Aunt Bessie Believes (An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery) Page 5

  “She kept telling us all that she had heart trouble,” Doona said. “Maybe all that arguing with Anne was too much for her.”

  “Oh goodness, I hope not,” Bessie exclaimed. “Anne will never forgive herself.”

  “She shouldn’t feel like she’s to blame, even if that is what killed her,” Doona said stoutly. “Moirrey brought it on herself, being nasty and horrible to everyone.”

  Bessie chuckled. “She was rather nasty to you last night, wasn’t she?”

  “And to you and to everyone else,” Doona reminded her friend. “I know we aren’t meant to speak ill of the dead, but I think the vicar is going to have a hard time finding anything nice to say at Moirrey’s funeral.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Bessie sighed. She wouldn’t be surprised if the vicar rang her later to see if she could help with the eulogy. He would be out of luck this time.

  “Oh, I have to go,” Doona said. “Inspector Kelly just drove past into the car park and I’m sure he’ll have a ton of work for me once he gets inside. How about if I come over tonight with dinner? I’ll fill you in then.”

  “That would be great,” Bessie agreed. “Maybe bring Hugh with you?” she suggested.

  “I’ll try,” Doona promised as the call ended.

  Bessie sat back and tried to figure out exactly what emotion it was that she was feeling. She wasn’t mourning for Moirrey, the woman had been too unpleasant for her to feel that, but she did feel sad. Perhaps she was sorry for a life that could have been lived joyously, but was instead suffered miserably.

  Bessie shrugged. Moirrey’s parents had spoiled their sickly child and Moirrey had been happy to exploit her illness at every possible opportunity. Bessie had often suspected that Moirrey wasn’t anywhere near as unwell as she wanted everyone to think, but in light of her untimely death, it appeared that Bessie had been unfair in that regard.

  For the next hour, Bessie’s phone rang every time she hung it up. Everyone she knew wanted to get the latest skeet on Moirrey, even though Bessie knew nothing more than what was already common knowledge. In between answering calls, she managed to make one.

  “Doncan?” she said after his secretary put her through. “I think I might need some help for a friend.”

  “Please don’t tell me that this has anything to do with Moirrey Teare,” Doncan said with a sigh.

  Bessie laughed. “How did you know?”

  “I’ve had three phone calls already this morning from people who had some sort of legal dealings with Moirrey and are now in a state of panic as to what might happen next,” Doncan told her. “But I wasn’t aware that you had any business with the woman.”

  “I don’t,” Bessie told him. “But I’m trying to help out a friend.”

  Doncan laughed. “I should have guessed. You’re always helping out a friend. I hope you haven’t offered them too much of your money this time?”

  “It is my money,” Bessie answered.

  “I understand that,” Doncan backpedalled slightly. “But my job, as your advocate, is to protect you from unscrupulous folks who might take advantage of you.”

  “And you do your job very well,” Bessie told him. “But Anne Caine isn’t unscrupulous; she’s just had a run of bad luck.”

  “Oh, it’s her you’re helping?” Doncan asked. “I can’t argue with that, then. She needs all the help she can get.”

  “Exactly,” Bessie said. “She’s two months behind in her payments to Moirrey. I think the agreement that her father signed might be unfair, but for now I’ve written a cheque to Moirrey for the arrears. The question is, with Moirrey dead, what happens now?”

  “That’s a great question,” Doncan told her. “I wish I had an answer. Matthew Barnes is Moirrey’s advocate. I’m assuming he has a will for her, although considering her young age, she might not have made one yet. Whatever the case there, however, her father’s will only gave her life interest in his estate. As I understand it, on her death, the entire estate goes to her brother.”

  Bessie gasped. “Her brother? My goodness, I’d plumb forgotten that she had a brother.”

  “I suspect she might have forgotten as well,” Doncan commented dryly. “He was sent to boarding school before she was two, wasn’t he? She can’t have had many memories of him.”

  “He did go to boarding school very young.” Bessie tried to recall the details. “I know he came home for occasional summers and Christmases, but I also know that Ewan and Jane Teare tended to keep him busy and well away from Moirrey. They were always worried that he would be too rough with his fragile little sister.”

