“But you’re right, I did want to talk to you about the case,” John admitted with a sigh. “And I wanted to get away from the station for a little while as well.”
“I gather Inspector Lambert wouldn’t approve of your talking to me,” Bessie said.
John shrugged. “She has her own way of doing things,” he replied. “And she doesn’t believe in involving civilians in murder investigations. I have to say that I tend to agree with her, as well. But when it comes to Laxey, well, you’re my very best source of information. Sometimes some civilians can be incredibly useful.”
Bessie nodded. “I’m always happy to help,” she said.
“Yes, well, that’s why we’re here,” John told her. “It will be in the papers tonight, so I’m not giving anything away, but the body at the Clague farm has been positively identified.”
“Jacob Conover?” Bessie asked.
“Yes,” John said.
Before Bessie could answer, Carol was there, delivering plates full of steaming hot food.
“Everything looks wonderful,” Bessie exclaimed as she looked over the plate.
“Enjoy, and let me know if you need anything,” Carol told them.
For several minutes the pair focussed on their meals. “The shepherd’s pie is my favourite,” Bessie said after a while.
“I like the steak and kidney,” John told her. “I never do that at home.”
“Even the fish pie is good, and I’m not a huge fan of fish,” Bessie replied.
“The crust is very flaky, which gives it a wonderful texture,” John said.
Bessie laughed. “We sound like food critics,” she said.
“I hope that doesn’t mean you don’t like it,” Dan’s voice surprised Bessie.
“It’s all wonderful,” Bessie told him. “It’s just way too much food.”
“We can box up whatever you can’t finish,” Dan offered.
“Oh, I think I’ll probably finish it all,” Bessie replied. “But I won’t have room for anything else.”
“We’ll box up your puddings,” Dan said. “And I’ll add a sheet with instructions for how best to serve them.”
Bessie grinned. “If you were within walking distance of my cottage, I’d eat here every day,” she told the man.
“We were actually talking about relocating into Laxey,” Dan said. “We’re kind of out of the way here.”
“That doesn’t seem to be hurting your business,” Bessie said, glancing around the still full restaurant.
“No,” Dan agreed. “So maybe we’ll stay where we are, at least for now.”
When Carol came to clear their empty plates, John agreed that he’d take a pudding sampler home with him as well.
“So now that you know who you’ve found, does that change anything?” Bessie asked.
“It certainly narrows down the possibilities,” John said. “Jacob’s sister is coming over on the late ferry tonight. It will be interesting to see what she has to say, although I don’t expect her to be much help.”
“Didn’t you say that she didn’t even know he was on the island?” Bessie checked.
“That’s what she said when I spoke to her on the telephone,” John replied.
“It would be better if he’d sent lots of long letters back to her all about his stay here,” Bessie said.
“It would indeed,” John agreed. “But at least we can get more background from her.”
“You said she might like to meet me,” Bessie recalled.
“I told her I’d try to set up meetings for her with a few people who remember her brother,” John said. “I’ve included you on the list of people we’re going to visit.”
“Who else is she going to meet?” Bessie asked.
“Mona Kelly Smythe has agreed to meet with her,” John told her. “She said she has nothing but fond memories of the man and she’s a widow, so there’s no one to get jealous or upset if she talks about him.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Bessie said. “I suppose some of the women he spent time with would rather their husbands didn’t know about it.”
“That’s what we keep running into,” John replied. “Some women simply don’t want to talk about their youthful flirtations.”
“I wonder if Fenella is keeping quiet so as not to upset Eoin,” Bessie mused. “I can’t help but think she must have known the man. At the time it seemed like he went with every girl around her age.”
“Jacob’s sister would like to meet them and also Niall,” John said. “Since their farm is where the body was found.”
“I wouldn’t recommend letting her meet Niall,” Bessie said. “He’s very easily confused and upset.”
John nodded. “Fenella told me the same thing,” he said. “I’m going to take Jane to meet with Fenella and Eoin and to see where the body was found, but I’ve told her she can’t meet Niall.”
“So what time should I expect you tomorrow?” Bessie asked.
“I think probably some time after two,” John said, flipping through his notebook as he spoke. “She arrives tonight and we’re visiting the farm in the morning. I thought I’d take her to lunch somewhere before we come to see you.”
“That sounds good,” Bessie agreed. “I’ll bake some biscuits or something and we can have tea.”
John nodded. Carol arrived then with two small boxes. “Here you are,” she said brightly. “Your sweet course, all ready to go. Dan’s included heating instructions for the items that are best warm.”
After John paid the bill, the pair headed back out into the autumn sunshine. He helped Bessie into the car and then drove her back to her cottage.
“Thank you for a lovely lunch,” she told her at her door.
“Thank you for joining me.”
“I don’t feel as if I helped at all,” Bessie said. “We hardly even discussed the case and I didn’t tell you anything new.”
“But we’ve sorted out a meeting tomorrow with Jacob’s sister,” John reminded her. “I’m sure she’ll tell you more than she’ll tell me. You can chat with her about her brother while I take a walk on the beach or something.”
