Aunt Bessie Understands

by Diana Xarissa

  Bessie felt her cheeks blaze, but she kept walking. Replying to him would be like adding fuel to the fire. Doona was sitting near the door, using her phone.

  “I was starting to worry,” she told Bessie.

  “I’ll tell you everything in the car,” Bessie replied. “I know you need to get back to Laxey.”

  “I don’t, actually. John just texted. He’s taken the afternoon off, so he’s already at home. I think he wants some time alone with the kids, although he’s invited me to join them for dinner later.”

  “Pete said it was all a mess.”

  “Pete’s right, but when did you see Pete?”

  “Before I saw Dan. The constable at the door wouldn’t let me in.”

  “I thought Pete cleared your visit.”

  “Apparently the constable didn’t understand that.”

  Doona sighed. “I do think the Douglas area constables need better training. John had to spend ages working with our newest constable. He worked in Douglas for six months before he came to Laxey, but he was almost as bad as a new recruit.”

  “I wouldn’t have minded so much if it were just bad training, but this young man had something of an attitude problem as well.”

  “Ms. Moore? What can you tell me about John Rockwell’s former wife? She’s honeymooning in Africa, isn’t she?”

  Doona looked confused as Harrison Parker joined them. “Who are you?” she asked.

  The man introduced himself, handing Doona a business card as he announced his name.

  “Nice to meet you,” Doona said as she shoved the card into her handbag. “We must be going.” She stood up and headed for the door at a rapid pace with Bessie on her heels.

  “The public have a right to know if one of the island’s senior police inspectors is too distracted by his personal life to do his job adequately,” Harrison shouted after them.

  Doona stopped in her tracks and took a deep breath.

  “Don’t say a word,” Bessie hissed in her ear. “He’ll only use it against you.”

  Doona took another breath and then nodded slowly before continuing on her way. They were in the car before either of them spoke again.

  “He’s horrible. He makes Dan Ross seem almost nice,” Doona said.

  “I wouldn’t go that far, but he is pretty bad. He interrogated me when I got off the lift.”

  “If I’d seen it, I would have rung security for you. What did he want you to tell him?”

  “He wanted to know what I’d talked to Dan about when I visited his office and whether I thought that conversation led to Dan’s accident.”

  Doona sighed. “What’s worrying is that he may be quite a bit smarter than Dan.”

  “Dan said he was ambitious. Maybe he won’t stay on the island for long.”

  “We can but hope. But where are we going? I don’t have to be back in Laxey until six. Do you want to do some shopping, since we’re in Douglas?”

  “I wouldn’t mind a trip to the bookshop,” Bessie replied.

  A few minutes later, Doona found a parking space in the garage for the town centre. “I need a few things from the chemist and probably a dozen other places as well,” she told Bessie. “I can meet you in the bookshop in about an hour if that suits you.”

  “That sounds good,” Bessie agreed.

  She walked down the busy street that was lined with shops, looking in windows and studying displays. Christmas was right around the corner and there seemed to be a sense of urgency among the shoppers. A man carrying a six-foot-tall stuffed giraffe hurried past her, while a woman struggling with large bags that seemed to be full of pillows rushed along in the opposite direction. After sticking her head into a few shops and doing nothing more than browsing, Bessie was nearly at the bookshop when she spotted a familiar face in the crowd.

  Oliver Preston was walking quickly towards her. Bessie stepped back from the bookshop doorway, ready to greet him. She wanted to speak to him before he talked to Harrison Parker, ready to tell him about the idea she’d shared with Jane Stoddard. Before he reached her, however, Oliver turned and disappeared down one of the small alleys between the shops.

  Feeling as if that was slightly odd, Bessie moved towards the bookshop door again. As she reached to open it, she stepped backwards again. Where could Oliver have been going, she wondered.

  As she walked towards the alley, a little voice in her head reminded her of her conversation with Doona. She’d learned from her mistake, she reminded herself. Pulling her phone from her bag, she rang Doona.

  “I just saw Oliver disappear down the alley across from the bookshop,” she said when her friend answered. “I’m going to see where he went.”

  “Don’t be silly. Wait for me,” Doona said quickly. “Stay right where you are. I’m just waiting in the queue to pay.”

  “I’ll be here,” Bessie promised.

  The alley was short, more of a courtyard for the shops on either side of it. There were four doors that opened off it. Oliver could have gone into any of them. Bessie stood where she was, trying not to look as if she was staring into the empty alley. A moment later one of the doors swung open. Bessie gasped as she recognised Dan Ross. He was still meant to be in hospital. He glanced back and forth and then went back inside.

  Doona had to be getting close, Bessie thought as she began to creep forward. If Dan and Oliver were talking, she didn’t want to miss the conversation. There was a large crack in the window next to the door that Dan had opened and closed. It had been covered with cardboard, but that did little to muffle the sound.

  “…to meet me,” she heard.

  “I was more than happy to meet you,” was the reply. Bessie was fairly certain it was Dan’s voice.

  “I heard you were in hospital, though.” That had to be Oliver, Bessie decided.

  “I was. I signed myself out.”

