Aunt Bessie Likes

by Diana Xarissa

  Bessie spun around and put her hand to her chest. “I didn’t hear you coming,” she gasped.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” the young man said with a laugh. “If you walk down to the other end of the road, you’ll find the model home. It’s fully furnished so you can see how we think people will use the spaces.”

  “Oh, I shall have to do that,” Bessie said. “I’m incurably nosy.”

  The man laughed again. “I’ll walk along with you, if you don’t mind. Maybe I can answer any questions you might have.”

  Bessie frowned. While the man looked pleasant enough, she was suddenly very aware that they were alone in a very lonely spot.

  “I’m Peter Clucas,” the man said casually. “I’m the project manager on the site.”

  “I see,” Bessie said steadily.

  “I’m also one of the main investors in the project,” he told her. “So if you know anyone who’s looking for a nice new house with great views, send them my way.”

  Bessie grinned. “I don’t think I do, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

  “I don’t have the keys on me, or I’d give you a tour of one of the properties. I think they’re pretty special.”

  Bessie nodded. The young man was very likeable, even if she still wasn’t sure she could trust him.

  “Let’s walk over and peek at the show home,” he suggested. “The sales manager will be here after ten o’clock if you wanted to book an appointment to see the inside.”

  “I’m not house-hunting,” Bessie told him. “I’m just nosy.”

  The man nodded. “Lots of people are, especially the neighbours,” he said. “We had an open day last month, and nearly everyone who came by already lived in Laxey and just wanted to get a good look at what we’re doing.”

  He stopped as they reached the last house in the row. Bessie peered in through the large sliding doors and smiled. The room was clearly meant to be a dining room, exactly as she’d thought.

  “The kitchen is off to the left,” Peter told her. “There’s a large reception room at the front of the property and upstairs there are three bedrooms and two bathrooms.”

  “Peter?” a voice shouted from the opposite end of the street. “I can’t work out your coffee maker and I really need a cup of coffee.”

  The young man rolled his eyes at Bessie. “My father loves to be by the sea,” he told her. “So sometimes he stays out here with me. I’d better go and help him with the coffee maker.”

  Bessie stared at the man who was crossing the beach towards them and then gasped. “Your father is Peter Clucas,” she said as she recognised the man.

  “You know my father?” the young man asked.

  “I knew him many years ago,” Bessie explained.

  “My goodness, Elizabeth Cubbon,” the older man said as he reached the pair behind the model home. “I was just thinking about you, actually.”

  “You were?” Bessie asked, surprised.

  “Your name keeps coming up in my conversations,” he explained. He turned to his son and grinned. “You go and rustle up some coffee for all of us,” he told him. “I’ll just walk back slowly and chat with Bessie as we go.”

  The younger man hesitated and then nodded and walked quickly away, leaving Bessie with his father.

  “I do hope people have been saying nice things about me,” Bessie said, trying to keep her tone light.

  Peter chuckled. “Actually, everyone seems to think you’re incredibly nosy,” he said.

  Bessie gasped and found herself at a loss for words. Before she could remedy that, Peter held up a hand.

  “I didn’t mean that quite the way it sounded,” he said. “But there are a lot of folks that aren’t real happy about the police reopening the Kelly girls’ case file, and several of the people I’ve spoken to seem to think you’re involved in the investigation.”

  “I don’t work for the police,” Bessie told him. “I have spoken to them about the case, but only because I’m old enough to remember the girls.”

  “And I’m sure you remember the suspects,” Peter said bitterly.

  Bessie nodded, unsure of exactly how to reply.

  He sighed deeply and then turned and offered Bessie his arm. “We should go and get that coffee,” he said. “I’m going to need it today, I think.”

  Bessie took his arm and they began a slow walk back down the beach.

  “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life,” Peter said after a few steps. “Getting involved with the Kelly girls was one of them.”

  “Everyone talks about them as a group, but I didn’t think Susan spent much time with the other two,” Bessie said.

