Aunt Bessie Understands

by Diana Xarissa

  “Which was my next question,” John said.

  “As I said, it may be ten years since Rebecca’s mum died. Phillip was probably still at university at that time. He must have been around thirty now.”

  “That would agree with the coroner’s initial estimate on the body. Do you know where he went to work across?”

  Bessie thought for a while. “I’m not even certain I remember how I know he went across,” she said eventually. “I suspect I must have talked to someone at The Liliana Fund who mentioned it, but I’m not sure.”

  “Did you talk to anyone there about Christmas at the Castle?”

  “Not really. Mark dealt with the applications, although Oliver did do a presentation to the entire committee before we made our decisions. Mark did all of the notifications, though.”

  “Did Phillip leave recently?”

  “You’re really straining my memory, but I believe he left about two years ago, maybe a bit more or less.”

  John made another note. “Do you have an address in Port Erin for Phillip’s parents?”

  Bessie found her address book and flipped through it. “This is from about twenty years ago,” she warned John. “I used to sent Christmas cards to just about everyone I knew, including Rebecca.” She read out the address.

  “I’m going to ring into the station to see if I can find anyone who knew Phillip Tyler,” John told her. “I’d rather have a more definite identification before I ask his parents to look at the body.”

  Bessie nodded. “I can’t be certain, not from the photographs.”

  “And it’s been many years since you’ve seen him. Maybe I’ll ring The Liliana Fund and see if anyone there remembers Phillip.”

  “I’m sure Oliver Preston will remember him well. Oliver runs the fund and has done since the beginning. He founded it in memory of his mother, Liliana Preston. It’s only a small operation with two or three staff. He’ll remember Phillip, who worked there for at least a year or more.”

  “Maybe I’ll start with him, then, see if he can give me a preliminary identification. Thank you so much for your time.”

  “Good luck,” Bessie said as she followed John to the door.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to need it. This isn’t looking the least bit straightforward.”

  “They never are,” Bessie sighed.

  After John left, she tidied up from their snack and drank another two cups of coffee. For the first time in a very long time she hadn’t taken her morning walk on the beach. Knowing that the police would still be at the last holiday cottage, hard at work, made her feel reluctant to go anywhere.

  “You need the fresh air and the exercise,” she told herself sternly after she’d finished off the second pot of coffee. She knew she’d had far too much caffeine, as well. A long walk was exactly what she needed.

  She’d been worried that crime scene tape might block off some section of the beach itself, but she didn’t see any as she marched as quickly as she could past the holiday cottages. There were cars and people all around the last cottage, but Bessie deliberately stared at the sea and ignored everything else. She hadn’t gone far past the last cottage when someone shouted her name.

  “Elizabeth Cubbon, I knew you’d turn up eventually,” a loud voice said.

  Bessie made a face and then stopped. Dan Ross was younger than she was and would have no trouble catching up to her if she kept going. At least this way the police were nearby if she needed help.

  “Mr. Ross,” she said coolly, staring hard at the reporter from the Isle of Man Times.

  “Care to make a statement about what you found last night?”

  “I didn’t find anything last night,” Bessie countered.

  “I was told you were with young Hugh Watterson when he stumbled across a murdered man in the last holiday cottage,” Dan said. “That’s the second dead body that’s been found in that cottage. If I were Thomas and Maggie, I’d stop letting people rent that one out.”

  Bessie knew that neither victim had been renting the cottage in question, but she bit her tongue, refusing to let Dan’s words provoke her. He knew as much about the situation as she did, after all. He was just trying to get a quote for his newspaper.

  “No comment, Miss Cubbon?”

  “I’m just trying to get my walk in before the rain,” she replied.

  “It does look as if it’s going to rain,” Dan agreed. “If it had been raining last night, no doubt young Hugh would have driven you home and you’d have missed out on finding your latest victim.”

  Bessie counted to ten and then started over again. The dead man wasn’t her victim, and she wasn’t going to let Dan see how much his words were upsetting her. “Hugh and Grace had a baby girl,” she said after a long pause.”

  “Yes, I know. I believe my headline is going to be ‘New Father Finds Dead Man’ or maybe ‘The Baby Was a Girl, but the Dead Body Was a Man.’ Which do you prefer?”

  “You know your audience better than I do.”

  Dan chuckled. “You’re determined not to let me ruffle you, aren’t you? Surely you must understand that the good people of the island have a right to know about the things that happen here. I’m just doing my job.”

  “I’m sure it’s a very difficult job, at that. Perhaps you’d be better off looking for a new one. I understand ShopFast is hiring.”

  Dan stared at her for a minute and then began to laugh. “I feel as if I’ve just been insulted, but I’m not sure why.”

  Bessie just smiled and began to walk slowly away. After a few paces, she realised that she was holding her breath, waiting to see if the obnoxious man was going to follow her. It wasn’t until she was past the stairs for Thie yn Traie that she let out a relieved sigh. She hadn’t gone much further when she began to realise just how tired she still felt. After standing at the water’s edge for several minutes, taking deep breaths and filling her lungs with sea air, she turned for home. She’d only just walked past the last cottage when once again she heard her name being called.

