This time she was able to focus, but the plot felt a little too close for comfort. After half of a chapter, she gave up and found a biography of Mary, Queen of Scots, which she hadn’t reread in many years. Losing herself in ancient history was preferable to worrying about Laura. When she finally took herself off to bed some hours later, Mary had just given birth to James.
Time seemed to slow down to Bessie as the next few days unfolded. On Thursday she worked on her research until she felt as if her eyes were starting to cross. She truly enjoyed transcribing wills written in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, but sometimes struggling to work out each word was exhausting. Setting aside the most frustrating will she’d ever come across, she spent some time gathering her thoughts and planning exactly what she was going to say at the conference in May at the Manx Museum. When her head began to hurt, she took a long walk in the pouring rain and then made herself an unsatisfactory tea and had an early night.
Friday was her regular shopping trip into Ramsey. Bessie felt as if she was simply going through the motions as she filled her shopping trolley with the things she needed. What she really wanted to do was ring John and ask him what Pete had found out, but she knew he would ring her if Pete had learned anything that Bessie needed to know.
Once home and with the shopping put away, Bessie felt out of sorts. She really didn’t feel like working on her paper, reading held no appeal, and it was raining again, which made a walk less than appealing. When the phone rang, she picked it up, happy with the diversion even if it was an insurance salesman.
“I have the afternoon off,” Doona told her. “Want to go into Douglas or something wild and crazy like that?”
“Oh, yes, please,” Bessie said.
Doona was at her door only a few minutes later. “Someone made a mistake with the schedule for today,” she explained once Bessie was in the car. “I was scheduled to work all day, but two other women were scheduled to come in for the afternoon. As the station only needs one of us at a time, I was happy to have an unplanned afternoon off.”
“Should I ask how the mistake happened?”
Doona shrugged. “Anna has been a bit distracted lately. I’m not sure what’s wrong with her, but she has made a few silly mistakes in the last couple of weeks. I’d hate to see her get fired, but I wouldn’t miss her one bit if she decided to leave.”
Inspector Anna Lambert had been assigned to the Laxey station to deal primarily with the administrative side of the operations. In theory, that would allow John Rockwell to focus on dealing with investigations. In practice, however, Anna seemed to stick her nose into everything, and she was increasingly disliked by nearly everyone who came into contact with her.
“I hope she’s okay,” Bessie said. “I mean, I don’t like her even a little bit, but I don’t want there to be anything wrong with her.”
“It could be that she’s just trying to drive us all mad,” Doona offered. “It was bad enough when she kept changing the schedule every single week so no one could plan ahead. Now it seems as if much of the time the schedule isn’t right.” Doona sighed. “Maybe it’s time to quit my job.”
“If you’re that unhappy, maybe you should,” Bessie said.
Doona frowned and then shifted the car into gear and headed towards Douglas. “I love my job,” she said after a moment. “And I love the people I work with. It’s very satisfying, feeling as if I’m doing something that benefits society as well. But working with Anna Lambert makes me feel like quitting nearly every day.”
When Doona’s second husband had been murdered, Doona had been shocked to discover that she was his heir, more than two years after they had separated and after Doona had filed for divorce. A protracted legal battle was being fought over the estate due to some questionable business practices that had been carried out by the man’s former business partner. In spite of that, Doona had already inherited a fairly large lump sum of money, enough that she could quit her job, at least temporarily.
“What would you do with yourself all day if you quit?” Bessie asked after a moment.
“Read books? Cook fancy feasts?” Doona sighed. “I know better. I’d sleep far too much and sit around eating chocolate when I was awake. I’d be bored and grumpy and miserable, and then I’d have to find another job.”
“You can look for another job now, before you quit,” Bessie pointed out.
“I’d really miss seeing the constables every day,” Doona said.
“And John,” Bessie suggested.
“Yes, of course, and John,” Doona replied too quickly. “We’re all one big happy family, aside from Anna.”
“Perhaps you need to think of her as that one cousin that no one likes but everyone has to put up with,” Bessie suggested.
Doona laughed. “I’ll have to try that.”
After parking in the small multistorey car park near the town centre, Doona turned to Bessie. “Where should we start?”
“I’d really like to walk up to the museum and have a quick word with Marjorie, if that’s okay with you,” Bessie replied. “I have a few questions for her about the will I’m working on.”
“She’s going to want us to talk in Manx,” Doona muttered as she followed Bessie through the car park.
“She is, at that,” Bessie said, making a face. “Quick, um, fastyr mie.”
“Fastyr mie,” Doona replied.
“Now we can tell her that we practiced today,” Bessie said, winking at Doona.
“I’m not sure she’d count that if she’d heard it, but I’m good with it,” Doona laughed. “Anyway, I did practice with John this morning. He insists on practicing every chance he gets.”
“Maybe that’s why he’s already doing much better than I am,” Bessie said ruefully. “I just want it all to come naturally, but it doesn’t.”
“Remember, I just came to the first class hoping to meet single men,” Doona reminded her. “I didn’t realise that nearly everyone there would be older and female.”
“I’m so glad you didn’t know better.”
Doona grinned. “Me, too.”
