Aunt Bessie Believes (An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery)

by Diana Xarissa

  She was just about finished talking to everyone, heading towards Marjorie for her last chat when Moirrey started shouting.

  “We haven’t learned that yet,” Moirrey yelled at Liz.

  “I’m sorry,” Liz said, her tone desperately apologetic.

  “We don’t all have the benefit of free lessons from our neighbours,” Moirrey told her sharply. “Some of us have to pay full price to get access to a few minutes of instruction interspersed with endless chitchat and unnecessary tea breaks.”

  Marjorie called the class back to order after the outburst and spent the last hour lecturing. Bessie’s hand began to cramp as she tried to keep up with the angry pace that Marjorie kept. When nine o’clock finally rolled around, Bessie put her pen down with a sigh of relief. She was going to have to dig out her notes from previous classes and bring them next time. They could help supplement what she could manage to scribble down as Marjorie raced through vocabulary and pronunciation.

  Bessie had little doubt that Marjorie would feel forced to keep up the uncomfortable speed in order to keep Moirrey happy. Not that anything ever made Moirrey happy, but if she crammed as much as possible into each lesson, Marjorie might at least keep Moirrey from complaining to the continuing education department about the class.

  “Everyone is more than welcome to stay and chat in Manx with me after class,” Marjorie told them. “And if you can ask in Manx, you can have another biscuit before you go as well.”

  Doona laughed. “Even though I really want another biscuit, my brain gave up about half an hour ago,” she told everyone. “I guess I’d better just go home.”

  Everyone gathered up their things and began to head towards the door. Liz stopped to talk with Marjorie, but the others simply waved or said a quick “goodbye” before leaving.

  Henry was in the lead as they left, but he stopped at the top of the stairs. “Ladies first,” he said, with a small bow.

  Bessie smiled approvingly and started towards the first step. She nearly fell when Moirrey shoved her to one side and started down the stairs.

  Doona opened her mouth to shout after Moirrey, but Bessie held up a hand. “Please don’t bother on my account,” she told Doona. “You’ll only cause an ugly scene and make yourself feel bad. Moirrey is incapable of feeling like she did anything wrong.”

  “Was she badly brought up or is this something she’s grown into?” Doona asked as she and Bessie began their slow descent.

  “Oh, she was badly brought up,” Bessie told her. “She was hugely overindulged by parents who worried excessively about her ‘weak heart.’ I’m sure they thought they were doing the right thing, but they spoiled her rotten and never taught her manners or basic decent behaviour.”

  Doona sighed. “I suppose it’s too late for her to learn any of that now.”

  The group reached the bottom of the stairs and crossed towards the front door of the building. Doona pulled the door open and held it for Bessie. From outside they could just make out angry voices.

  “What on earth is going on out there?” Bessie wondered.

  She and Doona paused, waiting while Joney and Henry came up behind them. All four were listening carefully when someone shouted loudly from the car park.

  “I wish you would just drop dead!”

  Chapter Two

  “I’d better go see what’s going on,” Henry said in a tentative voice.

  “I think we should all go,” Bessie said. “There’s safety in numbers.”

  Henry hesitated a moment longer before nodding. The four cautiously made their way through the door and into the car park. It was dark and overcast outside and the wind was cold and strong enough to feel uncomfortable. A single light stood in the centre of the car park, providing a small amount of illumination and casting eerie shadows in all directions.

  Moirrey was standing in front of her late model luxury car, glaring at someone. Her driver stood beside the vehicle looking anxiously from Moirrey to the person standing near her. The other person had his or her back to the building, so Bessie and the others couldn’t see to whom Moirrey was speaking. Bessie and the others stopped just outside of the doorway, unsure of what to do next.

  “You can wish whatever you like,” Moirrey was telling the other person. “But wishing me dead won’t change anything. We have a signed legal agreement, after all.”

  “I’m just asking you for one more week,” the other person pleaded. “I’m working two jobs and Jack is across working sixty hours a week. We just need one more week to come up with what we owe you.”

