Aunt Bessie Enjoys

by Diana Xarissa

  Joan pushed up her sleeve, showing the other ladies a sore-looking red patch.

  “That looks painful,” Doona said. “Have you seen your doctor?”

  “Not yet,” Joan shrugged. “I figured I’d see how it goes. I have a standing appointment every Friday anyway for all my other aches and pains, so if it isn’t better by then, I’ll have them take a look at it.”

  “Why don’t you borrow the spare kettle in the kitchen here?” Margaret suggested. “I’ll get it for you.”

  She disappeared into the kitchen before Joan could reply. Margaret was back a few moments later holding an old kettle.

  “I’m sure no one will care if you borrow it,” she said softly.

  “What if someone needs it here?” Joan asked.

  “The mums and tots group is on their summer break until September,” Elinor told her. “We’re the only group using the space at the moment. Surely you’ll have a chance to replace your kettle before then.”

  “Oh, yes, I was planning to go into Ramsey on Saturday,” Joan replied. “I need to do a big grocery shop and get some other things as well.”

  “In that case, you’re more than welcome to use the spare from here,” Elinor told her. “No one need ever know, not that anyone would mind.”

  “Thanks,” Joan said with a sheepish grin. “Maybe I won’t burn myself on my next cuppa, at least.”

  “Let’s hope not,” Elinor said with a smile.

  The group broke up after that. Bessie felt peculiarly unsettled by the meeting, but she wasn’t sure why. She had a lot of things she needed to discuss with the inspector that might give him some new ideas about his difficult case.

  Doona took Bessie home by way of the nearest Chinese takeaway. They bought at least five containers more than they could ever possibly eat, but they both felt as if they needed to indulge themselves in some way.

  Back at Bessie’s, they spread the feast out on the counter and filled plates. Bessie hesitated and then opened a bottle of wine.

  “Neither of us is driving tonight,” Doona pointed out as Bessie poured.

  They drank their wine and enjoyed their food, getting through the vast majority of it. Bessie put all of the leftovers in the fridge.

  “That’s lunch for tomorrow, anyway,” she told Doona.

  With the wine bottle nearly empty, Bessie was thinking longingly about her bed.

  “We didn’t have our fortune cookies,” Doona said suddenly.

  “I knew I still needed something sweet,” Bessie said with a laugh. Bessie grabbed a cookie and broke it open. She nibbled at the crunchy treat as she unfolded her fortune.

  “Danger comes from all sides,” she read in a somber tone.

  “Really?” Doona demanded. “That’s a terrible fortune.”

  Bessie nodded and showed the slip to her friend. “I hope yours is better,” she said.

  “Here goes nothing,” Doona laughed. She broke her cookie into pieces and popped the largest in her mouth before unfolding her fortune.

  “Your happiness lies closer than you think,” she read to Bessie.

  “Well, that’s certainly better than mine,” Bessie said, washing down the last of her cookie with the last of the wine.

  “I just hope mine is right and yours is wrong,” Doona told her friend as she began to tidy up the kitchen.

  Bessie quickly gave her a hand and then hugged her tight. “I hope you’re already pretty happy,” she told her friend.

  “I am,” Doona assured her. “At least I’m a lot happier now than I was when we met a few years ago. That was, without a doubt, the lowest point in my life. Things are much better now, even with John being grumpy all the time.”

  “Time for some sleep,” Bessie suggested. “You have to go to work in the morning.”

  “So true,” Doona laughed. “It feels like the weekend somehow, maybe because I had the afternoon off.”

  “Tell John I want to talk to him,” Bessie told her. “I learned quite a lot today that he might be interested in.”

  Chapter Ten

  Bessie took a longer walk the next morning, as it was sunny and comfortably cool. By the time she got home, Doona had already left for work. Bessie grinned as she read the note her friend had left.

