Cars and Cold Cases
An Isle of Man Ghostly Cozy
Diana Xarissa
Text Copyright © 2017 Diana Xarissa
Cover Copyright © 2017 Linda Boulanger – Tell Tale Book Covers
All Rights Reserved
Created with Vellum
For cat lovers everywhere.
Contents
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Acknowledgments
Dogs and Danger
Also by Diana Xarissa
About the Author
Author’s Note
Welcome to book three in the Isle of Man Ghostly Cozy Series. I hope everyone is having as much fun with Fenella and her friends as I am.
As this series is written with an American protagonist (even if she was born on the island), I’ve used American English throughout the story. The setting, however, is once again the incredibly beautiful Isle of Man.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Similarly, the names of the restaurants and shops and other businesses on the island are fictional. I’ve taken considerable liberties with locations within the story, adding shops and restaurants where they are convenient to the story rather than where any shops actually exist.
The historical sites and other landmarks on the island are all real; however, all of the events that take place within them in this story are fictional. Charlotte de la Tremouille, the wife of the seventh Earl of Derby, did exist. William Christian is either a traitor or a patriot, depending on your view of the matter. While Charlotte is real, her ghost does not (to the best of my knowledge) haunt Castle Rushen.
I hope you enjoy this book and I would love to hear your thoughts. My contact details are in the back of the book. Thank you for spending some time with Fenella, Mona, Daniel, Shelly and the rest.
1
Fenella frowned as the car covered in signs pulled up to the curb in front of her. She’d known the car would have what were called “L plates,” small white squares with a bright red letter “L” printed on them. Displayed on both the front and back of the car, they were designed to warn other drivers that a “learner” driver was behind the wheel of the car carrying the plates.
While that felt embarrassing enough to a woman who was nearly fifty, the car that had just arrived to take her for her first driving lesson was festooned with signs advertising the driving school, as well. No one who saw it would have any doubt that she was learning to drive.
“Fenella Woods?” the man behind the wheel asked after he’d rolled his window down.
“Yes, that’s right,” Fenella said.
“Get in,” he told her.
Fenella slid into the passenger seat and fastened her seatbelt. She was already having second thoughts about trying to learn to drive in her newly adopted home. While she’d been born on the Isle of Man, she’d grown up in the US and had done all of her driving there. An unexpected inheritance had brought her to the island, though, and she fully intended to stay. Learning to drive felt like a necessity to her, no matter how difficult that might prove.
“I’ll just get us somewhere a bit quieter, and then you can have a go,” the man told her. “For now, just be careful you don’t step on the instructor’s pedals at your feet.” He signaled and then carefully pulled out into traffic. Fenella sat back and tried to study him without staring.
The man looked to be in his mid-fifties, although Fenella wondered if the stress of his job made him look older than he actually was. His hair was mostly grey. His eyes were hidden behind thick glasses with dark frames that Fenella thought were most unflattering. His clothes appeared to have been selected for comfort rather than style, and Fenella decided that the man didn’t own an iron, or if he did, he didn’t know how to use it properly.
“The promenade is a bit busy for a first lesson,” he said after a minute. “I know a few quiet neighborhoods where you can have a go without worrying about traffic.”
“That sounds good,” Fenella said. The quieter the better, she added to herself.
After another minute or two, the driver pulled over to the side of the road. Fenella looked around at the neat row of houses on either side of the street. Each house had its own small parking area; some even had garages. In spite of that, there were many cars parked on the street.
Switching off the engine, the man turned to Fenella and gave her a very brief smile. “I’m Mel Belsom,” he said. “But you already know that. Give me your driving history again, please.”
Fenella nodded. She’d gone over it all on the phone when she’d arranged the lesson, but she didn’t mind repeating herself. “I got my driver’s license when I was seventeen in the US state of Pennsylvania,” she told him. “I’ve been driving ever since, with only a few minor fender benders and a single speeding ticket to my name.”
Mel nodded. “So what brings you to the island?”
“I inherited my aunt’s estate,” she explained. “It was the perfect opportunity to make a big life change, and I was ready for it. I’ve been here about two months now, and not being able to drive is starting to make me crazy.”
“I imagine most Americans drive,” Mel said.
“Oh, yes,” Fenella answered. “And most get their licenses as soon as they turn sixteen.”
“Is the test not terribly difficult, then?” Mel asked.
Fenella shrugged. “You have to take a written test, like the one you take here, before you can start.”
“How did you do on the written test here?”
“I missed one,” Fenella said, blushing.
“That’s pretty good,” Mel told her. “Most of my teenaged drivers barely pass.”
Fenella shook her head. “I worked really hard to learn the rules and memorize the street signs. I got mixed up on one of the signs.”
“It happens,” Mel shrugged. “What’s the US road test like?”
