Aunt Bessie Considers (Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Book 3)

by Diana Xarissa

  The inspector turned on his heel and Bessie followed him wordlessly out of the café. Bessie glanced back when they reached the door and gave Doona what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Bessie couldn’t begin to imagine what the inspector wanted with her.

  Inspector Corkill led Bessie to a small private room nearby that Bessie hadn’t even known existed.

  “I couldn’t say anything in front of everyone,” the inspector began, “because we’re still restricting all information about Ms. Marks’ condition.”

  Bessie heart sank. “She’s still okay, isn’t she?” she asked anxiously.

  “Oh, she’s fine,” Corkill quickly assured her. “In fact, she’s more than fine. Her doctor is prepared to let her go home, and I’m struggling to find any reason to keep her here. I was hoping you could talk to her.”

  “Me?” Bessie asked. “Why me?”

  Corkill smiled. “You seem to have made quite an impression on the young lady,” he told Bessie. “She’s actually asking to see you. I was hoping, while you were visiting, you might be able to get more information from her than we have so far. I’d also prefer if she stays on the island for a few more days, just until we wrap up this thing with Mack and figure out exactly what happened to her.”

  “I’m happy to go and talk to her,” Bessie told him. “I don’t know that what I say will make much difference, but I’d really like to see her.”

  “Good,” Corkill looked relieved. “Let’s go.”

  Bessie shook her head. “There are some short talks I wanted to go to at two, and I’m supposed to give my talk at four,” she told the man. “There simply isn’t time now. I’ll have to go and see Bambi after the conference is finished.”

  Corkill frowned. “I really have to stress to you how important it is that you speak to Ms. Marks quickly,” he told her. “Her father is putting a great deal of pressure on the Chief Constable to get her off the island. He won’t let me see her at all. I haven’t even been able to question her.”

  Bessie sighed. “But I’ve been looking forward to this conference for months,” she said sadly.

  “I’ll drive you over and back,” Corkill told Bessie. “We may well be able to get there and back in an hour, if you talk fast.”

  Bessie couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Give me a minute and I’ll just let Harold know I’m leaving,” she told him.

  Bessie walked back to the café. Marjorie and Harold were sitting together, talking intently. She crossed to them, ignoring the curious stares she knew she was getting from the rest of the room.

  “I hate to do this,” Bessie said as a greeting, “but I need to run a quick errand. I can’t see any reason why I won’t be back by four, but I wanted you to know, just in case.” She braced herself for the angry remarks she knew she deserved.

  “Ah, Bessie, I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about changing the start time of your talk, but it sounds like the later start time will work better for you anyway. Anyway, with everything else that’s gone wrong, I’m not too worried if your talk starts a few minutes late, besides,” Harold said tiredly.

  Bessie grinned and then headed back towards the door. She waved at Doona and the others and then rejoined Inspector Corkill in the hallway outside the café.

  “Okay, I’ll probably have to miss the short talks, but as long as I’m back by four o’clock it should be okay,” she told him. “That should be plenty of time to talk to Bambi and get back.”

  “I certainly hope so,” the inspector said. “And before I forget, thank you.”

  Bessie didn’t have time to stare at him in surprise, but she would have liked to do so.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bessie followed Inspector Corkill through the museum and out the front of the building. His police car was parked in the emergency vehicle space right outside the door. Corkill held the passenger door open for Bessie and then climbed in himself.

  “As I said, Nigel Marks, Bambi’s father isn’t letting her speak to us,” Corkill told Bessie as they made their way out of the car park. “She’s issued a statement through the solicitor that her father brought with him, at least.”

  “Her father brought along a solicitor?” Bessie asked, amazed.

  Corkill let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Yeah, he rushed to his daughter’s hospital bed, stopping just long enough to gather up his solicitor on the way.”

  Bessie shook her head. “Poor Bambi,” she remarked.

  “Oh, you’ll want to call her Margaret now, at least in front of Mr. Marks,” Corkill told her. “Mr. Marks doesn’t approve of Bambi as a nickname.”

