“Eureka,” she exclaimed as she spotted four of them neatly stacked on the floor in the back of the wardrobe. She pulled them out one at a time and carefully set them on the bed.
“Let’s have a look, shall we?” she suggested.
The first box had a large red and black hat. Bessie laughed as she took it out and tried it on. “I wore this to a friend’s wedding in the sixties,” she told Grace. “They were sort of, I don’t know, I guess you could call them hippy-type people, and they had a red and black colour scheme for their wedding. The bride wore a red dress and the groom wore all black and all the guests were meant to come in those colours as well. It was all very shocking in those days.”
“It’s lovely, though,” Grace said in a slightly awed voice.
“Here, try it on,” Bessie suggested, passing it over.
Grace set it gently on her head and turned to the mirror. “I wish people still wore hats,” she said sadly as she studied her reflection.
“It looks much better on you than it ever did on me,” Bessie said honestly. “Let’s see what else I have.”
The women went through the remaining boxes, with Bessie telling Grace about each hat and both women trying them all on.
“That was such good fun,” Grace said as Bessie returned the last hat to its box. “Thank you for sharing your hats and their history with me.”
“Now you must help me carry them downstairs,” Bessie told her. “We’ll get Hugh to load them into your car when he gets here, as he’s due any minute.”
“Oh, but I can’t possibly take them,” Grace objected.
“Well, then, help me carry them downstairs and I’ll put them out for the bin men,” Bessie told her.
Grace gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
“Of course I would,” Bessie said. “No one wears hats anymore and they’re all out of style anyway. You can have them if you like them, although I’ve no idea what you’ll do with them.”
“I don’t know what I’ll do with them, either,” Grace admitted. “But I’d love to have them anyway, if you’re sure.”
“I’m very sure,” Bessie said firmly.
Back downstairs, they carefully stacked the boxes on the kitchen counter and then Grace sat back down. Bessie checked on her crumble and then slid it out of the oven.
“It looks wonderful,” Grace told her.
“You can have a little piece, if you’d like,” Bessie replied. “No one will miss one little bit.”
“I’d better not,” Grace replied. “I haven’t had dinner yet and besides, Hugh would miss it.”
Bessie laughed. “You’re probably right about that.”
A few minutes later someone knocked on the door and Bessie opened it to admit Hugh. If he was surprised to find Grace there, he hid it well.
“Hello,” he said, dropping a kiss on the top of Grace’s head. “Have you had a nice visit with Bessie, then?”
“Yes, but she’s gone and given me all these lovely hats, so I need you to put them in my car, please,” Grace replied.
“No problem,” Hugh took Grace’s keys and made two quick trips back and forth with the hats. “You’re all set,” he told the girl as he handed her back her keys.
“I’ll just get out of the way, then, before everyone else arrives,” Grace said. “Bessie, I don’t know how to thank you for the lovely hats,” she said. “I’m so thrilled with them.”
“They were just taking up space in my spare room,” Bessie said. “I’m glad to see the back of them.”
She gave Grace a hug and then walked her to the door. “Take care of yourself,” she told the girl.
Hugh stood in the doorway with Bessie and they watched Grace pull away. As Bessie shut the door, Hugh sighed deeply.
“What’s the matter?” Bessie asked the young man.
“She’s really terrific,” he replied. “And I know I should marry her quick, before she figures out how much better she could do, but….” he trailed off.
Bessie narrowed her eyes at him. “But what?” she demanded. “Grace is lovely, she’s smart and she puts up with your unpredictable job. What more do you want?”
“Nothing, that is, I know she’s perfect. I think that’s what scares me. I’m afraid she’s going to realise how unperfect I am one of these days.”
“Imperfect,” Bessie corrected him.
“Exactly,” Hugh said miserably.
Bessie smiled. “Look, Grace is terrific, but she isn’t perfect,” she began. “Right now, you’re head over heels in love, but one day you’ll start to notice little things about her that aren’t so lovely and sweet and wonderful. If you think you can still love her in spite of those little things, then you should marry her. If she’s willing to put up with your little things, she’ll say yes.”