  “Oh, they all ran around in the same crowd,” Peter replied. “Susan was sweet and pretty naïve, but Helen and Karen were doing their best to change that. There were half a dozen of us, maybe, that all hung around together.”

  “Were there other girls in the crowd?” Bessie asked, thinking about the fourth body.

  “Margot was part of the group, although her parents didn’t give her as much freedom as the others had. And there was another girl. I can’t quite remember her name, but she and her family moved away just before the other girls disappeared.”

  “And you and your cousin Jonas were there,” Bessie said.

  “Yeah, and Matthew Kelly and Donald Quayle.”

  “I’d forgotten about him,” Bessie said. “His name hasn’t come up during the investigation at all.”

  “He was never a suspect.” Peter said. “He was dead before the girls disappeared.”

  Bessie was silent as she remembered the charismatic young man who’d wrapped a stolen car around a tree on the night before his seventeenth birthday. “His accident was about a month before Susan vanished,” Bessie recalled.

  “Yeah, it was the first half of the wake-up call I needed to turn my life around,” Peter told her. “The disappearances were the other half, of course. Once that happened, I realised I needed to stop drinking and do something with my life.”

  “I’ve heard good things about the work you do,” Bessie told him.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I enjoy what I do and I hope I’m helping other kids make the changes they need to make without having to live through the sort of tragedies I experienced.”

  “I’m sure you’ve heard that the police have been excavating at the old Grantham farm,” Bessie said casually.

  Peter shot her a look and then nodded. “I did hear that,” he said softly.

  “I understand they received an anonymous tip,” Bessie said. “And I understand that they’ve found human remains.” John had said that much was going to be in the local papers. Bessie could only hope she wasn’t speaking too soon.

  “Yeah, that’s what people are saying,” Peter agreed. “And now I think I’d better be off. I’ve a lot to get done today.”

  “But your son will have the coffee ready by now,” Bessie called.

  “Yeah, tell him I’m sorry. I was too busy chatting with you to notice how late it was.”

  Bessie watched as he crossed the road next to the site office and climbed into one of the cars that was parked there. He drove away slowly, leaving Bessie with the job of explaining his behaviour to his son.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “We were talking about the missing Kelly girls, and then he said he had to leave.”

  Peter nodded. “He doesn’t like to talk about them. He’s upset about what’s going on at the Grantham farm, too. He used to spend a lot of time out there. He said it was peaceful.”

  Bessie sipped her coffee and didn’t reply. Peter’s behaviour had felt somewhat odd and she wanted to report the conversation to John. Was it possible that the man had turned his life around after murdering several young women?

  Over their drinks, Peter’s son showed Bessie several glossy brochures about the new homes while she tried to pretend she was interested. When she finally managed to get away, she felt as if she’d been stuck in the builder’s office for hours. The walk ba
ck to her cottage seemed to take a good deal longer than the walk the other way had. Bessie knew that was just because she was eager to speak to John. She found herself hurrying along, anxious to repeat the conversation while it was still fresh in her mind. As soon as she’d let herself into her cottage, she rang the police station.

  “John, I’m so glad I caught you,” she said. Before he could do much more than say hello, she launched into her report. When she was done, she blew out a long breath. “Sorry, I just had to tell you all of that before I forgot anything,” she said.

  “I think I need to have a chat with the man,” John said. “Thank you for sharing all of that with me. I wonder…”

  Bessie never did find out what he wondered, as he stopped speaking. After a moment, Bessie could hear his voice and someone else’s, but they sounded far away and muffled. Then John was back.

  “I’m sorry, Bessie, but I need to go,” John said.

  “I hope everything is okay,” Bessie said, subtly fishing for information.

  “There was an accident at the garage in Lonan,” John replied. “I don’t know anything beyond that at this point.”

  He hung up before Bessie could ask him any questions. She put her phone down and stared straight ahead with unseeing eyes. An accident at the garage in Lonan could only mean one thing, she thought. Something had happened to Matthew Kelly.

