Aunt Bessie Enjoys (An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Book 5)

by Diana Xarissa

  Sarah studied the top one for a moment and then put it back in the folder and flipped the folder shut. “Nothing unexpected there,” she muttered. The second folder was labelled “bills” and it was exactly what Bessie expected from the label. Months of utility bills were hastily shuffled through by Sarah.

  Another folder, “savings,” had bank savings books inside. Sarah glanced at each one briefly and then put the books into her large handbag. “Don’t want to leave these lying around,” she told Bessie.

  The final folder said “correspondence,” and Bessie recognised some of its contents. The various coloured sheets had to be letters from the other Raspberry Jam Ladies. Sarah simply glanced at each sheet quickly and then returned the folder to the drawer with the others.

  “Last drawer,” she said.

  Bessie could hear the tension in the other woman’s voice and she wondered what Sarah was expecting to find.

  The bottom drawer was the largest and Sarah pulled it open and then frowned. After a moment, she reached in and took out a shoebox that had taken up nearly all of the space in the drawer.

  When she opened the box, Bessie could see that it held the sorts of family mementoes that nearly everyone possessed. There were stacks of old photographs, postcards and letters, and what looked like a very small and very misshapen cuddly toy.

  Sarah stared into the box for a moment and then slammed the lid back down on it. She put it down on the desk and walked quickly to the opposite side of the room.

  “I guess mum must have kept her jewellery in her bedside table,” she said curtly, pulling open its small drawer. “Ah, yes, here it is.”

  Sarah held up a small jewellery box and then opened it. Bessie watched as she looked through it very carefully.

  “I think everything is here,” Sarah said after a moment. “I can’t remember anything else she had.”

  Bessie shrugged. “I don’t remember your mum wearing much jewellery,” she told the other woman.

  “She didn’t wear it often,” Sarah said. “But she had some lovely pieces. Dad did quite well in the fifties and sixties and he liked to bring mum little surprises. I doubt she ever bought herself anything, though, after dad died.”

  Bessie nodded. “Is there anything else of value that you want to take with you?” she asked.

  Sarah checked the rest of the drawers in both bedside tables and then moved on to the wardrobe. It was only about half-full and a large portion of the clothes inside looked like they must have belonged to Sarah’s father.

  “Your mother kept your father’s things?” Bessie asked in surprise.

  Sarah nodded. “She, well, she had a hard time letting him go. Keeping his things was what she did to keep his memory alive. At least that’s what she told me whenever I suggested she get rid of them. They weren’t causing any real harm, I guess. She wasn’t all that interested in clothes herself. I bet everything in here is at least ten years old, and I’m sure I remember some of these outfits from my childhood.”

  Bessie glanced into the wardrobe and turned to Sarah. “I remember seeing your mum in some of those things,” she told her. “From when you and your brothers were still quite small.”

  “I doubt the charity shops will take them,” Sarah sighed. “Maybe a museum might be interested, though.”

  Bessie stayed where she was while Sarah did a quick check of the house’s only bathroom, making sure the medicine chest wasn’t hiding any secrets.

  “I guess we can go now,” she told Bessie, glancing one more time around what had been her parents’ bedroom.

  Bessie turned towards the door.

  “Oh, can you just grab that shoebox?” Sarah asked. She sounded as if she was trying to sound casual, but Bessie could hear all sorts of repressed emotions in the request.

  “Sure,” Bessie replied, picking up the box from where Sarah had left it on the desk.

  “Maybe I could invite myself over for a cuppa?” Sarah asked as they walked towards the front door.

  “Of course you can,” Bessie replied. Outside it had begun to rain lightly. Bessie climbed into Sarah’s car and the pair made their way to Bessie’s cottage, with Bessie still carrying the shoebox.

  In Bessie’s small kitchen, Bessie put the kettle on while Sarah sat looking out the window at the rain.

  “It doesn’t rain as much in the south of the island as it does here,” she told Bessie.