Bessie nodded. “I just hope I can find out something useful,” she said. “It sort of feels as if this is an impossible case.”
“It was a long time ago and our most important witness isn’t capable of helping,” John said. “This one might end up in the cold case file for a very long time.”
Bessie frowned as she let herself into her cottage. She hated the thought that someone might get away with murder, even if the killer was poor old Niall Clague, who certainly could never be tried, even if John found evidence of his guilt. For once Bessie’s answering machine light was steady.
“Ha, no one even missed me,” she said as she put her pudding box on the counter. Before she could move, however, the phone rang. She laughed at herself as she picked up the receiver.
“Ah, Aunt Bessie, one of my most favourite people ever, how are you?” Andy Caine’s voice boomed down the wire.
“Andy, it’s so good to hear your voice. I feel as if you’ve been gone forever,” Bessie replied.
“It’s only been a few months,” Andy said. “And I’m coming home this weekend just for you.”
“I saw your mother at the corner store today and she mentioned that. I’m ever so glad.”
“Don’t tell me mum is working again?” Andy said, sighing deeply. “There’s more than enough money now. She doesn’t have to work. She can just relax and enjoy life.”
“She said she was bored at home,” Bessie replied. “She’s worked hard her entire life. Working now and then is probably good for her.”
“Once I finish my course, she can come and work for me,” Andy said. “I’m going to need all the help I can get.”
“Are you enjoying the course?” Bessie asked.
“It’s super. Some of it is hard work, like the classes in keeping accounts and things, but the cooking and baking courses are great and I’ve made a bunch of new
friends.”
“Your mother said you might want to bring a friend for Thanksgiving,” Bessie said.
“Ah, yes, well, if it’s okay with you.”
Bessie felt as if she could almost hear the young man blushing. “Of course you may bring a friend,” she replied. “Is it someone from your course?”
“Yes, she’s, well, she’s just a friend, really.”
“But you’re hoping for more.”
“You know me too well,” Andy complained.
“Tell me about her,” Bessie invited.
“Her name is Sue and she twenty-three,” Andy began. “She went to university for a year to do maths, but she didn’t really like it. She ended up getting a job as a waitress and discovered that she likes that sort of work. After a while, she decided she should go to culinary school so she can have her own restaurant instead of working for someone else.”
“Good for her,” Bessie said.
“Yeah, she’s really good at the math and the account-keeping stuff, so I thought maybe, when we’re done here, she might be a good partner for me. I could do the cooking and she could handle the business end of things.”
“What does she think of that idea?”
“Oh, I haven’t, that is, it’s just a vague thought for now,” Andy told her. “The first thing I have to do is get her over to the island. She’s never been and if she doesn’t like it, well, that will be the end of that, won’t it?”
“I suppose so. I do hope she likes it here. Your mother has her heart set on you coming back when you’ve finished your course.”
“I do as well,” he said emphatically. “The island is home. I never felt settled when I lived over here, I just didn’t want to be anywhere near my father, or rather the man I thought was my father.”
“But you’re happy enough at school?”
“Oh, school’s great, but it’s only temporary. The island will always be home.”
“I’m really looking forward to seeing you on Saturday,” Bessie said.
“Do you need any help with the food? I’d be happy to help out, if you’d like.”
“I’m letting the restaurant handle everything,” Bessie told him. “Of course once your restaurant is open, I’ll have to have Thanksgiving there.”
“My first banquet booking,” Andy laughed. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
“I hope you do,” Bessie replied.
When the young man disconnected, Bessie sat for a moment thinking about how much his life had changed in just a short while. Sometimes good things happened to good people, she mused. Before she got back up, the phone rang again.
“Bessie, I just got off the phone with Jane Harris, Jacob’s sister. She should be at your cottage around two tomorrow,” John Rockwell told her.
“Wasn’t that what we said earlier?” Bessie asked.
“It was, but I was going to bring her to see you. Mrs. Harris would prefer to come on her own.”
“Oh, I see,” Bessie said. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter.”
“No, Mrs. Harris isn’t a suspect or anything,” John said. “But I am very curious to hear what she has to say. She’s meeting with me in the morning, but I’ll still want to know what you discuss with her.”
“Of course,” Bessie replied. “Shall I ring you when she leaves?”
“No, don’t ring,” John said quickly. “I’ll come over and see you some time in the evening.”
“That works for me,” Bessie agreed. “I don’t expect to do much more than tell her how sorry I am for her loss, though.”
“I’m hoping she might be able to shed some light on why her brother was on the island,” John told her. “She might know what sort of farm he was looking for and how much money he had to spend. I’d like to know which farmers he approached. At the moment no one will admit to having spoken to him about their property.”
“And I don’t remember anything specific,” Bessie said. “I probably didn’t pay that much attention, really. He wasn’t here for that long and I don’t think any of the area farmers were at all interested in selling to him.”
“Well, the more you can find out from Mrs. Harris, the better,” John told her. “I’m not sure she’s going to be terribly forthcoming with me.”
“Why not? Surely she wants her brother’s killer found.”
“I got the impression that she isn’t fond of the police,” John said. “I may have misinterpreted her, though.”
