Aunt Bessie Needs
An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery
Diana Xarissa
Text Copyright © 2017 Diana Xarissa
Cover Photo Copyright © 2017 Kevin Moughtin
All Rights Reserved
Created with Vellum
For Catherine, as we plan our big adventure!
Contents
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Glossary of Terms
Other Notes
Acknowledgments
Aunt Bessie Observes
Also by Diana Xarissa
About the Author
Author’s Note
I’m always happy to start a new book, never more so than to start a new “Aunt Bessie” title. I thoroughly enjoy every minute that I spend with Bessie and her friends, and I hope that you do as well. This is the fourteenth book in the series. If this is the first book that you’re reading from this series, I want you to know that Bessie’s first appearance was actually in my romance, Island Inheritance. She was the source of the inheritance, and had recently passed away. Because of that, this mystery series began about fifteen years before the year the romance was set.
I always suggest that people read my series books in order, and give them alphabetical titles to make that as easy as possible. You are, of course, welcome to read them in any order you choose. Each title should be enjoyable on its own, but the characters do change and develop as the series progresses.
Because the setting is the unique and amazing Isle of Man, I write the books using British and Manx spellings and terms. There is a short glossary at the back of the book for readers outside of the UK. The longer I live in the US, however, the more likely it is that Americanisms will sneak into the books. I try to limit this and work to fix anything that I’m notified about.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters are fictional creations imagined by the author. Any resemblance that any character may bear to any real person, either living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The shops and businesses in the story are also fictional, and again, their resemblance to any real businesses is coincidental.
Hearing from readers is one of the best things about this job. Please take a moment to get in touch and share your thoughts. All of my contact details are available at the end of the book.
Chapter 1
“At least we’re on the ground floor this year,” Doona remarked as she and Bessie crossed the car park towards the door marked “Parish Centre.”
“Marjorie had to find a bigger space this year, as there are a few more people taking the class than there were last time,” Bessie told her.
“That’s all down to you,” Doona suggested.
“I may have mentioned the class to a few friends,” Bessie admitted. “But I can’t take all of the credit.”
Doona pulled open the front door of the building and held it so that Bessie could walk through. “You wouldn’t take all of the credit even if you’d earned it,” Doona pointed out as she followed Bessie into the large and seemingly empty building.
“We must be early,” Bessie said.
“Just a little bit,” Doona replied after a glance at her watch.
The pair made their way down the short corridor that ended in the small church community room. Someone had arranged tables and chairs into several rows, with a large desk in front of them.
“It looks as if they’re ready for us,” Doona said with a grin.
“Ah, Elizabeth Cubbon, I should have known you’d be here first,” a voice said from the doorway on the opposite wall.
Bessie smiled at the man who had begun walking towards her and Doona. “James, how lovely to see you again,” she said. She gave the man a hug when he reached her.
“Always a pleasure to see you, Aunt Bessie,” the man replied.
“Doona, this is James Clucas. He’s the caretaker for the church and all of its outbuildings,” Bessie said. “James, this is my dear friend, Doona Moore.”
James nodded and then shook hands with Doona. Whatever he thought, Bessie knew that the pair appeared to be unlikely friends.
Doona was somewhere in her forties, twice-divorced and currently determined to remain single. She worked as civilian front desk staff at the Laxey Constabulary. Her shoulder-length hair was currently dyed red as an experiment. The new colour went well with the woman’s bright green eyes that Bessie knew were enhanced by coloured contact lenses.
By contrast, Bessie was somewhere between sixty and a hundred, but even she wasn’t certain of her exact age, and she was determined not to put the effort into working it out. She had short grey hair and grey eyes. Like Doona, she was single, but she’d never been married.
“You’re here for the Manx Language class, are you?” he asked. “I’d have thought, with all the work you do at the museum, that you’d already be fluent in Manx.”
Bessie shook her head. “I’m not only not fluent, I can barely manage much more than a few words here and there. I can’t seem to get my head around Manx. This is the fourth time I’m taking the beginner’s class.”
James laughed. “I’m glad I’m just here to unlock and relock the doors,” he said. “If you can’t learn Manx, I’ve no chance at all.”
“Anyone can learn if they really want to,” Bessie replied.
“Oh, aye, I suppose so,” the man replied. “But I’m sixty-four this year, and I never did earn any qualifications at school. Book learning just wasn’t for me. I’ve done okay for myself, though. I love it here at the church and I read more now than I ever did when I was young.”
“Have you finished all of the books I lent you?” Bessie asked him.
“I’ve two more left and then I shall be knocking on your cottage door, begging for more,” he replied.
“You know you’re welcome to everything on my shelves,” Bessie told him.
“Aye, thank you,” the man said. “I did think I might try more Agatha Christie. I didn’t think I’d like her, but I’m quite enjoying Hercule Poirot.”
