Aunt Bessie's Holiday

by Diana Xarissa

  “And he probably told his wife. She’s called Monique, right?” John asked.

  “Yes, that’s right,” Bessie said. “I don’t know if Joe Klein knew we were coming. I can’t really see why the head of security needed to know.”

  “But he might have,” John said. “Of course, it’s a huge holiday park and you’ve by no means met everyone. What we need now is a motive for any of them to have killed the man.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out,” Bessie said.

  “I wasn’t suggesting that,” John replied quickly. “Remember, one of them is a murderer. I don’t want you investigating, but if you do hear or see something that suggests a possible motive for any of them, I’d like to know.”

  “I wonder how much Jessica Howe knows about Doona,” Bessie said.

  “That’s a good question. I believe you said she was threatening to kill him at the welcome dinner?”

  “She was. I suppose that means she had a motive.”

  “Indeed. Didn’t you say her husband threatened him as well?”

  “Yes, I’d assumed because he’d found out about the affair. I’m not sure why Jessica was so angry.”

  “Maybe Charles dumped her because Doona was coming to visit,” John suggested.

  “I don’t know,” Bessie said, letting her frustration into her tone. “I was hoping Inspector Hopkins would have everything worked out by now. Why can’t these things ever just be obvious?”

  John chuckled. “That would be nice,” he agreed. “But it’s beginning to seem as if this murder was carefully planned. I’m starting to think I ought to come over and try to help.”

  “I’m not sure Inspector Hopkins would like that,” Bessie said.

  “She probably wouldn’t,” John agreed. “In the same way I wouldn’t want her interfering in a murder investigation here. But I could come as Doona’s friend, just for moral support.”

  “I don’t think things are that bad yet,” Bessie told him. “Doona seems to be holding up so far. If I start to feel like the inspector is looking at Doona as a serious suspect, I’ll let you know.”

  After the call, with her mind racing, Bessie slid down under the covers and tried to relax. The idea that someone could have been on their patio and taken the knife without her ever hearing them worried Bessie. She couldn’t find a comfortable position and every noise had her sitting up in bed and listening intently. Finally she got up and walked out into the corridor. She was nearly run over by Doona, carrying one of the dining area chairs, when she did so.

  “What are you doing?” she asked her friend.

  Doona flushed. “I keep thinking about how someone must have been on the patio the night of the murder. I was going to put this chair under the door handle so that whoever it was can’t actually get inside the cabin. What are you doing up? I hope I didn’t wake you?”

  “No, I was just thinking almost the exact same thing,” Bessie told her. “I rang John to give him an update and after I hung up, that was just about all I could think about.”

  Together the women shoved the chair up against the door.

  “It’s the wrong height to wedge under the doorknob,” Bessie said.

  “It’s the wrong type of knob, anyway,” Doona said. “But at least, if someone does open the door, they’ll hit the chair. Hopefully that will wake us up.”

  “It should wake me. I’m right down the hall,” Bessie said. “Maybe I’ll sleep with my door open.”

  “I intend to the do the same,” Doona told her. “I also put a row of chairs in front of the sliding door to the patio. They won’t stop anyone coming in, but hopefully if someone has to move them, it will make noise.”

  “I want to go home,” Bessie said angrily. “This is supposed to be a lovely holiday, and instead we’re having to blockade ourselves in our cabin.”

  “I’m sure we’re overreacting,” Doona said soothingly. “Even if someone did steal the knife from the patio, there’s no reason for them to break in here.”

  Unless they want to kill again, Bessie thought. Or plant some sort of evidence here to help with framing Doona.

  “You’re thinking too much,” Doona said. “I can see it on your face.”

  “What if the killer wants to plant something here that makes you look guilty?” Bessie had to ask.

  “Inspector Hopkins and two of her men searched the entire place after she questioned me today,” Doona replied. “The inspector knows we have nothing to hide.”

  “She didn’t tell me they’d searched our cabin,” Bessie said with a frown.

