Aunt Bessie Enjoys

by Diana Xarissa

  When her favourite driver, Dave, arrived to take her, she forced herself to smile. “I’m glad it’s you,” she told him as she climbed into the cab.

  “I am, too,” Dave laughed. “I’ve always been glad to be me. Where are we headed?”

  Dave kept up a non-stop stream of inane chatter all the way into Douglas, for which Bessie was hugely grateful. As he dropped her off near the shops, he handed her a card.

  “My mobile number,” he told her with a grin. “Don’t call the service when you’re done; call me direct. I’ll come back for you.”

  “This isn’t going to get you into trouble, is it?” Bessie asked.

  “No, ma’am,” he said confidently.

  Bessie wasn’t convinced, but she was grateful. The service had several drivers and most were fine, but she wasn’t sure she could stand riding with Mark Stone today.

  Research at the museum suddenly held no appeal, so Bessie headed towards the shops. As she and Doona had just been in town, though, she quickly grew bored with window-shopping. It was nearly time for lunch, but she didn’t feel hungry.

  She strolled down to the promenade and sank down on a bench to watch the sea. The day was overcast but dry, and there appeared to be hundreds of families spread out across the sand, building castles and the like.

  “I hate when there’s someone sitting on my favourite bench,” a voice said from behind Bessie.

  Bessie flushed and spun around, smiling as she recognised the speaker. “Bahey Corett, what a nice surprise.”

  Bahey shook her head. “You always say that when you see me down here, but I live here, remember? I’m down here, sitting on this bench, just about every day.”

  Bessie chuckled. “I do remember. And I remember that you wanted to talk to me about something, but I never called you to set up a meeting.”

  “Oh, aye, but you’ve had rather a lot going on, haven’t you?” Bahey asked. “I remember them jam ladies from when I was little. So sad to see them dying off all sudden like. I hope you weren’t too close to any of them.”

  Bessie shook her head. “I was friends with all of them, but not terribly close. Laxey’s a small community, of course, and it’s all very sad.”

  “Very sad,” Bahey agreed. “And very strange. I mean, they didn’t offer me any jam at Tynwald, but if they had, I would’ve taken it for sure. Did you get jam?”

  “I did,” Bessie admitted. “But I never opened it.”

  “Aye, and that’s a lucky thing,” Bahey replied. “I was telling Howard how I was sure you’d have been given a jar.”

  “How is Howard?” Bessie asked.

  “Oh, he’s okay,” Bahey said, blushing. “I must say, it’s different, this dating thing. I never tried it when I was younger and I think that’s a good thing. I’m having enough trouble getting the hang of it now.”

  Bessie chuckled. “He’d seemed like a very nice man, and he’s rather handsome as well.”

  Bahey turned even redder. “Oh, aye, he’s probably way too good-looking for the likes of me, but he doesn’t seem to know it yet.”

  “Nonsense,” Bessie said firmly. “You two made a lovely couple at Tynwald Day.”

  “Ah, thanks, but you should hear what the other women in the building have to say,” Bahey told her. “There’s a bunch of widowed women in my building and every one of them thinks she’d be better for Howard than me.”

  “Who cares what they think?” Bessie asked. “As long as Howard is happy, that’s what matters.”

  “Oh, aye, and you know what? We seem to make each other happy.”

  Bessie smiled at the surprise she could hear in Bahey’s voice. “I’m really pleased for you,” she told her friend.

  “Now we just have to find a nice man for you,” Bahey suggested.

  Bessie laughed and shook her head. “I’m too set in my ways to find a man now,” she told Bahey. “I did my fair share of dating when I was younger. Now I’m more than happy on my own with my little cottage, my research and my books. A man would just get in the way.”

  Bahey laughed. “I would have agreed with you a few months ago,” she told Bessie. “But right now I’m not so sure. It’s really nice to have someone to have meals with and watch telly with. He just makes me feel special, you know?”

  Bessie nodded. “I remember how being in love felt,” she told Bahey. “And there are times when I feel I’ve missed out. But then I see a couple on the beach arguing about whose turn it is to change their baby’s nappy and I decide I’m better off on my own again.”

