“Like he noticed everything that went on around him,” Clara explained, “and then he remembered it the next day, even if no one else did.”
Bessie nodded slowly. “So if someone were doing something they shouldn’t have been doing at the pub…” she trailed off.
“Jerry would remind him or her of what he saw,” Clara said. “He was just trying to help, really, by letting people know that their behaviour had been noticed. People were usually really grateful.”
“I’m sure they were,” Bessie said dryly.
“A lot of times they’d be so grateful that they’d buy Jerry a round of drinks or two the next time he was in the pub,” Clara continued. “Or they’d just give him the money so he could buy his own drinks. That was sometimes easier.”
“He was blackmailing people,” Bessie said flatly.
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t call it that,” Clara said quickly. “Like I said, he was just trying to help, and people could be incredibly generous when they were grateful, that’s all.”
“Have you told the police all of this?”
“The police? I mean, I told them all about me and Jerry and our relationship, but they didn’t ask for specifics on where his money came from or anything. I wouldn’t want them to get the wrong idea like you did. They might start to think that Jerry was a criminal.”
“While Jerry might not have meant to do anything wrong, it’s possible that his vict, er, the people he talked to didn’t see it that way,” Bessie suggested. “Someone might even have been upset enough about it to kill him.”
“You’re making it out to be far more serious than it was,” Clara protested. “It wasn’t like that. Anyway, I’m sure it was Susan who killed him.”
“Except I believe she was in the corridor with Elizabeth Quayle the entire time,” Bessie said. “I don’t think she could have done it.”
“Ms. Quayle probably wasn’t paying attention. She was probably quite drunk, too. I know how these high society parties go. Everyone drinks too much and sometimes there are even drugs around. Ms. Quayle probably didn’t even lock the door properly when she put Jerry in that room.”
“I was there,” Bessie reminded the woman. “Elizabeth had no more than a single glass of wine all evening. She was working, helping to run the party and trying to learn about running such an event. Elizabeth may be wealthy, but she takes her job very seriously.”
Clara shrugged. “Then she’s lying to protect Susan,” she suggested. “Or maybe they were in on it together. Or maybe Elizabeth is now blackmailing Susan. She’ll be disappointed to learn that Susan isn’t actually inheriting anything, won’t she?”
“If Susan didn’t kill your husband, do you have any idea who might have?” Bessie asked.
“I didn’t really get to meet anyone at the fancy house up the beach,” Susan replied, “but everyone I saw there seemed far too well-off to stoop to murder. Surely, if any of them did want to kill someone, they would have had their staff take care of it.”
“None of the guests have any of their own staff with them, and as I understand it, the household staff at Thie yn Traie were all together in the kitchen when the murder took place.”
“Then it was Susan,” the woman said. “As I said, I’m sure she was after Jerry’s money. I suppose I must be careful now or she may come after me next.”
“You should be careful, certainly,” Bessie told her. “If your husband was blackmailing someone and he or she killed him, that person might think you’ll continue the blackmail now that Jerry is dead.”
“I told you, he wasn’t blackmailing anyone,” Clara said insistently. “People gave him money sometimes, but it wasn’t blackmail.”
Bessie wasn’t about to start arguing semantics with the woman. “Where are you staying?” she asked.
“I don’t really know,” the woman replied. “I suppose I should find a place, shouldn’t I? When I talked to the police, they offered to help me find a hotel for the night, but I got restless waiting for them to finish talking to everyone, and I just left. Do you know if there are any che, er, reasonably priced hotels in the area?”
“It can be difficult to find places to stay in the summer months,” Bessie told her. “Let me ring a friend and see if he has any ideas.”
“Hello?” The voice on the phone sounded very young.
“Is that Thomas?” Bessie asked. “It’s Elizabeth Cubbon.”
“Hello, Bessie. Yes, it’s me. Did you want to talk to Dad?”
“If he’s not busy.”
“I was just beating him badly at cards. I’m sure he’ll be happy to take a break,” Thomas laughed.
“What can I do for you, Bessie?” John’s voice came down the line.
“I met a woman on the beach this evening who needs a place to stay tonight. I don’t know if you can suggest somewhere that would have vacancies?”
“A woman on the beach? What have I told you about talking to strangers?”
“We have mutual friends,” Bessie told him. “Or, at least, mutual acquaintances at Thie yn Traie.”
“If you have Clara Rhodes sitting at your kitchen table right now I’ll, well, I don’t know what I’ll do,” John said tightly.
“I do have just that.”
Bessie wasn’t sure what John said next because he said it in a very low voice. She was pretty sure that he’d also put his hand over the receiver and that his mutterings were inappropriate for polite conversation.
“I have three constables combing the island for her,” he said a moment later. “One of them will be at your cottage in less than five minutes to collect her.”
“I think we should have a chat in about ten minutes, then,” Bessie replied.
“We’ll definitely be having a chat,” John said. “Don’t tell Ms. Rhodes that the police are coming for her, please. I don’t want to lose her again.”
“That’s fine. I really appreciate your help.”
