Aunt Bessie Joins

by Diana Xarissa

  “I’d love to come for an interview after the holidays,” Bessie heard. “I have family in Cumbria, so it’s probably my first choice for relocating.”

  Bessie took a few steps backwards and then stomped heavily into the room. Michael spun around and flushed when he saw her there.

  “I’ll check my calendar and ring you back in an hour or so,” he said into the phone. “Thank you again.”

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Bessie said brightly.

  “No, not really,” Michael muttered. He glanced down at the phone and then shook his head. “You heard that, didn’t you?”

  “I’m sorry, yes.”

  “I hope you won’t think too badly of me, wanting to leave the island,” he said. “I just feel as if I’ve done all I can here.”

  “You’ve only been here three months,” Bessie pointed out.

  “Yes, but it’s such a small island. There simply isn’t any real opportunity for career advancement. I didn’t do enough research into the island before I moved over. It’s a nice enough place to live, but it’s a little bit, well, boring, if you’re young and single.”

  “Does the board of directors at the Alzheimer’s Research Fund know you’re job-hunting?” Bessie asked.

  Michael flushed. “Not yet,” he said. “I’ve only really just started looking in the last few days and I’ll only leave it the perfect job turns up, so I didn’t mention it yet.”

  “I hope none of this has anything to do with Mr. Hart’s death,” Bessie said.

  “No, of course not,” Michael replied very quickly.

  Bessie raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Oh, I can’t say it isn’t upsetting,” Michael said. “I’ve never been tangled up in a murder investigation before, after all, but I’m really just concerned with my career, nothing else.”

  “And you’ve no idea who might have killed Mr. Hart?” Bessie asked.

  “The more I think about it, the more I’m sure you were right,” he told Bessie. “He must have been blackmailing someone and they must have finally had enough. In a way, whoever killed him did me a favour, actually, as I might have trouble finding another position if word did get out that I’d punched him.”

  “Well, I wish you luck,” Bessie said. “But we’ll be sorry to lose you. I know you’ve raised a lot of money in the short time you’ve been here.”

  “That’s my job,” Michael replied.

  Bessie nodded and then made her way through his room and into the corridor beyond. She felt uneasy about Michael’s sudden desire to leave the island, but his explanation made sense. The board at the Alzheimer’s Research Fund wouldn’t be happy. Bessie knew it had taken them nearly six months to find Michael. They wouldn’t be eager to start looking for a replacement so soon.

  Bessie was pleased to find Liz hard at work in her room. “I do hope you’re not changing much,” she told the girl as she walked in. “I loved this room just the way it was.”

  “Just moving a few things around like Natasha suggested,” Liz told her. “She’s going to be bringing a few things with her today to make the room look more festive, as well. Mr. Hart was right about that; it doesn’t feel very Christmas-like in here.”

  “I’ll look forward to seeing what Natasha has come up with,” Bessie said. She had a quick chat with the woman, who insisted that she wasn’t upset about the murder.

  “Someone from London or somewhere like that must have come over and killed him,” Liz insisted. “I’m sure he had a great many enemies. He seemed like the type.” Bessie left Liz happily rearranging the oversized toy box.

  The castle felt very quiet this morning and Bessie found herself wandering into the courtyard. While she would never have chosen mauve Christmas decorations for the space, she had to admit they looked good against the stone walls. Noticing movement in the ticket booth, Bessie headed there.

  “Good morning, Laura,” she said to the woman who was sitting behind the desk, which was covered in tickets and envelopes.

  “Good morning,” she replied, smiling at Bessie. “I don’t suppose you’ve come to help?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Posting out tickets. It seems, with everything else going on, that that little job has been rather neglected. We’re okay for Friday and Saturday this week, but I don’t think any of the tickets for Sunday have been posted yet, and we’ve sold quite a lot. I’m afraid to look at the list for Christmas Eve.”

  “I’ll come back and help later,” Bessie promised. “After I’ve checked in on everyone.”

