“You make it sound as if teenaged girls disappeared from the island every day,” Hugh remarked.
“Not exactly that,” Bessie replied. “But it wasn’t unusual for teens of either gender to leave the island, often without much warning. I think it was more common in farming families where the children were expected to work hard on the farm whenever they weren’t in school. Some simply grew tired of the hard work and decided to make a fresh start in England or even further afield.”
“Without saying anything to their parents?”
“If you knew your parents were counting on you to help get in the harvest or keep the cows milked or whatever, you might decide to slip away without talking to them first,” Bessie said. “I can’t imagine getting permission to go would be easy, under those sorts of circumstances.”
“What about Karen’s parents?” Hugh asked.
“They were probably ten to fifteen years younger than Susan’s parents,” Bessie recalled. “Karen was their oldest and they had another three or four after her, at least one of whom was still in nappies when Karen disappeared. They also had a farm to run and again, I suspect they thought Karen would be back eventually.”
“And Helen’s parents?”
“They were divorced, which was unusual. Her father ran the family farm and had primary custody of the two children. Helen had a younger brother named Henry. Their mother, I think she was called Amy, had a little flat in Douglas and worked in one of the shops on the high street. Everyone always blamed Helen’s mother for Helen’s wild streak, but I don’t recall the woman being wild at all. A divorced woman who didn’t have custody of her children was an oddity in those days, of course.”
“Any idea why she didn’t have custody?”
“As I recall, and there was a lot of talk about it at the time, it was a very friendly divorce and both she and Helen’s father felt that the children were better off in the family home that was familiar to them. They used to spend weekends in Douglas with her and she came up to Lonan to visit quite often as well, at least before Helen’s father remarried.”
“Was that before or after Helen’s disappearance?” Hugh asked. He was taking notes as Bessie spoke, although he was also somehow steadily working his way through his large pile of biscuits.
“It was about a year before the disappearances,” Bessie said. “I can’t remember his name, but her name was Brandy, and she was closer to Helen’s age than his.” Bessie sighed. “Wicked stepmothers belong in fairy tales, not the real world, but I always felt that if Helen learned her wild ways from anyone, it was from Brandy.”
“You don’t remember any of the parents or other family members behaving oddly at the time?”
Bessie thought for a moment. “I’m sure if any of them had been, people would have talked about it,” she said eventually. “I don’t recall anything being said about anyone in particular.”
She sighed and shook her head. “It’s odd, really, but I never thought about the Kelly girls as possible murder victims,” Bessie said. “Maybe because up until last year murder was something that happened it books and not in my reality. But you’re right. At least one of them should have been in touch by now. I feel sorry for their parents.”
“I just hope when I’m done I have some answers for them,” Hugh said. “I’d hate to put them through another investigation and not get any results.”
“If it was murder, the murderer is going to be very unhappy to hear you’re investigating,” Bessie said. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”
“Of course I will,” Hugh said. “Anyway, it has to be safer investigating cold cases than dealing with Inspector Lambert.”
“Are you two having difficulty working together?”
“You could say that,” Hugh replied. “I’m just lucky John Rockwell is around. He keeps everything running smoothly and makes sure I don’t have to deal with Inspector Lambert very often.”
“I understand you’ve invited her to the wedding,” Bessie said questioningly.
“I’d already invited everyone else at the station,” Hugh explained. “I couldn’t leave her out, not unless I wanted to make things considerably worse. I doubt she’ll come.”
Let’s hope not, Bessie thought. She bit her tongue before the words could come out of her mouth. There was no point in being unkind. Hugh had enough to worry about.
“I don’t think there’s anything else I can tell you,” she said instead.
“I may come back tomorrow night, after I’ve met everyone, to talk some more,” Hugh replied. “I’ll have to be very careful, though, as I’m sure Inspector Lambert will be watching for me to make mistakes. Talking with a civilian about things I was told in interviews is definitely out.”