  Chapter Ten

  Bessie was surprised when she looked at the clock. She’d been out all morning. No wonder she was hungry. It was already time for lunch. Wondering if John and the others would be coming around for dinner again that evening, Bessie prepared a light lunch of soup and sandwiches. While she’d insisted that Hugh take the rest of the apple pie home with him the previous evening, she’d kept one small slice for herself. Now she reheated it and added a generous scoop of ice cream. She felt better as she did the washing-up and tidied the dishes away.

  When Bessie’s phone rang, she answered it almost without thought.

  “Elizabeth Cubbon? It’s Dan Ross with the Isle of Man Times. I was wondering if I could get a quote from you about the sudden and untimely death of Matthew Kelly?”

  “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Bessie demanded.

  “Oh, dear, I am sorry. I assumed that your police connections would have already informed you of the man’s death,” the reporter said. “I didn’t realise that I’d be breaking the bad news to you. How close were you to the dead man?”

  Bessie took a deep breath and then spoke in carefully measured tones. “I’m obviously very distressed to hear that something has happened to Mr. Kelly. I understand he was very good at his job.”

  “Yes, but he was also caught up in the middle of a police investigation,” Dan said quickly. “Do you think guilt over his past crimes was what drove him to kill himself?”

  “He killed himself?” Bessie echoed.

  “Maybe, now that the bodies are starting to turn up, he knew he was going to be caught and he decided to take the easy way out,” Dan suggested.

  “I’m not sure anyone would consider suicide easy,” Bessie said tartly. “And I couldn’t possibly comment on any of this.”

  “Oh, come on,” Dan cajoled. “Everyone knows you’re privy to the inner workings of the Laxey Constabulary and that you hear about everything that happens in Laxey and Lonan. Give a poor reporter a hint, at least.”

  “As I said, I couldn’t possibly comment,” Bessie replied. “Good day.”

  She set down the phone and then frowned at it. It wasn’t the phone’s fault that she hadn’t thought to wait until the answering machine picked up, of course, but that didn’t stop her from feeling unhappy with the device. When it rang again almost immediately, Bessie switched off the ringer and grabbed a jacket. For the second time in two days, she found herself sitting on the large rock behind her cottage, staring at the sea.

  It was hard for her to imagine that the man she’d only just spoken to was dead. And suicide? That was even more unbelievable. Matthew Kelly hadn’t seemed like the type to take his own life. Bessie watched the waves as the tide slowly moved in. She didn’t usually spend much time thinking about death or her own mortality. They were simply unavoidable facts of life. But now she felt slightly off-balance from the unexpected turn of events. As the tide began to creep up over the edge of the rock, Bessie wondered if she ought to head back inside.

  After another minute, she climbed down reluctantly, trying to think how she might fill the rest of her day. She was surprised to see a car in the parking area next to her house. The sound of the sea had drowned out any noise it had made as it had arrived. Bessie felt nervous as she made her way towards the car that was unfamiliar to her. There was definitely someone in the driver’s seat, Bessie realised as she walked across the sand. But who?

  Bessie was relieved when she recognised the woman behind the wheel. Joanna didn’t seem to notice Bessie as she approached. The newly widowed woman was staring through the windscreen at the sea, a steady stream of tears flowing down her face. When Bessie reached the driver’s door, she tapped gently on the window.

  Joanna looked at her and then slowly rolled her window down. “I hope you don’t mind me sitting here,” she said to Bessie in a strained voice.

  “You’re welcome to sit here as long as you like,” Bessie told her. “Or you can get out and sit on the beach, if you’d prefer. You could even come inside and have a cuppa if you’d like.”

  “Can I?” Joanna asked plaintively.

  “Of course you can,” Bessie told her. “Sweet milky tea will do wonders for you, and I’m sure I can find a few biscuits to go with it as well.”