“I’ve lots more Christie, with Poirot and others,” Bessie replied.
“And here are more of your classmates,” James said, nodding at someone behind the women. “I’ll just get out of your way. Shout if you need anything.” The man disappeared through the door on the far wall as quickly as he could, which wasn’t very quickly as the man was six feet, four and over fourteen stone. Bessie and Doona turned around to greet the new arrivals.
“Hugh and Grace, I’m so happy that you signed up for this class,” Bessie said as she hugged them both.
“I don’t know that I’ll be able to make it to every class,” Hugh Watterson replied. “Work may get in the way.”
Bessie nodded. The young man, who still looked no more than fifteen to her even though he was in his mid-twenties, was a police constable. While he usually worked days, Bessie could imagine dozens of things that might come up and prevent him from getting to class.
“I’ll help him make up anything he misses,” Grace said with a giggle.
Bessie smiled at the pretty blonde schoolteacher. Hugh’s arm was around her waist and she seemed to fit perfectly snuggled up against her new husband. She was several inches shorter than the man, who was over six feet tall. “I take it married life is good, then?” she asked the girl.
“It’s been good so far,” Grace replied. “And I have high hop
es for the next, oh, seventy years or so.”
Bessie and Doona both laughed. “Good luck,” Doona said. “Although, you’ve already outlasted my second marriage, and I know you’re both a lot happier than I was in my first, so maybe you don’t need luck.”
“Everyone needs a bit of luck now and then,” a voice said.
“John, there you are,” Bessie exclaimed.
John Rockwell was a handsome CID inspector at the Laxey Constabulary, where both Doona and Hugh worked. He was also over six feet tall, with brown hair and gorgeous green eyes that were totally natural. Also somewhere in his forties, he and his wife had recently divorced. Bessie sometimes hoped that he and Doona would start a romantic relationship, but other times she was content that they were all just good friends.
“I had a late meeting with the Chief Constable,” he explained after he’d given Bessie a hug.
“I hope everything is okay,” Bessie said with concern. In her experience, the Chief Constable didn’t meet with John unless there was something wrong.
“Everything’s fine. He’s just thinking about making some staffing changes, that’s all,” he assured her.
Bessie wanted to ask him more questions and she could see that Doona and Hugh did as well, but they were interrupted by another arrival.
“Am I late?” the woman demanded as she walked into the room. “I hope I’m not late.”
“You’re fine,” Bessie assured her friend, Joney Quirk. “But I thought you’d have moved up to the advanced class?”
The other woman shook her head. “I didn’t feel as if I’d learned enough last year,” she explained. “I’m hoping more of it will sink in if I do the class again.”
Joney was a retired schoolteacher in her mid-sixties, and she’d taken the beginner’s class with Bessie the previous year.
“I’m glad I’m not the only one who’s repeating the class,” Bessie told her.
“I’m repeating the class,” Doona pointed out. “For the third time.”
“Things were rather, well, unsettled last year,” Joney remarked.
Bessie nodded. That was one word for it, anyway. One of their fellow classmates had been murdered, Doona had been romanced by the killer, and Bessie had been locked in a speeding car with the man while he confessed all to her while attempting to escape. It was no wonder that they’d all been a bit too distracted to focus on the difficult Celtic language.
“Goodness, I’m late,” Marjorie Stevens said as she rushed into the room. “Or rather, we’re late,” she added, nodding towards the woman who’d come in behind her.
“I think you’re right on time,” Doona replied. “We wouldn’t have started without you, anyway.”
Marjorie laughed. “I should hope not,” she said as she crossed to the front of the room, lugging a large box with her. “Although I suppose Bessie could have had a go at some of the basics.”
“Absolutely not,” Bessie said firmly. “But how are you?” she asked the woman who’d come in behind Marjorie.
“I’m very well,” Liz Martin replied. “I’m in my second trimester, so I still have some energy and I’m not too huge to get around yet.” She patted her slightly rounded tummy and smiled.
“But you can’t possibly be taking the class again,” Joney protested after she’d congratulated the woman on her pregnancy. “You were the star of the class last time.”
“Liz is going to be my teaching assistant,” Marjorie replied for Liz. “There are so many of you this time that I thought I might need a hand.”
“And we can use every extra bit of income right now,” Liz added. “I’m not sure what we were thinking, having a third baby.”
“How are Jackson and Kylie?” Bessie asked.
“Jackson is at nursery a few mornings a week, which is going to be very helpful once I get a bit bigger, and especially after the baby arrives. He’ll be starting reception in the autumn, as well, which should make my life easier. Kylie is making the most of the terrible twos by behaving badly nearly all the time. She has her daddy wrapped right around her little finger, though, and Bill can’t seem to stay angry at her long enough to actually punish her,” Liz said with a rueful grin.