  “I gave them permission to do so,” Doona said. “I should have checked with you first, but the inspector wouldn’t let me talk to you. I was afraid if I didn’t agree right away, that she’d think I was hiding something.”

  “It’s fine,” Bessie assured her friend.

  “I should have told you earlier,” Doona said. “But I’ve so much on my mind, I completely forgot.”

  “It’s fine,” Bessie repeated herself. “We should get some sleep.”

  “Or at least try.”

  With the cabin as secure as they could make it, the two women headed back to their bedrooms. For Bessie it was a long night. It was very quiet, but that didn’t seem to help. She still slept very little and felt even more tired at six than she had when she’d gone to bed.

  After a shower, she dressed and then headed to the kitchen. Doona was already there, making coffee.

  “I thought you were going to have a lie-in,” Bessie exclaimed.

  “So did I,” Doona replied. “But I couldn’t sleep.”

  “I was going to walk around the lake this morning,” Bessie told her. “Not the one in the middle of the park. I’ve been around that a dozen times. I was going to walk around the big lake behind us.”

  “You go and enjoy the peace and quiet,” Doona told her. “I’m going to run a bath and soak in my tub for a while with one of the books for Saturday. I haven’t read any of them yet, and it’s already Wednesday.”

  After a cup of coffee and a warmed croissant, Bessie headed out. The weather was a bit cooler, and she was glad she’d brought her jacket, as a strong wind seemed to be blowing as she left the building. The map of the park showed a paved footpath all the way around the lake, and Bessie found that it was relatively unoccupied at this hour of the morning.

  A handful of people were out walking, including one very tired-looking woman pushing a pram with a crying baby in it, but everyone Bessie saw seemed to walking in the opposite direction to her. She enjoyed the solitude and the chance to think. The only thing she could think about, of course, was Charles’s death. The holiday park was so large and had so many guests that it seemed as if anyone could have killed the man. Still, Bessie couldn’t help but think that the men and women she’d talked about with John the previous evening seemed like the most likely suspects.

  By the time she’d finished going around the lake, she’d decided that either Jessica or Herbert Howe had to be the culprit. She didn’t much like either of them and they’d both threatened Charles. I just hope Margaret Hopkins sees things the same way, Bessie thought as she turned the key in the cabin’s front door. Although Bessie had taken her time on her walk, even pausing to sit for a while and watch some of the boats on the lake, it was still nowhere near time for lunch when she got back.

  “Doona, I’m home,” she called as she shut the door behind herself.

  “I’m still in the tub,” Doona shouted. “It has a heater, so it stays warm forever. I suppose I’ll have to get out soon, because I’m awfully wrinkled, but it is so lovely in here and I’m laughing over Bill Bryson’s book while I soak.”

  “Don’t rush out on my account,” Bessie replied. “I’m going to curl up with a book myself.”

  She took both the Agatha Christie book and the Bill Bryson one with her out onto their patio. Having read the Christie story many times before, she started with the other, chuckling her way through a number of chapters before switching to rea
cquaint herself with Christie’s wonderful prose. It was only when her tummy rumbled that she thought about lunch.

  Doona was bustling around the kitchen when Bessie went back inside.

  “I’ve started getting lunch ready,” she announced. “I was going to come and get you in a minute.”

  Bessie was relieved to see that her friend was looking much better than she had the previous evening. Because she knew her so well, Bessie could tell that Doona was still feeling stressed, but her colour was better, at least.

  “I didn’t realise how late it was,” Bessie said. “We’ll have to eat quickly if we’re going to get to our watercolour class by one.”

  “It’s only really a snack,” Doona said. “We’ll go out for a proper meal after class.”

  “Where do you want to go?” Bessie asked.

  “There’s an American restaurant,” Doona said. “But I imagine that will be burgers and chips, won’t it?”

  “I expect so,” Bessie said. “We never did get to the Italian restaurant yesterday. Why don’t we go there?”

  “That sounds good,” Doona agreed. “Maybe we should try the American place for lunch one day. Then, if we don’t like it, we can have a big dinner to make up for it.”

