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

by Diana Xarissa

  “They were alone at the site, apparently. I can’t remember all of the details, but the place was mostly in ruins, and no one else was visiting that day. It was cold and rainy and not really a day for sightseeing, as I recall.”

  “That doesn’t explain why the house has been sitting empty for so long,” Alan said.

  “Valerie left everything to Gary, at least according to the will that he produced. It had only been prepared a few days before the accident, by a London solicitor. The will she’d written previously, through her advocate on the island, left everything in trust for her children from her first marriage, but it predated the London one, so it was no longer valid. Of course Sam’s family challenged the second will on behalf of the children, who were still young, and it dragged through the courts for many, many years.”

  “So who won in the end?” Alan asked.

  “The advocates,” Bessie said dryly. “Both sides spent far more money than they could afford fighting through the courts. Eventually Sam’s family agreed to drop the case because they couldn’t afford to fight any longer. They had seven children to support, after all. By that time Gary was settled somewhere in the Lake District with his second wife. The baby girl didn’t survive long after her mother. Anyway, Gary had no interest in coming back to the island, so he rented out the house for a while. As time went on and the house began to need work, he found it more and more difficult to find people willing to rent it, so he just left it empty. I gather he died about a year ago and his children from his second marriage are now trying to get it sold.”

  “Why didn’t he sell it years ago?” Alan asked. “Surely that would have been easier.”

  Bessie shrugged. “I’ve no idea,” she told him. “It’s hardly worth the effort to speculate.”

  At the front door the trio took another look around the dilapidated foyer. “I hope whoever buys it has the necessary resources to bring it back to its former glory,” Bessie said. “It was a beautiful home in its day.”

  Back in their cars, John followed Alan through Laxey towards the coast. Alan pulled into the car park of a modern development of luxury flats.

  “I know you said you’d prefer a single family home,” he told John as John and Bessie joined the estate agent on the pavement in front of the property. “But this is a large flat and it’s in your price range. You should take a look so that you know all of your options.”

  John exchanged glances with Bessie and then the pair followed Alan into the building.

  “There’s a twenty-four hour doorman,” Alan said brightly as they entered the large foyer. He waved a hand at a desk that ran along one wall, but unfortunately for him there was no one actually sitting behind it. “I can’t imagine where he is,” Alan muttered, crossing to the desk.

  Bessie followed, curious as well. On the desk was a note that read “Press buzzer for assistance.” It was posted above a small button that looked like a doorbell. Alan pressed the button twice and then, after glancing around, pressed it again.

  Bessie looked at John, who was standing in the middle of the space that was furnished with a couple of uncomfortable-looking couches and a large coffee table. She shrugged.

  “Maybe we should just skip this one,” John suggested.

  “He probably just had to step away for a moment,” Alan said, his voice tense. He pressed the button again and then pressed it once more, this time holding it down.

  After another minute the only interior door that opened off the foyer swung open and an elderly man came out.

  “He’ll be in the back having a quick smoke,” he told Alan as he headed towards the front door. “No good ringing, the bell doesn’t work.”

  Alan smiled grimly at Bessie and John. “I’m sure he’ll be back any minute now,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “No doubt,” Bessie murmured, feeling almost guilty, as she was enjoying watching Alan’s discomfort. She hadn’t liked the man when she’d first met him and nothing that had happened so far today had changed her opinion.

  John sat down on one of the couches and made a face. Bessie crossed to him. “Not terribly comfortable?” she asked quietly.

  “Hard as a rock,” he whispered.

  The interior door swung open again. The man who rushed into the foyer now was much younger than the last man, probably somewhere in his forties, and he looked at them with a horrified expression on his face.

  “I wasn’t expecting you for another hour,” he said defensively.

  “We spent less time than expected at the previous viewing,” Alan told him.

  “I was just, um, doing a security patrol,” the man replied. “I walk around the whole building at least once an hour.”

  Bessie’s nose wrinkled. She could smell cigarette smoke and she had a very good idea where it was coming from.

  “Never mind, I’ll just have the keys to number sixteen, please,” Alan said.

  The man unlocked the desk, dug out a key ring, and handed it to Alan. “It’s a lovely flat in a wonderful building,” he said brightly to Bessie and John. “I’m sure you’ll fit right in, ma’am. Most of the residents are, um, well, older ladies and gentlemen.”

  “That’s good to know,” Bessie told him, glancing at John.

  He smiled broadly at her. “It is indeed,” he said.

  They followed Alan through the interior door and down a short hallway. The estate agent was already working on damage control.

  “I didn’t realise that they do security patrols,” he said as he put the key into the lock. “I’m sure the residents appreciate it, though.” He pushed the door open and then looked at John. “And elderly neighbours are lovely and quiet, you know.”

  The flat itself was pretty much what Bessie had been expecting. The walls and carpets were all beige, the kitchen was relatively modern and spotlessly clean and the bedrooms were small but functional.

  “It’s fine,” John told him after they’d been around the whole property. “But I really don’t want a flat. I really want a single-family home.”

