Aunt Bessie Assumes: An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery

by Diana Xarissa

  Hugh shook his head. “Never mind,” he sighed. “I know I’m wasting my time thinking I might solve this thing before the inspector does. I’m doomed to spend my entire career in uniform walking the streets of Laxey.”

  “There are worse jobs,” Bessie said mildly.

  Hugh smiled, although it looked forced. “I know, and I do love what I do,” he told her. “But I would love to move up as well. I want to make people proud.”

  Bessie nodded, and then remembered the rest of the rumour she had heard. Apparently the young lady in Lonan had moved on from Hugh to another policeman, one who worked in Ramsey at the larger and presumably more prestigious station.

  Hugh was gone before Bessie had time to worry any more about his love life. Not for the first time, she thanked heaven that she was beyond having to worry about such things herself. She had had two serious affairs of the heart and a few smaller flirtations in her day. Now she felt that she could look back on them with some true perspective, and she was happy that she had ended up where she was: on her own, but never lonely.

  She took care of a load of laundry and a few other small chores around her cottage. Then she ate a small lunch before heading out towards the Pierce cottage. While she would have preferred walking along the beach, that was impossible, so instead she walked carefully along the narrow road that connected all of the beachfront properties. She wore her boots and raincoat and carried a small umbrella that did its best to protect her from the steadily falling rain.

  As she made her way along the stretch of tiny terraced cottages that everyone in Laxey called the “new cottages,” she was surprised to see a truck parked just off the road. Thomas Shimmin, a middle-aged, heavy-set man, was just coming out of the very last cottage as she crossed behind it.

  “Hey, Aunt Bessie,” he called as he waved. “Walking on the road since the beach is closed?”

  “Exactly,” Bessie agreed. “But what brings you down here today? I wouldn’t have thought the cottages would be booked for this time of year.”

  “Aye, no, they aren’t,” the man nodded. “But with all the trouble yesterday, I wanted to make sure for myself that everything was shipshape in all of them, you know?”

  Bessie nodded. “And did you find anything out of place?” she asked.

  “No, thankfully everything seems to be exactly as we left things in November when we shut the cottages down.”

  “Well, that’s good news. When do your spring and summer bookings start, then?” Bessie asked.

  “We have bookings in April, for Easter week,” the man told her. “I guess I’ll be spending a lot more time down here starting soon. We’ve lots to get ready before then.”

  “There can’t be that much to do, can there?” Bessie asked. “I mean, the cottages were just built a few years ago.”

  “With the wind and the weather, they need a surprising amount of upkeep,” Thomas told her. “And with the constant round of rentals all summer long, the interiors need regular maintenance as well.”

  Bessie nodded. “Hard work is good for you,” she reminded the man as she continued along the road.

  “Oh, aye,” he replied. “But a lottery win would be better.”

  They both laughed at that, and then Bessie pushed onwards. A short distance past the new cottages, she could immediately tell when she had reached the edge of the Pierces’ property. A huge fence had been erected only recently and Bessie winced at its ugly intrusion into the landscape. How they’d ever received planning permission for that thing she’d never understand.

  As she approached the driveway where a gate appeared in the long fence, she noticed several cars parked along the road. Before she had much time to wonder what they were doing there, car doors were opening and she found herself surrounded by several men and women, all shouting at once.

  “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

  “Do you know the Pierce family?”

  “What are you doing on this road?”

  Reporters, Bessie realised, and aggressive and nasty ones at that. She stopped walking and stood as straight and tall as she could. Clearing her throat seemed to silence the mob momentarily.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” she said in the politest tone she could muster. “I’m just taking a walk.”

  “Oh hey,” one of the reporters called. “You aren’t the old biddy who found the body, are you? The police said some old woman who was walking on the beach tripped over the body. That wasn’t you, was it?”

  Bessie glared at him. “You couldn’t possibly be calling me an ‘old biddy,’” she told him through gritted teeth. “Now, if you don’t let me through, I’m going to call the police. It can’t be legal, you blocking someone from walking on a public road.”

