Aunt Bessie Goes (An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Book 7) (14 page)

“My turn to
ask you a question,” Mary said.
 
“What were you doing at the King house, anyway?”
 
She flushed.
 
“Is that terribly nosy?
 
You don’t have to answer.”

“It’s fine,”
Bessie replied.
 
“I was with John
Rockwell.
 
He’s house hunting in
Laxey now that he and his wife have separated.”

“Oh, that’s
very sad,”
Mary
said.
 
“Not that he’s moving to Laxey, but that
he and his wife have separated.”

“I know,”
Bessie agreed.
 
“They have a couple of
children and John’s quite unhappy about them moving back to Manchester.”

“I’ve heard
very good things about the man, though,” Mary said thoughtfully.
 
“I suppose I wouldn’t want to see him
move across.”

“You’ve heard
good things about John?
 
Where?”
 

“We had dinner
with the Chief Constable last week,” Mary replied.
 
“He was talking about a new detective
who’s just moved here.
 
Apparently,
the new woman is going to undergo some training in Douglas and then she’s meant
to be an assistant to John at the Laxey station.”

“Really?”
Bessie asked.
 
“Doona and John
didn’t mention any of this when I last saw them.”

“I do hope it
isn’t meant to be a secret,” Mary said with a frown.
 
“I gather the idea is that she’ll take
up a lot of the day-to-day running of the station so that John can focus more
on investigative work and staff training.”

“I think he’ll
like that,” Bessie replied.
 
“And I
won’t say anything to him or Doona about it.
 
I’m sure I’ll hear about it when the
time is right.”

“Oh, but if
Inspector Rockwell is moving to Laxey, does he need any furniture?” Mary
asked.
 

Bessie smiled.
 
She knew from personal experience that
Mary had several storage lockers full of furniture in the far north of the
island.

“I’m not sure
that John could borrow things from you like I did,” she told Mary.

“We’re
planning an auction of some of the pieces for charity,” Mary replied.
 
“Why don’t you and John meet me up in
Jurby
one day soon and he can have a quick look around at
what we’re getting rid of.
 
If
there’s anything there he wants, he can submit a sealed bid.
 
If no one exceeds his offer, he’ll win
the item on the day of the auction.”

“He has to be
so careful in his position not to take
favours
from
people,” Bessie explained.

“It isn’t a
favour
for him,” Mary insisted. “We’re doing it for lots of
people who can’t get there on the day.
 
I have friends, family, and a few dozen random strangers coming up on
Thursday next week, starting at nine in the morning and running though the
day.
 
If the inspector wants to come
up, he can stop by any time before dark.”

“When is the
auction?”

“Friday
morning, starting at seven,” Mary replied.
 
“I’ve no idea why it has to start so early, but that’s what the
auctioneer wanted.”

“I’ll let John
know,” Bessie told her.
 
“Whether
he’ll be able to make it, I couldn’t say.”

“If he wants
to come at a different time or on a different day, please just ring me,” Mary
said.
 
“I’ll be up there every day
next week sorting everything out, anyway.
 
While I’d love to get rid of everything we have in storage, George is
insisting that we keep all the things from his mother’s house.
 
I need to go through every unit, as I’m
not sure exactly sure where some of her things have ended up.”

“I’ll pass
that along,” Bessie promised.

“On Friday
evening, there’s an art auction at the house, as well,” Mary continued.
 
“I’ll be sending you a proper
invitation, but consider yourself invited for now.”

“An art auction?”
Bessie questioned.

“Apparently the
organisers
are gathering donations from a number of
local artists,” Mary told her.
 
“It’s really George and Grant putting it all together, or rather Grant’s
staff, but I hope you can come.
 
I’ll have so much more fun if you’re there.
 
Bring Doona as well; maybe she’ll find a
rich husband in the crowd.”

Bessie
laughed.
 
“I’ll be sure to invite
her, anyway,” she replied.

The pair
chatted about Mary’s children and the books Bessie had most recently read
before Mary looked at her watch.

“Oh, goodness,
it’s nearly four o’clock,” she exclaimed.
 
She waved at Carol, who rushed over.

“Did you want
more tea?” Carol asked cheerfully.

“I wish,” Mary
replied.
 
“I really must be
going.
 
If I could just have the
bill, please?”

Carol shook
her head.
 