  Since you aren’t here, I can’t drag you to the station with me. I hope you had a nice walk. I’ll tell John you want to talk to him. He’ll probably try to drop by some time today. I’m bringing pizza and ice cream to you tonight, unless you call and request something else.

  Pizza and ice cream sounded just about right, Bessie thought as she fixed herself a cup of tea. She’d had breakfast before her walk, but she was just considering another slice of toast when someone knocked on her door.

  Bessie smiled at John Rockwell when she opened the door. “Doona said you’d probably stop by, but I didn’t expect you quite this early,” she said as she let him in. “I thought you might get here just in time for lunch again.” She stopped talking when she noticed the expression on his face.

  “Please don’t tell me someone else has died,” she said, already anticipating his answer.

  “I’m sorry, Bessie,” he replied. He gave her a hug and then led her over to a chair. Once she was sitting down, he refilled her kettle and flipped in on.

  “Who?” Bessie choked out.

  “I thought maybe I should make some tea first,” John prevaricated.

  Bessie shook her head. “Please tell me.”

  “Joan Carr was found unresponsive at her residence this morning. An ambulance was called, but they were unable to revive her.”

  Bessie drew a deep breath, feeling tears flowing down her cheeks. “What happened?” she asked after a moment.

  John handed her a mug of tea. Bessie took a tentative sip, feeling as if nothing would make her feel better, but grateful that he was trying.

  “At this point, the investigation is in its very earliest stages,” John began as he rummaged through Bessie’s cupboards. “But it looks as if she was electrocuted when she turned on her kettle.”

  Bessie set her mug down on the table with shaking hands. “It wasn’t her kettle,” she gasped.

  “That’s what Elinor Lewis and Doona both told me,” John replied. He’d found a box of biscuits and now he piled a few onto a plate. “Eat something,” he suggested. “Your body needs the sugar.”

  Bessie took a biscuit and nibbled on it, her mind racing. “Doona told you about the kettle?” she asked after a while.

  “She did, but I’d like you to walk me through exactly what happened as well. The more versions of the story I hear the better.”

  Bessie nodded. “We had tea with the jam ladies yesterday afternoon,” she began.

  The inspector held up a hand. “Could you please start with your morning and take me through your whole day?” he asked her.

  Bessie sighed. “I forgot, you always do that,” she said. She began again, telling the inspector everything she could remember from the previous day, including all of the startling revelations that Elinor had shared with her. He took several notes, but didn’t interrupt. By the time she’d finished, she felt as if she was beginning to recover from the shocking news.

  “Obviously, this last death changes the case rather dramatically,” he told her when she’d finished.

  “Could it have been an accident?” Bessie asked.

  “Anything’s possible, but it seems unlikely. Our crime scene team is going to go over that kettle at least a dozen times.”

  “It was pretty old,” Bessie told him. “And it probably hadn’t been used for years.”

  “We have detectives working on finding out exactly when it was used last,” John told her. “There are only two groups that use the centre regularly, and Elinor says they never used that kettle as they never needed more hot water than a single kettle full.”

  “Poor Elinor, she must be devastated. And poor Margaret, she was the one who suggested that Joan borrow the kettle in the first place,” Bessie shook her hea
d. “I must call them both.”

  “Right now they’re both at the station. I took their statements and now they’re going through them again with the head of Douglas CID. As far as I’m concerned, the longer they stay in police custody the better.”

  “To keep them safe? It really does seem as if someone is targeting them as a group.”

  “To keep them safe, maybe,” John said. “And also because they’re top of the suspect list.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Bessie said. “You can’t possibly suspect Elinor or Margaret of anything.”

  “There a limited number of people who had access to that kettle,” John pointed out. “The mums that use the space probably don’t even know the jam ladies, so they aren’t likely to have any motive for killing them. If the kettle was tampered with, Elinor and Margaret certainly had the opportunity to do it.”

  “Maybe someone was trying to kill one of the mums from the other group,” Bessie suggested.