  Bessie laughed. “I can kind of see his point on that one,” she told the inspector.

  He shrugged. “Anyway, according to her statement, Ms. Marks has no idea what happened to her. She says she was just sitting and talking to some people, drinking some bottled water, and then she suddenly got so sleepy she couldn’t stay awake. The next thing she knew, she was in hospital.”

  “That’s unfortunate,” Bessie said with a sigh.

  “Aye, I was hoping for quite a bit more,” Corkill admitted. “At any rate, what we need to find out is where she got the water from.”

  “She didn’t say in her statement?”

  “Nope.”

  Inspector Corkill pulled his car up to the front doors of Noble’s Hospital and then turned and smiled at Bessie. “I’m going to let you out here,” he told her. “I’ll park and then I think it’s better if I wait for you in the lobby. I’d rather Mr. Marks didn’t know we were, um, communicating with one another.”

  “Fair enough,” Bessie replied. “I just hope I can find out something useful.”

  “Me too,” Corkill muttered.

  Bessie made her way into the building, stopping at the information desk to find out in which ward Bambi was staying.

  “Ah, Ms. Marks is in our private patient wing,” the woman behind the desk told her. “I’ll just have Sue escort you over there.”

  Bessie considered arguing, but she’d never actually been to the private wing. Maybe a guide would come in handy.

  Sue turned out to be a volunteer that Bessie guessed had to be close to her own age, possibly even older. She walked slowly down the hospital corridors, using a Zimmer frame to assist her.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said to Bessie as they made their slow way towards the private wing. “You’re wondering why they have an eighty-seven year old woman with a Zimmer frame showing people around the place.”

  Bessie grinned. “I was rather wondering that,” she admitted.

  The other woman cackled with laughter. “Well, at least you’re prepared to admit it,” Sue said. “Most people won’t, you know, but the thing is, I need my exercise and besides, the private wing is lovely and posh. I love visiting over there. Sometimes the nurses will slip me a fancy biscuit. They’ve got the nicest ones in the whole hospital, even nicer than what’s in the doctors’ lounge, and those are some nice biscuits them doctors have got, I can tell you.”

  Bessie laughed. A moment later they reached a set of double doors.

  “You need to know the code,” Sue told Bessie seriously. She pulled a slip of paper from her pocket and then typed the four-digit number that was written on it into a panel by the door. A bell chimed softly and then the wide doors slowly swung open.

  “Come on, then,” Sue urged Bessie. “They don’t stay open long, these doors, or else they’d have all sorts in here sniffing around the posh bickies.”

  It only took Bessie a moment to move through the doors and into the thickly carpeted corridor. Recessed lighting gave the hallway a soft glow that was warm and inviting. Bessie waited patiently as Sue clomped along behind her, obviously moving as quickly as she could as the doors slowly swung shut.

  “The information desk is just down the hall,” Sue told Bessie, taking a very slow lead again. Bessie fought down the urge to rush past the woman. She felt fortunate that her own age hadn’t yet slowed her down.

 
At the desk, Sue greeted the woman behind it. “Good afternoon, Debbie, I’ve brought a visitor for Ms. Marks,” she told her.

  Debbie frowned. “I’m afraid you’ll have to speak to Mr. Marks, the patient’s father, first,” she told Bessie.

  “That’s fine,” Bessie smiled. “Where can I find him?”

  “It’s fine?” Debbie seemed surprised. “Well, um, he’s just in with his daughter. If you wait here a moment, I’ll let him know you’ve arrived.”

  She got up from behind the desk and took a few steps before turning back to Bessie. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name. Mr. Marks will want to know.”

  “I’m Elizabeth Cubbon,” Bessie replied.

  “Oh, Laxey’s famous ‘Aunt Bessie,’ right? My cousin, Barb, used to hang out at your place all the time about twenty years ago,” Debbie grinned. “I’ll go tell Mr. Marks he should feel honoured that you’re here.”

  Bessie chuckled. “I don’t think he’ll see it that way,” she said.

  “Probably not,” Debbie agreed cheerfully.

