Aunt Bessie Invites (An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Book 9) (23 page)

“Ah, Aunt Bessie, one of my most favourite
people ever, how are you?” Andy Caine’s voice boomed down the wire.

“Andy, it’s so good to hear your voice.
 
I feel as if you’ve been gone forever,”
Bessie replied.

“It’s only been a few months,” Andy
said.
 
“And I’m coming home this
weekend just for you.”

“I saw your mother at the corner store today
and she mentioned that.
 
I’m ever so
glad.”

“Don’t tell me mum is working again?” Andy
said, sighing deeply.
 
“There’s more
than enough money now.
 
She doesn’t
have to work.
 
She can just relax
and enjoy life.”

“She said she was bored at home,” Bessie
replied.
 
“She’s worked hard her
entire life.
 
Working now and then
is probably good for her.”

“Once I finish my course, she can come and
work for me,” Andy said.
 
“I’m going
to need all the help I can get.”

“Are you enjoying the course?” Bessie asked.

“It’s super.
 
Some of it is hard work, like the
classes in keeping accounts and things, but the cooking and baking courses are
great and I’ve made a bunch of new friends.”

“Your mother said you might want to bring a
friend for Thanksgiving,” Bessie said.

“Ah, yes, well, if it’s okay with you.”

Bessie felt as if she could almost hear the
young man blushing.
 
“Of course you
may bring a friend,” she replied.
 
“Is it someone from your course?”

“Yes, she’s, well, she’s just a friend,
really.”

“But you’re hoping for more.”

“You know me too well,” Andy complained.

“Tell me about her,” Bessie invited.

“Her name is Sue and she twenty-three,” Andy
began.
 
“She went to university for
a year to do maths, but she didn’t really like it.
 
She ended up getting a job as a waitress
and discovered that she likes that sort of work.
 
After a while, she decided she should go
to culinary school so she can have her own restaurant instead of working for
someone else.”

“Good for her,” Bessie said.

“Yeah, she’s really good at the math and the
account-keeping stuff, so I thought maybe, when we’re done here, she might be a
good partner for me.
 
I could do the
cooking and she could handle the business end of things.”

“What does she think of that idea?”

“Oh, I haven’t, that is, it’s just a vague
thought for now,” Andy told her.
 
“The first thing I have to do is get her over to the island.
 
She’s never been and if she doesn’t like
it, well, that will be the end of that, won’t it?”

“I suppose so.
 
I do hope she likes it here.
 
Your mother has her heart set on you
coming back when you’ve finished your course.”

“I do as well,” he said emphatically.
 
“The island is home.
 
I never felt settled when I lived over
here, I just didn’t want to be anywhere near my father, or rather the man I
thought was my father.”

“But you’re happy enough at school?”

“Oh, school’s great, but it’s only
temporary.
 
The island will always
be home.”

“I’m really looking forward to seeing you on
Saturday,” Bessie said.

“Do you need any help with the food?
 
I’d be happy to help out, if you’d
like.”

“I’m letting the restaurant handle
everything,” Bessie told him.
 
“Of
course once your restaurant is open, I’ll have to have Thanksgiving there.”

“My first banquet booking,” Andy
laughed.
 
“I’m going to hold you to
that.”

“I hope you do,” Bessie replied.

When the young man disconnected, Bessie sat
for a moment thinking about how much his life had changed in just a short
while.
 
Sometimes good things
happened to good people, she mused.
 
Before she got back up, the phone rang again.

“Bessie, I just got off the phone with Jane
Harris, Jacob’s sister.
 
She should
be at your cottage around two tomorrow,” John Rockwell told her.

“Wasn’t that what we said earlier?” Bessie
asked.

“It was, but I was going to bring her to see
you.
 
Mrs. Harris would prefer to
come on her own.”

“Oh, I see,”
Bessie
said.
 
“I suppose it doesn’t really
matter.”

“No, Mrs. Harris isn’t a suspect or
anything,” John said.
 
“But I am
very curious to hear what she has to say.
 
She’s meeting with me in the morning, but I’ll still want to know what
you discuss with her.”

“Of course,” Bessie replied.
 
“Shall I ring you when she leaves?”

“No, don’t ring,”
John
said quickly.
 
“I’ll come over and
see you some time in the evening.”

“That works for me,” Bessie agreed.
 
