1 Aunt Bessie Assumes (2 page)

She took a cautious step towards him,
wondering if she could somehow get a better look.
 
She spun back around as she heard Hugh
splashing back down the beach towards her.
 
The rain had left puddles everywhere in the sand, and Hugh seemed
incapable of missing any of them as he stomped along.

“Inspector Kelly is on his way and so is John
Rockwell from Ramsey CID.”

Bessie nodded.
 
She knew Inspector Patrick Kelly; indeed,
his mother had grown up in Laxey, although the family had moved to Douglas when
the future Mrs. Kelly was in her late teens.
 
She had eventually married a Kelly from
somewhere in the south of the island and they had remained in Douglas.
 

Bessie remembered Mrs. Kelly bragging
about her clever son who had joined the police department in London when she
had seen her once in Douglas many years earlier.
 
She’d heard through various sources that
the woman had been even more pleased when Patrick took up a position with the
force back on the island after some years in London.
 
He was currently in charge of the tiny
station at Laxey, with policing responsibility for both Laxey and Lonan, and
Bessie occasionally ran into him when stopping to see Doona at the station.

“I know Patrick Kelly well enough,” she
told Hugh.
 
“But I’ve never met John
Rockwell.”

“Inspector Rockwell is a good guy,” Hugh
shrugged.
 
“He’s from across.”

Bessie nodded.
 
“Where?”

“His last posting was in Manchester before
he came here.
 
I’m not sure where
he’s from originally.”
 
Hugh
shrugged again and looked longingly at the umbrella Bessie was still holding.

Bessie shuffled closer to the man and
tried holding the badly mangled umbrella at an angle that might offer some
protection for both of them.

“Why did he leave his posting in
Manchester?” Bessie asked, eager to learn all that she could about the man
before his arrival.

“Apparently the wife wanted a nice safe
place for the kids to grow up,” Hugh repeated what he had heard.
 
“They’ve a boy and girl and I guess they
didn’t live in a great area in Manchester and couldn’t really afford to move.”

Bessie nodded.
 
The island was certainly a very safe
place for a young family.
 
“Where
have they settled then?”

“They bought a four-bed semi in that new development
in Ramsey,” Hugh answered.
 
“They
moved about six months ago and it’s lucky they did, because the prices for
those houses have shot up.”

Bessie shook her head.
 
“I don’t know what’s happening with
house prices,” she sighed.
 
“All
these bankers and the like moving in and driving up prices.
 
Won’t be long before no one will be able
to afford anything.
 
I guess I should
be grateful I got my little house so many years ago.”

“Aye, you could be selling it for a lot of
money now, you know,” Hugh told her.
 
“I heard that when Mrs. Clague sold the land that the new cottages are
on she only got about a hundred thousand and now that land would be worth more
than twice that.”

“My advocate says that beachfront
properties are at a premium right now,” Bessie told him.
 
“Mrs. Clague should have waited another
year or two before she sold.
 
Mr.
Quayle reckons that prices are just going to keep going up.”

“Aye, but Mrs. Clague was in a hurry, I gather.”

“Oh aye, she wanted a spot in the new
senior home in Douglas.
 
I told her
she should stay put, but she wanted the bright lights and the big city.
 
Now she can walk to the shops and
there’s even a pub right next door.
 
Last I heard she was having a wonderful time.”

“You ever think about selling up and
moving into a home?” Hugh asked, almost without thinking.

Bessie turned and took a step away from
the man, taking the sheltering umbrella with her.
 
She looked him up and down and then
shook her head.
 
“I am in a home, my
home, and I intend to stay there until I die,” she told him in an imperious
tone.
 
“I can’t imagine why anyone
would want to move into a home for the elderly and spend all their time
surrounded by old people and nurses.”

Hugh turned a burst of laughter into a
cough and then quickly changed the subject.
 
“I can’t imagine what’s keeping the bosses,”
he remarked.

“Your Inspector Rockwell probably got
lost,” Bessie suggested wryly.

