“We don’t even know that anyone was murdered,” Bessie pointed out. “Anyway, Mary said you were welcome as well. You can keep an eye on me there.”
Doona shrugged. “If the food is as good as it was at the barbeque, I suppose it won’t be too bad.”
“And if we pool our resources, we might be able to afford a postage stamp-sized piece of art,” Bessie said with a laugh.
“I guess I’m glad I have a date on Friday,” Hugh muttered.
Bessie gave them both hugs and then locked the door behind them. The kitchen was spotless so she had nothing to fuss over before bed. Instead, she curled up with a book for a few minutes, but quickly felt the long and exhausting day catching up with her.
She slept well and woke up feeling well rested. Showered and dressed, she was pleased to see the sun as she ate her breakfast. A long walk on the empty beach felt just about perfect to her. Back at home, she cleared a new batch of nosy phone calls from her machine before settling in to ring Mary back.
The woman who answered the phone sounded harassed. “I’ll have to see if she’s home,” she told Bessie. Bessie winced as a loud bang reached her ear. It sounded very much as if the woman had dropped the phone. Several minutes passed and Bessie was just thinking about hanging up.
“Hello? Hello? Is there someone there?” a loud voice suddenly shouted in Bessie’s ear.
“Yes, hello,” Bessie said quickly. “Is that you, George?”
“It is, who is this?”
“It’s Bessie, Bessie Cubbon. How are you?”
“Oh, Bessie, how nice of you to ring. I can’t imagine why no one told me you’d rung. I hope you haven’t been hanging on the line for too long.” The loud booming voice suddenly dropped. “You really can’t get good help these days,” he continued in a loud whisper.
“I was ringing to speak to Mary,” Bessie said. While she didn’t actually dislike George, she preferred him in very small doses.
“Oh, I suppose someone’s gone to find her, then, that’s why you were left just hanging there. I do say, I hope you’re all recovered from your ordeal yesterday. Finding that body and all, that must have been traumatic.”
“I’m certainly in no hurry to do it again,” Bessie said dryly. “I hope Mary is okay.”
“She’s fine. She seems quite delicate, but she’s really as tough as old boots, Mary is. Why, she was up at the crack of dawn this morning, sorting out rearranging everything for the rest of the week. We were supposed to have the furniture auction and then the art auction and raise gobs of lovely money for charity, and now we’ve had to just limit ourselves to the art auction. Knowing my wife, she’ll expect me to make up the difference when it comes to the donations, won’t she?” George laughed heartily.
“When you worked at the bank, did you know young Adam King?” Bessie asked, hoping that changing the subject quickly might surprise him so much that he would answer the question.
“Did I know Adam King?” he repeated. “Oh, is that the young chap they’ve just found inside a wall or something? I gather he worked at the Laxey branch with his father. I remember meeting the father, Frank, wasn’t it?”
“Frederick,” Bessie replied.
“Oh, yes, of course, Frederick, yes, well, I remember meeting him once or twice, when he came into Douglas for meetings and things. I can’t say I recall meeting the son. Grant’s the one to ask about that, though. I was only there for a few years. Grant was there forever and he travelled to every branch, as well. You can ask him Friday night. You are coming Friday night, right?”
“I expect so,” Bessie said. “I was hoping I might bring a friend. You’ve met my friend Doona.”
“Ah, yes, the lovely brunette with the bright green eyes. She’s more than welcome, of course. You don’t even need to ask. I’ll let Mary know, shall I?”
“Oh, I’d still like a quick chat with Mary, if that’s possible,” Bessie said.
“Of course, of course, let me find her for you.”
Bessie pulled the phone away from her ear just in time. The loud bang wasn’t nearly as bad with the phone held at arm’s length. She shook her head. Was it so difficult to set a phone down gently? This time it was less than a minute before she heard another voice.
“Bessie? Are you still there or have you given up on me?” Mary asked.
“I’m still here,” Bessie told her. “Although I did think about giving up.”