  “Really?” Bessie asked.

  “No,” Sarah sighed. “I should have said it doesn’t feel like it rains as much in the south. Every time I come up to Laxey it rains. It doesn’t matter if it’s spring, summer, winter or autumn. It just always rains.”

  Bessie took out a couple of boxes of biscuits and arranged several varieties on a plate, passing Sarah a small plate to use for her selections.

  “Oh dear,” Bessie said as she noticed the clock. “It’s really time for lunch, not just biscuits.” She opened her fridge and frowned. There wasn’t a lot in it. Friday was her regular shopping day and she really needed a trip to the grocery store. She opened her cupboards and inspected the contents.

  “I can make some tomato soup, but it will have to come from a tin,” she told Sarah. “And I have a loaf of stale bread. How about cheesy garlic bread with it?”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Sarah told her. “I haven’t had much of an appetite since mum, well, in the last few days.”

  Bessie got busy with the preparations while Sarah picked listlessly at a biscuit. When the kettle boiled, Bessie made a pot of tea and poured out a cup for Sarah.

  “Add extra sugar,” Bessie suggested. “It will help.”

  Sarah nodded and did as she was told. After a few sips of tea, while Bessie carried on with fixing the soup, she sighed deeply.

  “Have you seen the Raspberry Jam Ladies since mum, well, since Tuesday?” she asked Bessie.

  “I saw them yesterday. They had a gathering for some of your mother’s friends so we could share our memories of her.”

  Sarah sighed again. “I suppose they told you I killed her,” she said softly. “Mum was threating to change her will again. People seem to think that would motivate me to kill her.”

  “Did she tell you she was changing her will?” Bessie asked.

  “Yes,” Sarah nodded. “But then, we rarely spoke, and just about every time we did she told me she was changing her will. I sort of assumed years ago that I wasn’t going to inherit anything from her. My husband and I don’t really need the money. Anyway, she never liked me.”

  Bessie stared at the woman, wondering what she could possibly say to that. The oven buzzed, which gave her a welcome minute to think.

  “I’m sure your mother loved you very much,” she said eventually, the words sounding inadequate even as she said them.

  “Oh, I suppose she loved me, in her own way,” Sarah replied. “But I also know she didn’t much like me. Mum didn’t like children, you see. It wasn’t just me. She didn’t enjoy spending time with any of us.”

  Bessie slid the bread, now smothered in garlic butter, into the oven. Again, she was uncertain of how to reply. She was used to spending time with younger children who were easily reassured as to their mothers’ devotion. Sarah, in her early fifties, was a rather different case.

  “What makes you think that?” Bessie finally asked.

  “Mum was absolutely devoted to dad,” Sarah told her. “I mean, I love my husband, I really do, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think for myself or ever disagree with him. Mum almost stopped being a separate person when she married dad, or certainly by the time I came along. I never saw them argue, never saw my mother express an opinion that was different to his. She was almost obsessed with him or something. He was her reason for existing and when he died, I thought she might give up on life.”

  “Women in those days were expected to be submissive and obedient to their husbands,” Bessie told her. “That’s one of the reasons I never married.”

  Sarah nodded. “It was more than that,
though. I think mum actually believed that dad was truly the smartest and most handsome man in the world. I think she always felt like she didn’t quite deserve him and she was constantly trying to find ways to make him happier. And he wasn’t all that fond of children, either.”

  “Men weren’t involved in childrearing in those days,” Bessie pointed out.

  Sarah shrugged. “I know things have changed,” she said. “But I also know things were different in other families. I would go and spend an afternoon with a friend and her mum would want to hear about our school day or would play a game with us or show us how to cook something. My mother simply didn’t enjoy my company, not when I was small and not even as I got older.”

  “What about your brothers?”

  “If it’s possible, I think she had even less time for them. Fred and James were better at finding things to do away from home than I was. They’d go to school and then do sports or hang out with friends. Mum never minded where we were as long as we weren’t underfoot.”