  Chapter 3

  “Bessie? Oh, Bessie?” the words cut through the air.

  Swallowing a sigh, Bessie stopped and waited for Maggie Shimmin to walk down the beach to her. “Good afternoon,” she said.

  “It’s not very good, though, is it?” Maggie demanded. “You’ve only gone and found another body in that last cottage of ours. We were going to start clearing it out this week, you know. We want to make sure it’s empty and ready for when we get permission to tear it down and rebuild it.”

  Bessie almost blurted out an apology. The dead man was not her fault in any way, though. “Hopefully the investigation won’t take long,” she said instead.

  “Yes, well, it would go more quickly if they knew who the dead man was and why he was in the cottage. I don’t suppose you recognised him?”

  “I didn’t even look at the body last night,” Bessie said, not quite answering the question.

  Maggie sighed. “You know I never complain, but this is another setback that we don’t need. Thomas and I want to get that cottage torn down and rebuilt before the spring season starts. After the first murder, we never could rent it out again, well, aside from that week when that woman whose brother killed the fake vicar stayed there. Thomas hasn’t been well and my back has been playing up, but we were determined to keep working in spite of all the obstacles in our path. Maybe it’s time to admit defeat and sell the entire project to the developers from across who keep bothering us.”

  “Developers from across?”

  “Oh, yes, there are two different groups of them who want to buy the cottages from us. They don’t want the cottages, of course, they just want the land. If we sell, I’m sure they’ll simply tear down the cottages and build condos or townhouses or something in their place. The island has become a very desirable place to live in the last year or so and there aren’t nearly enough houses. If Thomas and I had seen what was coming, we’d have build proper homes on the land and then sold them all off as s
oon as they were completed. Those new houses down the beach from here went for silly money, well, all except the one where the man was murdered.”

  Bessie nodded. House prices on the island had skyrocketed. Maggie was right. If she and Thomas had built houses, they could have sold them for a considerable profit. They might have struggled to get planning permission for houses, though, as Bessie would have objected. The thought of a UK developer buying the land was upsetting. She could only hope that Maggie and Thomas stuck with the cottages they’d spent so much time and effort on thus far.

  “The police won’t tell us anything about what happened,” Maggie continued. “I know you were there. What happened?”

  “I’ve no idea. Hugh was walking me home late last night, after we’d returned from Noble’s. We spotted a light on in the cottage, so Hugh stopped to check the doors. The front door was ajar, so Hugh went inside.”

  “I keep telling Thomas we need better locks on the cottages, but he keeps insisting that they’re safe enough as they are. Maybe he’ll listen to me now.”

  “Hugh rang for backup and then lots more police came. Eventually, someone walked me home.”

  “That’s it? I heard you went inside the cottage.”

  “I went into the sitting room because I didn’t want to stand by myself on the beach,” Bessie admitted.

  “I also heard that the murderer was still standing over his victim, a dripping butcher knife in his hand.”

  Bessie laughed out loud. “I spoke to John this morning and he didn’t say anything to suggest that the case was all wrapped up, so I think you can discount that story.”

  Maggie frowned. “I was hoping it was true so that we could get back into the cottage later today. How long do you think it will be before they’ll let us back inside?”

  “I’ve no idea. You should ask John Rockwell that question.”

  “I would, if I ever saw him. He sent one of his constables to question us early this morning, some young man who knew nothing about anything.”

  Bessie hid a grin. Maggie enjoyed nothing more than complaining and gossiping. If the constable had said anything interesting, the entire island would have known about it by now. She had to wonder if John had sent a particularly thick constable or one who was smart enough to play dumb.

  “I’m sure John will be in touch when he has anything to tell you,” Bessie said.

  Maggie sighed. “That’s what Thomas keeps saying. He isn’t nearly as impatient to get things done as I am. He’s quite calm about the whole thing, really.”

  “Good for him.”

  “Oh, there’s Dan Ross. I wonder if he knows anything,” Maggie said. She rushed past Bessie, shouting Dan’s name.

  Bessie stood for a minute, watching the pair, and then turned for home. No doubt Dan would trade any information that he did have for a quote from the shocked and saddened owner of the cottage where the victim had been found. Both Maggie and Dan would end up happy from their exchange.

  The answering machine light was blinking again when Bessie walked inside. She listened to a few messages from nosy friends before deleting them all. Now wasn’t the time to ring anyone back; she’d take care of that later. What she wanted to do now was some research.

  In her office, she pulled out the stack of papers she’d been working through. Marjorie Stevens at the Manx Museum Library had sent her several years’ worth of letters from a woman called Onnee who had grown up on the island and then moved to the US at the age of eighteen. Onnee’s scrawling handwriting took some time and effort to decipher, but after working her way through the first twelve months of letters, Bessie felt as if she was beginning to make progress.

  A distant cousin had travelled with a friend to the island, and Onnee and the friend, Clarence, had fallen in love. They’d married on the island and then, just a few weeks later, set sail back to the US. The cousin had died on the journey, leaving Onnee on her own with her new husband.

