“What is it?” Bessie asked.
Sarah laughed, a strangely hollow sound. “It’s Mr. Hiccup,” she told Bessie. “When I was about ten I decided that Adam needed a friend. I slept with two or three cuddly toys and he didn’t have any. Mum wouldn’t consider buying him one, even though I begged her to, so I used some scrap fabric and made Mr. Hiccup for him. He’s supposed to be a monster of some sort. I figured a boy wouldn’t want a teddy or a bunny, so I made a monster and I stuffed him with feathers that I pulled out of my pillow. Mum was angry about that, but she soon forgot all about it.”
“What did Adam think?” Bessie couldn’t help but ask.
“Adam was kind enough to at least pretend to love him,” Sarah said with a teary-eyed smile. “Of course Fred and James teased him, but he always told them he just slept with Mr. Hiccup to make me happy. They were so much older that they didn’t really care what he did, anyway. I always thought, that is, I always assumed that Adam took Mr. Hiccup with him when he left.”
Bessie could hear repressed tears in Sarah’s voice. She patted the woman’s arm and pushed the tissue box towards her. After several minutes and more than a few tears, Sarah shook her head and looked at Bessie.
“I’m sorry. It’s just a cuddly toy, and an ugly one at that, but it’s brought back so many memories.” She shook her head again. “I really should be going,” she said again. “Thank you for lunch and for everything.”
Sarah stood up and turned to leave, Mr. Hiccup clenched tightly in her hand. Bessie closed up the shoebox and offered it to her.
“I don’t really want that,” Sarah said harshly. “Though maybe it would make me feel better if I burned the lot.”
“Maybe I should hang on to it for now,” Bessie said hastily. “Your brothers might like a look at everything, if nothing else.”
Sarah looked as if she might argue, but then sighed. “That’s probably best,” she agreed. “Thank you again.”
When she’d gone, Bessie climbed her stairs and went into her bedroom. Her bed was nearly completely covered with cuddly toys. Without children of her own, she’d become something of an honourary auntie over the years to most of the children who grew up in Laxey. And many of those children insisted on gifting Bessie with cuddly toys. She had so many now that she couldn’t really remember where most of them had come from.
She picked up a random teddy and hugged it tightly. Poor Sarah and her brothers had grown up too long ago to take advantage of running away to Bessie’s house to get a break from their parents. In those days, when Bessie had been younger, she’d been an oddity. Women simply didn’t live on their own in the forties and fifties. It wasn’t until she’d reached a somewhat more respectable middle age that the community had begun to appreciate her.
Chapter Six
Friday was dull and overcast, but Bessie had a standing arrangement with her taxi service. Dave, her usual driver, was at her door not long after she’d had her walk and breakfast.
“Did you get your walk in this morning?” he asked Bessie as she settled into the taxi.
“I did, but I didn’t go very far,” Bessie replied. “It looks ever so much like rain.”
“It does indeed,” Dave agreed.
He left Bessie at her favourite bookstore in downtown Ramsey. She spent a happy half hour browsing the shelves. Unusually for her, she didn’t find anything new to add to her enormous book collection.
There were a handful of charity shops between the bookstore and the grocery store, and she couldn’t resist popping into each one to look over their collections of second-hand books. She didn’t find anything until she got to the last shop in the row. There she ended up with three paperbacks, two from authors she knew well and the third from one she’d never tried before.
“These should keep me out of trouble,” she said cheerfully to the young clerk at the till.
The girl shrugged and took Bessie’s money without comment. Bessie left the shop shaking her head at the manners of some young people.
At ShopFast she quickly ran through her list, adding a few little treats to her shopping trolley as they caught her eye. She’d always kept herself slim and she figured her daily walks were a big part of that. Worrying about calories was not something she’d ever had to do.
In nearly every aisle, she ran into someone she knew, and everyone wanted to talk about Nancy King’s murder.