“Maybe I’ll have to try to talk to a few of the family members myself,” Bessie mused. “I’ll just have to find an excuse to do so.”
“You know John doesn’t like it when you get involved in investigations,” Hugh said with a frown.
“Yes, I know,” Bessie agreed.
“I’d better get home to Grace,” Hugh said, standing up and stretching. “She’s only staying with me until the end of the week and then she’s moving back home with her parents until the wedding.”
“That will be nice for her parents.”
“Yeah, and the rest of the family. They’re all acting like she’s moving a million miles away or something. She’s been living up here since September anyway.”
Bessie chuckled. “But she’s getting married. That will change the whole family dynamic,” she said. “All change is difficult, even good change.”
Hugh nodded. “Which reminds me, I promised to clear out half of my wardrobe tonight so Grace has somewhere to start putting her things. I’d better get home.”
“Do stop back tomorrow if you want to,” Bessie told him as she walked him to the door. “Now that you’ve brought it up, I’m anxious to learn what did happen to the Kelly girls.”
Bessie locked up the door behind Hugh and then sat back down at the kitchen table. She nibbled idly on a digestive biscuit while she thought about the case Hugh was reopening. What she really needed was an excuse to spend some time in Lonan.
“Mary? It’s Bessie. I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch with me tomorrow at that little place in Lonan that you and George invested in,” Bessie said when her phone call was answered.
“Oh, Bessie, I’d love to,” Mary said enthusiastically. “I’m desperate to get out of the house. Packing doesn’t agree with me, even though I’m excited about moving.”
Mary Quayle and her husband, George, were in the process of moving from their huge mansion in Douglas to the smaller Thie yn Traie, just down the beach from Bessie’s cottage. Thie yn Traie was also a large mansion, with several wings and more bedrooms than Bessie could imagine, but for the Quayles it was downsizing. The house had been sold to them fully furnished, which further complicated the move. That Mary was much more eager to relocate than her husband probably didn’t help either.
“We can meet there, if you’d like,” Bessie suggested.
“Oh, no. I’ll collect you,” Mary replied. “I’ll see you around half eleven, if that suits you.”
Bessie was quick to agree. Having never learned to drive, she was always grateful to her various friends when they offered to collect her or drop her back at home, but she never took them for granted. She had a car service that she used regularly and she was always ready to ring them if need be.
With that sorted, Bessie decided to get ready for bed. She curled up under her duvet with a short story anthology she’d recently acquired. The title promised her some of the best detective fiction of the year, but the first two stories disappointed her. Unable to muster the enthusiasm to read any further, she switched off the light and went to sleep.
The next morning was a typical winter one on the island. The beach was windswept and rainy as Bessie stomped across it in her Wellington boots and waterproofs. She walked as far as the stairs to Thie
yn Traie, the large mansion perched on the cliff above the beach, and then turned for home. Seeing lights on in one of the holiday cottages that filled the beach between her cottage and Thie yn Traie beach surprised her. It was only half seven, awfully early for anyone else to be up and about.
Feeling slightly concerned, Bessie walked briskly past the lighted cottage, trying to look as if she hadn’t noticed the lights. Once past the cottage, she glanced backwards and felt a rush of relief when she recognised Thomas Shimmin and his wife, Maggie, standing in the building’s sitting room. She stopped and waited for them to notice her before waving.
“Oh, Bessie, come in quickly,” Maggie called after she’d opened the sliding door at the back of the cottage. “Get out of the rain.”
Bessie crossed the beach and stepped inside. “I’m dripping wet,” she said apologetically. “I won’t blame you if you throw me right back out again.”
Maggie laughed. “Don’t be silly. The floors in here are designed to get wet regularly. It is a beach cottage, after all, and we can’t count on our guests to take special care of things, can we? Anyway, we’re redoing the floors in this cottage, so drip all you like.”
“How are you, Thomas?” Bessie asked the plump man in his fifties.