  “I remember him coming back for a few months before his gap year,” Doncan told Bessie. “Junior was tiny and my wife and I were always out and about walking him around to try to get him to sleep. I remember bumping into Ewan and Andrew one afternoon in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Andrew, that was his name,” Bessie laughed. “I’m glad you said it, because I couldn’t for the life of me remember it.”

  “Well, you haven’t had much cause to remember it lately, have you? That must have been twenty-five years ago, more or less.”

  “I wish I could remember more about him,” Bessie said with a sigh. “The Teare family kept pretty much to themselves. They had their mansion and you only ever got inside by invitation. They weren’t much interested in inviting an old spinster with no social connections to visit.”

  Doncan laughed. “I wouldn’t describe you that way at all,” he told Bessie. “But you’re right about the Teares. I think I’ve only been in the mansion a handful of times, mostly from when I was Ewan’s advocate. Of course, once he moved his business elsewhere I didn’t have any reason to be there.”

  “I’ve heard it was beautiful inside,” Bessie sighed. “Now it’s just sitting there empty and I’ve heard it is very run-down.”

  “You know, this could be good news for Junior,” Doncan told her. “He went with me on a visit there many years ago. He couldn’t have been more that five or six at the time. We never got past the huge foyer, but he fell in love with the place. He’s been wanting to buy it ever since.”

  “It must be worth a fortune,” Bessie suggested.

  “I’m sure it won’t go cheap,” Doncan agreed. “But it does need an awful lot of work, from what I’m told. Junior has a fairly substantial inheritance from my father that he’s been saving for many years. I know he’s made a few tentative offers to Moirrey in the past, but she always refused to even consider selling the estate. Her brother, assuming he can be tracked down, might be more amenable.”

  “I suppose tracking down Andrew Teare has to be Mr. Barnes first priority, then?”

  “Indeed. I would suggest that Anne and her cottage are in limbo until he can manage that. Have her call me if Mr. Barnes contacts her in any way, please.”

  “I will definitely do that,” Bessie agreed. She hung up feeling slightly better about Anne’s future. Whatever happened, Doncan was on the case and he’d never let Bessie down yet.

  Bessie was due to give a research paper at a conference at the Manx Museum in Douglas in about a month’s time. She wasn’t in the mood to work on her research, but with time slipping away, she forced herself. By lunchtime she felt she’d worked hard enough, though, and she allowed herself an indulgent afternoon, curled up with a new book. She grinned as the murderer was revealed. The guilty party was exactly whom she suspected throughout the story.

  Doona was due to arrive in less than an hour. Since Doona had promised to bring dinner with her, Bessie decided to mix up some shortbread. She’d had a handful of children visit over the Easter weekend and she’d almost run out of homemade treats. She was always careful to stock a range of store-bought goodies for just such an emergency, but she preferred to offer her guests something she’d made herself whenever possible.

  Bessie’s whole house was filled with the fabulous aroma of freshly baked buttery shortbread when, an hour later, the doorbell rang. As Bessie opened the door for Doona an
d Hugh, Hugh was already excited about pudding.

  “Do I smell shortbread?” he asked, his eyes shining exactly like they had when he had visited Bessie when he was eight.

  “Yes,” Bessie laughed. “You can have a piece if you eat all your veggies.”

  Hugh was in his mid-twenties with brown hair and matching eyes. He still looked not much more than fifteen. Bessie grinned at the odd wisps of hair that poked out at strange angles from Hugh’s upper lip. Perhaps he would manage to grow a mustache once he hit thirty. Bessie had learned recently that he was smarter than he often appeared and that he had high hopes of advancing in his chosen field of police work.

  “I’ll eat all my veggies,” he now promised Bessie. She didn’t doubt it; he still had the overgrown appetite of a teenaged boy to go with his appearance. That might catch up with him in later years as well.

  Doona had brought several containers of Chinese food and Bessie quickly passed out plates and everyone loaded them up with generous helpings. Doona had also brought a bottle of wine and, as they all took seats at Bessie’s kitchen table, Doona opened it and poured it into three glasses.

