Aunt Bessie Invites (An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Book 9) (5 page)

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 very 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 Thanksgiving dinner,” Bessie said.