“I seem to recall from your file that you don’t work,” Anna said. “Perhaps that’s why you have such a casual attitude towards time.”
Bessie simply stared at her for a moment. She felt as if she’d been insulted, but she wasn’t sure why. “Perhaps,” she murmured eventually.
“So you arrived around half one and then what happened?”
Anna was silent as Bessie told her about the drive to the farmhouse, finding it empty, and the subsequent phone call to Fenella.
“Were you surprised that Eoin wasn’t here?” Anna asked when Bessie paused.
“I suppose so,” Bessie replied. “I didn’t really think about it. Everyone knows about the problems with his knee, so I wasn’t too shocked to hear that he’d gone across for treatment.”
“Has he ever been absent when you’ve visited before?”
Bessie sat back in the seat and tried to think. After a few minutes she shook her head. “I have no idea,” she said. “For many years, I used to see Niall about the turkeys. Sometimes Eoin would be with him, but not every time. Then when Niall started having health problems, I started to see Eoin more. But really, I only visit once a year and I’ve simply never paid that much attention to who was here or not here.”
Anna nodded and made another note. “I don’t suppose you keep any record of such things,” she said.
Bessie nearly laughed. “I don’t,” she said firmly.
“What happened after you rang Fenella?” Anna asked.
Bessie told her about the drive down to the lower barn and everything that she could remember happening before Anna herself had arrived.
“What did you and Fenella discuss while you were waiting for the police to arrive?” Anna asked when she’d finished.
“I asked her if she had any idea who she’d found,” Bessie admitted.
“And did she?”
“If she did, she didn’t share it with me,” Bessie told her.
“What about you? Do you have any idea who’s been buried in that barn for all these years?”
“I couldn’t begin to guess,” Bessie replied.
“Surely you know of a missing person or two?” Anna pressed her.
“There was little Myrtle Kincaid,” Bessie said. “But she was only a child when she disappeared.”
Anna nodded. “I’ve been tidying up old files at the station,” she said. “I read through the one on that case. I don’t think that’s who we’ve found.”
“I can’t think of anyone else it might be,” Bessie said after a moment. “Fenella was saying that young men and women often left the island for across and many weren’t good about staying in touch. I suppose it could be anyone who said they were going to go and then were never heard from again.”
“I know Rockwell spent a lot of time going through old missing person reports during a recent investigation. Perhaps he’ll be able to suggest some likely candidates,” Anna remarked, almost to herself.
“If the family ever filed a report,” Bessie said. “If they thought their loved one had moved across, they might not have done so, or they might have tried to file one over there, rather than over here.”
Anna nodded. “But all of that is our worry, not yours,” she said firmly. “Just one last question, I think. Who might want to get Eoin and Fenella Faragher into trouble by hiding a dead body in their barn?”
Bessie tried not to look shocked at the idea. “I don’t, that is, I mean,” she stammered. She took a deep breath. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she said. “But I can’t imagine anyone would do something so awful. Eoin and Fenella are nice people who work hard and stay out of trouble. Why would anyone, I mean, it simply doesn’t make sense.”
“Thank you for your time, then,” Anna said coolly. “I’ll be in touch if I have any more questions.”
Bessie nodded and then followed the woman out of the car. Her mind was racing as she considered the woman’s last question. Was it possible that someone was trying to frame Eoin and Fenella? But how could they have known that Fenella was going to start trying to clear out the barn? Surely the idea didn’t make sense.
Outside, there seemed to be people everywhere. Crime scene technicians in their white coats and gloves were moving back and forth from their mobile lab. Doona was sitting with Hugh, watching the scene. Bessie took a step towards her.
“Ah, Miss Cubbon, I’d like you to go home now,” Anna Lambert said. “I’m going to have to interview Ms. Moore and that could take a while.”
“I’ll have to ring for a taxi,” Bessie told her. “I don’t know how long it will take for one to get here.”