  “In some ways, that would be worse,” John replied. “While I hate the thought of someone out there targeting your friends, I’d hate to think someone is targeting more than one group.”

  “But if you think it was deliberate, Margaret has to be your number one suspect, and there’s no way you’ll ever convince me she rewired a kettle to kill someone.”

  John shrugged. “The space is available for hire and has been used by dozens of groups over the last year or so. That blows the suspect list wide open, but it also makes it seem far more random, like the first murder. The fact that all the ladies who have died are part of the same group suggests that there is nothing random about these murders.”

  “But only the first one was definitely murder,” Bessie said, thoughtfully. “Maybe Agnes and Joan both just had accidents.”

  “Maybe,” John said. “But it seems unlikely.”

  Bessie sighed. “I hope Margaret is okay. She was very upset yesterday.”

  “She was very upset this morning. She found the body,” John told her.

  “Oh, no,” Bessie gasped. “The poor woman.”

  “Apparently after Agnes’s death, the group started a routine of calling one another every morning. This morning it was Margaret’s turn to call Joan. When Joan didn’t answer, she went to check on her. I understand all of the ladies have keys to all of their friends’ homes. Anyway, she let herself in and found the body. It looks as if Joan decided to have a cup of tea before bed last night and, well, the kettle was faulty.”

  “Didn’t anyone check on her last night?” Bessie asked.

  “Elinor called her at nine,” John replied. “According to her, Joan was quite upset and Elinor said she actually suggested that she should have a cup of tea before bed.”

  Bessie shook her head. “Poor Elinor, she must be blaming herself,” she said.

  John frowned. “You need to understand,” he told Bessie sternly, “we’re looking very closely at Elinor, and at Margaret as well.”

  “Why would either of them want to kill their friends?” Bessie asked. “There’s no motive for either of them to kill anyone.”

  John sighed. “So far, I can’t find any motive for anyone to kill any of the women,” he told Bessie. “And yes, at least two of the deaths could have been accidents, which is complicating things to say the least. This was a difficult case to begin with, and it’s getting more and more complex every day.”

  “What about all the things that Elinor told me yesterday?” Bessie asked. “Is it possible that her husband had affairs with some of the other ladies, for example?”

  John shrugged. “You never heard a whisper of it over the years, right? Could they possibly have kept something like that quiet in a village this small?”

  Bessie sipped her tea while she gave the question some thought. “I simply don’t know,” she admitted finally. “I would have said no a few days ago, but the more I think about the ladies, the more I realise just how close-knit and secretive they actually were.”

  “And still are,” John commented. “Elinor didn’t tell me about any of this when we spoke. She insisted that no one could possibly have any motive for killing any of the ladies.”

  “Surely her husband’s affairs don’t give anyone a motive for murder,” Bessie said.

  “Except, perhaps, Elinor.”

  Bessie flushed. “You think she might be killing off the women her husband slept with thirty-odd years ago?”

  “I’m saying it’s possible,” John countered. “It’s the first motive I’ve heard for killing more than one of the ladies, at least.”

  “Elinor said they fought about other things as well,” Bessie said.

  “Anything that would give Margaret a motive?” John asked.

  “I don’t know. I suspect a lot of the arguing about childrearing could have been between Elinor and the others. I don’t know that all of the ladies were as fond of Nathan as Elinor was.”

  “So we’re back to Elinor having a motive for killing more than one of the ladies,” John said.

  “There must be people outside the group with motives,” Bessie argued.

  “There may be, but I’m having trouble finding them,” John told her. “And then there’s means and opportunity.” He sighed. “I really can’t discuss the case with you,” he said. “You’re too close to it and it’s too big a case.”

  “I see,” Bessie said sharply.

  “No, you don’t,” John said sadly. “But that can’t be helped. Can you walk me through the whole conversation about the kettle again? It doesn’t make sense.”