  Bahey laughed. “Well, at least I don’t have to worry about having that particular argument with Howard,” she said.

  “But why did you want to talk to me?” Bessie asked again.

  “Oh, well, there’s something been going on in our building, but I don’t know if it’s really a problem or just my imagination, like. Howard says I’m seeing things that aren’t there, but it worries me for some reason.”

  “What’s going on?” Bessie asked.

  “I’d rather not talk about it right now,” Bahey answered. “There’s some things I need to check out first. Besides, Howard is away, visiting his daughter, and I want him to be in on the conversation. Maybe we could have lunch when he gets back in early August.”

  “Are you sure?” Bessie asked. “In all my mystery books, the person who says that always ends up mysteriously disappearing or meeting with an unfortunate accident.”

  Bahey laughed. “It isn’t anything like that,” she assured Bessie. “And I don’t want go saying things and then finding out it’s nothing. Let’s make plans for lunch, and even if I haven’t figured things out by then, I’ll tell you all about it, okay?”

  Bessie checked her diary and the pair agreed on a date. “Where would you like to meet?” Bessie asked.

  “Oh, come to mine,” Bahey suggested. “I’ll cook something simple for the three of us.”

  “That sounds good,” Bessie agreed. “I’ll enjoy getting to know Howard better, as well.”

  Bahey wrote down her flat number for Bessie. “You can see it from here,” she said, pointing down a short alley that led up from the promenade.

  Bessie smiled. “If I can’t find it, I’ll just come and sit on this bench and you can come and find me.”

  “I’ll send Howard,” Bahey told her with a laugh.

  “Perfect.”

  Bessie was feeling better about life after her chat with Bahey, and Bahey’s mysterious problem gave Bessie something else to think about as well.

  Feeling suddenly as if life was too short to worry about silly things like proper nutrition, Bessie treated herself to fish and chips from a chippy on the promenade. She ate them while seated on another bench, still watching the sea and the holidaying families. After lunch, she dropped into a small convenience store and bought herself a few of the sort of celebrity magazines she usually only read while waiting in her doctor’s surgery. On impulse, she added an indulgent chocolate bar to her purchases.

  Now feeling as if she was well stocked up for a quiet afternoon at home, she rang the number on Dave’s card and was pleased when he told her he could pick her up in just a few minutes at the same place where he’d left her. She was only a short stroll away, and she arrived there only seconds before Dave pulled up.

  Back at her cottage, she curled up in her favourite chair with a magazine and her bar of chocolate, ready to wallow in the comings and goings of the various celebrities who were happy to have their lives splashed across the tabloids. A couple of hours later she was tutting over the incredibly tacky wedding of some vapid-looking blonde soap actress whom Bessie had never heard of to some man who played football, a sport Bessie never followed. She was startled when she heard Doona’s special knock.

  “Would you get married in lime green?” she demanded of Doona after she’d opened the door.

  “I don’t plan on ever getting married again,” her twice-divorced friend reminded her. “In any colour at all.”

  “But r
eally, if you were young and beautiful, why would you get married in lime green?”

  Doona set down the pizza box she was carrying and put the tubs of ice cream in the freezer before she looked at the magazine Bessie was waving around.

  “I think it’s one of her new husband’s team colours or something,” she answered after she’d taken a quick look. “But that’s not what’s interesting about that wedding,” she added. “Did you see the photo on the next page?”

  Bessie turned the page and then gasped. “That’s Sienna Madison,” she exclaimed. “What’s she doing there?”

  Bessie and Doona had met Sienna only a month earlier when the pretty young actress had been caught up in a murder investigation that began at Peel Castle.

  Doona quickly skimmed the article while Bessie dug out plates.

  “According to this, she was one of the bridesmaids,” she told Bessie. “I guess that’s why she’s wearing fuchsia.”

  Bessie shook her head. “I read that the bride was a soap actress, but I never made the connection with Market Square.”

