Aunt Bessie Goes (An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Book 7) Page 9

  Bessie turned the pages, her eyes skimming through boring entries about her everyday life. It wasn’t until early October that she found something relevant to the current case.

  “It seems young Adam King has decided to move to Australia. I saw Elinor today and she told me that he left some time in September. Apparently Nancy is very upset and Elinor asked me to not mention it to her. That doesn’t really sound like Nancy, but as I don’t plan on speaking with her in the foreseeable future, it presents no great difficulty.”

  Bessie shook her head at the somewhat harsh words. If you can’t be totally yourself in your diary, then where can you be, she asked herself. She flipped through a dozen more pages before she found another interesting note in early January 1968.

  “Saw Nancy King at ShopFast today. She told me that Fred and James are both well and that Sarah is settled in Port Erin and rarely visits. (Hardly surprising.) I asked about young Adam and she told me that she’d recently had a postcard from him. Apparently he’s settled in Sydney or Adelaide, she couldn’t actually remember which. As her husband isn’t terribly well at the moment, they aren’t planning a holiday this year, but are considering going to visit Adam in the summer of 1969, if all goes well. It’s a long journey with many stops, apparently, but she’s looking forward to it.”

  Bessie looked up from the book and stared into space for a few minutes. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t recall the conversation well enough to guess now whether Nancy had been lying or not. Her husband had passed away in 1969, having never really recovered from that illness that began in January 1968, so the proposed trip never happened. But was Adam really in Australia, or was Nancy just making it all up?

  It’s no use speculating, Bessie told herself firmly. Once the body was identified, at least some questions could be answered. She turned the rest of the pages in the book slowly, looking for anything else that might help, but couldn’t find any further reference to any of the relevant people. While she had the box out, she flipped through her later diaries as well, racing through the seventies and eighties, looking for anything that might be relevant.

  While she found more than one reference to Nancy King, and quite a few to other members of her group, Adam’s name never came up again. With a sigh, she rang John.

  “I’ve been through my diaries,” she told him. “And I’m afraid I haven’t much to add to what I said last night.”

  She read out the relevant passages, word for word, from the book. “I’m sure that doesn’t help at all,” she said when she was done.

  “It’s interesting,” John replied. “I know Sarah didn’t think it was possible for her father to hide the body without her mother knowing about it, but what do you think?”

  “I suppose anything is possible,” Bessie replied thoughtfully. “I’m probably the wrong one to ask, as I’ve never been married. I know a lot of married couples keep secrets from one another. This is a pretty big secret, but I suppose if I’d killed someone I might not want my spouse to know.”

  “The only correspondence Nancy seems to have kept over the years was the box of things from her husband and a few letters from her friends,” John told her. “Sarah let me go through the box she has and there certainly wasn’t any postcard from Adam there. I wish the woman had kept more.”

  “You’d have much better luck with me,” Bessie laughed. “I keep just about every letter or card I receive. I won’t promise they’re terribly well organised, but they’re all here somewhere.”

  “So when we find the body you’ve hidden, we’ll have a place to start with solving the crime,” John teased.

  “Oh, if I had a body to get rid of, I’d make sure you never found it,” Bessie told him.

  “Scarily, I think I believe that,” John said with a laugh. “You read enough murder mysteries; you’d probably get away with the perfect crime.”

  On that rather odd note, they hung up. After so many years on her own, Bessie was well accustomed to entertaining herself, but today she found she had trouble settling into anything. She’d just completed revising a paper she’d given at a recent conference at the Manx Museum so that it was ready for publication. She felt as if she was ready to start some new research, but she couldn’t seem to decide on a suitable subject. After spending an hour looking through piles of old research notes, she rang her friend Marjorie Stevens, the museum’s librarian and archivist.

  “Moghry mie,” Marjorie greeted her in Manx. “Kys t’ou?”

  “Ta mee braew,” Bessie replied, slightly frustrated by how awkward it felt to speak in the language she’d taken classes in so many times.

