Aunt Bessie Finds (An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Book 6) Page 3

  “That sounds like a plan,” Howard said.

  A sudden crashing noise startled them all.

  “What was that?” Bessie asked.

  “It sounded like it came from the flat downstairs,” Bahey said. “The empty one.”

  “Let’s go check it out,” Bessie suggested.

  Bahey and Howard exchanged glances as Bessie stood up. “Come on,” she said. “Maybe Nigel can tell us what the noise was.”

  The trio took the lift down to the ground floor. When they emerged, Nigel was nowhere to be seen.

  “How do we get to the flats on this level?” Bessie asked, looking around the small foyer.

  “Down the corridor,” Bahey said, gesturing towards a door in the wall behind the manager’s desk.

  Bessie pulled the door open and the trio looked down the hall. Bessie could see three closed doors on either side of the hallway.

  “So number five is the one under your flat?” she checked with Bahey as she walked slowly down the hall.

  “That’s right,” Bahey said.

  Bessie stopped in front of the door to flat five and knocked. After a moment she knocked again, more loudly. The door to the flat opened slightly under the pressure.

  “Maybe I should go first,” Howard suggested.

  Bessie thought about arguing and decided against it. She stepped to the side and let the man push the door open the rest of the way.

  “Hello?” Howard called, his deep voice echoing in the dark space.

  “Is there a light switch near the door?” Bessie asked.

  Howard nodded. A moment later Bessie heard the click of a switch and a bare bulb came on in the short corridor inside the flat.

  “Hello?” Howard called again, taking a hesitant step into the flat.

  Bessie fought the urge to push the man, instead following behind him so closely that he quickly took another step. Bahey looked around before joining them. With Bessie impelling him from behind, Howard slowly made his way down the short hall and into the living area of the flat.

  “Oh, dear!” he exclaimed.

  Bessie gasped. In the centre of the otherwise empty room, lying on the ugliest orange and brown carpet Bessie had ever seen, was a man who looked as if he’d been beaten to death.

  Chapter Two

  “Ring 999,” Howard said, rushing to the man.

  “Don’t disturb the crime scene,” Bessie said, trying to catch his arm.

  “I’m not worried about the scene; I’m worried about the man,” Howard told her.

  Bahey was talking to the emergency operator, giving out the address. Bessie watched Howard as he tried to find the man’s pulse.

  “He’s alive,” Howard announced, looking up at the women. “But he needs an ambulance.”

  Time seemed to stand still for Bessie as they waited for the ambulance, but it was really only a few minutes later that Bahey let the paramedics into the building. They quickly had the man loaded onto a stretcher, checking his vital signs and ignoring the onlookers. There was still no sign of Nigel and it seemed as if no one from the other flats on the floor was at home. If they were home, apparently they weren’t curious as to what was happening in flat five.

  “What can you tell me about him?” one of the men asked Howard.

  “Nothing at all,” Howard said. “We just found him here. We have no idea who he is or how he got here. You should speak to the building manager, but I don’t know where he is at the moment.”

  The man shrugged. “I’m more concerned with getting him taken care of than anything else. We’ll let the police investigate why he was here, if anyone cares. We’re going to take him to Noble’s now. He’s badly beat up, but I think he’ll survive.”

  They’d only just pushed the stretcher out the front door of the building when Bessie spotted a man with a familiar face getting out of a car in the car park.

  “Inspector Corkill, what brings you here?” she asked as the man approached.

  “I might ask you the same question,” he replied, giving Bessie a thoughtful look. Corkill was in his mid-forties and his hair seemed to have more grey now than the last time she’d seen him. He also appeared to have put on a few extra pounds.

  Bessie had met the inspector just after finding a body a few months earlier. At least this time the man she’d found was still breathing. She could only hope he’d stay that way.

  “I was having lunch with friends,” she told the inspector. “We heard a strange noise from the flat under the one we were in, so we went down to investigate.”

  “Who owns the flat where the man was found?” he asked.

  “As far as we know, it’s empty and up for sale,” Howard replied. “The building manger, Nigel Green, is who you need to talk to.”

  Corkill nodded. “And where is Mr. Green?”

  Bessie exchanged glances with the others. “We don’t know,” she said after a pause.

  “Is he meant to be working?” Corkill asked.

  “He might be taking a lunch break,” Bahey suggested. “From what I understand, his arrangement with the owners of the building is somewhat flexible. He’s on call all the time, so he doesn’t really have to stay at the foyer desk for any set hours. I gather his biggest responsibility is letting the postman in every morning.”

  “Which flat did you find the man in?”

  “Number five,” Howard supplied the answer.

  “Right, I’ll just go and have a look around, then,” the inspector told them. “At the moment we don’t know if a crime has been committed or not, but it won’t hurt for me to have a look around and maybe take a few photos.”

  “It’s just an empty flat,” Howard remarked.

  “There’s a folding sort of bed in the bedroom,” Bahey said. She flushed when everyone looked at her. “I was trying to find a quiet corner to talk to the emergency operator,” she explained.

  “I’ll check it all out. From what the paramedics said, they didn’t find any identification on him. If there isn’t anything in the flat and the manager doesn’t know about him, we’ll have to wait until he wakes up to find out who he is,” Corkill said. “I don’t suppose any of you recognised him?”

  The trio exchanged glances.

  “I certainly didn’t,” Howard replied after a moment.

  “I didn’t either,” Bahey said.

  “Sorry, but he didn’t look familiar to me, either,” Bessie chimed in. “I didn’t get a very good look at him, though,” she added.

  Corkill nodded. “We’ll figure out who he is eventually.”

  “Do you want formal statements from us?” Bessie asked.