  Moirrey smiled nastily. “Our agreement is clear,” she said. “You are over two months late with your payments and that means the property reverts to me. My advocate will be making arrangements tomorrow to take possession. It would have happened today if it hadn’t been Easter bank holiday.”

  “Please, Ms. Teare, I’m begging you now, please don’t throw us out of our home.

  “I think you’ll find that it’s my home. You were meant to be purchasing it from me, but you haven’t held up your end of the bargain.”

  “Your father must be spinning in his grave, watching you,” the other person said bitterly. “You know he wanted my father to have that house after all of his years of service.”

  Moirrey shrugged. “If he wanted him to have it, he would have given it to him. He didn’t though; he sold it to him. Admittedly at a ridiculously low price, but still.”

  “And that’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Money. You’ll get a bunch of lovely money if you steal the house out from under us and then sell it to someone else, won’t you?” the stranger demanded.

  “Of course,” Moirrey answered. “I’m not denying that. You owe me, what, a thousand pounds for two month of late payments. After that, you keep paying me another five hundred pounds a month for five more years and then the property is yours under the old agreement. When I take the house back from you, however, I can sell it for considerably more.”

  “How much more?”

  “Would you believe a developer just offered me a quarter of a million pounds for the property?” Moirrey asked, smiling nastily.

  Bessie and the others gasped along with the still unidentified person.

  “That’s a lot more than the thousand you owe me, isn’t it? Of course the developer isn’t interested in the house. No, he’ll tear that down and build a new housing estate instead.”

  Bessie could hear sobs coming from Moirrey’s adversary.

  “Tear it down? That cottage has been my home since I was born in its back bedroom. I can’t believe you’d let them tear it down.”

  “You’d better believe it,” Moirrey said. She paused and then spoke again. “Look,” she said in a saccharine-sweet voice, “if I were you, instead of standing around arguing, I’d be at home enjoying my little cottage as much as I possibly could.”

  With that, Moirrey nodded to her driver, who jumped to open the car door for her.

  “Of course,” she added as she slid into the plush leather interior, “you really should start packing as well.”

  Moirrey’s driver shut the door behind her before the other person had an opportunity to reply. Bessie and the others watched silently as the expensive car drove from the car park, purring quietly.

  As soon as the car was out of sight, the stranger began to sob loudly. Bessie could see his or her shoulders shaking in the dim light. She walked quickly towards the dark figure, ignoring Henry’s awkward attempts to stop her.

  “Anne Caine, what are you doing here?” Bessie asked, as the crying woman turned when Bessie touched her arm.

  “Bessie?” Anne said in confusion. “I didn’t expect, that is, ohhhhh.”

  She burst into a fresh set of tears. Bessie felt around in her handbag, trying to find a packet of tissues. Doona beat her to it, though.

  “Here we are,” Doona said, handing Anne a tissue and patting her arm gently. “It’s going to be okay,” she said soothingly, passing out yet another tissue and rub
bing the woman’s back.

  Doona worked at the Isle of Man Constabulary’s Laxey station, manning the front desk. She got plenty of practice consoling everyone from parents of temporarily missing children to fighting spouses to confused seniors who had been found wandering lost. She was ideally suited for dealing with a sobbing Anne Caine.

  No introductions were necessary. Everyone in Laxey knew the crying woman, even Doona, who’d only lived in the town for a few years. Anne had always been a fixture at the local shop at the top of the hill above the beach where Bessie’s cabin stood. There were few residents in Laxey who didn’t stop and visit the shop at least once or twice a week. For Bessie it was a somewhat steep climb up, but a pleasant stroll back down. She had been in the habit of shopping there at least three times a week, grabbing lottery tickets, fresh bread and other odds and ends to keep her going between trips to the much larger grocery store in Ramsey.

