“I’d love to hear about your morning,” Bahey said. “But first I have a question for you.”
“Go ahead,” Bessie replied.
“Who was the man you were with when you came out of the building after the fire alarm went off?” Bahey asked.
“The man in the ugly brown suit?” Bessie asked. “That was Alan Collins from Island Choice Properties, why?”
“It was just strange, that’s all,” Bahey said.
“What was strange?” Bessie demanded.
“I guess it’s another odd thing about this place,” Bahey said after a moment. “The lift keeps having these little mechanical fires,” she told Bessie.
“One of your neighbours mentioned that you’ve been having them fairly regularly,” Bessie told her. “It certainly made the flat seem less desirable.”
“But that’s just it,” Bahey exclaimed. “Every time we’ve had one of these lift fires, that man you were with today has been in the crowd when we’ve come out of the building.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Bessie said. “He said he doesn’t know anyone in the building, so the only reason he would have for being there is if he was showing the empty flat. How many times has the lift had a fire?”
“Maybe six or seven,” Bahey said. “I haven’t always been home, but Bertie, across the hall, always tells me about them. He watches a lot of daytime telly and he gets quite annoyed when something interrupts it.”
“So you weren’t there to see Alan Collins every time,” Bessie suggested.
“No, but Bertie has been. He told me after the last one that from then on, if he saw the man in the brown suit coming in the building, he was going to set up his VCR to record the programme he was watching. He was quite pleased with himself today when it worked.”
“And the lift has never had any problems when Alan Collins wasn’t there?” Bessie asked.
“Oh, it has problems all the time,” Bahey told her. “But it only has fires when Alan Collins comes around.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, although it does go a long way towards explaining why no one has made an offer on the flat,” Bessie mused.
“I don’t understand,” Bahey said.
“I don’t either, but it seems to me as if someone is trying to discourage people from buying that flat.”
Chapter Five
Bessie told Bahey about the three flats she’d seen, and they spent a few minutes discussing Alan Collins as well. By the end of the phone call, Bessie didn’t feel any closer to understanding what was going on in the building on Seaview Terrace. She fixed herself a quick lunch and then rang Doona.
“Are you free for dinner?” she asked her friend.
“I am, indeed,” Doona replied. “Shall I bring a pizza?”
“That sounds good,” Bessie said. “I’ll make some shortbread, I think.”
“Yummy,” Doona said with a laugh.
The afternoon passed quickly as Bessie mixed up and baked a batch of shortbread before curling up with a new book. She was quickly lost in the collection of short mystery and detective stories, all written by female writers. After the third story, she stopped to collect paper and a pencil, carefully writing down the names of two of the authors of the stories she had just read. She’d never heard of either of them before, but she’d enjoyed both of their stories and she’d be looking for more by both of them on her next trip into Ramsey.
Doona arrived just as Bessie finished another of the short stories. She sighed as she headed for the door. This book was going to end up costing her a fortune, as she’d liked everything she’d read so far and many of the authors were new to her. She welcomed Doona with a quick hug, reaching around the pizza box to do so.
“I’ve had a very strange day,” Bessie told her friend. “I’m hoping that talking it through with you will help me make sense of it.”
Doona laughed. “Maybe we need a bottle of wine as well?” she suggested.
“I think I need to keep a clear head,” Bessie replied.
She quickly pulled down plates and the pair sat down with their pizza.
“This is really good,” Bessie said after a few bites. “Where did it come from?”
Doona named a small restaurant that Bessie knew well. “They’ve just started featuring ‘American-style’ pizza for take-away,” Doona told her. “They left a whole bunch of flyers and coupons at the station and the young constables have been raving about it.”
“I can see why,” Bessie said, grabbing a second slice.
“So, what was Alan Collins like in person?” Doona asked.
Bessie thought about her reply for a moment. “Sort of strange and creepy and also a little sad,” she replied.
“Sad?”