  “What about Adam?”

  Sarah laughed bitterly. “I always felt sorriest for him,” she told Bessie. “At least I was a girl. Dad always wanted a girl; that’s why they kept having children after Fred and James. Poor dad thought that he’d get a little dainty thing, tiny like mum was, who he could show off to his work colleagues. Unfortunately, he ended up with me, an outsized tomboy who hated frilly dresses and despised being dragged out for show. But poor Adam, well, mum and dad made no secret of the fact that they wanted to stop after they had me. Adam was an unwelcome surprise and they didn’t make any effort to hide that fact.”

  “No wonder he left as soon as he could,” Bessie remarked.

  Sarah sighed. “I still miss him,” she said sadly. “I still can’t believe he left and never even sent me so much as a postcard.”

  “Did he keep in touch with your mother?”

  Sarah shrugged. “She never said. I think she would have told me if she heard from him, but it’s possible she wouldn’t have bothered. I’m sure she couldn’t imagine that I would care.”

  Bessie gave her a surprised look and then poured soup into bowls. She took the garlic bread out of the oven and slid it onto a serving plate. After slicing it into several pieces she put the bread in the centre of the table. While she’d been doing that, Sarah had carried the soup bowls across and now the pair sat down to eat.

  “Your mother always seemed like a very kind woman,” Bessie told Sarah as they ate.

  “She was kind to strangers and to her very close friends,” Sarah said. “But she had a very limited capacity for love, I guess. She loved dad with a fierce intensity that just didn’t seem to leave any room for anyone else in her heart.”

  “The times were so different, though,” Bessie said thoughtfully. “Maybe she was a bit too reserved. In my day, being reserved was seen as a very good thing.”

  “When I was in my late twenties and my husband and I were struggling with infertility, I came to visit her. In those days, there weren’t any test tube babies or anything and I went to mum, sobbing almost hysterically, because I wanted a baby so badly it physically hurt. I still remember exactly what she said to me. She said ‘Children are nothing but hard work. You don’t really want one.’”

  Sarah’s eyes filled with tears. “My husband and I really wanted children and I would have been a better mum to them than my mother was to me.”

  Bessie patted her hand. “I’m so sorry,” she said simply.

  After a moment Sarah swallowed hard and then began to eat her soup. Bessie ate her own lunch, quietly watching the other woman.

  “I’m sorry,” Sarah said eventually. “You’re just such a good listener. Anyway, I was lucky, because my mother-in-law is nothing like my mother. She spent hours crying with me when I realised I wouldn’t be able to have children and then she helped me pick up the pieces and find other ways to share myself with future generations. I just want you to understand why I wasn’t close to my mother, that’s all.”

  Bessie nodded. “I do understand,” she told the other woman. “When I lost my Matthew, I thought my world had ended. My mother told me to stop being silly and pretending to be upset. She didn’t think I’d known him long enough or well enough to be as devastated as I felt. I never forgave her for not understanding or at least accepting my emotions.”

  “Anyway, that’s why I never really visited mum. I don’t think she cared anyway. I thought, for a long time, that if I gave her grandchildren she’d want to be a part of my life, but Fred and James both have children and mum never bothered to go across to see them.”

  “Did they visit her here?” Bessie asked.

  Sarah shrugged. “James used to come across once a year or so, usually for mum’s birthday. Once he and his wife had three kids, though, it got to be too much work to drag them all here. James told me that he offered to fly mum across to see them every year and mum always found excuses for not going. I’m sure Fred invited mum to come and visit him as well, but I don’t think he’s been back on the island since he finished uni.”

  “So if you weren’t worried about the will, why did you come to see your mother on Tuesday?” Bessie asked.

  “Mum broke her hip a few years ago. When she was in hospital, they made her give them contact information in case anything happened. Obviously, since I’m the closest, she gave them my details. Apparently, they kept them in her file. I received a call last week that mum’s latest test results showed malignancies in several areas. She didn’t have more than six months left and they wanted me to help make arrangements for hospice care.”