  “Is everything okay?” Laura asked.

  “As far as I know, everything’s fine,” Bessie assured her. “But Mark was worried that some people might be upset about Mr. Hart’s death, that’s all.”

  “I think we’re all upset about that. I thought about taking a few days off, you know, just to avoid the whole thing.”

  “We just have to hope the police sort it out quickly,” Bessie said, patting the woman’s hand. “Inspector Corkill is very good at his job. I’m sure he’ll work out what happened soon.”

  “I hope so. I hate feeling as if I’m a suspect.”

  “We’re all suspects,” Bessie told her. “I’m sure you and I are quite low on the list, though. I wonder who is highest on that list.”

  “I’m sure it must be someone we don’t know,” Laura said. “I’m sure Mr. Hart had lots of enemies. Someone must have snuck over from across just to kill him, don’t you think?”

  “That’s certainly one possibility. I’m sure the inspector is doing everything he can to investigate just that.”

  “If you can get back to help out later, I’d be ever so grateful,” Laura changed the subject. “I’m meant to be helping Henry with setting up the auction as well.”

  “I thought the committee was supposed to be helping with that,” Bessie said.

  “Henry’s moving furniture and rearranging the room,” Laura told her. “Then you and the committee can come in and set things up.”

  “Perhaps I should go and see how he’s getting on. I hope he isn’t rushing. The committee meeting has been rescheduled for this afternoon, and we won’t be ready to do anything in there until after that.”

  Bessie took a shortcut up to the large room where Henry was hard at work. She was pleased to see that two young men were doing all of the heavy lifting under Henry’s direction, rather than Henry trying to move furniture by himself.

  “Ah, Bessie, just in time for a tea break,” he greeted her. “Joe, pop the kettle on, will you?”

  One of the men filled the kettle and switched it on before pulling out his mobile. The other man was already talking to someone on his.

  “How are you?” Bessie asked Henry as the man found mugs and dumped biscuits onto a plate.

  “I’m good,” he replied. “I was worried about Laura, because that Mr. Hart upset her, but she’s okay now.”

  “I think we’ll all feel better when the police arrest someone,” Bessie said.

  “I bet whoever did it is long gone,” Henry told her. “They will have come over and killed him and then headed back where they came from. Inspector Corkill will never find them.”

  “I hope they do find him, or her, but I’d be happy if the killer turned out to be someone from across. I’d hate to think that anyone from ‘Christmas at the Castle’ could be involved.”

  She enjoyed tea and biscuits, chatting with Henry and the two young workers. Bessie found that spending time with young people was energising and she always felt as if she’d learned something from them as well. Today they told her all about a new movie that was just out. As she headed back down to look for the others on her unwritten list, Bessie was mentally shaking her head at what Hollywood seemed to think was entertaining these days.

  Harriet was in her room, rearranging cuddly toys. “Natasha suggested that I try sorting them in some way,” she told Bessie. I’m trying to arrange them by size, but only very approximately.”

&n
bsp; “I like what you’ve done so far,” Bessie told her. “I hope you’re happy with Natasha’s changes?”

  “Oh, yes, she’s so much nicer and easier to work with than Mr. Hart was,” Harriet replied.

  “And you aren’t too upset about his untimely death?”

  Harriet shrugged. “I barely knew the man, and what I knew about him, I didn’t much like,” she said. “I’m sorry he was killed, but if he’d simply decided to leave, I would have been happy to see him go.”

  “Do you have any idea who killed him?”

  “If it wasn’t someone from across, then the only suggestion I have is Michael,” Harriet replied. “He might have been in a lot of trouble if Mr. Hart had followed through on his threat and pressed charges after that punch.”

  “We were all witnesses that Mr. Hart struck Michael first.”

  “But when you’re looking for a new job, having police charges brought against you won’t help.”

  “Michael is looking for a new job?”