  Doona handed Bessie the magazine back. “I can’t believe you’re reading this sort of trash anyway,” she told her friend.

  “I needed something mindless,” Bessie replied.

  “It’s certainly that,” Doona said with a laugh.

  Bessie opened the pizza box and the pair grabbed their first slices. “Shall I open a bottle of wine?” Bessie asked.

  “Can’t hurt,” Doona replied. “I’ve had a very long day.”

  Bessie stood up and then hesitated. “Red or white with pizza?”

  Doona laughed. “Whichever you can get open fastest.”

  Bessie chuckled. “I bought a bottle of white zinfandel the other day,” she told Doona. “The girl in the store said it was very popular. It’s sort of pink, so maybe it can go with everything.”

  She opened the bottle, poured some into wine glasses and then took a cautious sip. “It’s good,” she said.

  Doona took a large drink from her glass. “It is good,” she agreed. “Although after the day I had, I wouldn’t complain if it tasted like paint thinner.”

  “Well, I would, and it definitely doesn’t,” Bessie replied.

  “No, it definitely doesn’t,” Doona agreed.

  The pair ate pizza and drank wine in companionable silence for a while. When the pizza was finished, Doona sat back with a sigh.

  “I’m sorry I’m not more chatty,” she said. “I spent the entire day dealing with crazy people, either on the phone or in person. The silence just now was lovely.”

  “It was busy at the station?”

  “It was a madhouse. Pete Corkill was there; he’s been called in to help John figure out what’s going on. Elinor and Margaret were there for much of the day, answering questions and, I don’t know, being watched, I guess. We had dozens of people calling in to report seeing everything from Agnes’s ghost to a mysterious man, dressed all in black, hanging around Joan’s house.” Doona shook her head. “Every tip has to be investigated, of course. Poor Hugh’s been chasing ghosts all day.”

  “You should have invited him to join us,” Bessie replied.

  “He was going straight to Grace’s after work. I’m sure he’d rather spend his time with her.”

  Bessie nodded. “I’m sure you’re right about that.”

  “Anyway, in between all the tips were the calls from a bunch of very worried residents of Laxey who are now convinced there’s a serial killer running around killing people entirely at random.”

  “At this point, it seems that only Margaret and Elinor need to be worried,” Bessie suggested.

  “Ah, but once the jam ladies are gone, who’ll be next?” Doona asked dramatically. She shook her head. “There are lots of little groups in Laxey, like the jam ladies, and it seems at least one person in every one of them is convinced they’re going to be the next group targeted. No one wants to listen to reason, and no one believes that any of the deaths were accidental, either.”

  “At least it’s Wednesday,” Bessie said. “The weekend is coming.”

  “Yeah, but if the two inspectors don’t get things figured out quickly, I might have to work this weekend. They’re sending a couple of desk staff from Douglas up tomorrow to help me field phone calls and visitors for the rest of the week. Come the weekend, though, there’s no way our regular weekend constable can handle all this on his own.”

  “Oh, dear,” Bessie said. “You need the time off.”

  “We all do,” Doona told her. “I’ve never seen John so stressed and even Pete Corkill, after just a few hours up here, was looking incredibly grim.”

  “Think how awful it must be for Margaret and EIlnor,” Bessie said. “I must ring them both and make sure they’re okay.”

  “They’re fine,” Doona said with a shake of her head. “Oh, Margaret’s all timid and quivery, but neither one of them seems to think they’re being targeted by a madman. They’re both quite calm about the whole thing, really. Very sad about losing their friends, but not at all worried about being next, from what I’ve seen.”

  “I’ll call them both tomorrow,” Bessie said. “Remember they’re both tough women who were taught to keep a stiff upper lip and all that. They’ll be working hard to make sure no one knows how they really feel.”

  “They’d be better off acting terrified,” Doona told her. “Right now they’re just making the inspectors even more suspicious of them.”

  Bessie sighed. “I can’t imagine Margaret or Elinor suddenly turning into a serial killer at seventy-odd,” she said. “I’ve known these women for most of their adult lives.”

