Aunt Bessie Considers

by Diana Xarissa

  Bambi laughed. “I rarely watch television,” she told Bessie. “I’m usually too busy with my life. But now, I’m stuck in here with Mr. Stick-Up-His-Butt guarding the door.”

  “Ah, that would be the charming Mr. Clive Henderson?” Bessie asked.

  Bambi shook her head. “‘Charming’ and ‘Clive Henderson’ do not belong in the same sentence,” she replied. “Uncle Clive is many things, but charming is definitely not one of them.”

  “I can’t stay long,” Bessie told the girl. “I’m supposed to be giving my talk soon, but I was pleased that you wanted to see me. I’ve been worrying about you.”

  “I’m fine,” Bambi answered airily. “I’ve done much worse things to myself in the past. This was just a small overdose of sleeping pills or something.”

  “But how did you come to overdose on them?” Bessie asked.

  Bambi shrugged. “I have no idea,” she replied. “I felt fine after lunch and then the only thing I had to eat or drink after that was a bottle of water. I guess there must have been something in the water.”

  “Where did you get the water?”

  “It was just on the table, you know. There were a whole bunch of bottles of water, and tea and coffee pots and whatever. When I walked into the room, I just grabbed a bottle off the table and then went and sat down. A few minutes later a couple of people joined me and we were all chatting when I started to feel really sleepy.”

  “Do you remember talking to Claire Jamison?” Bessie asked.

  “Sure, she was collecting empty bottles, but I’d barely even started drinking mine by that point. I promised that I’d give it to her when I was done.”

  Bessie frowned. “Inspector Corkill was hoping you might be able to tell us more,” she told the girl. “He’s convinced that Mack’s murderer is the one who drugged you.”

  “I don’t know,” Bambi yawned. “I’m wondering now if I overreacted to Mack’s death. Maybe it was just an unfortunate accident. I’m trying hard to be less dramatic about life, you know?”

  Bessie shook her head. “Sometimes drama is called for,” she replied. “Mack was definitely murdered, and if we can figure out what happened to you, we might be closer to finding out who killed him.”

  Bambi yawned again. “I’m sorry, Aunt Bessie, but I’m awfully tired. I wish I could help, I truly do, but I don’t know anything.”

  “Never mind,” Bessie told her. “I’ll let you get some rest. When you wake up, have another think about everything that’s happened since you’ve been on the island. You might remember something after all. I’ll try to stop back this afternoon for another visit.”

  “That would be great,” Bambi said, getting slowly to her feet. “I’m just going to have a short nap now. Maybe something will come back to me while I’m resting and I can tell you all about it later.”

  “I hope so,” Bessie told her. “But whatever happens, your first priority has to be getting yourself fit and healthy.”

  “I’m okay,” the girl insisted. “The doctor reckons the drugs will have worked their way through my system by tomorrow, and my father is planning to take me home as soon as we get permission from him.”

  “I’ll definitely have to stop by later today then, won’t I?”

  “I’ll look forward to it,” Bambi replied, trying to stifle yet another yawn.

  Bambi crawled into her bed and gave Bessie a wave. “See you later,” she said softly, her eyes closing almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

  “Definitely,” Bessie replied, making her way to the door. She glanced back at the woman and smiled. Bambi already appeared to be fast asleep.

  Back in the corridor, Bessie headed towards the main section of the hospital. The hard tiled floors and bright florescent lighting felt harsh to Bessie after the plusher fittings in the private wing.

  She found Inspector Corkill in the lobby as promised. He nodded at Bessie as she walked through. They both headed for the main doors, meeting just before passing through them.

  “Hop in,” he told Bessie as he held open the passenger door of his car.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bessie sank back in the car’s seat and sighed deeply. “I’m sorry,” she told Inspector Corkill. “I wasn’t able to find out anything useful.”

