Aunt Bessie Volunteers

by Diana Xarissa

  Aunt Bessie Volunteers

  An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery

  Diana Xarissa

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Glossary of Terms

  Other Notes

  Acknowledgments

  Aunt Bessie Wonders

  Also by Diana Xarissa

  About the Author

  Text Copyright © 2019 DX Dunn, LLC

  Cover Photo Copyright © 2019 Kevin Moughtin

  All Rights Reserved

  Created with Vellum

  For my Facebook fans who keep me entertained on my Facebook page.

  Author’s Note

  We’re twenty-two books into the series and I’m still enjoying spending time with Bessie and her friends. I hope you are, as well. I believe the series is best read in order. The last words in the titles run alphabetically to make it easy to know the order in which to read them. Each story is complete if you prefer not to read them all, however.

  Bessie first appeared in my romance novel Island Inheritance. Because she’d recently passed away in that story, I set the first in the cozy mystery series about fifteen years before the romance. The first Bessie story took place in April, 1998, therefore, and the stories have continued at a pace of about one a month since then. This book is set in January, 2000. We’re getting close to the end of the alphabet now. I have plans for Bessie beyond Z, however. More details will be forthcoming in future books.

  This is a work of fiction and all of the characters have been created by the author. Any resemblance that they may bear to real people, either living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Of course the setting, the Isle of Man, is a real place. The historical sites mentioned in this book are also real, although the events that take place within those sites in the story are all fictional. The businesses within the story are entirely fictional and have been located where convenient for the story. They are not necessarily located where any real businesses exist on the island. Any resemblance that they may bear to any real businesses is also coincidental.

  The Isle of Man is a United Kingdom crown dependency and I use British English (and Manx) for spellings and terms throughout the book. There is a short glossary at the back for anyone who is unfamiliar with any of the words or terms. As I’ve lived in the US for many years now, I’m sure many Americanisms are now sneaking into my writing. I try to correct them if they are pointed out to me.

  I love hearing from readers. Please feel free to get in touch. All of my contact information is available at the back of the book.

  Chapter 1

  “I really appreciate this,” Mark Blake said as he pointed his car west.

  “It’s not a problem,” Elizabeth Cubbon assured him.

  “You’d say that even if you’d had to cancel something important to help me. That’s just how you are, Bessie,” Mark replied.

  “Maybe, but I didn’t have to cancel anything. I didn’t have any plans for today.” Known as Bessie to nearly everyone, she knew she had a reputation for always being willing and able to help out when needed. She’d done more than her fair share of volunteer work over the years, especially with Manx National Heritage, the governmental body charged with promoting and protecting the island’s history.

  Mark chuckled. “Whatever, I’m still enormously grateful. After all the work you did for Christmas at the Castle, I wouldn’t have blamed you one bit if you refused to help me with any more projects.”

  “This one sounds fascinating, though,” Bessie countered. “I’ve always wondered what’s inside the various structures around Peel Castle.”

  “We aren’t expecting to find much of anything, but I know we’ll find boxes of old promotional materials in some of them. That’s why I asked for your help, you know. I’m hoping you’ll be able to remember when some of the various promotions were run.”

  “I’ll do my best. I remember one summer, maybe in the late sixties, when every visitor received a commemorative pin. Is that the sort of thing you mean?”

  “Exactly that. Some of the items will be dated, I hope, but over the years we’ve given away cups, coffee mugs, pins, toys, and goodness knows what else. Someone was meant to be keeping records of what was given out, but no one seems to know where those records are now. I want to try some new things, but I’m hoping to get inspiration from what was done in the past.”

  “I’m surprised things have been kept for so long.”

  “None of the spaces around the castle are actually usable for much of anything, so people have fallen into the habit of just shoving boxes into every spare corner. That’s the other reason why I’m doing this, actually. The whole of Manx National Heritage is trying to clear out as much rubbish as possible. I know for a fact that we have six boxes of guidebooks from the nineteen-eighties at the castle. There’s no way we’d ever use them again. Today, they all get sent for recycling.”

  “It sounds as if a good clear-out is well overdue.”

  “It is, yes. Some of our staff have been reluctant to discuss the matter, but there have been a few changes made lately. I believe things might begin moving in new directions within MNH.”

  “I hope that’s good news.”

  “I do, too. I believe we’re going to see some modernisation, anyway. We’ll see.”

  The drive across the island didn’t seem to take very long. Bessie glanced at Tynwald Hill as they drove past it. “July seems a long way off,” she remarked.

  “It will be here before we know it. We want to try some different things with the Tynwald Day festivities, too, actually, although that may have to wait another year or two.”

