“I’m sure I’ll leave some for tomorrow,” Doona said. “But right now I’m starving. I didn’t get enough lunch.”
“No, me either,” Bessie agreed, adding one of the apple tarts to her selections as well.
At the checkout, they billed everything to their cabin, as they’d been told they could do.
“It’s going to be a huge shock if we get the bill for all of this at the end of the week,” Doona whispered as they headed out of the store.
“We’ll sort it out if it happens,” Bessie said. She wasn’t going to let the uncertainty spoil her holiday. If they had to pay for everything themselves, well, she could afford it, and she would pay for Doona’s share as well if Doona needed her to. Bessie had always been very careful with money, and the clever investments that her advocate had made on her behalf over the years meant that she had more than enough to meet her modest needs. Paying for the holiday wouldn’t make more than a tiny dent in her bank account.
They made their way through the building towards the exit doors. Bessie felt her eyes being drawn towards the door to the staff offices, even as she tried not to look.
“Everyone is focussed on those doors,” Doona hissed. “I wonder why?”
Bessie glanced around and saw that Doona was right. The usually bustling food court area was strangely quiet and all eyes seemed to be fixed on the door marked “staff.” A moment later, the door swung open and Bessie understood why.
A man walked out backwards, followed by the sort of wheeled stretcher that is found in ambulances. A second man was pushing the stretcher. They both kept their heads down and headed straight out of the building where Bessie could now see an ambulance was parked near the doors. The body on the stretcher was covered with a sheet from head to toe, and the two men loaded it into the back of the vehicle. No one in the food court moved as the ambulance drove slowly away.
Bessie and Doona followed the men to the doors as the room began to return to normal. Outside, Bessie took a deep breath, feeling sadder than she thought she should. She was surprised to see Mai, Monique and Nathan all standing in front of the French restaurant.
“Who did they put in the ambulance?” Mai demanded, her face pale.
“And why did they drive away so slowly? Why no flashing lights? Is someone dead?” Monique threw out the questions so quickly that Bessie didn’t know where to start with answering them.
“I’m sorry to inform you that Charles Adams is dead,” Margaret said in a cool voice from behind Bessie. “I’m sure you understand that I have a few more questions for each of you now.”
Monique gasped and then swooned. Nathan caught her just before she crashed to the ground. While he looked around helplessly, Mai began to scream.
Chapter Seven
Joe Klein was quick to deal with the screaming Mai. Nathan managed to get Monique into a sitting position on the ground, and the colour slowly began to return to her face. Before anyone could speak, someone behind Bessie began to laugh. She spun around and was surprised to find Herbert Howe standing to one side, watching the scene as it unfolded.
“Best news I’ve heard in a long time,” he said loudly when he realised everyone was looking at him. “I can’t wait to tell Jessica.”
“Tell me what?” Jessica walked into the middle of the space. She looked from her husband to Monique, who was still sitting on the ground, and then back around again. Her eyes narrowed as she spotted Doona, but she didn’t speak.
“He got what was coming to him,” Herbert said in a gleeful voice. “I hope it was a very painful heart attack or maybe he choked to death on his own arrogance? Come on, what happened to him?”
Margaret looked steadily at the man for a moment before she spoke. “You must be Herbert Howe. We’ve been looking for you. I have some questions I’d like to ask you about last night.”
“What’s going on?” Jessica demanded. “Herbert, what have you done?”
“And you’re Jessica Howe,” Margaret continued. “You’re on my list as well. We wanted to find you before the body was removed, but no one seemed to know exactly where you were.”
“What body?” Jessica snapped. “What is everyone talking about?”
“Charles!” Mai shouted, tears streaming down her face. “Charles is dead.”
Jessica turned pale and one hand clutched her throat. Bessie watched as she swallowed hard and then turned towards her husband. “You killed him,” she said in a shocked voice. “After all this time and all the threats, you actually killed him.”
Herbert laughed harshly. “If I had, I’d have made sure no one ever found the body,” he said.
“I think that’s enough discussion out here,” Margaret spoke loudly. “Joe, can you please bring everyone inside? They can all wait in the conference room while I speak to each person on his or her own.”
“Dinner service starts in less than an hour,” Nathan objected.
“I think you’re going to have to cancel dinner for tonight,” Margaret told him.
“But we can’t,” Monique said as she struggled to get up. “People have bookings. We can’t disappoint them.”
“I’m sure we’ll be able to work something out,” Harold said smoothly from the edge of the crowd. “I’ll take charge of rebooking everyone into other restaurants. You need to do whatever Inspector Hopkins asks.”
“Thank you, Mr. Butler,” Margaret said. She spun on her heel and moved back into the main building. A pair of uniformed officers helped Joe Klein round up the five people the inspector wanted to interview and then escorted them into the building as well. Bessie and Doona exchanged glances.
“Let’s get back to our cabin,” Doona whispered. “I’ve had quite enough excitement for one day.”
They were only a few steps away from the building when Andrew Cheatham fell into step beside Bessie.
“So, Charles Adams was murdered,” he said in a conversational tone. “I don’t know who any of the people back there were, but I sure am curious.”
