1 Aunt Bessie Assumes (24 page)

“Thank you again,” she told
Doona.
 
“I’m sure I wouldn’t feel
nearly this good if I’d eaten the stuff the hospital kitchen sent up.”

Doona laughed.
 
“I’m sure.”

“Unfortunately, I’m afraid
you’re right.”
 
The voice in the
doorway startled Bessie.
 

 
Dr. George Quayle walked into the room
and smiled at her.
 
“It’s always
nice to see you, Aunt Bessie,” he told her.
 
“Even under less than ideal
circumstances.”

Bessie was pleased to finally
see someone that she knew.
 
While he
wasn’t her usual doctor, he occasionally filled in at her surgery when one or
another of the physicians needed a holiday.
 
She noted that, even though he had to be
pushing sixty, he still had a full head of the snow-white hair that had started
changing from its original brown when he had still been in his twenties.
 
His eyes were a shade of brown that had
once matched his hair perfectly.
 
He’d put on a few pounds since Bessie had last seen him, but he was
still in reasonable shape and he appeared to be full of energy.

The pair chatted easily while
the doctor ran a few quick tests.
 
“Well,” he said after a moment, “all of your vital signs are
excellent.
 
I think you’re in better
shape than I am.”

Bessie glanced down at the
man’s emerging potbelly and bit her tongue.
 
He followed her eyes and laughed.
 

“Anyway, Dr. Cannell left a
note that I’m meant to let you go home this afternoon if your signs are good,”
he told her.
 
“But before I do that,
I want to make sure you’ll be able to get around on your own.”

Bessie opened her mouth to
protest, but the doctor held up a hand.
 

“Don’t argue,” he said.
 
“Even if you have someone staying with
you, you’ll need to get to the loo and the kitchen and whatever.
 
I’m not asking you to race me up the
corridor, I just want to see you shuffle from here to the loo and back.”

Bessie gave him a determined
smile and then, hesitantly, swung her legs out from under the covers.
 
There was no denying that the movement
was painful.
 
She got her feet to
the floor and then sat on the edge of the bed for several minutes, breathing
steadily.

“Bessie?” Doona asked
nervously.

“I’m okay,” Bessie
insisted.
 
“I’m just taking it
slowly.”

“I’m here until six,” the
doctor told them both.
 
“No need to
rush.”

Bessie rolled her eyes at him
and then slowly got to her feet.
 
With slow and deliberate caution, she began to shuffle forward.
 
Doona was quick to take her arm.
 
The pair made their way across the room
to the
small attached
loo.
 
Bessie tapped on the door and then
unhurriedly turned around.
 
The walk
back to the bed felt shorter and Bessie was relieved to find that her muscles
seemed to loosen up slightly the more they were used.

“Okay?” the doctor asked.

“I think so,” Bessie
replied.
 
“It wasn’t as bad as I
thought it might be.”

“Just remember that you’re
taking pain medication right now.
 
Dr. Cannell said that he gave you instructions for that; make sure that
you listen to him.
 
No sense
suffering unnecessarily.”

Bessie nodded.
 
“Does that mean that I can go home?”

Dr. Quayle grinned at
her.
 
“Yes, you can go home.”

“Hurray,” Doona cheered as
Bessie sank back down on the bed, feeling quite worn out by her short stroll.

“You may as well lie back
down and rest,” the doctor told her.
 
“It’s going to take me at least an hour to sort out all of your
paperwork so you can leave.”

Bessie grinned at him.
 
She wasn’t sure she believed him, but
she was grateful that she could rest for a while and not feel guilty about it.

In the end, it was nearly three
o’clock before all of the necessary paperwork was completed and Bessie was
wheeled out of the hospital in the required wheelchair.
 
Doona brought her car around to the
entrance and Bessie struggled into the passenger seat with a sigh.

“I hope these bruises start
healing fast,” she told Doona, as she gingerly fashioned the seatbelt around
herself.
 
“I’m already tired of
being in pain all the time.”

“Maybe you should take
another tablet?” Doona suggested.

“You know me better than
that,” Bessie replied.

The drive back to Bessie’s
didn’t take long, but Bessie still nodded off for a moment.
 
She awoke with a start when the car
stopped.

“Oh, goodness,” she
exclaimed.
 
