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

Bessie
sighed.
 
“I suggest you wait until
the police have investigated before you start sharing your theories with the
rest of the island,” she said sharply.
 
“You could be harming the reputation of an innocent man.”

“That Adam
King wasn’t innocent,” Charlie laughed.
 
“He was nothing but trouble.”

Bessie shook
her head and bit her tongue.
 
She
was quite done with this conversation.
 
Doona seemed to read Bessie’s mood.
 

“Sorry,
Charlie, but we have to go.
 
I have
an appointment I have to keep,” she told the man.

Doona took
Bessie’s arm and led her to the car.
 
A door opened in a house across the street, but the women ignored the
curious look they got and climbed into the car.
 
As they drove away, Bessie spotted the
woman from across the road scurrying over to talk to Charlie.

“In another
hour the whole island will be convinced that Adam stole millions from the Manx
National Bank, murdered his partner and then fled the island,” Bessie said with
a sigh as she settled back in her seat.

“Everyone
knows that Charlie has an overactive imagination,” Doona said.
 
“As theories go, though, I thought it
was quite interesting.”

“I thought it
was horrible,” Bessie replied.

“So you don’t
think there could be any truth in it?” Doona asked.
 
The drive to Bessie’s was a short
one.
 
They’d already arrived by the
time Doona finished the question.

“Let’s walk on
the beach and discuss it,” Bessie suggested.
 
“I need the fresh air.”

The afternoon
had cooled off, so Bessie stopped in her cottage to grab a cardigan.
 
Doona threw on a jacket that she had in
her boot before they began to walk.
 

“Adam did get
himself in a lot of trouble,” Bessie said after they’d walked for a short
time.
 
“He and the Carr boy used to
run around together and Mark Carr ended up in
gaol
across not long after Adam left.
 
But
I still find it hard to believe that a man who ate biscuits at my table could
murder someone and hide the body behind a wall.”

“I’m sure Mark
is meant to be getting out soon,” Doona said.
 
“In fact, he may already be out.
 
Maybe he’ll be able to answer some
questions about Adam.”

“He’d be the
best one to ask, outside of Sarah and her brothers, I suppose.”

“I wonder if
Spencer knows anything,” Doona mused.

“Perhaps I’ll
have to give him a ring,” Bessie said thoughtfully.
 

Spencer Cannon
was another of the children of the Raspberry Jam Ladies, a group of women,
including Nancy King, who’d originally met as new mothers.
 
They’d stayed friends, meeting once a
week for tea, for around fifty years.
 
Their children, Adam and Mark Carr among them, had all grown up together.
 
Spencer had been living across for many
years, but had recently returned to the island.
 
Bessie had helped him find a job in
Ramsey and he’d rung her just a week ago to thank her yet again for her
help.
 

“Maybe you
should ring Sarah, too,” Doona suggested.
 

“I intend to,”
Bessie replied.
 
“I can’t imagine
how she must be feeling.”

At the foot of
the steep wooden steps that led to
Thie
yn
Traie
, Bessie and Doona turned
around.
 
Bessie had been so lost in
her thoughts on the first half of the walk that she’d barely noticed the other
occupants of the beach.
 
Now she
nodded and smiled at a few elderly couples
who
were
sitting on their patios, well wrapped up against the chill.
 

Doona insisted
on coming in to have a quick check of the cottage, a habit she’d developed
after someone had tried to kill Bessie some months earlier.

“It’s the
middle of the day,” Bessie pointed out as Doona checked the downstairs loo for
intruders.
 
“No self-respecting
burglar or serial killer would break in at this sort of time.”

“Not funny,”
Doona muttered as she headed for the stairs.
 
Bessie sighed deeply.
 
Her friend’s fussing annoyed her
immensely.
 
She tolerated it because
she knew it made Doona feel better and her friend’s happiness was important to her.

When Doona
returned to the kitchen, Bessie had put the kettle on.
 

“I don’t
really fancy tea,” Bessie told her friend.
 
“But making tea seemed like the thing to do.”

Doona laughed
and shook her head.
 
“I don’t want
anything.
 
I really should get home.”

“I’ve taken up
a lot of your day off,” Bessie said.
 
“I am sorry.”

Doona gave her
a hug.
 
“You don’t need to be
sorry,” she said stoutly.
 
“Think of
all the number of times I turned up here, sobbing and feeling sorry for myself,
while my marriage was breaking up.
 
I
owe you hundreds of hours of tea and sympathy.”

Now Bessie chuckled.
 
“You weren’t that bad,” she
replied.
 
“And I was happy to do
it.”

“And I was
happy to be there for you today,” Doona insisted.
 
“But if you’re okay, I do have some
things I’d like to get done.”

