Aunt Bessie Invites
An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery
Diana Xarissa
Text Copyright © 2016 Diana Xarissa
Cover Photo Copyright © 2016 Kevin Moughtin
All Rights Reserved
For Stacy, because without her help I wouldn’t have as much time to write!
Author’s Note
Welcome to the ninth book in the Isle of Man Cozy Mystery series. I try to make each book stand on its own, but as the series progresses, it gets more difficult. My characters are changing and developing, and I really do recommend that you read the series in order (alphabetically by the last word in the title).
Most of the characters continue throughout the series, and I had great fun with this book by inviting almost everyone we’ve met thus far to Bessie’s Thanksgiving feast. Some of the characters also appear in my Isle of Man Romance Series, although they are about fifteen years older there than in the Bessie books. (Bessie had just passed away in Island Inheritance.)
This is a work of fiction and all characters are entirely fictional. If they bear any resemblance to any real person, living or dead, that is entirely coincidental. The island businesses mentioned are also fictional, although the historical sites are all real. Manx National Heritage is also real and is tasked with preserving and promoting the island’s amazing history. The employees of Manx National Heritage in this story are all fictional creations, however.
The photo on the cover is of the Ramsey Harbour Swing Bridge. It was built in 1892 by the Cleveland Bridge and Engineering Company and takes both road and foot traffic across the Sulby River. It was refitted and painted in 2013-2014, so it wouldn’t have looked exactly as it does in the photo when this story takes place.
As ever, I have used British spellings and terminology as much as I can. There is a glossary in the back of the book for readers outside of the British Isles who might not be familiar with some of the English and Manx terms used. No doubt some Americanisms have slipped into the text as well, and I do apologise for those to my readers who are in the British Isles!
I’d love to hear from you. My contact details are in the back of the book.
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 Joins
By the Same Author
About the Author
Chapter One
“Thank you again for driving me around today,” Bessie said to Doona as they drove slowly along the road towards Ramsey Harbour.
“It’s the perfect day for being out and about,” Doona replied. “It’s cold, but clear, and the sun is shining. I don’t mind the cold nearly as much when the sun is out.”
“It looks lovely shining on the water, doesn’t it?” Bessie asked.
Doona slid her car into a space and looked out across the harbour. “It’s beautiful,” she replied. “And I love all the little boats. Maybe, if I really do inherit millions, I’ll buy a little boat. Would you like to come sailing with me?”
Bessie shook her head. “I’m not much for sailing,” she told her friend. “The ferry isn’t too bad, if I need to get across for some reason, but otherwise I’m quite happy to stick to dry land.”
The pair climbed out of the car. Bessie headed towards the pavement that ran in front of a row of small shops, with Doona on her heels. Anyone going past who noticed the pair might have imagined that they were mother and daughter, rather than friends.
Doona was in her early forties. Her brown hair was highlighted, and today she was wearing her glasses, rather than her usual coloured contact lenses which gave her bright green eyes. After some rather upsetting events the previous months, she’d lost some weight, but she still had curves, unlike her companion.
Bessie was probably around twice Doona’s age, but she didn’t like to talk about such things. Her grey hair was short and almost exactly matched her eyes. She was only a couple of inches over five feet tall, while Doona was a few inches taller than Bessie. Bessie had always been slender and age hadn’t changed that. She kept herself fit by walking daily along the beach where she lived, often venturing out two or three times each day to enjoy the sea air and the exercise.
“Here we are,” Bessie said, stopping at the last storefront. “The Swing Bridge Restaurant. No creativity in the name, as the swing bridge is right outside their windows, but the food is delicious.”
Doona followed Bessie into the small restaurant. It felt dark inside after the bright sunlight outdoors, and Bessie found herself blinking as her eyes worked to focus.
“Ah, Bessie, we were just wondering when you would arrive,” a voice greeted her from behind the hostess stand.
“Lisa, I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” Bessie replied. She gave the woman a quick hug before introducing Doona.
“Doona, this is Lisa, the assistant manager here. She’s coordinating everything for our feast,” Bessie told her friend.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Doona said politely.
Lisa was slim and was neatly dressed in black trousers and a matching shirt. The red jacket she was wearing was the only thing that differentiated her from the waiters and waitresses. She was probably no more than thirty, with long brown hair in a neat ponytail.
“I do hope you’re planning on having lunch with us today,” Lisa said to Bessie.
“That’s why we timed our visit as we did,” Bessie replied.
Lisa showed them to a small table in a quiet corner and left them with menus.
“I must say it’s a treat having a day off on a Monday,” Doona said after the pair had ordered their lunch. “I could get used to this.”
“I don’t suppose you have enough holiday time saved up to let you take every Monday off for a while?” Bessie asked.
“Anna would like it if I did,” Doona replied. “She’s very keen on getting us to use up our holiday time.”