“I didn’t mean to fall
asleep.”

“Your body needs the rest,”
Doona told her.

“I’m getting tired of hearing
that,” Bessie snapped back.
 
Then
she sighed.
 
“Sorry, I shouldn’t take
it out on you.”

“It’s fine,” Doona told
her.
 
“I’ll just ignore you.”

Bessie had to laugh at
that.
 
She unhooked her seatbelt and
carefully exited the car.

“You know,”
Doona
told her as she made her way towards the door, “you
can always come and stay with me for a few days, if you want.”

“I would rather be in my own
home,” Bessie answered.
 
“I’m just
hoping that Hugh will stay for another night or two.
 
The doctor said I’m not to be alone.”

“If Hugh won’t, I will,”
Doona assured her.
 

Once inside, Bessie was eager
to change.
 
She was wearing the
clothes that she had lent to Vikky.
 
In their plastic bag, they had survived the fall much more successfully
than the outfit that Bessie had been wearing.
 
Now she wanted out of the skirt and
sweater that were too warm for today’s nice weather.
 
The outfit held uncomfortable memories
for Bessie, as well.
 

She made her way carefully up
the stairs and changed into a little-worn pair of sweatpants and a
T-shirt.
 
She put the outfit she now
thought of as “Vikky’s” into her laundry pile.
 
Perhaps once they were washed in her own
machine with her usual detergent they would feel less foreign.
 
Really though, she doubted if she would
ever wear them again.

The trip back down the stairs
took almost as long as the climb had taken, but the stairs were too narrow for
Doona to walk alongside her to help.
 
Doona was ready at the bottom, however, to help her into the sitting
room.

“Now you just sit down and
rest yourself for a bit,” Doona insisted as she helped Bessie into a
chair.
 
She fetched Bessie’s latest
novel and a blanket, “just in case you get a chill,” and then left Bessie on her
own.
 
Bessie could hear Doona moving
around in the kitchen as she drifted off to sleep yet again.

Chapter Thirteen

When Bessie woke up a few hours later, it
was to an unexpected smell.
 
She
sniffed the air and frowned, taking a moment to place the aroma.

“Is someone eating pizza?” she demanded loudly,
as her brain finally cooperated.

Doona stuck her head into the sitting room
and smiled.
 
“Aye, and there’s
plenty for you, too.”

Bessie smiled.
 
It had been some time since she’d had
good pizza.
 
She got shakily to her
feet.
 
Doona was quick to step to
her side and offer some support.
 
As
Bessie walked the handful of steps to her kitchen, she realised that she was
overdue for another pain tablet, and she was more than ready to take it.

She was surprised to find Hugh and
Inspector Rockwell in the kitchen.
 
“You’ve all been very quiet,” she said as a greeting.

“We didn’t want to wake you,” Hugh told
her, rising to his feet and giving her a gentle hug.
 

“Well, I’m glad I’m awake now.
 
That pizza smells fabulous.”

“Doona had me bring it when I brought your
prescriptions,” Hugh explained.

“Which reminds me,” Doona
interjected.
 
“I think you’re
overdue for a tablet.”

Bessie nodded.
 
“And I won’t complain about having to
take it, either,” she told Doona.
 
“Everything hurts.”

Doona nodded and got Bessie a glass of
water and the required medication.
 
“This is the light one,” she told Bessie.
 
“I assume you’d rather save the more
powerful ones for bedtime.”

Bessie hesitated for a moment.
 
She was in a lot of pain.
 
But she also wanted to chat with Hugh
and Inspector Rockwell and she knew that if she took the stronger drugs she
wouldn’t be able to stay awake to do that.
 
She took the tablet that Doona offered.
 
Hopefully, it would be enough to get her
through until bedtime.

“We were just talking about the case,”
Hugh told Bessie.

“We’ve all got our own pet theories as to
what happened,” Doona added.
 

“But we don’t have enough evidence to
prove any of them,” Inspector Rockwell said gloomily.

Bessie finished her slice of pizza and
grabbed a second before she spoke.
 
“I’m assuming the murderer is someone from the family,” she said once
she’d taken yet another bite.
 
“No
one else could have pushed me off those steps.”

“You can’t rule out the staff,” Hugh
argued.
 