  “I just wanted you to see what you can get for your money,” Alan told him. “A single-family home in your price range will need some work, especially if you want at least three bedrooms. This flat has four bedrooms and it’s only a few years old. The kitchen has all the modern appliances and there’s no garden maintenance to worry about, either.”

  John nodded. “That would be good,” he admitted. “Sue ended up cutting the grass and dealing with the garden at our house in Ramsey. I suppose, if I do buy a house, I’ll have to hire someone to look after the garden.”

  Back in John’s car, following Alan to the next property, Bessie couldn’t stop herself.

  “Why on earth are you working with Alan Collins?” she demanded.

  John gave her a surprised look. “What’s wrong with Alan Collins?” he asked.

  Bessie shook her head. “I guess I never told you every last detail about my move to Douglas,” she replied. “He was the estate agent who showed me the properties there. I just don’t like him. But I thought you’d go with one of the three big agencies anyway, most people do.”

  John shrugged. “Actually, Sue handled putting our house on the market. She had several different agents come through and she chose to use Mr. Collins and Island Choice Properties. As we’ve already had an offer at full list price, I can’t complain, either.”

  Bessie nodded. “Just because I don’t like the man doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of doing the job,” she said.

  They pulled up and parked behind the man on a street not very far from Bessie’s cottage. It was the same neighbourhood where Doona lived and where John had his rental home.

  “There are two different properties available in this neighbourhood,” he told the pair when they joined him on the pavement. “The homes here were generally built in nineteen-forties and fifties and are primarily bungalows. The two we are going to see are both bungalows. The first one is just here.”

  He nodded towards the house tha
t was right in front of them. While it had been built as a small three-bedroom, one-bath home on a tiny lot, it had clearly been extended in recent years. Bessie had known the first owners of the home, back in the forties, but they had sold it some time in the seventies to a Douglas man who was looking for investment properties. A succession of families had rented the property after that, but Bessie had never really had a chance to get to know any of them. About a year ago she’d seen the request for planning permission to extend the property, but she hadn’t really paid much attention to what they’d done. Now, as they walked toward the house, she made a face.

  “I don’t like what they’ve done to it,” she remarked.

  “It’s all been done to the highest standard,” Alan told her. “The owners have spent a great deal on modernising the home.”

  “But now it looks like some new-build home in a housing estate rather than a charming older home in a post-war development,” Bessie replied. “And it looks out of place.”

  Alan shrugged. “The interior is extremely well done,” he replied as he unlocked the door and pushed it open.

  If by extremely well done, you mean beige, Bessie thought to herself as she strolled through the property. She couldn’t deny that the modern and spacious kitchen, which was a large part of the new addition, was very nice. The extra bedroom and bathroom that had been added as well were a nice bonus for the inspector, too. But she couldn’t help but feel that the house was lacking in character now that it had been modernised.

  John seemed to like it, however. “It has just about everything I need,” he told Alan. “What’s the asking price?”

  The figure Alan gave made Bessie blink.

  “That’s more than a little over my budget,” John told him, shaking his head. “What a shame. I quite like the property.”

  “We can always try to get them down a little on the price,” Alan suggested.

  “We’d have to get them down a lot,” John replied.

  “There’s one more house to see,” Alan said, his tone far less enthusiastic than it had been. “It’s just on the next street, if you want to follow me.” He headed towards his car and had Bessie calling after him.

  “I’m sure we could more easily walk,” she suggested. “The weather’s fine.”

  Alan looked at the sky, which was slightly overcast, and then back at Bessie. “I guess we can walk, if that’s okay with Mr. Rockwell.”

  “It’s fine,” John assured him. “I feel like stretching my legs anyway.”

  Alan nodded and then glanced longingly at his car. “This way, then,” he told them, heading towards the corner.

  As they approached the next property, Bessie felt her heart sink. She only knew of one house for sale on this particular street and it was one she didn’t really want to spend any time in. Alan stopped exactly where she was expecting him to stop.

  “This is it,” he announced. “Unlike the last property, this one hasn’t been modernised at all. Of course, that means the price is considerably lower.”

  “I’ve been in this house before,” John told him.

  “Oh, do you know the current owners?” Alan asked.

  “No, I was investigating the murder that took place in the kitchen,” John replied.

  Alan flushed. “I wasn’t, that is, I’d heard rumours but I wasn’t certain that they were true. That explains why the price is as low as it is, I guess. People can be, well, hesitant to live in a house where someone was murdered.”

  “I can see their point,” Bessie said, staring up at Nancy King’s house with a heavy heart.

  “Do you know, that is, well, was there much blood?” Alan asked. “I mean, I guess they’ll have cleaned it up, but I don’t really deal well with blood.”

  “Mrs. King was poisoned,” Bessie said sharply.

  “Oh, dear, how unfortunate for her and her family,” Alan muttered, looking slightly unwell.

  “Yes, it was,” Bessie agreed.

  “Anyway, the house is, as I said, in need of modernising, but the location is excellent and it already has four bedrooms,” Alan plowed on with his sales pitch in spite of everything.

  “Bessie, are you okay?” John asked with real concern in his voice.

