AUNT BESSIE OBSERVES
AN ISLE OF MAN COZY MYSTERY
DIANA XARISSA
Text Copyright © 2017 Diana Xarissa
Cover Photo Copyright © 2017 Kevin Moughtin
All Rights Reserved
Created with Vellum
For the friends who keep me going!
CONTENTS
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Glossary of Terms
Other Notes
Acknowledgments
Aunt Bessie Provides
Also by Diana Xarissa
About the Author
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Aunt Bessie Observes is the fifteenth book in the Isle of Man Cozy Mystery series. If this is the first book you’ve tried, I do suggest that you read the books in order (alphabetically by the last word in the title). Each title should be enjoyable on its own, but the characters do change and develop as the series progresses. Aunt Bessie originally appeared in my romance, Island Inheritance. She had just passed away, however, so the mysteries are set about fifteen years before the events of the romance.
The story is set in the beautiful Isle of Man, a UK crown dependency in the Irish Sea. Due to the setting, I’ve used UK English spellings and terms. There is a short glossary and some other notes at the back of the book to help explain anything that might be unfamiliar to readers outside the UK. The longer I live in the US, the more “Americanisms” will sneak into the text. I do apologize for that. I try to correct errors when they are pointed out to me.
Bessie originally met Joan and Janet Markham in Aunt Bessie Decides. They now have their own novella series (Markham Sisters Cozy Mystery Novellas) set at their bed and breakfast in Derbyshire. This book marks the first time they’ve returned to the Isle of Man since they met Bessie. In this story, they make some references to events that took place in The Jackson Case. You do not need to have read that novella in order to enjoy this book. (But if you do read the Markham sisters books, you should read that story before you read this one!)
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance that any character may have to any real person, living or dead, is coincidental. Similarly, the businesses on the island that are named within the story are also fictional. If they resemble any real businesses, this is a coincidence.
The historical sites mentioned in the text are all real, but the events that take place at them within this story are fictional. Manx National Heritage does a wonderful job of maintaining these sites and promoting the island’s rich history. The characters in this book who are employed by Manx National Heritage are fictional and in no way based on actual MNH employees. The same is true for the Isle of Man Constabulary.
I enjoy hearing from readers. My contact details are available at the back of the book. I encourage everyone to sign up for my newsletter, which will keep you up to date on new releases. I’m also active on Facebook and would love to have you join in the chat on my page there. Thank you for choosing to spend time with Bessie and her friends.
CHAPTER 1
“Bessie? You aren’t usually in ShopFast on a Monday,” Maggie Shimmin said, her tone almost accusatory.
Elizabeth Cubbon, known as Bessie to nearly everyone, forced herself to smile at the woman. “I’m just getting some shopping in for my friends who are arriving later today,” she explained.
Maggie raised an eyebrow. “I could have done that for them,” she said. “I’m shopping for all of our other guests, after all.”
Maggie and her husband, Thomas, owned a row of holiday cottages on Laxey Beach, the first of which was only a few steps away from Bessie’s own cottage. Unlike the holiday homes, which were generally only occupied from April through October, Bessie lived in her cottage full-time.
“I’m sure you could have, but Joan wanted some very specific things and she didn’t want to bother you with them,” Bessie explained. Besides, you charge a hefty fee for the service and I didn’t want my friends to have to pay it, Bessie added to herself.
“What does she want that’s so complicated?” Maggie asked, looking into Bessie’s trolley.
“Just baking supplies,” Bessie replied. “Joan likes to bake every day, even when she’s on holiday. She wanted lots of flour and sugar and other ingredients.”
“It seems like a waste to bake on holiday,” Maggie said. “What will she do with everything she makes?”
“Her sister, Janet, will do her best to eat most of it,” Bessie laughed. “No doubt she’ll simply give away the rest. She loves to bake, but she doesn’t eat much of what she makes herself.”
“How odd,” Maggie sniffed.
“I’m sure if you drop in to visit them, they’ll share something delicious with you,” Bessie suggested.
“I try not to visit the cottages when they’re occupied,” Maggie told her. “That way I don’t have to listen to complaints.”
Bessie nodded. Complaints were Thomas’s department; everyone who knew the couple knew that. Maggie hadn’t been very happy a few years earlier when Thomas had quit his full-time job in banking after they’d purchased the land next to Bessie’s cottage. In his early fifties at the time, he’d grown tired of the daily pressures of his job and longed for a chance to do something completely different. Thomas had insisted to his wife that they could make enough money from the cottages during the spring and summer season that they could enjoy the rest of the year relaxing and travelling. The reality was somewhat different.