“I’ll have someone take you home,” Anna said. She looked around and then waved to a young constable in uniform. “Ah, Williamson, will you please drive Miss Cubbon home?” she asked. She spun on her heel and walked towards Doona without waiting for a reply.
“Aunt Bessie? How’d you get mixed up in this?” the young man asked Bessie.
Bessie shook her head. “I’ve absolutely no idea,” she told him.
Chapter Three
Bessie followed the man to his police car. He held open the passenger door and helped her climb inside.
“I hope this is okay,” he said. “I didn’t want to put you in the back, like you were under arrest or anything.”
Bessie laughed. “I’m quite happy up here with you,” she assured the man.
He drove carefully along the road through the farm. Bessie listened to the police radio, but she couldn’t really understand much of what was being said.
“What are they saying?” she finally asked as the young man turned onto the main road.
He listened for a moment and then translated the codes for her. “There’s been a minor accident on the A2 at Church Hill. No injuries, but one of the cars needs to be towed.”
The radio fell quiet for a moment. Bessie turned to her companion.
“Anyway, it’s nice to see you again, Joe. Your mother told me you’d moved back to the island,” she said. “I’m sure it seems quiet after your time in Liverpool.”
The man nodded. “It was crazy over there,” he said. “It started to get to me. It seemed like every time we arrested a guy, two more would come along to take his place. I loved it when I first started, but after a while I found I really just wanted to come home.”
“The island often has that effect on people,” Bessie replied.
“My wife loves it here, too,” he told her. “She grew up in Liverpool, and after spending her whole life in a city, the island is a big change for her.”
“I gather your mother is hoping for grandchildren now that you’re back,” Bessie remarked.
The man laughed. “Jen, my wife, is on Mum’s side on that one. Jen’s a hairdresser, and I keep encouraging her to start looking for work here, but she’s dragging her feet. She wants to stay at home with the kids, if and when they start arriving.”
“It’s a good thing for the kids, if you can afford it and it suits you,” Bessie said. “But it’s a very tough job, being home with small children all day.”
“I suppose we’ll have to see how it goes,” Joe replied.
He pulled up outside Bessie’s cottage and parked his car. “I’ll just walk you to the door,” he said.
“Do you have time to come in for a quick cuppa?” Bessie asked.
Joe glanced at his watch and then frowned. “Maybe a very quick one,” he said. “Inspector Lambert shouldn’t mind if I take a few minutes out.”
Bessie opened the door to the cottage and stepped inside. In the small kitchen she switched the kettle on and then pulled out a box of biscuits.
“I’m sorry to say I haven’t baked anything in the last few days,” she told the man as he sat down at her small kitchen table. “I’m rushing about getting ready for Thanksgiving and I haven’t had time.”
“I thought Thanksgiving was an American holiday,” Joe said.
“It is,” Bessie replied. “But I grew up in America and Thanksgiving holds v
ery fond memories for me.”
“Really? Don’t you just eat a turkey?”
“You do,” Bessie agreed. “But if I remember correctly, it’s the busiest travel time of the year. I reckon more people make the effort to be together at Thanksgiving than at Christmas. Our Christmases were mostly spent with our immediate family, but Thanksgiving was about getting together with every relative we could find.”
“That’s nice,” Joe said. “Although I have a few relatives I wouldn’t really want to see, even once a year.”
Bessie laughed. “Every family has those,” she told him. “We used to have dinner at my father’s cousin’s house. When everyone made it, there would be thirty or more people to feed. My mother took the pies every year. She’d bake every day for a week leading up the big day, and my sister and I weren’t allowed to have any. The anticipation made those the best pies of the entire year.”
“Are you going to be baking pies this year?”
Bessie shook her head. “I used to have the dinner here, and I used to do all of the cooking, but now I have too many friends and not enough space. I’m letting The Swing Bridge restaurant handle the food and the pies this year.”
“They do great food,” Joe said. “I took Jen there for a meal a few weeks ago. Everything was delicious.”