“Ah, here they come now,” Hugh waved an
arm towards Bessie’s cottage where the lights from several cars were now
visible.
 
Bessie shuddered as she
realised that the new arrivals had driven in with their emergency lights
blazing.
 
By lunchtime, half the
island would be thinking that she was dead.

Patrick Kelly was in his mid-forties, with
brown hair that was thinning rapidly and hazel eyes that looked washed out and
tired.
 
He really needed to lose
about twenty pounds.
 
Stomping across
the sand, he pulled his slightly too small raincoat as tightly as he could
around his body as the still strong wind swirled around him.
 

A man Bessie assumed was John Rockwell
followed him more slowly, taking time to study the scene as they
approached.
 
Of a similar age to the
native Manxman, Rockwell looked like he worked hard to keep in the best
possible physical condition.
 
His
own raincoat looked not only warm, but was also a perfect fit.
 
His hair was a lighter shade of brown
than Inspector Kelly’s and he didn’t appear to have any trouble with it
thinning.

Bessie could see a group of uniformed
constables climbing from their cars and standing hesitantly in clusters by her
cottage, waiting for their orders.

“What’ve we got?” Patrick barked at Hugh
as he reached the younger policeman.

“It’s a body, sir, a dead one,” Hugh said
brightly.

“I see that.”
 
Patrick shook his head.
 
“I also see rain flooding the area and
washing away all of the evidence, and an elderly civilian standing around
getting soaked and getting in the way of the investigation.”

Hugh flushed.
 
“I brought an umbrella to shield the
body,” he offered, “but I thought that Bessie should have it.
 
She’s too old to stand in the rain
without any protection.”

Bessie opened her mouth to reply and then
snapped it shut again.
 
First
Patrick called her elderly and then Hugh almost accused her of stealing an
umbrella from a dead man.
 
She was
so mad she couldn’t speak.

“Kelly, get a tent up.”
 
John Rockwell had reached the small
group now and he quickly took charge.
 
“There are plenty of men here to help.”

Patrick nodded once and then, after
shooting an angry look at Hugh, turned and walked back up the beach.
 
Bessie could hear him shouting orders at
the waiting men as he approached them.

“Now then, Hugh, isn’t it?
 
Tell me exactly what happened.”
 
Rockwell smiled encouragingly at the
young policeman, who looked relieved.

“Doona, back at the station, she got a
call at oh-seven-twenty-two this morning from a known member of the public,
stating that she had discovered a body on Laxey Beach.
 
Doona questioned the witness briefly, to
establish exactly what she had seen, and then called me and suggested that I
check the beach.
 
I arrived at
oh-seven-fifty-five and found the body exactly as described by the
witness.
 
I, um, attempted to
ascertain if the man in question was merely sleeping or was indeed dead by trying
to roll him over.
 
Upon doing so, I,
er, well, at that point I returned to my car and called for backup.”
 

Hugh blew out a huge breath, as if
exhausted by the recitation.

“I take it this is the witness in
question?” The senior officer nodded towards Bessie.

“Oh yes, this is Aunt Bessie,” Hugh
confirmed.
 
“Sorry, um, Mrs.
Elizabeth Cubbon.
 
She lives in the
cottage just there.”
 

Hugh pointed to Bessie’s cottage and John
turned his head and slowly looked it over before looking back at Bessie.

“I’m very sorry that you’ve had to stand
out in the rain all morning, Mrs. Cubbon,” he said to Bessie with a rueful
grin.
 
She was surprised to find
that his eyes were an almost electric green that instantly fascinated her.
 
Perhaps they were artificially enhanced,
like Doona’s bright blue ones, she surmised.

“I’m Inspector Rockwell from the Ramsey
CID, by the way,” the man continued.
 
“Why don’t we go inside and you can tell me exactly what happened.”

“It’s Miss Cubbon, actually,” Bessie set
the record straight.
 
“And we’ve no
need to go inside.
 
