Bessie looked at the baby, who was staring out at the world with unfocused eyes. “She’s beautiful,” Bessie said.
“Here.” The other woman handed the tiny bundle to Bessie, who was too surprised to refuse.
“Well, hello there,” Bessie said.
The little girl looked up at her and then stared, seemingly trying to recognise Bessie.
Grace’s mother sat back and sighed. “If we can keep her quiet for another hour, Grace and Hugh might get enough sleep to function for at least part of the day.”
“I don’t know how people do it. What do they do if they don’t have family on the island?”
“I’ve no idea. My mother moved in with me when I had my first. She stayed for six months until the baby was sleeping through the night most nights. I don’t intend to stay here that long, but I’m happy to help while I can.”
“I know Grace and Hugh are grateful to you.”
“I hope so. I’m sure they think I’m pushy and that I have old-fashioned ideas about taking care of babies, but I don’t think I did my children any harm.”
“Your children are lovely. I’m sure ideas change all the time when it comes to baby care, but I doubt many of the new ideas make much difference.”
“Putting the baby on her back to sleep is just about the only one that seems to really matter. We used to put babies on their tummies, but apparently putting them on their backs is much safer for them. Baby Watterson doesn’t seem to care how she’s put down. She naps for a few minutes or maybe an hour and then wakes up and cries.”
“I don’t believe it,” Bessie said as the baby lay peacefully in her arms. “She’s not making any fuss now.”
The words were barely out of Bessie’s mouth when the baby suddenly began to squirm as her tiny face scrunched. Noises emerged from inside the blanket and then, as the baby began to cry, an unpleasant odor hit Bessie’s nose.
“I think she needs a new nappy,” Bessie said.
Grace’s mother laughed. “When she isn’t eating, she’s filling nappies. I’d forgotten that about babies.” She stood up and took the baby from Bessie. “It was nice talking to another adult,” she said. “Even if all we talked about was babies.”
“She’s a very special baby.”
“Yes, she is at that,” the woman agreed. She turned and headed back into the house with the sobbing infant while Bessie got back to her feet. The chat had been a nice interlude, but she still had the very unpleasant task ahead. She marched home, keeping her eyes focussed on the sea so that she wouldn’t notice the police tape around the last cottage. When she was back at Treoghe Bwaane, she rang her car service.
“I need to go into Douglas,” she told the dispatcher who’d answered the phone.
The car arrived only a short while later, although Bessie would have been happy to wait a good deal longer. She told Dave, her favourite driver, where she was headed.
He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never taken you there before.”
“And I hope you’ll never take me there again,” Bessie replied.
Dave smiled at Bessie and then changed the subject. They chatted about the weather and Dave’s wife on the drive into Douglas.
“Do you want collecting later?” he asked as he pulled into the building’s car park.
“I’ll ring or grab a taxi from the nearest taxi rank,” Bessie told him. “I’ve no idea how long I may be here.”
Dave looked as if he had questions for Bessie, but he simply nodded and then got out of the car to help her out of the passenger seat. “I hope things go well,” he said as Bessie began to walk away.
“Thanks,” Bessie replied. As she approached the door, she began to think that she probably should have rung and booked an appointment. It was too late for that now, though. The large glass door was heavy, and Bessie frowned as she pulled it open. It was almost as if they didn’t want visitors, she thought.
“Welcome to the Isle of Man Times,” the very perky young girl behind the reception desk said. “How can I help you?”
“I’d like to speak to Dan Ross,” Bessie said, feeling as if she were choking on the words.
The woman beamed at her. “Is he expecting you?”
“No, not at all.”
She frowned. “I’ll have to ring upstairs and see if he’s available,” she said. “May I ask your name?”
“It’s Elizabeth Cubbon.”
The girl wrote her name very carefully on the sheet of paper in front of her and then picked up the phone at her elbow. “Ah, yes, Mr. Ross. There’s an Elizabeth Cubbon here to see you.”