  “I really shouldn’t,” Hugh said. “I’m driving.”

  “So am I,” Doona grinned. “But I think we need to drink a toast to Moirrey Teare.”

  Hugh didn’t argue further. They each took a glass and clinked them together gently.

  “To Moirrey,” Bessie said solemnly.

  “To Moirrey,” the others echoed.

  For a few minutes everyone ate silently, until curiosity got the better of Bessie.

  “So what exactly happened to Moirrey?” she demanded.

  Hugh shrugged and swallowed. “Dr. Quayle reckons her heart just gave out,” he told Bessie and Doona. “She was born with some sort of heart condition, apparently. He was happy to sign the death certificate as natural causes.”

  Bessie opened her mouth to protest and then shook her head. She had been reading too many murder mysteries lately. Murder in real life, though, was rare. It was far more likely that Dr. Quayle was correct. Even if no one on the island was really going to miss Moirrey, no one would have murdered her.

  “So that’s it, then?” Doona asked. “No police investigation?”

  Hugh grinned at them. “Officially, there won’t be any police investigation,” he told them. “But you know how Inspector Rockwell is working with some of us on investigative techniques?” he asked the others.

  When they nodded, he continued. “Well, since this case has some interesting elements, the inspector is using it like a training exercise.”

  Bessie smiled. She’d met Inspector Rockwell only a month earlier, but so far she had found much she liked about the man. He had worked in CID in Manchester before he and his family relocated to the island. Now living in Ramsey, he had been given temporary command of the Laxey station during a recent reshuffle. When he’d been given the assignment, he’d offered to start doing some CID training with some of the young constables. Bessie was delighted that he seemed to be following up on his plan.

  “So what does that mean?” Doona asked.

  “Basically, after the doctor left, we processed the scene as if it were a crime scene. We carefully gathered evidence and filled out request forms for laboratory processing, things like that. Inspector Rockwell even had us collect fingerprints from all of the prescription bottles on Moirrey’s dresser.”

  Bessie’s eyes shone with excitement. “That sounds like such, well, fun isn’t the right word. It sounds so interesting. I don’t suppose the Isle of Man Constabulary has any interest in hiring an older woman?”

  Hugh laughed. “Sorry, Aunt Bessie, but I don’t think you can join the force after the age of fifty or so.”

  Bessie frowned. “I didn’t think so,” she sighed. “I should have given it a go when I was younger. I suppose I would have had to learn to drive if I joined as well, wouldn’t I?”

  “I would think so,” Hugh answered. “At least all the constables I know have driving licenses.”

  “I’ve been thinking about getting one, anyway,” Bessie told him. “Not driving is getting to be inconvenient.”

  “Oh, ah,” Hugh took a drink of his wine and then focussed on his food.

  Bessie looked over at Doona. “Do you think I should try driving?” she asked her friend.

  Doona grinned. “If you start driving, I won’t get to see as much of you. I enjoy running errands with you and picking you up for our class and that sort of thing.”

  Bessie nodded slowly. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she said eventually.

  “You were going to tell me about Matthew Barnes,” Doona changed the subject.

  Bessie grinned. “In that case, let’s get our dinner dishes out of the way and grab some shortbread. I need the sugar if I’m going to be telling this story.”

  Bessie cut generous triangles of the still warm shortbread and piled it onto plates while Hugh and Doona cleared up the dinner dishes. When the kettle boiled, Doona made tea for everyone and they all settled back down to enjoy the crumbly shortbread with their tea.

  “Matthew Barnes,” Bessie sighed. “I try to avoid even thinking about that man.”

  “I’ve been told he’s a good advocate,” Hugh offered.

  “I’m sure he is,” Bessie answered. “As long as you don’t mind being represented by someone lacking in ethics.”

  Hugh frowned. “Are you suggesting he’s doing something criminal?”

  “Of course not, he’s an advocate,” Bessie shook her head. “I’m sure he’s always just barely on the right side of the law, but I think he tiptoes quite close to the edge sometimes.”

