After the meal was cleared away, Bessie piled cookies on a plate and put it in the centre of the table. She handed John a small plate and then sat down with one of her own.
“This is delicious,” John said after his first bite of a star.
Bessie managed to eat a Christmas tree of her own before the kettle boiled. While she fixed the tea, John seemed to be eating steadily. She passed him his drink and sat down with her own, smiling when she noticed that the large plate was now over half empty.
“You must take these away,” John said, pushing the plate towards Bessie. “They are really good and I mustn’t eat any more.”
Bessie laughed and slid the plate as far from John as the table would allow. “It’s Christmas,” she pointed out.
“Yes, but that’s the excuse I use at work when I eat mince pies and at Christmas dinner when I eat Christmas pudding. I can’t keep indulging myself or I’ll have to buy all new clothes before January.”
“You’ll be fine,” Bessie assured him. “You’ve lost some weight. It would be good for you put a few pounds back on.”
“Anyway, you said you wanted to talk to me,” John changed the subject.
“Yes,” Bessie agreed. “Natasha visited me today. She said she wanted some advice.”
John listened and took notes while Bessie recounted the visit. When she was finished, he looked at her thoughtfully. “What do you think she wanted?” he asked after a moment.
“I’m not sure, but I can’t imagine it was advice on how to deal with Richard Teare,” Bessie replied. “I’m hardly the person to give advice on dealing with extramarital affairs.”
“Perhaps she just needed a sounding board,” John said. “Everyone knows you’re a good listener.”
“I suppose,” Bessie said.
“Anyway, it’s interesting that she told you that Richard said his wife had had an affair with Michael Beach. That ties in with some of the other evidence we’ve gathered.”
“Does it?” Bessie asked, surprised. “I didn’t really believe that.”
“No? Who did you think was lying, Richard or Natasha?”
Bessie sighed. “I can see Richard saying just about anything if he really was trying to get Natasha to start an affair with him,” she said. “But I don’t trust Natasha, either.”
“Maybe you can talk to Carolyn,” John suggested. “See if you can find out if it’s true.”
Bessie frowned. “I’d rather not,” she said. “I hate prying into people’s private lives, and I’m not terribly fond of Carolyn, either.”
“It would be really helpful to know,” John said seriously.
“I can try. But I won’t see her until Thursday and we’ll be busy with the Christmas Eve auction.”
“Maybe you could ring her,” John suggested.
Bessie shook her head. “I’m just about prepared to try to ask her about her romantic life when I see her, but I can’t possibly ring her up and ask her who she was sleeping with. I simply can’t.”
John nodded. “No, I suppose you’re right,” he mused.
“I’m in Douglas tomorrow for lunch,” Bessie said. “Maybe I’ll see her in town. As I understand it, she spends a lot of time shopping in certain pricey boutiques. I can try stopping in a few.”
“I’d appreciate it,” John replied.
“Can you tell me why you need to know?” Bessie asked.
“It’s all part of building up the bigger picture,” John said. “We have two unexplained deaths and an act of vandalism. We’re trying to tie them together or prove they aren’t connected, one or the other.”
“So who Michael was involved with at the time of his death could be relevant,” Bessie said.
“Especially if it was the woman who was responsible for bringing Mr. Hart to the island,” John said.
“You aren’t suggesting that Michael killed Christopher because he thought the man was involved with Carolyn?”
“We’re looking at every possibility,” John replied. “If Carolyn was seeing Michael, it might explain why he was so quick to argue with Mr. Hart. There may have been some personal jealousy at work there.”
“I’ll see what Carolyn has to say. Did you talk to the girl at the estate agency who was involved with Michael?”
“I did, but I can’t tell you anything she said,” he replied.
Bessie laughed. “I’ll just have to assume that they were no longer involved at the time of Michael’s death.”
“They weren’t,” John confirmed. “And she has an unbreakable alibi for the night he died, as well.”
Bessie nodded. “I don’t suppose you were able to get any fingerprints from the house where he was found,” she said.
“We only fingerprinted the items we’re pretty sure Michael, or someone who was with him, brought into the house. Only Michael’s prints were found on everything at the scene.”
“So you think he killed himself?”
“That’s one possibility,” John said. “We aren’t ruling out any others, though.”
A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Bessie opened the door to Doona.
“I hope I’m not bothering you,” she said. “But I just baked some mince pies and I wanted to share some with you before I ate them all myself.”
Bessie laughed and let her friend in. “John and I were just talking about the case again,” she told Doona. “Let me make you some tea and you can try some of my Christmas cookies.”
Doona groaned. “I can’t,” she exclaimed. “I must have eaten half a dozen mince pies already today.”
“The stars are really good,” John told her as he pulled the plate back across the table. “And so are the chocolate chip ones.”
“What’s wrong with the Christmas trees?” Bessie teased as she poured Doona some tea.
“I haven’t tried one of them,” John replied. “In the interest of fairness, I suppose I must, though.”
Bessie unwrapped the plate of mince pies that Doona had brought and put them on the table next to the cookies. She quickly refilled the cookie plate and then sat back down.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Doona said after she washed a cookie down with her tea. “I won’t stay if you need privacy.”