After a moment she looked up at Bessie. “She’s certainly not young,” she said tentatively. Bessie hid a grin as the girl swiveled in her chair. “I don’t know, maybe sixty or seventy,” she said in a loud whisper. When she turned back around, her face was scarlet. She put the phone down and then cleared her throat. “Mr. Ross will be down shortly,” she said. “You’re welcome to have a seat.”
There were two long couches against the wall. Bessie sat on one of them, frowning, as they were far less comfortable than they appeared. She didn’t have long to wait, though, as Dan Ross rushed out of one of the lifts only a moment later.
“Miss Cubbon? This is a completely unexpected surprise. I do hope you’re here to finally give me an in-depth interview about all of the bodies you’ve been finding over the past two years,” he said.
Bessie shook her head. “I was speaking to someone about something and I had an idea for a story, that’s all. You’re the only reporter that I know here, but you may well want to give the idea to someone else.” Maybe someone less obnoxious, she added to herself.
“I’m intrigued,” the man said. “You could have simply rung and told anyone your idea. That you sought me out suggests there’s something more going on here. Come up to my office and let’s talk.”
Feeling that Dan was rather too clever for her to feel comfortable, Bessie followed him into the lift. It only took a moment to carry them to the third floor. Dan’s office was a tiny room, with the smallest window Bessie had ever seen on one wall.
Dan waved her into a chair that was not any more comfortable than the couch in the lobby. He sat down behind the scarred wooden desk and grinned at her. “Be it ever so humble,” he said. “Believe it or not, this office is a big step up from where I started. I used to just have a desk in the middle of a dozen other desks. It was only once I’d landed a few big stories that I was promoted into an office of my own.”
“Congratulations,” Bessie said dryly.
He grinned. “I know you don’t like me or what I do, but I feel as if I perform a valuable public service. Anyway, you must agree on some level, because here you are, ready to give me a hot story.”
“I’m afraid I’m going to do nothing of the kind. As I said, I have a story idea for you, but it isn’t anything exciting.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“I’m sure you know that I’m involved with Christmas at the Castle.”
“Yes, of course. I did wonder how ticket sales were going this year. You received quite a bit of publicity last year when your designer got murdered just before the event.”
Bessie bit her tongue. There were several inaccuracies in his statement, but there was no use arguing with him. After an awkward pause, she shrugged. “I believe most nights have already sold out. It’s a wonderful evening, suitable for the entire family.”
“Yes, yes, of course. We have a department that deals with charity events. They’ll be giving it some coverage, but it’s nothing to do with me.”
“Perhaps I need to speak with someone from that department, then.”
“Oh?”
Bessie took a deep breath. “I had a long talk with Oliver Preston the other day. His charity, The Liliana Fund, does a lot of good, both on the island and elsewhere. I thought it might be interesting to read an article about the charity in the local paper, that’s all. It would be even better if different charities were fe
atured each day for the next few weeks in the lead-up to Christmas. Perhaps some extra money could be raised for good causes before the holidays.”
Dan tilted his head and stared at Bessie. “The Liliana Fund,” he said thoughtfully.
“Yes, them, but I can give you, or rather someone from the correct department, a long list of charities that could be featured.”
“I’m sure you could,” Dan muttered. His forehead creased and he seemed to be thinking hard. “I need coffee,” he announced a moment later. “I’ll be right back.”
He disappeared out of the room before Bessie could protest. She thought seriously about simply leaving. She’d made the suggestion she’d wanted to make. It was up to Dan to decide what to do with her idea. She was getting to her feet when Dan rushed back into the office.
“Coffee,” he announced, handing Bessie a cup. He put his own mug on the desk and then returned to his chair.
Bessie didn’t really want coffee, but as she was holding the cup, she took a sip. “This is very good,” she exclaimed.
“Our home and garden reporter makes great coffee,” Dan told her. “I pay her a small fortune to share it with me.”
“Oh, dear. I didn’t mean for you to buy me coffee,” Bessie said, appalled.
