Aunt Bessie Enjoys (An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Book 5)

by Diana Xarissa

  Aunt Bessie Enjoys

  An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery

  By:

  Diana Xarissa

  Text Copyright © 2015 Diana Xarissa

  Cover Photo Copyright © 2015 Kevin Moughtin

  All Rights Reserved

  For all of Bessie’s fans throughout the world.

  Acknowledgments

  I am, as always, grateful to my editor, Denise, for all of her hard work and to Kevin for his stunning photos.

  My beta readers, Janice, Charlene, Ruth and Margaret, do so much to make Bessie better and I am thankful for their continued assistance.

  Mostly, I’m thankful for you, my readers. I love hearing from you and finding out what you like (or dislike) about Bessie and her friends. My contact information is available in the back of the book and I’d love it if you got in touch.

  Table of Contents

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Glossary of Terms

  Other Notes

  Aunt Bessie Finds

  About the Author

  Author’s Note

  Welcome to book five in the Aunt Bessie Cozy Mystery series. I’m sure everyone now knows that this series began with a character in my Isle of Man Romance, Island Inheritance. Of course, Bessie, in that book, was recently deceased, so I had to set the cozy mystery series about fifteen years before the romance. This series began, therefore, in March 1998 and continues at a steady one book per month (Bessie’s time) pace.

  Some characters appear in both series, as both younger (in Bessie) and older (in the romances) versions of themselves. If you read both series, I hope you will enjoy seeing these characters reappearing from time to time. There is no need to read both series to enjoy Aunt Bessie, though.

  I’ve tried hard to stick to British and Manx terminologies and spellings throughout the book, but one or two American words or spellings might have snuck in. The usual glossary of translations and explanations, mostly for readers outside of the United Kingdom, appears at the end of the book.

  What else can I tell you about the Isle of Man? It is a small island in the Irish Sea that is part of the British Isles, but is a country in its own right. This means it has its own currency, stamps, language and government. It is home to around eighty-five thousand lucky people, with the population concentrated in Douglas (and Onchan), Ramsey, and Peel. Port Erin and Port St. Mary are smaller villages in the south of the island.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Similarly, the names of the restaurants and shops and other businesses on the island are fictional.

  Tynwald Day and Tynwald Hill are both quite real (and Tynwald Hill graces the cover), but the events in this story that take place there are fictional. (There may not have been fireworks at Tynwald Day in 1998, but I thought Bessie and her friends deserved them!)

  I feel I should apologise to the very real Isle of Man Constabulary, as I’m sure I make their fictional representatives here behave in ways they never actually would!

  My contact details are in the back of the book as well. I’d love to hear what you think of Bessie and her friends.

  Chapter One

  The sun was already shining when Bessie opened her eyes at six o’clock on Tynwald Day morning. She stretched and looked at her clock. There was no rush. Getting up slowly, she took a shower and then dressed and headed out for her usual morning stroll on the beach. It was going to be a long day, so she didn’t want to overdo it, but she walked slowly past the new cottages that were now packed full of summer visitors. No one seemed to be awake yet in any of the cottages.

  Back at home, feeling invigorated by the fresh air, Bessie made herself some toast with orange marmalade and a cup of tea. She carried them out to the large rock that sat in the middle of the beach behind her cottage. Sitting on the rock, she watched the waves and felt herself relaxing. Her life had been full of all sorts of unusual stress lately, and this sort of quiet time was exactly what she needed.

  When she began to hear excited voices from the small children in the cottages, she decided it was time to head indoors. It wouldn’t be long before her friend Doona arrived. Bessie and several of her friends were spending the day at Tynwald Hill in St. John’s, celebrating the Manx National Day. They needed to get there fairly early, as it would be a long walk from wherever they could park to the ceremony that marked the beginning of the festivities.

  Doona arrived a short time later and Bessie was, as always, happy to see her good friend.

  “I’m so happy to see the sun today,” Doona told Bessie as Bessie climbed into her friend’s car. “I was afraid the festivities would get rained out.”

  “The forecast has been going back and forth,” Bessie told her. “But I was sure it would be nice. We all deserve a bit of fun.”

  “We certainly do,” Doona replied stoutly. “Now I’m worried about it getting too hot, though.”

  Bessie laughed. “I know what you mean. It does seem as if we are never happy, though. It is July; it should be hot, anyway.”

  Doona nodded. “I know, and hot is better than rain.”

  The pair chatted about nothing much as they made their way into Douglas and then across the island. Doona turned into the first temporary car park that they came to and pulled into a spot.

  “I thought we might as well park here and catch the shuttle,” she told Bessie. “No matter how close we get, it will be too far to walk, so why not take advantage of the free shuttle service?”

