Aunt Bessie's Holiday

by Diana Xarissa

  “They took my fingerprints,” Doona said, her eyes staring out towards the lake behind the building. “I couldn’t really argue, as they’re already on file somewhere from when I was hired by the constabulary back home.”

  “They took mine as well,” Bessie told her.

  “Why would they take yours?” Doona demanded. “You didn’t even go near the door.”

  “Inspector Hopkins said it was in case I’d touched the door or the door frame at all,” Bessie replied.

  “You never even got close,” Doona said.

  “But she doesn’t know that for sure,” Bessie replied.

  “I think she’s going to compare our fingerprints to any they can get off the murder weapon,” Doona said bleakly.

  “Of course she is,” Bessie said. “Did you see a weapon?”

  “No, but it must have been a knife of some sort, I think.”

  “It doesn’t matter, really. We were both fast asleep in our beds when Charles was killed. I’m sure the good inspector will find the culprit very quickly.”

  “I went out for a walk in the middle of the night,” Doona said quietly.

  “Oh, dear. You should have woken me if you couldn’t sleep. I would have kept you company,” Bessie said.

  “I didn’t want to disturb you, and I needed some fresh air and space to think,” Doona replied. “I just wanted to be alone.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “That’s just it,” Doona said with a sigh. “I walked into the little village and then beyond it. It was so peaceful and quiet that I just kept walking and walking for over an hour.”

  “Did you see anyone?”

  “Sure, there were a few people working at places all over the site. I even saw Charles, at a distance, and then hid in the shadows until he went inside the Squirrel’s Drey.”

  “He didn’t see you?”

  “No, he was on his mobile, shouting and waving his arms around. I don’t think he’d have noticed me even if I hadn’t hidden.”

  “Do you have any idea who he was talking to?” Bessie asked.

  Doona shook her head. “I was too far away to hear him clearly, even though he was yelling,” she replied. “I was just thinking about trying to get closer when he disconnected and went inside.”

  “Was that on your way out or back to the cabin?”

  “It was on my way out. But I walked around the perimeter of the entire park after that, so I didn’t actually come back past the Squirrel’s Drey.”

  “And you didn’t notice anyone skulking in the shadows and then following Charles back inside?” Bessie asked.

  “I wish I had, but no, as far as I could tell, Charles was alone. Everything was all locked up everywhere, and I saw Charles lock the door behind himself when he went back inside as well. Either the killer was already in the building, or he or she had a key.”

  “Or Charles let him or her in later,” Bessie added.

  “Or some other random person with a key opened the door for the killer,” Doona sighed. “I’m glad this is all Margaret’s problem and not mine.”

  “I’m just glad she’s the one who has to deal with Lawrence Jenkins. He seems thoroughly unpleasant,” Bessie said.

  “The inspector was quite surprised that I’d never met him,” Doona told her. “Apparently he and Charles were partners in a number of different ventures over many years.”

  “Do we know anything about the man?”

  “Charles never mentioned him to me,” Doona replied. “I didn’t know about Charles’s business ventures, either. And, I still don’t have any idea what they might entail.”

  “Maybe you were entitled to more in the divorce,” Bessie suggested. “You should ring your advocate.”

  Doona flushed. “I’m not going to think about that right now,” she said firmly. “I’m more worried about needing my advocate because I’ve been arrested for murder.”

  Bessie laughed and then stopped abruptly when she realised that Doona was serious. “I know you didn’t kill Charles,” she said. “I’m sure the inspector will work it out quickly.”

  “But I’m a suspect,” Doona said sadly. “And I don’t have any alibi.”

  “You’d need means and motive, even if you had the opportunity,” Bessie replied, feeling as if she were quoting John Rockwell.

  “As I said, I think he was stabbed. Knives aren’t hard to come by, especially in a building with that many restaurants in it.”

  Bessie nodded. “I suppose that’s true,” she said reluctantly.

