“Maybe we’re seeing connections where there aren’t any,” Bessie said. “Or maybe at least one of the deaths was simply an accident and we’re trying to tie them all together when it’s impossible.”
“Or maybe someone has a grudge against the whole group and they’re picking them off, one by one,” Doona suggested.
“But who?” Bessie demanded. “They’re a bunch of older ladies who aren’t doing anything interesting.”
“What about Spencer Cannon? What’s he doing back on the island?” Doona asked.
“You met him,” Bessie replied. “Did he seem like a mass murderer with revenge on his mind?”
“Well, no,” Doona admitted. “But he seems as likely as Elinor or Margaret or even Sarah whatshername, when it comes down to it.”
“Sarah Combe,” Bessie supplied.
“I suppose a man might know quite a bit about cars and kettles, though,” Hugh suggested. “And maybe he got a friend to make the jam and then added the poison later.”
“Or maybe he made the jam himself,” Bessie said, giving Hugh a stern look.
“Oh, yes, ma’am,” Hugh said, flushing. “Maybe he made the jam himself.”
“Did Spencer give you any reason to suspect that he has any resentment towards the jam ladies?” Pete asked.
“I don’t think he liked them very much,” Doona said, thoughtfully. “But it’s a long way from vague dislike to multiple murders.”
“I haven’t seen any of you to tell you what Maggie Shimmin told me today,” Bessie said as she suddenly remembered. “Apparently, one of Elizabeth Porter’s grandsons is on the island at the moment.”
John pulled out his notebook and looked at Bessie expectantly. “Go on,” he said.
Bessie smiled. “The boy’s name is Jason, and from what Maggie said, he’s staying somewhere in Douglas. He told her he came over for Tynwald Day but skipped going to St. John’s. He asked her if she was a jam lady, and then lost interest in talking to her when she said she wasn’t.”
Pete Corkill had perked up when Bessie mentioned Douglas and now he and John exchanged looks. “You take it,” John said, nodding at his colleague.
“I’ll let you know if anything comes of it,” Pete said as he noted the details in his own small notebook.
“I suppose you won’t let me know, though, will you?” Bessie asked.
Pete shook his head. “Once the murderer is safely behind bars, I’ll answer any and all questions,” he offered.
Bessie sighed. “Anyway, I can’t see what sort of motive the boy could have. He’s never even lived on the island or met the jam ladies.”
“It’s interesting timing, that’s all,” John told her.
“I suppose it is at that,” Bessie said. “Anyway, tomorrow I’m having tea with Margaret for her birthday.”
“I’ve cleared it with John so I can come along,” Doona told her. “I’ll pick you up.”
“Can you stop at the bakery and pick up the cake as well?” Bessie asked. “I ordered it, and I was going to get it on my way to Margaret’s.”
“I can do that,” Doona agreed. “Chocolate, I hope?”
“Indeed,” Bessie smiled. “I got the feeling that Margaret’s never had a birthday cake before.”
“Let’s hope it isn’t her last,” Hugh muttered darkly.
“Will Elinor be at this little party?” John asked her.
“No,” Bessie replied. “In fact, Margaret specifically asked me not to mention it to Elinor if I spoke to her.”
John frowned. “I thought they were all best friends,” he said. “Surely Elinor will want to be there?”
“Margaret reckoned that Elinor doesn’t even know it’s her birthday,” Bessie said sadly. “Apparently she and Elinor don’t get along very well.”
“Interesting,” was John’s response. He made a few notes in his notebook before putting it away.
“Have we figured out anything?” Hugh asked, sounding frustrated.
“I don’t think so,” Bessie said with a sigh. “We don’t know if we have one murder or two or three. We don’t know if one or two of them were random or targeted. It’s all just a big jumbled mess.”
“It seems to me that the jam ladies are at the centre of all of this,” Hugh said. “And I talked to both Margaret Gelling and Elinor Lewis yesterday and neither one of them seemed especially scared of being next.”