“Everyone from Bahey
Corlett through Robert Clague had the same opportunity as the family to give
you that shove.”

Bessie shrugged.
 
“But none of them had any reason to try
to kill me.”

“Why did anyone have a reason to try to
kill you?” Rockwell asked.
 
“That’s
what I can’t seem to make sense of in all of this.”

Bessie shook her head.
 
“Maybe we should start back at the
beginning,” she suggested.
 
“Look at
motive and means and opportunity for the first murder and then work forward.”

“We were going to do that once we finished
the pizza,” Doona told her.
 
“Well,
after the ice cream.”

Bessie grinned.
 
“There’s ice cream?” she asked, feeling
like a ten-year-old child again.

Doona was just digging out giant scoops of
the promised pudding when Inspector Rockwell’s phone rang.
 
He glanced at the display and then sighed.
 

“I need to take this,” he told the others.

He stepped into Bessie’s sitting room to
get some privacy and the others dug into their ice cream as snippets of
conversation drifted past.

“You know I’m working….”

“That isn’t what I meant….”

“I’m in the middle of a murder
investigation, remember?”

“I don’t care what your mother….”

The others ate their ice cream in silence,
exchanging glances as the words streamed by.
 
After a few minutes, they heard nothing
but silence before Inspector Rockwell stormed back into the room.

“I need to leave,” he said tersely, his
face flushed.
 
“Hugh, I expect a
full report from you Monday morning, covering everything that’s discussed after
I’m gone.”

“Yes, sir,” Hugh said smartly.

“And remember what should and shouldn’t be
discussed with a civilian,” he added, shooting Bessie a look she couldn’t read.

“Ah, yes, sir,” Hugh repeated himself.

Rockwell shook his head.
 
“Sorry, I’m not, that is….
”
 
He shook his
head again and then grabbed a spoon.
 
He dug it into the tub of ice cream that was still sitting on the
counter and scooped out a generous mouthful.
 
Bessie watched him curiously as his
agitation seemed to dissipate as the ice cream melted in his mouth.
 

“Ah, that’s better,” he sighed.
 
“I’ll see you all on Monday.
 
I hope you feel better by then.”
 
The last remark was directed at Bessie
and she smiled in lieu of a reply.
 
The reply would have been wasted
anyway,
as the
inspector had quickly let himself out and within seconds they could all hear
his car engine starting.

“Well, that was weird,”
Doona
complained as she got up to put the ice cream away.

“That had to be his wife,” Hugh told
her.
 
“From what I’ve heard, she’s
finding it hard to adjust to life over here.
 
I guess this murder investigation is
pushing her over the edge.”

Bessie resisted the urge to comment.
 
She was just starting to like the inspector.
 
She hoped his wife wouldn’t drag him
back to Manchester.

 
“Before we do anything else, what
happened at the news conference yesterday?” Bessie asked.

“Not a whole lot,” Doona shrugged.
 
“Inspector Kelly announced that he’d
arrested Jack White for dealing in illegal drugs, or rather for providing legal
drugs without a prescription, and that was about it.”

“He didn’t say anything about the
murders?” Bessie asked in surprise.

“Nope.
 
The press tried to get him to answer
questions, but he kept dodging everything and talking about not being able to
discuss active investigations.
 
I
overheard a few reporters complaining that they’d wasted their time in even
bothering to attend,
”
 
Hugh
told her.

“So let’s talk about means, motive and
opportunity,” Doona suggested after the ice cream bowls were empty.
 

Hugh started.
 
“The problem is everyone in that family
had the means and opportunity, but to hear them tell it, none of them had any
motive, at least not for both murders.”

“So let’s assume, just for a minute, that
Samantha was killed only because she knew who killed Danny,” Bessie
suggested.
 
“That means that we only
have to consider who might have had a motive for killing him.”

“That’s easy,” Doona answered.
 
“Vikky!”

Hugh shook his head.
 
“I know you’d like to get her put away
for a long time,” he told Doona, “but from everything we’ve discovered, she
didn’t have much motive for killing her brand-new husband.”

“Except lots and lots and lots of lovely
money,” Doona argued.

“Not really that much,” Hugh replied.
 
“A lot of the family money is tied up in
complicated trusts and stuff.
 