  “Unlike the rest of us, working for non-profits is Michael’s career. The best and fastest way to get ahead in that business is to switch jobs regularly. I’ve no doubt Michael started looking for his next job as soon as he accepted the one here. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s disappointed in the position here, as well. I’m sure he thought he’d be able to bring in more staff once he got started, but even with his success so far, the charity simply isn’t big enough to warrant hiring on more people. He seems like the type that would resent having to type his own letters, though.”

  “It’s a long way from that to murder,” Bessie said.

  “I don’t know anything about how Mr. Hart died, but I think we all know that Michael has a temper. If he met up with Mr. Hart later that day and they argued, well, I can see Michael hitting him again.”

  Bessie frowned. “You could be right,” she said reluctantly. She didn’t exactly like Michael Beach, but he’d worked hard on his part of “Christmas at the Castle.” She’d much prefer it if the killer was a total stranger.

  With Harriet’s words replaying in the mind, Bessie headed towards the front of the building. She still hadn’t found Margaret Christian. This time, when Bessie walked into her room, Margaret was there.

  “Just getting the Christmas card table sorted,” she told Bessie.

  “It’s just the thing this room needed,” Bessie replied.

  “I’m so glad that Marjorie suggested it and MNH offered to fund it. I think it’s just the right touch.”

  “But how are you?” Bessie asked.

  “I’m keeping busy so I don’t think about that poor young man, if that’s what you mean.”

  “We don’t have to talk about it,” Bessie assured her. “I just wanted to check on everyone, that’s all.”

  “I know the nice policeman said it wasn’t, but I still think he must have simply met with an unfortunate accident,” Margaret said. “Such a dangerous world we live in, really. I feel sorry for his family, losing him this close to Christmas.”

  “I haven’t heard anything about his family,” Bessie said. “Of course he must have had someone who’ll miss him.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” Natasha drawled from the doorway. “He lost both of his parents when he was quite young and he and his older brother had a falling out about twenty years ago and never spoke again. He was currently between women, as well, and believe me, none of his exes will miss him.”

  “You knew him better than I realised,” Bessie said, studying the young woman who was framed in the doorway.

  “He was a competitor,” she said with a shrug. “I keep track of all of my competitors.”

  “He said something about you stealing customers,” Bessie recalled.

  Natasha flushed. “He liked to throw that accusation around whenever he had a chance,” she replied. “I think, over the years, he managed to accuse just about every other designer out there of stealing clients from him. The simple fact was that a lot of his customers chose to switch designers, often in the middle of projects with him, because they simply didn’t like what he was doing. Ironically, he was the one who stole clients now and then. He even sent some design ideas to Mary, suggesting that he might be a better choice for Thie yn Traie.”

  “Do you have any idea who might have killed him?” Bessie asked.

  “So many possibilities,” the woman replied. “An ex-girlfriend whom he treated badly, another designer who had clients stolen from him, a former customer who felt that he ruined his or her home. The list is endless.”

  “It appears the police have a big job to do, then,” Bessie said.

  “I’m much happier with my job,” Natasha replied. “I’m thrilled with how everything is coming together here, and Mary seems to like my ideas for Thie yn Traie, as well.”

  Before Bessie could reply, Carolyn Teare rushed into the room. “Ah, Bessie, there you are. You’re just the person I wanted to see.”

  Bessie looked at the woman in surprise. Carolyn’s hair was a tangled mess, her skirt didn’t match her jumper and she looked as if she’d been crying.

  “What’s wrong?” Bessie asked.

  Carolyn looked around the room and shook her head. She took Bessie’s arm and pulled her through the castle, ignoring everyone they passed. When the pair finally reached an empty room, Carolyn stopped. She pressed her hand to her head.

  “Carolyn, what’s wrong?” Bessie asked, staring into the other woman’s eyes.

  “You’ve been involved in murder investigations before,” Carolyn said. “You’ll know what to do.”

  “What to do about what?”

  “I think my husband killed Christo,” Carolyn hissed.

