Aunt Bessie Finds (An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Book 6) (5 page)

“Oh, excellent,” the man said with what sounded like fake
enthusiasm.
 
“That certainly makes
my job a good deal easier.
 
Of
course, I’d also like to send you the details for a few other flats in the
Douglas area.
 
It’s always best to
have something to compare a property with, I find.
 
Your address?”

Bessie just barely held back a sigh.
 
The man’s argument seemed perfectly
logical and it really wasn’t his fault she’d already decided that she didn’t
like him.
 
He was probably a
perfectly nice person, simply trying to do his job.

“
Treoghe
Bwaaue
,
Laxey
,” Bessie told him, reciting the postal code
slowly.
 

“And do you rent or own that property?” Alan asked.

“I own it,” Bessie said sharply.
 
“If it’s any of your business.”

The man chuckled annoyingly.
 
“I am sorry,” he said, sounding anything but contrite.
 
“I love my job, but it is sometimes
frustrating to show multiple properties to people only to discover that they
are merely renting their current homes and simply don’t have the resources to
purchase anything.
 
The property
market on the island is getting increasingly challenging for first-time buyers,
so I’ve taken to asking people about their current status in an effort to help
me prepare them for the harsh realities of the seller’s market we’re
experiencing.”

“I see,” Bessie said.

“With that in mind,” the man continued, “I hope you’ll understand
if I ask you for a reference?
 
Just
a friend or family member who can verify your existence.”

“My existence?” Bessie asked.

Alan chuckled again.
 
“You’d be amazed at how many people think it’s quite fun to go around
and see dozens of houses or flats with no intention of buying anything.
 
I’ve wasted many, many hours of my time
showing flats to nosy
neighbours
who just want to see
how exactly Mildred rearranged the furniture or what that extension Mark added
looks like from the inside.
 
I now
ask everyone who rings for a reference and I have to say, I haven’t had to deal
with time wasters since.”

Bessie almost laughed.
 
She was exactly the sort of time waster the man was hoping to guard
against.
 
She had no intention of
buying anything, but she was quite capable of providing him with a reference.

“You can ring my friend, Doona Moore,” Bessie told the man.
 
“The easiest place to reach her is at
the
Laxey
Constabulary.”
  
She recited the number that she knew
by heart.
 
“That’s their
non-emergency number.
 
Doona works
at the reception desk and she’ll happily confirm that I’m a real person who
actually owns her own home and is thinking about moving from
Laxey
into Douglas.”

Alan chuckled again, an unpleasant noise that grated on Bessie’s
nerves.
 
“That’s wonderful.
 
Thank you for that.
 
I’ll just have a quick chat with your
friend and then get back to you to set up that appointment.”

He hung up before Bessie could argue.
 
“Oh, bother,” she muttered into the phone.
 
She quickly dialed the number she’d just
given to the man.

“
Laxey
Neighbourhood
Policing, this is Doona.
 
How can I
help?”

“Doona, it’s Bessie.
 
I
don’t want to take up any time with explanations right now, but if an Alan
Collins or anyone from Island Choice Properties rings you, please tell them
that I exist, that I own my little cottage and that I’m considering a move into
Douglas.”

“Pardon?” Doona said, the shock in her voice evident.

“I’ll explain later,”
Bessie
told
her.
 
“Can you come over for dinner
tonight?”

“I’m supposed to be having dinner with Spencer Cannon,” Doona
replied.
 
“But I can ring him and
reschedule.
 
We’ve already had
dinner together twice this week and it’s only Wednesday.”

“I don’t want you to change your plans for me,” Bessie protested.

“It’s fine,” Doona assured her.
 
“We’re spending too much time
together.
 
I need a break, even if
he doesn’t.”

“Maybe we need to talk about that tonight as well,” Bessie
suggested.

“Maybe,” Doona replied.

Bessie hung up and then paced around her small kitchen.
 
She had no idea whether the man would ring
Doona right away or if he might wait several days.
 
She felt impatient and annoyed with the
man, without knowing if it was deserved or not.
 

She fixed herself a light lunch and then dug around in the freezer
for something to make for dinner for herself and her friend.
 
There was nothing that appealed to her,
but she didn’t want to walk up to the little shop at the top of the hill in
case Alan Collins rang her back.
 

There were several new books in her sitting room that had arrived
from the bookstore in Ramsey that kept her supplied with everything new that
they received from her favourite authors.
 
Now she opened a box at random and pulled out the book on top.
 
She opened the front cover and read the
short introduction, frowning as it failed to catch her interest.
 
The phone rang just as she was about to
try the next book in the box.
 

“Ah, Mrs.
Cubbon
, it’s Alan Collins.
 
Thank you so much for providing such an,
um, interesting reference.
 
Mrs.
Moore sounds like quite a fascinating woman.
 
I don’t suppose she’ll be accompanying
you on your tours?”

“I don’t suppose she will,” Bessie said tartly.
 
“And it’s Miss
Cubbon
.”

“Yes, well, ahem, well, anyway, I’m just looking at my diary and I
can show you that flat on Monday morning at nine if that suits you.”

“Not until Monday?” Bessie asked, making her annoyance evident in
her tone.

“Yes, well, I’ll put the particulars in the post to you today,
along with the details for a few other properties in the area.
 
You should get them tomorrow or Friday,
and that will give you the weekend to look them over before we meet.”