I
don’t understand any of it, but even if Vikky inherits everything that she’s
meant to according to Danny’s will, she won’t get anything like what the family
is worth.
 
And according to my
sources, Mr. Pierce is fighting the will anyway.
 
It’s likely she won’t get much of
anything.”

“Maybe she didn’t know about the family
trusts and stuff,” Doona suggested.
 
“Maybe she thought she was going to get tons.”

“She certainly didn’t mention any family
trusts when I talked to her after I found the body,” Bessie interjected.
 
“She said she was Danny’s heir and she
seemed to think she was going to be very rich indeed.”

“I still find it hard to believe that she could
kill her husband only two days after their wedding,” Hugh asserted.

“And I still think she's the best suspect,”
Doona replied.

“What about Mr. or Mrs. Pierce?” Bessie asked.

“I can't see Mrs. Pierce killing her own son,”
Doona said. “I saw her at the station the afternoon after the body was
found.
 
She seemed like she was
genuinely devastated.”

“I'd be inclined to agree with that,” Bessie
said. “I saw her at the house the next day and she was still barely
functioning.”

“She might have killed Samantha, though,” Doona
suggested.

“Let's focus on Danny's murder for now,” Bessie
said.  “I think we can agree that Mrs. Pierce didn't kill him. What about
Mr. Pierce?”

“It's hard for me to imagine any parent killing
their child,” Doona said with a sigh.

“I know,” Bessie told her, “but I can picture
him doing it far more easily than I can see his wife being involved.”

“I sat in when Inspector Rockwell was
interviewing him,” Hugh told them.  “I can't tell you anything that was
said, but I can tell you the impression I got of the man.  He's a
hardheaded businessman who got where he is today by stepping on whomever he
needed to on his way up.  While I can't see him getting his own hands
dirty, I can see him ordering someone else to get rid of anyone he thought was
in his way.”

“Even his own son?” Doona asked incredulously.

Hugh hesitated.  “Maybe,” he finally
answered, uncertainly.  “It would depend, I guess, on what his son did
that upset him.”  

“It isn't like there are killers for hire
roaming around the island, though,” Bessie argued.  “Where would he find
someone to do the job?”

“It would be easy enough for someone to come
across, do the job and be on the next plane out,” Hugh told her.  “And he
might have deliberately planned it for here, assuming his position would
impress a small island force more than a big city one.”

“If Mr. Pierce hired someone to kill his son,
then who killed Samantha?” Doona asked.

“A different goon?” Hugh speculated.  “As
soon as Danny was killed, Mr. Pierce hired security round the clock.
 
Who's to say what else the security firm
might handle?”

“Hugh Watterson, you are not seriously
suggesting that Robert Clague and his associates at Manxman Security are assassins
for hire,” Bessie exploded.  

Hugh frowned.  “You were the one that kept
pointing out how Robert always seemed to be sneaking up on you,” Hugh reminded
her.  “And we know he had plenty of opportunity to push you down the
stairs.”

Bessie shook her head.  “That's crazy,” she
told him.  “Robert Clague ate shortbread at this very table.  He
would never try to kill me.”

Hugh shrugged.  “I'm sure old man Pierce
has plenty of underground connections.  It would have been easy for him to
get someone over here to get rid of Samantha if he wanted to.
 
Both murders took place in public spaces
where strangers might not have been noticed.”

Bessie wasn't sure she agreed, but she moved on.
 “What about Donny?” she asked.

Hugh shrugged.  As far as we can tell, he didn't
have any real motive.
 
Everyone I've
talked to
has
told me that the brothers were close and
got along well.
 
I haven’t found
anyone that overheard any arguments between the two.  Donny claims that he
was upset with his brother over his drug use, but no one else seems to have
noticed the tension.
 
And all the
money is tied up in those trusts, so Donny won’t gain anything financially from
Danny’s death.”

“Maybe they were fighting over Vikky,” Doona
suggested.

Hugh shrugged again.  “The way I was told, Donny
introduced the two of them.  Surely if he was interested in her, he would
have just asked her out himself, rather than set her up with Danny.”

“But he had the means and the opportunity,”
Bessie said.  “And he might have had a motive for killing Samantha.”

“What motive?” Hugh asked.  “If they'd had
a fight, he could have just broken up with her.  He didn't have to kill
her.”