  “Good to know that you weren’t too badly injured, then. I was told you were hit by a car.”

  “Yes, that’s right. I’m fine, though.”

  “Good.”

  A short silence followed. Bessie shifted and then looked over at the alley’s entrance. Where was Doona?

  “What’s that?” Dan asked suddenly.

  “This? Nothing,” Oliver replied.

  “It’s a knife.”

  “Yes, it is. I brought it with me for protection.”

  “Protection from what?”

  “You, of course. You’ve been harassing me, threating to write a story about how I’m stealing money from The Liliana Fund if I don’t pay you off to keep quiet.”

  “I’ve been doing no such thing.”

  “I can’t afford to pay you, though. I take a very meagre salary from the fund. I wish I could afford to devote every single penny to helping others, but I have to eat.”

  “Of course you do,” Dan replied, his voice shaking slightly.

  “I have to have a car, too, of course,” Oliver continued. “Did you see my new car? I thought I deserved something new as I’ve been working so much harder lately.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Yes, it is good for me. I bought a flat in London last year. Property prices are insane, of course, but it’s a good investment for me. Perhaps I should have looked further afield, though. London isn’t all that far away, really.”

  “No, but it’s a great city.”

  “Of course it is. I’ve always wanted to live there, but it’s very expensive. I was always a hard worker, but I never made a lot of money. Once my mother fell ill, I realised that there were other things that were more important than money. Starting The Liliana Fund gave my life purpose and meaning.”

  “Yes, of course. Everyone knows how devoted you are to your work.” Bessie thought Dan sounded less nervous now. Maybe Oliver had put the knife down.

  Oliver laughed. “That’s me, devoted to my work. I was, too, you know. When I started out, I truly thought that I could make a difference. I genuinely wanted to help people. I raised as much money as I could and I gav
e every penny away to people who needed help. It was very fulfilling.”

  “I know I’m not as generous as I should be,” Dan said. “Let me write you a cheque for the fund.”

  “You can’t buy your way out of here, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Oliver replied.

  Bessie spotted Doona as she arrived at the alley’s entrance. She waved, but then put her finger to her lips. Doona raised an eyebrow and then slowly walked over to join Bessie.

  “What do you want?” Dan demanded.

  “I want you to understand,” Oliver replied. “No one seems to understand.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  “Maybe.”

  “What’s going on?” Doona hissed in Bessie’s ear.

  “Oliver is talking to Dan,” Bessie whispered back. “Now hush.”

  Doona frowned. The silence inside the building seemed to drag on endlessly. Eventually Oliver spoke again.

  “That first year, I didn’t take a salary. I lived off my inheritance, the money that my mother had left me. It wasn’t a huge amount of money, but it was more than I’d ever had at one time in my life. I may have been a bit more extravagant than I should have been, really.”

  “I should write an article about you and your mother,” Dan said. “What do you think? We might even be able to get the front page in the lead-up to Christmas. We could pull a few heartstrings and get you a bunch of new donors for The Liliana Fund.”

  “After that first year, when my inheritance ran out, I started paying myself out of the fund,” Oliver continued as if Dan hadn’t spoken. “I took a modest salary, no more than what I’d been making before I’d started the fund.”

  Doona was busy on her mobile phone during the silence that followed Oliver’s words. Bessie looked at her questioningly. Doona held up the phone to show Bessie that she was texting. “John,” she mouthed. Bessie nodded, wondering if Doona was telling John about the conversation they were overhearing or if the texts were about Sue.

  “I really need to get to my office,” Dan finally broke the silence.

  “I still have more to tell you, though,” Oliver protested.

  Bessie took a step backwards as the handle on the door in front of her rattled.

  “Please unlock the door,” Dan said.

  “When I’m done,” Oliver replied. “I was explaining. It’s important to me that you understand.”

  “Go on, then.” Dan sounded impatient.

  “We didn’t award many grants in that first year, you know. I wasn’t certain how much money we’d be able to raise or if the money would keep coming in after the initial burst, so I was very cautious with my funding. The letters, though, they were heartbreaking. Our application was very clear about what sorts of things we’d fund, but we still received requests for medical treatments, usually experimental ones. I turned those down, no matter how poignant, but that still left hundreds of appeals for everything from books to trips to wigs to food. The decisions were almost impossible.”

  “This would make a good story, actually,” Dan said.

  “Eventually, I developed a list of criteria that I began to use to help me make my decisions. Each letter was awarded points based on their request, their level of need, and a dozen other things, all of which were subjective, of course. By the end of the second year, I’d given away about two-thirds of what I’d planned to give away. That left a big chunk of money in the bank, just sitting there. At the same time, my car started giving me difficulties. It was an older car, and the repairs would have cost more than the car was worth. It was easy enough to write myself a few letters, letters that clearly met my criteria for funding. I made half a dozen grants, just enough to replace my car with a reliable secondhand vehicle. I told myself that I needed the car for work. It was necessary so that I could continue to do the good things that the fund was doing.”

  “You should have simply given yourself a larger salary.”