  “What are you thinking of changing?” Bessie asked nervously. The annual Manx National Day was one of her favourite celebrations. Nearly everyone on the island met in St. John’s to celebrate the island’s heritage. Tynwald, the nation’s parliament, met in the open air in front of the assembly. All laws passed in the previous twelve months were read out in both English and Manx and anyone with a grievance could come forward and present it to the government. Besides the official activities, there was food, entertainment, and fireworks.

  “Nothing major,” Mark assured her. “One thing we’ve been talking about is trying to do different things each year that will leave a lasting legacy.”

  “I’m intrigued. What sorts of things?”

  “Maybe an art piece to which everyone could contribute. We’ve been talking about doing something in conjunction with the arboretum, as well, maybe planting additional trees each year to mark the day.”

  “As long as the basics remain the same, I’ll look forward to seeing what other things you can add.”

  “We’ve no intention of interfering with the basics. The day is already very special. We just want to enhance that.”

  Mark slowed down as he negotiated his way through the narrow streets of Peel. The castle loomed over them as they drove along the causeway to the car park. Mark pulled into a space next to a large van.

  “It looks as if the others are already here,” he told Bessie.

  “Others?”

  “I requested three or four of our youngest and strongest staff members to help carry heavy boxes around the site. I imagine we’ll end up loading the van with boxes at least twice, maybe three times. When we’re done, I want every space out here to be empty, if at all possible.”
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  Bessie nodded. “I’m not sure how much help I’ll be, but I’ll do what I can.”

  “I might not have had to bother you if Henry had been available.”

  “How is he?” Bessie asked. Henry had been working for MNH since he’d left school. Now in his fifties, the man knew just about every inch of every historical site on the island. He and Bessie were friends, and she’d been very worried when she’d heard that he’d been rushed to Noble’s, the island’s main hospital, just a few days after Christmas. He’d been suffering from a very bad case of flu, and he’d ended up in hospital for almost a week.

  “He’s going to be fine. The doctors want him resting for another week or two, though and then he’s going to be confined to light office work for several more weeks. He isn’t up to stomping all over Peel Castle right now.”

  “I visited him at Noble’s, but I haven’t seen him since he’s been home. Maybe I’ll ring him later this week and see if he feels up to company.”

  “I’m sure he won’t say no. I understand he’s quite bored at home.”

  Bessie nodded. “He’s never been one for taking much time off, has he? Work is all that he knows, really.”

  “I took him a stack of books and he’s been reading his way through them. He’s never been a fan of television, although he did tell me that he’s watching quite a lot these days.”

  “I’ll take him some more books when I go. Maybe he could do some research. Marjorie should take him something that might interest him.”

  Marjorie Stevens was the Manx Museum librarian and archivist. She kept Bessie busy with a steady supply of old documents to study. For years, Bessie had focussed on old wills, but in the past year or so she’d begun to look at other things. At the moment she was working her way through many years of letters between a woman called Onnee and her mother. Onnee had grown up on the island but married an American and moved away. She wrote back monthly, all about her new life in America. Her handwriting was difficult to decipher and Bessie had taken a few weeks off from the work over Christmas. It was probably time she got back to Onnee, however.

  “I suggested that, but Henry said he can’t do anything in that area because he doesn’t have any qualifications.”

  “Nonsense,” Bessie said tartly. “I don’t have any qualifications, but that doesn’t stop me. I shall have words with Henry when I see him.”

  Mark chuckled. “I feel as if I should ring him and warn him that you’re coming. He might have other company, though. I understand he’s been getting some visits from a woman called Jasmina.”

  Bessie grinned. “She’s lovely.” Jasmina ran a small café in Laxey and Bessie thought she and Henry were well suited for one another.

  She and Mark got out of the car and walked up the stairs to the entrance to the castle grounds. A large sign on the door told visitors that the castle was closed for the winter. Mark pulled out a key and unlocked the heavy door.

  “I can’t imagine having a key to Peel Castle,” Bessie said. “I think I’d visit every day, just because I could.”

  “You can visit any time you want. Just ring me and I’ll arrange it for you.”

  “Thank you, but that isn’t quite the same as having my own key.”

  “I’ll get you a key if you really want one,” Mark offered. “I can’t imagine anyone in MNH would object. You’ve been helping us for more years than I’ve been alive.”

  “We were starting to think we were here on the wrong day,” a young man shouted across the site as Bessie and Mark passed the ticket booth.

  “Sorry, traffic was bad through Douglas,” Mark replied. He quickly introduced Bessie to the group of young men and women who’d come to help. There were four of them, two men and two women, and Bessie forgot their names as soon as she’d heard them.

  “Where are we going to start?” one of the men asked.

  “Let’s start in the storage room,” Mark suggested. “That’s probably where most of the work will need to be done. The other spaces are a lot smaller and won’t have much in them, I don’t think.”