  About six months earlier, however, Anne had been let go. The owner of the shop had decided to replace her with his own daughter, a stroppy, ill-mannered girl of around seventeen. She was sullen and sallow-skinned and she always seemed to be on her phone, complaining to her boyfriend about the customers.

  “Oh, I’ve got to ring up some bread and lottery tickets for some old cow,” Bessie heard her say the last time she was in the store. “Not sure why she wants to win the lottery, wouldn’t do her any good, all that money, would it? She’s got to be nearly a hundred.”

  Bessie had bristled but remained silent. She wasn’t anywhere near a hundred yet, preferring to think of herself as late middle-aged. In truth, once she passed her sixtieth birthday she had stopped counting, but she was aware that she had reached that specific milestone before the girl in the shop had even been born.

  That particular encounter had taken place several months earlier and Bessie had since found alternative sources for whatever she needed between proper grocery store trips. She’d only been in the shop once or twice lately. From what she heard, she wasn’t the only one who had been put off shopping at the local store and Bessie wouldn’t be surprised if the shop found itself out of business before the owner’s daughter had worked there a full year.

  Now, as Anne sopped up tears with Doona’s tissues, Bessie stepped to one side and waited for the other woman to reign in her overwhelming emotions. Once the sobbing had stopped and Anne had more or less composed herself, Bessie couldn’t help but ask a few questions.

  “What on earth was that all about?” she asked. “What were you and Moirrey arguing about?”

  For a moment, Bessie thought that Anne might tell her that the fight wasn’t any of her business, but the woman didn’t have enough energy left to argue.

  “I suppose I might as well tell you,” Anne shrugged. “It’ll be all over the island tomorrow anyway.”

  They were interrupted when Liz and Marjorie walked out of the building. The pair took one look at the scene and rushed over.

  “What’s going on?” Marjorie demanded.

  “It’s a little bit complicated,” Bessie told her.

  Liz frowned. “I promised Bill that I would be home by now,” she said apologetically. “He isn’t great at putting the kids to bed. He ends up playing with them until they’re overtired and then they just cry until I get home.”

  Marjorie gave her neighbour a quick hug. “Off you go,” she insisted. “We’ll get everything worked out here.”

  As Liz hopped into her family-sized saloon car and drove away, Henry gave the others a nervous look.

  “I’m not sure I’ll be much help,” he said hesitantly.

  Bessie took pity on the man, who looked desperately uncomfortable at witnessing Anne’s tears.

  “You head home as well,” she urged the man. “I’m sure you have to work early in the morning. You need your rest. It’s just the start of the tourist season. If you fall behind on your sleep now, you won’t catch up until November when the sites close.”

  “Aye, you’re right about that,” Henry grinned at Bessie and then quickly nodded at the others and scurried away. He drove a battered hatchback that didn’t seem to want to start. By the time he’d managed to get the car going and exited the car park, Anne appeared much calmer.

  “I’m sorry,” she told Bessie, Doona, Joney and Marjorie. “I wasn’t expecting to bump into that bi…, er, witch here tonight and when I saw her I’m afraid I just lost control.”

  A loudly ringing mobile phone started them all. Joney quickly dug into her handbag. “Hello?”

  The others stood patiently as bits of conversation drifted their way.

  “Are you sure it’s a fever?”

  “Did you try…?”

  “What about…?”

  Joney clicked the phone off and turned to the others. “I’m really sorry, but I have to go. That was my daughter. The baby had her first jabs today and she’s not feeling very well tonight. I think my daughter is more upset than the baby, but I need to go and offer some grandmotherly advice.”

  She was gone before the others could speak, leaving Bessie to turn to Anne with her questions.

  “What brought you here at this hour anyway?” Bessie began.

  “I’m working,” Anne replied with a sad smile. “Not that it matters, but I’m being paid a bit to clean up after your class tonight.”

  “In that case,” Bessie smiled, “why don’t we all go in and have a cuppa? Once we’ve all had a drink we can give you a quick hand with the tidying.”

  “Oh no, I’m being paid for the job. I’ll do it,” Anne insisted.