  “What can I do for you today?” Marjorie asked in English.

  “Thank you for asking in English,” Bessie replied with a laugh. “I’ve no idea how to say what I want in Manx. I’m looking for some advice about what to research next,” she continued. “Maybe I need a new challenge.”

  “Why don’t we have lunch tomorrow and discuss it?” Marjorie suggested. “We can meet here at the museum, or how about that little Italian place on the promenade that does that amazing garlic bread?”

  Bessie was quick to agree and then let her very busy friend go. With nothing to do on that front but wait, Bessie spent the rest of her Monday cooking. She usually prepared several things on a Sunday for the week ahead, and also for the freezer, but her Sunday had been too busy this week.

  Now she made a vast pot of tomato sauce for spaghetti and lasagne and several servings of potato and leek soup. She had a small bowl of soup for her lunch and froze the rest in single servings. Similarly, she froze most of the spaghetti sauce, just keeping enough out for her evening meal. By the time she’d put the last of the containers in the refrigerator, it was just about time for that meal, but she took a quick walk on the beach first. After dinner, she curled up with the book on Anglesey and read until she was tired enough to head for bed.

  Tuesday was dry and cool and Bessie kept her walk fairly short. Back at home, she spent some time sorting through her many notebooks full of research notes, jotting down a few ideas for new projects that she could discuss with Marjorie. At half eleven, the taxi she’d booked the previous day arrived, with her favourite driver behind the wheel.

  “Good morning, Dave,” she called as she locked up her front door. The man had climbed out of the taxi and was walking towards her.

  “Good morning, Bessie,” he replied. He took her arm and led her to the taxi, carefully tucking her inside it before walking back around to the driver’s side. “How are you this morning?” he asked after they were under way.

  “Oh, I’m fine,” Bessie replied. “I’m meeting a friend for lunch in Douglas.”

  Dave kept the conversation flowing on the short drive. That was one of the things Bessie liked best about him. There was no doubt he’d heard about the body at the King house, but he also knew that Bessie was bound to be upset by it, so he deliberately didn’t bring up the subject. They were discussing favourite colours when he pulled up in front of the restaurant where Bessie was meeting Marjorie.

  “If I could, I’d wear nothing but black or grey,” he told Bessie. “But that’s mostly for convenience.”

  Bessie laughed. “I love bright colours and I try to wear them as much as possible, but you make a good point. If I only wore dark colours, my laundry would be easier to manage.”

  Dave parked and helped Bessie from the car. “Shall I collect you in an hour?” he asked.

  “That sounds about right,” Bessie replied. “Marjorie will be on her lunch hour, so we won’t be able to dawdle.”

  Inside the restaurant, Marjorie was already seated with a plate of garlic bread in front of her.

  “Oh, thank heavens you’re here,” she exclaimed when she saw Bessie. “Hurry up and eat your share of this bread. I was worried I was going to eat it all before you arrived.”

  “I’m sorry, am I late?” Bessie asked.

  “Oh, no,” Marjorie assured her. “I was a couple of minutes early an
d I thought I’d order the bread. I really only just arrived.”

  Bessie glanced at the half-empty plate.

  “Yeah,” Marjorie laughed. “I pretty much inhaled my half.”

  Bessie insisted that Marjorie have one of the remaining slices. The bread was fabulous, but Bessie wanted to save room for her meal. Over lunch the pair discussed Bessie’s different ideas and Marjorie gave her a few other things to consider. By the time the sticky toffee puddings arrived, Bessie was pretty sure she knew what she wanted to do next. The museum was having a special class in reading old handwriting and it intrigued Bessie.

  “If I can get a space on the paleography course next month, then I’ll definitely tackle some older wills,” she told her friend. “It sounds really interesting.”

  “The course should be very good,” Marjorie replied. “It’s only a single day, from nine to four. I’ll be teaching some of it and we have an expert in seventeenth-century handwriting coming over from London to teach parts as well. Mark Blake, the head of special projects, is going to be helping out as well.”