“I’ll love her no matter what,” Hugh said. “What I don’t get is why she cares about me.”
Bessie shook her head. “If I could explain that, I’d be a billionaire in a huge mansion and you’d be having this conversation with one of my staff,” she laughed. “Love isn’t easy to explain or understand and there’s little point in asking a spinster lady in her, um, late middle age to explain it.”
“Doona’s been married twice and divorced twice, Inspector Corkill’s divorced, and I don’t even think I want to know what’s going on with Inspector Rockwell’s marriage. Why should Grace and I be any different?” Hugh asked.
Bessie shrugged. “Do you want to be different? Are you ready to work hard? Because I’ve seen a lot of marriages, good, bad and indifferent ones, and the ones that work, they work because both people in the marriage work hard at it. It isn’t usually the bad times or the good times that drive couples apart, either, it’s the boring times in between when they start to forget how much they need each other and just start living their own lives. You and Grace are both young and you both have a lot to learn about life and about each other. But from what I’ve seen, I think you two have a better than average chance of making it as a couple in the long term. And that’s more than I’d say to most couples these days.”
Hugh stood up and gave Bessie a bear hug. He coughed a couple of times to clear his throat before he spoke. “Ah, thanks, I mean, I guess, that is, ah, you know what I mean.”
Bessie patted his arm. “You’re welcome,” she said.
A loud knock on the door announced the arrival of the rest of Bessie’s guests.
Chapter Twelve
Bessie opened the door to let Doona in. She was followed by the two inspectors, each carrying a box full of containers of food.
“Nice to see you again, Inspector Corkill,” Bessie said politely as the two men set their boxes on the counter.
“Nice to see you as well, Miss Cubbon,” he replied formally.
“Please, do call me Bessie,” she said as Doona and John began to unpack the boxes.
“Yes, well, you should call me Pete, then, at least when we’re having dinner together.”
Bessie grinned. “I’ll try to remember,” she told him.
The little group sat down to eat and Bessie kept the conversation light while they enjoyed the enormous feast the two senior policemen had brought. Bessie provided everyone with generous helpings of crumble when the food ran out, topping each with fresh custard.
“This is delicious,” Hugh told Bessie. “Or rather, it was.” He smiled at her as he scraped up the very last bite from his plate.
“It was good,” Pete agreed. “I don’t get homemade puddings very often.”
Bessie smiled. “You’re welcome here for pudding anytime,” she told the man, wondering how his relationship with her friend Helen was going. She’d have to call Helen and suggest that she do some baking, or better yet, maybe Helen and the inspector could do some baking together.
“As fun as this has been,” Bessie said. “We have a lot to talk about.”
“Before we go any further,” Pete said, holding up a hand, “I think I need to make my position clear. I’m here because I know th
at Bessie knows the group of ladies involved and I also know that she’s been instrumental in helping to solve various murders in the past. But this can’t be a two-way street. Neither John nor I will be able to discuss anything that we’ve learned through our investigations. I hope that’s clear.”
Bessie nodded. “I don’t want anyone in any trouble with the Chief Constable,” she said. “What I want is to talk through the whole mess and see where we end up. I feel like I’ve talked to just about everyone on the island about some part or other, but I can’t seem to tie everything together.”
“Motive, means and opportunity,” Hugh said. “Those are always the key points, right?”
“For murder, sure,” Bessie agreed. “But two of the women died in what could have been accidents. I’m afraid there’s so much that’s happened that it’s muddying up the waters around the one case that we’re certain was murder.”
“So let’s start with Nancy’s death,” Doona suggested. “I’ll make some coffee. I need some, even if no one else does.”
“Coffee sounds good,” John told her. She smiled at him and then bustled around Bessie’s kitchen for a short while, starting coffee and piling biscuits onto a plate.