He blinked at her, seemingly in surprise, before he spoke. “Oh, I’m fine, thank you, Aunt Bessie,” he said.
“We’re both well,” Maggie, equally plump and of a similar age, said loudly. “We’re getting ready to do this cottage over and we’d love your opinion.”
Bessie smiled to herself. No doubt Thomas was surprised that she’d spoken to him. He was probably used to Maggie dominating the conversation whenever they were together. “But the cottage looks wonderful,” Bessie protested. “Why are you changing it?”
“Themed accommodation is the latest thing,” Maggie told her. “If we want to stay competitive, we need to adapt.”
“Themed accommodation?” Bessie echoed.
“Look, it’s in all the magazines,” Maggie said. She showed Bessie a pile of magazines on the cottage’s dining table. Bessie glanced at a few and saw that they were all open to glossy photographs of expensive-looking holiday homes.
“See, this one has a beach theme,” Maggie said, pointing. “And this one is a jungle theme and the third is inspired by Spanish art and architecture.”
“Surely you don’t need a beach theme with the beach on your doorstep?” Bessie asked.
Thomas laughed. “That’s what I said,” he told her.
Maggie frowned. “Of course we won’t do a beach theme,” she snapped, pushing one of the magazines to the side. “But I think we can charge a premium for this cottage once we’ve found just the right concept for it.”
Bessie nodded uncertainly. “Well, good luck,” she said.
“Which do you think is better?” Maggie demanded. “Las Vegas or China?”
“That rather depends on the circumstances,” Bessie said. “I’d rather go to China, personally, but I know Las Vegas has quite a few fans.”
“I mean which would be a better decorating scheme for the cottage,” Maggie explained. “Those are my two favourite ideas.”
“Well, um, that is, I,” Bessie stopped and took a deep breath. “If I were coming on holiday to the Isle of Man, I wouldn’t want my accommodation done up like either of those. I’d much rather it have a Manx feel to it. But maybe I’m not like today’s young holidaymakers.”
“I think it’s safe to say you are not,” Maggie said grumpily.
Bessie fought the urge to laugh. “I’m afraid I’m no help at all,” she said cheerfully. “I’ll just get out of your way. I am looking forward to seeing what you end up with, though.”
“Before you go,” Maggie said quickly, “what’s this I hear about a new investigation into the Kelly girls’ disappearance?”
Bessie sighed. She knew that anything she said would be all over the island within an hour. Maggie was a professional at spreading gossip. “As I understand it, young Hugh has been looking into several what they call cold cases,” she said. “I think he’s going to try talking to all of the witnesses again in the Kelly disappearances to see if he can learn anything new.”
“I’m not sure he should be opening up old wounds,” Maggie said. “He might be better off choosing a different case to re-examine.”
“Why?” Bessie had to ask.
Maggie shrugged. “Todd Kelly, Susan’s older brother, married a friend of mine from school. My friend said that no one is happy about the investigation after all this time.”
“Surely Susan’s parents want to know what happened to their daughter,” Bessie protested.
“I think they’ve just assumed that she’s dead and moved on with their lives,” Maggie replied. “The investigation caused a lot of grief within the family. I understand that Susan’s father hasn’t spoken to Helen’s father, his own brother, since the girls vanished. A new investigation could cause new rifts.”
“I didn’t realise the brothers had a falling out,” Bessie said.
“As I understand it, Susan’s father blamed Helen for Susan running away. When Helen disappeared too, he accused Helen’s father of helping the girls leave the island. Helen’s father always denied any involvement, but Susan’s father didn’t believe him and I’ve been told the police didn’t either.”
“Surely if Helen’s father knew where the girls were, he would have said something by now,” Bessie said. “They’ve been missing for nearly thirty years.”
“I don’t know,” Maggie said. “I’m trying to find out, though. I’m meeting my friend for tea tomorrow afternoon, the one who’s married to Susan’s brother. Do you want to come as well?”