“Lunch is on us today,”
she told Mary.
 
“We owe you so much,
it’s the least we can do.”

Mary opened
her mouth and Bessie was sure she was going to object, but she didn’t.

“If you
insist,” Mary said instead.
 
“Thank
you.”

Bessie was surprised
by her friend’s willingness to accept the offer, but she didn’t feel
comfortable saying so.
 
Instead, she
gathered up her handbag while Mary did the same with her own bag.

“I’ll just
give you a ride home,” Mary told Bessie as the women stood up.
 
“Then I can get home.
 
We’re having a small dinner party
tonight and I’ll be late if I don’t get moving.”

“I can get a
taxi,” Bessie offered.
 

“Don’t be
silly,” Mary laughed.
 
“Your cottage
is less than five minutes away.”

Bessie
couldn’t argue with that.
 
She
slipped her raincoat back on and then watched her friend.

“I just have
to leave a tip,” Mary said, reaching into her handbag.

Bessie
recognised
a fifty-pound note as Mary took it from her
bag.
 
She blinked when she
realised
that Mary had at least two of them in her
hand.
 
Mary caught her eye and
winked.

“Maybe next
time they’ll just give me the bill,” she whispered as she took Bessie’s arm and
they exited the café.

Mary drove her
home in her luxury sedan.
 
Bessie
was feeling so very full and sleepy that if the drive had been even a few
minutes longer, she might well have fallen asleep in the unbelievably
comfortable leather seats.

Back at
home,
Bessie took a short walk on the beach, ignoring the
weather.
 
It was still trying to
rain, but it had obviously overdone it earlier in the day, so now it could only
manage to drip intermittently on Bessie.

The rest of
the evening was quiet.
 
Bessie had
toast with jam for her evening meal after her huge feast earlier.
 
She settled into bed with a book of
short stories in the hard-boiled detective genre that she rarely read.
 
After a few stories, she drifted off to
a dreamless sleep.

Chapter
Eight

Saturday
morning brought more rain, but Bessie enjoyed her walk anyway.
 
It was one of those days where she felt
as if she could walk for hours.
 
At
the foot of the stairs to
Thie
yn
Traie
, she stopped and looked at the huge house above
her.
 
All that she could see was
windows, but she blinked when she
realised
there was
a light on in one of them.
 
It
seemed unlikely that someone was viewing the house this early in the morning,
but anything was possible.
 

Bessie
continued along the beach for a while longer before retracing her steps towards
home.
 
She knew she was soaked
through, but today she didn’t mind.
 
It better be dry tomorrow, she thought to herself, because I won’t be in
this sort of mood again for a long time.

The light was
still on in the house she continued to think of as the Pierce mansion.
 
Bessie made a mental note to ring her
advocate, who was handling the sale of the estate, and then made her way
home.
 
A quick call to his office
was reassuring.

“There’s a
builder and an interior designer going through the house this morning,”
Breesha
,
Doncan’s
secretary, told
Bessie.
 
“There’s a very interested
party who’ve been around the place twice.
 
Now they’re having a builder go through with their designer to see how
much it would cost to make the changes they want to make.”

“Please don’t
tell me they want to make it bigger,” Bessie said, thinking of the sprawling wings
that extended in every direction from the main house.

“I’m not sure
what they want to do,”
Breesha
told her.
 
“I can put you through to Mr. Quayle if
you want to ask him.”

Bessie
laughed.
 
“He’d just tell me that I
have to wait until it’s all a matter of public record,” she replied.
 
“And he’s perfectly correct, if
annoying.”

“You should
try working for him,”
Breesha
said, laughing.

After the call,
Bessie cleaned her loos, one of her least
favourite
jobs.
 
After the delicious lunch the
previous day, nothing Bessie had to hand sounded good, but she fixed herself
some soup and toast and washed it down with several cups of tea.
 
She was just curling up with a new book by
a
favourite
author when someone knocked on her door.

“Sam Radcliff,
what brings you here?” Bessie asked.
 
Sam was around fifteen, with long brown hair that needed combing quite
badly and brown eyes that were now shifting nervously from side to side.

“I, well, my
mum and I have had a bit of a blowout and I was wondering if I could sleep in
your spare room tonight,” the boy said.

Bessie bit
back a sigh.
 
