Dave laughed. “The wife claims that's the only sort of therapy that actually does anyone any good,” he told Bessie.
“I reckon it's at least as useful as any other sort,” Bessie grinned.
“I'll see you back here at eleven, then,” Dave confirmed their arrangement.
“Perfect.”
Bessie started her visit to the shops at her favourite bookstore. She settled her account and then spent several minutes browsing.
“Oh, Aunt Bessie, we just got a great-looking new cookbook in stock,” one of the sales clerks told her when she spotted her. “It's got tons of pictures.”
Bessie grinned. She loved cookbooks, especially ones with pages of glossy photos of gorgeous looking food that she knew she could never recreate. At her age, she no longer harboured any illusions that she might one day become a better cook. She prepared what she liked, which meant simple food that was quick to fix and required few ingredients. However, that didn't dull the pleasure she received from drooling over recipes for dishes she would never dream of attempting.
Half an hour later, the cookbook and a new mystery novel by an author she’d never heard of before tucked into her shopping bag, Bessie headed out of the store. She had an hour left before Dave would return, so she wandered slowly up and down the street of shops. She spent a few minutes in each of the charity shops digging through their piles of second-hand books and was rewarded with an only slightly dog-eared copy of an Agatha Christie mystery that was missing from her collection.
She was annoyed to find that she was starting to get tired as she headed back to meet Dave. I must do more walking for longer stretches, she told herself sternly. A few days off and I'm already out of shape.
Dave ferried her back to Laxey, dropping her off on “Ham and Egg Terrace,” where she had a quick lunch. Originally built as terraced cottages for the mine workers, the row of homes got their nickname from the meals that were once served to island visitors in the cottage’s front rooms. Now a single pub stood at one end of the terrace. It served fresh food incorporating as many Manx ingredients as they could source.
After lunch, Bessie briefly considered calling Dave and asking him for a ride over to the Lady Isabella, as Laxey Wheel was named, and then scolded herself. The wheel was only a short walk from the terrace of cottages. She shouldn't have even considered it, even if she was carrying a shopping bag full of books.
While she kept a steady pace, she walked somewhat more slowly than she wanted to and she ended up arriving at her destination about ten minutes after one.
The wheel was practically deserted on this overcast and slightly chilly March day and, as Bessie watched it turning lazily as she approached, she felt a shiver run down her spine. A few benches and picnic tables were scattered around the base of the wheel and Bessie had to resist the urge to wave to Hugh when she spotted him sitting all alone at one of them. He looked miserable, nibbling on a limp-looking sandwich. If they ever did this again, she would have to pack him something more appealing for his lunch.
She paused at the large sign that gave a brief history of the wheel. Although she must have been there hundreds of times before, she still stopped to reread the key facts.
“The ‘Lady Isabella,’ was named after the wife of Charles Hope. He was the serving Lieutenant Governor of the island in 1854, when the wheel was built. It is the largest working waterwheel in the world, once essential for pumping water out of the mines in Laxey.”
Bessie loved her history, but the technical details of the wheel held less interest for her. The only one that always caught her eye was the diameter. The Lady Isabella was seventy-two feet and six inches in diameter. She always wondered if the extra six inches were part of the design or a small miscalculation by the builders.
A single Manx National Heritage worker was standing at the bottom of the steps that led to the wheel’s viewing platform. He knew Bessie on sight and waved her on as she fumbled in her purse for her membership card.
“I guess I know a member when I see one,” he chuckled as Bessie headed past him and began the long climb up the winding staircase.
“Am I going to have the view all to myself?” Bessie asked, worried that she might have missed Samantha by being late.
“There’s one or two folks up top,” the man grinned at her. “But if you stay for long I bet they give up and head for the pub.”
Bessie grinned back and then focussed on her climb. Halfway up she stopped to catch her breath and look out at the already amazing view. She was reminded once again of how much she loved her island home. The views were simply spectacular. Bessie wondered what the miners who had toiled away in the mine that the wheel had once serviced would think of it now being a tourist attraction.
She shut her eyes and tried to imagine how Laxey in the second half of the nineteenth century must have looked. It was impossible to think that the tiny town had once been home to over six hundred miners and their families. With a sigh, Bessie continued her climb.
When she reached the top, she was disappointed to see that only three other people were there and Samantha wasn’t one of them. She nodded a quick “hello” to Mark Blake, a young man who had recently come to work at the Manx Museum in the “special projects” department. He was somewhere in his twenties and incredibly enthusiastic about the island and its history.
“Hello, Bessie,” Mark shouted a greeting as he and his companion made their way towards her. “My brother Michael is just here visiting for a few days.” Mark made quick introductions before the pair headed off down the steps, their conversation drifting back towards Bessie as they went.
“We’ll skip the mine for now, if you really want to. We can head over to the old cottages instead,” Mark was telling his brother. “They were built for the mine workers around 1860 and are still occupied today.”
Michael shot Bessie a slightly dazed look as he followed Mark down the steps. Bessie shook her head. Mark would never understand why everyone didn’t share his enthusiasm for the island’s past.
With the pair gone, Bessie turned her attention to the only other person on the viewing platform. As she approached the man, she studied him.