  Only a moment later, Debbie was back. “Well, he’s willing to talk to you at least,” she told Bessie. “He’s asked you to wait in the television room for a few moments and then he’ll be in.”

  “I’ll show her the way,” Sue announced.

  Debbie grinned at Bessie. “How about if I show her and you go down to the kitchen and see if they can spare you a biscuit?” she asked Sue. “I think I just heard the kettle boil as well, so maybe you’ll be in time for a cuppa.”

  “Oooo, how lovely,” Sue said. “I’m off then.”

  Debbie and Bessie watched Sue’s painfully slow progress for a minute, before Debbie turned back to Bessie.

  “Let me show you where to wait,” she said, heading off in the opposite direction from where Sue was still visible.

  “Please don’t complain about Sue,” Debbie said in a quiet voice as they made their way down the corridor. “Her son is one of the surgeons and everyone on the staff loves her, but I know many of our visitors find it frustrating when she takes so long to show them where they’re meant to be going.”

  “I would never think about complaining about her,” Bessie assured her. “She’s very sweet and I always like to see older people finding something useful to do with their time.”

  Debbie grinned as she opened the door with the “Television Lounge” sign on it. “I’m not sure how useful she actually is,” she laughed. “But we’d all miss her if she wasn’t here.”

  Debbie flipped the light switch and Bessie looked around the comfortably furnished room. Several large couches were angled so that everyone would have at least a decent view of the large television on the back wall. There was a small refrigerator and a few cupboards along one side wall.

  “We keep drinks and snacks in there for the patients,” Debbie told Bessie. “Feel free to grab a cold drink or a biscuit while you wait. Mr. Marks will be here in his own time.”

  Bessie thanked the woman and then Debbie went back to her post, leaving Bessie to explore the room. Bessie checked the refrigerator, not because she was thirsty, but because she wondered what the private patients had on offer. She was disappointed to see a fairly standard selection of fizzy drinks and bottled water, rather than the champagne and imported bottled drinks she expected. The cupboards were equally disappointing, containing nothing more elaborate than custard creams and digestives. She was disappointed yet again when she pulled back the curtains at the window to reveal a somewhat depressing view of the car park

  “I guess I shouldn’t mind having to have my care on the NHS,” she muttered to herself as she sank down on one of the couches.

  A moment later the door swung open and Bessie got back to her feet. The man who strode in was probably close to fifty, with dark hair and dark eyes. He was immaculately dressed in a black suit and Bessie reckoned that she’d be able to see her reflection in his shoes if she got close enough.

  “Mr. Marks?” she asked politely.

  “No, I’m Clive Henderson,” the man said sharply. “I’m an old family friend as well as the family’s solicitor.”

  “How very nice for you,” Bessie said. “And what are you hoping to get me to agree to or sign before you’ll let me visit with Bambi?”

  The man shook his head. “You misunderstand me,” he said smoothly. “I’m merely here as an old family friend. Mr. Marks and I are very aware that Margaret needs some help in getting her life back together, that’s all.”

  “Look,” Bessie said, trying to hide her annoyance, “I’m here because I was told that Bambi wanted to talk to me. If she doesn’t actually want to see me, just say so. Believe it or not, I have better things to do with my time than stand here talking to you. If she does want to see me, then stop making this so difficult and let me see her.”

  The man shook his head. “I don’t want to argue with you, Mrs. Cubbon, but we’re being very careful about what influences we let come into contact with Margaret at the moment and….”

  Bessie held up a hand. “You know what? I’ve had enough. If you think I’m likely to be a bad influence on Bambi, then there’s no point in our continuing to talk. Please tell her that I was here and I’m sorry that I couldn’t see her.”

  She headed towards the door, but was stopped when another man walked into the room. Of a similar age to the overly polished solicitor, he looked as if his sharp edges had recently been worn away. His hair was shot full of grey and his eyes looked tired and swollen. He was wearing jeans and an old button-down shirt that looked as if it needed laundering.

  He smiled at Bessie, but it looked forced. “Miss Cubbon? I’m Nigel Marks.” He held out a hand and Bessie took it, somewhat reluctantly.