  “As for motive, I didn’t exactly keep quiet about my dislike for the man.”

  “Margaret Hopkins seemed to know what she was doing,” Bessie said. “I’ll bet she’ll have the whole thing wrapped up by bedtime.”

  “I wish I had your confidence,” Doona replied gloomily. “I just hope she has it solved before it’s time to head home. I have to be back at work a week from today.”

  “John won’t fire you if you get held up,” Bessie said. “But what does this do to our holiday? If Charles was paying for it, are we going to have to pay now ourselves?”

  “I talked to Mai when I rang to reschedule our walk. She didn’t know about Charles yet, so I pretended I didn’t either. Instead, I asked about how I’d come to win the contest. It sounds like Charles set it up so that as far as everyone here knows, I did actually win the week’s holiday. I gather the park gives away similar packages several times a year. Unless something changes, I’m guessing we’ll be fine. If we have to stay after our week is up, that’s another matter, of course.”

  “I can’t imagine they’d be able to accommodate us,” Bessie said. “Do you think they’d have a place for us to stay?”

  “I didn’t ask Mai that,” Doona replied. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  “Fair enough,” Bessie agreed.

  “Margaret did tell me that I’m not to leave the site without her permission,” Doona said with a sigh. “I’m not sure what that does to our trip to Torver Castle on Friday.”

  “Friday is a long way off,” Bessie said airily. “Besides, I asked her and she said we could go as long as it’s all been arranged by the park.”

  “Oh, good. I know you’re looking forward to that.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  Doona shrugged. “After today, I’m not sure I’m up to meeting any ghosts,” she replied.

  “I don’t think anyone has seen the ghosts at Torver Castle since the turn of the century,” Bessie told her. “No one lives there now and there are all sorts of reports of lights going on and off and mysterious noises from behind the walls after hours, but there’s never been a confirmed sighting of anything.”

  “Do you believe in ghosts?” Doona demanded.

  “I believe in unexplained phenomena,” Bessie replied. “The island has its own set of ghost stories and I’ve spoken to people who swear they’ve seen ghosts over the years. Some of them are very convincing.” She shrugged. “I suppose I’m willing to keep an open mind, even though I’ve never seen a ghost myself. What about you?”

  “I know people who claim to have seen Charlotte,” Doona replied, referring to Charlotte de la Tremouille, the wife of the Seventh Earl of Derby. “But we all dragged our boyfriends down to Castle Rushen when we were teenagers, hoping to see her. I never did.”

  Bessie nodded. She was familiar with the legend. Charlotte had been staying at Castle Rushen while her husband travelled to England to fight on behalf of the king during the English Civil War. It was there that she received the news that he’d been captured and beheaded by the Parliamentarian forces. According to island folklore, Charlotte haunted Castle Rushen’s throne room, waiting there anxiously for her husband to return from the war.

  Local tradition had it that when a man takes you to the castle for a visit, the countess will tell you whether he’s your perfect match or not. Charlotte’s marriage, unusually for her social class at the time, had been a love match, which made her story all the more tr
agic and was meant to give her the ability to recognise true love matches in castle visitors. Women visiting with their dates were advised to leave their suitors behind and enter the throne room on their own. When Charlotte appeared, if she was crying, you were with the wrong man, but if she was smiling, you’d found your soul mate.

  The story had been around for hundreds of years. Bessie herself had never tried it, but she knew others of her generation who had, one or two of whom claimed they’d seen the ghost. Over the decades, the story seemed to go in and out of favour.

  “It’s been years since I heard of anyone visiting Charlotte before they agreed to get engaged,” Bessie remarked. “At one time, everyone seemed to be doing it.”

  “Well, I wish she’d have popped out and let me know not to marry Charles,” Doona said. “Although I never actually visited Castle Rushen with him, so maybe that’s my fault. She didn’t warn me about my first husband though, either, and I visited the castle with him many times.”

  Bessie shivered. “All this talk about ghosts is making me feel uncomfortable,” she told Doona.