  The reporters grudgingly stepped back a bit and Bessie pushed her way through them. After a moment, they settled for following behind her, throwing odd questions at her that she chose to ignore.

  “So do you know the Pierce family?”

  “Have you lived on the island long?”

  “What can you tell us about the police on the island? Do they have any chance of solving this murder?”

  Bessie pushed the call button on the gate, still ignoring the reporters who buzzed around her. After a moment, Bessie heard a buzz from the telephone that was mounted into the side of the gate. She picked up the receiver.

  “Oh, my goodness, Bessie Cubbon, is that you?” the voice on the other end of the line said.

  “Yes,” Bessie said cautiously. “Who is this?”

  “Oh, it’s Bahey Corlett, me mum was Jane Corkish and me dad was Patrick Corlett. They used to have the pub on the Laxey corner.”

  “Oh, Bahey,” Bessie spoke as quietly as she could. “What are you doing at Thie yn Traie?”

  “Oh, you must remember, I worked for the Pierce family for years,” Bahey told her. “First on the island and then across. I retired about three years ago, back here, but when the tragedy happened, I came to help as quick as I could.”

  “That was good of you,” Bessie told her old acquaintance.

  “But what brings you to the cottage?”

  “I came to pay my respects,” Bessie replied.

  “Oh, aye, and that’s only proper, with you being neighbours and all. And besides which, you found poor Danny, didn’t you? And you were so very kind to Miss Vikky as well. We’ll just have to get you in, but keep those reporters out, won’t we?”

  The phone went dead in Bessie’s hand and she slowly returned it to its stand.

  “Told to bugger off, were you?” one of the reporters sneered at her.

  Bessie didn’t even favour him with a glance. A moment later Bessie could see two enormous men walking towards her from the other side of the gate. The men were clearly hired muscle and the reporters all turned their backs as the men approached.

  “You guys should just go, you know,” the taller of the guards said conversationally as he reached the gate.

  “We’ve checked with the police. We’re perfectly within our rights to stand here on this side of the gate,” one of the reporters answered.

  “Whatever,” the guard muttered. “You want to stand out in the rain all day, that’s your business.”

  It wasn’t just raining, it was cold and overcast, and Bessie felt a momentary pang of sympathy for the men and women who were stuck watching a gate and hoping that something might happen. That pang vanished a second later as it became obvious to the reporters that the guards were there to open the gate to admit Bessie. Then the questions began to fly once more.

  “Who is she?”

  “Why does she get in?”

  “Give us a name, love, just something we can work with?”

  Photography equipment was pulled from bags, and suddenly Bessie found herself being photographed from every possible angle as the guards unlocked the gates and opened them just far enough for Bessie to squeeze through. She quickly folded up her umbrella and slipped through. A moment later, both men opened huge um
brellas over Bessie’s head and they used them to block her from the cameras and the prying eyes of the press.

  “Let’s get you safely inside, then,” one of the men said to Bessie as the trio began to walk back down the long driveway.

  Bessie had never been to Thie yn Traie, although she had heard a lot about it, especially when it was being constructed. Of course, she could see it from a distance every time she walked along Laxey Beach, but it was set quite far back from the water’s edge, perched halfway up a small cliff, and Bessie had never felt the need to explore more closely. As she and her escorts rounded a curve in the drive, she suddenly saw the house in all of its splendour.

  It was enormous. From the beach side of the property, Bessie had only ever been able to see a large two-storey home set into the fairly steep cliff, but from here she could see the sheer scale of the mansion. Again, she wondered about planning permission as she studied the multi-storey structure. Vikky Pierce had told her that the “cottage” had several separate wings, and now Bessie could see how they seemed to spread, tentacle-like, all across the ground.

  She shook her head. The whole thing was a monstrous tribute to money over style and good taste. She could hardly wait to see what the inside was like.

