Aunt Bessie's Holiday

by Diana Xarissa

  “Maybe I’ll have more luck with watercolours,” Bessie muttered.

  “Maybe I should sign up for the watercolour class,” Andrew said thoughtfully.

  “It’s all just a bit of fun,” Doona said. “I won’t be quitting my day job to become an artist or anything.”

  “I think you should take some classes at the college at home, though,” Bessie told her. “You have real talent.”

  Doona shrugged. “I was thinking about taking some classes,” she told her friend. “Although I was thinking about taking things that would be useful for work, rather than art classes.”

  “No reason why you can’t do both,” Andrew said.

  “No, I suppose there isn’t,” Doona replied pensively.

  “I have a class of my own coming up soon,” Bessie said. “You’re welcome to join in, but I’m not sure paleography is for you.”

  “Is that reading old handwriting?” Doona asked. “It isn’t for me, although it would be useful if someone would offer a class in reading my own handwriting.”

  “I know what you mean,” Bessie said with a laugh. “I write shopping lists all the time and then, when I get to ShopFast, I can’t read what it was that I actually needed.”

  “When is the paleography class?” Doona asked. “I remember you mentioned it a while back.”

  “It’s the weekend after we get back,” Bessie told her. “It’s just the one day, the Saturday, at the museum.”

  “May I ask why you need to read old handwriting?” Andrew asked.

  “I do a lot of research for the Manx Museum,” Bessie replied. “I’m strictly an amateur, but I enjoy it. I’ve been working on wills, and the museum has a large collection of them, but they’d really like someone to go through the very oldest ones. In order for me to be able to do that, I need some training in how to read the handwriting of the time.”

  By the time Bessie finished her explanation, they had arrived back at Foxglove Close. There was a small bench right on the corner of the road and Bessie was surprised to see people sitting on it. As the little group took a few steps forward, the two people on the bench stood up.

  “Miss Cubbon, Mrs. Moore, I’ve been waiting for you,” Margaret Hopkins said. “We need to talk.”

  Chapter Nine

  Bessie felt her heart sink as she forced herself to smile at the woman. “We were just going to get some dinner,” she said, aware that she sounded nervous. “Can it wait until after that?”

  The inspector shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry in the slightest. “But it really can’t. If you’d like to wait out here with Constable Smith, I’d like to start with Mrs. Moore.”

  Bessie looked at Doona, who shrugged. “I suppose we don’t have a choice,” Bessie muttered, crossing to the bench and sitting down.

  “Mrs. Moore, we can talk in your lodge, if that’s okay,” the inspector said.

  “Margaret, is there anything I can do to help?” Andrew asked.

  “I don’t think so, but thanks,” the woman replied.

  Bessie frowned at the friendly exchange. Andrew had said he would help her and Doona, but now he was offering to help Margaret instead. As Doona and Margaret disappeared towards the cabin, Andrew crossed to Bessie.

  “I can stay with you, if you’d like,” he offered, earning a frown from the young constable sitting next to Bessie.

  “No, you go and have dinner with your family,” Bessie told him. “I’m sure this is just more routine questioning.”

  Andrew looked as if he wanted to argue, but after a moment he nodded. “You have my number,” he reminded her. “Ring me if you need me.”

  Bessie nodded and then watched him walk away, suddenly feeling very alone in a strange place. “So,” she said to the young man opposite her. “What made you want to become a policeman?”

  When Margaret came to collect Bessie an hour later, she and the young policeman had become very well acquainted.

  “I really don’t think going back to school is ever a bad idea,” Bessie was telling him. “I’m sure I can’t imagine how difficult it would be for you, with a full-time job and a baby at home, but even if you just take one class at a time, you’ll end up with a degree eventually.”

  The young man nodded and then suddenly snapped to attention when he spotted the inspector. “We were just chatting,” he said quickly.

  “So I hear,” Margaret said. “Now it’s my turn for a chat with Miss Cubbon.”

