Aunt Bessie Likes (An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Book 12)

by Diana Xarissa

  She turned and walked away, taking her empty wine glass with her. Bessie swallowed a bite and then washed it down with her drink.

  “Lonan is a small town,” she said thoughtfully.

  “So someone must know something,” Grace said.

  “Indeed,” Bessie agreed. “The trick now will be getting them to admit to it.”

  “Hugh will work it all out,” Grace said confidently.

  “I hope you’re right,” Bessie told her. “I’d really like to know what happened to those girls.”

  When they’d both climbed back into Grace’s car, the girl turned to Bessie. “I have some wedding errands to run this afternoon. Would you like to come along?”

  Bessie opened her mouth to refuse, but Grace looked so hopeful that she changed her mind. “If you’d like me to,” she said instead.

  “I really could use a second opinion,” Grace confided as she started the car. “Or rather a third or fourth opinion. Mum and I have been back and forth a dozen times and I asked my little sister what she thought, but she was no use at all.”

  “Opinion on what?” Bessie asked.

  “You know it’s just going to be a small wedding,” Grace said. “So I was just going to wear a nice dress, but nothing fancy. When I went shopping, I found this gorgeous wedding gown and now I’m not sure what to do. My mother thinks I should wear the gown, because I’m only going to do this once, but it seems like such an extravagance. Anyway, I’d love to know what you think of it.”

  Bessie nodded. “I’m happy to offer my thoughts, but ultimately it will have to be your decision.”

  “Oh, I know,” Grace said with a laugh. “But you’re so sensible all the time. If you tell me you think it’s too over the top for our small wedding, I’ll know you’re right.”

  Bessie sat back in her seat and tried not to frown. She didn’t want to discourage Grace from getting an elaborate wedding gown if that’s what the girl really wanted. But Grace was right; Bessie was far too sensible to encourage her young friend to spend a lot of money on something that would only be worn once, especially if it wasn’t really appropriate for the small ceremony that Grace and Hugh were having.

  The small bridal shop in Ramsey was only a few minutes away. Grace parked in their small car park and then turned to Bessie.

  “I wasn’t even going to look at wedding gowns,” she said. “But my mother wanted to see if they had anything appropriate for her, and, well, once we were inside, I suppose I just got carried away.”

  Bessie smiled. “I’m sure that’s easy to do,” she said. “Now I’m really curious to see this dress.”

  Grace nodded and led Bessie into the shop. As the bell chimed softly, an older woman with short grey hair walked out of a small doorway at the back of the shop. Bessie looked around in surprise.

  “Where are all of the dresses?” she asked. The room wasn’t very large and it was furnished like a fancy sitting room, with comfortable-looking couches and chairs arranged in a circle. In the centre of the circle was a small raised platform. A huge three-way mirror stood in a corner.

  The woman smiled at her. “We start by talking to our customers to find out exactly what they’re looking for, and then we bring out some dresses that we hope might meet their requirements. This used to be a much larger room, with dresses on display everywhere, but I changed things around to help make my brides happier.”

  “How does this make brides happier?” Bessie asked.

  “I used to feel bad when one of my customers would come in and find the perfect dress on display or on the racks and then discover that she simply couldn’t afford it. This way we talk about price upfront and I never show my brides anything outside of their budget,” the woman explained.

  “I went to a bridal shop in Douglas that has dresses on display,” Grace said. “When I told the shop assistant that I liked one dress but it was too expensive, she tried to persuade me to stretch my budget. It was awful.”

  “I’d rather make a little less money but sleep easily at night,” the woman said cheerfully. “And you’re back to see that dress you love, aren’t you? Still trying to decide if it’s appropriate for your big day?”

  “Yes,” Grace said, blushing. “It’s just that it’s going to be a small ceremony and reception. I don’t know if I even want a proper wedding gown. Maybe just a nice dress or suit would be more appropriate.”