“So, what do we know about motives for Nancy’s death?” Hugh asked, a touch impatiently.
“From what I heard, she was dying anyway,” Bessie said. “Why would anyone go to all the bother to kill her?”
“Unless she wasn’t the intended victim,” Hugh said. “We’re back to the totally random nature of the first murder now. Maybe we should start with an easier one.”
Bessie shook her head. “I can’t help but think that Nancy’s death is the most important one, somehow. If we assume she was the intended victim, though, I can’t see any motive anywhere.”
“What about her daughter?” Doona asked as she poured coffee into mugs. “Wasn’t there something about Nancy changing her will?”
“That depends on who you ask,” Bessie replied. “And I tried asking Doncan, but he wouldn’t tell me anything. Of course, he shouldn’t do, but I had to ask anyway.”
Doona chuckled. “He’s too good at his job. That man never gossips; I bet he doesn’t even talk about clients with his wife.”
“Anyway, aside from Nancy’s daughter, Sarah, whose motive is questionable, I don’t think there’s anyone else who had any reason to kill Nancy,” Bessie said with a sigh.
“What if the jam ladies told you the story the wrong way around?” Hugh asked. “What if Nancy had already made her will leaving everything to the jam ladies and now she was threatening to change it and leave it all to her kids? Maybe the jam ladies all got together and planned the poisoned jam so that they could get all of Nancy’s money.”
“It’s possible,” Doona said, excitedly. “And now, one of them is killing all of the others so she can get all of Nancy’s money for herself.”
“Except Nancy didn’t have a ton of money,” Bessie said. “And, as far as I know, all of the jam ladies are reasonably comfortable anyway. I don’t think any of them need Nancy’s money.”
“If I had to pick a murderer out of the jam ladies, it would be Elinor,” Doona said thoughtfully. “She’s cold and calculating and I can see her scheming and plotting.”
“What about opportunity, then? Agnes said the jam was already at the table when she arrived on Tynwald Day. Elinor didn’t get there until later,” Bessie reminded her friend.
“Maybe Elinor got there really early and left the jam and then snuck away, only to come back later and pretend she’d only just arrived,” Doona said. “It would have been easy enough for her to give the poisoned jar to Nancy. If she did do it, she’d have marked the jar in some way. Knowing her, she passed out the jars to everyone and poor Nancy didn’t have a chance.”
“Where did she get the poison?” Bessie asked. “Do we know what poison was used?” She looked at John, who shook his head.
“We aren’t releasing any details on that matter at the moment,” Pete told her formally.
Bessie sighed. “I can’t see Elinor killing anyone,” she said with a catch in her voice. “I’ve known her forever, and while she isn’t the friendliest person in the world, she was very close to the other jam ladies. I can’t believe she’d do anything to hurt any of them.”
“Even if they’d slept with her husband?” Doona demanded.
“We don’t know that anyone slept with her husband,” Bessie said with a sigh. “If she were going to get revenge for that, though, why wait this long? Her husband has been dead for twenty-some years. I can’t see her suddenly feeling vengeful about what he got up to all those years ago.”
“Maybe Agnes or Joan killed her and then had their accident,” Hugh suggested.
“Agnes was Nancy’s closest friend in the group,” Bessie replied. “And she was devastated by Nancy’s death. I won’t even consider her as a possible murderer. As for Joan, well, I just don’t see it.”
Bessie shook her head. “This isn’t helping,” she complained. “I feel like we’re going around in circles and not getting anywhere. None of it makes sense.”
“What about the jam?” Hugh asked. “Who could have made the jam? I mean, I know I couldn’t, but could all the jam ladies make jam?”
Bessie nodded. “The only one that simply couldn’t make good jam was Peggy Cannon, and she’s been dead for years. But that doesn’t really narrow things down all that much. Any woman on the island over the age of fifty could probably make jam if she needed to and anyone of any age who can follow a basic recipe could manage it. Jam making only sounds difficult; it’s quite straightforward when you do it.”
