Bessie had lived on the Isle of Man for almost her entire life. Most of her childhood had been spent in America, but that had been a very long time ago. She had purchased her little cottage on the Laxey beach when she was just eighteen and had lived there ever since. While Douglas, the island’s capital, had been growing rapidly recently, thanks to changes in tax law, Laxey was still pretty much the same small town it had always been. Bessie fancied that she knew just about everyone in the area, and she felt sure that she could place the man if she could just see his face.
She took a cautious step towards him, wondering if she could somehow get a better look. She spun back around as she heard Hugh splashing back down the beach towards her. The rain had left puddles everywhere in the sand, and Hugh seemed incapable of missing any of them as he stomped along.
“Inspector Kelly is on his way and so is John Rockwell from Ramsey CID.”
Bessie nodded. She knew Inspector Patrick Kelly; indeed, his mother had grown up in Laxey, although the family had moved to Douglas when the future Mrs. Kelly was in her late teens. She had eventually married a Kelly from somewhere in the south of the island and they had remained in Douglas.
Bessie remembered Mrs. Kelly bragging about her clever son who had joined the police department in London when she had seen her once in Douglas many years earlier. She’d heard through various sources that the woman had been even more pleased when Patrick took up a position with the force back on the island after some years in London. He was currently in charge of the tiny station at Laxey, with policing responsibility for both Laxey and Lonan, and Bessie occasionally ran into him when stopping to see Doona at the station.
“I know Patrick Kelly well enough,” she told Hugh. “But I’ve never met John Rockwell.”
“Inspector Rockwell is a good guy,” Hugh shrugged. “He’s from across.”
Bessie nodded. “Where?”
“His last posting was in Manchester before he came here. I’m not sure where he’s from originally.” Hugh shrugged again and looked longingly at the umbrella Bessie was still holding.
Bessie shuffled closer to the man and tried holding the badly mangled umbrella at an angle that might offer some protection for both of them.
“Why did he leave his posting in Manchester?” Bessie asked, eager to learn all that she could about the man before his arrival.
“Apparently the wife wanted a nice safe place for the kids to grow up,” Hugh repeated what he had heard. “They’ve a boy and girl and I guess they didn’t live in a great area in Manchester and couldn’t really afford to move.”
Bessie nodded. The island was certainly a very safe place for a young family. “Where have they settled then?”
“They bought a four-bed semi in that new development in Ramsey,” Hugh answered. “They moved about six months ago and it’s lucky they did, because the prices for those houses have shot up.”
Bessie shook her head. “I don’t know what’s happening with house prices,” she sighed. “All these bankers and the like moving in and driving up prices. Won’t be long before no one will be able to afford anything. I guess I should be grateful I got my little house so many years ago.”
“Aye, you could be selling it for a lot of money now, you know,” Hugh told her. “I heard that when Mrs. Clague sold the land that the new cottages are on she only got about a hundred thousand and now that land would be worth more than twice that.”
“My advocate says that beachfront properties are at a premium right now,” Bessie told him. “Mrs. Clague should have waited another year or two before she sold. Mr. Quayle reckons that prices are just going to keep going up.”
“Aye, but Mrs. Clague was in a hurry, I gather.”
“Oh aye, she wanted a spot in the new senior home in Douglas. I told her she should stay put, but she wanted the bright lights and the big city. Now she can walk to the shops and there’s even a pub right next door. Last I heard she was having a wonderful time.”
“You ever think about selling up and moving into a home?” Hugh asked, almost without thinking.
Bessie turned and took a step away from the man, taking the sheltering umbrella with her. She looked him up and down and then shook her head. “I am in a home, my home, and I intend to stay there until I die,” she told him in an imperious tone. “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to move into a home for the elderly and spend all their time surrounded by old people and nurses.”
Hugh turned a burst of laughter into a cough and then quickly changed the subject. “I can’t imagine what’s keeping the bosses,” he remarked.
“Your Inspector Rockwell probably got lost,” Bessie suggested wryly.
