Bessie stopped herself when she spotted the inspector walking towards them. The constable jumped to his feet again.
“Oh, good, there are few left,” the woman muttered as she scooped up the last of the biscuits. “This is breakfast,” she told Bessie, “and probably lunch as well.”
“Surely, with all this food around, you’ll be able to get a proper lunch,” Bessie said.
The woman shrugged. “We’ll see. Lots to do before lunchtime, anyway. I’m ready to interview you now.”
Bessie stood up slowly. “Where’s Doona gone?” she asked. She hadn’t seen her friend come back out of the staff area.
“She said to tell you she’d meet you back at your cabin when I’ve finished with you,” the woman told her. “Shall we?”
Bessie forced herself to smile and nod.
Chapter Five
The inspector spent a moment giving the young policeman his new orders before she led Bessie to the small office she was using for interviews.
“Have a seat,” she said, waving Bessie into an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair.
Bessie sat down and frowned. The seat was hard and she was tired of sitting anyway.
“I know it’s not the most comfortable chair around, but I’ll try to keep this brief,” the inspector told her. “Let’s start with your name and go from there.”
“I’m Miss Elizabeth Cubbon, but everyone calls me Bessie.”
The woman made a note in a small book and then smiled. “If you don’t mind, then, I’ll call you Bessie as well,” she said. “And you can call me Margaret.”
“Thank you,” Bessie said, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the informality, but not about to argue.
“So, what brings you to Lakeview?” Margaret asked, leaning back in her chair. The casual pose didn’t fool Bessie. The woman wasn’t going to miss a thing.
“My friend, Doona Moore, won a week here in some contest,” Bessie replied. “She invited me to join her.”
“Lakeview is a family holiday park. You didn’t mind being two single ladies surrounded by large family groups?”
“Not at all. There are a number of activities for the adults, including art classes and a book club,” Bessie told her. “There’s plenty for us to do.”
“And Mrs. Moore didn’t mind coming to the park where her ex-husband was general manager?”
“Doona didn’t know Charles was here,” Bessie replied, working hard to keep her voice under control.
“Do you think she still would have come if she had known?”
“I doubt it. Charles broke her heart and it took her a long time to recover. I don’t think she ever wanted to see the man again.”
Margaret nodded. “Take me through your day, yesterday, please.”
Bessie took a deep breath and then launched into as succinct an account of her Sunday as she could manage. Margaret didn’t interrupt as Bessie told her about their journey, the champagne reception and the dinner that followed. When she’d concluded, Bessie sat back in the miserable chair and waited for the questions that would follow.
“Did either of you leave your accommodation during the night?” Was the not unexpected first question.
“I certainly didn’t,” Bessie replied. “I assume Doona didn’t either, but I was in my room with the door shut, so I suppose she could have.”
Bessie felt as if she’d just betrayed her friend, but she wanted to be sure to be scrupulously honest with the inspector.
Margaret raised an eyebrow and then made another note. “Is there anyone else here that you knew before your arrival yesterday?” she asked now.
Bessie shrugged. “Not as far as I know,” she replied. “I suppose there could be, though. It’s a very large park and we’ve only been here, well, less than twenty-four hours.”
“What about Mrs. Moore? Did she know anyone here other than her ex-husband?”
“You’d have to ask her that,” Bessie replied. “She didn’t mention anything like that to me, aside from recognising Jessica Howe, as I told you earlier.”
Margaret nodded. “Neither of you knew Lawrence Jenkins or Harold Butler before your arrival?”
“I certainly didn’t,” Bessie said. “I suppose Doona might have had contact with one or the other when she was booking the holiday, but she didn’t mention it to me if she had.”
“Mr. Jenkins was Charles Adams’s business partner and had been for at least ten years. I find it surprising that Mrs. Moore was married to Charles and yet never met the man,” Margaret said.
“They weren’t married for long,” Bessie said dryly.
“Actually, they may have been married for longer than you think,” the woman replied.
Before Bessie could question that remark, she continued.
“I think that’s all I need from you today,” Margaret said, standing up. “I’d just like to have one of my staff take your fingerprints, if you don’t mind.”
“Fingerprints? Why?”
“Elimination purposes,” the woman explained. “In case you touched anything in or around Charles’s office. We’ll be trying to get prints from the door frame, the handle, anything and everything.”
“I was very careful not to touch anything,” Bessie countered.
“So are you refusing to let us take your fingerprints?” Margaret asked, her tone suddenly frosty.
Bessie sighed and shook her head. “No, of course not. But you won’t find them at your crime scene.”
“Mrs. Moore suggested that I contact her supervisor, Inspector John Rockwell, on the Isle of Man if I needed any background information about her. Can you suggest someone on the island that I could talk to about you?”
“John Rockwell is a friend of mine,” Bessie told her. “I’m sure he’d be happy to answer any questions you might have about my character.”
“Did you meet the inspector through your friendship with Mrs. Moore?” the woman asked.
“Not at all,” Bessie said with a grin. “I met him over a dead body.”
The inspector gave Bessie a long hard stare and then smiled tightly. “Now I’m really looking forward to having a chat with Inspector Rockwell,” she said.