Bessie knew that the couple spent most of the winter months working at the cottages, getting them ready for the next spring. As far as Bessie knew, Thomas and Maggie still hadn’t managed to do any travelling, although Maggie did have a fancy new sporty car, which suggested that the cottages were generating a good income, even if they had turned out to be more work than Thomas had expected.
“I can’t see Joan and Janet complaining about anything,” Bessie told her. “They’re lovely people, and they run their own bed and breakfast in Derbyshire, so they know some of the challenges that you and Thomas have to deal with.”
Maggie made a face. “I wish I’d known that before I took the booking,” she said. “People in the business are usually the worst sort of guests. They always insist that everything is nicer at their establishment and that they treat their guests better than they’re being treated. Your friends are probably going to cause me no end of trouble.”
“They were no trouble when they stayed before,” Bessie pointed out. She’d actually met the sisters the previous year when they’d been staying at the holiday cottages. That was before they’d purchased their bed and breakfast, but Bessie didn’t bother to point that out to Maggie.
“Hmm, well, I suppose we’ll see,” Maggie said. “I must be off now, though. We have guests arriving all day today. The cottages will be full all week.”
While that wasn’t surprising, as it was the middle of May and the cottages had been getting busier and busier each week since early April, Bessie still wasn’t thrilled to hear it. She loved her little cottage on the beach, and one of the best parts about it was that it was quiet and a little bit isolated. For most of the year, she had Laxey Beach to herself, and she preferred it that way. Still, she was happy for Thomas and Maggie and she was exc
ited that she would be seeing her friends again.
Maggie strolled away, pushing her trolley that was full of loaves of bread and cartons of eggs. It looked as if nearly every cottage had taken advantage of the grocery shopping service that Thomas offered their guests. Bessie continued on her way, gathering up the things that she’d promised her friends she would get for them. As they were bringing their car with them, they could have filled it up with groceries to bring with them, but Bessie insisted that while they were on the island, Joan should bake with Manx flour and butter and eggs. If nothing else, it would be interesting to see if the sisters noticed any difference in the final products.
Bessie took her time filling her shopping trolley with everything on the list that Janet had given her. They usually kept in touch the old-fashioned way, sending one another long letters once or twice a month. When the sisters’ visit was only a few days away, however, they’d begun ringing back and forth, finalising the details. After half an hour on the phone last night, Bessie had finally persuaded Janet to let her do some shopping for the women.
“The last thing you’re going to want to do after the ferry journey is go shopping,” Bessie had said firmly. “I’ll get you what you’ll need for the first few days, anyway. You can do your own shopping after that.” Now that she was pushing the overloaded trolley, Bessie wasn’t sure she should have insisted.
The girl behind the till, a young blonde called Betty, gave Bessie a grin. “Good morning, Aunt Bessie. It looks as if you’re going to be doing some baking,” she said. “Maybe I’ll have to pop down for a visit like I did when I was a teenager.”
Bessie laughed. She’d never married or had children of her own, but she’d been delighted to act as an honourary auntie to nearly every child in Laxey over many years. Teenagers often “ran away” to Bessie’s cottage when they needed to get away from parents who simply didn’t understand or perhaps understood only too well. Bessie usually had biscuits, often had cake, and always listened with a sympathetic ear to complaints that were sometimes ridiculous but always intensely felt. While careful not to take sides in any argument between a child and his or her parents, most teenagers left Bessie’s with a clearer understanding of many things.
In the last year or so Bessie had found herself involved in a number of murder investigations. Some Laxey area parents had begun refusing to allow their children to spend time at Bessie’s as a result. While Bessie missed her visitors, she found that she was busier than ever in spite of their absence. Not having visitors also meant that she was baking less frequently, although she’d been trying to amend that in the last month or so.
“None of this is for me,” she told Betty, who wasn’t that much past her teen years. “I’m shopping for a friend.”
“Is it your friend who has the cat, then?” Betty asked, holding up the bag of cat food that she was getting ready to scan.
“It is, indeed,” Bessie told her.
“How come you don’t have any cats?” was Betty’s next question. “I mean, I know it’s a cliché, old unmarried women having lots of cats, but surely you could have one.”
Bessie bristled slightly at the reference to her age. She’d stopped counting her birthdays once she’d earned her free bus pass at sixty. While that had been some years ago, she knew she was still some years away from receiving a telegram from the queen. As her exact age wasn’t something she thought about, she didn’t believe that it was anyone else’s business either. “I don’t really like animals,” she told Betty. “I’m quite happy on my own.”
Betty nodded. “I don’t like cats,” she confided. “I’m in a flat with my sister now and she has a cat. It knows I don’t like it and it does everything it can to make my life miserable.”
Bessie bit her tongue. She really didn’t want to hear any more about Betty’s sister’s cat, even though a dozen questions sprang into her mind.
