Arrivals and Arrests

by Diana Xarissa

  Arrivals and Arrests

  An Isle of Man Ghostly Cozy

  Diana Xarissa

  Text Copyright © 2016 Diana Xarissa

  Cover Copyright © 2016 Linda Boulanger – Tell Tale Book Covers

  All Rights Reserved

  For my readers, as we start a new adventure together!

  Author’s Note

  Because I simply don’t have enough to do, what with writing the Aunt Bessie series and the Markham Sisters series, welcome to the first book in my new series! I wanted to write a cozy mystery set on the Isle of Man, but from a different perspective. This new series gives me the chance to do that.

  Unlike the other books I publish as Diana Xarissa, this one uses American English. (With apologies to my readers in the UK!)

  It is set in the Isle of Man, truly one of the world’s most unique and beautiful places. I urge everyone to visit if you ever get the opportunity.

  For fans of my other series, you might find an odd character that sneaks in from one of my other titles, but for the most part, this series will be about totally new characters so that I don’t have to worry about spoilers across the series. (The victim in this book does appear in the Bessie books; I’ve been wanting to kill him off for a long time now!)

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Similarly, the names of the restaurants and shops and other businesses on the island are fictional. I’ve also taken considerable liberties with locations within the story, adding fictional shops and restaurants where they are convenient to the story rather than where any shops actually exist. The historical sites and other landmarks on the island are all real; however, all of the events that take place within them in this story are fictional.

  I hope you enjoy this first story in this new series. As ever, I’d love to hear from you. My contact details are in the back of the book.

  Table of Contents

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  By the Same Author

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  If they could put a man on the moon, why couldn’t someone find a way to make plastic shopping bags comfortable to carry, Fenella Woods thought to herself as she walked through the alley behind her apartment building. She’d bought far too much, really, and now the six bags, three in each hand, were cutting off the circulation to her fingers.

  It didn’t help that it was raining, a cold and steady rain that made Fenella sorry she’d ever left her warm apartment. That there wasn’t a single thing to eat in that apartment was what had driven her out into the rain in the first place. A gust of wind blew her shoulder-length hair into her eyes and made her mutter under her breath.

  Why would anyone be lying on the ground outside in the rain, she wondered to herself when she saw the man lying just a few steps away from the building’s back door. He looked vaguely familiar, which surprised Fenella. She’d only been on the island for twenty-four hours. The man, who was lying on his stomach anyway, couldn’t possibly be anyone she knew.

  “Hello?” she said cautiously, not wanting to startle the man, who must have suddenly taken ill. He hadn’t been there when she’d left an hour or so ago. She was sure she would have noticed. “Hello? Are you okay?”

  The man didn’t respond. Fenella sighed and switched all of her bags to one hand. The hand protested, sending shooting pains through Fenella’s arm. Flexing her fingers repeatedly on her now empty hand to try to restore circulation, Fenella bent down over the man and tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Hello?” When she saw the knife in the man’s chest, Fenella wondered for a moment if she were on some sort of hidden camera show. She looked around the alley, hoping to spot a camera and some B-list celebrity hiding behind one of the dumpsters. When she didn’t spot anything other than a few seagulls, she pulled out her new mobile phone.

  She punched in 911 and held the phone to her ear. She heard nothing but silence. The woman in the shop had assured her, only forty minutes earlier, that the phone was ready to use. Deciding she must have done something wrong, Fenella began to dial again.

  “The emergency number in the United Kingdom is 999, not 911,” a voice in her head told her. Fenella frowned when she recognized the voice. At least some of the endless lectures and hectoring she’d received from the man she’d left behind were proving useful, she told herself as she tapped in 999.

  “Isle of Man Emergency Services, what is your emergency?” a female voice asked.

  “Oh, yes, well, I’ve found, that is, there’s a man here and I think he might be dead,” Fenella said.

  “Can you give me a location, please? I can dispatch an ambulance.”

  “I’m behind the Promenade View Apartments building in Douglas,” Fenella replied. “In the alley that runs behind the building.”

  “And the man you’re calling about is in the alley?” the woman asked.

  “Yes, he’s just lying on the ground here.”

  “I’ll send an ambulance,” the woman said. “If you could just wait with the man, please.”

  “Oh, I think you’ll want to send the police,” Fenella replied. “I think the man has been stabbed.”

  “Do you?” the woman sounded shocked. “Well, I’m sure the paramedics can call for the police if they think they need to. Please just wait with the man until they arrive. Have you tried talking to him or shaking him to wake him up?”

  “Yes, I’ve tried both,” Fenella said. “When I tapped him on the shoulder, that’s when I saw the knife, you see.”

  “Okay, is there anyone else there with you?”

  “No, I’m alone in the alley,” Fenella replied. As soon as the words left her lips, she felt terrified. Someone had stabbed this man and left him in the alley. Goodness only knew where the killer had gone next.

