o’clock. Anyway, for now let’s say six, and I’ll bring dinner and a pudding.”
“Even better,” Bessie replied.
They agreed on Chinese takeaway, with Doona promising a surprise for pudding.
“I’ll ring you back if there’s any change. Otherwise we’ll all see you at six.”
Bessie was glad now that she’d taken the time to clean. Since she didn’t need to worry about dinner, she grabbed her latest book and curled up to get lost in someone else’s imagination.
The knock on her door startled her several hours later. Reluctantly, she put a bookmark into the book and hurried to let her visitors in.
Chapter Eight
Moments later, Bessie’s cottage was filled with the spicy sweet smell of Chinese food. Doona carried in a large box full to overflowing with small white takeaway containers, and Rockwell followed with a second box, equally full. Hugh was just climbing out of his own car, but he leaned back in to grab a foil-covered pan from his passenger seat before heading towards Bessie, who was holding the door for everyone.
“My goodness, it all smells gorgeous,” Bessie said, as Doona set out boxes all along Bessie’s counter.
“I said I’d bring pudding,” Hugh said, waving the pan he was carrying. “It’s still warm if you want to pop it in the oven until we’ve eaten.”
“What did you bring?” Bessie asked curiously.
“It’s an apple crumble,” Hugh answered. “Grace has been getting me to try more cooking, and it was one of the first things she showed me how to make. It’s dead easy and it tastes really good.”
“It smells wonderful,” Bessie told him as she opened her oven door. She set in on a very low temperature so the crumble would stay lovely and warm.
“Oh, I’ve left the rest in the car,” Hugh said, shaking his head. He dashed out and was back before Bessie could reply.
“Vanilla ice cream,” he told the others, as he handed Bessie the plastic bag with the container of ice cream in it. “I thought it would make a nice change from custard, especially on such a warm day.”
“What a wonderful idea,” Bessie said enthusiastically. She loved ice cream, but rarely bought it for herself.
“You didn’t look very happy to see us when we arrived,” Doona told her friend. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
Bessie laughed. “I was lost in Montenegro with Archie and Nero Wolfe,” she explained. “They were sneaking up on this, oh, but you don’t need to know the details. Suffice to say, things were very intense and I felt a tiny bit grumpy that I was interrupted.”
Doona laughed. “I feel like I should apologise, although we did warn you we were coming.”
Bessie shook her head. “I should have set an alarm for just before six so that I could get my brain back here before you arrived. Anyway, let’s eat. I’m starving. I didn’t eat nearly enough lunch.”
Everyone filled their plat
es with rice and bits of this and that. Bessie made sure to balance every spicy dish with another more mild choice, and she grinned as she watched Hugh piling on the spicy choices. “I guess the ice cream will help cool down your stomach,” she told him once they’d sat down.
“I love spicy food,” Hugh told her. Then he laughed. “Okay, I just love food,” he admitted.
The foursome ate happily for several minutes, talking about the weather and the new car Hugh was considering buying, all avoiding any mention of the events of the previous evening. It wasn’t until Bessie had served up generous helpings of apple crumble with huge scoops of ice cream on top that the uncomfortable topic finally came up.
“So, Bessie, I need your formal statement,” Rockwell told her. “Maybe we could do that quickly after pudding?”
“Of course,” Bessie was quick to agree. So while Doona and Hugh tackled the washing up, Bessie sat down with the inspector and gave her statement. As Rockwell had spent the evening with her, he needed little more than a broad outline of the night.
“Obviously, I’m very interested in your impressions of everyone and that sort of thing,” he told Bessie. “But that doesn’t belong in a formal statement.”
“You might be interested in my morning as well,” Bessie told him. “Ms. Jakubowksi dropped in for a visit.”
Rockwell’s jaw dropped, and Doona spun around from the sink. “What did you just say?” Doona demanded.
Bessie laughed. “Ms. Jakubowski dropped by. She said she needed to get away from everything for a little while.” Bessie shrugged. “I think she just needed a shoulder to cry on and I don’t think she’d have found one in the troupe.”
“I was looking for her this morning,” Rockwell told Bessie. “When she finally turned up at the hotel, she just told me that she’d been seeing the island. She never mentioned visiting you.”
“Well, she certainly didn’t ask me to keep her visit a secret,” Bessie replied. “Not that I would have, anyway,” she added hastily.
“I didn’t specifically question where she’d been,” the inspector said. “But I’m not happy that murder suspects are dropping in to visit you,” he told Bessie.
“She just needed someone sympathetic to talk with,” Bessie replied.
“And you’re a good listener,” Doona said. “Some days you were the only thing that kept me sane during my divorce.”
“Did she say anything that you think might be relevant to Scott’s murder?” Rockwell asked.
“I have no idea,” Bessie said. “She talked a lot about William and how much she loves him. She said she’d pretended to have an affair with Scott to try to make William jealous, but it didn’t work. She said she thought Scott might be gay.”
Doona burst out laughing. “That man was not gay,” she said emphatically. “He spent half an hour chatting me up last night. I think I would have known if he were gay.”
“He was an actor,” Rockwell pointed out.
Doona opened her mouth to argue further, but Bessie held up a hand. “It really doesn’t matter at this point,” she said firmly. “Whatever his inclinations, according to Penny they never had an affair, although she wanted William to think that they had.”
“That’s just crazy,” Hugh interjected from where he was busily drying dishes. “Why would you want your boyfriend to think you were cheating on him?”
“From what she said, she was hoping to give him a taste of his own medicine,” Bessie replied. “Apparently, he cheats quite regularly, or at least he did when the troupe was travelling around the US.”