Bessie chided herself for her rather offhand words. “It’s a long story,” she said, ready to launch into it.
Margaret held up a hand. “I think I’d rather hear it from the inspector, thanks,” she said. “I’d like you to keep your focus on the body we have here.”
“I’m trying not think about that,” Bessie replied. “There was an awful lot of blood.”
“Yes, well, I’d rather you didn’t repeat that little detail. In fact, I don’t want you talking about the murder at all. If anyone asks, tell them you aren’t allowed to answer any questions, please. I have a long list of people I need to interview and I’d like to be the one breaking the news of Charles’s demise to them all.”
“I won’t say anything,” Bessie assured her. “But there are already rumours starting. The woman who served our tea thought there was a robbery.”
Margaret smiled. “That’s the sort of rumour I would like to see encouraged,” she said. “Feel free to tell people that if you like.”
Bessie shook her head. “I’d rather just say nothing,” she replied. “I don’t feel comfortable lying.”
“Well, thank you for your time,” the inspector said, opening the office door. “I know where to find you if I have any more questions. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy your holiday.”
“I’m not sure how enjoyable it’s going to be now,” Bessie said with a sigh. “I hope Doona is okay.”
“I’ll just ask that you remain on site until further notice,” Margaret added. “I’m hoping we’ll have this worked out in a day or two, but if I have further questions, I’ll want to be able to find you.”
“We’re meant to be here through Sunday,” Bessie told her. “We have signed up for an excursion to Torver Castle. I hope we can still do that on Friday.”
“As long as it’s
all been arranged through the park, I won’t argue,” the woman replied. “But I’d rather you and your friend didn’t go off on any sightseeing trips by yourselves. You told me yourself that you had plenty to do here. You enjoy that and then I can find you if I need you.”
“I just hope we won’t get bored,” Bessie muttered, feeling as if she were suddenly trapped. She and Doona hadn’t actually planned to leave the park during their week-long stay, but now, having been told they couldn’t, Bessie was contrarily seized with a desire to explore the local countryside.
Margaret didn’t reply, she simply took Bessie into another office so that one of her staff could take Bessie’s fingerprints. Once that was done, Bessie was told that she could leave. The staff loo was closed while several police officers were examining it, so Bessie headed back out to the food court to try to find somewhere to wash her hands. The fingerprint ink that covered every finger made her feel vaguely as if she were guilty of something.
As she scrubbed her hands in the nearest ladies’ loo, Bessie was aware that a couple of women were staring at her with undisguised curiosity. Bessie decided she was too old to care what they thought and merely kept scrubbing. Eventually, before the ink was completely gone, the pair left, whispering loudly about the various things they’d heard about why the police were in the park. As she was all too aware of the real reason for their presence, Bessie didn’t even bother to listen to their gossip.
With her hands clean, Bessie pulled out her mobile and rang Doona. The call wasn’t answered. As she had no idea where her friend might be, Bessie decided to head back to their lodge. If Doona wasn’t there, maybe she’d left Bessie a note. Barring that, at least Bessie could read a book and wait for her there.
She walked as quickly as she could through the crowded food court area. It was getting close to lunchtime and the tables were filling up. As Bessie reached the doors to the outside, she heard her name.
“Mrs. Cubbon? Wait for me.” Bessie looked around and spotted the gentleman from the cabin next to theirs walking rapidly towards her. She could see a table full of his family behind him and several of the members were watching his progress.
“Mrs. Cubbon? I hope I’ve remembered that correctly,” he said as he reached her side.
“It’s Miss Cubbon, actually,” she replied. “And you’re Mr. Cheatham, I believe?”
“You have a good memory, Miss Cubbon,” the man replied. “If you’re heading back to Foxglove Close, I’ll walk with you, if I may.”
“But what about your family?” Bessie asked, gesturing towards the table near the centre of the room. It seemed to her as if most of the men and women sitting at it were frowning at Bessie.
The man glanced over at them and then shook his head. He gave them a cheery wave and then offered Bessie his arm. “They’ll survive without me for one meal,” he told her.
They walked out into a warm autumn midday. Bessie took a deep breath and then sighed. “It’s a beautiful day,” she said.
“It’s quite warm for October,” the man replied. “Perfect for a holiday in the woods, wouldn’t you say, Miss Cubbon?”
“Oh, please call me Bessie,” she said. “Everyone does.”
“And I’m Andrew,” he answered. “Although no one calls me that. It seems like everyone calls me ‘dad’ or granddad,’ and sometimes I quite forget my Christian name.”
Bessie smiled. “There does seem to be rather a lot of them,” she said.
Andrew laughed. “Three children with their spouses, seven grandchildren, with two spouses there as well, and two great- grandchildren. That makes eighteen of us when we’re all together.”
“Good heavens,” Bessie gasped. “I can’t imagine organising all those people to get you all here at the same time.”
They’d reached a narrow bridge that crossed a small stream and Andrew paused to watch the water flowing for a moment. “My daughter, Helen, was in charge of that. I’m sure she sold it to her brothers as probably our last chance to have a family holiday before I die.”