  Joanna nodded and then glanced down. “I’m wearing my pyjamas,” she said, sounding surprised.

  “I don’t mind what you’re wearing,” Bessie told her. “I once had a new widow at my table in nothing but a skimpy silk nightie.”

  “I’m a widow,” Joanna said slowly. “I hadn’t realised.”

  The tears, which had slowed, began to fall heavily again.

  “Come on, now,” Bessie said briskly. “It’s no good crying out here. Come on inside and have some tea and sympathy.”

  Joanna nodded and then slowly put the window back up. When it was in place, she opened her car door and climbed out slowly. Bessie was relieved to see that she apparently slept in quite sensible pyjamas, although the woman’s fuzzy slippers weren’t well suited to crossing the sandy parking area.

  “Sit back down and let me go and get you some shoes,” Bessie suggested. “You’ll ruin those slippers walking on the sand.”

  “These are my old slippers,” Joanna told her. “I use them for taking out the bins and things. They’re already in pretty bad shape.”

  Bessie would have argued further if Joanna hadn’t strode away from her, straight towards Bessie’s cottage. Bessie only just caught up when Joanna reached the cottage door. After unlocking it, Bessie ushered the other woman inside.

  “Sit down and relax,” she told Joanna. “I’ll just get the kettle on.”

  Joanna sank into the nearest chair and rested her head in her hands. Bessie switched the kettle on and then found the nearest box of tissues.

  “Here now, have some tissues,” she offered as she sat down opposite her weeping guest.

  “Thanks,” Joanna muttered.

  Nothing else was said until the two women each had a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits in front of them. Joanna dried her eyes for the tenth time and then gave Bessie a wan smile.

  “Thank you,” she said, taking a sip of her tea.

  “You’re welcome,” Bessie replied. She picked up a chocolate digestive and took a large bite. Some situations simply required chocolate.

  “I’m crazy,” Joanna said after a second sip.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Bessie replied, deliberately not reacting to the woman’s words.

  “Thank you,” Joanna said. She shook her head. “It’s crazy how upset I am. We were talking about getting a divorce. We weren’t
happy. I, well, I was going to leave him next month. I had it all planned out. And here I am, carrying on as if I’d just lost the love of my life.”

  “Grief is an odd emotion,” Bessie said. “It rarely affects us the way we think it should.”

  “When the police came, I didn’t really believe them. I’m not sure I believe it now, really. Matthew was, well, not the easiest man to live with. I knew he had his demons, but I never thought he would ever take his own life. I’m not sure that he did.”

  Bessie patted her arm. “I’m sure the police will investigate thoroughly. They’ll work out exactly what happened.”

  “After the police came and told me what had happened, I rang my mother,” Joanna said. “She never liked Matthew, but then she’s never liked any of the men in my life. I was just so shocked that I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Was she not very sympathetic, then?” Bessie asked.

  “That’s one way of putting it,” Joanna said with a bitter laugh. “She said a lot of very hurtful things, but that’s not why I’m here.”

  “Why are you here, then?”

  Joanna looked at Bessie intently. “You have friends in the police. You know what’s going on with the Kelly girls’ case. Have they really found the bodies after all these years?”

  “They’ve certainly found bodies,” Bessie told her. “Although I think the word skeletons might be more accurate. As far as I know, they haven’t been able to identify any of the remains as yet, though.”

  “Who else could it be?” Joanna asked. “It isn’t as if we have groups of people disappearing from the island every day. If they found three skeletons of teenaged girls, they can’t be anyone else.”

  “I’m sure the police will be sharing their findings very soon,” Bessie said, not wanting to speak out of turn about the fourth body.

  “Yes, but, I mean, you see, my mother suggested that the reason Matthew committed suicide is because he killed the Kelly girls,” Joanna said.

  The woman’s eyes filled with fresh tears as Bessie struggled to work out how to respond.

  “I suppose that’s one possibility,” Bessie said eventually. “But only one of a number of them.”