Bessie grinned. No doubt the former policeman was feeling left out on the sidelines. “Doona, did I mention that our new neighbour used to be a policeman?” she asked her friend.
“Did he now? Would you like to join us for an evening meal?” Doona asked the man.
“I’d be delighted,” the man said, smiling brightly.
In number eight, the two women did a quick tidy up for their guest.
“He seems quite nice,” Bessie remarked. “I hope we can talk to him about the case like we do with John.”
“Except we aren’t getting involved in this case,” Doona said sharply. “I invited him so that we can get a different perspective on everything, but we are not getting involved in any investigation.”
“Of course not,” Bessie agreed. Unless Margaret Hopkins starts looking at you as a suspect, she added to herself.
When Andrew knocked on their door a short time later, the friends were relaxing with glasses of wine on their patio.
“Come and join us,” Bessie invited him in. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
“I’m not much of a drinker,” he said in an apologetic tone. “I’ll have a fizzy drink if you have one. Otherwise, water is fine.”
Bessie showed him out to the patio and then went back inside and got his drink. When she went back outside, he and Doona were silently watching the families on their bikes going past.
“Why aren’t you out with your family?” Bessie asked the man. She flushed as she realised that the question sounded somewhat rude. “I mean, we’re happy to have you here, but I would have thought you’d be having dinner with them.”
“The children and their spouses are going out for a fancy meal tonight. They’ve left all of the grandchildren and great-grandchildren together in one of the cabins with a dozen pizzas and half the merchandise from the candy store. I didn’t really fancy joining either group,” he replied.
Bessie laughed. “I’d take the fancy dinner over the pizza party any day.”
&
nbsp; “But if I’m there, they can’t talk about me,” Andrew retorted. “This way they can have a serious discussion about my physical and mental health. Someone, and I know exactly who, will suggest that it’s time for me to move into a home and then they can all argue through five courses about what’s best for me.” He shook his head. “If I’m there, it spoils all their fun.”
“And people wonder why I don’t regret never having children,” Bessie commented.
Andrew laughed. “Oh, I love my children and their respective spouses. And I know they do everything out of love and concern. I just don’t enjoy being discussed as if I’m a small child. Anyway, I’d much rather talk about murder.”
“But what makes you think we’ll want to talk about it?” Bessie had to ask.
“I rang a few people this afternoon,” Andrew told her. “Once I realised that the police were working a murder case and my lovely next-door neighbours were involved in some way, I rang a few connections to find out what was going on.”
“You checked up on us?” Bessie asked.
“I’m a cop,” he said flatly. “That doesn’t change when you retire.”
“What did you find out?” Doona demanded.
“I found out that you were from the Isle of Man,” he replied. “As it happens, I’m passingly acquainted with your Lieutenant Governor. I rang him and he put me in touch with John Rockwell at the Laxey CID.”
“How is John?” Bessie asked.
“He’s doing well, although he admitted to missing you both. Anyway, he’d just hung up from talking with Margaret Hopkins about you two and he was happy to answer a few questions from me as well. I’m sure he didn’t tell me nearly as much as he told Inspector Hopkins, but he did fill me in on some of the recent events in your lives and that made me suspect that you’d be happy to talk about the murder here with me. If I’m wrong, I’ll finish my drink and go quietly, of course.”
“You’re not wrong,” Doona said. “I’m hoping you can help us work out what’s going on here. We can’t very well invite Inspector Hopkins to dinner.”
“I don’t think she’d come,” he replied. “I’m sure she doesn’t socialise with suspects.”
Doona looked surprised for a moment and then sighed. “I know I’m a suspect,” she said sadly, “but I’d rather not think about it.”
Andrew nodded. “I know what you mean, and I’ll try not to mention it again. I’d rather hear about the other suspects. All those people shouting and carrying on in the village interest me. What can you tell me about them?”
“Let’s get something to eat before we start,” Bessie suggested. She could feel the wine going straight to her head, thanks to her empty stomach.
The trio quickly fixed themselves plates of meat, cheese and bread. Doona put all of the delicious pastries, fairy cakes and biscuits onto a plate and then put the plate in the centre of the table on the patio so that everyone could help themselves.
After a few bites, Bessie sighed. “I’ll tell you what I can, but Doona probably knows more than I do,” she said.
“I’m eating,” Doona said, refusing to look up from her plate.
Bessie looked at Andrew and shrugged. He reached over and patted her hand. “Just tell me what you know and we’ll go from there,” he suggested. “This isn’t a formal interrogation or anything. We’re just friends having a chat.”
About a rather strange subject, Bessie thought to herself. She took a sip of wine and then looked out at the lake.
“The pretty blonde who started screaming when the inspector told everyone that Charles was dead is called Mai Stratton,” Bessie said. “She’s the manager of guest services or something like that.”
“She very young for such an important position,” Andrew remarked. “Any idea if she’s good at her job or not?”
Bessie shrugged. “She tried hard to make sure we were happy, but beyond that I’ve no idea.”
Andrew nodded. “What about the young lady who swooned and the man who caught her?”
“Nathan and Monique Beck,” Bessie said. “He’s the chef at the French restaurant and she’s a waitress there.”