  “So you’ve brought Aunt Bessie to offer her opinion?” the woman asked.

  Grace laughed. “Everyone really does know you, don’t they?” she asked Bessie.

  “I’ve lived on the island for a long time,” Bessie said. She turned to the woman. “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure that I know you, though.”

  The woman laughed. “I’m Emma Harrison. I don’t know that we’ve ever met, but everyone knows who you are,” she explained. “I moved up north about ten years ago, after living in Port Erin for most of my life. This shop came up for sale and I’d always dreamed of owning my own little business. Anyway, I wasn’t here for long before someone pointed you out to me. I believe they said you were an island institution.”

  “Oh, dear, I’m not sure about that,” Bessie said. “But let’s see this dress, then.”

  “You have a seat,” Emma told her. “I’ll just take Grace and get her changed.”

  Bessie sat down on the nearest couch, which was every bit as comfortable as it looked. There were a handful of magazines on the table next to her, so Bessie flipped through one of the ubiquitous celebrity gossip magazines that always seemed to fill waiting rooms these days. She was just catching up on the lives of a few total strangers when Grace returned. Bessie watched as the girl climbed carefully onto the small platform and turned to face her.

  “Well, what do you think?” Grace asked anxiously.

  The dress was fitted without being tight and showcased Grace’s slender figure perfectly. After everything Grace has said, Bessie had been expecting something far more flamboyant. This dress was fairly simple, with only a few rows of sequins and beads at the neckline. The short train draped over the platform, and as Grace turned slowly, Bessie was able to appreciate the scattering of embellishments along it as well.

  “It’s absolutely perfect for you,” Bessie said, almost without thinking.

  “Really?” Grace asked.

  “Really,” Bessie said emphatically. “Not only is it perfect for you, it’s perfect for a small wedding with friends and family. You look lovely and elegant and bridal, which is exactly how you should look.”

  Emma handed Grace a box of tissues as her tears began to flow. “I was so worried,” Grace said after a minute. “I love this dress so much, but I didn’t want people to think, well, I don’t know, really, I just didn’t want people to think something.”

  Bessie laughed. “It’s your wedding day. You shouldn’t care what anyone thinks. You should do exactly what you and Hugh want.”

  Grace frowned. “That’s the other thing. I hate to spend all this money on a dress that I’ll only wear once.”

  “I won’t ask how much it is,” Bessie said. “But if you can find the money in the wedding budget for it, I think it’s worth every penny.”

  Grace nodded and then stepped off the platform and walked to the mirrors. She studied herself from every angle and then sighed. “I’m not sure I can resist,” she said softly.

  “I’ve just started working on getting the new spring line ready to show,” Emma said now. “Let me check my books on that dress and see what we can do with the price.”

  She crossed to the small desk near the door to the back and began sorting through papers. After a moment she looked at Grace.

  “Can you read the tag on the skirt? I just need the six-digit number at the bottom.”

  Grace found the tag and read out the number the woman needed.

  Emma nodded and then tapped some numbers into her calculator. “It’s just as I thought,” she told Grace. “That dress has been discontinued by the manufacturer. No doubt
next week they’ll send me a flyer with another dress that looks exactly the same, except they’ll have swapped some of the sequins or beads around or something, but that dress is no longer available.”

  “So I can’t buy it?” Grace asked.

  “On the contrary,” Emma replied. “If you’re happy to buy my sample, rather than order a brand new dress, you can buy the one you’re wearing at a considerable discount.”

  “I don’t have time to order a new dress, anyway, I don’t think,” Grace said. “The wedding is on the fourteenth.”

  Emma laughed. “You definitely don’t have time to order,” she said. “Are you happy to buy the sample?” She named a price that seemed incredibly low to Bessie.

  Grace’s eyes went wide. “Are you sure?” she asked. “I mean, that’s really inexpensive.”