“Well, I think he’s really trying to do his job,” Bessie explained. “But it seems like his efforts are being sabotaged, at least at Seaview Terrace.”
“Okay, tell me the whole story,” Doona demanded.
Bessie gave her every detail she could remember about her visit to the flat on Seaview Terrace.
“Mr. Collins, who insisted I call him Alan, by the way, got off on the wrong foot by mistaking me for the manager’s mother, but beyond that he tried really hard to sell me on all of the flats.”
“But with the door propped open and then the fire in the lift, you weren’t tempted?” Doona said teasingly.
“I wasn’t tempted,” Bessie agreed. “Until I talked to Bahey this afternoon.”
“What did Bahey say to change your mind?”
“It seems the fires in the lift mechanism always seem to coincide with Alan Collins being in the building,” Bessie told her.
“Sorry, do you think he’s setting the lift on fire for some reason?” Doona asked, her expression confused.
“No, I think someone else is trying to discourage prospective buyers from buying that flat,” Bessie said.
“But why?” Doona demanded.
“That’s a very good question,” Bessie replied. “I haven’t the foggiest idea.”
“You can’t be seriously considering moving to Douglas,” Doona told her.
“No, not really, but I am tempted to pretend to be,” Bessie replied. “It might be quite interesting to see what would happen if I made an offer on that flat.”
Doona shook her head. “Maybe you should talk to John,” she suggested. “Maybe the police should investigate.”
“Investigate what?” Bessie asked. “Besides, John works in Laxey, not Douglas. Douglas is out of his jurisdiction.”
“And he’s not on the island at the moment, either,” Doona said with a sigh.
“He’s not?” Bessie asked.
“He’s across in Manchester with his wife and kids,” Doona told her. “He’s taken a fortnight’s holiday.”
“I suppose he’s earned it,” Bessie said. “Who’s in charge in Laxey, then?”
“Inspector Kelly is covering for him,” Doona told her. “And I have to say, I didn’t miss the man.”
Bessie laughed. Inspector Kelly had been Doona’s supervisor for a while, before John Rockwell was assigned to the Laxey station.
“Two weeks isn’t that long,” Bessie told Doona. “Although somehow the island doesn’t feel quite the same without John here.”
“You’ve only known that he’s gone for a minute,” Doona said with a laugh.
Bessie laughed at herself. “I know; I’m being rather silly. Still, it’s nice for him to get away.”
“Yes,” Doona said slowly.
“And what’s behind that?” Bessie asked.
“I don’t know. He certainly didn’t seem to be looking forward to it and when I asked him what all they were going to be doing during the fortnight, he was vague and didn’t want to talk about it.”
Bessie frowned. “I hope everything is okay,” she said. “I really hate the thought of him moving back across.”
“As do I,” Doona said with a sigh.
Over tea and generous servings of crumbly
shortbread, Bessie told Doona about the other two flats she’d seen in Douglas.
“The one on the promenade sounds temping,” Doona told her.
“But too expensive,” Bessie replied. “Even if I did want to move to Douglas, I couldn’t afford anything that grand.”
“But you don’t really want to move to Douglas, right?”
Bessie sighed. “I don’t really want to move, but I am curious as to what’s going on at Seaview Terrace. I guess I’m a little bit worried about Bahey as well. It certainly seems like something odd is going on.”
“Maybe you should go and see Pete Corkill,” Doona suggested.
“I might,” Bessie said. “But first I might try making an offer to just see what happens. On the other hand, I’ve been thinking about a change of scenery. Maybe a holiday in Douglas, at one of the hotels near Seaside Terrace, would be a good idea.”
Bessie was almost as surprised as Doona by the thought. She hadn’t realised that she’d been considering Douglas rather than Derbyshire for her holiday, but once she’d made the comment, she could see a lot of merit in the idea. She and Doona talked about that as well as several other things until it was rather later than either had planned.