  “We need to have one of our gatherings where we go through motive, means and opportunity,” Doona said. “But we need Hugh and John to do it right.”

  “What about tomorrow night?” Bessie asked. “See if Hugh is free and tell John what we’re doing. He can join us or not, as he likes.”

  “Maybe we should invite Pete Corkill as well,” Doona said after a moment. “He knows you and I think he knows how clever you are. If he comes, John might be more willing to come as well.”

  “Invite whomever you like,” Bessie told her. “I’ll make a blueberry crumble if you bring Indian or Chinese.”

  “I’ll bring something,” Doona promised, “other than pizza.”

  The women went to bed not long after, with Bessie curling up under her summer-weight duvet with another new book. She read the first three chapters and then put it to one side. It wasn’t holding her interest. Her mind kept replaying the exchange between Margaret and Joan about the spare kettle.

  After a while, she turned off her light and flopped down on her pillow. She tried to think about other things, any other things, but her brain refused to cooperate. She fell into a restless sleep with Joan’s words echoing through her head. “Maybe I won’t burn myself on my next cuppa,” indeed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Although the next day was only Thursday, Bessie was in need of a trip to the grocery store. She called her usual service and requested a taxi not long after she got home from her daily early morning walk. When the taxi beeped outside, she knew that her least favourite driver would be behind the wheel.

  “Good morning, Mark,” she said politely as she climbed into the car.

  “Morning, Bessie, me love,” he replied. “Ramsey today, is it?”

  “Yes, please, I have guests coming over tonight and I need to make a pudding.”

  “Not jam roly poly, I reckon,” he laughed loudly. “I won’t be eating raspberry jam myself for a good long time, I can tell you. Not that those old dears shared any of their precious jam with me at Tynwald Day, anyway,” he said with a frown. “I guess my not being from Laxey kept me from getting poisoned, anyway.”

  Bessie stared out the window, choosing to ignore the man rather than tell him what she was thinking.

  “I was telling the wife, just the other day, about one of them jam ladies,” he rabbited on. “I used to take on
e of them back and forth to one of the other houses all regular like, but then I come to find out that it wasn’t the other lady she was visiting, if you know what I mean?” He winked at Bessie, who was still trying to hide her surprise at the revelation that Mark was married.

  I guess there truly is someone for everyone, she thought as her mind processed the rest of his words. “You mean one of the ladies was having an affair with one of her friend’s husbands?” Bessie asked.

  “Oh, yeah, but a long time ago,” Mark said with a chuckle. “Hard to believe it, but that sort of thing even went on back in the seventies, when I first started driving a taxi.”

  “You should tell the police about it,” Bessie suggested. Although she was curious, she wasn’t going to ask the man for any more details herself. He was talking out of turn and she wasn’t going to encourage him to gossip about his customers.

  “Tell the police? Why?”

  “They’re interested in anything and everything to do with the jam ladies,” Bessie said. “They’re trying to find a motive for three murders.”

  “Oh, but what difference does a long-ago love affair make? The husband died a long time ago,” the man said. “I mean, the lady in question, her husband might have minded, but he’s dead now too.”

  It took all of Bessie’s willpower not to ask the man for the name of the woman he was talking about. Instead, she offered an alternative answer. “Perhaps the woman in question was visiting the children, rather than the husband?” she suggested.

  “Whatever,” Mark shrugged. “Anyway, here you are. You want me to collect you at a set time?”

  Bessie shook her head. “I’ve several shops to stop in at. I’ll call the office when I’m done.” And hopefully, get a different driver home, she added silently.

  “Okay, see ya.” He pulled away as soon as Bessie’s feet touched the pavement. She frowned after him, wishing she’d reminded him to contact the police.

  Her head was spinning now with this new piece of news, which was really more a confirmation of what Elinor had said. It seemed likely that at least one of the jam ladies had an affair with someone else’s husband. While Bessie enjoyed hearing a bit of skeet now and again, this dredging up of what should have been long buried personal history made her miserable.