Aunt Bessie Decides (An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Book 4)

by Diana Xarissa

  He started the car and switched on his headlamps, and then waited. After a moment, Hugh’s car drove slowly past them. The inspector pulled out behind the younger man.

  “So, I suppose I should thank you for an interesting evening,” Rockwell said as they drove slowly through Peel.

  Bessie tried to laugh, but the sound that came out was closer to a sob. “I’m starting to think I’ve brought some sort of curse on myself,” she told the man. “I keep stumbling over murders. It’s getting quite ridiculous.”

  Rockwell patted her arm. “Bad things happen, even in beautiful places like the Isle of Man. And bad people are everywhere. You’ve just happened to get caught up in a rather unfortunate string of dreadful situations.”

  “Tonight was meant to give us all a break from all of the nastiness that’s been taking place,” Bessie told him.

  “Unfortunately for Scott, someone else had other plans.”

  Bessie sighed. “Are you sure it isn’t me?” she asked. “Maybe I forgot to wave to the little people or something.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, Henry seems to think he’s the one who’s cursed,” Rockwell said with a chuckle. “And, to be fair, he has been around when most of the bodies have turned up.”

  “So maybe, if I stop going anywhere that Henry is, we’ll both have better luck,” Bessie said, frowning as she heard the bitterness in her voice.

  “Bessie,” Rockwell said in a serious voice. “I know that this all feels overwhelming and awful right now, but you know it has nothing to do with you, right? Sometimes good people get dragged into bad situations, just because they’re in the wrong place at the wrong time. I am really sorry that it seems to be happening to you a lot lately. But I am glad that I’ve been able to meet you and become your friend, so it isn’t all bad.”

  Bessie smiled. “Every cloud has a silver lining,” she agreed.

  “Is that Shakespeare?”

  “Actually, I think it’s a paraphrase from Milton, but I could be wrong,” she shrugged. “Anyway, let’s don’t worry about me. Who killed Scott Carson?”

  Rockwell sighed. “That’s tonight’s big question. Although I’m also wondering who on earth thought Much Ado About the Shrew was going to be a success, as well.”

  Bessie laughed. “It was pretty awful,” she said. “In fact, it was nothing but awful.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, there were a few not entirely awful moments.”

  “Really?” Bessie said. “I must have missed those.”

  Rockwell laughed. “The first minute or so wasn’t too bad,” he suggested.

  Bessie thought about it. “I suppose it wasn’t,” she agreed. “Because nothing was happening. It definitely all went downhill after that.”

  “I’m tempted to go on Sunday afternoon and see if it’s improved any,” Rockwell said.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Bessie replied. “I don’t suppose it could get any worse.”

  Rockwell laughed. “I think you’re tempting fate,” he teased.

  The inspector drove carefully across the middle of the island, following Hugh, who stuck meticulously to the speed limit.

  “So, who do you think killed Scott?” Bessie asked, echoing the question the inspector had put to each of the suspects earlier.

  Rockwell shook his head. “At this point, I’m trying to keep an open mind,” he told Bessie. “Every one of them had a motive of some sort, although some seem stronger than others.”

  “And I guess they all had the opportunity,” Bessie added. “I mean, once it got dark, any one of them could have slipped over and stabbed Scott on their way in or out of the dressing room tent.”

  “As could a number of other people,” Rockwell pointed out. “We’re going to have to try to track down as many audience members as we can. It isn’t outside the realm of possibility that someone from the audience or someone from the cast of extras was able to sneak up and kill Scott. With the bright lights facing the stage, the whole VIP section was pitch-black by the end of the show.”

  Bessie nodded. “But what sort of motive would any of them have had?”

  “No idea,” Rockwell replied. “But we have to investigate every possibility.”

  “The knife will probably narrow things down, though, won’t it?” Bessie asked. “I mean, if it is the one that William lost six months ago, there aren’t too many people who had access to it.”

  “Did you see Scott move once he got settled on the ground?” Rockwell asked Bessie.