“And she puts up with it? That doesn’t make sense.” Doona said angrily. “When my ex-husband cheated, I was done.”
“She says she loves him,” Bessie replied.
“I think I need to have a chat with that girl,” Doona said. “She could do so much better.”
“I told her that, but I don’t think she was listening.” Bessie sighed. “Don’t forget, he’s not just her boyfriend, he’s also her boss. He runs the troupe and makes all the casting decisions. Maybe it has something to do with fame or something.”
Rockwell held up a hand. “We could debate about what’s going on in Penny’s head all night,” he said. “But I don’t think that will get us any closer to figuring out who killed Scott. I’d like to focus on that, and if I’m honest, I don’t think I’m going to last much more than another hour or so. I’m out on my feet.”
Bessie nodded. “The inspector is right,” she told the others. “We all need a good night’s sleep tonight.”
“Please, Bessie, you really do have to start calling me John,” Rockwell grinned at her.
Bessie nodded. “I’ll try,” she said. “I was raised that policemen deserve our respect, and calling you by your first name feels too familiar, that’s all.”
“But we’ve been friends for months now,” the inspector argued. “At least in the privacy of your own home, I’d like you to call me John.”
“Okay,” Bessie said. “John,” she added, feeling a little bit foolish.
John gave her a big smile in reply as Doona and Hugh sat back down at the table with them. Bessie had set a pot of coffee brewing and now she got up and poured drinks for everyone.
“Does anyone want anything else?” she asked before she sat back down. “I’ve a brand-new box of those lovely chocolate-covered biscuits that you can only get in Douglas, if anyone has room.”
Doona laughed. “I haven’t got any room left, but I’ll still have just one, or maybe two.”
“I could probably find room for a few,” Hugh added.
Bessie pulled the box of biscuits out of the cupboard and piled several of each of the varieties onto a small serving plate. She passed around small plates to everyone and everyone took a few biscuits to go with their coffee.
“I’d rather have tea with these,” Bessie said with a sigh as she looked at her plate. “But tea would probably put me to sleep.”
“Okay, then,” Hugh said briskly. “Motive, means and opportunity, let’s go.”
Everyone exchanged glances, before John finally spoke.
“As far as opportunity goes, I’m going to say that everyone in the troupe had plenty of opportunity. Scott was lying on the ground very close to their tent, and it wouldn’t have taken much more than a few moments for someone to stop, bend down, and stick the knife in.”
“But no one could see anything. It was really dark. How did they manage to stab him in just the right place? And why didn’t Scott make any noise? And….”
The inspector held up a hand to stop Bessie’s flow of questions.
“It was really dark. That’s what gave the killer cover, of course. But the main members of the cast all had torches. Henry was passing them out at the side of the stage. You must remember watching them bobbing back and forth between the stage and the tent?”
Bessie nodded. “I kept trying to ignore them, because they were distracting, but I do remember seeing them. Even by torchlight, the killer got lucky. They could have missed hitting anything vital and just hurt Scott.”
“You mustn’t repeat this,” John told her. “But it wasn’t a single stab wound. The killer had a couple of goes, presumably trying to make sure they completed the job.”
Bessie put her half-eaten biscuit back on her plate, suddenly far less hungry. “Why didn’t Scott make any noise?”
“We’re still waiting on toxicology reports,” the inspector said. “It’s possible that there was something in the wine that knocked him out, but we won’t know for sure for a few days. It’s also possible that he made some noise but no one heard him. With all the people coming and going and the action on the stage, it’s possible any sounds were simply drowned out by everything else that was happening.”
Bessie shook her head. “Poor Scott,” she said sadly.
“Anyway, for the time being, I have a couple of constables from Peel digging around into the backgrounds of good local folks that made up the rest of the cast for the show. The
Peel office is also checking out the audience members and trying to chase up everyone who was there but left before the body was discovered. They’re looking for anyone who might have had any sort of motive for killing Scott, although I don’t think either the audience or the extras actually had the opportunity to get to him.”
Hugh nodded. “I’ve been going over it all in my head,” he told the others. “I think at least one of us would have noticed if anyone from the audience had come up towards the VIP section during the show. And they wouldn’t have been able to get to the stage and come out towards the tent, either. Henry was keeping an eye on things there.”
“I know I was bored enough that if anyone came up towards us I would have noticed,” Doona said. “And I would have welcomed the distraction.”
“What about the extras?” Bessie asked. “I mean, I doubt they knew Scott, but they certainly could have come out from the stage to the tent, couldn’t they?”
“Again, Henry was keeping an eye on them,” the inspector replied. “Or rather, he was keeping an eye on the main cast members. He was passing out torches and keeping track of them, and he’s certain that no one other than the four main cast members came past him towards the tent.”
“And none of them passed their torch back with blood-covered and shaking hands?” Doona asked.
John shook his head. “We suspect that the killer wore gloves, although we’ve not found them. But there was so much going on last night in the dark, anyone could have tucked them in a pocket and then thrown them in the sea or something. We haven’t found any costumes with blood on them, either.”
“That should rule out Candy, though,” Bessie said thoughtfully. “She didn’t have a chance to put on gloves and then hide them again. We would have noticed if she had.”
“Maybe,” John said. “But we aren’t totally ruling her out just on that point.”
“I talked to the two bodyguards,” Hugh said. “I think I would have noticed if either of them had bent down towards Scott at any point, and I didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t see them move,” Bessie said. “They were sort of big immovable objects in my peripheral vision. I think I would have noticed if one of them bent over low enough to stab Scott.”
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