“I’m fine,”
Bessie assured her.
 
“A little sad,
but mostly fine.”

Doona nodded.

Once she’d
gone, Bessie switched off the kettle and wandered into her sitting room.
 
There was a small pile of books next to
her
favourite
chair, but reading didn’t really
appeal.
 
The phone rang before she
could decide what she wanted to do.

No doubt
someone was ringing to get the latest skeet on what they’d found at Nancy
King’s house, she thought to herself.
 
She walked into the kitchen and listened as the answering machine played
her message.

“Ah, Aunt
Bessie, this is Sarah
Combe
.
 
Can you please ring me?”

Sarah hung up
before Bessie managed to grab the receiver.
 
She sighed and then paced around the
kitchen for a few minutes, feeling as if she didn’t want Sarah to know she’d
been there but hadn’t answered.
 
After another minute, she shook her head at her foolishness.
 
Sarah wouldn’t care; she just wanted to
talk to Bessie.

“Sarah, it’s
Bessie
Cubbon
.
 
What can I do for you?”

“Oh, Bessie, it’s,
that is, the police were here.
 
They
think they might have found Adam.”
 

Bessie said
nothing as she heard Sarah burst into tears.
 
After a short time another voice came
over the line.

“Miss
Cubbon
?
 
This is
Mike
Combe
, Sarah’s husband.
 
I’m afraid she’s rather too upset to
talk right now.”

“That’s
certainly understandable,” Bessie said softly.

“Yes, well, I
know she was ringing to ask you if you were free for tea tomorrow.
 
It might be best if you came here.
 
I understand you don’t drive. I’m happy to
come and collect you, if that’s acceptable.”

“That’s fine,”
Bessie said.

“I’ll collect
you around half two, if that suits,” Mike said.
 
“I know Sarah has a lot she wants to
discuss with you.
 
I hope you can
spare the time.”

“I can stay as
long as necessary,” Bessie assured him.

“Thank you,”
he said, sounding relieved.
 
“I
wish, that is, I hate to see her like this.
 
She still hasn’t recovered from losing
her mother, you know.”

“I hope I can
help,” Bessie replied.

“I’m sure you
can.”

Bessie hung up
feeling less certain than Mike
Combe
sounded.
 
She fixed herself some dinner on
automatic pilot and if you’d asked her an hour
later,
she
wouldn’t have been able to tell you what she’d had.
 
Taking a book to bed usually helped
relax her, but tonight it didn’t work.
 
She found herself frustrated with a main character
who
was just too indecisive.
  
The
long and restless night that followed left her feeling out of sorts the next
morning.

Chapter
Four

Bessie hoped a
long walk on the beach would improve her mood, but the morning was damp and
foggy and she felt chilled to the bone before she’d gone very far at all.
 
She pressed on to the end of the row of
holiday cottages and then turned back towards home.
 
Having the beach to
herself
this morning was a treat after the long and very busy summer season, but the
miserable weather meant that she didn’t really enjoy it.

Back in her
cottage, she kept herself busy, doing some rather unnecessary cleaning and then
ironing, one of her least
favourite
chores.
 
As she was already in a terrible mood,
she figured she might as well.
 
Her
usually much enjoyed cozy mysteries simply didn’t appeal, so she grabbed a
history of Anglesey off her shelves and looked through it over a light
lunch.
 
A researcher had recently kindled
some interest in visiting the island in Bessie.
 
That she was currently sitting in
gaol
,
didn’t mean Bessie wasn’t still intrigued by the idea of visiting the island
off the coast of Wales.
 
She found
the similarities and differences between Anglesey and the Isle of Man fascinating.
 

After lunch
she sat on the rock behind her cottage and amused herself by watching the
holidaymakers from the holiday homes.
 
The day was still overcast and cool, but everyone seemed to be trying to
make the best of it.
 
Families with very
small children were playing in the sand, although Bessie didn’t see anyone
splashing in the cold sea.
 
A few
older couples were dotted across the beach in beach chairs covered in blankets.
 
As the wind began to pick up and the
skies darkened, Bessie headed inside.

She changed
into a black skirt and a grey sweater, adding low black pumps and a matching
handbag.
 
After brushing her hair,
she swiped on a coat of lipstick, the stickiness of it making her frown at her
mirrored image.
 
She thought about
adding a bit of blush, but was interrupted by the knock on her door.

“Miss
Cubbon
?” the man asked when Bessie opened the door.
 
“I’m Mike
Combe
.
 
It’s very nice to meet you.”

The man was
tall and sturdily built with a full head of grey hair and brown eyes.
 
While he was smiling, he looked
exhausted and as if he were under considerable strain.