  Sarah brushed tears from her eyes. Bessie quickly got up and found a box of tissues.

  “I’m sorry,” Bessie said softly.

  “I don’t know why I’m crying,” Sarah said after a moment. “Mum didn’t even want me to know. She was furious that the doctors had called me about it. She said I should mind my own business. I told her I was coming up to see her on Tuesday afternoon, but I didn’t sleep on Monday night, so once I got up, I thought I might as well just get it over with. I thought maybe if I turned up early she’d be so surprised she’d actually speak with me.”

  “But instead you found her,” Bessie said solemnly.

  “I was sure she’d killed herself,” Sarah replied. “I figured she decided she didn’t want to suffer so she’d taken too many pain pills or something. Murder never crossed my mind, not until the police started asking questions.”

  “They seem pretty sure it was murder,” Bessie said “Who would have wanted to kill your mother?”

  Sarah shook her head. “No one,” she replied with a sigh. “I can’t believe there was anyone that would have wanted to kill her. She was dying anyway and even if she wasn’t, she was just a harmless old woman.”

  “Surely there were people she argued with?” Bessie asked tentatively. She wasn’t sure how far she should push the other woman. The topic had be painful.

  “Not that I know of,” Sarah told her. “Maybe she had a disagreement with one of her precious Raspberry Jam Ladies and they got rid of her.” She held up a hand. “I’m not serious. As far as I know the ladies all got along brilliantly well for the last fifty years. They were as close as sisters. Mum would have done anything for them and I’m sure they felt the same way about her.”

  Bessie bit back a sigh. She’d been hoping Sarah would be able to offer some suspects for the seemingly random murder.

  “Anyway, thank you for lunch,” Sarah said now. “I suppose I should be going.”

  Bessie cleared away the soup and bread plates and put the biscuits back on the table. “Have a biscuit before you go,” she suggested.

  Sarah took one and nibbled on it slowly, staring at the shoebox that they’d brought from her mother’s house as she did. “Maybe it will be easier to take a look here,” she said under her breath.

  Bessie got up and handed her the box from where she’d left it on the counter. Sarah took several deep breaths and then opened it again.
She carefully removed the small cuddly toy and then began to look through the other items in the box. After several minutes, while Bessie felt as if she were holding her breath, Sarah sighed and pushed the box away.

  “As far as I can tell, it’s all notes, postcards and letters from my father,” she told Bessie. “Look at this.”

  Sarah held out a postcard and Bessie took it from her.

  It was postmarked the third of June 1957, and the front of the card was a picture of Tower Bridge in London. Bessie read the note on the back.

  “My darling, I miss you more than words can say. Only two more days and I shall be with you again. I may even be back before you receive this card. Much love, Frederick.”

  “He obviously cared a great deal for your mother,” Bessie observed.

  “Yeah, he did,” Sarah said bitterly. “I was six years old when he sent that and the boys were ten, eight, and four. You’d think he might have thought to mention us as well, wouldn’t you?”

  Bessie opened her mouth to reply, but she wasn’t sure what she was going to say. Sarah held up a hand.

  “Please don’t try to defend him, or her, for that matter. Take a look.” She pushed the box towards Bessie, who couldn’t stop herself from glancing inside. She flipped through several dozen postcards, mostly with pictures of London sites on them. Every one had a similar declaration of undying love on it, and not a single one mentioned the children.

  “Not one single scrap from anything my brothers or I ever gave her,” Sarah said with a catch in her voice. “She never saved our art or our schoolwork, but I’ve sent her hundreds of letters and cards over the years and she doesn’t seem to have saved a single one.”

  “I’m sorry,” Bessie said, feeling as if the words were totally inadequate.

  Sarah shrugged. “I shouldn’t be surprised,” she said grimly. “Although this is a surprise.”

  She held up the tiny cuddly toy, turning it over and over in her hands.