“Why?” Bessie asked bluntly.
Doona shrugged. “Maybe it’s a lot of bother for her, keeping track of it all. Or maybe because she just likes telling us all what to do.”
Bessie sighed. She knew Doona wasn’t fond of the policewoman who’d recently been assigned to the Laxey station where Doona worked at the reception desk, but it was increasingly clear that Doona really disliked Anna Lambert. “It isn’t getting any better, then? Working for Inspector Lambert, I mean.”
Doona shook her head. “I don’t know why they even assigned her to Laxey,” she complained. “John was doing an excellent job without her. I know she’s supposed to handle the administrative duties and leave John with the investigative work, but really she just seems to get in the way of everything.
John Rockwell had originally moved to the island to work as an investigator in the Ramsey branch of the CID, but various circumstances had led to his being put in charge of the Laxey station. Anna Lambert’s appointment was meant to give him more time to work in the area he loved, investigation, rather than having to sit behind a desk all day figuring out the staff schedule and ordering supplies.
“So she isn’t helping John?” Bessie asked.
“I suppose she is,” Doona admitted with a frown. “But she seems to pick and choose how she helps so that John still ends up with a lot of jobs that she really ought to be doing.”
“How does John feel about her?”
Doona shrugged and then looked away. “I haven’t, that is, John’s awfully busy at the moment,” she muttered.
Bessie didn’t press the point. John was in the middle of a fairly civil divorce and Doona had her own complicated personal life. Bessie was pretty sure that John and Doona were attracted to one another, but the timing wasn’t quite right for them to get together. It seemed as if they weren’t even really speaking at the moment, though, something Bessie hoped she could help them sort out eventually.
After a delicious lunch, Lisa joined them at their table. “Here’s the final menu,” she told Bessie. “Please let me know if we’ve missed anything.”
Bessie ran her eyes down the printed card. “Turkey and gravy, stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, assorted vegetables, bread rolls, pumpkin and apple pies,” she read slowly. “I think it’s all here.
“And thank goodness we had lunch before you read through it,” Doona said with a laugh. “Even with a full tummy, that list made me hungry.”
Bessie smiled. “It does sound good. A good, traditional Thanksgiving feast. I can hardly wait.”
“It makes a change for us every year,” Lisa said. “We’re usually getting ready for Christmas dinners through most of November. Your Thanksgiving meal is very like a Christmas one, of course.”
“When we were in Ohio, we always had ham for Christmas dinner,” Bessie replied. “But I really love turkey and all the trimmings. I’m more than happy to have it for both meals.”
Bessie had been born on the Isle of Man, but her family had moved to the United States when she was a toddler. They’d returned to the island when she was seventeen. Now, many years later, Thanksgiving was one of the few American traditions she still observed. There was just something special to her about a day set aside to be grateful for all of your blessings.
Because she liked to spend the day surrounded by as many of her friends as possible, she had her Thanksgiving celebration on the Saturday after the official feast in the US. That way no one generally had to take time off work to attend. For many years she’d cooked the meal herself in her tiny cottage by the sea, but as the years had passed the celebration had grown. Now she hosted the event at a local restaurant, letting them handle the cooking while she enjoyed the day. This was the third year in a row that she was having the meal at The Swing Bridge restaurant, and she was anticipating another delicious feast.
“I’ll just take you upstairs for a quick look at the banquet room,” Lisa told her.
Bessie and Doona followed the woman through the restaurant and up the stairs. The first floor room was large enough to hold several round tables. In total, the tables could seat around fifty guests.
“Do you have any idea on numbers yet?” Lisa asked.
“I’ll get back to you,” Bessie said. “I’m still waiting to hear back from a few people. At this point, I expect there will be about forty of us.”
“Are there going to be any children, and do you want to do a separate table for them if there are?”
Bessie shook her head. “There might be a few children, in fact, we might even need a highchair or two, but the children can sit with their parents. I can’t imagine they’d enjoy being all lumped together at one table.”
Lisa nodded. “And you’re going to get us the turkeys we need, right?” she asked. “Our farmers don’t start delivering turkeys until December.”
“I’m going out to the Clague farm from here,” Bessie told her. “I’m going to make sure that Eoin has my turkeys just about ready.”
“And you really don’t want any holiday decorations in here?” Lisa asked. “We could put a Christmas tree in the corner, just to brighten up the space a bit.”
“Absolutely not,” Bessie said firmly. “When I was a child, Christmas decorations didn’t go up until after Thanksgiving. It was almost magical in the shops. The day before Thanksgiving they’d be just as plain and boring as ever. Then, on the Friday after, the first official shopping day for Christmas, there would be Christmas trees and fairy lights everywhere. I know some poor people had to work late into the night on the Wednesday to make it happen, but as a child it felt magical.”