“It’s nice to
meet you, too,” Bessie replied.
  
“I hope Sarah is feeling better today.”

Mike
frowned.
 
“She’s been very badly
upset by the whole thing,” he told Bessie.
 
“She and Adam were very close.
 
I think she feels guilty that she never demanded more information about
his disappearance from her parents.”

Bessie
nodded.
 
“That’s understandable, but
thinking like that isn’t helpful.
 
I
hope I can be of some help to her.”

“I do, too,”
Mike said with alacrity.

The drive to
Port Erin took about half an hour and Mike filled the time by telling Bessie
his life story.
 
He’d been born and
raised in
Castletown
, and Bessie was pleased to find
that they had a number of acquaintances in common.
 
He and Sarah had met when they worked
for the same company, and after their marriage they’d bought a house in Port
Erin.

“We bought a
nice big four-bedroom place,” he told Bessie.
 
“We both just assumed we’d have plenty
of little ones to fill it up with.
 
Unfortunately, for whatever reason, we were never blessed with
children.
 
A few years ago we
decided it was silly to keep cleaning and looking after such a large home and
we sold it and bought a flat on the seafront.”

Bessie
actually knew someone else who lived in
their
building, an amateur historian who was obsessed with Bronze Age pottery.
 
“My friend loves it there,” Bessie told
Mike.
 
“I don’t think there’s
anything that anyone could do to persuade him to move away from Port Erin.”

“We love it as
well,” Mike replied.
 
“We go into
Douglas twice a month or so, but we rarely go further north than that.
 
I had to dig out a map to find your
cottage.
 
I don’t think I’d been to Laxey
for more than ten years.”

Bessie
laughed.
 
“You’re missing out,” she
said.
 
“Laxey has a lot of wonderful
shops and restaurants.
 
I’ll have to
treat you and Sarah to dinner at
La
Terrazza
when she’s feeling better.”

Mike smiled.
 
“I’ve heard wonderful things about
La
Terrazza
,
but we’ve never tried it.
 
I’ll
remind you of your offer in a month or so.”

“I hope you
do,” Bessie said sincerely.

They pulled
into the large car park for the building.
 
After they’d emerged from the car, Mike took Bessie’s arm.

“We do get
quite high winds here,” he told her as they walked to the building’s
entrance.
 
“I don’t want you to blow
away.”

Bessie’s
“thanks” was almost completely blown away by a sudden forceful gust of the
promised wind.
 
In the building’s
foyer, she ran her fingers through her short hair.

“That was some
wind gust,” she said, checking that she still had her handbag.

“That’s one of
the prices we pay for being right on the sea,” Mike told her.
 
“We think the views are worth it,
though.”

He led her to the
lifts where one set of doors was standing open.
 
Inside, he pressed the button for three,
the top floor.

A moment later
he was ushering Bessie into the flat.
 
The door opened into a large foyer, where Mike took Bessie’s coat before
escorting her into a large reception room.

“A little wind
is absolutely a small price to pay for this view,” Bessie said as she entered
the large and bright space.
 
Windows
took up the entire back wall of the huge room and they showcased the sea below.

“Let me go and
find Sarah,” Mike said, his tone anxious.
 
“Please make yourself at home.”

Bessie sank
into one of the large comfortable sofas that were angled to best allow people
to enjoy the view.
 
Even though she
lived on the beach and had amazing sea views
herself
,
she felt as if she could sit and watch the water forever.
 
It was several minutes before she heard
a door open and close somewhere.
 
A
moment later, Mike was back.

“Sarah would
prefer if we meet in the kitchen,” he told Bessie in an apologetic voice.
 
“She’s making tea.”

“That’s fine,”
Bessie assured him.
 
“Whatever Sarah
wants.”

“Thank you.”

The
kitchen
was
only a few steps away,
down a short corridor.
 
It was
modern and filled with gleaming appliances and more cupboard space than Bessie
could imagine ever filling.
 
The
single window, over the sink, did have sea views, but it was small and somewhat
awkwardly placed unless you were actually standing at the sink.
 
Bessie assumed it was there for the
benefit of whoever was doing the washing up after a meal, although she also
spotted a dishwasher mixed in with the row of cabinets.
 

Sarah was
standing at the large island that filled the middle of the room.
 
She seemed to be staring blankly at the
wall.
 
One hand was holding tightly
to the countertop, as if anchoring her in the space.
 
The other was clenching a cuddly toy
that Bessie
recognised
as “Mr. Hiccup,” a stuffed
monster that Sarah had made for her younger brother when they were children.

Bessie
immediately went to her and enveloped her in a hug.
 
“I’m so sorry,” she murmured to the
woman, rubbing her back and then just holding on as Sarah sobbed in her
arms.
 