“How is your sister?” Bessie asked as she poured the tea.
“Jane’s fine,” he said. “She’s still in London, studying chemistry and engineering.”
“Good for her,” Bessie said. “She’s so smart. I’m sure she’ll do great things.”
“She’s much smarter than me, anyway,” Joe laughed.
“I remember her staying here one night, a few years ago now, and she’d brought some school work with her. I couldn’t understand the math problems, but she flew through them.”
Bessie had never married or had children, but she enjoyed spending time with young people. Over the years, her cottage had become a favourite destination for teenagers who needed a break from their parents. Bessie had been used to welcoming overnight guests fairly regularly, but such visits had become increasingly rare lately, as she’d found herself mixed up in several murder investigations.
“Your cottage was always my favourite place to run away to,” Joe told her. “Even when I wasn’t fighting with my folks, I used to love coming here. It just feels so cosy and warm here.”
Bessie smiled and then looked around the kitchen. Of course, cosy could be considered just another way of saying small, but her cottage had been home to her for all of her adult life and she loved it very much.
Before she could reply, Joe’s mobile buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and then frowned at it.
“Yes, I’m just on my way back now,” he said to his caller. He disconnected and frowned at Bessie. “Clearly the inspector noticed my absence after all,” he said glumly.
“Surely you’re entitled to a quick cuppa,” Bessie replied, getting to her feet. “I’ll just put a few biscuits into a bag for you to take with you.”
The man quickly swallowed his tea and then took the offered bag from Bessie. “Thank you so much,” he told her. “It was wonderful to see you again. I shall have to bring the wife over to meet you one day.”
“I’d like that,” Bessie told him. She stood in the doorway and watched him drive away. He’d always been a nice young man and she was pleased to see him back on the island, working hard and happily married.
She shut the door and then tided up the kitchen. It was nearly time for her evening meal, but after her restaurant lunch and recent biscuits, she wasn’t especially hungry. Outside the sky was overcast, but it wasn’t actually raining. A long walk in the fresh air was exactly what she needed, Bessie decided.
She had the beach to herself. The holiday cottages that were her nearest neighbours sat empty now, waiting for spring. Unable to help herself, Bessie found that she was looking inside each cabin as she walked along. Several of them looked as if they were getting ready to be painted, with covers on the furniture and drop cloths on the floors. Bessie wondered if Thomas Shimmin, the owner of the cottages, was doing the work himself or if he’d hired a local firm. She knew he’d had a very successful summer, with full occupancy and extra income from offering a shopping service and even some limited catering.
Beyond the cottages, Bessie strolled along the beach, watching the waves. It wasn’t long before she came to the stairs that led to Thie yn Traie, the mansion that was perched on the cliff above. As far as she knew, the property was still on the market, and Bessie felt that it was a shame that no one had purchased it. She was hoping someone might buy it and live in it year-round, even though the original owners had built it as a summer home. Glancing up at the sprawling estate, Bessie shook her head. The longer it sat empty, the less likely it seemed that anyone would ever purchase it.
She continued on for a short while longer and then turned back towards home. She was just beginning to feel hungry and began to plan a light evening meal as she walked.
“Hullo, Bessie,” a voice called as she approached the holiday rentals.
“Good afternoon,” she said, smiling at Thomas Shimmin as he climbed down off the deck of one of the cottages and headed towards her. “How are you today?” she asked.
“Oh, I’m fine,” he replied. “But what’s this I hear about you finding another body? Maggie rang me and said it’s the talk of the island.”
Bessie squelched a sigh. Thomas’s wife, Maggie, loved a bit of skeet. If she’d heard about the body on the Clague farm, there probably wasn’t anyone else on the island who hadn’t heard as well. “I didn’t find anything,” Bessie said firmly.
“Well, that isn’t how Maggie heard it,” Thomas said with a chuckle. “And you know as well as I do that Maggie is never wrong, at least not in her mind.”