He waved a hand. “Happy to do it. I needed to give your suggestion a bit of thought, you see. You want me to investigate The Liliana Fund, which means you think there might be something illegal going on there.”
“Not at all,” Bessie protested weakly. She wasn’t sure what she thought, actually. A few of the things that Madison had said were worrying, that was all.
Dan nodded. “It can’t be coincidental that young Phillip Tyler used to work for The Liliana Fund. His turning up dead, brutally murdered at that, has to be connected, doesn’t it?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“Do you suspect Oliver Preston or Dylan Collins?” Dan asked.
“I don’t suspect either of them of anything,” Bessie replied.
“Dylan was only working for the fund on a part-time basis before Phillip left. I wonder if he found out that Phillip was back on the island and was concerned that he might lose his job. That wouldn’t make sense if it were an ordinary fundraising job, of course. If Dylan killed Phillip over his job, it must be because he’s doing something dodgy.”
Bessie took a sip of her coffee, determined not to speak. After a moment, Dan chuckled and then continued.
“Of course, The Liliana Fund has been Oliver Preston’s baby since he founded it after his mother’s death. I would find it difficult to believe that Dylan could be doing anything without Oliver’s knowledge. That suggests that, if Dylan is doing something wrong, Oliver is just as involved, maybe more so. Phillip hadn’t worked with the fund for what, two years, though. Why would he be a threat to either man, even if they were doing something wrong?”
Because Phillip was trying to track down grant recipients, Bessie thought as the idea flashed through her head. Phillip’s parents had told her that, hadn’t they? She wasn’t about to feed that bit of information to Dan Ross, though.
“The next obvious question is why you’ve come to me,” Dan continued. “I’m sure Inspector Rockwell would love to hear about your suspicions, so either you’ve already told him and he discounted them, which seems unlikely given your track record, or that your suspicions are so ephemeral that you don’t want to bother the man with them. Perhaps, if circumstances were different, you’d mention them to Hugh, but of course young Hugh is on paternity leave, isn’t he?”
“He is, yes,” Bessie said, grateful for a question she was willing to answer.
Dan grinned. “Have you seen the baby yet? Does she look just the same as every other baby ever born?”
“She’s lovely.”
“Of course she is,” Dan laughed. “I decided a long time ago that I didn’t want children and I’ve never had reason to regret my decision.”
I think it was a wise one, Bessie said silently. The last thing the world needed was the offspring of Dan Ross.
“Right, so you’re suspicious of Oliver and Dylan, but not so concerned as to mention your thoughts to Inspector Rockwell. Instead, you decided to drop it in my lap under the guise of trying to help support a good cause in the lead-up to Christmas. Am I right so far?”
Bessie sighed. “I’m sorry to have bothered you,” she said as she got to her feet.
“Oh, don’t go. I wasn’t really expecting you to agree with me. You’re welcome to maintain whatever fiction suits you. Of course, what I really want to know is what’s in it for me?”
“I’m not sure what you mean?”
“I investigate The Liliana Fund for you, find out what Oliver and Dylan are really doing with the money they’re raising, and in return you give me an exclusive interview about how it feels to find a dead body.”
Bessie gasped. “I will do nothing of the kind.”
“Okay, how about an interview into how it feels to listen to someone confess to murder? I know you’ve heard more than your fair share of confessions.”
“Thank you for the coffee,” Bessie said stiffly. She turned towards the door.
“If you leave, you’ll never find out what’s really happening at The Liliana Fund,” Dan warned.
“Threats are wasted on me, Mr. Ross,” Bessie said tartly.
“Please, Miss Cubbon, let’s not argue. We can find a middle ground, I’m certain. You want a favour from me. It’s only logical that I’d expect one in return.”
“Maybe logical to you, but not to me. I came to give you what I thought was a good idea for a story. I actually believed that I was doing you a favour, not the other way around. Perhaps I’ll find the person who writes the stories about good causes and see if he or she is interested in pursuing my story idea instead.”