“Sorry,” Mary replied. “Kara, who answered when you rang, got sidetracked by one of the people who is here setting up the art works. It was only when George started shouting the house down that she remembered and came and found me.”
“It’s fine,” Bessie assured her. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay after yesterday.”
“I’m fine,” Mary said. “It wasn’t my favourite way to spend a day, but I got through it. I’m mostly disappointed that we’ve had to cancel the auction. I thought we were going to finally get rid of some of that excess furniture and raise some money for a good cause at the same time. Now we have to rely on the art auction to raise all of the money and I’m still stuck with the furniture.”
“I’m sorry I won’t be much help at the auction,” Bessie said. “I’m afraid my budget won’t run to the sort of prices you’ll be getting for things.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Mary said with a laugh. “George’s friends from across will fight with one another to buy the big ticket items. But there are going to be lots of little things that will be for sale, as well. I’ve just been talking with a local group that does different crafts. We’re going to be selling those things, rather than auctioning them, so even if you only have a few pounds to spare you can help and won’t go home empty-handed.”
“I think I can manage a few pounds,” Bessie said. “But I also wanted to double-check that I can bring a friend?”
“I hope it’s Doona you’re asking about,” Mary replied. “I liked her so much when I met her at your little gathering in Douglas last month. It’s a shame I’ll be too busy on Friday night to spend much time with you two, because I’m sure you’ll be the most interesting people there.”
Bessie laughed. “It is Doona I was hoping to bring,” she confirmed. “And perhaps I can persuade her to join us for lunch one day soon so you two can get better acquainted.”
“I’d really like that,” Mary told her.
“I suppose I’d better let you go. It sounds as if you have a lot to get done before Friday.”
“I do rather,” Mary replied. “Anyway, the replacement auctioneer is due any minute and I have to go back over everything with him that I went over with Fiona on Monday night.”
“I hope she’s in all sorts of trouble,” Bessie said.
“She’s claiming the stress of seeing a dead body made her crazy,” Mary told her. “I think she was taking something she shouldn’t have been and was worried that the police would catch her at it.”
“Well, good luck with everything. I’ll see you at seven on Friday, but do ring if you think of anything I can do to help in the meantime.”
“Thanks, Bessie. I might just take you up on that.”
Bessie sat at the table for several minutes, going back over the phone conversation in her head. Neither George nor Mary had asked Bessie any questions. Perhaps their connection with the Chief Constable meant that they knew everything that Bessie did and more. She sighed. Until the police were certain exactly who the two victims were, there seemed very little that anyone could do.
With nothing better to do with herself, Bessie rang her taxi service and went into Douglas. She found herself walking towards the building on Seaside Terrace that had been her home for a very short time. She rang the buzzer for her friend Bahey Corlett’s flat, but no one answered. Bahey was about ten years younger than Bessie and had retired a few years earlier. Bessie knew she’d been away, but thought she might have returned. Next, she rang the buzzer for Howard Mayer’s flat. He was Bahey’s boyfriend and next-door neighbour.
No one answered there, either.
After a moment’s thought, she buzzed flat number one, unsure if Margaret Green, Nigel’s mother, was still living there or not. They’d shared the small flat while Nigel had been the building manager.
“What?” a harsh voice snarled over the intercom.
“Mrs. Green? It’s Bessie Cubbon. I used to live in flat ten.”
“So?”
Bessie sighed. “I was just wondering if I could come in and talk to you for a minute.”
There was a long pause and Bessie started to wonder if she should just give up when the intercom crackled again.
“I got nothing to say to anyone about anything,” the voice said. “Go away.”
Bessie was trying to decide if there was any point in arguing with the woman when she heard a car pulling into the car park behind her. She turned around, hoping she might recognise the new arrival. If it was one of her former neighbours, perhaps they might be more willing to talk than Margaret Green had been. She definitely recognised the new arrival as he emerged from his car.