Bessie grinned. “Yes, well, she’s wrong this time, but please don’t tell her I said that.”
Thomas nodded. “But something’s happened,” he said, suddenly serious. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Bessie replied, touched by the genuine concern she could hear in his voice. “Fenella Faragher was moving some boxes around in one of their barns. Underneath one of the boxes was at least part of a skeleton.”
Thomas winced. “Poor Fenella. That must have been upsetting for her.”
“The police have to work out how long it’s been there, of course, but the boxes were her mother’s, so it might have been there for fifty or sixty years or more.”
“Well, that’s something,” Thomas said. “If it’s been there that long, I suppose no one is still missing whoever it is.”
“It’s still very sad. I don’t suppose you have any idea who it might be?”
Thomas looked shocked. “How on earth would I know?” he asked.
Bessie couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. “It was just a random thought,” she said soothingly. “Like maybe you had a friend forty years ago who suddenly disappeared one day after telling you he was heading up to the Clague farm, something like that.”
“I’m not sure I’d remember something like that if it did happen,” Thomas told her.
“I suspect the police are going to be asking everyone to search their memories,” Bessie told him. “Someone has to know who the person was.”
“I’m glad that isn’t a job for me,” Thomas said stoutly. “I’ll stick to painting and the like.”
“I was wondering if you were going to do the painting yourself or hire someone,” Bessie told him.
“Oh, Maggie would have a fit if I hired anyone,” he replied. “These cottages were my idea and we spent pretty much every penny we had in savings to buy the land and build them. We had a good summer, but we’d have to have made at least double what we did before Maggie would even consider hiring anyone to do anything. They’re our cottages and I did quit my job to look after them. Painting every winter is my responsibility.”
“I do hope you’re going to take time off to come to my Thanks
giving dinner,” Bessie said.
“Oh, we wouldn’t miss that,” Thomas assured her. “We had such a nice time last year and the year before that. It’s one of our favourite holidays now, even if it is an American one.”
“Well, if I don’t see you before, I suppose I’ll see you at The Swing Bridge, then,” Bessie said.
“Yes, indeed, although I’m sure you’ll see me before. I plan to start painting tomorrow and it will probably take a couple of weeks to do the whole lot.”
Thomas headed back to cover more furniture while Bessie continued on with her walk. She was nearly home now and as she reached her door she stopped to run her fingers over the sign on the side of the house. “Treoghe Bwaane,” it read.
“Widow’s Cottage,” she murmured to herself. Of course she wasn’t a widow, having never married, but when she’d found the cottage all those years ago when she’d first returned to the island, she’d felt as if she were. Matthew Saunders had swept her off her feet, and she’d been devastated when her parents insisted that she return to the island with them rather than let her stay in the US and marry Matthew. She was only seventeen; she wasn’t really given any choice in the matter. Matthew had followed her a short while later, but illness had swept through the boat he was sailing on and he’d died just before his arrival in Liverpool.
Bessie smiled sadly as she remembered how she’d been convinced that her life was over when she’d heard. She’d not been able to forgive her parents, and thanks to a small legacy from Matthew, she’d bought herself her very own home. The legacy had provided just enough income, thanks to some very clever investing by her advocate, for Bessie to live frugally in her small cottage ever since. In the last few years, she’d been able to be less careful with her money and had mostly indulged herself with an ever-growing collection of books. While there were times when she wondered what her life might have been like if Matthew had survived, for the most part she was satisfied with the way her life had turned out. She loved her small home and she was content with living on her own.
Now she fixed herself a bowl of soup and ate that with a few pieces of toast and a cup of tea. By the time she’d taken care of the washing up, it was quite dark outside, so rather than think about another walk, Bessie curled up with an old Sherlock Holmes novel that she hadn’t read for many years. Holmes was just explaining things to Watson when someone knocked on her door. Bessie slid a bookmark into the book and walked to the door.
Aunt Bessie Invites (An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Book 9) Page 4