“It’s terrible,” one woman said. “I had a jar of that jam from them ladies and I could tell there was something not quite right about it. I wasn’t the least bit surprised when the police came and took the jar away.”
Bessie murmured an appropriate response.
“To think I could have been killed right in my own kitchen,” the woman had said, shaking her head as she wandered away. “In my own kitchen….”
“I heard her daughter wanted to get rid of her,” an elderly man whispered to Bessie in the produce aisle. “That house of hers is a gold mine, worth an absolute fortune it is. That daughter of hers just wanted to get her hands on it, that’s what I heard.”
Bessie didn’t bother to argue with the man, even though it was hard not to try to defend Sarah Combe. For all she knew, he could be right.
“It’s a government conspiracy to get rid of the old folks,” an elderly widow hissed in Bessie’s ear at the bakery. As the woman had been seeing government conspiracies behind every island happening for at least fifty years, Bessie didn’t worry too much about her words.
“One of us will be next,” the woman told her as Bessie selected a baguette. “Mark my words, they’re trying to save money by getting rid of everyone who’s old.”
Bessie patted her hand. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she told her gently.
“It’s a serial killer,” another acquaintance announced, ironically enough in the breakfast aisle. Bessie reached for her usual cereal as the woman continued.
“I’ve been saying for years that we’re going to have one and now we do. Imagine poisoning one jar of jam and then giving away two dozen jars full. The randomness of it must be part of what makes it fun for them, wouldn’t you think?”
“I’d rather not think about it,” Bessie said firmly as she steered her shopping cart away.
She’d nearly finished her shopping when she ran into Maggie Shimmin. She and her husband, Thomas, owned the row of holiday cottages just down the beach from Bessie.
“Hello, Bessie,” Maggie said. “I’ve been meaning to drop in to say hello for ages, but I’m so busy this time of year.”
Bessie smiled at the plump fifty-something woman whose long brown hair was caught up in a messy plait. “I’m glad business is good,” she said.
“It’s almost too good,” Maggie laughed. “I’m here every day shopping for the good folks who want to self-cater but don’t want to have to find a grocery store.”
“I hope you charge them for the service,” Bessie said as she looked at Maggie’s trolley. It was full to overflowing with everything from loo rolls to fruit to bottles of wine.
“Oh, we do,” Maggie told her. “And I’m thinking of raising the charge. No one seems to object to what we’ve been asking, so I think we should ask for more.”
“I assume you’re all booked up for the rest of the summer?”
“Oh, aye, and then some,” Maggie said. “The school holidays will be starting soon and we’ve never had trouble filling the cottages when the kids are off. We’ve a waiting list with dozens of names on it, as well, if we do get any last minute cancellations.”
“Good for you, although I’m sure it’s awfully hard work.”
“It is, aye, although it’s harder on Thomas than it is on me. He’s got to deal with the good folks. I just deliver the shopping, like. He’s the one that has to go and help them when they’ve managed to lose their keys or break something.”
“And he loves every minute of it,” Bessie suggested. “I’ve never seen him as happy as he is during the summer, even when he has to deal with horribly demandi
ng guests.”
“You’re right,” Maggie chuckled. “He worked for too many years in banking, always dreaming of doing something like this. He’s never happier than when he’s soothing some unhappy guest.”
“Well, I hope you have a wonderful summer,” Bessie told her, preparing to move on.
“Oh, but Bessie, what about your raspberry jam friends?” Maggie asked. “I mean, I heard about Nancy King. How are the others holding up?”
“As far as I know, they’re all fine,” Bessie assured her. “They’re all quite sad, of course, but they have each other for support.”
“Any idea who might have killed her, though?” Maggie asked. “It’s quite scary to think there’s a murderer running around Laxey.”
Bessie shook her head. “I’m sure the police are doing everything they can to figure out what happened to Nancy,” she said. “You needn’t worry.”
“Oh, I’m much to busy to worry,” Maggie laughed. “But speaking of those jam ladies, you’ll never guess who I saw the other day.”