“She seemed very upset to hear that Charles had died,” Andrew said.
“When we talked to them earlier, she seemed to really like Charles,” Bessie said thoughtfully. “Nathan was less fond of the man.”
“And the older gentleman who found it all funny?” he asked.
“Herbert Howe,” Bessie replied. “I don’t really know anything about him, except that the thirty-something blonde woman is his wife, Jessica. Herbert said, several times, that she was having an affair with Charles.”
“She was,” Doona said flatly.
Andrew raised an eyebrow. “So a motive appears for one suspect, at least. Or maybe even for both of them. Do we know if Charles was getting tired of the lady?”
Bessie shrugged. “Anything’s possible,” she said.
“And the man who swept in and started giving orders at the end?” Andrew asked.
“Harold Butler. He’s the assistant general manager, although I understand he was the general manager before Charles arrived,” Bessie said.
“Another possible motive, interesting,” Andrew murmured.
“Don’t forget about Lawrence,” Doona interjected.
Andrew looked questioningly at Bessie, who replied.
“Lawrence Jenkins was Charles’s business partner,” Bessie explained. “I’m not quite sure what that means in this context, but he was there this morning when Doona found the body.”
“But he wasn’t around after that?” Andrew asked.
“Inspector Hopkins had him taken to her office in town,” Bessie said. “She said she’d question him there when she had a chance.”
“Interesting,” the man said. “I’d almost guess that she suspects him of something, maybe not murder, but something, certainly.”
“He was eager to get into the office where the body was to get some papers,” Doona said. “He definitely seemed like someone with something to hide.”
“Of course, that could have nothing to do with the murder,” Andrew said thoughtfully.
The threesome ate their way through their meal and then tackled the plate of pastries. Between them, they managed to eat every last delicious bite.
“I appreciate your talking to me,” the man said after he’d washed down the last of the final biscuit. “I hate being on the outside of this. I wonder of the good inspector would let me be a special consultant on the case?”
“You could ask,” Bessie suggested.
“I just might do that,” he told her. “But for now, I promised to meet everyone over the age of eighteen for a moonlight walk around the park. Let’s hope my children have finished their meal and haven’t drunk too much.”
“That sounds lovely,” Bessie said. “I hope you have fun.”
“I’ll see you both tomorrow,” he said as the two women walked him to the door. “We haven’t even begun to discuss how the two of you fit into this murder investigation.”
He was gone before Bessie could reply. She looked at Doona, who was pale and looked exhausted.
“You need some sleep,” Bessie said firmly.
“I wasn’t very good company, was I?” Doona asked.
“You were very quiet, that’s all,” Bessie said. She put her arm around her friend. “Now I think you should get ready for bed. It’s been a very stressful day for you, hasn’t it?”
“I kept putting it all out of my mind,” Doona said numbly. “The blood and the body and the fact that someone killed Charles. As long as we kept busy I felt okay, but once I sat down it all just came flooding back.”
“I’m sure things will look brighter in the morning,” Bessie said, even though she wasn’t sure of any such thing. “Go and get ready for bed and I’ll make you a cup of milky tea for you.”
Doona nodded and then disappeared into her bedroom. Bessie made the tea, adding extra sugar as well as a great deal of milk. When Doo
na came into the kitchen in her pyjamas, robe and slippers, Bessie had it ready.
“Drink this and then straight to bed,” Bessie said firmly. “And don’t set an alarm. If we wake up in time for the woodland walk, we’ll go, but if you can lie in, that’s more important.”
“If I don’t get up, go without me,” Doona told her. “I don’t want you to miss out on everything just because of me.”
“None of this is your fault,” Bessie pointed out. “Anyway, we’ll worry about it tomorrow.”
Doona nodded and then headed back into her bedroom. Bessie washed up the plates and things from dinner and Doona’s tea and then double-checked that the door to the patio was locked. She stood outside Doona’s door for a moment, listening to see if her friend was asleep. When she heard Doona crying softly, Bessie wasn’t sure what to do.
After pacing around the small lodge for several minutes, Bessie listened again. This time she heard nothing but silence. Satisfied that her friend had fallen asleep, Bessie headed into her own bedroom. Once she was ready for bed, she pulled out her mobile phone to plug it in to charge. She was surprised to see that she’d missed a call. It took her several minutes to work out how to retrieve the message that had been left. When she finally accessed it, the message was short and to the point.
“Ring me,” Inspector Rockwell’s voice demanded in his most senior policeman’s voice.
Bessie settled back in bed and dialled the inspector’s home number. It rang twice before he picked up.
“Bessie? What on earth is going on over there?”
At the sound of the kindly voice, Bessie felt tears begin to stream down her face. “Oh, John, it’s just awful,” she said sadly. “And Doona might even be a suspect.”
“Slow down,” John said calmly. “Tell me exactly what’s going on.”
Bessie slid down under the covers and walked John through her entire day, from the time she woke up until she’d climbed back in bed a few minutes earlier. John was silent throughout.
“Now you need to take me through yesterday,” John told her when she’d finished.
Aunt Bessie's Holiday Page 11