  The earliest letters had been full of sadness, as Onnee experienced homesickness quite badly. On arriving in the US, the couple had travelled to Wisconsin, where Clarence’s family lived. Onnee had received an unenthusiastic welcome from his parents and the fiancée he’d left behind. Faith had been staying with Clarence’s parents while he’d been away, and the letter he’d sent to inform everyone of his marriage arrived after Clarence and Onnee’s own arrival.

  After staying with Clarence’s parents for a short while, Onnee had demanded that she and Clarence find their own flat, but Clarence had continued to spend nights with his parents and Faith even after they’d found the flat. Onnee had fallen pregnant almost immediately, but then, only a few months later, she’d lost the baby. Now, as the one-year anniversary of her rather impulsive marriage approached, she’d written to her mother to tell her that she was thinking of leaving Clarence and returning to the island.

  Bessie sat down with a clean sheet of paper and a favourite pen, ready to transcribe the next letter. While she knew that Onnee wasn’t going to leave the US, because Marjorie had told her there were fifty years’ worth of letters to go through, Bessie was still incredibly curious as to what was going to come next.

  “Dearest Mother,” she said aloud as she printed neatly on the blank sheet.

  Two hours later she’d finished the letter. Onnee still wanted nothing more than to move back to the island, but she was fairly certain that she was pregnant again and she wrote touchingly about her desire to keep this baby. Clarence had found a good job and they had enough money coming in to start thinking about buying a little house of their own. That he wanted to buy a house near his parents’ home was a difficult issue. Faith was still living with Clarence’s mother and father, although Onnee was happy to report that Faith had found herself a boyfriend. Onnee could only write of her hope that the relationship would result in marriage and that Faith would move away.

  Bessie stood up and stretched. She’d been sitting still too long. A glance at the clock told her that she ought to be thinking about dinner. It felt more like midday than five o’clock, but that was what happened when you overslept. Sighing, she headed for the kitchen. Still not feeling terribly hungry, she heated some soup and ate that with a slice of bread. It was too late in the day for more coffee, even though it sounded good. She settled for a cup of tea with a biscuit and then tried to decide what to do with her evening.

  Another walk was always an option, but when Bessie looked outside, it had begun to rain. That was all the excuse she needed to start looking for a good book. She was debating between Agatha Christie and Jane Austen when someone knocked on her door.

  The tall brunette had clearly been crying. Bessie studied her for a moment and then smiled sympathetically. “Rebecca?”

  The woman nodded. “We just identified the body,” she said through tears. “They said you found him, and we know that you’ve found others. We didn’t know what else to do, who else to talk to. The police won’t tell us anything.”

  “Why don’t you come in?” Bessie invited.

  Rebecca hesitated and then nodded. She took a few steps forward, and the man behind her followed. As she looked around the cosy kitchen, she drew a sharp breath.

  “It all looks the same,” she said. “I remember this kitchen from my childhood and then again from when Phillip and Madison were children. You always welcomed visitors. Coming to Aunt Bessie’s for a biscuit was part of the fun of visiting Laxey Beach.”

  Bessie nodded. “I always enjoy seeing everyone and watching the children grow up and later bring their own children.”

  “And now Phillip won’t be bringing his children here,” Rebecca said, bursting into tears.

  As the man pulled Rebecca into a hug, Bessie found a box of tissues. She handed it to him, and then filled the kettle. Tea was definitely needed.

  After several minutes, Rebecca cleared her throat. “I am sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t prepared for all of the memories, that’s all. I didn’t expect everything to be the same as it was all those yea
rs ago.”

  “I imagine my heirs will want to redo the kitchen, unless they simply sell the cottage. A developer will probably tear it down and build something new and modern in its place.”

  “That would be a shame,” Rebecca sighed. Her companion cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m not myself. Bessie, this is my husband, Peter. Peter, this is Bessie Cubbon. Everyone calls her Aunt Bessie.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Peter said politely.

  Bessie nodded. He was taller than his wife, but not by much. His hair had a sprinkling of grey through it and his eyes were green. He looked incredibly sad, as if the weight of the world had suddenly dropped on his shoulders in the past hour or two.

  “As I said before, we just identified Phillip’s body,” Rebecca said. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life, aside from telling Madison. That was actually more difficult. She idolised her older brother. He was five, nearly six, when she came along and I’m sure to her he was almost like another adult. We might have been here sooner, but we had to arrange things for Madison first.”

  “Is she okay?” Bessie asked.

  “She’s with her boyfriend and her closest friend,” Rebecca replied. “They’ve rung one of Phillip’s friends to come around as well. They’ll all support one another until we get home.”

  “And I’m supporting Rebecca,” Peter added.

  “Even though it’s been a blow to him, too,” Rebecca added.

  Peter nodded. “I’m devastated, obviously, but I’m more focussed on wanting to know what happened than anything else. I want whoever hurt Phillip caught and punished. I’m just sorry that capital punishment is no longer an option.”

  Rebecca shivered. “I don’t want to talk about that.”