“I doubt it. You’re usually an excellent judge of character,” Bessie said. “I won’t tell Mrs. Harris that we’re friends.”
“That’s probably wise.”
Bessie made herself a light evening meal to go with her delicious puddings. Once she’d eaten every last bite, she searched through a box that had recently arrived from the bookstore in Ramsey. She had a long list of favourite authors and the store sent her anything new by any of them on a monthly basis. Sometimes they added a book or two that one of the booksellers thought might interest her. Now Bessie dug out a paperback thriller by an author she’d never tried.
“How bad can it be?” she said to no one.
She sank down in her most comfortable chair with a cup of tea and a plate with a few biscuits on it, prepared to get lost in the story. Two hours later, she was tired, but her heart was racing and she knew she’d never sleep if she didn’t finish the book. It was much later than her normal bedtime when the hero and heroine finally escaped from the killer’s lair and saved the world, or at least their little corner of it.
Bessie sat back in her chair and sighed with relief. Everything had worked out in the end. She laughed when she noticed her teacup; it was still full with tea that was now quite cold. Clearly she’d been more absorbed in her story than she’d realised. She quite forgotten to drink her tea or eat her biscuits.
After tidying up her forgotten snack, Bessie headed to bed hoping she might sleep a little bit later than normal the next morning. Her meeting with Jane Harris could be an interesting one and Bessie wanted to be at her best when the woman arrived.
Chapter Twelve
Tuesday didn’t start well for Bessie. She woke at her normal time of six o’clock, feeling tired and out of sorts. After trying unsuccessfully for several minutes to get back to sleep, she finally rolled out of bed and took her shower. Tea and toast did little to wake her up, so she set a pot of coffee brewing before heading out for a walk. She opened her door and gasped. The wind was blowing strongly and rain was pouring down. She pushed the door shut and leaned against it, sighing deeply. The weather seemed to match her mood.
After pulling on her Wellington boots and her waterproofs, she tried again, this time making it out the door and into the storm. She marched through the rain to the very first of the holiday cottages and then turned and stomped home again as quickly as she could. That would have to do for a walk for the morning, she decided as she stood dripping in her kitchen. The smell of coffee made her smile and she poured herself a cup and took a sip before stripping off her wet things.
With company due that afternoon, Bessie spent her morning cleaning and tidying the cottage. She fixed herself a light lunch and then got out the ingredients for her favourite shortbread recipe. She’d only just measured the flour when someone knocked on her door.
“You must be Elizabeth Cubbon,” the woman in the doorway said when Bessie opened the door.
“I am,” Bessie admitted. “Jane Harris?”
“Yes, that’s right,” the woman nodded and then frowned. “The weather’s beastly, isn’t it?”
“Oh, do come in,” Bessie exclaimed, stepping backwards to let the woman get out of the wind and rain.
Bessie studied the new arrival as the woman removed her sodden trench coat. She could have been anywhere between forty and seventy, Bessie thought, though she knew the woman must be around sixty. Her hair was dark brown, with only a few grey streaks that were almost like highlights. Her makeup, in spite of the rain, was impeccable, and her clothes were obviously expe
nsive. She was slender and as Bessie took the dripping coat from her, she seemed to be looking down her nose at Bessie. As she was several inches taller than Bessie and she was wearing black boots with four-inch heels, that wasn’t difficult for her.
“Please sit down,” Bessie said, gesturing towards the kitchen table.
“In here?” the woman sniffed.
“I was just going to make some shortbread,” Bessie told her. “I didn’t think you’d be here for another hour.”
“My earlier visit didn’t take long,” the woman replied. “I don’t suppose you can wait and do your baking after I’ve gone?”
“I was only baking for your benefit,” Bessie said. “But I’m sure I have some digestives or something in the cupboard, if you would rather.”
“Oh, goodness, I don’t eat such things,” the woman replied. “Anyway, I don’t want to take up much of your time. The policeman I spoke to said that you remembered my brother. Otherwise, I wouldn’t bother you at all.”
“Why don’t we move into the sitting room, then,” Bessie suggested. “It will be more comfortable.”
The woman nodded her approval and then followed Bessie into the next room. Bessie sat down in her favourite chair and motioned towards the couch across from it. “Have a seat,” she suggested.
“How long have you lived here?” the woman demanded as she perched herself on the edge of the couch.
“A great many years,” Bessie replied.
“Yes, it does rather show, doesn’t it?” Jane glanced around the room and Bessie supposed, from the look on her face, that she wasn’t impressed with what she was seeing.
“It’s small and cosy,” Bessie told her. “But I love it.”
“I’m sure you do,” the woman said in a patronising tone.
Bessie bit her tongue. The woman was in mourning for her brother; Bessie needed to make allowances, she told herself.
“So, what do you remember about Jacob?” Jane demanded.
“Not much,” Bessie said. “I remember he made quite an impression on the young ladies in the village, though. He seemed to go out with nearly every single woman living here.”
“I’m assuming that doesn’t include you,” Jane said. “You’re far too old.”
Aunt Bessie Invites (An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Book 9) Page 18