It’s a short
story,
”
 
She
paused, expecting the man to argue but he simply nodded and waited for her to
continue.

“I came out for my morning walk and nearly
tripped over the body.”
 
Bessie shrugged.
 
“Then I called the police.
 
That’s the whole story.”

“Indeed?” Rockwell raised an eyebrow.
 
“Do you always walk when it’s pouring
with rain and blowing a gale?”

Bessie snorted.
 
“This isn’t a gale.
 
It’s just a bit fresh.
 
And I walk every day, whatever the
weather.
 
If I waited for sunshine,
I wouldn’t get very many walks in, would I?”

Again, the man raised his eyebrow and
didn’t speak.
 
Behind them, the
uniformed constables were struggling to erect a canvas tent over the body.
 
Bessie turned to watch the action as the
men fought the wind, the rain, and their own general incompetence.
 
She had to bite back a laugh as a huge
wind gust blew the half-erected tent over onto the beach.
 

“We aren’t impressing you with our
professionalism, are we?” Rockwell asked Bessie as they watched the men begin
again.
 

“It really isn’t that difficult,”
Bessie
told him, shaking her head.
 
“They just need to….”

The scream that echoed across the beach
startled Bessie to silence.

Chapter Two

The woman running down the beach towards
them was wearing a flimsy white nightgown and, from the looks of it, nothing
else.
 
She screamed again, an almost
inhuman sound, as she approached, and Bessie shuddered.

“Oh no, no, no,” the woman sobbed as she
was stopped by a pair of constables.
 
“Danny needs me, you have to let me go to him.”

Rockwell crossed the sand to the woman’s
side.
 
“I’m Inspector Rockwell with
the Manx CID.
 
Can you identify this
man?”

The woman looked at him with unfocussed
eyes, seemingly unable to speak.

“Ma’am, can you tell me your name?” the
inspector asked gently.
 
He took an
umbrella that was offered by one of the uniformed men on the beach and held it
over the woman.

Bessie watched the interplay with
interest.
 
In spite of being soaked
from her run across the beach, the woman’s artificially blonde hair looked as
if it had been styled recently.
 
Her
face was beautifully made-up and Bessie reckoned that the woman was wearing
more cosmetics at that moment than Bessie had in her entire life.
 
The rain seemed to be having little
effect on the makeup, which to Bessie suggested expensive products.
 
Bessie wasn’t sure if it was the skilful
application of eye makeup that made the woman’s eyes appear to be such a
stunning violet colour or if it were natural.

“Please, I have to help Danny,” the woman
sobbed after a moment.
 
“He needs
me.”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but the best thing you
can do for Danny now is answer my questions.”
 
Rockwell’s words seemed harsh, but they clearly
got through to the young woman.

“I’m sorry, I think I’m in shock.”
  
The woman used a shaking hand to
brush a stray hair out of her eyes.
 
“We’re on our honeymoon.”

Bessie shook her head sadly; she
understood the woman’s loss only too well.
 

“Can we start with the basics, please?”
Rockwell took out his phone, safely covered in a waterproof case, and switched
it on.
 
“Normally I would take
notes, but that’s impossible in this rain.
 
If it’s okay with you, I’d like to record your answers.
 
I don’t want to do a full interview
here, but a few basics will get us started.”

The woman nodded reluctantly and once more
brushed hair from her eyes.
 
Bessie
studied her carefully.
 
At first
glance Bessie had placed her in her mid-twenties, but now she decided that the
woman was actually as much as a decade older than that.
 
The soaking wet gown clung to every
curve of the woman’s perfect shape and Bessie found herself disliking the young
widow even before she heard her story.

The woman clung now to Inspector
Rockwell’s arm as she began to speak.
 
“I’m Vicky Robinson, well, Vicky Pierce now,” she shuddered as she
corrected herself.
  
“That’s
Vicky, with two k’s.”

“V-I-C-K-K-Y?”
 
he
questioned.

The woman giggled as she gazed into the
inspector’s green eyes.
 