  Corkill sighed. “I didn’t really expect you to,” he told Bessie. “Ms. Marks is hiding behind her father and his solicitor. Whether that’s because there’s something she doesn’t want to tell me or for some other reason, I wasn’t expecting her to say anything useful to you. I do appreciate your trying, though, and I’m hopeful that maybe Ms. Marks will think things over and get in touch with one of us before she leaves.”

  “I told her I’d try to stop back later this afternoon,” Bessie said. “She’s planning on leaving tomorrow if her doctor gives the okay.”

  The inspector nodded. “I’d love to make her stay, but I’m not ready to tackle Mr. Marks and his high-powered London solicitor.”

  Bessie sighed. “I honestly don’t think she knows anything,” she told him.

  “I’d still like a chance to ask her a few questions,” he replied.

  The rest of the drive passed quickly. Bessie repeated her fruitless conversation with Bambi to the man while they went. Bessie was back at the museum almost thirty minutes before she was due to speak.

  “At least you’re back with a few minutes to spare,” Corkill grinned at Bessie. “Um, good luck with your speech.”

  “Thank you,” Bessie said, hoping she didn’t sound as surprised as she felt.

  “I might just come up and listen,” Corkill continued. “I was planning to come to the last talk of the day already. I’m hoping to talk to a few people after that’s over. If I come to yours, maybe I’ll learn something interesting about, well, whatever it is you’re talking about.”

  “I’m talking about the sometimes unexpected things that wills can tell researchers. And of course you’re more than welcome,” Bessie said, figuring his presence couldn’t possibly make her any more nervous than she already was.

  “I’ll just park up somewhere,” he replied. “You go on ahead and I’ll see you later.”

  Bessie climbed out of the car and headed into the museum. It had long been one of her favourite places on the island, but she was looking forward to this particular weekend being over. It felt as if it was going to be a long while before she was going to be able to enjoy the museum again.

  The education level foyer was full of people as Bessie stepped off the lift. She sighed as she realised that, unless some of them left, they were all going to be at her talk. The last-minute schedule change meant that her presentation was the only thing scheduled in the added time slot.

  Glancing around the room, she felt a flood of relief when she spotted her friends. She slipped through the crowd, saying polite hellos to people she knew as she walked.

  “Did you have any luck with Bambi?” Rockwell asked as soon as Bessie has greeted them all.

  “Unfortunately, no,” Bessie said with a frown.

  “Any idea what Pete’s next move is going to be?” he asked Bessie.

  “He said he’s going to come to my talk and the one Harold and Marjorie are finishing the conference with,” Bessie replied. “And then try to catch a few people before everything breaks up.”

  “Time to let Bessie focus on her speech,” Doona told Rockwell sternly. “We can worry about murder later.”

  “I’m not sure I want to think about my speech,” Bessie laughed nervously. “There are an awful lot of people here.”

  “Harold asked me to let you know that they’ve moved everything to the Kinvig Room,” Doona told her. “Apparently there is some other event this afternoon and the museum needs to use the Ellan Vannin Theatre for that.”

  “I think I’ll be happier in the smaller space,” Bessie confided. “The Ellan Vannin Theatre is really big and I hate being up on a stage like that.”

  “Do you want to go somewhere quiet to gather your though
ts before you start?” Doona asked her friend.

  “I’d love to,” Bessie said, grasping the idea like a lifeline.

  “Marjorie told me to tell you to use the Blundell Room,” Doona told her. “I hope you know where that is?”

  Bessie smiled. “I do indeed.”

  She headed off down the hall and was pleased to find that the door to the room was unlocked. After she’d switched on the light, she locked the door behind herself and sank into the closest chair. Pulling her notes out of her handbag, Bessie checked that they were in order and then began to read through them. A knock on the door startled her.

  She opened the door to Harold Smythe’s smiling face. “Just giving you a five-minute warning,” he told her. He was gone before Bessie could challenge him as to the cause of his dramatic mood change.