  “I’m going to send the nearest constable. He should be with you in a minute or two. In the meantime, keep talking to me.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you. I want to take my shopping up to my apartment and put my ice cream in the freezer. I have six bags of shopping that are spoiling while I’m standing here. Yeah, maybe I bought too much stuff, but I was hungry and there isn’t a single thing to eat in my apartment, nothing.”

  “I am sorry about that. I’m sure someone will be with you soon. Do you recognize the man in the alley?”

  “He looks very familiar, actually, although he’s lying on his stomach, so I can’t see his face. Maybe it’s his clothes that look familiar. I can’t possibly know him, though. I’ve only been on the island since yesterday afternoon. I don’t know anyone.”

  A head suddenly appeared around the side of the building. Fenella jumped and shrieked. “There’s someone else here,” she said in a loud whisper.

  “Hello,” the man called. “I’m from Manx Ambulances. We received a call about an injured man.”

  Fenella nodded. “He’s here,” she said, staring hard at the man, as if that would help her figure out if the new arrival really was who he claimed to be. A moment later a second man joined the first and the pair walked the short distance to where Fenella was standing. They were both dressed like paramedics, at least, which made Fenella feel a little bit bett
er.

  “You can tell the operator that we’re here now,” one of the men said. “And you can hang up.”

  Fenella felt curiously reluctant to disconnect from the voice on the other end of the phone. In a strange place and under incredibly odd circumstances, the woman on the other end of the phone felt like the only friend Fenella had.

  “That’s the paramedics, then?” the voice asked.

  “Yes,” Fenella agreed. “Thank you.”

  She disconnected the call and dropped the phone back into her pocket. As she took a step backwards, she switched all of her shopping to her now free hand. Feeling as if the other hand might never recover, she took another step backwards. The two paramedics were bent over the man, speaking quietly with one another.

  “I’ll just go and get my shopping put away,” she said in a voice that sounded weirdly strained to her. “Thanks.”

  “I think you’d better stay here,” one of the men said. “We’ve rung for the police.”

  “I told the woman on the phone that she should send the police,” Fenella replied.

  “Yes, well, they’ll be coming now for sure,” the man said.

  She nodded and then glanced over at the man on the ground. “He’s dead, then?”

  “Not officially, not until the coroner gets here,” she was told.

  Fenella shifted three of the bags back into her other hand. That way she was balanced and both hands hurt equally.

  “I see, well, I hate to be demanding, but I’d really like to get my shopping put away,” she said tentatively. “I’ve spent a lot of money on far too much food and it’s all getting ruined out here in the rain,” she said.

  “You’ll have to stay to talk to the police,” the taller of the two men said. “Maybe they’ll let you take your shopping inside before they question you.”

  “I can’t possibly tell the police anything,” Fenella argued. “I only arrived on the island yesterday. I don’t know a soul.”

  “Is that a fact?” The question came from behind her and Fenella spun around so quickly that she nearly lost her balance as her shopping bags spun with her.

  “Yes,” she said with more certainty than she felt. There was still something naggingly familiar about the man on the ground.

  The man smiled at her and Fenella found herself smiling back. He was probably approaching fifty, with light brown hair and hazel eyes. He was taller than Fenella’s five feet, seven inches, by at least another half a foot. Fenella sucked in her stomach as she noted that his body looked fit and firm under his dark raincoat. She was conscious of the ten extra pounds she was carrying. To her mind they were relics of the extravagant fortieth birthday vacation she’d taken eight years ago.

  “I’m Inspector Daniel Robinson,” the man said. “Douglas CID.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Fenella replied. She looked down at her shopping bags and then shrugged. “I’d shake hands if I could,” she told him. “I’m Fenella Woods, anyway. I moved to the island yesterday and this was my first trip out of my apartment. Now I’ve tons of food to get put away. I do hope you don’t mind if I take the shopping upstairs?”

  The man frowned. “As soon as one of the constables gets here, I’ll have him or her escort you to your flat,” he said. “They can wait with you until I’m ready to question you.”

  Fenella was going to argue that questioning her was a complete waste of time, but she bit her tongue. Instead she watched as the man approached the body. As he leaned over the man, Fenella’s tired brain suddenly made the necessary connection.

  “It’s Alan Collins,” she gasped.

  Inspector Robinson sat back on his heels and gave her an appraising look. “I thought you didn’t know anyone on the island,” he said mildly.

  Fenella found herself blushing as she noted the suspicious looks on the two paramedics’ faces. “I don’t,” she said. “I don’t even know him, but he knocked on my door this morning and wanted to talk to me about selling my apartment. I only said a few words to him, though.” She shook her head and then opened her mouth to explain further.

  The man held up his hand. “Save it for later,” he suggested. “I’m sure I’ll have a great many questions for you in a few minutes.”

  Fenella swallowed a sigh and then took a hesitant step backwards. She was sure she was in the way and she really wanted to get inside. Before she could figure out how to best word her request, several more people arrived at once.