“No, silly,
V-I-K-K-Y.”

Bessie turned away from the pair, certain
that disapproval was written all over her face.
 
The woman was almost flirting with the
police inspector in front of her husband’s dead body.
 
That was no way for a lady to
behave.
 
Not that anything about
Vikky Pierce gave Bessie reason to believe that she was a lady.

One of the uniformed officers handed Vikky
a blanket and she shot him a huge smile as she wrapped it around herself.
 
Then she sighed dramatically.

“Sorry, where was I?” she simpered.

“You were going to tell me about the dead
man.”
 
Inspector Rockwell’s clipped
tone seemed to startle the woman.

“Oh, oh, yes,” she said.
 
She looked over at the body that was now
partially obstructed by the wobbly-looking tent that had finally been
completed.
 
Tears welled up in her
eyes as she studied the scene.
 

“It’s my husband,” she said with a catch
in her voice.
 
“Daniel, Daniel
Pierce.
 
We got married on Saturday
and came to the island to spend our honeymoon with his family at Theen-tray;
that’s his family’s summer house here.”

“I don’t suppose you could spell that?”
Rockwell asked.
 
The woman looked at
him blankly.
 

“T-H-I-E Y-N T-R-A-I-E,” Hugh Watterson
interjected.
 
“It means ‘Beach
House’ in Manx.
 
The Pierce family
bought the land and built the house about twenty-five years ago.
 
It’s just up that way, past the new
cottages.”
 
Hugh gestured up the
beach.

Rockwell nodded his thanks to Hugh and
turned back to Vikky.
 
“So you came
to honeymoon in the family’s summer home?”

“The whole family came.
 
We came for the whole week to celebrate
Daniel’s father’s sixtieth birthday.”

Bessie nodded to herself.
 
She knew the family, but only
distantly.
 
They were summer
visitors, not full-time residents.
 
That explained why the man seemed familiar.
 
She must have seen him on the beach,
during the summer months, many times over the last twenty-five years.
  

“Seems strange to honeymoon with your
husband’s family,” Rockwell remarked in a mild tone.

“Oh, we all get along wonderfully,”
Vikky
insisted.
 
“I was just so excited about being Danny’s wife that I would have agreed
to anything anyway.”

As the rain tapered off again and the
skies brightened slightly, all around the quiet hum of the investigation
began.
 
Rockwell turned back towards
Bessie and looked surprised to see her there.

“Oh, ah, I am sorry,” he told her.
 
“I should have sent you home ages ago.”

“I thought you had more questions for me,”
Bessie answered, trying to cover for the fact that she had been listening intently
to his conversation with the widow.

“And I’m sure I do,” Rockwell agreed.
 
“But right now I think I need to focus
on my investigation and you need to get out of the rain.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”
 
Bessie grinned at him as she had an
idea.
 
“Why don’t I take Mrs. Pierce
back to my cottage so that we can both dry off?
 
When you’ve finished down here, you can
find us both there and we can answer your questions.”

Rockwell only hesitated for a moment.
 
It was clear to Bessie that she and the
widow were both unnecessary distractions at the crime scene at the moment.
 

“That’s a great idea,” Rockwell told
Bessie.
 
“I’ll be along as quickly
as I can.”

“Oh, no rush,” Bessie answered.
 
“Mrs. Pierce and I have a lot in
common.
 
I’m sure we’ll find plenty
to talk about.”

Bessie put her arm around the younger woman
and led her, unprotesting, up the beach.
 

As they reached the door to Bessie’s
cottage, the new widow drew a deep breath.
 
“I should stay with Danny,” she whimpered to Bessie.

“Leave everything to the experts,” Bessie
said in her most soothing voice.
 
“You won’t do anyone any good standing
there
getting soaked.”

“I suppose not,” the woman said
softly.
 
“Oh, your house has a funny
name, too,” Vikky said as she spotted the plaque next to the front door.

“Treoghe Bwaane,” Bessie pronounced the
Manx words for her guest.
 