  Bessie clicked the door lock again and sat back down, but her mind refused to focus on her notes. Instead, she kept seeing Mack, just two days earlier, locked in the cuillee.

  Who would he have opened the door for? she asked herself. Who would he have trusted enough to eat whatever they gave him? Who was locked in with the dead or dying man when Bambi tried the door?

  Bessie shook her head, trying to get her focus back on the paper she was about to present.

  Who could have taken Mack’s injectors from him? And who had the missing slides? There were two missing sets, Bessie thought. Why would the murderer take them both? Or were there two different culprits at work? She frowned. This paper was going to be a disaster.

  She stood up and paced around the room. As she walked, she accidentally knocked over a water bottle that someone had left sitting next to one of the seats. As she stood it back up, her mind was racing.

  She was ready for Harold’s knock a minute later.

  “Ready to go?” he asked her.

  “I am,” Bessie replied grimly. She couldn’t remember anything in her long life that she’d dreaded as much as she was dreading what she was about to do. “I just need a quick word with Inspector Rockwell,” she told Harold. “And I guess Inspector Corkill as well,” she added.

  Harold frowned, but didn’t ask any questions. Bessie stood near the door to the Kinvig Room and waited while Harold found the two inspectors and sent them out to her. She spoke quickly and they were both looking as grim as she felt when she’d finished speaking.

  “You know her better then I do,” Corkill said to Rockwell. “Is there any way to stop her?”

  “It’s probably not worth the effort trying,” Rockwell shrugged. “We’ll be better off going along with her than arguing at this point. Anyway, if it all goes spectacularly wrong, Bessie will end up with all of the blame.”

  Corkill looked like he might argue, but instead he pressed his lips together and marched back into the conference room.

  “Good luck, Bessie,” Inspector Rockwell told Bessie with a grin.

  “Thanks,” Bessie replied grimly.

  Rockwell went back into the room and found a good seat. Bessie nodded to Harold who was standing near the podium. He stepped up and began his introductions.

  Bessie was too nervous to listen to him, however. Instead, she paced back and forth, shuffling her notes nervously. The sound of polite applause told her when it was time to go in.

  She tried hard to smile at the crowd as she made her way to the podium, which seemed far away. Doona’s bright smile made her feel a bit better and Hugh’s goofy grin almost drew a smile. Bessie spotted Marjorie, clapping loudly from her seat in the front row. Claire Jamison and Joe Steele were together in the row behind Marjorie, holding hands. George Quayle gave Bessie a wave and Bessie finally did smile when she spotted his wife, Mary, sitting beside him.

  Bessie found Liz, Helen and Paul Roberts scattered throughout the crowd as she took her place at the podium. She put her notes down, took a deep breath and then looked out at the audience.

  “The wills that people leave behind are often very informative in ways that their creators may not have intended. How people chose to distribute their belongings, who they select as trustees for their estates and who they nominate as guardians for their minor children all give researchers important information about family relationships within any given family.”

  She paused and took another deep breath. “We all have people we trust, people whom we believe have our best interests at heart. I’m sure Mack Dickson had people that he trusted. Unfortunately, one if those people took advantage of that trust to commit his murder.”

  Bessie took a sip of water as people gasped and began to murmur among themselves. When she put her glass down, the room fell silent again.

  “Mack was a talented archeologist and a very gifted speaker. I’ve no doubt that there are people in this audience who found him difficult to work with. He had his own way of approaching things and he often seemed to care little about other people’s feelings or whose toes he stepped on as he rushed to achieve his own success. But Mack wasn’t stupid. He knew that he’d upset quite a few people here the night he died.”

  She drew another breath. “I speculated that night, as I went to find Mack to try to get the question-and-answer session started, that there were very few people who Harold could have asked to go and see if Mack was ready yet. And that’s what has been on my mind this afternoon. If so many of the people at the conference were upset with Mack after his speech, for whom would Mack have opened the door to the cuillee?”