  “I’m mostly feeling hungry,” Doona replied. “I never did get any breakfast, aside from an odd biscuit while we waited to be questioned. It must be time for some lunch, right?”

  “It’s well past that,” Bessie exclaimed when she checked her watch. “It’s nearly two o’clock.” It felt as if the morning had been very long, as she’d spent most of it doing nothing much, but it also didn’t seem as if it should be two o’clock already.

  “In that case, let’s go and find something to eat before the restaurants shut,” Doona suggested.

  “Did you have anywhere special in mind?” Bessie asked.

  “Not really. Did you?”

  Bessie smiled. “I thought maybe we should go to L’Expérience Anglaise,” she said. “The food was delicious last night and I was thinking that another visit might help me remember more of what happened yesterday.”

  “We are not snooping,” Doona said sternly. “Margaret Hopkins is quite capable of solving this murder.”

  “I didn’t suggest any such thing,” Bessie said in a hurt tone. “You have to admit the food was wonderful there.”

  Doona nodded. “It really was,” she agreed.

  “So, let’s go,” Bessie said. “I’m starving as well.”

  Chapter Six

  Both women took a minute to freshen up. Bessie ran a comb through her hair, making faces at her reflection as she did so. She brushed some powder across her nose and added a slick of lipstick before heading out to meet Doona in the sitting room. Doona took a few minutes longer to wash her tear-stained face and reapply her makeup.

  “If we eat a big meal now, maybe we should just stop in the little grocery store after we’re done and get a few things in for an evening meal in our lodge,” Doona suggested as they walked to the door.

  “That sounds good,” Bessie replied.

  “I stuck my head in earlier and they have a nice selection,” Doona told her. “They even have their own bakery, so we can get some bread and cheese and meat and just curl up with some wine and the telly, if you want.”

  “I think I’ll have a book instead of the telly,” Bessie told her. “But otherwise it sounds wonderful.”

  They walked back to the village slowly. Bessie smiled to herself as they crossed the small bridge. She’d have to remember to tell Doona that their neighbour used to be with the police. Now didn’t seem like the time to mention that, though.

  The restaurant was mostly empty when they arrived.

  “Table for two?” the girl at the front desk asked.

  Bessie recognised her as Monique Beck, the chef’s wife.

  “Yes, please,” she replied.

  The girl led them to a small table in the back of the room. It wasn’t far from where they’d sat the previous evening. Monique handed them menus and took their drink order. Both women stuck to soft drinks.

  “Everything sounds wonderful,” Bessie said as she read through the menu.

  “I’m going to have that fish dish that we had a tiny portion of last night,” Doona said.

  “That was good, but I think I’d prefer the chicken,” Bessie said as she remembered their feast from the previous evening.

  A loud crashing noise interrupted their discussion. The door to the kitchen swung open, and as Monique emerged, they could hear another crash from behind the door.

  “Is everything okay?” Bessie asked the girl as she delivered their drinks.

  “We’re all just a little on edge,” Monique answered in her lilting French accent. “We don’t know what’s going on in the main building and that has upset Nathan. Good chefs are very sensitive.”

  Another noise from the kitchen, less a crash than a bang, had Monique turning pale. “I’ll be right back to get your order,” she said quickly before she headed back into the kitchen.

  Bessie looked at Doona. “I wonder what will happen in the kitchen when Nathan finds out what’s actually going on,” she whispered.

  “Unless he already knows,” Doona replied.

  “You suspect the chef of murdering Charles?”

  “I suspect everyone,” Doona replied in a tired voice.

  Monique was back a moment later. She took their order, but it was obvious that she was distracted and Bessie had to ask her twice about side dishes before Monique answered. Finally, after writing everything down, Monique turned back towards the kitchen. She was stopped by another customer.

  “This isn’t what I ordered,” the man said angrily. “We waited nearly an hour for our food and most of it is wrong.”