Donny Pierce looked as if he hadn’t slept since the last time she saw him. He was staring out at the breathtaking landscape in front of him, but he didn’t seem to be seeing it. Bessie was only a step away from him when he finally seemed to notice her.
“Oh, uhm, good afternoon,” he said formally.
“Good afternoon,” Bessie replied politely. “I don’t know if you remember me?” she asked tentatively.
The man sighed and ran a hand over his face. “You came by the house yesterday, didn’t you?” he said slowly. “Betsy or something like that. You know Bahey and my parents.”
Bessie nodded. “It’s Bessie, actually,” she corrected him gently. “But what brings you out here in this miserable weather?” As if to prove her point, a light rain began to fall.
Donny shook his head. “It seemed brighter earlier,” he shrugged. “And the girls wanted to get out of the house.”
“The girls?” Bessie asked.
“Sam, er, Samantha and Vikky. Things are pretty tense at Thie yn Traie right now and they both wanted a break.”
Bessie nodded. “Your mother must be, understandably, very upset.”
The man nodded. “Yeah, she’s taken Danny’s death really hard. He was her firstborn and, really, if I’m honest, her favourite.”
Bessie tutted at him. “Mother’s don’t have favourites,” she said sternly.
The remark raised a small smile from the man. “I guess,” he shrugged. “Anyway, her doctor’s given her a bunch of tablets and she seems to be washing them down with bottles and bottles of wine. My father has chosen whisky as his coping mechanism. The cottage isn’t really a fun place to be and the girls needed a break.”
“Nice of you to accommodate them,” Bessie remarked.
Donny gave her another small smile. “I suppose I needed a break, t
oo,” he admitted. “The police won’t let any of us leave the island at the moment, so a bit of sight-seeing sounded quite appealing. Anyway, it seemed like a good idea an hour ago.”
“The trip to the wheel hasn’t gone the way you expected?” Bessie suggested.
“No, I guess you could say that.”
Bessie stayed silent, waiting to see what he might add. After a long minute while they both took in the view, Donny sighed deeply.
“Coming to the Laxey Wheel was Samantha’s idea,” he told Bessie. “Apparently some distant ancestor of hers once worked in the mine here. I can’t imagine what it must have been like in those days.”
“Me either,” Bessie told him. “I was just thinking about that as I was climbing up here.”
“You never saw the mine when it was working?” Donny asked.
“The mine stopped operating in 1929, when I was still living in America,” Bessie told him.
Donny looked like he had a dozen more questions for Bessie, but then he sighed again and fell silent. After a few minutes, Bessie restarted the conversation.
“So Samantha wanted to have a look at the wheel?” she asked, trying to pick up where he had left off.
“What? Oh yes. Samantha wanted to see the wheel and the mines and whatever else we could find. We made all of the arrangements last night, before bed. Then, this morning, Vikky overheard our plans and asked if she could come as well. Samantha wanted to say ‘no,’ but I couldn’t see any harm in including her. She needed the change of scenery as much as anyone.”
Bessie nodded slowly. “So you brought them both here.”
“Yeah, and they started fighting in the car before we even left the cottage and argued all the way to the car park,” Donny looked bewilderedly at Bessie. “They really seem to hate each other, and I’ve no idea why.”
Bessie studied the man, wondering if he was really that stupid about women. “Perhaps Samantha thinks you are falling for Vikky,” she suggested.
“Vikky is my brother’s widow. She’s my sister now,” Donny sighed again. “I won’t deny that she’s a very attractive woman, but she just lost her husband. Even if I weren’t involved with Samantha, I wouldn’t be trying to move in on Vikky, at least not yet.”
Bessie stared out towards Laxey and tried to figure out how to reply to the man’s words. The “at least not yet” seemed telling to her. Donny was interested in the attractive widow; he was just waiting for the right time to make his move. She sighed. People so often made their own problems.
“So where are Samantha and Vikky now?” she asked. She and Donny were still alone on the platform.
“They both went stomping off in different directions,” he shrugged. “I guess I’ll call them both when I’m ready to go. I’m dreading the drive home, though.”
Bessie gave his arm a sympathetic pat and began to turn away. She stopped when Donny grabbed the hand that she had used to pat him.
“Bessie, please, I hate to keep you standing out in the rain, but, well, can you spare me just a minute more of your time?”
She turned back towards him curiously. “Of course,” she said gently.
“I just wondered,” he began hesitantly. “Oh, never mind.”
“What is it you wondered?” Bessie coaxed.
“You know the island and what goes on here,” Donny said. “What do you think happened to my brother?”
Bessie shook her head slowly to give herself time to think. “That’s a question for the police,” she said finally. “I know the island, but I don’t know anything about murder. From what I’ve seen, I can’t begin to guess who might have wanted to harm your brother.” She was surprised when Donny choked back a laugh.
“He really had everyone fooled,” he said harshly. “My mother won’t believe a bad word about him. The police seem to think someone in the family is responsible and I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, so I haven’t told the police absolutely everything. Maybe I should fix that? What do you think?”