  Bessie took another drink, but this time the room remained completely silent, all eyes fixed on Bessie.

  “I don’t have any evidence,” she said almost conversationally, “but I have some thoughts that I’d like to share with you all. Maybe someone will have something to say when I’m finished.”

  Bessie watched the colour drain from the one face she’d been focussed on. For her that was more than enough evidence that she was correct. She caught Inspector Rockwell’s eye and he nodded once, his expression serious. Presumably, he’d seen the same thing.

  “Anyone who knew Mack well knew certain things about him. He loved big dramatic presentations and he loved beautiful blondes.”

  A few people chuckled at that. Bessie tried to give Marjorie a reassuring smile, but her friend was already crying silently.

  “I know someone who dated him, many years ago, and she told me a couple of interesting things about Mack. One was that he was always involved with at least two women at any given time and the other was that he didn’t really understand why the women found that unacceptable.”

  Again, there were a few nervous chuckles.

  “This woman I’m talking about, Mack’s former girlfriend, was actually propositioned by Mack on Friday night, in spite of the fact that their relationship had ended disastrously many years ago. That fact suggested a couple of things to me. It suggested that Mack was looking for some, um, extra attention, shall we say, in spite of being here with his girlfriend, and it also suggested that he was willing or perhaps even eager to reconnect with old girlfriends. Of course, there is no shortage of beautiful blondes at this conference to consider as possible ex-girlfriends of the man.”

  Bessie watched as Liz blushed. She hoped her friends would forgive her for making them uncomfortable and unhappy, but she couldn’t stop now.

  “The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that the only people Mack would have opened the cuillee door to would have been current or former girlfriends. He had to trust this person enough to not only open the door, but also to accept a brownie from them. The murderer also had to get close enough to grab Mack’s life-saving adrenaline injectors. I’m going to guess that the murderer also accidentally grabbed Mack’s second set of slides when she took the injectors. That would account for one missing set, at least.”

  “Drugging Bambi wouldn’t have been difficult,” Bessie continued. “Her water bottle was on the floor next to her chair. Anyone could have easily walked past, pretended to trip over the bottle and then switched it for one full of sleeping tablets. The foyer was
noisy and chaotic and no one was paying attention to such things.”

  Bessie shrugged. “I’m convinced, therefore, that the murderer is a woman. One who once had a significant place in Mack’s life. I know a few women here that fit that description, and I’m sure the police have been looking at them very closely. I suspect, however, that the murderer has yet to acknowledge that she knew Mack prior to this conference. I’m sure that once the police start investigating her thoroughly, however, they will find plenty of evidence to support my theory. It would probably be easier for everyone involved if she just confessed. Perhaps she’d like to have a word with Inspector Corkill after I finish my talk.”

  Bessie looked back down at her notes, not wanting to see the agony on one woman’s face any longer. She drew a deep breath and then began her speech again.

  “As I was saying, wills provide researchers with a great deal of information. They often include surprisingly detailed inventories of people’s belongings.”

  Claire Jamison stood up. “When did you figure out it was me?” she asked Bessie as tears streamed down her face.

  “Just this afternoon, when I accidentally kicked over a water bottle. I remembered watching you talk with Bambi about the bottles and I realised how easily you could have switched hers for a drugged one.”

  “I didn’t want to kill her,” Claire said. “I just wanted her to shut up. The police were happy to call Mack’s death an accident. If she’d kept quiet no one would have suspected anything.”

  “I’m afraid you rather underestimated the local police,” Bessie told the woman. “Inspector Corkill knew it was murder. He just wasn’t making noise about it.”

  Claire shook her head. “He called me, you know? Mack called me on Thursday, just before I was due to fly over here. He was laughing and talking about how he was going to give everyone the shock of their lives. He said he’d seen my name on the programme, you know? He suggested we meet up for a drink after his talk. I knew he thought that I’d be thrilled to jump back into bed with him again. He had no idea how much I hated him.”