“Ah, here they come now,” Hugh waved an arm towards Bessie’s cottage where the lights from several cars were now visible. Bessie shuddered as she realised that the new arrivals had driven in with their emergency lights blazing. By lunchtime, half the island would be thinking that she was dead.
Patrick Kelly was in his mid-forties, with brown hair that was thinning rapidly and hazel eyes that looked washed out and tired. He really needed to lose about twenty pounds. Stomping across the sand, he pulled his slightly too small raincoat as tightly as he could around his body as the still strong wind swirled around him.
A man Bessie assumed was John Rockwell followed him more slowly, taking time to study the scene as they approached. Of a similar age to the native Manxman, Rockwell looked like he worked hard to keep in the best possible physical condition. His own raincoat looked not only warm, but was also a perfect fit. His hair was a lighter shade of brown than Inspector Kelly’s and he didn’t appear to have any trouble with it thinning.
Bessie could see a group of uniformed constables climbing from their cars and standing hesitantly in clusters by her cottage, waiting for their orders.
“What’ve we got?” Patrick barked at Hugh as he reached the younger policeman.
“It’s a body, sir, a dead one,” Hugh said brightly.
“I see that.” Patrick shook his head. “I also see rain flooding the area and washing away all of the evidence, and an elderly civilian standing around getting soaked and getting in the way of the investigation.”
Hugh flushed. “I brought an umbrella to shield the body,” he offered, “but I thought that Bessie should have it. She’s too old to stand in the rain without any protection.”
Bessie opened her mouth to reply and then snapped it shut again. First Patrick called her elderly and then Hugh almost accused her of stealing an umbrella from a dead man. She was so mad she couldn’t speak.
“Kelly, get a tent up.” John Rockwell had reached the small group now and he quickly took charge. “There are plenty of men here to help.”
Patrick nodded once and then, after shooting an angry look at Hugh, turned and walked back up the beach. Bessie could hear him shouting orders at the waiting men as he approached them.
“Now then, Hugh, isn’t it? Tell me exactly what happened.” Rockwell smiled encouragingly at the young policeman, who looked relieved.
“Doona, back at the station, she got a call at oh-seven-twenty-two this morning from a known member of the public, stating that she had discovered a body on Laxey Beach. Doona questioned the witness briefly, to establish exactly what she had seen, and then called me and suggested that I check the beach. I arrived at oh-seven-fifty-five and found the body exactly as described by the witness. I, um, attempted to ascertain if the man in question was merely sleeping or was indeed dead by trying to roll him over. Upon doing so, I, er, well, at that point I returned to my car and called for backup.”
Hugh blew out a huge breath, as if exhausted by the recitation.
“I take it this is the witness in question?” The senior officer nodded towards Bessie.
“Oh yes, this is Aunt Bessie,” Hugh confirmed. “Sorry, um, Mrs. Elizabeth Cubbon. She lives in the cottage just there.”
Hugh pointed to Bessie’s cottage and John turned his head and slowly looked it over before looking
back at Bessie.
“I’m very sorry that you’ve had to stand out in the rain all morning, Mrs. Cubbon,” he said to Bessie with a rueful grin. She was surprised to find that his eyes were an almost electric green that instantly fascinated her. Perhaps they were artificially enhanced, like Doona’s bright blue ones, she surmised.
“I’m Inspector Rockwell from the Ramsey CID, by the way,” the man continued. “Why don’t we go inside and you can tell me exactly what happened.”
“It’s Miss Cubbon, actually,” Bessie set the record straight. “And we’ve no need to go inside. It’s a short story,” She paused, expecting the man to argue but he simply nodded and waited for her to continue.
“I came out for my morning walk and nearly tripped over the body.” Bessie shrugged. “Then I called the police. That’s the whole story.”
“Indeed?” Rockwell raised an eyebrow. “Do you always walk when it’s pouring with rain and blowing a gale?”