  “Not at this point,” he replied. “Let’s wait and see what happens next.”

  The foursome walked back into the building. At the lift, Bahey, Bessie and Howard headed back upstairs while the inspector continued to flat five. Back in Bahey’s flat, Bessie felt unsettled.

  “Well, whatever else is happening here, that was definitely odd,” Bessie said to Bahey.

  “It certainly was,” Bahey agreed emphatically. “Are you still willing to investigate or do you think I should talk to the inspector about my concerns?”

  Bessie shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said after a moment. “Let’s see what the mystery man has to say when he wakes up.”

  “Maybe he’s homeless and he saw the empty flat and decided to crash there,” Howard suggested.

  “How did he get beaten up, then?” Bessie asked.

  “Maybe Nigel found him there and they had a fight,” Howard said.

  “I can’t see Nigel successfully fighting anyone,” Bahey laughed. “The man looked to be about Nigel’s age, but he also looked in much better shape. He’d have flattened Nigel.”

  An hour later, after talking themselves in pointless circles for the whole time, Bessie finally decided to head for home. She noticed that the inspector’s car was already gone from the car park when she walked past. She’d have to ring him in the morning and find out what was happening, s
he decided, after she’d rung for a taxi.

  Dave was still in Douglas and the taxi ride home was uneventful, as was the evening that followed it. Bessie took herself to bed hoping that the mystery man was doing well.

  The next morning Bessie was up at six again.

  Firmly pushing the injured man and Bahey’s concerns from her mind, she enjoyed her beach walk even more than normally as she let her mind play with the idea of a holiday in Derbyshire. She looked at the beach differently, experiencing it as if the change of scenery were actually planned.

  As ever, she walked past the row of holiday cottages, glancing in where curtains were open. She never ceased to be amazed at how untidy they all looked.

  Small children were already rushing about in several of them and Bessie shook her head as one small boy threw his breakfast cereal bowl at his mother. With the sliding patio door shut, Bessie couldn’t make out exactly what was being said inside the cottage, but she was pretty sure she could guess what the mother might be saying. Bessie hurried on towards the mansion that was just visible in the distance.

  From the beach, all that could be seen of the Pierce mansion, Thie yn Traie, was the huge wall of windows that faced out towards the sea. Bessie knew that the house itself was much larger than it appeared from where she was standing. It had been empty since March, as several potential buyers had made offers that had fallen through for a variety of reasons. Bessie had heard a rumour that yet another offer had been made and she was hoping this time the sale might actually happen. She was still hoping the new owners might settle there for good, rather than use the enormous house as a summer home the way the Pierces had.

  At the base of the wooden stairs that ran up the cliff face to the home, Bessie stopped. She considered going further, but the August morning was already growing warm. With a sigh, she turned and headed for home. She had work to do, anyway. She needed to contact the listing agent for the flat in Bahey’s building and make arrangements to see it. The sooner she did that the better, and then she could get on with planning her holiday.

  Bessie sat down at her kitchen table to make the phone call. The three estate agencies on the island sent their monthly listing magazines to every house and Bessie was pleased to discover that she hadn’t yet thrown the most recent ones away. She flipped through them, looking for the flat in Bahey’s building. After going through them all twice, she gave up and rang Bahey.

  “Who’s listing the flat?” she asked Bahey when her friend answered. “I’ve been through the listings for all three agencies and I can’t find it anywhere.”

  “It’s being sold through ‘Island Choice Properties,’” Bahey replied. “And before you ask, I’d never heard of them before, either. As far as I can tell, the flat in my building is their only listing, although I haven’t been all over the island looking for others, so they might have more that I don’t know about.”

  “I’m surprised I haven’t heard anything about it,” Bessie said. “A new estate agency is pretty big news.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I have the phone number here. I wrote it down off their ‘For Sale’ board that’s posted in the foyer here. I told you I rang, but they wanted too much information and I had to give up. I’m sorry I didn’t think to give you the number yesterday,” Bahey said.

  “It’s no problem,” Bessie assured her. After a few minutes of idle conversation, Bessie hung up and rang the number Bahey had given her. The phone rang many times and Bessie was about to hang up when an answering machine suddenly picked up.

  “You’ve reached Island Choice Properties and IC Mortgage Services. Please leave a message after the tone and someone will ring you back.”

  Bessie sighed deeply and then complied.

  “My name is Miss Elizabeth Cubbon, and I’m interested in seeing the flat you have listed in Douglas on Seaview Terrace.” She left her phone number and hung up feeling annoyed. Surely an estate agency should have office staff available at half nine on a Wednesday morning? And what was IC Mortgage Services?

  She did a few little chores around the house, starting a load of laundry and tidying the downstairs. It was more than an hour later when her phone finally rang.

  “Mrs. Cubbon? This is Alan Collins from Island Choice Properties, returning your call.”

  Bessie bristled instantly at the oily salesman’s voice that came down the phone to her ear. Even though he’d only introduced himself, Bessie felt an irrational dislike for the man.

  “It’s Miss Cubbon, actually. I’m interested in the flat on Seaview Terrace in Douglas,” Bessie replied. “I’d like to arrange to have a look at it, please.”

  “Certainly, Mrs. Cubbon. I’d be happy to arrange that for you. Let me get a few details from you before we make that appointment. If I could just get your address, please?”

  “Why?”

  “I’d like to put a brochure in the post to you with some of the particulars of the building and the flat. I’ve found, in the past, that some clients discover that they are no longer interested in a given property once they’ve seen the particulars.”

  “I have a friend who lives in the building,” Bessie told him. “I already have a pretty good idea of what to expect.”

  “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?”