“Inspector Corkill, this is a surprise,” she said as he greeted her.
“I might say the same, and I thought you were going to call me Pete,” was the reply.
Bessie smiled at the tall, middle-aged man. He was around the same age as John Rockwell, but not in quite as good shape. His hair was greying and his expression was always glum, at least in Bessie’s experience.
“I was in the neighbourhood,” Bessie said vaguely.
The inspector shook his head. “I rather doubt that, but I won’t argue with you. Your friend Ms. Corlett is still across with Mr. Mayer, but perhaps you didn’t know that.”
“I didn’t know if they were back yet or not,” Bessie said. “I haven’t spoken to Bahey lately.”
Her friend had actually rung several weeks earlier to share the news that Howard’s daughter had given birth to a beautiful and healthy baby boy. Bahey had told her that she and Howard, her first ever boyfriend, were going to stay and help with the baby for at least a few weeks.
“I may as well tell you, as I’m sure you’ll find out anyway, that I agree with you. The body found in Jurby is definitely the same man who was found in the flat here. I tried to contact Ms. Corlett and Mr. Mayer to confirm my opinion, but they are both still across,” Pete said.
“Do we know for sure who he is, though?” Bessie asked.
“John’s still waiting for the fingerprints to be confirmed. I thought I might have a word with Mrs. Green while we wait.”
“She wouldn’t talk to me,” Bessie told him.
“Oh, she’ll talk to me,” Pete said grimly. “Whether she’ll actually tell me anything is another matter.”
“I’d better let you get to it,” Bessie said, hoping he’d invite her along. John might have, under certain circumstances.
“Bessie, I’m going to ask you to stay away from Seaside Terrace for a few days,” Pete said instead, earning a frown from Bessie.
“Why?” she demanded.
“We already have two dead bodies and I’m not keen to add a third,” Pete told her. “Just give me and John a few days to figure it all out, okay?”
Bessie wanted to argue, but she really had no business at Seaside Terrace and she knew he was just trying to protect her, anyway. “I’ll stay away unless Bahey gets back,” she told him. “I’ve already promised her that I’ll come over as soon as she gets in and look at the thousands of photos she’s taken of the baby.”
Pete nodded. “That seems fair enough,” he told her.
Bessie turned and walked back towards the Douglas promenade. Before she reached the end of the street, she glanced back. Pete was standing still, watching her progress. She gave him a jaunty wave and then turned the corner.
A long browse around the new bookstore in the city centre improved Bessie’s mood tremendously. In her taxi on the way home she admired the spines of the half-dozen new books she’d purchased. A separate bag held a handful of gossipy magazines that detailed the private lives of the sort of minor celebrities that enjoyed sharing far too much with the fickle public. Bessie generally only read such magazines in waiting rooms and airports, but they were exactly the sort of mindless nonsense she sometimes found she needed when she knew there was a murderer loose on the island.
Back at home, she fixed herself some dinner and then curled up with one of her new books. She was soon lost in the plot, the magazines forgotten. They would easily keep for another day, though. It didn’t matter to Bessie how current they were. She was highly unlikely to know who any of the celebrities were, anyway.
A loud knock on her door startled her a short time later. She got to her feet and walked slowly into the kitchen. The caller knocked again and Bessie scolded herself for feeling nervous as she reached for the handle. Just because she’d found two dead bodies in the last ten days didn’t mean she was in any danger.
Chapter Eleven
Bessie felt as if her heart skipped a beat and then relaxed again when she recognised John Rockwell on her doorstep.
“Oh, goodness, John,” she gasped. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, Bessie,” John said. “You look rather pale, though. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Bessie assured him. “I just wasn’t expecting anyone, that’s all.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t ring first,” John told her. “I really should have.”
“It’s fine,” Bessie said. “But do come in.”
“I will, but I can’t stay long,” he said. “I’m on my way home and I’m completely knackered. It’s been another long day.”
“Would you like some tea and biscuits?” Bessie offered.