And you’re having a third, Bessie thought but didn’t say.
“And you love every minute of it,” Joney suggested.
“Maybe not every minute, but most minutes,” Liz agreed cheerfully.
“Shall we all find seats and get started?” Marjorie asked. She was standing behind the desk at the front of the room, looking every bit like a teacher. Marjorie was a pretty blonde in her thirties. She was the Manx Museum’s librarian and archivist, having moved to the island a few years ago after her heart had been broken. Bessie liked the woman a great deal and considered Marjorie her mentor as she completed research at the museum on a variety of topics that interested her.
Doona and Bessie sat down at a table near the front. John and Joney settled in next to them with Hugh and Grace at a table in the second row. Liz slid into a chair at the back, and everyone looked expectantly at Marjorie.
“We’re missing two people,” she said. “But I don’t want to make you all wait, so I’ll get started. I know some of you have taken this class before, but I hope you’ll be patient with me if I go over some of the history of the language before we actually begin.”
Bessie sat back and let Marjorie’s words wash over her. She’d heard the same opening remarks enough times to not have to worry about listening. It was the only part of the class that seemed to stick in her memory year after year. Why the language itself couldn’t fix itself in her brain in the same way, she didn’t know.
“I think that’s enough history. Let’s get started on actually learning the language. This is a conversational Manx class, so the focus is going to be on being able to converse in Manx. While we will touch on grammar, I’m not bothered if you get a verb tense wrong if you’re still able to be understood.”
“That’s good to know,” Hugh said quietly.
“We’ll start with the basics, then. Everyone repeat after me, moghrey mie.”
“Moghrey mie,” the class said obediently.
“I’m so very sorry,” a loud voice said from the back of the room. “We had, well, something came up at the last minute.”
Bessie turned in her chair and smiled at Henry Costain, who had also taken the previous class with her. Her smile faltered when she saw the look on his face. He was clearly upset about something. A glance at his companion did little to reassure Bessie. Laura Meyers looked as if she was close to tears as she clung to Henry’s arm.
“Come in, and sit anywhere,” Marjorie said brightly. “We’ve really only just begun. I started with a brief history of the language, but neither of you need any of that, do you?”
Henry shook his head and led Laura to the table next to Hugh and Grace. Henry and Laura both worked for Manx National Heritage, which was responsible for preserving and promoting the history and culture of the island. Having started working for them right out of school, Henry was now in his fifties and was something of an expert on all of the island’s historical sites. His thinning hair looked as if it had more grey in it than it used to, and Bessie frowned at the concern she could see in his brown eyes.
Laura settled into her seat and then shut her eyes for a moment as if trying to hold back tears. Somewhere in her fifties, she’d been on the island for less than a year, having moved there to get away from an abusive ex-husband. The pretty brunette and Henry had started out as friends, but Bessie knew that Henry was very fond of the woman who was still staying emotionally distant.
For the next half hour, Marjorie took the class through basic greetings and introductions, and then she had them practice what they’d learned on one another.
“Fastyr mie,” Bessie said to Doona. “Kys t’ou?”
“Ta mee braew,” Doona replied. “But what’s wrong with Henry and Laura?”
Bessie shook her head. “I don’t know, but they certainly seemed u
pset when they came in.” She looked over at the couple, who were talking together quietly. She would have bet that they weren’t talking in Manx.
“Kys t’ou, Bessie?” Marjorie asked.
“Ta mee braew,” Bessie replied. “Kys t’ou?”
“Ta mee braew,” Marjorie told her. “Vel Gaelg ayd?”
Bessie looked at her blankly. “I’m sorry, did we cover that?” she asked after a moment.
Marjorie laughed. “I asked if you speak Manx,” she explained.
“Clearly the answer is no, then,” Bessie said, chuckling.
“Let’s do some basic phrases and a few questions and answers and then we’ll take a longer break,” Marjorie said. “We can have tea and biscuits at that point and everyone can talk to everyone else.”
Bessie took extensive notes, using her own unique pronunciation guide, as Marjorie talked. The woman had passed out several worksheets covering the lesson for the night, but Bessie knew from experience that she needed her own notes to supplement Marjorie’s materials.
“You’re all starting to look a bit bored, so I think it’s time for a tea break,” Marjorie said eventually. “I’d like you all to try speaking in Manx over tea, at least a little bit.”
There was a table set up along one wall with everything that was needed to make tea. Two unopened packets of biscuits had been left on a plate. Bessie opened the packets and arranged the biscuits onto the plate while Marjorie and Liz made tea. Everyone else was oddly silent as they waited.
“Oh, good heavens,” Marjorie exclaimed as she passed around mugs of tea. “Talk in English, then. The silence is unnerving.”
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