“Which is strange,” Doona added. “Because it seems to me, from the phone calls we’ve been getting at the station, that half of the good citizens of Laxey are worried about being next.”
“Perhaps they’re just resigned to their fate,” Bessie said. “I think Margaret has been afraid of everything for most of her life. Maybe she’s just beyond caring.”
“And maybe Elinor Lewis knows exactly what’s going on,” Hugh suggested.
Bessie sighed. “I know Elinor seems the most likely candidate in some ways, but she hasn’t any real motive and I can’t see her climbing under Agnes’s car or rewiring a kettle.”
“We’re keeping a close eye on both of the remaining jam ladies,” Pete told her.
“I’d really rather you stayed away from them,” John added.
“I can’t miss Margaret’s birthday tea tomorrow,” Bessie told him firmly. “She doesn’t have anyone else to celebrate with and she deserves a celebration.”
“I’ll be going with her,” Doona pointed out. “And Elinor won’t be there.”
“Not that I have anything to fear from Elinor,” Bessie said. “I’m sure there’s something or someone we’re missing here.”
“Maybe Margaret will have some ideas when you see her tomorrow,” Pete said. “Maybe she knows of someone who dislikes the ladies or, perhaps, just dislikes some of them.”
“That’s a point,” Bessie said. “Just because the three victims were all jam ladies, doesn’t mean someone is trying to kill them all. Maybe there was something that connects Nancy and Agnes and Joan, but not the others.”
“There are lots of possibilities,” John said. “That’s what worries me.”
Bessie stood up. “Does anyone want more coffee or biscuits?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t mind another cup,” Doona said. “But you sit down and I’ll make it.”
“No, I need to stretch my legs,” Bessie told her. She refilled the coffee maker and switched it on, and then she refilled the plate of biscuits.
“I know I’ve been caught up in several other murders lately,” she commented. “But this one feels much more personal. I guess all of the others involved folks from across that just happened to bring their problems with them. This one is local in every way.”
“Moirrey Teare was local,” Doona pointed out.
“She was, but her killer wasn’t,” Bessie replied. “And maybe the killer this time isn’t local either.”
“Like Spencer Cannon or Jason Porter?” Doona asked.
“Or someone we don’t know anything about,” Bessie said.
“Murder tends to be very personal,” Pete told them. “There are always exceptions, but this feels personal. Poisoning someone’s jam, especially when they belong to a group that is known for making jam? That’s very close to home.”
Bessie shivered. She stared at the coffee machine, watching the dark fluid drip slowly into the pot. The sound reminded her of a heartbeat and she felt sadder than she had in a very long time.
The conversation was stilted and awkward as everyone sipped more coffee and nibbled on biscuits.
“I feel like you all think Elinor is the murderer,” Bessie said finally.
“I don’t think any such thing,” Pete told her. “I think she’s a possibility, but I also think there are others options that need investigating.”
“If I seriously thought Mrs. Lewis did it, I’d have her at the station right now,” John said. “I have my suspicions about her, but I can’t prove anything and there are too many holes in my theory at the moment.”
“I think she did it,” Hugh said. “But I
don’t like her very much. She used to frighten me when I was a kid.”
“I bet she still scares you,” Doona teased.
“Maybe, a little bit,” Hugh replied. “She’s very unfriendly.”
“She’s had a difficult life,” Bessie said quietly.
“Her son was scary, too,” Hugh said. “She used to have him on the beach all the time and he used to want to make sandcastles with me. Whenever I did something he didn’t like, he’d smash the whole thing. My mother used to try to explain to me why this big adult man was acting like a small child, but I didn’t understand, of course.”
“Like I said, Elinor has had a difficult life,” Bessie repeated herself.
“I think we’d better call it a night,” John said tiredly. “We have a few new leads to chase tomorrow and more ground to go back over as well.”
“Thank you for your hospitality,” Pete said as he stood up. “I enjoyed going over things with you. You’ve given me some different insights.”
Bessie nodded. “It was nice of you to come,” she said. “If I hear anything interesting tomorrow, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks.”