“A biscuit would be great,” he replied. “I don’t want to wait for the kettle to boil, though.”
Bessie smiled and quickly pulled out a box of biscuits. She put a few on a plate and handed it to John. He took a seat at the table and quickly ate one while Bessie refilled the kettle.
“I need tea,” she told the man. “If it boils while you’re still here, you’re more than welcome to change your mind.”
John nodded and then swallowed. “I really just stopped to pass along the one piece of solid news we’ve had thus far.”
“Oh?” Bessie said, trying to sound only slightly interested.
John grinned, clearly not fooled by her casual tone. “Yes, well, the body from Jurby has definitely been identified as Mark Carr’s.”
Bessie sighed deeply. “I suppose I should be grateful that Joan isn’t here to suffer through this,” she said after a long minute. “After losing both her girls like she did, losing Mark would have been very hard on her.”
“We’re trying to track down next of kin,” John told her. “If you have any thoughts on the subject, I’d love to hear them.
“Michael, Joan’s husband, had some cousins that lived in the south of the island,” she said, struggling to remember more. “I don’t think either of them had anyone closer than that. I remember when the baby died the Raspberry Jam Ladies sat with Michael and Joan at the service. Any relatives that came, well, they were seated further back.”
The kettle boiled and Bessie made a pot of tea. She put it on the table with her cup and then offered a cup to John. He made a face and then took the cup from her.
“I’m afraid I’m almost too tired to drive home,” he told Bessie. “Maybe tea will give me some energy.”
“So, with the body identified, you should be closer to finding out what happened, right?” Bessie asked.
John shook his head. “If only it was that easy,” he said with a sigh. “It was definitely murder, by the way. Without going into too many details, his system was loaded with drugs that would have rendered him unconscious before he was stabbed to death.”
Bessie winced. “The poor man,” she said after a moment.
“He wouldn’t have felt a thing,” John assured her, patting her arm.
“I suppose that’s something,” Bessie said. “Is th
ere anything to tie his death to Adam’s yet?”
“No, and the more I dig into things the more it seems possible that the two deaths aren’t connected.”
“Really?” Bessie asked. “But why? Or can’t you tell me anything?”
“I can tell you a few things,” John said. “For one, Mark didn’t make himself very many friends in prison. In fact, he made himself quite a few enemies. We know of at least two men who fought with him while they were doing time together. They both threatened his life at different times.”
“Oh, dear,” Bessie exclaimed. “So he wasn’t a very likeable man.”
“No, he wasn’t,” John agreed. “Both men got out before Mark and at least one of them made a trip to the island. We aren’t sure if he’s still here or if he went back across, but we’re doing our best to track the two men down.”
“So maybe Mark really was here to hide from someone from his recent past, and that person found him. In a way, that seems more likely than his death being tied to a thirty-year old murder.”
“There are a few people here on the island who might have had a reason to be unhappy with Mark as well,” John told her.
“Really?”
“Mark went to prison for fraud, and some of those that he defrauded are people here on the island. One man in particular lost quite a bit of money and never got it back. He’s being looked at quite seriously.”
“And you can’t tell me who he is,” Bessie added.
“No, I can’t,” John agreed. “His involvement began when Mark had just taken over his father’s business and was looking for investors. This man was kind enough to invest, but then Mark disappeared with all the money, having sold everything of value in the company before he left. The man lost pretty much all of his savings at the time, but that was thirty years ago and he seems to have recovered pretty well.”
“Is he someone I know?” Bessie had to ask.
John shook his head. “I doubt it very much,” he said. He must have seen the sceptical look in Bessie’s eyes. “No, seriously, it isn’t George Quayle or Grant Robertson, if that’s what you’re thinking. The man lives in Douglas and went to primary school with Joan Carr. When her husband died, Joan rang a few old friends and asked them to help out her son while he was getting settled into running the business. The gentleman in question invested rather substantially.”
Aunt Bessie Goes (An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Book 7) Page 16