  Bessie frowned. “I wasn’t really paying attention,” she said after a moment. “I think he probably changed position at least once or twice, but I was focussed on the stage and what was happening there. Besides, every time I glanced in his direction, I ended up getting distracted by the people going in and out of the tent. They were tripping and stumbling all over the place.”

  Rockwell nodded. “I’m sure I saw him sit up for a short while, but I wasn’t really watching, either. I’m surprised that his two bodyguards didn’t see anything, though.”

  “They didn’t strike me as the brightest of men,” Bessie said. “Besides, they were both wearing dark glasses the whole time. I doubt they could have seen much of anything.”

  “Hugh took their statements. They both claim that they didn’t see anything. Apparently they’re both actors, rather than trained bodyguards. They’re called Carl and Ed, and from what they told Hugh, they were hired by Candy to make Scott look important. Neither one of them ever worked any type of security before today.”

  “Wonderful,” Bessie sighed.

  “Hugh’s interviews with the audience members didn’t really tell us anything, either, although I didn’t expect them to.”

  “No one saw anything?” Bessie asked.

  “Apparently not. There were only about a dozen people left by the time Scott’s body was found, and several of them told Hugh that they only stayed because they’d fallen asleep.”

  Bessie laughed. “I can believe that,” she said.

  “If they’re to be believed, none of them knew who was in the VIP area, and Hugh reckoned none of them really cared, either.”

  “They might have, if they’d known it was a famous soap star,” Bessie suggested.

  Rockwell shrugged. “According to Hugh’s summary of their statements, everyone saw people coming and going at the tent, but no one noticed anyone doing anything that looked like a person stabbing someone.”

  “It was too dark to see anything properly,” Bessie said with a sigh. “Did the other constable learn anything interesting from the rest of the cast?”

  The inspector laughed. “Apparently he got an earful about the show from every one of them,” he told Bessie. “They’d all signed up to do Hamlet, apparently, and they’d been rehearsing for months. Suddenly the group turns up with a different play and expects them to learn it in less than twenty-four hours. Kewin said he has about ten pages’ worth of complaints about every single person in the company.”

  “Oh dear. I don’t suppose any of them noticed anything suspicious?”

  “Obviously, I have to sit down and read each report in full,” Rockwell told her. “But according to Kewin’s summary, they were too busy to notice what was going on at the changing room tent. They didn’t have any costume changes and they were all told to stay away from where the, quote, ‘lead actors,’ end of quote, were getting ready.”

  “How nice,” Bessie said sarcastically.

  “Indeed. Anyway, none of them admitted to knowing who was in the VIP area. Obviously, we need to check into everyone’s background, but at the moment we don’t have anything to tie any of them to Scott or anyone else in the group.”

  The pair fell silent for a short while, as Rockwell drove steadily towards home.

  “So, come on then,” Rockwell said eventually. “Who do you think killed Scott?”

  “Maybe they were all in on it together,” Bessie suggested. “That’s why they’re all blaming one another now, so that everything g
ets confused.”

  “I know they’re all actors, so I could be totally wrong, but I don’t think they like each other well enough to agree to a plot like that.”

  Bessie laughed. “You could be right,” she said. “Everyone was so quick to blame everyone else for the things that have gone wrong for them. I’d almost feel sorry for them, after all their problems, except none of them are at all likeable.”

  They’d reached the outskirts of Douglas now, and Hugh drove carefully around the city, heading for the coast road to Laxey.

  “Did you enjoy your first TT, then?” Bessie asked as they made their way past the event’s Grandstand. She was referring to the annual motorcycle road race that brought thousands of bikers and spectators to the island.

  “It was different,” the inspector replied. “I put in a lot of extra hours and spent a lot of time in different parts of the island, but overall I enjoyed it.”

  “What did your wife and the kids think?”

  “Sue took the kids back to Manchester,” Rockwell said. “They were off school for the fortnight anyway, and Sue’s mum needed to have a bit of minor surgery that, luckily, got scheduled right in the middle of the period, so it all worked out for the best.”

  “They seem like terrific kids,” Bessie told him.