  “Nonsense,” Bessie gently overruled her. “We’re going to take up your valuable time getting all the skeet on Moirrey. Helping you clean is the least we can do.”

  Doona laughed at Bessie’s honesty as the foursome made their way back into the building. Doona hovered right behind Bessie as they climbed the stairs for the second time that night, but Bessie was grateful that she didn’t fuss further. Back in their classroom, Marjorie quickly boiled another kettle of water and made the tea. Doona arranged four chairs in a circle around the table and opened another box of biscuits. Then the foursome settled in for a chat.

  Bessie sat back and took a good look at Anne. She was shocked by what she saw. Anne had always been slender, but now she was almost emaciated. She had been a plain child, who had grown into a plain woman. Her dark brown hair was littered with far more grey than Bessie would have expected for a woman of forty. The grey stopped abruptly about two inches from Anne’s unflattering centre part. Clearly she had been accustomed to colouring her hair in the past. Anne’s eyes were red and swollen from all the crying. Bessie knew that normally Anne’s eyes were a dark brown that had matched her hair, before the grey had moved in.

  Anne sighed as she quickly finished her tea and poured another cup. “I suppose I should just tell you everything,” she sighed.

  Bessie patted her hand. “We may be able to help,” she told her in a gentle voice.

  “No one can help,” Anne countered. “But there’s no point trying to keep secrets on this island, anyway.” She sighed again. “I know my life story isn’t exactly a secret but I don’t know how much people know about the arrangements that were made for my cottage.”

  Bessie shrugged. “From what I heard, your father bought it from Ewan Teare, Moirrey’s father, at a bargain price after many years of service as his estate manager.”

  “That’s about right,” Anne replied. “Except I’m not sure the price was such a bargain. Dad signed a thirty-year loan note with Mr. Teare. The cottage would have been paid off this year, when dad would have turned sixty-five. Unfortunately, dad and Mr. Teare had a bit of a falling out towards the end of 1973 and dad went a little bit off the rails for a while. Once they made up, dad was something like six months behind in his payments. Mr. Teare renegotiated the terms through his new advocate, Matthew Barnes, and part of the deal extended the term of loan for an additional five years.”

  Bessie drew a sharp breath. “I’m sure you
r father didn’t get a fair deal with that conniving, sniveling, back-stabbing cretin drawing up the agreement.”

  Anne shrugged. “I guess you’ve heard of him, then.”

  Bessie intercepted Doona’s questioning look and shook her head gently. She could fill Doona in later.

  “Bessie, I don’t like the man any better than you do,” Marjorie interrupted. “He certainly has never done the museum any favours. But I don’t know that he’s all that bad.”

  Bessie shook her head. “You won’t change my mind about him,” she told Marjorie. “There’s no point in discussing it.”

  Anne shrugged. “Whatever your opinion of the man, he drew up a new agreement and my father signed it. It was designed, I was told later, to help keep my father sober. Dad loved his drink a bit too much; that was one of the causes of the fight he had with Mr. Teare. The new agreement had strict penalties for late payments. Mr. Teare wasn’t having dad get six months in arrears again.”

  “Did your father have his own advocate check over the agreement?” Bessie asked.

  “Dad didn’t think he needed to do any such thing. Mr. Teare would have been insulted and dad trusted him completely.” Anne shrugged. “When dad signed it, I was fifteen and planning for a brilliant future as a schoolteacher,” Anne sighed. “Everyone knows how I fu..., er, um, messed that up.”

  Bessie grinned at the aborted curse. Anne had been brought up properly. It was unfortunate she had made one small mistake that had had such long-term and devastating consequences.

  “Anyway,” Anne continued, “I never thought the agreement was a bad deal until recently.”

  “What happened recently?” Doona asked.

  Anne flushed. “You all know I lost my job,” she said quietly. “That was the first bit of bad luck. Jack’s always struggled to hold down steady employment.” Anne turned an even brighter red and took a long drink.