“It
basically means ‘Widow’s Cottage,’” she explained.

“Oh, are you a widow too?” the younger
woman asked as she plopped herself down in a chair at the kitchen table.

Bessie shook her head.
 
“The cottage already had its name when I
bought it,” she explained.
 
“But it
seemed suitable because I bought it just after I lost my one true love.”

“Really?” Vikky was intrigued.
 
“Did he dump you or die or what?”

Bessie turned to look at her young
guest.
 
Could she really be that thoughtless
and insensitive?
 
She sighed to
herself.
 
It was her own fault for
inviting the unpleasant woman into her home, she supposed.
 
Sometimes she let her nosiness win out
over her sense.

“He died,” she answered shortly, hoping
that the subject would end there.
 

“What happened?” the other woman continued
to press Bessie.

This time Bessie sighed audibly.
 
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t told the
story hundreds of times before, it was just that she had already begun to
dislike this flashy vulgar woman who wasn’t behaving at all the way Bessie
thought she should.
 
Bessie simply
didn’t feel like sharing any personal information with Vikky Pierce.

“Any chance of a cuppa with the story?”
 
Vikky seemed oblivious to Bessie’s
thoughts and she seemed to be recovering from her sudden bereavement strangely
quickly.

 
“Tea?
 
I’m surprised you have the stomach for
it,” Bessie said a bit snappishly as she turned on the kettle.

The woman looked startled for a moment and
then began to shake.
 
“You’re right,
of course; I can’t imagine what I was thinking.”
 
Tears began to fall at an impressive
rate as Bessie found mugs and filled her teapot with a couple of teabags.
 

“Now, now,” she muttered towards the
sobbing woman.
 
“Everything’s going
to work out in the end, you’ll see.”

“How can it, with Danny dead?” the woman
asked miserably.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get over Danny
eventually,” Bessie replied.
 
She
wasn’t usually so determinedly rude to guests in her home, but she really
couldn’t find anything to like in this woman.

“Oh, sure, eventually,” the woman agreed
as she wiped her eyes on a tissue from the box that Bessie handed her.
 
“But that could take months.
 
I’m ever so devastated now.”

Bessie forced herself to count to ten
before she replied.
 
“I’m sure
everything will work out in the end,” she repeated herself.
   
“The police here are
excellent and I’m sure they’ll find out what happened to your husband in no
time.”

“He must have drowned, or had a heart
attack or something,” Vikky said, her eyes filling with tears again.
 
“I should have been with him.”

Bessie poured out two cups of tea and
found a box of biscuits that she quickly emptied onto a plate.
 
Then she joined the young woman at the
table, choosing a seat opposite her guest.
 
She handed the woman her tea and a small plate to use for her biscuits.

“There probably wasn’t anything you could
have done,” Bessie muttered a polite response that was at odds with her actual
thoughts.
 
“Anyway, the police are
very good at their jobs; I’m sure they’ll figure it out quickly enough.”

“I hope you’re right,” the woman said
intently.
 
“I have to know what
happened to Danny.
 
I feel like this
is all my fault.”

Bessie nodded.
 
“I’m sure that Inspector Rockwell will
be able to answer all of your questions in due course.”

“He spent his summers here just about his
whole life,” Vikky told her.
 
“They
used to stay in a bed and breakfast in Ramsey before they bought the land and
built the cottage here.
 
Danny and
his whole family love the island so much.
 
We even talked about moving here.”
 
The widow’s voice broke as she spoke and tears began to fall again.
 

Bessie stared at her, puzzled and
unsettled by her behaviour.
 
“Drink
your tea,” Bessie counselled.
 
“And
then we can find you something to put on.”

Bessie watched the woman blush under her
heavy makeup.
 
“I wanted to look
nice for Danny when he got back,” she explained.
 
“I did my hair and makeup and put on my
sexiest nightie.
 
We had, well, we
had a bit of a disagreement last night and we needed to patch things up.”