  Inspector Robinson greeted them all and had a quick conversation with them at the entrance to the alley. Fenella tried to look uninterested as she waited, looking around the space and trying not to look at the body. The two paramedics seemed to be amusing themselves by watching her, and Fenella was determined not to show them how much it bothered her. A few minutes later the inspector walked over to her with a young uniformed officer behind him.

  “Ms. Woods, this is Constable Corlett. He’s going to go with you to your flat and will stay with you until I’m done out here. I’ve been assuming you live in Promenade View. Am I correct?”

  “Yes, I’m in apartment 603,” she replied.

  The man made a note in the small notebook he’d pulled from his pocket and then nodded at her. “I’ll be up as soon as I can be,” he said. “In the meantime, I’d rather you didn’t speak to anyone about any of this.”

  “I don’t know anyone,” Fenella reminded him.

  “Except the dead man,” he said softly.

  Fenella didn’t bother to argue. She’d explain it all when they talked properly. For now she was just interested in getting her shopping put away.

  “Let’s go,” the constable said.

  He didn’t sound very happy about his assignment, but that was the inspector’s problem, not hers.

  She made her way to the building’s back door and switched the shopping back to one hand so she could use the keycard she’d been given to unlock it. The only elevators were at the front of the building, but it didn’t take long to get there.

  As Fenella waited for the elevator to arrive, she studied the sign above the sets of elevator doors. It read “Lift,” and Fenella wondered how long it would take for her start thinking in “English English” rather than “American English.”

  The constable didn’t speak to her as they rode up to the sixth floor. Having nothing else to do, Fenella studied him. He was probably only in his early twenties, with dirty-blond hair and green eyes. Fenella noticed a thin gold band on the ring finger of his left hand. Presumably the young policeman was married, therefore. Having never been married herself, Fenella often wondered what motivated people to make that large commitment. It was hardly a question she could ask a total stranger, though.

  At the door to her apartment, Fenella set half of the shopping bags down and dug out the keycard again. She waved it in front of her door and sighed with relief when she heard the lock click open. Holding the door open with her foot, she bent back down to get the rest of her shopping and then struggled into her apartment’s small foyer. The policeman didn’t offer to help with the shopping or even hold the door open for her.

  There was enough light coming in from the large windows that overlooked the promenade that she didn’t have to worry about finding a light switch. Instead, she made her way into the large gourmet kitchen and piled all of her shopping bags onto the granite countertop.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” she told the constable.

  He nodded and then perched on the edge of one of the stools that provided seating at the long peninsula that separated the kitchen from the living space.

  “This is really nice,” he commented as Fenella dug through the bags, trying to find the things that needed refrigeration as quickly as possible. She frowned at her tub of ice cream. It felt a little bit soft, but hopefully it would refreeze successfully.

  “Thank you,” she replied.

  “I expect flats in this building are quite expensive,” the constable added.

  “I don’t know,” Fenella t
old him. “I inherited it.”

  “Oh, how very nice for you,” the man replied. He opened his mouth to speak again, but his mobile buzzed insistently at him.

  As Fenella worked on putting the shopping away, he frowned at his phone and then typed a reply. A moment later, he was punching in numbers.

  “Ah, yes, sir, it’s Constable Corlett. I’m up in the, um, with the witness as instructed, but I’ve just had a text from Jenny and she thinks the baby might be coming. Is there someone that can take my place up here so I can get to Noble’s?”

  Fenella watched the man as he listened to the reply. A moment later he disconnected and then sent another text message.

  “Your wife is having a baby?” Fenella asked when he’d finished.

  “Aye, our first. She isn’t due for another two weeks, but you never know,” he said.

  Fenella smiled. The young man seemed awfully flustered. “Well, congratulations in advance,” she said. “It must be very exciting.”

  “Oh, yeah, very,” he replied. “Jenny’s really pleased.”

  “Jenny is your wife?”

  “Oh, yeah, sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “You weren’t to know that, were you?”

  Fenella smiled. “You have a lot on your mind right now,” she said.

  “Yeah, and being in the middle of a murder investigation isn’t going to help,” he said.

  Fenella raised an eyebrow and the young man blushed. “Oh, I don’t mean anything,” he said quickly. “I mean, whatever happens, all investigations get the very best work the Isle of Man Constabulary can produce.”

  “I’m sure they do,” Fenella replied. “Do you mind if I freshen up for a moment?” she asked, feeling as if she needed to run a brush through her hair at the very least.

  “No, go ahead,” he said, his eyes on his phone. “Just don’t ring anyone, please.”

  Fenella shut herself in the master bedroom and studied her reflection in the mirror. She was right, her brown hair, kept in a shoulder-length bob, was a mess. She brushed it back into place and then frowned at her roots. Her color was overdue for a touch-up. It had been on her list of things to do before she’d moved, but she’d run out of time. She was annoyed to find that her mascara had run in the heavy rain.