  Bessie laughed. “That sounds like a good plan,” she agreed.

  It had just begun to rain when Bessie and Doona headed out to the Rainbow Centre. They both grabbed umbrellas before they left, but as it was still windy, they both also got quite wet on their walk.

  “I feel like I’m dripping,” Bessie said as she folded up her umbrella in the small lobby of the building.

  “Stuart, it’s raining,” a woman sitting in the lobby said loudly to the man next to her.

  He glanced over at Bessie and Doona and then shrugged. “What can I do about that?” he demanded.

  “You can go back to the cottage and get the rain cover for the pram and my umbrella,” the woman replied. “We don’t want Jocelyn-Mae getting wet, now do we?”

  Stuart shrugged again and then got to his feet. “Of course not, darling,” he said mechanically.

  The woman gave him a smug smile and then returned to her magazine. The lobby was very full, and Bessie and Doona gave up on finding seats and simply walked over to stand near the windows.

  “It’s busy today,” Doona remarked.

  “I’m hoping this class finishes at one,” Bessie whispered.

  A moment later, the door to the classroom swung open and an exhausted-looking Andrea appeared in the doorway.

  “We’ve finished just a few minutes early,” she announced to the crowd. “I’ll bring the children out now.”

  A moment later a swarm of toddlers emerged from behind Andrea. Bessie and Doona pressed themselves to the wall, hoping to stay out of the way, as tiny children threw themselves into waiting arms. The excited babble of tiny voices had Bessie wishing she’d taken headache tablets before they’d left the cabin.

  Bessie watched as one little girl raced up to the woman who’d sent Stuart out into the rain. She was covered pretty much head to toe with blue paint. For some reason her hair was dripping wet, but at least the drips looked like water rather than paint.

  “Jocelyn-Mae, what happened to you?” the woman demanded stridently.

  “I’m afraid Jocelyn-Mae decided to dump a pot of paint over her head,” Andrea answered for the little girl. “I washed as much of it as I could out of her hair.”

  “But her clothes are ruined,” the woman said.

  “That’s why we tell you to bring the children in old clothes,” Andrea replied.

  “You were negligent,” the woman snapped.

  “We can’t do a finger painting class without giving the children paint,” Andrea retorted.

  “I’m going to complain to your supervisor,” the woman said.

  “Here,” Andrea replied, handing the woman a slip of paper. “This is the manager’s name and phone number. Feel free to give him a ring and talk to him. I’ve already spoken to him about the incident and I will be filing a full report this afternoon.”

  “I will certainly be ringing him once I’ve cleaned up my daughter,” the woman said.

  “In light of what’s happened, I’m sure you won’t want her to do finger painting again tomorrow. We can cancel that booking and refund your money.”

  The woman gave her a shocked look. “Of course I want her to take the class again tomorrow,” she said. “She needs constant stimulation of her creative energies.”

  Bessie looked around, Jocelyn-Mae was at that moment rummaging through her mother’s handbag, helping herself to what seemed an unlimited supply of chocolate biscuits.

  “Yes, well, you’ll have to talk to the manager about that as well,” Andrea told her. “Under the circumstances, we’d have to add a member of staff to help deal with her and I’m not sure we have anyone available.”

  “We’ll see about that,” the woman sniffed. “Come on, baby girl, into the pram. Daddy has gone to get the rain cover so you don’t get wet.”

  Jocelyn-Mae looked at her mother and then stomped her foot. “No pram,” she yelled. “No go. Paint more.”

  “I’m sorry, darling, but we’re all done with painting for today,” the woman said. “We have to go.”

  “No go!” Jocelyn-Mae shrieked. “No go, no go, no go.”

  Bessie and Doona watched with morbid fascination as Jocelyn-Mae continued to scream while her mother attempted to cajole her into the large and obviously expensive pram. The rest of the children were all whisked away by parents who looked either sympathetic or relieved as they left. Finally, Stuart walked back in, carrying the plastic cover and an umbrella.