  “Can you sign me up, or do I have to complete some paperwork?”

  “I can sign you up and post the paperwork to you,” Marjorie offered. “You can send it back to me at your convenience.”

  With that settled, Bessie was in a happier frame of mind as Dave drove her home. As she’d have to wait until after the class to begin her research, she didn’t have to feel even the littlest bit guilty about doing nothing until then. While she loved doing research and she only did it because she enjoyed it, it was nice to take a break now and then, especially a guilt-free one.

  Back at home, her answering machine light was flashing. She deleted a number of messages from nosy friends and neighbours who wanted the latest skeet on the body. There was only a single message she was interested in returning. She played it again before she returned the call.

  “Aunt Bessie, it’s Spencer Cannon. I was hoping maybe you were free for dinner tomorrow night? I’d love to treat you to La Terrazza, if you can make it. Please ring me back.”

  Bessie jotted down the number he’d recited and then dialled.

  “Thanks for ringing back,” the man said. “Are you free for dinner tomorrow, then?”

  “I suppose so, although there’s no need for you to treat me. I can pay for my own meal.”

  Spencer laughed. “I want you to be my guest,” he said firmly. “I still feel as if I owe you so much for helping me get the job here.”

  “Nonsense,” Bessie replied. “I just pointed you in the right direction.”

  “Let’s not argue,” Spencer said. “I’ll collect you at six. I suppose I should warn you that I’ve been to see your friend Inspector Rockwell today. I’d very much like to talk to you about Adam, if that’s okay.”

  “It’s fine,” Bessie assured him before disconnecting.

  Having eaten a very generous lunch, Bessie took herself for a long walk before fixing a light evening meal. Then she curled up with a new book by one of her favourite authors and enjoyed losing herself in someone’s fictional universe. By bedtime she’d finished and she shut the book and sighed. If only real life were as neat and tidy as fiction, where the detective figured everything out and all the loose ends were tied up in seventy thousand words or less.

  She slept better than she thought she might. The next morning the rain was coming down in sheets. After she’d showered and breakfasted she pulled on her waterproofs and her Wellington boots and headed out for her walk. She didn’t bother with an umbrella because of the strong wind. Not surprisingly, she had the beach to herself again this morning and she walked briskly and purposefully past the holiday cottages to the stairs to Thie yn Traie, where she turned around and marched home.

  It took the best part of half an hour for her change out of her sodden clothes and dry off. Waterproofs could only do so much and Bessie was pretty much soaked through. In anticipation of her dinner plans, she had a light lunch and then dug out another new book. This one had been sent by the bookstore in Ramsey as a recommendation. She’d never heard of the author, but it was the first in a series of the sort of books she loved. As it was a paperback, it wasn’t terribly expensive, but Bessie knew she could return it if it didn’t suit her.

  By the time Bessie needed to get ready for dinner, she was still undecided. She was about halfway through the book and she was caught up in the story, but she wasn’t sure it was really for her. There was a bit too much sex, violence and swearing for her to feel totally comfortable with it. She slid a bookmark into it. When she got home from dinner, she’d see if she felt like finishing it or not.

  On her first floor, she changed into a pretty skirt and jumper. She brushed her hair and applied a light dusting of makeup. You’ll have to do, she told her reflection. Her reflection stuck its tongue out at her. Laughing at her own foolishness, Bessie headed back downstairs to wait for Spencer. She didn’t have to wait long, as the man pulled into the small parking area beside her cottage only a minute or two later.

  He met her at her door, and after she’d locked up, escorted her to his car. Spencer was around fifty. He was bald and plump and he reminded Bessie of his father, Henry, who’d died in the seventies.

  “I asked for the quietest corner they could give us,” he told Bessie after they’d been seated in the very back of the half-full restaurant.

  “It’s nice and quiet in here tonight,” Bessie remarked. “It’s usually pretty busy.”

