1 Aunt Bessie Assumes (7 page)

Hugh was gone before Bessie had time to
worry any more about his love life.
 
Not for the first time, she thanked heaven that she was beyond having to
worry about such things
herself
.
 
She had had two serious affairs of the
heart and a few smaller flirtations in her day.
 
Now she felt that she could look back on
them with some true perspective, and she was happy that she had ended up where
she was:
 
on her own, but never
lonely.

She took care of a load of laundry and a
few other small chores around her cottage.
 
Then she ate a small lunch before heading out towards the Pierce
cottage.
 
While she would have
preferred walking along the beach, that was impossible, so instead she walked
carefully along the narrow road that connected all of the beachfront
properties.
 
She wore her boots and
raincoat and carried a small umbrella that did its best to protect her from the
steadily falling rain.

As she made her way along the stretch of
tiny terraced cottages that everyone in Laxey called the “new cottages,” she
was surprised to see a truck parked just off the road.
 
Thomas Shimmin, a middle-aged, heavy-set
man, was just coming out of the very last cottage as she crossed behind it.

“Hey, Aunt Bessie,” he called as he
waved.
 
“Walking on the road since
the beach is closed?”

“Exactly,” Bessie agreed.
 
“But what brings you down here
today?
 
I wouldn’t have thought the
cottages would be booked for this time of year.”

“Aye, no, they aren’t,” the man
nodded.
 
“But with all the trouble
yesterday, I wanted to make sure for myself that everything was shipshape in
all of them, you know?”

Bessie nodded.
 
“And did you find anything out of
place?” she asked.

“No, thankfully everything seems to be
exactly as we left things in November when we shut the cottages down.”

“Well, that’s good news.
 
When do your spring and summer bookings
start, then?” Bessie asked.

“We have bookings in April, for Easter
week,” the man told her.
 
“I guess
I’ll be spending a lot more time down here starting soon.
 
We’ve lots to get ready before then.”

“There can’t be that much to do, can
there?” Bessie asked.
 
“I mean
,
the cottages were just built a few years ago.”

“With the wind and the weather, they need
a surprising amount of upkeep,” Thomas told her.
 
“And with the constant round of rentals
all summer long, the interiors need regular maintenance as well.”

Bessie nodded.
 
“Hard work is good for you,” she
reminded the man as she continued along the road.

“Oh, aye,” he replied.
 
“But a lottery win would be better.”

They both laughed at that, and then Bessie
pushed onwards.
 
A short distance
past the new cottages, she could immediately tell when she had reached the edge
of the Pierces’ property.
 
A huge
fence had been erected only recently and Bessie winced at its ugly intrusion
into the landscape.
 
How they’d ever
received planning permission for that thing she’d never understand.

As she approached the driveway where a
gate appeared in the long fence, she noticed several cars parked along the
road.
 
Before she had much time to
wonder what they were doing there, car doors were opening and she found herself
surrounded by several men and women, all shouting at once.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Do you know the Pierce family?”

“What are you doing on this road?”

Reporters, Bessie
realised, and aggressive and nasty ones at that.
 
She
stopped walking and stood as straight and tall as she could.
 
Clearing her throat seemed to silence
the mob momentarily.
 

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said in the politest
tone she could muster.
 
“I’m just
taking a walk.”

“Oh hey,” one of the reporters
called.
 
“You aren’t the old biddy who
found the body, are you?
 
The police
said some old woman who was walking on the beach tripped over the body.
 
That wasn’t you, was it?”

Bessie glared at him.
 
“You couldn’t possibly be calling me
an ‘old
biddy,’” she told him through gritted teeth.
 
“Now, if you don’t let me through, I’m
going to call the police.
 
It can’t
be legal, you blocking someone from walking on a public road.”

The reporters grudgingly stepped back a
bit and Bessie pushed her way through them.
 
After a moment, they settled for
following behind her, throwing odd questions at her that she chose to ignore.

“So do you know the Pierce family?”

“Have you lived on the island long?”

“What can you tell us about the police on
the island?
 
Do they have any chance
of solving this murder?”

Bessie pushed the call button on the gate,
still ignoring the reporters who buzzed around her.
 
After a moment, Bessie heard a buzz from
the telephone that was mounted into the side of the gate.
 
She picked up the receiver.

“Oh, my goodness, Bessie Cubbon, is that
you?” the voice on the other end of the line said.

“Yes,” Bessie said cautiously.
 
“Who is this?”

“Oh, it’s Bahey Corlett, me mum was Jane
Corkish and me dad was Patrick Corlett.
 
They used to have the pub on the Laxey corner.”

“Oh, Bahey,” Bessie spoke as quietly as
she could.
 
“What are you doing at
Thie yn Traie?”

“Oh, you must remember, I worked for the
Pierce family for years,” Bahey told her. “First on the island and then
across.
 
I retired about three years
ago, back here, but when the tragedy happened, I came to help as quick as I
could.”

“That was good of you,” Bessie told her
old acquaintance.
 

“But what brings you to the cottage?”

“I came to pay my respects,” Bessie
replied.

“Oh, aye, and that’s only proper, with you
being neighbours and all.
 
And
besides which, you found poor Danny, didn’t you?
 
And you were so very kind to Miss Vikky as
well.
 