  “Yes, inspector,” the man said. He turned to Bessie. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

  “Where’s Doona?” Bessie asked as she and the inspector headed towards the cabin.

  “She’s lying down in her room,” the woman told her. “I hope I won’t need much of your time and then you two can go and get something to eat.”

  Bessie really wanted to check on her friend, but she didn’t think the inspector would approve. Instead, once they were inside the building, she followed the other woman out onto the patio. Margaret slid the door into the cabin shut.

  “That should prevent our disturbing Mrs. Moore,” she said. She sat down and gestured to the chair opposite hers. “Do sit down.”

  Bessie slid into the chair and forced herself to sit back and try to get comfortable. Every instinct wanted her to perch on the very edge of her seat, but she didn’t want the inspector to notice her disquiet.

  “After some preliminary investigating, I have a series of new questions for you,” Margaret said. “Some of my questions may lead you to certain conclusions about things that may or may not be correct. I have to ask you to not repeat any of the things we discuss or any conclusions you may draw from our conversation.”

  Bessie frowned. “I’m not sure I can agree,” she said after a moment. “Doona is my best friend and she’s clearly involved in this mess.”

  Margaret nodded. “I should have been more clear,” she said. “You can discuss things with Doona, but no one else. I’ve raised the same issues with her already.”

  “That’s fine, then,” Bessie said, pushing thoughts of John Rockwell and Andrew out of her head. She could keep secrets from them if she needed to.

  “You were coming to Lakeview for a self-catering holiday, weren’t you?” the inspector asked.

  Bessie shook her head, confused by the question. “We were coming for a holiday where the accommodation made self-catering an option,” she replied. “But as all of our meals were included in the prize that Doona won, we didn’t plan on doing much in the way of cooking.”

  “What did you bring with you to facilitate any cooking or food preparation that you might have wanted to do?”

  “Nothing,” Bessie said. “I brought clothes and toiletries and nothing else. I’m pretty sure that Doona didn’t bring anything, either. We simply didn’t need to.”

  “So neither of you brought a knife of any kind?” Margaret asked.

  Bessie took a deep breath. So that was what the questions were about, the murder weapon. “I didn’t bring anything of the kind and I’m fairly certain that Doona didn’t either,” Bessie said. “We were told that our accommodation would have everything we could possibly need for food preparation, so even if we’d planned to cook, we wouldn’t have needed to bring a knife.”

  Margaret nodded. “So, did your accommodation come with any knives?”

  “I suppose so,” Bessie said, thinking hard. “We had meat and cheese and bread for lunch the other day. We used knives for that, of course.”

  “And that was the only time you or Mrs. Moore used any knives for anything?” Margaret asked.

  Bessie sat back and closed her eyes. The question felt important and she didn’t want to get the answer wrong. “Give me a minute,” she muttered as she took herself backwards through their stay. She couldn’t recall anything other than the meal the previous day and was just about to say so when the memory suddenly flooded back.

  “The boxes of books,” she exclaimed, sitti
ng up suddenly.

  Margaret smiled. “What boxes of books?” she asked, looking as if she already knew the answer.

  “We signed up for the book club session on Saturday,” Bessie explained. “When we arrived, we each had a box of books for us to read before the session. The boxes were taped shut and Doona had to cut them open.”

  “And she used a knife from the kitchen here to do so?”

  “Yes, one she found in the drawer, I imagine,” Bessie said. “She cut through the tape on both boxes for us.”

  “And what did she do with the knife after she was done opening the boxes?”

  Bessie shook her head. “I don’t remember her doing anything with it,” she said after a moment. “We were both tired after the reception and dinner. I think she may have just left it on the table out here.”

  “So who moved it next, and where did they put it?” Margaret asked.

  “I don’t know,” Bessie said. “Or rather, I didn’t move it. Now that I think about it, the knife wasn’t on the table out here the next morning, but at the time, I didn’t even give it a thought.”