  Bessie told him the whole story again. This time he interrupted frequently.

  “Did you actually see the burn marks on Joan’s arm?” he asked.

  “I told you I did,” Bessie answered. “Her arm was red and it looked very painful. There were a couple of large patches and lots of little marks, like you’d get if you splashed boiling water on your arm.”

  “How did the killer know her kettle was going to be broken?” John asked.

  “Did you find a broken kettle at her house?” Bessie asked. “Other than the one that killed her, obviously.”

  “I don’t know,” John said. “But I’ll find out.” He pulled out his phone and made a quick phone call. Bessie got up and turned the kettle back on, feeling the need for another cup of tea. As she flipped the kettle’s switch, she winced. Would she ever be able to turn on her kettle without thinking about poor Joan, she wondered.

  “They’re doing a complete inventory of her kitchen now,” John told Bessie when he’d finished his call.

  “Of course, if there isn’t any broken kettle there, it won’t prove anything. She might have just thrown it away.”

  “But if there’s a working kettle there, that might tell us something,” John replied.

  “What?” Bessie asked.

  “I don’t know,” John said shaking his head. “Nothing makes sense about this. If the kettle the ladies used at the centre had been tampered with and someone had been killed at a meeting, that might have made sense, but who tries to kill someone with a kettle kept in the back of a cupboard? It could have sat there for ten years before it was ever used.”

  “It seems more likely that Joan’s death was just a tragic accident,” Bessie said sadly.

  “If it had happened in a month’s time, maybe,” John said. “Or if the kettle hadn’t come from the centre where the ladies meet, maybe. Too many things just don’t add up to accident for me.”

  “Well, you’re the expert,” Bessie said, a touch grumpily.

  John chuckled. “That doesn’t sound like a ringing endorsement,” he said. “But at the moment I don’t feel I deserve one, so fair enough.”

  “You know I think you’re the most clever policeman on the island,” Bessie told him. She’d fixed more tea and now she poured some into each of their cups.

  “I don’t feel very clever,” he replied. “This case is like nothing I’ve ever dealt with before. It’s totally random killings with very specific targ
ets.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he told Bessie. “I need to get back to the station. Inspector Corkill will be done with Elinor and Margaret by now. We need to compare notes and see what we can come up with.”

  “Tell Inspector Corkill I said hi,” Bessie requested as he got up to leave. “In spite of all of our difficulties in May, I think he’s pretty smart too. I’m sure the two of you will figure this out.”

  “I just hope we can sort it out before anyone else dies,” John replied gloomily.

  He was gone before Bessie could reply. She shut the door behind him, frowning at his last words. She felt as if she were on autopilot as she tidied up the tea things, unable to make sense of Joan’s death.

  The phone rang a few minutes later.

  “Bessie, are you okay?” Doona demanded as soon as Bessie answered.

  “I’m fine,” Bessie replied without thought.

  “Yeah, but how are you really?” Doona asked.

  Bessie thought for a moment. “I’m shocked and upset and scared for Margaret and Elinor,” she told her friend. “I’m also confused and I really don’t know what to think.”

  “Why don’t you grab a taxi and come and spend the rest of the day at the station?” Doona suggested. “I’d come to you, but, as I’m sure you can imagine, things are crazy here. We’ve got Pete Corkill, the two remaining jam ladies and Spencer Cannon here and I’ve been fielding non-stop calls about Joan since I walked in this morning.”

  “And I’d just be in the way,” Bessie added. “I’ll be fine,” she assured her friend. “I think I’ll take a taxi into Douglas and work on some research. That should keep my brain busy for a while.”

  “I’ll be at your place by six,” Doona told her. “With pizza and ice cream.”

  “I’ll be here,” Bessie replied.

  She hung up the phone and sighed. Doona was right. She shouldn’t sit at home. She called for a taxi before she gave herself time to think, knowing if she thought too much about it, she’d change her mind and go back to bed.