The two inspectors left and while Bessie was showing them out, Hugh and Doona got busy with the washing up.
“Thank you,” Bessie said as she sank back down at the table. “I’m feeling quite worn out.”
“Why don’t you go up to bed?” Doona asked. “Hugh and I will finish here and then I’ll be up in a little while.”
“Actually,” Bessie replied. “I think I’ll take a short walk on the beach. I won’t go far,” she added when she saw the look on Doona’s face. “I just need some fresh air to blow away a few cobwebs before I try to sleep.”
Doona looked as if she might argue, but Bessie didn’t give her a chance. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes or so,” she told her friend. “You probably won’t even have the kitchen tidied by then.”
Bessie went out the back door and walked down to the water’s edge. She slipped off her shoes and touched the water with a tentative toe. The water was cold, but the sensation was welcome. She took a few steps into the sea, reveling in how alive the cold water splashing against her made her feel.
Turning away from her cottage, she began a slow stroll down the sand, leaving one foot in the sea and the other on the warmer sand. It was quite dark, but the moon was out and it gave enough light for Bessie to navigate by.
She walked slowly, thinking about the Raspberry Jam Ladies and everything that had happened since Tynwald Day. If she’d been expecting any great revelations, however, she was hugely disappointed. The fresh sea air helped to calm her spirit, however, and when she turned back towards home she was feeling slightly better for no real reason.
As she approached her cottage, she could just make out a figure sitting on the large rock behind her home. As she got closer, she recognised Doona, sitting alone watching the sea.
“Did you finish cleaning the kitchen, then?” she asked her friend when she arrived by Doona’s side.
“We did, and I’ve sent Hugh home,” Doona told her. “Do you feel any better?”
Bessie sat down on the rock next to Doona and joined her in watching the sea. “I don’t know,” she said eventually. “I’m really struggling with the idea that Elinor could possibly be behind all of this. It doesn’t seem possible, but it seems likely at the same time.”
“I’m sorry,” Doona told her friend. “I wish I could say or do something that would make this all easier for you.”
“Life isn’t easy,” Bessie told her. “But good friends are a big help. I’m just grateful that you’re here.”
The pair went back in the house and they both headed for bed.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” Doona said, hugging Bessie tightly. “Sleep well.”
Bessie replied in kind before heading into her room. Now she lay in her bed, feeling wide-awake. She picked up the book she was halfway through reading and tried to lose herself in it. After several minutes she gave up. It was probably an excellent book, but she just wasn’t in the mood. She turned off her light and tossed and turned for several minutes, seeking a comfortable position that would let her rest.
Exasperated, she pushed back the covers and got back out of bed. Back in the kitchen, she made herself a cup of milky tea as quietly as she possibly could. She sipped it in the dark while watching the sea through the window on the kitchen’s back wall. Back in bed, she fell asleep quite quickly, but she had a restless night filled with bad dreams and long spells of sleeplessness.
Chapter Thirteen
Bessie woke up at ten to six feeling groggy and miserable. She sat up in bed and looked out at a rainy, grey morning. For a moment she was tempted to simply hide under the duvet for the rest of the day, but as that wasn’t an option, she slowly got herself out of bed.
The shower helped, at least a little bit, and she spent extra time patting on the rose-scented dusting powder that reminded her of Matthew. In spite of how painful his loss had been, the morning ritual always seemed to calm her and help settle her mind. She had lived through that loss and nothing else in her life would ever feel as traumatic.
Tea and toast helped her to feel even better and her morning walk, in raincoat and Wellington boots, carrying an umbrella, seemed to blow away the last remnants of her ugly mood. She returned to her cottage with her equilibrium mostly restored.
Doona was up and had set a pot of coffee going. Bessie poured herself a cup and smiled at her friend.
“I’m going to make my usual trip into Ramsey this morning and try to find an appropriate present for Margaret. Any suggestions?” she asked.
Doona shook her head. “I have no idea what women of a certain age like for their birthdays,” she told Bessie. “You must have some ideas.”