Bessie put the phone down and smiled at her guest. “My friend is going to come over and collect you,” she said brightly. “Do you have a car on the island?”
“No, I took a taxi to the mansion up the beach and then I walked down here along the road. I left my suitcase in a locker at the airport in case I decided to go right back home again. I hope your friend won’t mind going back down there to collect it before he takes me to a hotel.”
“I’m sure you’ll be able to work something out,” Bessie said.
She cleared away the teacups and slipped the few biscuits that remained on the plate into a bag. Whoever came for Clara would surely appreciate them. It was Hugh Watterson who knocked on Bessie’s door a short time later.
“Hugh!” Bessie exclaimed as she pulled the man into a hug.
“John rang and asked me to pop over to help your friend,” he said.
Bessie wondered if John had really rung Hugh at home. The man was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, so maybe he was telling the truth. “I’m sorry you were bothered at home,” she replied.
“You know I’m always happy to help a friend,” Hugh grinned.
Bessie introduced him to Clara. “She’s left her suitcase at Ronaldsway, unfortunately.”
“We’ll work it all out,” Hugh said easily. He offered the woman his arm. “Shall we?”
“My goodness, I wasn’t expecting such a handsome escort,” Clara giggled. “Maybe we should go and get a drink before you take me to that hotel.”
“I don’t really have the time tonight,” Hugh said, sounding apologetic.
“Oh, that is a shame,” Clara sighed. “I so rarely get to spend time with handsome young men.”
Bessie stood in the doorway and watched as Hugh escorted the woman to his car. When she was safely tucked inside, he moved around to the driver’s door and climbed in. They drove away, but before Bessie could shut the door another car appeared on the road behind her house. It pulled into the space that Hugh had just vacated. Bessie wasn’t surprised when John Rockwell got out of the car.
“I
should have rung you as soon as I realised the woman was missing,” he sighed once he was inside Bessie’s kitchen with a cup of tea in front of him. “I don’t know why I assumed she’d get a taxi somewhere. I never thought that she’d simply walk away from Thie yn Traie.”
“Is she in a great deal of trouble?”
“Yes and no. I did ask her to stay Thie yn Traie while I spoke to some of the others. I had more questions for her, but I wanted to see what Susan in particular had to say before I finished with Clara. I didn’t tell her that she had to stay there, though, at least not in so many words.”
“So what will happen to her now?”
“Hugh is going to take her back to the station and sit with her until I get there. Then I will ask her the rest of my questions. Once that’s done, we’ll find her a place to stay for a few nights. I’d rather she didn’t leave the island until the investigation is complete, but I can’t actually make her stay here.”
“Oh, dear.”
“I’m hoping that the promise of posh accommodations and free food will be enough to keep her here for a while, anyway.”
“She seemed like the type that would appreciate such things.”
“What did she tell you, then?”
Bessie took John back through the conversation, trying her best to repeat the woman’s exact words whenever she could. When she was done, John was frowning.
“What she described sounds a lot like blackmail to me,” he said.
“And to me. She insisted it wasn’t, however.”
“Now I need to talk to Susan again,” John sighed. “I didn’t get a hint of any of that when I spoke to her earlier. Clara didn’t say anything like that when we talked, either.”
“What if Susan was part of it?” Bessie asked. “Clara suggested as much. If Susan really was planning parties for the rich and famous, she’d be perfectly placed to see things that might provide useful blackmail material.”
“If she really was planning parties,” John repeated. “From what she’s told me, this party for Elizabeth was really the first party she’d ever planned. I gather she was an assistant to a party planner for a short while before she decided to go out on her own. I also got the impression that she may have exaggerated her involvement in the parties that were planned while she was working for the other planner.”
“It seemed pretty obvious during the party that she didn’t know what she was doing,” Bessie said.
“Yes, just about everyone has made that same observation,” John said with a grin.
“Clara was insistent that her husband couldn’t have possibly crossed paths with any of the party guests, but if he didn’t, there doesn’t seem to have been any motive for anyone to kill him.”
“Having heard what Clara said, it appears we have more possible motives than I realised,” John said. “This will open up a totally new line of enquiry.”
“I just hope Clara tells you the same thing she told me,” Bessie said.
“Whether she does or not, I believe you,” John replied. “It will be interesting to talk to her and to Susan again.”
“Good luck,” Bessie told him.
“And you saved me from losing yet another round of crazy eights with my kids,” he added as he got to his feet. “When they were little, I could just about convince myself that I’d let them win, but now I have to admit that they’re better at card games than I am.”
Bessie laughed. “I’m glad you’re getting to spend time with them this summer, but you’ll really miss them when they go back to Manchester, won’t you?”
“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. For now, I’m just enjoying having them here. Doona came over to supervise after you rang. I told her put them straight to bed and not to get tricked into playing cards with them. I suspect they’ll all still be playing when I get home, whatever time that is.”
Bessie let the man out and locked the cottage door behind him. The washing-up didn’t take long. After everything that had happened that day, Bessie was still feeling restless in spite of the lateness of the hour. She thought about a short stroll on the beach, but the rain had started again. After last month’s break-in, she was reluctant to leave the cottage empty at night, anyway. After several minutes of looking, she finally found a book on one of her shelves about the women who were called into factory jobs in America during the Second World War. It had been years since she’d read it and she quickly got lost in the various stories.