“I believe they’ve made it more difficult now than it was in my day,” Fenella told him. “When I took my test, we were required to drive around an enclosed course that was set up with various signs that needed to be obeyed and designated areas for demonstrating the ability to parallel park and complete a three-point turn.”
“How long did that take?”
“Goodness, I’m not sure,” Fenella said. “Maybe five minutes?”
Mel laughed. “You’re in for a surprise here, then,” he told her. “The practical driving test here is forty minutes long.”
“Forty minutes?” Fenella echoed, feeling slightly ill.
“Yep. First you do thirty minutes of following very specific instructions, including reverse parking, which is what you called parallel parking, and a turn in the road, what you called a three-point turn.”
“And all of that takes thirty minutes?” Fenella asked.
“Easily,” the man replied. “Then you have ten minutes of what they call independent driving. The examiner will ask you to drive from a given point to another given point. You’ll have to follow road signs to get there.”
“Maybe I’ll just learn to love buses and taxis,” Fenella said with a sigh.
Mel shrugged. “You have an advantage in that you’ve driven before,” he pointed out. “Your challenge is getting comfortable with the island’s roads and t
he different traffic laws, not the mechanics of making the car go.”
“I suppose,” Fenella said.
“Why don’t we have a lesson or two before you make up your mind,” Mel suggested. “I’m always honest with my students. If I don’t think you’re going to be able to do it, I’ll tell you after a second lesson.”
“Couldn’t you just tell me today?” Fenella asked.
“You’re going to be terrible today,” the man told her. “I need to see whether you can improve or not.”
Fenella nodded slowly. “Okay, I think.”
“Let’s change places and you can make a start,” he told her.
The man climbed out of the driver’s seat and walked around the car. While he was doing that, Fenella opened the passenger door and slid out. She felt her feet dragging as she made her way to the open driver’s door. Once she was sitting down with her seatbelt fastened, Mel handed her the keys.
“Just one other thing,” she said. “I’ve never driving a stick shift before.”
Mel raised an eyebrow. “You mean a manual transmission? Never?”
“Nope.”
“You do have them in America?”
“Yes, but mostly on sports cars,” Fenella told him. “The vast majority of cars in the US are automatics.”
“You know you can get an automatic license over here that only allows you to drive automatic cars,” he said. “You don’t actually have to learn to drive a car with a manual transmission.”
“Along with inheriting an apartment, I inherited a really cool car,” Fenella replied. “But it’s a stick shift.”
Mel rubbed a hand over his face. “It isn’t that different,” he told her. “I’m sure I can get you driving a manual. You may need a few more lessons that I was anticipating. I didn’t realize, but never mind. Let’s see how you get on.”
Fenella forced herself to smile at the man as she slid the key into the ignition.
“You’ll need to put your foot on the brake and the clutch,” Mel told her.
“The clutch is the one on the far left, right?”
“Far left is correct,” Mel said.
“And the brake is in the middle?”
“Yes.”
“At least that’s the same as in America,” Fenella said. “Gas on the right and brake on the left.”
“Press down both the brake and the clutch and then turn the engine on,” Mel told her.
Fenella did as she was told. Next the man showed her how to put the car into first gear and release the handbrake.
“Now slowly release the clutch as you press down gently on the accelerator,” Mel said.
Fenella lifted her left foot and pressed down with her right. The car moved forward a few inches and then stalled.
“That wasn’t supposed to happen, was it?” Fenella asked.
Mel shook his head. “But it usually does,” he said.
For the next half hour, he patiently and repeatedly took Fenella through the necessary steps for starting the car. It felt to her as if she made every possible mistake at least a dozen times. If she lifted off the clutch slowly enough, she’d find she’d forgotten to remove the handbrake. When she did get the handbrake off, she’d fail to give the car enough gas. Once she tried moving off in neutral, and one time as she moved her hand toward the gear stick, she smacked it into the door.
“I forgot which side the gear stick was on,” she said, blushing brightly.
“Of course, the gear lever would have been on your right, not your left, in the US, wouldn’t it?” Mel asked.
“Yes, and I think this would be a good deal easier if I could change gears with my right hand,” Fenella replied. “I am right-handed, after all.”
“Yes, well, I’m afraid I can’t do anything about that,” Mel replied.
Fenella felt as if she wanted to cry as she tried yet again to get the stupid car to move. This time it went all of three feet before it stalled.
“Maybe I don’t need a second lesson before you tell me to give up,” she said in frustration.
“I’ve had worse beginners,” Mel assured her. “I have had an idea, though. Maybe we should start your lessons in an automatic car. Once you’ve grown comfortable with the roads and the signs and everything else, you’ll be able to really focus on the finer points of driving a manual transmission.”