Mike got busy,
bustling around the kitchen, filling the kettle and switching it on.
 
He piled biscuits onto plates and took a
tea set out of the cupboard.
 
After
a moment, a timer buzzed and Mike opened the cooker and removed a tray of
freshly baked scones.
 
He took them
off their tray and put them in a basket, adding the basket to the row of plates
full of food on the long counter.
  
Then he found the clotted cream and a jar of jam in the refrigerator and
placed them next to the scones.
 
When the kettle boiled, he poured the hot water into the teapot, and
then he crossed to Bessie and Sarah.

“Sarah, love,
the tea’s ready,” he said gently.

Sarah
stiffened in Bessie’s arms and then took a deep, shaky breath.
 
After a moment, she lifted her
head.
 
“Yes, okay,” she said
unsteadily.

“Tea sounds
lovely,” Bessie said.

Sarah smiled
wanly.
 
“It beats having a sobbing
woman in your arms, anyway,” she said.

“You know I’m
here to help,” Bessie said.
 
“Whatever sort of help you need.”

Sarah just
about managed a real smile.
 
“Thank
you,” she said softly.
 
“I know you
really mean that.”

“Miss
Cubbon
, you should grab a scone while they’re still warm,”
Mike said.
 
“They’re Sarah’s special
recipe
.”

Bessie turned
towards the man and then, following his urging, began to fix a plate from the
food on offer.
 
There were small
cakes,
crustless
sandwiches and fresh fruit, as well
as the biscuits and scones, and Bessie quickly began to regret even her light
lunch.

“Everything
looks wonderful,” she said as she filled her plate.
 
She covered her scone in clotted cream
and jam and then poured herself a cup of tea.

“Let’s just
sit in here,” Mike suggested, gesturing to the small table in the corner of the
room.

Bessie took a
seat and then Mike escorted Sarah over to join her.
 
“I’ll fix you a plate,” he told his
wife.
 
“I think I know what you like
by now.”

Sarah managed
to give her husband a watery grin.
 
“What would I do without you?” she asked, squeezing his hand as he
pushed her chair in at the table.

“You’d be in a
terrible fix,” Mike said brightly.
 
“Same as me without you.
 
We’ve been together way too long.
 
No one else would ever have us.”

While he piled
a plate full of food for Sarah, he chatted brightly with Bessie, telling her
all sorts of inconsequential things about the flat.
 
By the time he delivered the plate and a
cup of tea to Sarah she seemed to have regained some control over her emotions.

“I’m sorry,”
she said after she’d taken a sip of tea.
 
“The police aren’t even sure it’s Adam.”

Bessie thought
of a dozen questions she wanted to ask, but she bit her tongue and sipped her
drink.
 
The woman was distraught and
now was the not the time for nosy questions.

“The clothes
in the suitcases, they were Adam’s,” Sarah continued, answering one of the questions
Bessie hadn’t asked.
 
“And the
clothes the, um, the, well, I’m pretty sure all the clothes were Adam’s.”

Bessie patted
the woman’s hand.
 
“Eat something,”
she suggested softly, her brain processing the fact that the skeleton had been
wearing Adam King’s clothes.
 
That
didn’t prove anything, of course, but it seemed to make it more likely that the
dead man was Adam.

Sarah nibbled
on a biscuit for a moment and then sighed.
 
“I’m not hungry,” she said, pushing her plate away.

“You have to
eat,” Mike told her firmly.
 
“At
least have a scone while they’re hot.
 
I did my best with your famous recipe.”

Sarah picked
up her scone and took a tiny bite.
 
“It’s lovely,” she said, dropping the rest back on her plate.

Bessie and
Mike exchanged glances.
 
Bessie
could tell the man was worried about his wife, but she wasn’t sure how best to
help her.

“They’re
really delicious,” Bessie said to Mike.
 
The scone was light and fluffy, exactly as it should be.

“Thanks,” Mike
shrugged.

“I remember
when dad built that wall,” Sarah said as Bessie ate her scone.
 
“I couldn’t understand why he was making
the room smaller.”

“Really?”
Bessie asked.

“Don’t you
remember when my dad built that wall?” Sarah asked, grasping Bessie’s
hand.
 

Bessie shook
her head.
 
“I don’t think so,” she
said.
 

“It was thirty
years ago, right after Adam disappeared.
 
I’d moved out by then, of course, but I was visiting quite often, mostly
to see Adam, and then because I expected mum to be upset about Adam’s leaving.
 
Dad said there was some sort of leak in
the roof and he couldn’t be bothered to repaint everything after he’d fixed it,
so he was just putting up a new wall over the top of the old one.”