Bessie shrugged. “Not really. I don’t really know Margaret all that well. I suppose I’ll get her some bath salts or something like that. Maybe a box of chocolates as well.”
“Everyone loves chocolates,” Doona agreed.
Once Doona had left for work, Bessie tidied up a little bit and then got ready to go out. Dave arrived at the appointed time.
“I’ll need picking up at the bookstore, not ShopFast,” she told him as they went. “I did my grocery shopping yesterday. Today I’m gift shopping.”
“You’re the boss,” Dave said cheerfully. “At the usual time or do you need to change that as well?”
“The usual time will do,” Bessie said. “I can always spend some extra time looking at books if I finish early.”
With the arrangements in place, Bessie climbed out of the taxi and made her way into the bookstore. She spent a long time looking around the section marked “Gift Books,” but nothing struck her as a appropriate gift for Margaret. She didn’t want to buy anything that might look extravagant to the shy woman on a limited income, but she wanted to give the woman something special.
Bessie wandered away from the bookstore down Ramsey’s main shopping street. She saw many things she was tempted to buy, but they were all for herself rather than her friend. Shaking her head at herself as she studied an especially attractive pair of shoes, she turned resolutely towards a small boutique that might just have the perfect present.
An hour later she emerged with what the clerk had called a “custom gift basket.” The large woven basket had been stuffed full of bath salts, scented powder, and candles on one end. The other end was filled with specialty chocolates, luxurious biscuits and a bottle of wine. The whole thing was filled with tissue paper and then enclosed in a clear plastic wrapper tied up with ribbons and a huge bow.
The package was unwieldy, but attractive, and Bessie was certain that Margaret would be thrilled by the numerous small luxuries. Bessie made her way back to the bookstore and was relieved to find Dave waiting for her. She didn’t fancy standing around holding the heavy basket.
“What have you got there?” Dave asked as he jumped from the taxi. He took the basket from her and p
ut it carefully in the boot.
“It’s a gift basket,” Bessie explained. “Full of all sort of the little specialty things that most women love.”
“Really?” Dave asked. “Where did it come from? I might have to give them a try for my mother-in-law for Christmas. She’s impossible to buy for.”
Bessie laughed. She had a passing acquaintance with Dave’s mother-in-law and she often wondered how he managed to deal with the demanding and critical woman. “I’m sure she’d love something from there,” Bessie told him. “Although she’d never admit to it.”
Dave laughed. A few moments later he dropped her off at home, insisting on carrying the basket into the house for her. “I hope your friend appreciates the gift,” he told Bessie.
“I’m sure she will,” Bessie replied.
She fixed herself a light lunch and then went up to her bedroom to look for just the right outfit for the afternoon tea party.
By the time Doona arrived, Bessie had tried on and rejected half a dozen outfits. For some reason, this party felt important to Bessie and she wanted to be sure she picked something that would reflect the significance of the occasion.
Doona was right on time and she was still dressed for work in a dark suit that Bessie felt was just about right. She herself had decided on a summery dress in a light shade of blue that reminded Bessie of the summer sky. A pair of low heels and a matching handbag finished her look. Bessie even took the time to put on a little bit of makeup, an effort she rarely made.
“You look lovely,” Doona told her as she studied Bessie’s outfit. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so dressed up.”
“Today’s important for Margaret,” Bessie said, trying to put into words how she was feeling about the day. “She deserves a very special day. She’s had a difficult life.”
“It’s sad that her children won’t be here to celebrate with her,” Doona said as they climbed into the car, after Doona had carefully put the gift basket next to the cake box in her boot.
“It is,” Bessie agreed. “But that’s between her and her children. We can only do our best to make her happy.”
Margaret lived near the others in a small two-storey house that looked tired to Bessie. They climbed a couple of stairs to the front door, with Doona carrying the basket and Bessie carrying the cake. Doona knocked. After a few minutes, the door opened slowly.
Aunt Bessie Enjoys Page 19