Bessie wasn’t sure if he was serious or not. “I’m sorry, are you ill?” she asked after an awkward silence.
Andrew chuckled. “I’m perfectly fine and in great shape, but Helen has been predicting my imminent demise since her mother died in nineteen-seventy-three. One of these days she’ll be right, I suppose.”
“But not for many years,” Bessie said.
“You never know,” Andrew said. “Anyway, I love them all, especially the little ones, but they wear me out quite a bit and I sometimes I need a break. We’ve all been together since breakfast, so I thought I’d head back to my little oasis and have a quiet lunch on my own.”
The man didn’t seem to be in any hurry now though, as he stood and watched the stream.
“When did you last play Poohsticks?” he asked Bessie after a moment.
“Oh, goodness, I never have,” Bessie replied. “The stories weren’t a part of my childhood and I never had children of my own. I read the books, as an adult, but I never tried playing the game.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” the man said. He turned from the bridge railings and looked around. “Sticks,” he said, pointing towards a small tree nearby. A few small sticks were visible on the ground around the trunk.
“There’s a skill to picking the best sticks,” Andrew told her. “I always look for sticks that are quite streamlined, that will slide through the water the fastest.”
Again, Bessie wasn’t sure if he was serious or not. She picked up the nearest stick, a short one that still had a small leaf attached to it. “It might not be streamlined, but at least I’ll be able to tell it’s mine,” she told the man.
Andrew picked up and then discarded several sticks before selecting one. “Now we must find our spots on the bridge,” he told her. As they walked back towards the bridge, a large crowd of bicycles rode past. Bessie stepped backwards quickly, nearly knocking Andrew over.
“Steady there,” he said, his hands settling on her waist for a moment while he regained his balance.
Bessie caught her breath and flushed at the unexpected contact. She took a step forward as soon as it was safe to do so.
“Right, I’m going to stand here,” he said, moving back onto the bridge. “I think the current is fastest right about here.”
Bessie took a moment to study the stream. Andrew was probably correct, she decided. The stream did look to be moving faster right under where he was standing than anywhere else.
“Of course, as this is your first game, you get first choice of bridge position,” he said, taking a step away from the railing.
Bessie chuckled. “I think I’ll have that space, then,” she said.
Andrew nodded. “You’d be foolish not to,” he said.
She took his place at the railing and he moved a few steps to her left. “I shall count to three and then say ‘drop.’ At that point you may drop your stick.”
Bessie held her stick at arm’s length over the water. Andrew held his at the same height.
“One, two, three, drop,” Andrew said.
They both let go of their sticks and then walked quickly to the other side of the bridge. For several seconds they both watched anxiously for any sign of their sticks. Bessie was starting to think the sticks had become stuck under the bridge when she noticed something in the water.
“I think that’s my stick,” she said excitedly.
“It may just be,” Andrew said.
A moment later Bessie was certain that it was her stick that she could see. “But where has yours gone?” she asked.
“It’s just there,” Andrew pointed. “Coming out from under the bridge now.”
Bessie could just see it as it meandered past them.
“My leaf made mine easier to see,” she said.
“They always seem to take longer than I expect to come out,” Andrew told her. “But you were the clear winner. Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Bessie replied,
feeling only a little bit silly.
“But I’m sure you’re eager to get back to your friend. I mustn’t keep you, especially after your rather eventful morning,” he said.
“I just hope Doona’s at the lodge,” Bessie replied as they continued their walk.
“There are all sorts of rumours flying around the park as to what happened this morning,” Andrew said in a conversational tone.
“I’m sure there are,” Bessie said levelly.
Andrew chuckled. “And you aren’t going to answer any questions,” he said.
Bessie shrugged. “I really can’t,” she told him.
They’d reached the entrance to Foxglove Close.
Andrew slowed his pace. “I won’t try to change your mind,” he said. “But I was a cop for a great many years and I know a murder investigation when I see one unfolding. I hope you and your friend aren’t caught up in it. If you ever need anyone to talk to, I’m right next door.”
Bessie was so busy processing his words that she barely remembered to mutter “good-bye” to him as he disappeared into number seven. She turned her key and pushed open her door, hoping her friend would be there.
She found Doona on their patio, pretending to read one of the book club books. Bessie could tell that Doona had been crying and she quickly sat down in the chair next to her. After putting an arm around her friend, Bessie waited for Doona to speak.
“It doesn’t feel real,” Doona said after a moment.
“I can’t imagine how you must be feeling,” Bessie replied.
Doona pulled back from Bessie and took a deep breath. “I really don’t want to talk about it,” she said firmly.
Bessie opened her mouth to argue, but the look on Doona’s face had her snapping it shut again.
“We’re meant to be on holiday and I don’t intend to let Charles’s death spoil that,” Doona said tightly. “I’ve already rung and rescheduled our woodland walk for tomorrow morning at eight. We didn’t have anything else scheduled for today, so I thought maybe, after lunch, we could go to the pool.”
“I suppose we could,” Bessie said slowly, her mind racing. She couldn’t help but feel as if they had a lot discuss, but she understood Doona wanting to put the whole thing out of her mind as well.
Aunt Bessie's Holiday Page 8