Bessie snorted. “This isn’t a gale. It’s just a bit fresh. And I walk every day, whatever the weather. If I waited for sunshine, I wouldn’t get very many walks in, would I?”
Again, the man raised his eyebrow and didn’t speak. Behind them, the uniformed constables were struggling to erect a canvas tent over the body. Bessie turned to watch the action as the men fought the wind, the rain, and their own general incompetence. She had to bite back a laugh as a huge wind gust blew the half-erected tent over onto the beach.
“We aren’t impressing you with our professionalism, are we?” Rockwell asked Bessie as they watched the men begin again.
“It really isn’t that difficult,” Bessie told him, shaking her head. “They just need to….”
The scream that echoed across the beach startled Bessie to silence.
Chapter Two
The woman running down the beach towards them was wearing a flimsy white nightgown and, from the looks of it, nothing else. She screamed again, an almost inhuman sound, as she approached, and Bessie shuddered.
“Oh no, no, no,” the woman sobbed as she was stopped by a pair of constables. “Danny needs me, you have to let me go to him.”
Rockwell crossed the sand to the woman’s side. “I’m Inspector Rockwell with the Manx CID. Can you identify this man?”
The woman looked at him with unfocussed eyes, seemingly unable to speak.
“Ma’am, can you tell me your name?” the inspector asked gently. He took an umbrella that was offered by one of the uniformed men on the beach and held it over the woman.
Bessie watched the interplay with interest. In spite of being soaked from her run across the beach, the woman’s artificially blonde hair looked as if it had been styled recently. Her face was beautifully made-up and Bessie reckoned that the woman was wearing more cosmetics at that moment than Bessie had in her entire life. The rain seemed to be having little effect on the makeup, which to Bessie suggested expensive products. Bessie wasn’t sure if it was the skilful application of eye makeup that made the woman’s eyes appear to be such a stunning violet colour or if it were natural.
“Please, I have to help Danny,” the woman sobbed after a moment. “He needs me.”
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but the best thing you can do for Danny now is answer my questions.” Rockwell’s words seemed harsh, but they clearly got through to the young woman.
“I’m sorry, I think I’m in shock.” The woman used a shaking hand to brush a stray hair out of her eyes. “We’re on our honeymoon.”
Bessie shook her head sadly; she understood the woman’s loss only too well.
“Can we start with the basics, please?” Rockwell took out his phone, safely covered in a waterproof case, and switched it on. “Normally I would take notes, but that’s impossible in this rain. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to record your answers. I don’t want to do a full interview here, but a few basics will get us started.”
The woman nodded reluctantly and once more brushed hair from her eyes. Bessie studied her carefully. At first glance Bessie had placed her in her mid-twenties, but now she decided that the woman was actually as much as a decade older than that. The soaking wet gown clung to every curve of the woman’s perfect shape and Bessie found herself disliking the young widow even before she heard her story.
The woman clung now to Inspector Rockwell’s arm as she began to speak. “I’m Vicky Robinson, well, Vicky Pierce now,” she shuddered as she corrected herself. “That’s Vicky, with two k’s.”
“V-I-C-K-K-Y?” he questioned.
The woman giggled as she gazed into the inspector’s green eyes. “No, silly, V-I-K-K-Y.”
Bessie turned away from the pair, certain that disapproval was written all over her face. The woman was almost flirting with the police inspector in front of her husband’s dead body. That was no way for a lady to behave. Not that anything about Vikky Pierce gave Bessie reason to believe that she was a lady.
One of the uniformed officers handed Vikky a blanket and she shot him a huge smile as she wrapped it around herself. Then she sighed dramatically.
“Sorry, where was I?” she simpered.
“You were going to tell me about the dead man.” Inspector Rockwell’s clipped tone seemed to startle the woman.
“Oh, oh, yes,” she said. She looked over at the body that was now partially obstructed by the wobbly-looking tent that had finally been completed. Tears welled up in her eyes as she studied the scene.