Doona went home with a large container of shortbread, leaving the last two slices of pizza with Bessie.
“That’s more than a fair trade,” she insisted.
Bessie put her lunch for the next day into the refrigerator and headed to bed. She had a lot on her mind, but she still fell asleep quickly and slept well.
On Tuesday she did a few chores around the cottage, vacuuming the rooms upstairs and dusting every room. When she’d first moved into the cottage, she’d stuck to a very specific routine with cleaning and laundry and the like, but after a short while she’d decided that such a routine was too much like work.
Ever since, she’d cleaned when she felt like it, trying to do a little bit each day so the job never got too big. She did laundry when she needed to and the only thing she scheduled regularly was her big weekly grocery shop in Ramsey. Since she had to arrange a taxi for that, it was easier to have a standing appointment.
At half one her taxi arrived to take her into Ramsey for tea with Mary Quayle. Because she hadn’t booked in advance, her usual driver wasn’t available, but the man who collected her was perfectly adequate. He wasn’t chatty on the short drive, which suited Bessie today as she was trying to work out what she wanted to ask Mary.
Mary was already settled at a small table in the corner when Bessie walked into the small café.
“Ah, good afternoon, Bessie,” Mary said, giving Bessie a shy smile.
“Hello, Mary. It’s good to see you again,” Bessie replied, sliding into the seat opposite her friend.
Mary was a tiny woman with grey hair that was nearly always kept in an immaculate bun. She was always expensively dressed but never seemed to be flaunting her wealth. The only jewellery she wore was her thin gold wedding band. She was at least a few years younger than her sixty-something husband, but she looked older and somewhat fragile.
The waiter bustled over and took their order. The restaurant offered “Hot tea, served with a selection of bite-sized cakes and biscuits,” and both women agreed that it was exactly what they wanted. Once he was gone, Bessie reached over and patted Mary’s hand.
“How are you, my dear?” she asked, feeling slightly concerned by how tired the other woman looked today.
“I’m fine,” Mary replied automatically.
Bessie frowned at her. “Of course you are,” she said. “But how are you, really?”
Mary chuckled, although there was no humour in it. “You always read me so well,” she replied. “I’m okay, really, just a bit tired.”
Bessie didn’t want to pry, even though it was obvious that something was bothering her friend. “How are the children?” she asked.
“They’re all good,” Mary replied. “Georgie, or rather, George, Junior, and his wife have invited me to join them on their holiday in Portugal at the end of the month. I’m sure they’re only taking me so that they have someone to watch the kids, but I don’t mind in the slightest. I love my grandchildren and I’ll take any chance I can get to spend time with them.”
“I’m sure Portugal will be lovely,” Bessie said.
“I went with them last year as well,” Mary told her. “They’d only just had the baby, and they really needed the extra help. Although I suppose with a six-year-old and a one-year-old, they still really need extra help.”
“Will George be going as well?”
“Oh, good heavens, no,” Mary said, shaking her head. “He’d go crazy sitting on a beach for a fortnight and he doesn’t really have a lot of patience with the grandchildren, either. No, he’ll stay here and pretend to be retired while working sixty hours a week, just like normal.”
Bessie pressed her lips together while she struggled to find an appropriate reply. “What a shame he doesn’t enjoy the grandchildren,” she said finally.
“Yes, well, he found our three quite hard work when they were small, as well,” Mary said in a confiding tone. “He gets along with them better now that they’re all adults, of course.”
“How are Michael and Elizabeth, then?” Bessie asked.
“Michael is well. His little one is turning into quite the handful and the doctors are beginning to suggest he might be autistic or something, which is, of course, worrying for Michael and Jenny.”
“And for you,” Bessie suggested.
“Oh, yes, he’s such a lovely little lad most of the time, but he does have some rather, well, interesting behavioural issues.” She shook her head. “And they have another baby on the way, which is wonderful, but also an additional source of stress.”