“Her name is Jane Stoddard. Her office is just down the corridor from here. Tell her I sent you,” he replied in a bored tone.
Bessie nodded and then left the room. She found Ms. Stoddard’s office without difficulty. The door was shut and the room was dark. Frowning, Bessie returned to the ground floor.
“May I leave a note for Jane Stoddard?” she asked the girl behind the desk.
“Of course,” she said brightly. “What do you want to say?” She held her pen, ready to write.
“I thought maybe I could write something and you could give it to her,” Bessie explained.
“Oh, sure, I mean, that would work.” She handed Bessie a sheet of paper and a pen.
Sitting back down on the hard couch, Bessie wrote quickly. She was well aware that the receptionist was going to read the note, but it didn’t much matter.
Ms. Stoddard,
Dan Ross suggested that you would be the appropriate person to reach out to with a story idea. As Christmas approaches, I thought it might be nice for the local paper to highlight some of the good work that is done by many of the island’s charities. My work with Christmas at the Castle has allowed me to meet several incredibly hard-working and dedicated men and women who work for such good causes.
Not wanting to make her interest in The Liliana Fund too obvious, Bessie put it in the middle of a list of half a dozen different charities that she thought might benefit from a bit of extra publicity before ending the note.
I’d be more than happy to discuss any of this with you at your convenience. All the best,
Miss Elizabeth Cubbon
Treoghe Bwaane, Laxey
She folded the paper in half and then in half again before writing “Jane Stoddard” across it. Then she handed it to the receptionist.
“Thank you so much,” she said as she returned the pen.
“You’re very welcome. Happy holidays,” the girl replied.
Bessie turned for the door. As she pulled on the handle, she glanced back to see the receptionist reading through the note she’d just written. Sighing, Bessie left the building and made her way down the steps.
Douglas town centre was only a short w
alk away, and she’d have better luck getting a taxi there than she would in front of the newspaper building. Bessie headed for the promenade, pulling her winter coat more tightly around her as she went. The wind was cold and almost icy as it blew against her.
“It’s a lazy wind,” a man walking the other direction told her. “Wants to go right through you.”
Bessie nodded and picked up her pace. When she reached the outskirts of town, she walked into the first shop she found, anxious to get out of the cold. It was a card shop and Bessie amused herself by looking through the many cards she couldn’t ever imagine actually sending. “From our dog to yours,” she read in a bemused voice. “On the occasion of your divorce,” she said in surprise. “In sympathy on the loss of your hamster,” she muttered before shaking her head and leaving the shop.
Obviously, losing a hamster would be sad, and for some people divorce was a very good thing, but it still seemed odd to her that people actually sent one another cards on such occasions. Cards from dogs to dogs made no sense to her at all.
After wandering around a few more shops, Bessie concluded that there was nothing she needed from Douglas. As she headed for the nearest taxi rank, she stopped to purchase a box of chocolate truffles that she didn’t need but that she wanted very much. The ride back to Laxey felt long, as the taxi driver, a stranger to Bessie and new to the island, had very strong opinions on just about everything. Moreover, his opinions were very different to Bessie’s, causing her to bite her tongue more than once.
She had a firm rule about not arguing with anyone who was driving her anywhere, no matter what he or she said. The last ten minutes of the journey were spent with Bessie giving very careful directions to him, most of which were ignored until he was hopelessly lost. When she finally got out of the car at Treoghe Bwaane, having paid more than she should have for the unnecessarily extended journey, Bessie found herself hoping that the man would get just as lost on his way back to Douglas. She couldn’t resist a small chuckle as she noted that he pulled out of the parking area for her cottage and immediately turned in the wrong direction. He’d have a pleasant enough drive past the holiday cottages and on past Thie yn Traie, but unless he spotted the turning for the narrow road that led back to the main road, he’d probably end up having to turn around and drive back down to Bessie’s to find his way out of Laxey.
Aunt Bessie Understands Page 14