  “That sounds good to me,” Bessie told her. Bessie had never learned to drive, so she was quite used to various types of public transportation. In recent years she’d been fortunate to have friends like Doona, who were happy to take her places, but she often relied on a small taxi company as well. When she was younger, and money was more of an issue, she’d regularly taken buses and trains to get places as well. A short shuttle bus ride was no problem.

  It only took a few minutes for the bus to take them to the centre of St. John’s, where everything was happening. Doona had arranged for their group to meet across the street from the Royal Chapel, where the religious service that marked the beginning of the official events was about to get underway.

  John Rockwell was already there when Doona and Bessie arrived. He didn’t notice their approach, and Bessie wondered if she would have had the nerve to speak to him if she didn’t know him. He was somewhere in his forties and very handsome, being over six feet tall, with dark hair and stunning green eyes, but there was something almost unnerving about the way he was surveying the crowd. Of course, he was a CID inspector with the Isle of Man Constabulary, so even though he was officially off-duty, he was always watching for trouble.

  “Hello, Bessie and Doona,” he smiled warmly at them, when they reached his side. “I have no idea what’s going on, but it all feels very exciting.”

  Bessie smiled back. “You would insist on growing up across, wouldn’t you?” she teased.

  John had only moved to the island in the last year, and this was his first Tynwald Day. His family was finding the adjustm
ent to life on a small island difficult. His wife rarely stayed on the island when she had an opportunity to leave. Most weekends she took their two children and headed back to Manchester to spend time with her ailing mother. This weekend was no exception; she’d taken advantage of the extra day off that Tynwald Day afforded to have an even longer visit with her mum.

  “Ah, if only my parents had had the good sense to settle here,” he said with a chuckle.

  “You won’t be the only one that’s clueless,” Doona told him. “I know a lot of natives who never bother coming to Tynwald Day.”

  Bessie frowned. “I’ve missed a few over the years,” she admitted. “But it’s such an important tradition, and they’ve made it such good fun as well.”

  “So remind me what’s going to happen,” John said.

  “First there’s a religious ceremony in the Royal Chapel,” Bessie replied. “Then there will be a procession of dignitaries to Tynwald Hill, where they will take their seats.”

  Bessie pointed and her friends turned to look at the hill. Where there was normally just grass, now the hill was covered by a canopy and all along its tiers were rows of chairs.

  “You mean the members of the House of Keys and other government officials, right?” John checked.

  “Exactly, they’ll do two really important things. One is read out all of the new laws that have been passed on the island in the past year. They’ll be read in both English and Manx. And then there will be an opportunity for the public to bring forward petitions for redress. Any resident of the island is allowed to present a petition to the government.” Bessie said.

  “Anyone can complain directly to the government?” John asked.

  “Yes, well, anyone who’s followed the instructions for doing so. There are lots of rules, apparently, but if you have a problem, it’s one way to make sure you get some attention for it,” Bessie told him.

  Before they could continue, the last two members of their group arrived.

  “Parking was a nightmare,” Hugh Watterson grumbled as he gave Bessie a hug. “I hope you didn’t have to walk as far as we did.”

  Bessie smiled. “We took the shuttle bus,” she replied.

  “I told you there was a bus,” Hugh’s girlfriend, Grace, said with a giggle. She stepped forward to hug Bessie as well.

  As the church bells began to ring, everyone focussed their attention on the chapel, and Bessie took a moment to consider her friends. They seemed an unlikely group, really, although maybe it was just she who didn’t appear to belong.

  Hugh was a police constable in Laxey, working directly under John Rockwell. He was in his mid-twenties, with brown hair and eyes, although he looked no more than fifteen to Bessie. Perhaps he seemed a bit older these days as he grew into his relationship with the pretty blonde school teacher, Grace Christian, though. He put his arm around her now, his lanky frame towering over the petite woman.

  Doona also worked for the Laxey Constabulary, but she was a civilian employee. She manned their front desk and answered their phones. Doona was in her mid-forties, with highlighted brown hair and green eyes that were courtesy of coloured contact lenses. Doona was a couple of inches taller than Bessie’s five feet, three inches, but she carried several pounds more than her slender friend. Twice divorced, Doona was currently telling everyone who would listen that she was done with men for good. Bessie didn’t believe her.

  Bessie shook her head. She supposed she really was the one who didn’t belong. She was considerably older than her friends, although she didn’t like to think just how much older. Her grey hair was cut short and it was an almost perfect match for her eyes. She’d never held a paying job, let alone one with the police, although the past several months had given her the chance to be something of an amateur detective, whether she’d wanted to be or not.

  “Maybe we should move closer to the hill?” Doona suggested.

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Bessie replied. “We definitely want to hear the new laws read in Manx.”

  Doona laughed. “You may want to hear them read in Manx,” she said. “I know I won’t understand a word of it.”

  “Sadly, I won’t understand a word of it either,” Bessie replied. “But I still really enjoy hearing it. It’s an important part of our island’s heritage.”