“Who?”
“Spencer Cannon; do you remember him?”
Bessie thought for a minute. “Peggy’s son? He moved away, what, fifteen or so years ago. What’s brought him back?”
Maggie shrugged. “He’s actually staying in one of the cottages,” she told Bessie. “He booked it nearly a year ago for a two-month stay. I reckon he’s doing some job hunting. Maybe he got tired of living across and decided to come home.”
“The last time I saw him was his mother’s funeral, five years ago,” Bessie recalled. “He actually mentioned moving back to me then, but the job market wasn’t great. I remember him saying that he never felt properly settled in the UK. He only left the island because he was transferred for work and I know he didn’t like being so far from his mum.”
“She was a sweetheart, Peggy was,” Maggie said with a sigh. “Not like some of the others.”
Bessie smiled. “They’ve all been wonderful friends to one another over the years,” she pointed out.
“They have at that,” Maggie agreed. “Too bad some of them didn’t spend a bit more effort on their children.”
Bessie pressed her lips together. She wasn’t going to repeat anything Sarah had told her. “Raising children is not a subject I know anything about,” she said eventually.
Maggie grinned. “You’ve done a lot for the kids in Laxey over the years,” she said. “Including my two. But if you look at those jam ladies, not one of them had a good relationship with their children. Too busy spending time with each other, I reckon.”
Bessie shrugged. “I know Elinor was devoted to her Nathan.”
“Oh, she was at that,” Maggie agreed. “That was what broke up her marriage, of course.”
“I didn’t realise she and Nicholas had problems,” Bessie said, surprised at the information.
“Oh, aye, I dated Fred King for a little while when we were both in our late teens, and all the kids knew about Nathan. He was, well, slow, I guess is the best way to put it. He never went to school, but Elinor was a teacher and I guess she taught him as best she could. Anyway, Elinor’s husband was really into cars and he ended up getting a job across with one of the big car manufacturers, remember?”
Bessie nodded. “It’s all coming back now,” she said. “I remember him going across. Elinor said it was a once in a lifetime opportunity for him, but he used to come home on weekends and for holidays.”
“I know he came to visit Nathan once in a while,” Maggie told her. “But he and Elinor could only just barely stand each other. He’d wanted to put Nathan in a special school, you see, and Elinor wouldn’t hear of it.”
Bessie shook her head. “It’s all so sad,” she said.
“It is, aye,” Maggie agreed. “I used to go over and play with Nathan once in a while, when he was younger. A special school might have been good for him. He might have had a chance to have something like a normal life. But Elinor was sure she knew what was best for him. I thought she might, well, that is, I wondered how she’d do once he passed away.”
“She seems to be doing fine,” Bessie said.
“Yeah, last time I saw her she was just as pushy and demanding as ever,” Maggie said with a grin. “Well, I’d love to stand here and chat all day, but I’ve ever so much to do.”
With that, Maggie walked away, struggling to control the overstuffed shopping trolley. Bessie shook her head and continued towards the tills. Her brain felt almost overloaded with everything that had been said.
Dave was waiting patiently for her when she finally got back outside.
“I’m ever so sorry,” she told him. “I ran into a friend and we got to talking.”
“It’s quite all right,” he assured her. “I turned off the meter and took part of my lunch break.”
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Bessie tutted. “I should have to pay for wasting your time.”
“I have to eat lunch,” he told her with a grin. Back at her cottage, he insisted on helping her carry her shopping inside. She made sure she gave him a generous tip and a few biscuits before he left.
With the shopping put away, she fixed herself a light lunch and then settled in with one of her new books.
Friday evening, Bessie and Doona took a taxi into Douglas for dinner.
“We should do this more often,” Bessie said as she looked over the menu. The restaurant they’d chosen had only opened a few months earlier and neither of the women had tried it yet.
Doona ordered a glass of wine and, after a moment’s hesitation, Bessie joined her.
“We’re not driving,” Doona said.