“Oh, no, we were just talking in circles anyway,” John said. “We need a breakthrough of some kind, I just wish I knew what.”
“Maybe my talk with Carolyn will help,” Bessie said.
“Every little bit of information helps,” John told her.
“These are wonderful,” Bessie said to Doona after she’d eaten her first bite of a mince pie. “Maybe I won’t bother making any this year and just enjoy yours.”
“I can’t believe how nice these cookies are,” Doona countered. “Why don’t the British do cookies?”
“I have no idea,” Bessie told her. “Of course this is just a small sampling. My sister used to make dozens of different varieties every year.”
“I didn’t know there were that many types of cookies,” John said.
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Bessie replied. “She used to send me her two or three favourite new recipes every Christmas. I must have fifty or more cards from her from over the years.”
“What could be better than these?” Doona asked, taking another chocolate chip cookie.
“Gingerbread, spritz, snowballs, thumbprints, double chocolate chip, oatmeal, peanut butter,” Bessie laughed. “I went through the recipes today and those are just the ones I remember. There are so many more.”
“Maybe once the holidays are over, I’ll borrow a few recipes,” John said. “I’d like to do more baking and cooking with the kids when they’re here. Cookies seem like they might be fun.”
“They are fun,” Bessie agreed. “But they take time. You can only bake a dozen at a time on a tray, and most recipes make four or five dozen. They also need a lot of watching. Most of them are quite thin and can burn very quickly. I’ll lend you a few of the easiest recipes to start with and you can work
your way up to the more complicated things.”
“Or maybe I’ll just stick to the easy ones,” John said.
“I’d love to borrow the chocolate chip recipe,” Doona said. “But I don’t think I can. I don’t think I could be trusted to have them in the house. I’d just eat them all.”
“Or you could bring them to me, like you did the mince pies,” Bessie suggested.
“I live closer to you than Bessie does,” John pointed out with a smile.
Doona laughed. “I actually stopped at your house first,” she told him. “But you weren’t home. I have a plate of mince pies in the car for you as well.”
“I should stop eating all of Bessie’s then,” John said.
“I’ll be making more,” Bessie told him. “I have to do the mince pies tomorrow, actually. I told Mark that I’d bring some to the castle on Thursday for all of us hard workers to enjoy as we get everything ready.”
When both plates were empty, John sat back from the table and sighed. “This has been wonderful,” he said. “But I have to get home.”
“I do, too,” Doona said.
John stood up and began to stack dirty dishes by Bessie’s sink.
“I’ll just do the washing-up before I go,” Doona said.
“Don’t be silly,” Bessie replied. “I can manage a few plates and cups. You both need to get home and get some sleep.”
John insisted on helping Doona, though, and the pair quickly had Bessie’s kitchen back in order.
“Before you go, you must see my tree,” Bessie exclaimed as the pair finished.
“Oh, Bessie, it’s lovely,” Doona said, clearly delighted. “I’m so glad you decorated this year.”
“I think ‘Christmas at the Castle’ has been a good influence,” Bessie replied. “I felt like I had to do my part.”
“It’s really nice,” John said. “Since I won’t be here for Christmas, really, I didn’t do any decorating at my house. Maybe I should have put up a small tree, though. It makes such a difference.”
“This stocking looks very old,” Doona remarked, holding up Bessie’s stocking.
“It’s from my childhood,” Bessie told her. “I thought it made a nice extra decoration.”
“It does,” Doona agreed. “And so do all those presents.”
Bessie looked down at the pile of gifts under the tree. “Somewhere under there are one or two things with your names on them,” she told the pair. “But you shall have to wait for Christmas Day to have them.”
Doona made a token protest, but Bessie could tell she was just pretending to be upset. Waiting for Christmas made the season much more special, especially for adults.
Bessie showed her friends to the door and let them out. She watched, smiling to herself, as Doona handed a plate of mince pies to John. John waited until Doona was safely in her car and driving away before following.
“That might just still work out,” Bessie said aloud as she locked her door.
Upstairs, she got ready for bed and then read for a short while. She’d found a few mysteries set at Christmas from her collection, so now she lost herself in someone else’s Christmas case. It was nice to forget about Christopher Hart and Michael Beach for a short while, anyway.
Chapter Thirteen
After her usual morning routine, Bessie got busy making her mince pies. In the past, she’d often made her own mincemeat, but this year she simply hadn’t had the time. When the pies were in the oven, they filled the house with the smell of spices and pastry. Bessie smiled to herself. The ones Doona had brought had been very good, but her own would taste better, just because she’d done them herself.
While they were cooling, Bessie took another short walk, as she was unlikely to find time to do so later in the day. She walked to the last of the holiday cottages and then returned home, feeling as if she didn’t want to go as far as Thie yn Traie and find herself with company yet again. By the time her taxi arrived to take her into Douglas, the mince pies were all carefully put away and the kitchen was tidy.
Bessie’s least favourite driver, Mark, was behind the wheel, and he didn’t move up in her estimation as he honked from the parking area next to the cottage. Bessie had packed a couple of mince pies into a bag to give to her driver, but she was so rushed that she forgot to grab them. Once she was settled into the passenger seat, she was almost glad she had.