  Oliver laughed. “I’d already done that. I’d done some research into what charity heads were paid and I bumped up my salary accordingly. I was very careful to keep it in line with what others on the island were making, of course. The last thing I wanted to do was draw any attention to myself. As it was, I didn’t sleep for a week when my accounts went to the auditors. I was certain they were going to recognise my, um, creative accounting, let’s say, but they didn’t. I don’t know that they did much more than rubber-stamp everything, really.”

  “I’d like to believe that they’re more thorough than that,” Dan remarked.

  “Whatever, by the end of that year I’d realised that I’d be much more capable of doing my job if I had a new car. My fundraising efforts were proving more successful than I’d dared hoped, so it seemed only fair that I should have some reward, as well.”

  “And you’ve been stealing from The Liliana Fund ever since,” Dan concluded.

  “Not stealing!” Oliver snapped. “I should be allowed to have a nice house and a nice car and a holiday or two every year, even if I do work for a charity.”

  “Of course.”

  “The fund brings in far more money than we need to give grants to the people who meet my criteria, anyway. I’m still funding everyone who does that.”

  “What percentage of last year’s grant recipients were real people, then?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe half. As I said, I funded everyone who met my criteria. It isn’t my fault if hundreds or thousands of other people have to be turned down. I’m doing my best.”

  “Of course you are.”

  “That sounded somewhat sarcastic.”

  “It wasn’t meant as sarcasm. Put the knife down, okay? Hey, I don’t blame you for helping yourself to a bit of the money. You’re still doing great things for a lot of people and you’re getting to have a nice life yourself. It’s no less than you deserve.”

  “You do understand. Phillip didn’t.”

  “No? I don’t suppose it matters now.”

  “No, it doesn’t. If he’d done as I’d asked him, he never would have caught on anyway. He loved meeting the people that we’d helped. It was incredibly annoying, really. One of the reasons I usually fund people in the UK or beyond is so that I don’t have to meet them.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “Anyway, when Phillip decided to move across, he took copies of the letters from some of the people we’d helped during his years with the fund. It was all an ego trip for him. He’d turn up and introduce himself and get thanked a million times, as if he’d actually had anything to do with the funding decisions. That was all my doing, you understand.”

  “I’m sure it’s the most difficult part of the job.”

  “It is, yes. Anyway, he copied a bunch of letters, but I insisted on going through them before he left. He’d chosen several that I’d actually written, so I had to pull those, obviously. If he’d stuck to the letters I’d approved, he never would have discovered what I was doing.”

  “But he didn’t?”

  “He told me later that he’d found a few copies of some other letters in his paperwork when he unpacked. He reckoned he must have forgotten to get my approval for them before he left. He also didn’t bother to ask once he’d found them, I should add. Those were the people he couldn’t find, of course.”

  “Because you’d made them up.”

  “Some of them were completely imaginary, but others were real people. I simply borrowed their identities for my letters. I tried to mix things up a lot so that if the auditors every did find anything they might not realise the extent of the issue.”

  “I’d love to hear more about how you managed all of this.”

  “I don’t think it matters. You aren’t going to be doing anything similar.”

  “I’m awfully tempted, after talking with you. It sounds an easy way to make a lot of money.”

  “It took me a while to set up a small network of people in the UK and abroad who help. I have to pay them, of course, but if I ever do get caught, they should ge
t the blame. It can’t be my fault if The Liliana Fund was targeted by a number of fake applicants, can it?”

  “That’s genius.”

  “Phillip didn’t know what to think,” Oliver continued. “He didn’t want to believe that I’d done anything wrong, but he’d met someone whose identity I’d borrowed in one of my letters. She’d never heard of The Liliana Fund and was in perfect health.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Luckily for me, Phillip was dumb enough to ring me to ask about it, rather than going straight to the police. I managed to persuade him to come back here so that we could talk in person. I told him I could explain everything and hinted that I was doing certain things for a greater good. He wanted to believe me, of course. He’d worked for me for two years and never suspected a thing, after all.”

  “So you suggested he come back to the island to see you?”

  “It was nearly perfect,” Oliver chuckled. “He was obsessed with not seeing Nicole again. He insisted that we not tell anyone he was coming. He even begged me to find a place where we could meet in total privacy. He didn’t want to see anyone or for anyone to ever know he’d been here. I looked around a couple of different locations, but that cottage on the beach seemed perfect.”

  “It was too bad someone killed Phillip before you were able to meet with him, then, isn’t it?”

  “What do you, oh, I see what you’re doing. You don’t want to hear this part because you think that once I’ve told you, I’ll kill you, too.”

  “You wouldn’t do that, or rather, you shouldn’t. I told the police where I was going and who I was meeting. They’ll be here any minute.”

  Oliver laughed. “You didn’t tell anyone where you were going or why. I promised you the story of a lifetime. You wouldn’t risk that for anything.”

  “I’m all about getting a good story, but even I wouldn’t meet a murder suspect in an empty building without backup.”

  “I suppose they’ll find your body, then,” Oliver said.

  Dan muttered something under his breath that Bessie hoped she’d misheard. Even considering the circumstances, such language was inappropriate.

  Doona touched her arm. “We need to get out of the way,” she whispered.