“We have helpers to help you load up your car,” the girl told Bessie after Bessie had paid for the shopping. “Shall I ring for one?”
“I’m being collected by a taxi,” Bessie told her. “I’m sure the driver will help me. Thank you anyway.”
Bessie pushed the trolley out into the large car park and looked around for her taxi. Before she’d spotted it, she heard a car door slam. A smile crossed her face as she recognised Dave, her favourite driver, walking towards her.
“I’ll get that,” he said as he reached for the trolley.
“You do spoil me,” Bessie said as she followed him to his car.
“You’re one of our best customers,” the man countered. “All of the drivers should spoil you.”
“Most of them do,” Bessie replied. She climbed into the car while Dave loaded her shopping into the boot. He slid behind the steering wheel a moment later. Bessie had never learned to drive. When she was much younger, she’d used buses to get around her island home. When a friend of hers had started a small taxi company in the village of Laxey, Bessie had been happy to use his service. In return, he gave her a substantial discount. Many years later, the company had been sold to a larger taxi firm in Douglas. Bessie kept using them because she knew and liked nearly all of the drivers that still covered the Laxey area.
Dave started the car and headed out of Ramsey, towards Laxey. “Did you get everything you needed?” he asked.
“I got everything on the list my friend gave me,” Bessie told him. “If she forgot something, it isn’t my fault.”
“How long will your friends be here?”
“They leave on Sunday.”
“So you probably won’t be needing a taxi for the rest of the week,” Dave suggested.
“Certainly not as much as usual,” Bessie agreed. “I’m planning on spending as much time with them as I can, and they’re bringing their car with them on the ferry.”
“And on the weekend there’s the conference at the Manx Museum, isn’t there?”
“Yes, I’m giving a paper on Sunday afternoon. My friends aren’t leaving until the late ferry, so they’re going to come along and hear my talk. I hope they won’t be too bored.”
“I’m sure it will be fascinating,” Dave said. “What are you talking about?”
“Sixteenth- and seventeenth-century wills and what they can tell us about life on the island in those years.”
“Well, that sounds interesting to me. Maybe I’ll come and have a listen.”
Bessie laughed. “It’s kind of you to say that, but I’m sure you’ll have better things to do on Sunday. I just hope the conference goes better this year than last year.”
“That’s right, someone was murdered last year, weren’t they?”
“They were, indeed,” Bessie said soberly.
Back at her cottage, Dave insisted on carrying her shopping inside for her.
“Just leave all of the bags on the table,” she told him. “I’ll take them over to Janet and Joan’s cottage as soon as they let me know that they’re here.”
Bessie locked the cottage door behind the man, something she’d not been as careful about in years past. Her paper for the conference was done, so she settled down with a good book and relaxed. At four o’clock there was a knock on her door.
“Janet, Joan, come in,” she said happily, pulling the door open.
Janet stepped inside and gave Bessie a hug. Bessie knew Janet was in her mid-sixties. She had shoulder-length grey hair and sparkling blue eyes. Her sister, Joan, who was two years older, was around the same height, with slightly shorter hair and the same pretty eyes. Joan was thin and angular, where Janet had soft curves, but the sisters looked very much alike otherwise.
Joan was still standing in the doorway. As Bessie turned to greet her, she pointed to the small sign on the door. “Tell me again how this is pronounced?”
“Treoghe Bwaane,” Bessie told her. “It’s Manx for widow’s cottage.”
Joan nodded. “I remembered that part, but I couldn’t remember how it was pronounced.” She carefully repeated the words several tim
es before stepping into the cottage and giving Bessie a hug.
“It’s good to see you both,” Bessie said.
“And I’m sorry about that greeting,” Joan said, flushing. “But as soon as I saw the plaque again, I wanted to remember how to say it. I wish I could learn more Manx than just that.”
Bessie shook her head. “I’ve taken the beginning Manx class four times and I’m not sure I’ve learned much. It’s a very difficult language.”
Joan nodded. “I’m sure it is. Celtic languages don’t have much in common with English, but I’m sure learning it would be enjoyable.”
“If you come to the whole conference and not just my talk, you’ll have a chance to hear a great deal of Manx,” Bessie told her. “Marjorie Stevens, the librarian and archivist at the museum, is giving a talk about the language, and so is William Corlett, who works for the Manx History Institute.”
“We haven’t decided if we’re going to the whole conference or just parts of it yet,” Janet said. “I think we need to look at the programme before we decide.”
“It will be educational,” Joan said.
“But we’re retired now,” Janet pointed out. “We don’t have to do educational things in our spare time.”
“We aren’t exactly retired,” Joan said. “Sometimes I think we’re working harder than we did when we had jobs.”
Aunt Bessie Observes (An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Book 15) Page 1