“I suppose that will have to do,” Bessie said grumpily.
 
“If you can’t manage anything sooner.”

“I’m sorry, but I really can’t,” the man replied.
 
Bessie wasn’t convinced that he was
genuinely sorry, but she couldn’t argue.
 
At least she had an appointment, even if it wasn’t as soon as she’d
like.

“By the way,” the man continued.
 
“You mentioned having a friend in the
building.
 
To whom were you
referring?”

“Why does that matter?” Bessie asked.

“We always like to thank people who send business our way,” the man
replied smoothly.
 
“For instance, if
you were to purchase the flat in question, Island Choice Properties would send
a gift basket to the person who referred you.”

“Oh, well, I know a few of the residents in that building,” Bessie
said after a moment’s thought.
 
“It
was Howard Mayer who suggested I look at the flat.
 
I understand he’s just down the hall from
the available unit.”

“I’ll just make a note of that,” the man said.
 
“I’m afraid I don’t know anyone in the
building myself, of course.”

“I understand, from my conversation with Mr. Mayer, that there’s a
second unit that’s also empty in the building,” Bessie said, trying to keep her
tone casual.
 
“I’d love to have a
look at that unit as well.
 
I
understand that that one is on the ground floor, which might suit me better.”

“I’m afraid I only have the listing for the one unit for sale,”
Alan told her.
 
“We’re listing flat
number ten, but I’ll certainly see what I can find out before Monday and if
there is a second unit, I’ll try to get the information for you.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Bessie told him.
 
She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t given him
Bahey’s
name, but it was too late now to change her
mind.
 
Since she wouldn’t be buying
the flat, Bahey wouldn’t be missing out on the gift basket, anyway.

With the call out of the way, Bessie could now walk up the hill to
the small shop at the top.
 
She
hated shopping there, as the shop assistant was rude and rather thick, but it
was the only place she had time for today.
 
She was surprised to see Anne Caine behind the till when she arrived.

“Anne?
 
But what are you
doing here?
 
I thought you’d given
up this sort of work for good,” Bessie exclaimed.

Through some very long overdue good fortune, Anne had recently come
into enough money that she no longer needed to work.
 
The last Bessie had heard, the
forty-something woman was taking a much-deserved rest and thinking about going
back to school.

“Oh, I’m just helping out now and then,” Anne told Bessie.
 
“I do a few hours on Mondays and
Wednesdays in the afternoon while the owner’s daughter is in school.
 
Apparently she’s finally decided she
wants more out of life than a job in her dad’s convenience store, so she’s
taking classes in hairstyling and that sort of thing.”

“I hope they teach her some manners as well,” Bessie muttered as
she scanned the shelves for inspiration.

Anne laughed.
 
“I think
that might be a lost cause,” she told Bessie.

“Well, anyway, I’m glad I can start shopping here again, at least
on Mondays and Wednesdays,” Bessie told her friend.
 
“I haven’t been buying my lottery
tickets lately and I’ve been having to buy extra loaves of bread on my big weekly
shop in Ramsey to freeze some.
 
This
way I can get fresh when I need it.”

“Always happy to help,” Anne laughed.
 
“But if you win the lottery you do have
to share your winnings with me.”

Bessie laughed.
 
“What
would you do with even more money?” she teased.

Anne smiled.
 
“You’re
right.
 
I do rather feel as if I’ve
already won the lottery after my recent good fortune.
 
More than anything else, I’m just so
glad that Andy now has a chance to do what he’s always dreamt of doing.”

“How is Andy?” Bessie asked, recalling the handsome young man who’d
spent a great deal of time in her spare room as a child.

“He’s doing very well,” Anne assured her.
 
“He’s only here for a few more weeks and
then he’s off to catering college in Leeds.
 
He’s ever so excited about it.
 
I just hope it’s as wonderful as he’s
expecting it to be.”

“Tell him he must stop and see me before he goes,” Bessie told
her.
 
“I’ll cook dinner for him, and
he can bring pudding.”

Anne laughed.
 
“I know
he’ll love that,” she told Bessie, promising to pass along the message.

Back at
home,
Bessie quickly threw
together a
lasagne
for Doona and herself.
 
She’d bought a tub of ice cream at the
shop, so that would have to do for a sweet course.
 
She simply couldn’t be bothered to make
anything.
 
With dinner in the oven,
Bessie settled down with a book, but she was interrupted only a few minutes
later by a knock on the door.

“Spencer?
 
What brings
you here?” she asked the bald and plump fifty-something man who was standing on
her doorstep.

The man flushed and looked at the ground.
 
“I was just, well, I brought these for
Doona,” he said, thrusting a huge bouquet of flowers at Bessie.
 
“She said she was having dinner with you
tonight, but I’d already bought them, so I thought I would just leave them with
you.”

“Oh, right, well, that’s fine,”
Bessie
said, feeling unexpectedly flustered.
 
“Would you like to come in for a few minutes?
 
I could make you a cup of tea.”

“I’d love to, if you don’t mind,” Spencer replied.
 
He followed Bessie into the kitchen so
closely that Bessie nearly tripped over him.

“Please sit down,” she told the man.
 
“I’ll just find somewhere to put these,”
she said.
 
She set the flowers down
on the counter and dug around in a cupboard for the vase she knew she had
somewhere.
 
It had been a while
since she’d used it, but it was exactly where she remembered putting it.
 
She filled it with water and dropped the
flowers into it.