  “Did you ever touch the knife?”

  Bessie thought for moment. “I don’t think so, but I may have. It simply didn’t matter, you see.”

  “I want you to look at some photos,” Margaret said now. “See if you can pick out the knife that Mrs. Moore used to open the boxes.”

  She handed Bessie a pile of photos. Bessie shuffled through them quickly and pulled out three. Those three she studied for a short while, and then she sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I think it’s one of these three, but I can’t be sure. I didn’t pay that much attention to it at the time. I didn’t think it was important.”

  “You’re an excellent witness,” Margaret said. “Most people would simply choose the one they thought was closest rather than admit they weren’t sure.”

  “I’m not sure a murder investigation is any place for guessing,” Bessie replied.

  “I would have to agree with that,” Margaret said. “But now I’m going to ask you to do just that. If you had to pick one of those three, which one would you choose?”

  Bessie went back through the three pictures a third time. “This one,” she said eventually. “But it’s only a guess. The actual knife had our cottage address on it, of course.”

  “That’s fine,” Margaret assured her. “And it’s very helpful.”

  “Was there anything else?” Bessie asked.

  “Did you hear anyone moving around inside or just outside the cabin after you went to bed that first night?” the woman asked.

  “I heard all sorts of strange noises,” Bessie told her. “I can’t tell you for sure whether they were inside the cabin or outside. I was asleep off and on, of course, as well. Doona told me she went out for a walk and I didn’t realise that at the time. There seemed to be doors opening and closing most of the night, somewhere in the neighbourhood, but I can’t tell you where. The lodges are much closer together than my nearest neighbours at home and I’m not used to hearing other people coming and going.”

  “I’m surprised it’s so noisy out here. I would have thought it would be peaceful and quiet in the woods.”

  Bessie shrugged. “It’s either been a lot quieter since that first night or I’ve slept much better. I certainly haven’t heard as much coming and going since then.”

  Margaret nodded. “I’m going to stop there for tonight,” she said. “I’ll remind you that you and Mrs. Moore are not to leave Lakeview for any reason. Your Torver Castle excursion is fine, but that’s not until Friday and I hope to have everything wrapped up by then, anyway.”

  “I hope you do,” Bessie said fervently. She walked the inspector to the door.

  “Thank you for your time tonight. Enjoy your evening,” Margaret said in the doorway.

  Bessie watched her walk away, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Everything the inspector had said seemed to suggest that the knife from their cabin had been used to kill Charles. The only way that was possible was if the murderer was on their patio while Bessie was sleeping. She shuddered. Right now all she wanted to do was go home.

  She shut the door and then walked over to Doona’s bedroom. She tapped lightly, and then, when she didn’t get a response, more loudly. When there was still no reply, Bessie tried the handle. The door opened and she cautiously peeked inside. Her friend was lying on the bed.

  “Doona? Are you okay?”

  “Has the inspector gone?” Doona asked in a low voice.

  “She has.”

  “I thought she was going to arrest me,” Doona told Bessie.

  Bessie walked into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I wouldn’t have let her,” she said.

  “You couldn’t have stopped her,” Doona replied sadly. “I think the murderer used the knife from our cabin to kill Charles. They must have found my fingerprints on it. I can’t imagine why I haven’t been arrested, actually.”

  “Clearly the inspector is smart enough to know you didn’t do it,” Bessie said.

  Doona smiled weakly. “Thank you, but I don’t think the inspector has as much faith in me as you do.”

  Bessie shrugged. “Let’s not worry about it for tonight,” she suggested. “I’m starving.”

  “Strangely for me, I’m not even a little bit hungry,” Doona replied.

  “Isn’t there a pizza delivery place?” Bessie asked. “Let’s get pizza and garlic bread and just have a quiet night in.”

  “This is supposed to be a holiday, and we’re missing out on all the delicious food,” Doona complained.