  “Daddy,” the child shrieked. She threw herself into her father’s arms, causing him to drop everything he was carrying.

  “Why is she blue?” he asked his wife.

  The woman rolled her eyes and then stormed out of the room past him, pushing the empty pram. After a moment, he shrugged. Andrea picked up the things he dropped and handed them to him wordlessly while he balanced Jocelyn-Mae in one hand and the rest in the other. With the child still shouting and crying in his arms, he turned and followed his wife out into the rain.

  “Just when I think my life is a mess, I realise how lucky I am that I don’t have a spoiled, over-sugared, blue toddler that I have to live with,” Doona remarked.

  “She did eat rather a lot of biscuits,” Bessie said, shaking her head.

  “She ate several during our break, as well,” Andrea told the pair. “Whenever I turned my back, she’d take another from the plate. When I finally moved the plate, she started taking them from the other children.”

  “How old is she?” Bessie had to ask.

  “Two,” Andrea replied. “They don’t call them the ‘terrible twos’ for nothing.”

  “I hope you aren’t going to be in too much trouble with Harold,” Bessie said. “Tell him that we’re witnesses to just how badly behaved the child was.”

  “It’s fine,” Andrea assured her. “Jocelyn-Mae has already been kicked out of several of the activities here as well as the crèche. She’s just never told ‘no’ at home and doesn’t understand how to behave. I actually feel sorry for her, but I hope I don’t see her again.”

  The door to the outside opened and Jack and Nancy Strong rushed in. “I do hope we aren’t late,” Nancy said. “The rain slowed us down.”

  “Because you have to run and jump in every puddle,” Jack told her.

  “Well, yes, rather,” Nancy agreed cheerfully.

  As she was wearing pink polka-dotted Wellington boots, Bessie could see the attraction of puddle jumping.

  “I’m probably last again,” Andrew Cheatham said from the doorway.

  “Actually, Mai is probably last,” Andrea told them all. “She’s usually a few minutes late. If she isn’t here by ten past one, I’ll get you started.”

  The little group chatted easily about the weather as they waited. With about thirty seconds to go before And
rea’s deadline, the door swung open and Mai stomped in.

  “Let’s get started,” she said grimly.

  Chapter Ten

  Mai walked over to the door to the classroom and pushed it open. Bessie and the others followed. Inside the room, in the corner where they’d had their pencil sketching class, Andrea was on her hands and knees, cleaning up blue paint. She looked up and nodded at Mai, who ignored her completely.

  “Right, everyone should find an easel at the windows,” Mai told the group.

  Bessie chose one near the centre of the row that was just about the right height for her. She looked out at the dark and rainy day and frowned. She wouldn’t need any bright colours for her painting today.

  The weather seemed to match Mai’s mood perfectly. The girl waited for everyone to choose an easel with ill-concealed impatience. Doona and Andrew again were on either side of Bessie, with Nancy and Jack leaving an empty easel between themselves and Doona.

  “Right, I’ll just pass out some paints,” Mai said. She went over to a large cupboard and began pulling out trays of paints. Then she carried a covered tray to each person in turn.

  “If you’ll come over here, you can collect your water and your brushes,” she told them.

  They formed an orderly queue at the sink and Mai handed each of them a small cup of water and a pack of different types of brushes. Back at her easel, Bessie set the cup down carefully and then opened the paints and the brushes. She was excited to learn about watercolour painting, and she looked at Mai expectantly.

  “As you can see, you have an excellent view of the lake for you to paint. Try not to get the tablets of paint too wet, at least in the beginning. You can always add more water for a lighter colour, but once the paint gets really wet it takes a long time to dry. I’m here if you have any questions,” Mai said. She walked over to a chair in the corner and pulled out her mobile phone. Within a minute, she was talking to someone in a low voice.

  Bessie looked over at Doona. “But I don’t know anything about watercolour painting,” she whispered.

  “Me, either,” Doona replied. “I don’t even know where to start.”