  “Nigel, I’d have to advise you….” Clive Henderson began.

  The other man raised a hand to stop him mid-sentence. “Clive, why don’t you go down to the café and have some lunch? I’ll have a chat with Miss Cubbon and then join you in a few minutes.”

  The solicitor drew in a deep breath and Bessie could almost hear the wheels turning in his head as he studied his friend. “I’ll see you downstairs, then,” he said finally, spinning on his heel and marching stiffly from the room.

  “It was nice meeting you,” Bessie called after him.

  Nigel Marks’s bark of laughter drowned out any reply that Clive Henderson might have made. “I feel like I should apologise for Clive,” he told Bessie. “He is genuinely trying to look out for Margaret’s best interests, even if he doesn’t always go about doing so in the best way.”

  “I’ll take your word for that,” Bessie said dryly.

  Marks laughed again. “You are not at all what I was expecting,” he told Bessie. “Margaret only told me a little bit about you. Clearly nowhere near enough.”

  “Really?” Bessie asked. “You’re exactly what I was expecting from Bambi’s description.”

  Marks flushed and then shook his head. “I feel as if I’ve been insulted,” he told Bessie. “And I’m sure it’s deserved.”

  Bessie really wanted to see Bambi, and being argumentative and difficult with the man was hardly going to help her cause. “She’s a lovely girl,” she said now. “Very bright, with a good head on her shoulders.”

  The man beamed at Bessie. “She is at that,” he agreed. “In spite of everything my ex-wife and I put her through.”

  Bessie considered half a dozen replies before she went carefully neutral. “I’m sure you did your best.”

  Marks shook his head. “I did no such thing,” he told Bessie. “I was self-absorbed and immature and both my ex-wife and I used Margaret as a weapon in our fights.” He sighed. “I wish I could say that I’m going to change and things are going to be different now, but I can’t promise anything. I certainly intend to try, but Margaret is in her twenties now. It’s definitely too late to give her a happy childhood.”

  “It’s never too late to be the best father you can be,” Bessie told him. “You could start by calling her Bambi,
if that’s what she prefers.”

  “It seems such a small thing,” he told Bessie. “But she only ever wanted to be called that to annoy me. I hate to give in to that childishness.”

  Bessie shook her head. “Maybe if you start treating her as an adult, she’ll outgrow some of what you think of as childishness,” she suggested.

  “And calling her Bambi, after some movie deer, is treating her as an adult?” he demanded.

  “Respecting her choice as to what she would prefer to be called is treating her as an adult,” Bessie said.

  “I can see why Margaret likes you,” he sighed. “She told me to make sure to call you ‘Miss Cubbon,’ as that’s what you prefer.”

  Bessie grinned. “You’re welcome to call me ‘Bessie,’” she said. “Nearly everyone does.

  The man grinned back at her. “And you must call me Nigel, of course.”

  “I really would like a chance to see Bambi,” Bessie told him.

  “Certainly,” he agreed quickly. “I’ll show you to her room and then I’ll join Clive for a drink downstairs. You and Mar, er, Bambi can have a little bit of privacy.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  Bambi’s room was only a few doors away, and Nigel didn’t even go in with Bessie. He stopped in the corridor. “Tell my daughter that I’ll be back shortly. If you leave before I get back, thank you for everything.”

  Bessie wasn’t sure what she was being thanked for, but she shook the man’s hand anyway. Once he was a few paces down the hall, she slowly pushed open the door to Bambi’s room.

  “Ah, Bessie, thank goodness you’re here.” Bambi was sitting in a chair in a small seating area just inside the door. “I’m just about to die from sheer bloody boredom,” she continued, pressing the button to turn off the television she had been staring at as Bessie entered.

  Bessie grinned at Bambi as she sat on the couch next to her. “I brought you a book,” she said, pulling a paperback from her bag. She wasn’t, strictly speaking, telling the truth. She always had a book in her bag for unexpected times when she needed some entertainment, and this one just happened to be the latest, but it was one she’d read many times before and she didn’t mind giving it to Bambi.