“I don’t expect to do much more than
tell her how sorry I am for her loss, though.”

“I’m hoping she might be able to shed some
light on why her brother was on the island,” John told her.
 
“She might know what sort of farm he was
looking for and how much money he had to spend.
 
I’d like to know which farmers he
approached.
 
At the moment no one
will admit to having spoken to him about their property.”

“And I don’t remember anything specific,”
Bessie said.
 
“I probably didn’t pay
that much attention, really.
 
He
wasn’t here for that long and I don’t think any of the area farmers were at all
interested in selling to him.”

“Well, the more you can find out from Mrs.
Harris, the better,” John told her.
 
“I’m not sure she’s going to be terribly forthcoming with me.”

“Why not?
 
Surely she wants her brother’s killer
found.”

“I got the impression that she isn’t fond of
the police,” John said.
 
“I may have
misinterpreted her, though.”

“I doubt it.
 
You’re usually an excellent judge of
character,” Bessie said.
 
“I won’t
tell Mrs. Harris that we’re friends.”

“That’s probably wise.”

Bessie made herself a light evening meal to
go with her delicious puddings.
 
Once she’d eaten every last bite, she searched through a box that had
recently arrived from the bookstore in Ramsey.
 
She had a long list of favourite authors
and the store sent her anything new by any of them on a monthly basis.
 
Sometimes they added a book or two that
one of the booksellers thought might interest her.
 
Now Bessie dug out a paperback thriller
by an author she’d never tried.

“How bad can it be?” she said to no one.

She sank down in her most comfortable chair
with a cup of tea and a plate with a few biscuits on it, prepared to get lost
in the story.
 
Two hours later, she
was tired, but her heart was racing and she knew she’d never sleep if she
didn’t finish the book.
 
It was much
later than her normal bedtime when the hero and heroine finally escaped from
the killer’s lair and saved the world, or at least their little corner of
it.
 

Bessie sat back in her chair and sighed with
relief.
 
Everything had worked out
in the end.
 
She laughed when she
noticed her teacup; it was still full with tea that was now quite cold.
 
Clearly she’d been more absorbed in her
story than she’d realised.
 
She
quite forgotten to drink her tea or eat her biscuits.

After tidying up her forgotten snack, Bessie
headed to bed hoping she might sleep a little bit later than normal the next
morning.
 
Her meeting with Jane
Harris could be an interesting one and Bessie wanted to be at her best when the
woman arrived.

Chapter Twelve

Tuesday didn’t start well for Bessie.
 
She woke at her normal time of six
o’clock, feeling tired and out of sorts.
 
After trying unsuccessfully for several minutes to get back to sleep, she
finally rolled out of bed and took her shower.
 
Tea and toast did little to wake her up,
so she set a pot of coffee brewing before heading out for a walk.
 
She opened her door and gasped.
 
The wind was blowing strongly and rain
was pouring down.
 
She pushed the
door shut and leaned against it, sighing deeply.
 
The weather seemed to match her
mood.
 

After pulling on her Wellington boots and
her waterproofs, she tried again, this time making it out the door and into the
storm.
 
She marched through the rain
to the very first of the holiday cottages and then turned and stomped home
again as quickly as she could.
 
That
would have to do for a walk for the morning, she decided as she stood dripping
in her kitchen.
 
The smell of coffee
made her smile and she poured herself a cup and took a sip before stripping off
her wet things.

With company due that afternoon, Bessie
spent her morning cleaning and tidying the cottage.
 
She fixed herself a light lunch and then
got out the ingredients for her favourite shortbread recipe.
 
She’d only just measured the flour when
someone knocked on her door.

“You must be Elizabeth Cubbon,” the woman in
the doorway said when Bessie opened the door.

“I am,” Bessie admitted.
 
“Jane Harris?”

“Yes, that’s right,” the woman nodded and
then frowned.
 
“The weather’s
beastly, isn’t it?”

“Oh, do come in,” Bessie exclaimed, stepping
backwards to let the woman get out of the wind and rain.

Bessie studied the new arrival as the woman
removed her sodden trench coat.
 
She
could have been anywhere between forty and seventy, Bessie thought, though she
knew the woman must be around sixty.
 
Her hair was dark brown, with only a few grey streaks that were almost
like highlights.
 
Her makeup, in
spite of the rain, was impeccable, and her clothes were obviously
expensive.
 