“It sounds like they need a holiday in Portugal as well,” Bessie said.
“They had a week across in June, before the school holidays started, and I think Jenny is going to take little Robert across for a week or two with her mum either later this month or early next. With Michael working for George, of course, he doesn’t get nearly enough holiday time.”
“I thought George was retired,” Bessie said. “How can Michael work for him?”
Mary sighed. “George is ‘semi-retired,’” she replied. “But he’s far too involved in to many things to actually stop working. He keeps investing in different schemes that his friends come up with and a few mad ideas of his own. Michael is now working full-time just trying to keep up with George.”
“I didn’t realise,” Bessie said. “How exhausting for you.”
Mary smiled. “It is, rather, not that George sees it that way.”
The waiter interrupted with their tea and treats and the two women oohed and aahed over the delicious-looking cakes and biscuits.
“We should do this more often,” Mary said, after her first bite of cake.
“Indeed, we should,” Bessie agreed.
“Anyway,” Mary said, after a sip of tea, “Elizabeth is fine, too. She’s finally dating a man whom George didn’t hate on sight, which makes a nice change. I don’t think he’s going to be around for a terribly long time, but he’s pleasant enough and at least he has a job. If he has any tattoos, they’re well hidden, as well.”
“Is she working for George as well?” Bessie asked.
“Oh, no, Elizabeth isn’t working at all right now. She’s decided that she needs some time to find her place in the world. She’s dropped out of university, for the third time, and she’s spending most of her time in her suite of rooms at our house watching telly and complaining about the state of the world.”
“Oh, dear,” Bessie muttered.
“She just needs some time to think,” Mary said. “George is always so driven and logical and unemotional and Elizabeth is more creative. I’m sure she’ll find a way to make a difference, hopefully soon. The boyfriend is on summer holidays from studying medicine. He’s busy working part-time at Noble’s. I’m assuming he’ll soon grow tired of Elizabeth’s demand
s, maybe even before it’s time for him to head back across to finish his course. They aren’t at all well-suited, but Elizabeth loves making odd choices.”
Bessie laughed. “Sometimes I think I was wise to not have children.”
Mary shook her head. “I wouldn’t change my three for anything,” she told Bessie firmly. “Even if they can be difficult.”
Bessie ate a tiny chocolate biscuit thoughtfully. “Thank you for having George ring me back,” she said after a moment.
“Oh, it was no problem,” Mary said with a wave of her hand. “He always enjoys talking with you.”
“He didn’t know any more about Island Choice Properties than you did, really,” Bessie remarked. “He said the company is Grant Robertson’s.”
Mary made a face. “Yes, so I gather.”
“I take it you don’t like Mr. Robertson?” Bessie asked.
“Grant’s fine,” Mary said, the expression on her face at odds with her words. “I sometimes feel like he takes up too much of George’s time, that’s all.”
“I didn’t even realise the two knew each other until recently,” Bessie told her friend.
“Oh, yes, they go way back,” Mary replied. “They used to work together, many years ago now, of course.”
“I didn’t know that,” Bessie said, hoping more information would be forthcoming.
“This was all before I met George, of course,” Mary replied. “I gather, from what George has said, that he worked with Grant at the bank for a few years.”
“I didn’t know George worked in banking,” Bessie said in surprise. “I thought he’d always worked in sales.”
“He has since I’ve known him,” Mary said. “And we’ve been married for twenty-eight years. I guess he was in banking for a few years after university. After a short time, where he earned a couple of good bonuses, he moved across and started his first business, selling cars. That’s where we met, actually.”
“You wanted to buy a car?” Bessie asked.
Mary laughed. “No, I wanted a job,” she explained. “It was the late nineteen-sixties and I was determined to support myself and be an independent woman. George needed a receptionist at the car dealership and I applied. He didn’t give me the job, but he asked me to have dinner with him. The rest is history, I guess.”
Aunt Bessie Finds Page 8