  “I guess no one goes out for a nice meal on a Wednesday,” Spencer replied.

  They both ate there often enough that they were able to make quick decisions as to what they wanted. Once their orders had been placed, Spencer sat back and frowned at Bessie.

  “I don’t want to upset you,” he told her. “If you’d rather not talk about Adam, that’s okay with me.”

  Bessie shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about Adam particularly,” she admitted. “But if we can help the police figure out what happened, it’s well worth talking about him. I hate the idea of never knowing the truth about his fate.”

  “I feel the same,” Spencer told her. “Although we weren’t exactly friendly.”

  “I thought all the jam ladies’ kids were friends,” Bessie said.

  “We all played together, for sure,” he replied. “And I guess we were friends when we were quite young. But Adam, well, he wasn’t very nice as he got older. We were never very close and by the time he was fourteen or fifteen, we were actively avoiding each other.”

  “Really?” Bessie asked.

  Spencer shrugged. “Actually, that may not be totally accurate. I was certainly actively avoiding him, but I don’t think he cared enough about me to avoid me.”

  “So who was he friends with?”

  “As I recall, just Mark Carr, once he hit his teens. They were very close in age and also in, well, temperament may be the right word.”

  “Did you know about any girlfriends?” Bessie asked, the idea just occurring to her.

  “I think he might have dated Mark’s sister,” Spencer replied. “In fact, I’m sure he did, for a while anyway.”

  “Why are all the relevant people dead?” Bessie asked, feeling frustrated.

  Spencer patted her hand and then leaned back to allow the waiter to deliver the starters. Once he’d gone, Spencer patted her hand again.

  “I know, it does seem as if everyone who could help has passed,” he said. “If it makes you feel better, I’m pretty sure they’d broken up long before Adam left. She was dating one of the Porter boys during that summer.”

  “Are you sure?” Bessie asked.

  “Pretty sure,” Spencer replied. “I know it was a long time ago, but I remember thinking, when I’d heard that Adam had gone, that he was probably trying to get away from Mary Carr. I thought at the time that she’d pretty much broken his heart.”

  “Did you tell John Rockwell this?”

  “No, I didn’t think of it,” Spencer said, shaking his
head. “I’ll ring him tomorrow.”

  “Right, so he dated Mary Carr, but that was over before he left. And his only friend was Mark Carr. The police are looking for him. Hopefully they’ll find him soon and he’ll be able to answer some questions.”

  “I hope so,” Spencer said. “Even though we weren’t friends, it’s upsetting, especially after everything else that has happened.”

  “You haven’t heard from Mark lately, then?” Bessie asked.

  “Not in thirty years or more,” Spencer told her. “We were never really friends. He and Adam kept to themselves, really. They were always planning something, usually something they knew they shouldn’t do. When Mark went across, not long after Adam left, I wasn’t sorry to see him go, or Adam either, for that matter.”

  “And you don’t know anyone who is still on the island that Mark would have contacted once he got out of prison?”

  “I can’t imagine any of the old group would have even taken his call,” he told Bessie. “I might have said Sarah, before all of this happened. Mark might have rung her and asked her for help, and she might have agreed as a favour to Adam. Under the circumstances, though, I think it’s unlikely.”

  “Yes, I’d have to agree with that,” Bessie said, thinking of what Sarah had told her about how she felt about Mark. It seemed unlikely that the woman would have agreed to help him in any way, even if he tried to play on her sentimentality for her missing brother.

  “I’d guess that he said he was coming here and then went somewhere else altogether,” Spencer continued. “He hated the island. He thought it was too boring and small for someone with his brains and ambition.”

  Bessie nodded and moved the conversation on. “Did you know anything about Adam’s job?” she asked.

  “I was across at school for most of the year,” he told her. “I came home for summer break and some of us that had grown up together had a little party on the beach. We didn’t invite Mark or Adam, or Nathan for that matter, but you’ll understand that.”