When she looked at the clock again, it was well past her bedtime. Sighing, Bessie put the book to one side and switched off the downstairs lights. After washing her face and brushing her teeth, she crawled into bed and quickly fell asleep. Her dreams were all about airplane manufacturing plants and she was happy to wake up at six, even though she hadn’t had nearly enough sleep.
“I must find something more relaxing to read at bedtime,” she told her reflection in the mirror. Her tired eyes didn’t argue with her. Setting her coffee maker brewing, Bessie headed out for a short morning walk. It was overcast again, as if it might start to rain at any minute, so Bessie didn’t dawdle.
The constable standing by the stairs to Thie yn Traie looked even more tired than Bessie felt as she approached him.
“I thought you could use a few biscuits,” she said as she handed him the packet.
“Oh, bless you, Aunt Bessie,” he replied. “You’ve just saved my life.”
Bessie chuckled and then turned back towards home. She was ready for some coffee and a few biscuits herself. After her odd dreams the night before, she left the history book on the table and pulled out a new thriller that the bookshop in Ramsey had recently sent. She didn’t often read thrillers, but this one was by a favourite author who had switched genres for this title. The story was gripping from the first page and Bessie quickly found that her heart was racing as she turned the pages.
There were only two suspects that seemed likely to be behind the rash of murders in the story and as Bessie raced towards the climax she found herself hoping that the killer would turn out to be the unpleasant nephew rather than the penniless suitor. A glance at the clock showed her that it was nearly time for lunch as she reached the beginning of the end.
“Never mind, lunch can wait,” she said to herself before plunging back into the story. The penniless suitor was standing on the balcony with the female protagonist. The unpleasant nephew was nearby, but the couple were unaware of his presence. As the suitor began to declare his feelings for the heroine, he was interrupted when a shot rang out. Bessie turned the page, unable to breathe from the suspense. Someone knocked on her door.
Chapter 9
Sighing deeply, Bessie put the book down and headed for the door. “This better be important,” she muttered to herself as she crossed the kitchen floor.
“Good afternoon,” Jonathan Hooper said, smiling at Bessie from the doorstep.
“Jack, what a lovely surprise,” Bessie replied. “Do come in.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” the man said. “I wanted to come after lunch and before dinner. I probably should have rung first.”
“You’re fine,” Bessie told him. “I haven’t actually had lunch yet, because I was reading a very exciting book, but I’m delighted you’re here.”
“Did you finish the book?”
“No, not quite yet, but I’ve only a chapter or two to go.”
Jack smiled at her. “You sit down and finish your book and I’ll make you some lunch,” he said.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly.”
“Of course you can. Remember how many afternoons I turned up on your doorstep with a badly skinned knee, desperately in need of a plaster and a biscuit? I’m sure I interrupted you in the middle of a good book nearly every day for years. Go and finish while I make you a sandwich or something.”
Bessie wanted to argue further, but she was rather desperate to find out who had just been shot. “Maybe just a page or two more,” she said.
“Or fi
nish the book,” Jack laughed.
It only took Bessie ten minutes to read the final pages of the novel. She put it down and stomped into the kitchen a moment later.
“Oh, dear, from the look on your face, I take it you didn’t like the ending,” Jack said, looking up from the hob.
“No, I most certainly did not,” Bessie said stoutly. “If you’re going to hint at someone being the killer for the entire book and only reveal that he’s really a secret government agent on the last page, the least you can do is have the unlikeable character be the killer.”
“And he or she wasn’t?”
“No, she had the protagonist’s best friend be the killer, and it was all wrong and deeply unsatisfying. I won’t be buying any more books in that series, that’s for sure. I may not buy anything else by her in any series, now that I think about it.”
“I made you a ham and cheese toasty with soup,” Jack said. “Sit down.”
Bessie sat down at the kitchen table and shook her head. “I’m sorry. It isn’t your fault that I didn’t like the ending. And you’ve gone to all this trouble for me, as well.”
“It wasn’t any trouble at all,” he told her. “My butler training included a course in making quick and easy meals for emergency situations, but beyond that, my mother made sure I could heat soup and make toasties. She considers basic cooking an essential life skill.”
“She’s right about that, and this is delicious,” Bessie said after a few bites.
“The soup came out of a can in your cupboards. I can’t take any credit for doing anything more than heating things up.”
“But what brings you here?” Bessie asked after several more bites. Now that she’d finished the book, she was absolutely starving.
“I wanted to talk to you about what happened on Saturday night. I’ve never been a witness to a murder before, but I know you have. I just wanted to talk through it all, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. Feel free to make yourself a cup of tea or whatever you’d like and then sit down and join me.”
Jack nodded and then refilled the kettle. He made tea for himself and Bessie and got out some biscuits as well. By the time everything was ready, Bessie was finished with lunch, so he cleared her plates before he joined her.
Aunt Bessie Remembers Page 13