“It’s my husband,” she said with a catch in her voice. “Daniel, Daniel Pierce. We got married on Saturday and came to the island to spend our honeymoon with his family at Theen-tray; that’s his family’s summer house here.”
“I don’t suppose you could spell that?” Rockwell asked. The woman looked at him blankly.
“T-H-I-E Y-N T-R-A-I-E,” Hugh Watterson interjected. “It means ‘Beach House’ in Manx. The Pierce family bought the land and built the house about twenty-five years ago. It’s just up that way, past the new cottages.” Hugh gestured up the beach.
Rockwell nodded his thanks to Hugh and turned back to Vikky. “So you came to honeymoon in the family’s summer home?”
“The whole family came. We came for the whole week to celebrate Daniel’s father’s sixtieth birthday.”
Bessie nodded to herself. She knew the family, but only distantly. They were summer visitors, not full-time residents. That explained why the man seemed familiar. She must have seen him on the beach, during the summer months, many times over the last twenty-five years.
“Seems strange to honeymoon with your husband’s family,” Rockwell remarked in a mild tone.
“Oh, we all get along wonderfully,” Vikky insisted. “I was just so excited about being Danny’s wife that I would have agreed to anything anyway.”
As the rain tapered off again and the skies brightened slightly, all around the quiet hum of the investigation began. Rockwell turned back towards Bessie and looked surprised to see her there.
“Oh, ah, I am sorry,” he told her. “I should have sent you home ages ago.”
“I thought you had more questions for me,” Bessie answered, trying to cover for the fact that she had been listening intently to his conversation with the widow.
“And I’m sure I do,” Rockwell agreed. “But right now I think I need to focus on my investigation and you need to get out of the rain.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Bessie grinned at him as she had an idea. “Why don’t I take Mrs. Pierce back to my cottage so that we can both dry off? When you’ve finished down here, you can find us both there and we can answer your questions.”
Rockwell only hesitated for a moment. It was clear to Bessie that she and the widow were both unnecessary distractions at the crime scene at the moment.
“That’s a great idea,” Rockwell told Bessie. “I’ll be along as quickly as I can.”
“Oh, no rush,” Bessie answered. “Mrs. Pierce and I have a lot in common. I’m sure we’ll find plenty to talk about.”
Bess
ie put her arm around the younger woman and led her, unprotesting, up the beach.
As they reached the door to Bessie’s cottage, the new widow drew a deep breath. “I should stay with Danny,” she whimpered to Bessie.
“Leave everything to the experts,” Bessie said in her most soothing voice. “You won’t do anyone any good standing there getting soaked.”
“I suppose not,” the woman said softly. “Oh, your house has a funny name, too,” Vikky said as she spotted the plaque next to the front door.
“Treoghe Bwaane,” Bessie pronounced the Manx words for her guest. “It basically means ‘Widow’s Cottage,’” she explained.
“Oh, are you a widow too?” the younger woman asked as she plopped herself down in a chair at the kitchen table.
Bessie shook her head. “The cottage already had its name when I bought it,” she explained. “But it seemed suitable because I bought it just after I lost my one true love.”
“Really?” Vikky was intrigued. “Did he dump you or die or what?”
Bessie turned to look at her young guest. Could she really be that thoughtless and insensitive? She sighed to herself. It was her own fault for inviting the unpleasant woman into her home, she supposed. Sometimes she let her nosiness win out over her sense.
“He died,” she answered shortly, hoping that the subject would end there.
“What happened?” the other woman continued to press Bessie.
This time Bessie sighed audibly. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t told the story hundreds of times before, it was just that she had already begun to dislike this flashy vulgar woman who wasn’t behaving at all the way Bessie thought she should. Bessie simply didn’t feel like sharing any personal information with Vikky Pierce.
“Any chance of a cuppa with the story?” Vikky seemed oblivious to Bessie’s thoughts and she seemed to be recovering from her sudden bereavement strangely quickly.
Aunt Bessie Assumes: An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Page 2