  “Ah, thanks. They have their moments, but I’m proud of how they handled things tonight. It was a pretty ghastly situation for them to be in.”

  “Are you going to go to Doona’s after you drop me off?” Bessie asked, aware that she was probably being nosier than she should.

  “Yeah, she said she’d wait up for me,” Rockwell told her. “I’ll probably just check on the kids and then head home. My rental flat is only on the next street from hers. If the kids are asleep, I’ll leave them there and they can walk home when they wake up tomorrow.”

  “When is Sue due back?”

  “She’s flying back in the morning. She wasn’t best pleased when she heard about what happened tonight. Once she heard, she decided to switch her flights, so hopefully she’ll be here by lunchtime.”

  “That should make the kids feel better, anyway.”

  “Yeah,” Rockwell sighed. “I don’t get near enough time with them, you know, and now, left alone with them for the weekend, everything’s blown up in my face.”

  It was Bessie’s turn to pat his arm. “You’re doing a vital job and I don’t know anyone who could do it better,” she said softly.

  He glanced over at her. “Thanks,” he said.

  A moment later, Hugh’s indicator went on, and he turned down the small lane that led to his flat. “I’ve been trying to persuade Hugh to buy a little place of his own,” the inspector told Bessie. “House prices just keep rising and if he doesn’t get on the property ladder now, he may never manage it.”

  “You need to have a word with Grace,” Bessie suggested. “I’m pretty sure she has a lot more influence on young Hugh than anyone else.”

  Rockwell grinned. “I hope so. She’s a lovely girl.”

  “She is. I just hope she can put up with his job.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Rockwell said, with a hint of some suppressed emotion.

  Bessie might have asked him what was wrong if they hadn’t pulled up to her cottage just then.

  “I’ll just come in and check the place over,” the inspector told Bessie.

  Bessie shook her head. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “It’s nearly morning. Anyone who might have broken in and stolen my things is long gone and tucked up in bed.”

  Rockwell shook his head. “I’ll just do it anyway,” he told her firmly. “If nothing else, because if I don’t, Doona will never forgive me.”

  “I don’t need mollycoddling,” Bessie said stoutly, as she climbed out of the car.

  “I’m not mollycoddling,” the inspector said with a grin. “I’m just hoping to find a stray biscuit that’s trying to escape.”

  Bessie shook her head. It was nice of him to pretend that he was really after a biscuit, but she knew he was being as overprotective as Doona had become. Really, she was a fully-grown woman and she could look after herself.

  Inside, it only took the inspector a few moments to walk through the cottage.

  “No scary monsters lurking behind your curtains,” he reported cheerfully as he rejoined Bessie in the kitchen. “Did you find any errant biscuits?”

  Bessie handed him a chocolate digestive and smiled to herself as his eyes lit up. Maybe he wasn’t pretending as much as she’d thought.

  She locked the door behind him, glancing at the kitchen clock. She’d expected a late night, but nothing as late as this. It was nearly four and she usually got up around six. She shook her head. No alarm for tomorrow for sure. Of course, she couldn’t turn off her internal alarm that rarely failed to have her up within minutes of six, but she would try.

  She put away the biscuit packet and checked her phone. The message light was blinking. She pressed play and grabbed a pen and paper in case she needed them.

  She needn’t have bothered, though, as the messages were all from nosy friends who had somehow already heard that she’s found another body. They’d all call back in the morning. Bessie knew that for certain. She also deleted the message from Dan Ross at the Isle of Man Times; she had no interest in talking to the newspapers about her evening.

  She turned the ringer off on the phone, her one concession to her age. She’d decided a few years back that she was too old to be running down stairs in the middle of the night when some double-glazing salesman decided to call and try to sell her new windows. She turned the volume down on the answering machine as well, since it was likely she’d get a call or two before she was up in the morning.

  Double-checking that all of her doors were locked up tightly, Bessie headed upstairs. She quickly slipped into her favourite nightgown and ran a brush through her hair, grateful that she kept it short so it needed very little attention. She brushed her teeth with good intentions but little enthusiasm. It was all she could do to keep her eyes open. She glanced in the mirror and smiled. She so rarely wore makeup that she hadn’t even considered any today. It wouldn’t hurt, therefore, if she skipped washing her face.