Hugh shook his head. “I’ll take your word for it,” he told Bessie. “Grace has been teaching me cooking and baking, but I think jam making is beyond her talents.”
“I shall have to have her around and teach her how,” Bessie replied. “It can be great fun, done with friends, and homemade jam feels special every time you open the jar.”
“And pretty much anyone at Tynwald Day could have dropped off the jam to the ladies’ table,” Doona mused. “At least anyone who got there nice and early.”
“If they didn’t care who got which jar, they didn’t even need to stay,” Bessie added.
“What about Agnes, then?” Hugh asked. “Do we know of anyone with a motive for killing Agnes?”
Bessie shook her head. “If anything, her case is worse than Nancy’s. Agnes was more or less all alone in the world. I gather she’s left her money to her nieces who live across, but from what I understand, they didn’t know they were in line to inherit anything.”
“So they could have a motive, but we’ve no evidence that they were on the island,” Hugh said.
“I was told she had a weak heart,” Bessie said. “Elinor was concerned that the shock of Nancy’s death might kill her. Again, who kills someone who’s dying anyway?”
“Someone who doesn’t want to wait,” John said quietly.
“But it could have been an accident,” Doona said. “The Isle of Man Times report said that the police couldn’t be sure whether the damage to the car’s brake lines was accidental or intentional.”
John and Pete exchanged glances. “A young constable in Douglas is on warning for leaking that information,” Pete told them. “But yeah, the car was so old and there was so much wrong with it that the crime scene team couldn’t be sure how or when the brake lines got damaged.”
“In order to make it look accidental, though,” Bessie speculated, “someone would have to know quite a bit about cars.”
“Didn’t you tell me that Elinor’s husband worked with cars?” John asked her.
Bessie flushed. “He did, but that doesn’t mean that Eliinor knows anything about them. Anyway, I can’t see Elinor crawling under Agnes’s car to tamper with brake lines.”
Doona chuckled. “It’s an interesting mental picture,” she said. “But I’m with Bessie on this one. Elinor wouldn’t get her hands dirty like that.”
“So who would?” Pete asked quietly.
Bessie shrugged. “No one had any reason to kill Agnes. Of all the deaths, I think that one is most likely to have been an unfortunate accident. Does anyone know why she was on the mountain road that night?”
John shook his head. “If anyone does know why she was there, they haven’t admitted it to us.”
“So let’s talk about Joan’s death,” Hugh suggested. “It could have been an accident, it could have been another random murder or it could have been targeted and well-planned by someone.”
“Joan has a son,” Bessie said. “Last I knew he was in gaol across, though. Even if he’s out, I can’t see why he’d want to kill his mother.”
“Does he inherit her money?” Doona asked.
“I have no idea,” Bessie replied. “I would guess so, but I don’t even know if he’s still alive. Joan never spoke about him.”
“He’s alive,” Pete said. “And he’s still in gaol, but probably won’t be for too much longer.”
“Oh, dear, that doesn’t sound good,” Bessie said. “But if he’s in gaol, he isn’t over here rewiring kettles or poisoning jam.”
“Could he have set it up to get his mother killed so that he could inherit?” Doona asked. “Or does that only happen on telly?”
“Anything’s possible,” Pete told her. “And you can be sure the police are pursuing every possible line of enquiry.”
“How hard would it be to rewire a kettle?” Doona asked. “I mean to make it deadly but still look like it could have been an accident?”
“Not that easy,” Pete said. “The police are still examining what was left of the kettle, but whoever tampered with it, if it was indeed tampered with, knew what they were doing.”
“Which should prove Elinor had nothing to do with it,” Bessie said. “I can’t see her having any idea how to switch around wiring in a kettle.”
“What about Margaret?” Doona asked suddenly. “We’ve been talking about Elinor, but Margaret must be just as much of a suspect, surely?”
Aunt Bessie Enjoys (An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Book 5) Page 18