  Monique flushed. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’ll get it fixed right away.”

  She took the plate of food and walked back to the kitchen. Bessie shook her head.

  “Monique is at least as upset as her husband,” Bessie remarked.

  Harold Butler walked into the restaurant and headed straight for the kitchen. Bessie thought about speaking to him, but he dashed past so quickly she didn’t really get a chance. A moment later there was another loud noise from the kitchen. After a few minutes, Harold emerged.

  “I’m very sorry, ladies and gentlemen,” he said in a loud voice. “We’ve had a very difficult morning here at the park and it’s causing troubles with everything throughout Lakeview. All of your meals are on the house and I’m going to work with Monique to get you what you ordered as quickly as possible.”

  He began moving from table to table, talking to each of the small groups that were there, making notes of everyone’s complaints. As so few tables were occupied, it wasn’t long before he reached Bessie and Doona.

  “Have you been waiting terribly long?” he asked, his usually cheery tone absent.

  “We just arrived a few minutes ago and Monique just took our order,” Bessie answered. “We’re fine.”

  “Excellent,” he said. “I would like a chance to talk to you two, but first I have to sort out this mess.” He was gone before Bessie or Doona could respond.

  “I wonder what he wants,” Bessie said.

  “I don’t want to know,” Doona replied sourly.

  Monique was back a minute later with a sliced baguette and butter. She dropped them on the table and left without saying a word.

  Bessie and Doona ate their bread and watched as Harold worked the room. Wine began to flow at several tables and Monique was suddenly busy delivering food all around the room. It was only a couple of minutes before she was at their table, delivering their order.

  “Let me know if you need anything else,” she muttered as she walked away.

  Bessie looked down at her plate. “It doesn’t look as good as it did last night,” she said. She poked at the chicken breast. “It’s not as tender, either.”

  Doona was inspecting her own lunch. “This doesn’t smell the same as last night,” she said quietly. She took a bite and made a face. “It isn’t the same and it isn’t very good,” she said.

  Bessie was shak
ing her head. “Mine isn’t very nice, either,” she said. “I imagine Nathan is very distracted.”

  The door to the restaurant suddenly swung open. Bessie froze as Jessica Howe strode into the room.

  “Where is he?” she demanded in a loud voice.

  Harold walked quickly over from where he’d been placating customers and grabbed Jessica’s arm. “Please don’t shout,” he hissed at her.

  “I won’t shout if you tell me where that slimy, lying, cheating….” She trailed off when she spotted Doona.

  “You, I knew I recognised you last night. We got drunk together once, about two years ago. What are you doing here?”

  Harold glanced at Doona and then back at Jessica. “Let’s not bother the other guests,” he said nervously.

  “Where’s Charles?” she demanded. “He’s hiding from me somewhere because he knows I’m going to kill him when I find him. Tell me where he is.”

  “I don’t know,” Harold said, shrugging. “I’m just doing my job.”

  Jessica’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying,” she said fiercely. “Before I kill Charles, I’m going to have him fire you.”

  Harold laughed, a strangely nasty sound. “Surely you realise that if Charles could fire me, he would have done so before now. He may have my old job, but he can’t get rid of me.”

  “Jessica? What’s going on?” The man standing behind Jessica looked about sixty. He was wearing the sort of very expensive casual wear that suggested he’d have been much more comfortable in a business suit. His eyes, as he scanned the room, were cold. They settled on Doona for a moment before glancing at Bessie. Bessie felt a chill as her eyes met his.

  “I was just thinking about getting some lunch,” Jessica said. “But they’re done serving lunch for today.”

  “Really? I thought perhaps you were looking for your lover,” the man said. “I know where he ought to be, hell. And if I find him before you do, I’ll be happy to put him there.”

  The crashing noise came from inside the dining room this time. Bessie was surprised to see that Monique had dropped a tray full of dishes. The girl looked pale and exhausted as she bent down and started cleaning up the mess.