Marjorie was happy to help Bessie work out a few words at the beginning of the difficult document. Once Bessie could read some of them, the rest began to look easier. “You just have to get your eye in,” Marjorie reminded her. “You quickly get to grips with the individual handwriting and then you’re away.”
“Thank you so much,” Bessie replied. “Gura mie ayd.”
“And in Manx, yet,” Marjorie laughed. “Well done.”
Since they were at the museum, Bessie suggested a quick walk through the exhibits. “I haven’t been here in months,” she told Doona. “Let’s see what’s new.”
Bessie had been through the museum hundreds of times over the years, but Doona had only visited it a handful of times. Bessie pointed out several different things as they made their way through the rooms.
“It’s hard to imagine that there’s this much history on such a small island,” Doona remarked as they went.
“It’s small, but a lot happened here,” Bessie told her. The museum started with how the island was formed from rock and moved slowly through the ages to the present day. When they reached the section on the island’s time as a tourist destination, Bessie sat back in one of the beach chairs that were set up on the fake beach. A video showed huge numbers of holidaymakers walking up and down the Douglas promenade.
“Was it really ever that busy?” Doona asked, watching the video for a moment.
“I remember it,” Bessie said. “I used to avoid Douglas in the summer months. It was simply too full of tourists. You could barely move on the promenade or in the shops. Ramsey wasn’t much better, but at least it took some effort for people to get there. They were just walking off the ferry in Douglas and staying right on the promenade in those days.”
“You should write your memoirs,” a voice suggested.
Bessie twisted in her seat and smiled at Laura, who had appeared in the doorway behind th
em. “I probably should,” she agreed. “But there are other people around who could do a better job of remembering the island’s history.”
“I don’t believe it,” Laura said. “I think you’d do a wonderful job, and I’d love to read a copy myself. When you talk about the island’s past, you make it feel real.”
“Well, thank you,” Bessie said, flushing from the unexpected compliment. “Maybe I’ll try to find time to do that one day.” She looked at the other woman. Laura looked as if she hadn’t been sleeping well. “Are you okay?” she asked her.
“I’m fine,” Laura replied, turning away. “Just a little tired.”
Bessie glanced at Doona, who seemed to read the message in her friend’s eyes.
“I’m just going to wander back and have another look at the Viking display,” Doona said, getting up from her seat. “I want to see that necklace again.”
As soon as Doona was out of sight, Bessie took Laura’s hand. “How are you really?” she demanded.
Laura shrugged. “I’ve been better,” she said with a bitter chuckle. “But I haven’t seen Marcus, if that’s what you mean. I’ve been avoiding going anywhere near his building and I’ve been using the back alley to get in and out of my flat.” She sighed. “I said I wasn’t going to let him ruin my life, but it sure sounds as if I am, doesn’t it?”
“I think you’re being sensible,” Bessie told her. “And I also think you should talk to Pete Corkill.”
Laura nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it,” she said. “Although I was thinking I might talk to John Rockwell instead. I know him a little bit and Henry speaks very highly of him. Maybe I’ll try to talk to him after our class on Tuesday.”
“I hope you will.”
“I need to get back to work,” Laura told Bessie. “I’ll see you on Tuesday.” She turned and walked away, leaving Bessie staring after her.
“I’m back,” Doona announced loudly from the doorway. She glanced around the room. “I suppose I didn’t need to be that loud. Laura’s gone.”
“She had to go back to work.”
“I hope everything is okay,” Doona said. Bessie would have loved to tell Doona exactly what was going on, but she didn’t feel that she could break Laura’s trust in that way. Telling John was one thing; he was with the police and might be able to help. Telling Doona was more akin to gossiping than trying to help.
“Let’s go do some shopping,” Bessie suggested.
The pair made their way back down into town and spent several hours window shopping. Bessie made a few small purchases and Doona bought a new pair of shoes.
“I feel as if we frittered away the afternoon,” Bessie said when they returned to Doona’s car with their bags. “I’m sure I should have been at home working on my research.”
“You got to talk to Marjorie,” Doona pointed out. “And you talked to Laura as well. Anyway, you needed chocolate truffles and a new scented candle, didn’t you?”
Bessie laughed. “I did absolutely need both of those things. Talking to Marjorie was helpful, though. I’d forgotten about that.”
“Rather than drive straight home, would you like to stop somewhere for dinner along the way?” Doona asked as they climbed into the car.
“Oh, yes, let’s,” Bessie said indulgently.
After her busy Friday, Bessie enjoyed her weekend at home. She worked on her research, took long walks, and finished the book about Mary, Queen of Scots. John rang twice, not with updates on Laura, but to practice his Manx. Bessie bit her tongue the first time he rang, but she couldn’t help but ask questions on the second occasion.
“I don’t suppose you have anything to tell me about Laura’s ex-husband,” she said, trying to sound casual.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t,” John replied. “Pete’s done some digging, but it would be best if Laura spoke to him directly.”
“She said she might be willing to talk to you,” Bessie told him. “Maybe after class on Tuesday.”
“That would be a good start,” John said.