  “I have no use for the dress now that I can’t take orders for it anymore,” the woman explained. “I always sell my samples for my cost price as they’ve been tried on, sometimes dozens of times.”

  “I don’t care,” Grace said. “I’ll take it.”

  Emma smiled. “What about something for your head? A veil or a hat?”

  Grace shook her head. “I’m six inches taller than my mother, so wearing her dress wasn’t an option. But I am going to wear her headpiece and veil.”

  Grace went to change back into her ordinary clothes, leaving Bessie to chat with Emma.

  “How much was the dress at full price?” she had to ask.

  Emma shrugged. “About five times as much,” she told Bessie. “But my prices are always flexible. That’s another reason why I keep the dresses in the back and don’t put prices on the tags. Most of the time I charge about the same as any other bridal shop, but it’s nice to have the flexibility to offer a discount now and then, sometimes without the bride even knowing it’s a discount.”

  “That’s an unusual way to run a business,” Bessie said.

  “Eh, I retired early. Owning my own shop was always a dream, and now I have it and I love it, and as long as I break even, I’m happy. This place gives me a reason to get out of bed every day and I love working with brides. They’re nearly always happy. The ones that are too demanding pay full price.”

  “Thank you for helping Grace. She loves that dress but she’s on a tight budget.”

  “I know young Hugh,” Emma said. “His mother is friends with my sister. He’s a good solid young man. I’m happy to help him and his lovely fiancé out in a small way.”

  When Grace returned, Emma wrapped the dress up in a huge box. “Now, when you get it home, take it out and hang it up,” she instructed Grace. “That will let all of the wrinkles fall out before the big day.” She gave the girl some additional advice on caring for her gown before taking Grace’s credit card payment.

  “I shall have to run down to Douglas and hang the dress somewhere in my mother’s house,” Grace said thoughtfully as she drove towards Bessie’s cottage.

  “That’s probably best,” Bessie replied. “You won’t want Hugh to see it before the big day.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Back at the cottage, Bessie’s message light was blinking as she let herself in. “Oh, go away,” she called to the answering machine as she hung up her coat. The machine didn’t respond. After she’d made herself a cup of tea, Bessie played her messages. Only one was interesting, and that was Doona, asking her to ring her back at the police station.

  “Doona? I hope nothing is wrong,” she said when her friend answered.

  “No, not exactly,” Doona replied.

  “Which means what?” Bessie demanded.

  “We’ve had an anonymous caller ring in,” Doona told her. “If you’re home now, I’ll send John over to talk to you about it because the message the caller left was rather cryptic. John’s hoping you can help him work out the meaning.”

  “Me?”

  “I’ll leave it to John to explain,” Doona said. “He’s on his way now.”

  Chapter Seven

  Bessie refilled the kettle, ready to make tea for the inspector when he arrived. It was just coming to a boil when she heard his knock on the door.

  “John, how nice to see you,” she greeted him.

  “It’s always nice to see you, too,” he replied.

  “The kettle has just boiled. Sit down and I’ll make tea.”

  “Only if you can do it quickly,” John said apologetically. “I really need to ask you a few questions, and then, hopefully, I’ll have a lot to do.”

  “Ask away,” Bessie suggested as she pulled out teacups. “I can talk and make tea at the same time.”

  “I don’t know how much Doona told you, but we’ve had an anonymous phone call that has raised some questions.”

  “That was about all she told me,” Bessie replied.

  As John pulled out his notebook, Bessie put his cup of tea on the table. She sat down with her own as he flipped through the pages.

  “Here we are,” he said. “I thought I had it right, but it’s too important to rely on just my memory. The caller said: ‘If you want to find the Kelly girls, you need to look at the old Grantham place, maybe dig around the garden.’ And then he or she hung up.”

  Bessie sat back in her chair and took a sip of tea. John looked at her intently. “Do you know where the old Grantham place is?” he demanded.