“I think you should tell the police anything and everything that you know,” Bessie said, a touch primly.
Donny shook his head. “He was my big brother,” he answered with a catch in his voice. “I always looked up to him, you know?”
Bessie nodded. “I had an older sister. I know exactly what you mean. But the best thing you can do for him now is help the police find out what happened.”
The man nodded slowly. “He was taking drugs,” he blurted out.
Bessie struggled to keep her face from registering shock. “Drugs?” she repeated.
“Yeah,” Donny sighed. “I just found out a few weeks ago. He started missing work or turning up late. My father is getting ready to retire early, or he was anyway, and more and more of the responsibility for running the company has been falling on me and Danny. Except in the last month or so, it’s been all me. Danny hadn’t been coming in, or he’d come in late and then leave early. And he’d been, uh, all over the place with his decision-making. I finally confronted him a few days ago, before the trip, and he told me everything.”
“Everything?”
Donny shrugged. “Probably not everything, but he told me plenty. He was hooked on some prescription painkillers that he got to help with headaches. He said it started out with just one a day, but he found out that he liked the way they made him feel. They just wiped out all his worries. Fast forward a few weeks and he was hooked big time. He was using multiple doctors to get more and more prescriptions and then he found another source, a black market one.” Donny turned away from Bessie and leaned against the platform railing, his eyes filling with tears.
“I begged him to get help,” he told Bessie. “I offered to pay for it, offered to cover it all up from our parents, offered to do whatever it took. He said he wasn’t ready yet. I think he married Vikky because he was out of it on drugs. I can’t believe he would have ever done that any other way. He loved being single. And I suppose he was out of it when he redid his will. That’s one of the reasons why I’m supporting my father’s efforts to get Vikky disinherited.”
“Really?” Bessie tried to keep the shock from her voice.
“Hey,” Donny answered, “I like Vikky a lot, but she had to know that my brother was doing drugs. I think she knew and she took advantage of it. My father and I will make sure she gets some sort of payout, but she certainly doesn’t deserve Danny’s share of the company.”
Bessie bit back a dozen replies. “So he wasn’t interested in giving up the drugs?” she asked, changing the subject away from the widow.
“No, at least not yet. He said something about being straight-laced and responsible his whole life and needing a few months to just have some fun.” Donny shrugged. “I suppose some people would call it a midlife crisis.”
Bessie nodded. So many more men than women seemed to suffer from such things. She had always been aware of the passage of time and the fragile nature of existence, but it appeared that some people, on realising that they had hit middle age, felt the need to do something radically unlike themselves in order to prove something to someone.
Doona, for example, got a tattoo on her fortieth birthday. Unfortunately, she had chosen to have it done at a location that was more about affordability than artistic ability. Luckily, the tattoo was small and, as it was on the back of her shoulder, she didn’t have to look at it herself. Bessie often wondered if she was tired of saying “No, it’s a butterfly, yes, really,” all summer long when she wore sleeveless dresses, but it wasn’t something that Bessie felt she should ask her friend.
“And Vikky knew about the drugs?” Bessie asked.
“She must have,” Donny insisted. “If Danny wasn’t hiding it from me, he wouldn’t have been hiding it from his girlfriend, either. I don’t think he cared who knew, aside from our parents.”
“I take it they wouldn’t have approved,” Bessie remarked.
Donny laughed. “They would have fired him, cut him off without a cent and written him out of their wills.
My mother and father have very strong opinions about drug taking, in spite of their own behavior at the moment. The family firm is tied up in all sorts of complicated legal entities, and every single one of them has clauses about substance abuse.”
“So what do you think happened to your brother?” Bessie asked.
Donny looked around the empty platform and then lowered his voice for no reason whatsoever. “I think he arranged a middle of the night meeting with a drug dealer and the dealer killed him,” he whispered.
“Where did the dealer get the knife from?” she asked, annoyed with herself when she realised she was whispering as well.
“Danny must have taken it with him for protection,” Donny said, a touch smugly. “He couldn’t possibly have been comfortable dealing with drug dealers and the like. He was probably terrified. And he was probably carrying a great deal of cash as well. Taking the knife with him for protection makes perfect sense.”
“You really need to tell the police everything you’ve told me,” Bessie said, her mind spinning from all the information that had just fallen into her lap. “They need to know about your suspicions.”
“I suppose so,” the man said in a reluctant tone. “It’s all really just my own personal theory, though. I can’t prove any of it. I suppose there must be drug dealers on the island who would supply prescription medication?”
Bessie frowned at him. “I have absolutely no knowledge of such things,” she told him tartly. “I’m sure the police will be able to figure out if your theory is plausible or not. But they can’t investigate it at all if you don’t tell them.”
“I know you’re right,” Donny sighed. “I guess my big fear is that my parents will find out about Danny’s drug problem. My mother is so distraught already, I hate to add to her unhappiness.”
“I understand that,” Bessie said, now patting his arm again. “But surely she would prefer to see his murder solved, whatever unpleasantness that might reveal.”
“I guess so,” he agreed after a moment. “And I suppose she would rather it was a drug dealer than the alternative.”
Aunt Bessie Assumes: An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Page 9