She never turned away
a young guest, but she really wasn’t in the mood today for entertaining.
 
Besides, young Sam had stayed with her
before and he wasn’t exactly her
favourite
visitor.

“Of course you
can,” Bessie forced herself to say.
 
“Actually, I’m glad you’re here.
 
I have a few little chores that need doing and I wasn’t looking forward
to doing them myself.”

Sam frowned,
but didn’t reply.
 
Bessie smiled to
herself as she showed the boy into the house.

“I need to
clean behind the appliances,” she told him.
 
“But they’re far too heavy for me to
move myself.
 
Can you give me a
hand?”

“Sure,” Sam
muttered, looking at the ground.

Bessie directed
him to the refrigerator, and with his grudging help, they slid it out a few
feet.
 
She knew she wasn’t being
especially nice to the boy, but teens didn’t run to Bessie’s because she was
nice and Bessie knew it.
 
They came
because she was a neutral party in the never-ending battle between teen and
parent.
 
She would listen, make a
few pointed comments and then serve up tea and biscuits and delicious
home-cooked meals.
 
Sometimes the
teens found themselves put to work, especially when Bessie thought they needed
to be.
 

“I really
don’t think I can get back there,” Bessie mused now as she studied the
space.
 
“Would you mind terribly
sliding back there and giving the floor and the back of the fridge a good
clean?”

She passed him
some cleaning spray and a cloth and then stood by and directed his efforts
until they met her standards.
 
Once
he’d climbed out, they slid the large appliance back into place and Bessie
smiled at Sam.

“How about
some tea and a biscuit before we tackle the cooker?” she asked.
 
That got Bessie a nod and a smile.
  
She put the kettle on and then
found a box of chocolate biscuits.

“I’m afraid I
don’t have anything homemade at the moment,” she told the boy.
 
“Perhaps we could bake something
together later.”

“Store-bought
is fine with me,” Sam told her, grabbing a biscuit off the plate and shoving it
into his mouth.

“Please wait
until you’re at the table and seated and then take a biscuit or two and put
them on your own plate before you start eating,” Bessie said.
 
“My manners may be old-fashioned, but in
my house they are the rule.”

Sam flushed
and plopped down into a chair.
 
He
waited with ill-concealed impatience as Bessie laid out small plates for them
both.
 
When she put the larger plate
of biscuits in the middle of the table, he quickly took half a dozen and piled
them on his plate.

Bessie made
the tea and then served it, before siting down across from Sam at the table.

“So, what’s
going on at home?” she asked in a gentle voice.

“Mum got mad
because I was fighting with my little brother,” Sam said with a shrug.
 
“He’s just a big pain in the
ar
…,
er
, butt.”

“As I was the
little sister, I can’t possibly speak to how annoying younger siblings are, but
surely you can understand your mother’s frustration?”

Sam shook his
head.
 
“She always wants me to watch
him.
 
He’s only seven and he’s
always getting into trouble.
 
Mum
blames me whenever he gets hurt.”

Bessie bit
back a sigh.
 
She could
sympathise
with young Sam, who hadn’t chosen to have a
little brother, after all.

“Does she know
you’re here?”

“She won’t
care where I am unless she has a date tonight,” Sam replied.
 
“If she’s found some desperate loser to
buy her dinner, then she’ll want me home to watch Jake.”

“You mustn’t
disrespect your mother like that,” Bessie said sternly.
 
“Not in my house.”

Sam
shrugged.
 
“Sorry,” he muttered, his
mouth full of biscuit.

“I shall have
to ring her to let her know you’re here,” Bessie reminded him of her most
important rule.
 
She had
realised
long ago that welcoming the
neighbourhood
children could cause some trouble if she didn’t contact parents to let them
know that their offspring were with her.
 
Not only did it let the parents know the child was safe, it prevented
children from saying they were going to stay with her and then doing something
else altogether.

“She’ll
probably say no and I’ll have to go home,” Sam grumbled.

“She’s let you
stay before,” Bessie pointed out.

“Yeah, but now
you’ve been finding all these dead bodies,” Sam said.
 
“Mum reckons you’re bad luck.”

Bessie sat
back in her seat, stunned.
 
It had
never occurred to her that the locals might stop letting their children spend
time with her due to all the unfortunate recent events.
 
She thought back over the last several
months.
  