Bessie opened her mouth to refuse and then stopped herself. She wanted to do everything she could to help Hugh with the investigation and this might be the only chance she’d have to talk to someone from one of the families involved.
“I’d like that,” popped out of her mouth before she’d finished thinking her reply through.
“Good. We’re meeting at that little tearoom in Jurby, as that’s where they’re living now. Why don’t I collect you and you can ride up with me? I can’t imagine how much a taxi to Jurby would cost.”
Bessie agreed somewhat reluctantly. Maggie was right, a taxi would be expensive, but Bessie wasn’t sure she wanted to spend too much time trapped in a car with the other woman, either.
“I’ll see you at two tomorrow, then,” Maggie said happily, as Thomas let Bessie back out into the rain.
“I’ll look forward to it,” Bessie said politely.
Back at home, Bessie settled in at her desk with a pile of papers she’d recently received from her friend Marjorie Stevens at the Manx Museum. Marjorie was the museum’s librarian and archivist, and she and Bessie had been friends ever since Bessie had first taken a Manx language class from her nearly three years earlier. While Bessie had never managed to learn more than few phrases of the difficult Celtic language, her friendship with Marjorie had flourished. The younger woman had encouraged Bessie to conduct research within the island’s collection of wills. Marjorie had recently taught a class in reading old handwriting that had left Bessie happily working on transcribing ever older documents from the museum’s extensive archives.
The most recent papers from Marjorie were a collection of seventeenth-century wills from a prominent family. Marjorie had suggested that Bessie might like to try transcribing them to see what she could learn about the family and their lives from the documents. There was a large historical conference coming up on the island in May, and Marjorie was hoping Bessie might be willing to present a paper on her findings. Bessie wasn’t certain that she’d find enough to talk about, and the only way to find out for sure was to start transcribing.
When someone knocked on her door, Bessie was startled. She sat back in her chair and blinked several times. The caller knocked again and Bessie was shocked when she looked at the clock on her way into the kitchen. It was half eleven
. She’d spent her entire morning transcribing and had completely lost track of the time.
“I’m so sorry,” she greeted Mary. “I got lost in a transcription and didn’t realise the time. I’m not exactly ready to go out.”
“It’s no problem,” Mary said easily. “You go and get ready and I’ll admire the view.”
Bessie gave the woman a grateful hug and then rushed up the stairs to change into something appropriate for lunch with her wealthy and always well-dressed friend. A little black dress and matching shoes were quick and easy. Bessie combed her short bob into place and added a touch of powder and some lipstick to her face. “That will have to do,” she told her reflection before she headed back down the stairs.
Mary was standing in the kitchen doing exactly what she’d said she would do, looking out the window at the sea.
“You have the same view from Thie yn Traie, or nearly,” Bessie pointed out.
Mary smiled as she turned around. “I know, but it feels different here. Maybe it’s just because your cottage is so cosy.”
There was certainly nothing cosy about Thie yn Traie, Bessie thought as she pulled on her winter coat. The house had originally been built as a summer home for the very wealthy Pierce family. Every room Bessie had ever been in felt cold and impersonal to her, especially in contrast to Bessie’s small and cluttered cottage. Bessie loved her clutter; it was what made her home feel like home.
“Ready to go?” Mary asked as she pulled her own coat back on.
Bessie nodded. Mary had to be in her sixties, but she looked younger. As always, she was impeccably dressed in an outfit that Bessie imagined had cost more than her own entire wardrobe. A gold chain around Mary’s neck sparkled with a large diamond pendant.
“I’ve never seen that necklace before,” Bessie remarked as she locked the cottage door behind them.
“Oh, George bought it for me for our wedding anniversary,” Mary explained. “I’m sure he paid a fortune for it, but I rarely wear jewellery. I feel as if I must wear it, at least once in a while, for a few months, so he knows I appreciate it.”
Aunt Bessie Likes (An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Book 12) Page 3