  Bessie nodded, her mind racing. “I haven’t thought about it in years,” she said. “Michael Grantham was the last in a line of farmers that owned a small piece of land between Laxey and Lonan. He died, oh, I don’t know, sometime in the sixties, I think. In his will he left everything to a distant cousin who lived in South Africa, at least I think it was South Africa.” She stopped and sipped her tea.

  “And then what happened?” John asked. Bessie could hear the impatience in his voice.

  “Oh, sorry,” she said. “It took a long time to track down the missing relative. The farm became quite overgrown; I remember that. Anyway, when they found the man, he wasn’t interested in owning a farm, but he also refused to sell the property for some reason. I suppose he might even still own it, or maybe his relatives do. No one has lived in the old farmhouse for some thirty years or more. I think the man sold off a few parcels of the land over the years, but I’m not sure.”

  “Do you remember his name? I need to speak to him about going in and digging up his garden.”

  “His name was Robinson or Robertson or something like that,” Bessie told him. “But you should ring Doncan,” she added. “He handled the estate and he should be able to put you in touch with the man or his family. Someone has been paying the rates for the last thirty years. Doncan will know who that is.”

  John pulled out his mobile and punched in a number from memory. A few minutes later, he was talking with Doncan Quayle, Bessie’s favourite advocate. Bessie bustled around the kitchen, putting biscuits onto a plate, while she tried not to overhear John’s end of the conversation.

  Once John explained what he needed, there wasn’t much to hear anyway, other than a few muttered “yeses” and the like. When John disconnected the call, he helped himself to a custard cream.

  “I hope you don’t mind if I wait here for a few minutes,” he told Bessie. “Doncan is going to ring a few people and then ring me back.”

  “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” Bessie replied.

  “I’m just going to get something from my car,” he told Bessie. When he came back inside, he spread a large map of the area on Bessie’s table.

  “Can you show me where the farm is?” he asked.

  Bessie traced the main road out of Laxey towards Lonan. “It’s here,” she said, pointing. “This is the entrance to the property and the house sits about half a mile down the drive.”

  John studied the map and then checked his notes. “It’s listed in the public records as being owned by a Marilyn Madison.”

  Bessie shrugged. “I have no idea,” she admitted. “I’m sure Doncan can explain.”

&n
bsp; “He told me that the property was left to Jacob Robertson and is now owned by his daughter. I suppose that’s why I didn’t find anything under Grantham when I looked. It was so long ago that none of the constables at the station knew the name either.”

  It wasn’t long before John’s phone rang. The conversation was a short one and when he disconnected he looked pleased.

  “Doncan was able to reach the owner much more easily than he’d expected. He explained the whole thing to the her and she’s happy for us to do whatever we need to do,” he told Bessie. “Doncan is going to get the paperwork started so it’s all official, but I’m going to head over to the property now and see what I can see.”

  “I don’t suppose you want any company,” Bessie said, trying to sound casual.

  “Have you ever been there before?” John asked.

  “Many years ago now,” Bessie said. “Michael and his wife used to sell their produce at the Laxey market, but as they got older they stopped farming all of their acreage and just grew a few crops. It wasn’t worth getting a market stall for the few things they still had to sell, but if you wanted some of their excellent strawberries you could go and buy them from them during the season. I used to go two or three times during the summer and then make strawberry pies.”

  “What do you think the caller meant about their garden, then?” John asked.

  “Michael’s wife, whose name I have completely forgotten, had her own little garden behind the house. She loved flowers and that was all she grew there, mostly roses. Michael used to laugh at her spending all her time and effort on crops that didn’t make them any money, but she enjoyed it and she always had beautiful roses in vases all over their house. That’s the only thing I can think of that your caller might have meant.”

  “If I took you out there, could you show me where the rose garden used to be?” John asked.

  Bessie nodded. “I spent many a sunny summer afternoon sipping tea in the rose garden and listening to Michael’s wife complain about her husband,” she said with a chuckle.