“And how are you today?” Mark asked.
“I’m well. How are you?”
“Oh, just dandy,” Mark said grumpily. “I’ve to take you into Douglas and then pick up a box at one of the shops and run it up to Ramsey for a customer who’s too lazy to go down to Douglas herself. Nothing like transporting inanimate objects, is there?”
“At least the box won’t complain about your driving,” Bessie pointed out, biting her tongue when she was very tempted to do just that as Mark swerved around a parked car.
“No one complains about my driving,” Mark told her. “I’m a good driver. I’ve never had a ticket, well, except for parking tickets, and that’s when I’m not driving.” He laughed at his own joke and Bessie forced herself to smile.
“So are you ready for Christmas or is this a big shopping expedition to buy all your presents?” Mark asked.
“I’m done shopping. I’m just meeting a friend for lunch,” Bessie replied. “Have you finished your shopping?”
“Oh, I don’t do any of that. That’s the wife’s job.”
“What about a present for her?”
“She’ll buy something she wants and that’ll be from me. I pay for it, so that’s fair enough.”
Bessie pressed her lips together. The woman had married Mark; she must have known what she was getting into.
“I hear you’ve been caught up in another murder or two,” Mark said. “What is it with you lately? I’ve been driving you around for years, and now all of the sudden, everyone you know is getting murdered.”
Bessie shook her head. “None of the cases have had anything to do with me,” she said firmly. “I suppose I’ve just been in the wrong place at the wrong time lately.”
“All the time, lately,” Mark said.
“Yes, well, it isn’t as if I enjoy it,” Bessie snapped.
“No, I’m sure you wouldn’t,” Mark replied. He pulled up on the Douglas Promenade and stopped. “This close enough to where you’re going?” he asked.
Bessie sighed. She loved to walk, but she didn’t have a great deal of time before she was meant to be at lunch. If she got out here, she’d need to hurry to make it on time. She opened her mouth to protest and then shook her head. “This is fine,” she muttered as she reached for the taxi’s door.
“Happy Christmas to you,” Mark said loudly as she climbed out. “Don’t forget when you get your bill that we all appreciate a little Christmas bonus this time of year,” he added.
Bessie kept her eyes straight ahead, not wanting to give the man the angry look she felt he deserved. He thought he warranted a Christmas bonus, did he? At least that explained why he’d been so chatty on the drive. That was his version of being friendly, apparently.
By the time Bessie reached her destination, she had calmed down. Mark was never going to change and she didn’t have a choice but to put up with him as long as the taxi firm continued to employ him. The service was always in demand and she simply couldn’t request her favourite driver all the time. Dave wasn’t always available.
“I’m meeting a friend,” Bessie told the host, who led her to a table for two in a quiet corner. Bessie had only just hung her coat on her chair when Laura rushed in.
“Oh, I knew I was late. I’m so sorry,” Laura exclaimed when she reached the table. “I didn’t know exactly how much time to allow for the walk over here and it turns out I didn’t allow quite enough. I’m terribly sorry.”
Bessie held up her hand to stop the flow of words. “I just arrived,” she told the other woman. “You aren’t late anyway; I was a minute or two early.”
“I hate m
aking people wait,” Laura said, blushing bright red as she sat down across from Bessie.
“I’m nearly always early,” Bessie told her. “But I’m quite content to sit on my own for a bit, as well.”
“Not me,” Laura said. “I always feel so conspicuous when I’m sitting on my own in a restaurant. I feel as if everyone is looking at me and thinking that I haven’t any friends.”
Bessie laughed. “I suppose people might think that about me,” she said. “But I know it isn’t true. I treat myself to lunch or dinner out once in a while and I never mind being alone. I always bring a book and enjoy myself.”
“Maybe I should try that,” Laura mused.
“I’m not sure Henry would understand why you’d want to be on your own, would he?” Bessie asked.
“No, he’s such a dear man, though. I’d never do anything to upset him.”
Bessie swallowed a dozen questions about Laura’s relationship with Henry. It really wasn’t any of her business. Bessie did feel quite protective of Henry though, and she worried that Laura might break his heart one day.
“I hope you two are happy together,” she said after a moment.
“We are,” Laura told her. “He’s just what I needed after, well, for my new beginning.”
“How are you finding the island?” Bessie asked.
“I love it here,” Laura told her. “It already feels like home and I can’t imagine moving back across now.”
“Do you still have family across?”
“An aunt that I was never close to and a few cousins I barely know. I’m sure they haven’t even noticed I’m gone.” Laura laughed, but Bessie thought she saw a flash of pain in the other woman’s eyes.
“Well, we’re certainly glad you’re here,” she told the woman. “Henry most of all.”
The waiter arrived to take their order, and they requested drinks while Laura looked over the menu.
“What’s especially good?” she asked Bessie after a short time.
“I haven’t had anything here that wasn’t good,” Bessie told her. “If you like pizza, they make theirs with a very thin crust. The pasta is excellent and I love their Bolognese sauce. Whatever else we get, we have to get some garlic bread.”
Aunt Bessie Joins Page 20