“It must be nice to have that clear start date for the Christmas season,” Doona said. “Over here shops just start putting up their decorations whenever they feel like it, so it seems like some are dripping in fairy lights from October, while others barely manage to get anything up before mid-December.”
“I understand that things aren’t necessarily still done that way in the US,” Bessie told her. “Apparently many of the shops now decorate earlier than was traditional when I was a child.”
“But we won’t,” Lisa assured her. “If you don’t want any Christmas decorations, that’s fine.”
“Last year you did a lovely job with the leaves and pumpkins,” Bessie told her. “It was very autumnal and exactly right for Thanksgiving.”
“Great. I have some good ideas for this year as well,” Lisa said.
Bessie walked slowly around the room, imagining it full of her friends. While many of the guests would be old friends, she had invited a number of people for the very first time. If everyone came, it would be her largest Thanksgiving ever.
“Thank you again for coming by,” Lisa said as she escorted Bessie and Doona back down the stairs. “Please ring if you have any questions or concerns.”
“I know everything is in good hands,” Bessie told her.
“I’m just sorry it’s nearly two weeks away,” Doona said as she and Bessie walked back to Doona’s car. “The menu sounds amazing.”
“The time will fly past,” Bessie assured her.
Back in the car, Doona headed north. “You’ll have to give me directions,” she said after a short time. “I still get lost outside of Laxey Village.” Doona had grown up in the south of the island, moving to Laxey only a few years earlier during an unpleasant divorce.
“With all the new roads going in, I’m not sure I’m much better,” Bessie said with a laugh. “But the old Clague farm is a landmark property. It’s been there for hundreds of years.”
“And they farm turkeys?” Doona asked.
“They farm wheat and oats,” Bessie told her. “And they keep some animals as well. They used to only keep animals for their own consumption, but many years ago, not too long after I first returned to the island, I persuaded Niall Clague to sell me a turkey from their farm. It’s pretty impossible to buy turkeys in November, you see. Nearly everyone has turkey for Christmas dinner, which means all of the farmers, both here and across, are working to that time frame. They’re still busy fattening up their birds in November.”
“But Niall sold you a turkey?”
“Actually, he gave me a turkey,” Bessie told her. “I went all over the area, to just about every farmer, and begged and pleaded for a turkey. For the first few years I just ate chicken, but it wasn’t the same. I really missed the US in those early years after my return, you see.”
“But you stayed here anyway.”
“I didn’t feel as if I had any choice,” Bessie replied. “Travelling back would have been expensive and young women didn’t make trips like that on their own. Anyway, if I had gone back I would have had to go and stay with my sister, and she was already being overwhelmed with children. There wasn’t room for me there.”
“So you went around and begged for a turkey,” Doona repeated.
“I did,” Bessie replied. “There weren’t actually many farmers that even had turkeys, and those that did were mostly raising them for themselves. Niall didn’t even have any turkeys, but I went around in the spring, figuring that one of the farmers might be willing to get them and get one ready early if I asked at just the right time. Anyway, Niall had just found h
imself with half a dozen baby turkeys that were sent from across by mistake with some chickens he’d ordered.”
“That was lucky,” Doona said.
“Our turkeys for this year are descendants from those original birds,” Bessie said. “Niall decided to have a go at raising them and they’ve done really well for him. The farm sells quite a few to the big grocery store chain on the island every year at Christmas, but he always gets some ready for me for Thanksgiving.”
“Did I hear you say you’ve ordered four?” Doona asked.
“Yes, I think that’s about right,” Bessie said. “They should be nice and plump, around fifteen to twenty pounds each, so they should feed forty or so people, especially with all the trimmings.”
“Now I’m getting hungry again,” Doona laughed.
Bessie told her friend where to turn. “The entrance to the farm is about another four or five miles along here,” she told Doona. “But then it’s another mile or more from the road to the farm house.”
“Is Niall Clague still running the farm?” Doona asked.
“No,” Bessie said. “Unfortunately, he isn’t very well. Physically he’s still reasonably fit, I understand, but mentally he’s not doing well.”
“How sad,” Doona replied. “How old is he?”
“Oh, somewhere near eighty, I think,” Bessie replied. “His parents had the farm before him, but his father died young. Niall pretty much took over when he was eighteen or nineteen and ran the place for fifty years or more.”
“So this Eoin that you mentioned, he’s Niall’s son?”
“Eoin Faragher is his son-in-law,” Bessie corrected her. “Niall and his wife, Marion, only had one child. Their daughter, Fenella, was only two or three when her mother died. Niall never remarried.”
“How old is Fenella?”
“She must be sixty,” Bessie said thoughtfully. “Eoin is a few years older. He’d been working on the farm for a few years before he married Fenella.”
“And do they have children ready to take over?” Doona asked.
Aunt Bessie Invites (An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Book 9) Page 1