  “So what exactly did he do to upset you?” Doona asked.

  “I’ve always used the Quayle Firm for my legal affairs,” she told the others. “William Quayle was already established in Laxey when I moved back here with my parents all those years ago. After his death, I started working with his son Doncan, and when he passed away I was happy to stay with young Doncan. Of course young Doncan is now somewhere around fifty and I expect I’ll end up using Doncan, Junior, in the future.”

  Doona shook her head. “Too many Doncans,” she complained.

  Bessie laughed. “Sorry about that. I don’t know why men feel the need to name their sons after themselves, but so many of them do it and it just confuses things.”

  “So where does Matthew Barnes come in?” Hugh asked around a mouthful of shortbread.

  “In the early seventies, he moved from London to the island and set up shop in Douglas. There’s always plenty of work for advocates in Douglas, I suppose, but after a while Mr. Barnes started to look around the rest of the island. Right around then, the first Doncan Quayle died. His son, young Doncan, had only been qualified for a year or two and he was suddenly in charge of the family law firm. That was when Mr. Barnes decided to open a branch office in Laxey.”

  Doona shook her head. “That wasn’t very nice of him,” she commented. “Poor Doncan was just getting started and Mr. Barnes was there to try to get all the new business.”

  “If he’d kept himself to trying to get the new business, I’m sure I wouldn’t dislike him so much,” Bessie said. “Instead, he actively began chasing after Doncan’s clients. Why, he even had the nerve to come here and sit right at this table and try to persuade me to move my legal affairs to his control.”

  “I’d have loved to be a fly on the wall for that visit,” Doona laughed.

  Bessie grinned. “I was not best pleased,” she admitted. “I’m not usually rude to guests in my own home, but I didn’t waste any time being pleasant to him once I realised what he was after, that’s for sure.”

  “I suppose other clients were less loyal to Doncan Quayle?” Hugh asked.

  “Indeed,” Bessie sighed. “Mr. Barnes offered various incentives, including lower fees, to people who moved their business to his newly established firm. I was also told that he hinted very strongly that young Doncan wasn’t really up to the tas
k yet, that he was too young and inexperienced to handle anything more complex than basic legal practice. Doncan was struggling to keep his head above water as it was. He didn’t have time to chase around the countryside trying to persuade people that he was capable.”

  Bessie sighed. “It’s been twenty-five odd years and I still get angry when I think about it,” she told the others. “Mr. Barnes came very dangerously close to driving Doncan right out of business.”

  “It got that bad?” Doona said in surprise.

  “There were other factors at work as well,” Bessie told her. “The first Doncan was fairly unscrupulous and pretty ruthless, which worked well for a lot of people. He and his son didn’t always agree on matters of ethics. Young Doncan made some changes when he took over. He’s less ruthless and more interested in finding fair and workable solutions that everyone can live with. Some of his clients weren’t happy about that and they found a lot to like in Matthew Barnes.”

  “So what happened? I mean, I know Doncan Quayle is very successful today,” Doona said.

  “He managed to ride out the storm,” Bessie replied. “A few of his oldest customers stuck by him and, slowly, over time, many of his former clients came back as well, the ones who preferred ethical behaviour in their legal dealings, anyway. I don’t think Doncan regrets losing the others, quite frankly.”

  “And Ewan Teare went with Mr. Barnes?” Hugh asked.

  “Indeed. He was one of the first to move and when he passed away Moirrey stayed with Mr. Barnes. I think she was even more devious than he is, although I mustn’t speak ill of the dead.”

  Doona laughed. “Is there any other way to speak of Moirrey?”

  Bessie sighed. “I wish I could have liked her more,” she told the others. “I feel badly that I’m not more saddened by her passing.”

  “We can’t like everyone who comes into our lives,” Doona replied. “I have two ex-husbands, remember? I know all about not liking people.”

  Bessie and Hugh both laughed and then Bessie started talking about a new book she had just finished. Half an hour later the little party broke up with everyone in good spirits. Bessie watched Hugh waddle out to his car, full to bursting with Chinese food and shortbread.