She was slender and as
Bessie took the dripping coat from her, she seemed to be looking down her nose
at Bessie.
 
As she was several inches
taller than Bessie and she was wearing black boots with four-inch heels, that
wasn’t difficult for her.

“Please sit down,” Bessie said, gesturing
towards the kitchen table.

“In here?” the woman sniffed.

“I was just going to make some shortbread,”
Bessie told her.
 
“I didn’t think
you’d be here for another hour.”

“My earlier visit didn’t take long,” the
woman replied.
 
“I don’t suppose you
can wait and do your baking after I’ve gone?”

“I was only baking for your benefit,” Bessie
said.
 
“But I’m sure I have some
digestives or something in the cupboard, if you would rather.”

“Oh, goodness, I don’t eat such things,” the
woman replied.
 
“Anyway, I don’t
want to take up much of your time.
 
The policeman I spoke to said that you remembered my brother.
 
Otherwise, I wouldn’t bother you at
all.”

“Why don’t we move into the sitting room,
then,” Bessie suggested.
 
“It will
be more comfortable.”

The woman nodded her approval and then
followed Bessie into the next room.
 
Bessie sat down in her favourite chair and motioned towards the couch
across from it.
 
“Have a seat,” she
suggested.

“How long have you lived here?” the woman
demanded as she perched herself on the edge of the couch.

“A great many years,” Bessie replied.

“Yes, it does rather show, doesn’t it?”
 
Jane glanced around the room and Bessie supposed,
from the look on her face, that she wasn’t impressed with what she was seeing.

“It’s small and cosy,” Bessie told her.
 
“But I love it.”

“I’m sure you do,” the woman said in a
patronising tone.

Bessie bit her tongue.
 
The woman was in mourning for her
brother; Bessie needed to make allowances, she told herself.

“So, what do you remember about Jacob?” Jane
demanded.
 

“Not much,” Bessie said.
 
“I remember he made quite an impression
on the young ladies in the village, though.
 
He seemed to go out with nearly every
single woman living here.”

“I’m assuming that doesn’t include you,”
Jane said.
 
“You’re far too old.”

Bessie flushed.
 
“He wasn’t my type,” she answered
curtly.

“Well, that’s just as well, isn’t it?
 
I’ve tried to get that policeman to give
me a list of women Jacob spent time with, but he won’t.
 
I’d appreciate it if you’d share some
names and contact information with me.
 
I’d very much like to talk to some of the women who were involved with
him.”

“I’m afraid I don’t really have that
information,” Bessie said.
 
“Who
have you been able to speak with so far?”

“Oh, some woman called Mona who went out
with Jacob once or twice.
 
I’m more
interested in who he was seeing more seriously.”

“From what I saw, he wasn’t seeing anyone
seriously,” Bessie told her.
 
“He
seemed to go out with a different woman every other day.”

“But he was looking for a wife,” Jane said.

“He was?” Bessie asked, surprised.

Jane nodded.
 
“When he left home, he told our father
that he was going to find himself a nice hard-working farmer’s daughter to
bring back and help run the farm.
 
He
was lazy, my brother.
 
He thought if
he found a farmer’s daughter who was used to hard work, she could take over a
lot of the difficult work and he could sit around and drink whiskey all day.”

“What makes you think he’d found someone
here?” Bessie asked.

Jane shrugged.
 
“When Jacob set his mind to something,
he generally managed to accomplish it,” she replied.

“He wanted to buy a farm here, but he didn’t
manage that,” Bessie said.

“No, he didn’t,”
Jane
asserted.
 
“He may have told people
that was why he was here, but the last thing he wanted was to stay on the Isle
of Man.
 
He was using that as an
excuse to meet farmers and their daughters, that’s all.”

“I thought someone told me that you didn’t
even know he was on the island,” Bessie said.

“I didn’t,” Jane agreed.

“So maybe he came over here and fell in love
with the place,” Bessie suggested.
 
“Maybe he decided to buy a farm here, rather than go back home.”

“He didn’t have any money,” Jane
replied.
 
“Father gave him enough
for a short holiday, but he certainly couldn’t have bought any property over
here, or anywhere else for that matter.”

Bessie pressed her lips together, her mind
racing.
 
“So when did you last hear
from him?” she asked after a moment.