  “We have lots more days for delicious food,” Bessie said. “Once the murderer is behind bars, we’ll both feel more like fine dining.”

  Doona nodded. She sat up and the stretched. “She was very kind, under the circumstances,” she remarked as she got out of bed.

  “Inspector Hopkins?” Bessie asked. “I thought she was quite nice, but I do wish she’d be more forthcoming. I’d love to know what’s really going on.”

  “I hardly think she’s going to share anything with us. Especially when I’m her number one suspect.”

  Bessie didn’t take the time to argue with her friend. She was far too hungry to think about much more than food. Doona insisted she didn’t want anything, but Bessie made sure to order enough for two. When the food arrived a short time later, Doona changed her mind.

  “That was really good,” Bessie said as she finished her last slice of pizza.

  “It was,” Doona agreed. “I didn’t want to eat, but I’m glad I did. I’m feeling much better.”

  “Excellent,” Bessie said. “Now, how about that ice cream?”

  Doona shook her head and then frowned. “Oh, why not?” she exclaimed. “This is a holiday.”

  “Exactly,” Bessie agreed. “Let’s go.”

  There was a bit of a chill in the evening air, but both women had pulled on jackets, so they didn’t mind. At the ice cream stand, Bessie was pleased to see a different man behind the counter. It was silly, but she didn’t want to be recognised as having already had ice cream earlier in the day.

  “Two scoops,” she told the man. “One vanilla and one chocolate.”

  “I’ll have the same,” Doona added.

  They walked slowly around the lake as they ate their treat, enjoying the way the park felt as the sun was setting. Most of the family groups were quieter and many were on foot rather than on bikes. Small children dozed in their parents’ arms and couples walked together hand-in-hand.

  “Let’s stop in the grocery store and get some things in for breakfast and lunch tomorrow,” Bessie suggested. “Then we can have a very lazy morning and go out for a nice meal after our watercolour class in the afternoon.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Doona replied. “I can lie in and then soak in my jetted tub for a while with one of the books from the book club. I was thinking about trying to get to the pool tomorrow morning, but a bath sounds better.
”

  “We can see how we feel in the morning about having a swim,” Bessie suggested.

  “I think I’m going to feel lazy,” Doona replied with a laugh. “But we’ll see.”

  In the grocery store, they quickly filled a trolley with everything they wanted for meals in their lodge the next day.

  “If you’re saving the croissants for breakfast tomorrow,” the girl behind the till told Bessie, “the toaster in your accommodation has a pastry warming feature.”

  “I have the same toaster at home,” Doona told her. “That’s one of my favourite things about it.”

  Back in their comfortable sitting room, Doona switched on the television and quickly found an American comedy she was happy to watch.

  “I’m just going to head to bed,” Bessie told her. “I’ll probably read for a little while, but I’m feeling unbelievably tired.”

  “It hasn’t exactly been a relaxing holiday, has it?” Doona asked, sighing.

  “Not yet, but we still have several days left,” Bessie replied optimistically.

  In her room she got ready for bed and then quickly rang John Rockwell. She told him everything that had happened that day.

  “I don’t like the idea that someone was on your patio and took the knife,” he said when she’d finished. “That sounds like someone was trying to frame you or Doona for the murder.”

  “I hadn’t thought of it quite like that,” Bessie exclaimed.

  “Who knew you two were visiting as Charles’s special guests?”

  “Mai said Charles was very excited that Doona was coming,” Bessie replied thoughtfully. “But most of the staff we’ve met haven’t seemed to know anything about her. The man who took us on the walk this morning and the girl who taught our drawing class didn’t give us any special treatment or anything.”

  “No one other than Mai, then?”

  “Lawrence Jenkins must have known all about Doona,” Bessie said. “And Harold Butler as well.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “I don’t know what Nathan Beck, the French restaurant chef, knew,” Bessie said thoughtfully. “He did ask Doona who she was when we had lunch there the other day, though. He’d been told to give us special treatment.”