  Bessie and Doona had actually first met in a Manx language class some two and a half years earlier. Neither one of them had had much luck in learning the difficult Celtic tongue, however, in spite of taking the class together multiple times.

  Now the little group moved across the road and into the huge green space between the chapel and the hill. All around them groups, large and small, were spread out on the grass enjoying picnics and waiting for things to get properly underway. Bessie and her friends found a small space as close to the hill as they could get and Doona pulled a large blanket from her bag.

  “I meant to get you a folding chair for today,” she told Bessie as the group settled in on the ground.

  “I wouldn’t have wanted to carry it all this way, anyway,” Bessie told her. “I don’t mind sitting on the ground. You’ll all just have to help me get back up.”

  A few minutes later the procession started and everyone watched as the various government officials marched past.

  “Oooh, look at all the lovely hats,” Grace exclaimed.

  Bessie smiled at her. “When I was younger, ladies wore hats regularly. Now you never see them, except at very fancy occasions.”

  “That’s such a shame,” Grace sighed. “They look so elegant.”

  “But they’re itchy and they ruin your hairstyle,” Bessie told her. “I don’t miss them. As soon as they started going out of style, I cleared mine out.”

  “All of them?” Grace asked.

  Bessie laughed. “There might be a few, inside dusty old boxes, in the back if one of my wardrobes. You must come by one day and help me dig them out. You’re welcome to any or all of them, if we find any.”

  Grace flushed. “Oh, I didn’t mean to suggest, I mean, thank you, but I couldn’t possibly....”

  Bessie held up a hand. “I have no use for them,” she told Grace. “If I have any left, they’ll be forty or fifty years old, I should think. If you don’t want them, maybe the museum will.”

  Grace laughed. “But what if you suddenly get invited to an occasion where you need to wear a hat?” she asked, casting a coy look at Hugh.

  Bessie smiled. “If I were invited somewhere, maybe a wedding or something like that, I’d buy a new hat anyway,” she told the girl. “But I don’t know of any event like that coming up in a hurry. Do you?”

  Grace blushed bright red and quickly shook her head. “No, nothing,” she mumbled, glancing at Hugh, who didn’t seem to have been paying attention to the conversation.

  Bessie smiled. She really shouldn’t tease the girl; she really ought to be pestering Hugh to propose. Grace was perfect for him and she didn’t even seem to mind the long hours and stress that his job included. It would be a shame if he let her get away.

  In spite of her insistence on hearing the laws in Manx, Bessie didn’t really pay attention to them. Instead, she let the sound wash over her, feeling an affinity for the many generations of island residents who’d met here over the years. Once the official part of the day was over, Bessie was as excited as anyone for the festivities that followed.

  “What should we do first?” Doona asked as they all stood up.

  “Well, we need to get out of the way,” Bessie replied. “They’ll be starting bands and dancing and other things on the green space once the crowd clears off of it.”

  “How about lunch?” Hugh asked.

  Grace grinned at him. “How can you always be hungry?” she asked in an affectionate voice.

  “I don’t know,” Hugh shrugged. “But I am.”

  “Lunch does sound good,” John said. “I’m pretty hungry as well. I wanted to get out here early, so I skipped breakfast.”

  Bessie frowned at him. “Brea
kfast is very important,” she told him. “You should have at least grabbed an apple or something.”

  John shrugged. “I’ll try to do better from now on,” he said.

  The group made their way towards the long row of food vendors that had set up along the road.

  “There’s a little bit of everything, isn’t there?” John remarked.

  “Indeed, and they’re here all day, so you’ll have time to try something from everyone,” Bessie told him. “I like to make sure I get something at every stall. I like to spread my pounds out over as many local traders as possible.”

  She stopped at the first food stall and studied the menu. Everyone joined her and they all ordered something off its varied menu. There were a few picnic tables set up to accommodate people who were eating, and Bessie and her friends were happy to take advantage of them.

  “We’re lucky we headed straight here,” Doona remarked after a few minutes. “Look at the queues for food now.”

  The crowds were slowly making their way off the green as the first band began to set up. Many headed for the tents that were set up on the far side of Tynwald Hill, but it now seemed that at least as many people were hungry. Within minutes, another small group had joined Bessie and her friends at their small table. When a third group tried to squeeze in as well, Bessie crumbled up her napkin and stood up.

  “I’ve finished,” she told the others. “I’m going to have a walk around.”

  “I’ve certainly had enough,” Grace told her. “I’ll come with you.”

  The others decided that, even if they hadn’t finished eating, they’d had quite enough of being squished together on a hard picnic bench, so they all joined Bessie and Grace.

  “So what’s in all the tents?” John asked.

  “One is full of various non-profit groups who are selling crafts or car boot items to raise funds for their organisation. That’s where groups like Manx National Heritage have their table. We’ll have to stop by and see who got stuck staffing it this year,” Bessie told him.