She had had fewer
visitors than was normal, now that she thought about it.
 
The summer holidays were usually quiet,
but things had been quiet in the early summer as well and young Sam was her
first visitor since the schools had reopened.

“Well, that’s
unfortunate,”
Bessie
said after a moment.
 
“I have had rather a run of, well, I
guess bad luck is as good a way to put it as any, but none of it has been my
fault, of course.”

Sam shrugged
again.
 
“It’s her new sister-in-law
that’s put the idea in her head,” he told Bessie.
 
“Mum’s brother, Simon, he just got
married again.
 
Anyway, his new wife
is from across and she was shocked that mum lets me stay with you at all, you
not being family or anything.
 
Apparently that simply isn’t how they do things in Sheffield.”

The young man
said the last sentence in a high-pitched voice and a posh accent that had
Bessie laughing.
 
“Now, now, you
know you must respect your elders,” she said once she’d stopped laughing.
 

Sam
grinned.
 
“She isn’t that much my
elder,” he confided in Bessie.
 
“I
don’t think she’s much more than nineteen, and Simon is like forty or
something.”

Bessie smiled
to
herself
at the way the teen said “forty” as if it
were a hundred.
 
“Never mind,” she
said.
 
“I’ll ring your mother after
we finish our tea and we’ll see what she says.”

“If you want
my help with the cooker, you better wait until we’ve done it before your ring
her,” Sam suggested.

“I’m less
worried about my cooker than I am about your mother being worried,” Bessie
replied.

After the tea
things had been washed and put away, Bessie rang Sam’s mum.
 
The boy was right; she couldn’t be
persuaded to let him stay.

“Sorry, but I
need him home tonight,” the woman said.
 
“He’s got to watch
Jakey
for me.”

“It’s probably
true,” Sam said glumly.
 
“Next time
I’ll just get on the ferry and keep going.”

Bessie did her
best to persuade him to come to her again the next time he needed to get away,
sighing deeply as she shut the door behind him.
 
You can’t save them all, she reminded
herself sadly.
 
A few mental images
flashed through her mind, young men and women who had once slept in her spare
room who had later made what Bessie considered to be bad choices with their
lives.
 
Firmly pushing such sad
thoughts from her mind, Bessie curled up with the book she had been about to start
when Sam knocked.
 

She
was
a few pages into it
when
she remembered that she’d meant to ring Inspector Rockwell after lunch.
 
He wasn’t at the station.
 
It was Saturday, after all, so Bessie
rang Doona at home.

“I was just
trying to reach John to let him know what I’ve found out, although it isn’t
much,” she told her friend.
 
“Can
you have him ring me?”

“Sure,” Doona
agreed.
 
“I’d invite you for dinner,
but I have a hot date tonight,” she added.

“Do tell.”

“It’s this guy
I met at
ShopFast
,” Doona began.

“Not Alan
Collins,” Bessie interrupted.

“No, not him,”
Doona laughed.
 
“His name is Kevin and
he’s just moved to the island.
 
We’re meeting at
La
Terrazza
.”

“Very nice, I
look forward to hearing all about it.”

Bessie hung up
and looked in her refrigerator for something that appealed for her evening
meal.
 
The phone interrupted her
frustration at finding nothing.

“Bessie, why
don’t you have my mobile number?” John asked when Bessie answered.

“I thought I
did, but I couldn’t find it,” Bessie replied.
 
“And, of course, the station wouldn’t
give it out.
 
I didn’t think I
should ask Doona to give it to me, either.”

“Write this
down,” the man instructed.
 
Bessie
jotted the number down and then repeated it back to him.

“That’s right,
now, what can I do for you?”

“I just wanted
to fill you in on what I’ve learned the last few days,” Bessie replied.
 
“Although it isn’t much,” she added.

She quickly
ran through the conversations she’d had with everyone, telling him everything
that she thought might be remotely connected to Adam and his
disappearance.
 
When she finished
going through her lunch conversation with Mary, including her invitation to the
furniture auction, she stopped.
 
“That’s it,” she said with a sigh.
 
“I know it isn’t much.”

“Mary Quayle
said I could come up and take a look around any day next week?” was John’s
first question.

“Yes,” Bessie
replied, surprised.

“Can you ring
her and ask if we can meet her there at nine on Tuesday?” John asked.