  She turned off the bathroom light and crawled into her bed, which felt a hundred times more comfortable than normal. Switching off her bedroom light, she fell into a sound sleep within seconds.

  Chapter Seven

  Bessie wasn’t sure what woke her the next morning. She was just suddenly awake. She sat up in bed and looked at the clock. It was quarter-past eight, the latest she’d slept in a long time. An unexpected noise stopped her as she began to climb out of bed. She listened intently. Someone was banging on the cottage door.

  I wonder if they’ll go away if I go back to sleep, she thought to herself. Another loud round of banging more or less answered that question. She sighed and then got out of bed and pulled her bathrobe around herself.

  She was halfway down the stairs before she was awake enough to wonder who could possibly be at her door. Perhaps it’s just some unhappy child who has “run away” to visit me, Bessie thought. Bessie loved children, but she’d never had any of her own. Instead, she acted as a sort of honourary aunt to just about every child in the village of Laxey. Many of them used her house as a sort of refuge from their parents when they argued. Bessie was always sympathetic and always had biscuits or cake as well. It was unusual for anyone to turn up this early on a Saturday morning, however.

  Now she pulled open the door and blinked in the bright sunlight.

  “Oh, thank heavens you’re at home,” Penny Jakubowksi gasped. “I just don’t know where else to go.”

  Bessie’s jaw dropped as Penny pushed past her into Bessie’s cottage and then burst into tears. She threw herself into Bessie’s arms and wept while Bessie stood helplessly. Bessie muttered a few “there theres,” but Penny seemed beyond listening, so instead Bessie entertained herself by trying to come up with the name of a favourite author starting with eac
h letter of the alphabet. She was stuck on X when Penny finally stopped crying.

  “Oh, I am sorry,” she told Bessie, pulling a tissue from the pocket of the voluminous dress she was wearing. “I didn’t mean to fall apart like that.”

  “But why on earth are you here?” Bessie asked, knowing that it was probably a rude question, but feeling justified under the circumstances.

  “Everything is just so awful now,” Penny said, tears welling up in her eyes again. “I needed to get away, you see, and I remembered how kind you were last night when I needed a friend. I asked around and it seems that everyone on the island knows Bessie Cubbon and where she lives. Please, can I just stay for a little while? An hour or two away from everyone else will do me the world of good.”

  Bessie was shaking her head before she’d given the question any real thought. She didn’t want to spend any time with the woman who was so prone to hysteria.

  Penny wasn’t paying attention, though. She was looking around Bessie’s kitchen. “I could make you breakfast,” she offered, opening Bessie’s refrigerator. “I make a mean omelet.” She poked around inside of it. “You have eggs and cheese and ham. I can make you a breakfast you won’t forget in a hurry.”

  Bessie wavered. While she didn’t fancy spending time with the woman, an omelet sounded lovely, and she certainly didn’t feel like going to all the trouble of making one herself.

  “I can wait outside while you get dressed or whatever,” Penny offered eagerly. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to leave me alone in the house. I’d be the same way in your shoes.”

  Bessie glanced down at her bare feet and then grinned. “Why don’t you take a walk on the beach?” she suggested. “It’s a beautiful morning and the beach shouldn’t be too crowded yet. It gets busy once the families in the rental cottages down the way get moving, but they all seem to sleep late on a Saturday morning.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea,” Penny agreed eagerly. “I’ll take a short walk and then, once you’re dressed and ready, I’ll make us both a delicious breakfast.”

  “Okay,” Bessie found herself agreeing. She showed Penny out the back door for her walk, and then she rushed back upstairs and raced through the shower. Even though she was hurrying, she took a moment to think about Matthew, her lost love, as she covered herself in her favourite rose-scented dusting powder. That was one morning ritual that she never forgot. She dressed quickly and then glanced in the mirror. A dash of lip-gloss and quick comb of her hair completed her morning routine.