“I haven’t had to worry about roads or signs today,” Fenella pointed out. “We haven’t moved more than a few feet since I’ve been driving.”
“Think how much better you’ll do, then,” Mel said. “I have a friend who is also a driving instructor. He specializes in automatics. I’ll swap cars with him for your lessons and we’ll get you out on the open road in no time.”
Fenella sighed. “I suppose it will be a start.”
“Then if you decide not to bother with learning to drive a manual, you can take your test in an automatic,” Mel pointed out.
“But I’d have to sell Aunty Mona’s wonderful car,” Fenella replied sadly.
“I’m sure you could find something similar in an automatic,” Mel said.
Fenella nodded, but she knew herself too well. If she sold the gorgeous little red convertible, she’d end up buying herself something boring and practical, probably with four doors and a huge trunk for carrying groceries. Mona’s car appealed to a part of Fenella that she didn’t often admit she had. If she got rid of it, there was no doubt she’d revert to type.
“Aunty Mona?” Mel repeated her earlier words. “Are you Mona Kelly’s niece?”
“Yes, I am,” Fenella confirmed, wondering how the man knew her aunt.
“She was a character, was Mona,” Mel said. “I think everyone on the island knew her. And I can see why you’re eager to learn to drive her car. It’s something special. I can still picture her driving all around the island in it, even after she’d turned ninety and probably shouldn’t have been.”
“If she could drive it at ninety, I should be able to drive it at forty-uhm, er, something,” Fenella said.
“I’m sure we’ll get you there,” Mel said. “It just might take a little longer than you’d like.”
Fenella nodded. She carefully stepped on the brake and the clutch and put the car into gear. Releasing the handbrake, she pressed the accelerator and began lifting off the clutch. The car moved forward several feet, and suddenly Fenella was driving down the street.
“Okay, now you need to shift into second gear,” Mel told her as the car began to pick up speed. “Step on the clutch and slide the gear level straight back.”
Fenella stepped on the brake and the car shuddered to a halt, stalling in the middle of the road.
“That was the brake,” Mel said.
“Yes, I realize that,” Fenella said, trying not to snap. “I’m simply not used to having three pedals to worry about.”
A car honked loudly from behind them. Fenella tried to look to the right, into the rearview mirror, but the mirror wasn’t where it should have been.
“Even the mirror is on the wrong side of the car,” she grumbled as Mel helped her get the car started again. As the person behind them honked a second time, Fenella managed to move the car forward enough to get to the curb.
“I think you’ve done quite enough for today,” Mel said as the car behind them rolled past. “I’ll drive you home.”
“That’s probably wise,” Fenella said.
They traded places again, and Fenella felt as if she’d never been happier to get out from behind the wheel of a car. Mel was silent as they drove the short distance back to Fenella’s apartment building and Fenella was feeling too embarrassed to speak.
“Here we are,” he said as he pulled up at the curb. “Let’s plan on a second lesson at the same time on Wednesday. I should be able to get the automatic for then. I’ll ring you if I can’t and we can reschedule.”
“Okay,” Fenella agreed. She let herself out of the car and walked into the large lobby of the Promenade View Apartments building. She’d nev
er expected to inherit her aunt’s entire estate, but she had to admit that she was very lucky to have done so. The building was beautiful and meticulously maintained. In the elevator, as she rode to the top floor, she leaned against the wall and sighed.
“Ah, Fenella, how was your first lesson?” a voice asked as the elevator doors opened to reveal Shelly Quirk, one of Fenella’s neighbors, who was quickly becoming a dear friend.
“Humiliating,” Fenella said, feeling tears springing into her eyes.
“Oh, dear, what went wrong?” Shelly asked.
“Everything,” Fenella replied. “I just can’t do it. I can’t make my left foot and my right foot work together. I never moved more than a few feet at a time without stalling and I nearly hit a parked car once. The one time I did actually get moving, I stalled in the road and some ridiculously young man sat and honked at me to move the car while he laughed about it on his mobile phone.”
Shelly wrapped Fenella up in a huge hug. “It was your very first time driving with a manual transmission,” she said. “On the wrong side of the car, on the wrong side of the road, in a strange country. You mustn’t be too hard on yourself.”
“I didn’t even notice the wrong side of the road part,” Fenella said with a rueful smile. “I wasn’t on the road enough to realize.”
Shelly laughed. “I’m just off to do some shopping. Would you like to come?”
Fenella thought about it and then shook her head. “I’m completely exhausted from forty minutes of stalling,” she told her friend. “I’m going to curl up with Katie and eat ice cream for the next hour.”
“Perfect,” Shelly said. “And then you can dust yourself off and get ready for your next lesson. There is going to be a next lesson, isn’t there?”
Cars and Cold Cases Page 1