  Chapter Five

  For a moment, Bessie could only stare at the woman. “Pardon?” she said eventually, certain that she must have misheard.

  “I think Richard killed Christo,” Carolyn wailed. “What can I do? I can’t tell the police. I don’t want Richard to go to prison. I need him.”

  Bessie shook her head. “Why do you think Richard killed Mr. Hart?” Bessie asked.

  “He took him to the hotel,” Carolyn replied. “But it was hours before he came home. When I asked him what he was doing for all that time, he wouldn’t answer me.”

  “But what possible motive did he have? I didn’t think he even knew Mr. Hart.”

  “He was, well, he thought, that is, he didn’t like my friendship with Christo,” Carolyn said, flushing. She turned and walked a step away from Bessie. “Richard thought I might be having an affair with Christo,” she said quietly.

  “But you weren’t,” Bessie said, trying to make it sound more like a statement than a question.

  Carolyn glanced over at her and turned a darker shade of red. “Christo liked his women young,” she said. “He wasn’t interested in me.”

  From the bitterness in the woman’s tone, Bessie had to assume that Carolyn had made an offer that Christopher Hart had turned down. Perhaps that was what the fight that got him kicked out of Carolyn’s home was about.

  “I’ve only met Richard once or twice,” Bessie said. “He doesn’t seem like the violent type.” Besides the fact that he’s in his late sixties, Bessie thought, but didn’t add.

  “He has a terrible temper,” Carolyn replied.

  “You should talk to Inspector Corkill,” Bessie told her.

  “Oh, I couldn’t possibly. What if Richard did kill Christo?”

  “You don’t want him to go to prison?”

  “Of course not,” Carolyn said. “All the money is his, after all. Knowing him, he’d spend a fortune on his defense and then go off to prison and leave me with nothing.”

  Bessie found herself staring at the woman again. “You think he killed someone, but you don’t want the police to know,” she said slowly.

  “Exactly; you’ve been involved in lots of murder investigations. How can I divert suspicion onto other people? Who else had a motive? You must know.”

  “I haven’
t the slightest idea who might be a suspect. I can assure you, though, that Inspector Corkill will be taking a good look at you and your husband, whether you tell him about your suspicions or not.”

  “Richard will have to go away,” Carolyn said. “Perhaps he should go and visit his brother in California for a while. The police can’t question him if he’s in America.”

  “They might not let him go,” Bessie told her. “I don’t think they’ll want anyone involved in the case travelling right now.”

  “They can’t stop him,” Carolyn said tartly. “He’s been thinking about going to visit his brother for months.”

  “I think you’ll find that they can stop him,” Bessie told her.

  “You aren’t any help at all,” Carolyn complained.

  “What did you and Mr. Hart fight about the night he died?” Bessie asked.

  “Christo and I didn’t fight,” Carolyn replied. “We never fought. We were the very closest of friends.”

  “So why did he suddenly move to a hotel?”

  “Christo and Richard had a difference of opinion on something,” Carolyn muttered.

  “Has he told the police that?”

  “I don’t know what Richard has told the police,” Carolyn said with a sigh. “We aren’t, that is, I haven’t really seen him since, well, since that argument. Richard left to take Christo to the hotel. He didn’t get home until quite late. I was already in bed. Of course, he had to go to work the next morning, and we’ve both been quite busy. We simply haven’t had time to talk.”

  “But you told the police about the argument.”

  “Of course not. That would only give them the idea that Richard had some sort of motive for killing Christo.”

  Bessie sighed. “If you don’t want the police to know things, you shouldn’t be telling me,” she told the woman. “I expect I’ll be questioned again and I’ll have to tell Inspector Corkill what you’ve told me.”

  Carolyn shrugged. “I thought you’d be like that,” she said. “But I can just deny everything. I have an advocate on speed dial. He’ll sort it all out.”

  “If I were you, I’d tell the police everything,” Bessie said.