“No, but then I never am,” Bessie pointed out.
Doona laughed. “I need wine,” she said. “I know Nancy King’s murder is causing him all sorts of grief, but John is really hard to work with at the moment.”
“Oh, dear,” Bessie said. “He’s usually so even-tempered.”
“Yeah, and I usually love my job,” Doona told her. “But right now, I’m not enjoying it one little bit.”
“What is it about this case that’s bothering him so much?” Bessie asked.
Doona shook her head. “You know I can’t talk about the case,” she replied.
The waiter arrived and took their order and then disappeared again before Bessie could reply. Once he was gone, she took a sip of wine and then smiled at her friend.
“If it were me, I’d be frustrated by how random it all seems,” she said, almost conversationally. “I mean, if all of the jars seem to be the same, then it looks as if Nancy got the poisoned one entirely by chance.”
Doona smiled at her. “I haven’t seen all of the jars,” she told Bessie. “But that’s certainly one theory.”
“I simply can’t imagine anyone wanting to kill Nancy,” Bessie replied. “Sarah, her daughter, told me that she only had six months to live anyway.”
“Really?” Doona said. “I didn’t know that. I wonder if John does.”
Bessie shrugged. “I assume he spoke to Sarah. I can’t see why she’d tell me anything different to what she told him.”
“It would be easy enough to verify,” Doona mused. “One call to Nancy’s doctor would confirm it, if it’s true.”
“Perhaps I should call John and tell him what Sarah said,” Bessie suggested. “I’ve heard a lot of skeet lately that he might be interested in as well.”
“I bet everyone in Laxey has an opinion on what happened to Nancy,” Doona said. “I’ve been fielding dozens of phone calls from people who are sure it’s a serial killer, or Sarah, or aliens.”
Bessie laughed. “I hadn’t heard aliens, but I’ve heard all the rest. I’ve also heard more about the Raspberry Jam Ladies than I ever wanted to know.”
“They’re an interesting group,” Doona said. She was interrupted by the starters and for a few moments the pair concentrated on eating. With the first course out of the way, Doona picked up where she’d left off.
“I don’t actually kn
ow any of them, but they sort of came across as creepy old ladies. None of them seemed like the sweet grandmotherly type.”
“I guess they probably aren’t,” Bessie told her. “I don’t think most of them were particularly close to their children, although Elinor was devoted to her son, Nathan.”
“Everyone says that in the same tone of voice,” Doona said. “What’s the story with Nathan?”
“I forget that you haven’t lived in Laxey your whole life,” Bessie told her. “Nathan was, well, I guess slow or simple is the word that people used in those days. I don’t know what his proper diagnosis was, but it was whispered that Elinor had had a difficult labour and he’d suffered from lack of oxygen for a time. All I know for sure is that physically he seemed perfectly normal, but his mind never developed much past that of a small child.”
“Could it have been something chromosomal?” Doona asked.
“I guess it could have been anything, but I do know that Elinor never had any more children. Again, it was just whispers, but it was said that she’d had to have an emergency caesarean, and that it left her unable to have any more.”
“Why is it always just whispers?” Doona complained as she finished her glass of wine.
“Women didn’t talk about such things in those days,” Bessie told her. “Not even with other women, at least not as much as they do now. It simply wasn’t polite to talk about things like reproduction.”
Doona laughed and waved at the waiter, who rushed over. “We need another round of drinks,” she told the man.
Their drinks arrived with their main courses, and Bessie was delighted with her grilled chicken with vegetables and roast potatoes. Doona was equally pleased with her lamb chops served with the same sides.
“Let’s just take a peek at the pudding menu,” Doona suggested as the waiter cleared their plates a short time later.
“I can never just peek,” Bessie laughed.
“Yeah, me either,” Doona said.
The puddings all sounded delicious, and eventually they both settled on the sticky toffee pudding. Bessie ordered hers with cream, while Doona decided on custard.
Aunt Bessie Enjoys (An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Book 5) Page 9