By Monday, Bessie was beginning to get a bit restless at home. She thought about ringing for a taxi and going down to Castletown or over to Peel, just to get out of the house, but decided against it. Instead, she took a walk away from the beach, up the steep hill behind her cottage. There was a small shop at the very top, one that Bessie had used regularly for many years. When the owner had fired the woman who’d worked there for twenty or more years in favour of his ill-mannered teenaged daughter, Bessie, along with many other Laxey residents, had found other places to do their shopping.
The young woman had recently run away with her boyfriend, across to the UK. Anne Caine, the previous employee, had come into a large inheritance and no longer needed to work at the shop, but she sometimes filled in. Bessie walked through the door, hoping to see her friend behind the till.
“Hey,” the girl who was stocking shelves said in a sour tone.
Bessie frowned. The owner’s daughter was apparently back from her adventures in the UK. “I thought you’d moved across,” she said, only slightly curious, but determined to make an effort with the woman.
“Oh, aye, I did,” the girl agreed. “But things didn’t work out with my partner, so I came back.”
“I am sorry,” Bessie told her.
The girl shrugged. “He’s come back too now. It’s expensive across. We were barely managing on two incomes. He couldn’t afford the flat on his own.”
“I’ve heard housing is dear in most parts of the UK,” Bessie replied.
“Well, it were a lot when you’re used to living with your parents, anyway,” the girl said. “Are you looking for anything special?”
Bessie shook her head. “I was just out for a walk, really, and I thought I’d stop in on my way past.”
The girl nodded. “There’s some cakes,” she said, pointing with her chin as her hands were full.
“Cakes?” Bessie asked. She crossed to the small table that was set up near the till. Individual slices of cake had been carefully wrapped in plastic. “Where have they come from?”
“Oh, I made them,” the girl said, blushing. “When I were across, I worked at a bakery and I learned to make cakes. I miss it now I’m back here, so I thought I’d have a go at doing a few and selling them here. Dad isn’t sure, but I wanted to try.”
Wondering idly about the rules that governed the selling of such things without proper permits or whatever, Bessie selected a slice of Victoria sponge and a slice of chocolate sponge. “They look delicious,” she said.
“Thanks,” the girl said, blushing again. “Stop back and let me know what you thought, if you have time.”
Bessie nodded. “I’ll do that,” she said. If I like them, she added to herself.
She added a few glossy magazines to her selections and then paid for her purchases.
“There’s the local paper,” the girl said, nodding towards the delivery van that had just arrived. “You’ll want one of them, won’t you?”
“Oh, yes,” Bessie said. She handed the girl the correct change and the stepped out of the way of the huge delivery driver who was carrying two large stacks of papers.
The girl signed for the delivery and then cut the wrapping off the top stack. She picked up a copy and held it out towards Bessie. As Bessie reached for it, she was surprised to see a familiar face on the front of it.
“But that looks like Laura Meyes,” Bessie gasped.
“I hope she isn’t a friend of yours,” the girl replied, pointing to the headline above the photo.
Bessie felt the colour drain from her face as she read: “Local Woman Murdered.”
Chapter 4
“Are you okay?” the girl asked, frowning at Bessie.
“I’m fine,” Bessie said, feeling anything but. She took the paper from the girl and quickly scanned the article.
“Local Douglas resident Julie Randall, aged fifty was found dead on Saturday evening in the alley behind the block of flats where she lived.” Be
ssie blew out a sigh of relief and then immediately felt terrible for poor Julie Randall.
“Not your friend, then?” the shop assistant asked.
Bessie shook her head. “She looks incredibly like her, though,” Bessie said. “Or maybe it’s just in this photo. I don’t know.”
“I’m glad your friend is okay,” the girl told her. “It’s sad about the other woman, though.”
Feeling as if the girl had exactly captured Bessie’s scattered thoughts on the matter, Bessie gathered up her bag and her paper and headed for home. Her mind was racing and she really wanted more than anything to stop and read the entire article, but that would be best done in the comfort of her home, not standing alongside the road.
Feeling as if she was going to need it, Bessie switched on the kettle before she settled in with the paper. By the time the kettle reached the boil, Bessie had read the entire article about the murder. It was quickly obvious to her that the reporter knew nothing more than the most basic facts, even though he’d tried to spin it out into a lengthy article. Shaking her head at Dan Ross, the local reporter whom she knew and disliked a great deal, Bessie got up to make herself a cup of tea. After a few sips, she grabbed the phone.
“Laxey Neighbourhood Policing, this is Doona. How may I help you?”
“Doona, it’s Bessie. Have you seen today’s local paper?”
“I haven’t. Why, is there something wrong?”
“There was a murder in Douglas on Saturday,” Bessie explained.
“Yes, I heard a little bit about that,” Doona told her. “A woman called Julie Randall.”
“She looks a lot like Laura,” Bessie told her.
“Does she? That’s odd,” Doona replied, sounding slightly confused.
Bessie had forgotten that Doona didn’t know about Laura’s ex-husband. “You’ll see what I mean when you see the paper,” Bessie said. “But have John ring me, please.”
“Is this something to do with the problem that Laura’s having?” Doona demanded.
“I don’t know,” was Bessie’s honest reply. “But I certainly hope not.”
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