 
We’ll just have to get you in, but keep
those reporters out, won’t we?”

The phone went dead in Bessie’s hand and
she slowly returned it to its stand.
 

“Told to bugger off, were you?” one of the
reporters sneered at her.

Bessie didn’t even favour him with a
glance.
 
A moment later Bessie could
see two enormous men walking towards her from the other side of the gate.
 
The men were clearly hired muscle and
the reporters all turned their backs as the men approached.

“You guys should just go, you know,” the
taller of the guards said conversationally as he reached the gate.

“We’ve checked with the police.
 
We’re perfectly within our rights to
stand here on this side of the gate,” one of the reporters answered.

“Whatever,” the guard muttered.
 
“You want to stand out in the rain all
day, that’s your business.”

It wasn’t just raining, it was cold and
overcast, and Bessie felt a momentary pang of sympathy for the men and women
who were stuck watching a gate and hoping that something might happen.
 
That pang vanished a second later as it
became obvious to the reporters that the guards were there to open the gate to
admit Bessie.
 
Then the questions
began to fly once more.

“Who is she?”

“Why does she get in?”

“Give us a name, love, just something we
can work with?”

Photography equipment was pulled from bags,
and suddenly Bessie found
herself
being photographed
from every possible angle as the guards unlocked the gates and opened them just
far enough for Bessie to squeeze through.
 
She quickly folded up her umbrella and slipped through.
 
A moment later, both men opened huge
umbrellas over Bessie’s head and they used them to block her from the cameras
and the prying eyes of the press.

“Let’s get you safely inside, then,” one
of the men said to Bessie as the trio began to walk back down the long
driveway.

Bessie had never been to Thie yn Traie,
although she had heard a lot about it, especially when it was being
constructed.
 
Of course, she could
see it from a distance every time she walked along Laxey Beach, but it was set
quite far back from the water’s edge, perched halfway up a small cliff, and
Bessie had never felt the need to explore more closely.
 
As she and her escorts rounded a curve
in the drive, she suddenly saw the house in all of its splendour.

It was enormous.
 
From the beach side of the property,
Bessie had only ever been able to see a large two-storey home set into the
fairly steep cliff, but from here she could see the sheer scale of the
mansion.
 
Again, she wondered about
planning permission as she studied the multi-storey structure.
 
Vikky Pierce had told her that the
“cottage” had several separate wings, and now Bessie could see how they seemed
to spread, tentacle-like, all across the ground.
 

She shook her head.
 
The whole thing was a monstrous tribute
to money over style and good taste.
  
She could hardly wait to see what the inside was like.
 

The two men escorted her towards
a side door near the row of garages.
 
As they approached, Bessie counted garage space for seven cars.
 The door swung open as they reached it and Bessie found
herself
engulfed in a huge hug.

“
Ah, Aunt Bessie, it's been too long,”
Bahey
said when she finally ended the embrace.  “You
look wonderful, at least for our age.”

Bessie smiled ruefully.
 Bahey was only about ten years younger than Bessie.  When they first
met, that gap had seemed insurmountable to them both.  Bessie, in her
early twenties, had little time for girls just into their teens.  Now the
gap seemed tiny as the two women inspected each other's lined and careworn
faces.

“
I think it was Tynwald Day, about three years ago,
when I saw you last,” Bessie recalled.  “You mentioned then that you had
just retired.”

“
You still have a great memory,” Bahey sighed.  “I
seem to forget everything these days.”

Bessie ignored the
compliment.  “Didn't you say you'd purchased an apartment in Douglas?” she
asked instead.

“
I did, indeed,” Bahey nodded.  “Mr. Pierce was
kind enough to help me save up for my retirement over the years.  Thanks
to him, I had enough to buy a little apartment outright.
 
It’s just off the promenade.  You
should come and visit me one day.”

“
I'd like that,” Bessie told her.  There were so
few of
her own
generation left; she would quite enjoy
an afternoon of reminiscing with the slightly younger woman.  

“
But you haven't come to waste time talking with me,”
Bahey shook her head.  “
It's
kind of you come and
pay your respects; so few people do these days.”

Bahey looked around as if
checking that they were alone.  “Lots of people ringing and calling around
to try to get the latest skeet, but no one who really cares,” she said, nodding
seriously at Bessie.  

Bessie wasn't sure that she
qualified as someone who really cared, but she did feel that her visit was
motivated by the right reasons.  She murmured what she hoped Bahey would
take as an appropriate response.

“I have to ask,” Bahey said
with tears in her eyes.
 
“You saw
the body; do you think Mr. Daniel suffered at all?”

Bessie shook her head.  “I'm
sure it was quick,” she told the younger woman, patting her arm as she spoke.
 

“I'm sorry,” Bahey said,
wiping her tears with the back of her hand.  “I never married, never had
children.
 
Mr. Danny and Mr. Donny
always felt a little like my own boys.  I'm sure Mrs. Pierce would forgive
me for feeling that way.”

“Of course,” Bessie soothed.
 “You must have been pleased when Daniel found a wife, then?” she asked
suggestively.

Bahey scoffed.  “She has
them all fooled, the Pierces, but I can see through her.  She didn't
really love Mr. Daniel; she was just after his money.”