  The storage room was packed with boxes and dust. It felt rather crowded with Bessie, Mark, and the four young people inside it. A single bulb did little to illuminate the space.

  “I hope you all brought torches,” Mark said as he pulled one out of the bag he was carrying.

  Several other torches appeared and were switched on as Bessie shook her head. “I didn’t,” she told Mark.

  “You’re fine. We’re going to find you a place to sit that’s out of the way, anyway,” Mark replied.

  Two of the men set up a long table in the centre of the room. There were several folding chairs against one wall. One of the women brushed dust and cobwebs off two them and then set them behind the table.

  “Bessie, you sit there. We’ll bring you things when we we have questions,” Mark told her.

  Bessie sank down onto the hard wooden chair. A cold breeze was blowing through the open door and Bessie shivered as she pulled her winter coat more tightly around herself.

  “Everyone grab a box and look inside,” Mark ordered. “Let’s see what we find.”

  One of the women grabbed the box in front of her and set it on the table. “Isn’t this fax machine paper?” she asked as she held up a large roll.

  “It’s what used to be fax machine paper,” Mark laughed. “MNH hasn’t had any fax machines that use that sort of paper in years. I don’t know if it will recycle, but we definitely don’t need to keep it.”

  “That’s all that’s in this box,” the woman reported a moment later.

  “It can go out to the van to be disposed of,” Mark told her.

  “I’ll do trips to the van,” one of the men offered. “I don’t mind the cold and I’m trying to get more exercise.”

  “Brochures,” someone announced. “They look old.”

  Bessie leaned over and took one of the brochures. “It’s advertising the dance and music festival that they used to have at the castle every July,” she said. “I think they stopped doing them in early eighties.”

  “A dance and music festival sounds wonderful,” one of the women said.

  “We have a dance and music festival,” Mark said. “Just not at Peel Castle any longer. I believe there were issues with the staging and the uneven ground, which is why things were moved elsewhere.”

  “I think you’re right,” Bessie replied.

  “I’ll keep one copy for historical purposes. The rest can be recycled,” Mark announced.

  “I’ll take it,” the other man offered. “My box is full of boxes of pens. We probably should keep them.”

  Mark took the box and set it on the table in front of Bessie. “I wonder how long these have been in here.”

  Bessie pulled out a pen and chuckled. “I remember these pens. They’re quite unusual, really. I believe they were purchased all at once in the mid-seventies. The director of MNH at the time was very fond of this particular type of pen, so he ordered hundreds of them for every site around the island. A few months later he moved to Wales, leaving MNH with what was probably a ten-or fifteen-year supply of pens that no one else actually wanted.”

  “What’s special about them?” Mark asked.

  “Try writing with one,” Bessie suggested.

  Mark uncapped a pen and scrawled his signature across one of the unwanted brochures. The pen didn’t write.

  “The ink may have dried up,” Bessie suggested.

  Mark scribbled with it for several seconds and then sighed. “It’s uncomfortable to hold, anyway. I suggest we simply throw the whole box out.”

  “I believe they’re more comfortable if you’re left-handed,” Bessie told him.

  “Ah, and the man who ordered far too many of them was left-handed, was he?”

  “Indeed.”

  “To the van with the lot,” Mark announced. “Put them on the discard pile. I don’t believe you can recycle dried-out pens.”

  “Perhaps they aren’t all dried out,
” Bessie said. “I can test them while I sit here, if you want me to.”

  Mark raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

  “I’d hate to see them wasted, if some of them do work.”

  “If you really want to go through them all, or even some of them, I won’t stop you.”

  Bessie took a handful of brochures and began to scribble with the next pen in the box. Around her, the men and women were unearthing box after box of old brochures, site maps with out-of-date references, and broken office supplies.

  “Why would anyone keep a box full of broken tape dispensers?” Mark asked Bessie.

  “I’d rather know how so many tape dispensers managed to get so badly broken,” she replied.

  Mark picked up one that had been snapped nearly in half. “That’s a good question, actually.”

  For half an hour boxes were carried out of the storage room to the van at a good pace. Bessie tried several pens from each box and didn’t find a single one that worked.

  “I give up,” she admitted eventually. “I haven’t tried them all, but I believe I’ve tested a representative sample. They’re all dried up and useless.”

  Mark sent the box out to the van and then set another box in front of Bessie. “What do you make of this?” he asked.

  Bessie pulled out a small cardboard box and opened it. Inside she found a coffee mug with a picture of Peel Castle printed on it. “They gave these out to special guests at Tynwald Day one year,” she told him. “Probably in the late seventies, but I could be wrong about that.”

  Mark took the mug and studied it. “It’s nice. We could use these for something else now.”