“From what I can determine, he sent us a
letter just before he left Liverpool for the island,” Jane replied.
 
“He’d been courting a young woman there,
but her father didn’t like the idea of her moving away.
 
The father wanted her to stay and work on
their farm.
 
From what Jacob said in
his letters, there was an ugly scene.
 
Anyway, Jacob wrote that he’d decided to head south and see what he
could find.”

“But he came across to the island instead,”
Bessie said.

“Yes,” Jane nodded.
 
“I’ve no idea why.”

“He was getting ready to leave the island
when he died, though,” Bessie said after a moment.

“Which is another reason why I think he’d
found a bride,” Jane said.
 
“If he’d
come and taken a look around and not found anyone suitable, he’d have moved on
quickly, but he stayed for several months.
 
That suggests to me that he’d found someone and was courting her.”

“Maybe she turned him down when he asked her
to move across with him,” Bessie said, thinking about Bahey removing Karen from
the island to get her away from Jacob.

“I’m assuming that’s what happened,” Jane
said.
 
“But I’d really like to speak
to her.
 
If things had been
different, we might have been sisters-in-law, and I’d like to hear what she
remembers about my brother.”

“I’m afraid I can’t suggest any likely
candidates,” Bessie told her, remembering her promise to Bahey that she wouldn’t
tell anyone about Karen’s relationship with the man.
 
“I can tell you that at the time he
simply seemed to be going out with everyone for a very short time and not
getting serious about anyone,” Bessie added.

“That’s what Mona told me as well,” she replied.
 
“But I don’t believe it.”

“Do you think the woman he was seeing, if
there was one, might have had something to do with his death?” Bessie asked.

“Maybe,” Jane said.
 
“I keep thinking he probably just got
into a bar fight that ended up coming to blows.
 
Jacob had a temper and he got thrown out
of our local pub at least twice a year for getting into fights with other
customers.
 
I’d like to believe that
there was a fight and his death was accidental.
 
That’s less painful to think about than
the possibility that he was murdered.”

Bessie nodded.
 
“I’m sorry,” she said.
 
“I can’t imagine how difficult this must
be for you.”

Jane dug a tissue out of her handbag and
touched it to her eyes, which looked quite dry to Bessie.
 
“Thank you,” the woman said softly.
 
“The years of not knowing were very
difficult as well.”

“Yes, I’m sure they were,” Bessie said.
 
“Perhaps you’d like a cup of tea?”

“Oh, no,” Jane exclaimed.
 
“I don’t drink tea.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you.
 
I’d rather hear more about Jacob, if you
remember any more?”

“I really wish I did,” Bessie told her.
 
“I only met him a couple of times.
 
He seemed intelligent and full of
confidence.
 
I was under the
impression that he was here to buy property, and I think that’s pretty much all
we ever discussed.
 
I recall
suggesting a farm a few miles outside the village to him and his asking me
about the owner and his family.”

“Did the owner have any available
daughters?” Jane asked.

“Now that you mention it, no,” Bessie said.

“And do you know if my brother ever took
your advice?”

“He didn’t,” Bessie replied.
 
“The owner was actually considering
selling at that time and I remember asking him about Jacob a short time
later.
 
Your brother never did go to
see him.”

“As I said, he wasn’t looking to buy anything,”
Jane said.
 
“But the story gave him
a good excuse to visit all of the area farms.”

“I wish I could help you more,” Bessie said.

“Yes, well, I’m off to see where they found
the body next,”
Jane
told her.
 
“I understand the people who have the
farm now don’t remember Jacob.”

“I’m sure they must have some vague memories
of him,” Bessie said.
 
“But it was a
very long time ago, after all.”

“I wish I could say that you’ve been very
helpful, but you really haven’t,” the woman said, getting to her feet.
 
“I appreciate your being willing to see
me, even if it has been rather a waste of time.”

Bessie stared at her, unable to think of a
polite way to reply.
 
She got to her
feet and followed the woman back into the kitchen.
 

“I do think that your police could try a bit
harder,” Jane said as she pulled her coat back on.
 
“The don’t seem to be doing much of
anything.”

“It’s difficult for them to find anyone who
remembers your brother,” Bessie said, eager to defend John and his hard
work.
 
“He was only here for a short
time and that was a long time ago,” she added.
 
“They’re doing their best to track down
as many people as they can, though.”