  “I’m fine,” Bessie replied, working to keep her voice from shaking. “I just wasn’t expecting to be coming here. I was here right after Nancy died, helping her daughter, Sarah, go through things. It’s just the shock of being here, that’s all. I’m fine.”

  Bessie felt John studying her face and she forced herself to smile. The events that took place in July had upset her tremendously, but she was determined not to let them continue to affect her.

  She and John followed Alan up the walkway to the front door. He unlocked it and then stepped back. “After you,” he said.

  Bessie stepped into the house and sighed. The curtains were still drawn, exactly as they had been in July. The house was dark and felt cold and empty. Alan switched on a light and Bessie looked around the sitting room.

  “They haven’t even tidied up,” she exclaimed.

  The room looked almost exactly the same as it had when she’d last been there. The used plates and cups were still scattered around the room, although it appeared that someone had collected all of the old newspapers that had covered the floor. They’d dropped the pile onto one of the chairs, which wasn’t much of an improvement as far as Bessie was concerned. The layer of dust that had been present months earlier now seemed thicker, and Bessie felt a tickle in her nose.

  “Yes, well, I gather the current owners are across and they simply want the property sold. They’re selling it ‘as is,’ so you get all of the furniture with it,” Alan said.

  Bessie glanced around at shabby couches and chairs, scarred tables and mismatched and battered lamps. “Oh, good,” she said sarcastically.

  “Perhaps you’d like to see the rest?” Alan asked.

  They headed towards the back of the house, towards the small kitchen. Bessie was worried what they might find there, but it appeared to be a good deal cleaner than the sitting room had been. The small wooden table in the centre of the room had three chairs around it.

  “Mrs. King’s daughter got rid of the chair that her mother was sitting in when she found her,” John told Bessie quietly. “And she had the kitchen professionally cleaned once we were done with it.”

  “It’s a shame she didn’t have them do the whole house,” Bessie remarked.

  They moved on to the small bathroom that was reasonably tidy before heading to the bedrooms.

  “This was Sarah’s bedroom,” Bessie told John as they looked at the sparsely furnished room. The layer of dust on the bed and desk made it obvious that the room hadn’t been used in many years.

  The next room was mostly empty, which Bessie considered a vast improvement. “According to Sarah, all three of her brothers shared this room,” she told John.

  He raised an eyebrow. “That would have been a very tight fit,” he commented as he looked around the small space that felt crowded with only a small bookcase and a single bedside table in it.

  The third room along the hall was completely empty.

  “Sarah said her father used this as an office,” Bessie remarked.

  John turned on the light and then frowned. “There’s some serious water damage in the corner,” he remarked.

  Bessie looked at the wet patch and shook her head. “I pointed that out to Sarah when we went around in July,” she said. “She was going to get it fixed, but it’s definitely worse now than it was then.”

  John walked over to the corner and felt the wall. “It’s wet quite a long way down the wall,” he said. “This won’t be cheap to repair.”

  The last bedroom was the largest and had clearly been the master bedroom. Bessie noted that a few of the smaller furniture pieces had been removed, but the bed and the massive wardrobe were still in place. Bessie couldn’t resist walking over and pulling the wardrobe open. The clothes she had seen there in July were still
in place.

  “I’m sure we can get the owners to get rid of those,” Alan said from behind her. “The wardrobe itself is a lovely piece of furniture.”

  “Yes, it is,” Bessie agreed, not really paying attention. She was thinking about Sarah. Clearly the woman was having trouble dealing with her mother’s death if she were selling the house and all its contents in this condition. Resolving to ring Sarah that very afternoon, Bessie turned back to the men.

  “What do you think?” she asked John.

  “I think there’s something strange about that little bedroom next door,” he replied, frowning.

  “The water damage is a shame, but it isn’t unusual in houses of this age, especially when they haven’t been properly maintained,” Alan said. “If we get a quote for the cost of repairing that damage, perhaps we can get the owners to take that amount off the asking price.”

  John shook his head. “The dimensions are all wrong,” he said. “Do you have the particulars for this house?” he asked Alan.

  Alan flipped through the papers he’d been carrying around all morning. “Here you go,” he said, handing a sheet to John.

  John studied it for a minute and then showed the paper to Bessie.

  “See? The other two bedrooms along the hall are both listed as being ten feet long, but that bedroom is only eight feet long. Why?”

  He headed back out of the master bedroom before Bessie could reply. She joined him in the small bedroom as he studied the walls.

  “This is a false wall,” he announced, pointing to the back wall of the room. “It’s made the room somewhat smaller than it should be, and presumably, blocked off the window.”

  Bessie looked at the room more closely and then walked to the bedroom next to it, and the third as well. Now that John had pointed it out, it was obvious that the back wall in the smallest bedroom didn’t line up with the back wall in the other two bedrooms. Bessie hadn’t given the lack of a window much thought, but now that John mentioned it, it was strange.

  “Maybe it’s a built-in wardrobe,” Alan was suggesting when Bessie returned to the small room.

  “There’s no way into the space, though,” John pointed out. “Why block off such a large amount of such a small room?”