  The two men escorted her towards a side door near the row of garages. As they approached, Bessie counted garage space for seven cars. The door swung open as they reached it and Bessie found herself engulfed in a huge hug.

  “Ah, Aunt Bessie, it's been too long,” Bahey said when she finally ended the embrace. “You look wonderful, at least for our age.”

  Bessie smiled ruefully. Bahey was only about ten years younger than Bessie. When they first met, that gap had seemed insurmountable to them both. Bessie, in her early twenties, had little time for girls just into their teens. Now the gap seemed tiny as the two women inspected each other's lined and careworn faces.

  “I think it was Tynwald Day, about three years ago, when I saw you last,” Bessie recalled. “You mentioned then that you had just retired.”

  “You still have a great memory,” Bahey sighed. “I seem to forget everything these days.”

  Bessie ignored the compliment. “Didn't you say you'd purchased an apartment in Douglas?” she asked instead.

  “I did, indeed,” Bahey nodded. “Mr. Pierce was kind enough to help me save up for my retirement over the years. Thanks to him, I had enough to buy a little apartment outright. It’s just off the promenade. You should come and visit me one day.”

  “I'd like that,” Bessie told her. There were so few of her own generation left; she would quite enjoy an afternoon of reminiscing with the slightly younger woman.

  “But you haven't come to waste time talking with me,” Bahey shook her head. “It's kind of you come and pay your respects; so few people do these days.”

  Bahey looked around as if checking that they were alone. “Lots of people ringing and calling around to try to get the latest skeet, but no one who really cares,” she said, nodding seriously at Bessie.

  Bessie wasn't sure that she qualified as someone who really cared, but she did feel that her visit was motivated by the right reasons. She murmured what she hoped Bahey would take as an appropriate response.

  “I have to ask,” Bahey said with tears in her eyes. “You saw the body; do you think Mr. Daniel suffered at all?”

  Bessie shook her head. “I'm sure it was quick,” she told the younger woman, patting her arm as she spoke.

  “I'm sorry,” Bahey said, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “I never married, never had children. Mr. Danny and Mr. Donny always felt a little like my own boys. I'm sure Mrs. Pierce would forgive me for feeling that way.”

  “Of course,” Bessie soothed. “You must have been pleased when Daniel found a wife, then?” she asked suggestively.

  Bahey scoffed. “She has them all fooled, the Pierces, but I can see through her. She didn't really love Mr. Daniel; she was just after his money.”

  “And now she's got it,” Bessie said.

  “Not if Mr. Pierce and Mr. Donny have anything to do with it,” Bahey whispered. “Oh, they still seem to think she’s wonderful, but they’re businessmen first. They don’t think Miss Vikky should inherit everything after just a couple days of marriage. They're hinting that they might contest the will unless Miss Vikky takes a small payoff and goes away quietly once all the fuss has died down.”

  “Really?” Bessie shook her head. “I guess I should be glad that there was never enough money in my family to cause these sorts of fights.”

  “Aye, mine either,” Bahey shrugged. “I got a little bit of money when me mum and dad passed on, but I let my sister have everything else. I was across and being looked after by the Pierces well enough. Now that I’m back on the island, she’s given me some of me mum’s old furniture to make my apartment feel more like home. It’ll all go to her son anyway, when I go, but at least we never had to fight over it.”

  “I remember your sister as well,” Bessie said. “She was a school teacher in Foxdale for many years, right?”

  “Aye, she’s still there. Foxdale don’t suit everyone, but she seems to like it. Her husband passed about nine years ago, but she reckons she’s happy enough on her own now that her boy is grown and gone. But enough of this reminiscing. You’ll have to come and visit me soon so we can catch up properly. You came to see the Pierces. Come through to the great room and I’ll let Mr. and Mrs. Pierce know that you’re here.”

  Bessie followed Bahey down a long corridor from the garage wing into the main house. There was so much to see that it was hard for her to take it all in. The house appeared spotless and perfectly maintained. Walls looked freshly painted and carpets didn’t look as if anyone had ever walked on them. Bessie tried to peek into as many rooms as she could as they walked along, but Bahey walked too fast for her get more than a vague impression of expensively furnished but soulless spaces.

  At the end of the corridor, Bahey flung open a door and switched on some lights. “Here we are,” she told Bessie. “The great room,” she said in a hushed tone. She ushered Bessie inside, turning on more lights as they walked into the space.

  Bessie turned around slowly as she studied the room. It was huge, certainly larger than the whole ground floor of her cottage, with massively high ceilings as well. It was informally divided into several areas, each containing groups of chairs and tables. The back wall of the room was almost entirely made up of windows that stretched at least two-stories high. There was a long bar covered in black granite just in front of the windows, with bar stools dotted along in front of it. While Bahey had turned on several lights, with the overcast skies outside, the room felt cold and unwelcoming.

  Bessie turned to Bahey. “It’s sort of a grim room, isn’t it?”

  Bahey laughed. “I’ve always thought so,” she agreed. “But the family loves it in here. Anyway, I’ll just tell Mr. and Mrs. Pierce you’re here.”

  Bahey disappeared back through the door and Bessie took another slow look around the room. She didn’t like it any better the second time. Unwilling to choose which area to sit in, she made her way over to the wall of windows. She could just about make out her own cottage, a tiny dot on the horizon. The police tape still blocked off the beach and Bessie could see a single uniformed officer walking slowly along the perimeter of the tape. Whether he was looking for evidence or just guarding the area, she couldn’t tell.

  Bessie swung around when she heard the door open behind her. She immediately recognised Mr. and Mrs. Pierce from their annual summer visits. Mr. Pierce was tall and grey-haired, with broad shoulders and an almost military bearing. His wife was petite and looked exhausted and much older than the late fifties that Bessie knew was her age. The couple took a few steps into the room and stared at Bessie.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Pierce, please accept my deepest sympathies for your loss,” she said as she crossed to them across the large room.

  Mrs. Pierce looked at her with unfocussed eyes. “Do y
ou have children?” she asked in a shaking voice.

  “No, I was never blessed with children of my own,” Bessie replied, taking the woman’s hand as she reached her side. “I can’t begin to imagine the pain you’re suffering.”

  “It’s unbearable,” the woman told her, squeezing Bessie’s hand painfully. “I can’t bear it. The doctor has had to give me piles of pills just so that I can breathe.”

  Bessie nodded. “I am so very sorry,” she repeated. “I’m not sure if you even remember me, but I live in the cottage just down the beach from you.” Bessie waved her hand vaguely in the direction of her home.

  “Of course we remember you. Everyone who spends any time in Laxey at all knows Aunt Bessie,” Daniel Pierce, Sr., answered brusquely. “It’s kind of you to pay your respects.”

  Bessie nodded and pulled her hand away from Mrs. Pierce just long enough to shake hands with the dead man’s father. Although Mr. Pierce seemed steady enough, when she was close enough to shake his hand Bessie realised that a lot of his strength was currently coming from whisky.

  “And of course you found the body,” a voice from the door startled them all. Bessie turned to find a heavy-set man of about thirty-five staring at her.

  “Ah, Donny, there you are,” Mr. Pierce waved the man into the room. “Aunt Bessie, this is our younger son, Donny. Donny, Aunt Bessie is a neighbour who came to pay her respects.”

  “And she’s the one who found the body,” Donny repeated himself.

  “Are you?” Daniel said, looking at Bessie with confusion on his face.

  “Well, yes, technically,” Bessie admitted, not knowing why she should feel guilty about that.

  “I didn’t realise,” Daniel told her. “I don’t know that it really matters.” He shook his head and then headed towards the bar. “Anyone else need a drink?”

  “You shouldn’t be drinking this early in the day,” Donny told his father.

  “I’ll have a nice glass of white wine.” Mrs. Pierce had followed her husband to the bar.