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

by Diana Xarissa

  Bessie nodded. Nathan Lewis had had some sort of learning difficulties that were never, as far as Bessie knew, formally diagnosed. He had been a difficult child who’d grown into a stubborn and spoiled young man. Bessie wasn’t surprised that they hadn’t invited him, especially since if they had, there was no doubt Elinor would have insisted on coming along to keep an eye on her much beloved son.

  “Anyway, we just had a few beers and talked about what we were all doing and whatever. I remember someone telling me that Mark was shoplifting all around the island and that Adam was trying to do the same thing, but at his father’s bank.”

  Bessie sighed. “He was stealing from the bank?”

  “I can’t remember who said it, but whoever it was, they clearly thought so. I can’t say that any of us were surprised. Well, I was surprised his father had given him a job there, but not surprised that he was trying to steal from them.”

  The main courses arrived then and for a short time the pair focussed on eating.

  “I love the food here,” Bessie said after a while.

  “Me, too. I brought Beverly here last weekend and she loved it as well.”

  “Are you still seeing Beverly?” Bessie asked. “I was wondering.”

  Spencer flushed. “Yeah, we’re still together. We really enjoy each other company, but she’s only recently divorced, so we’re taking things slow.”

  “That’s probably wise,” Bessie said.

  “Yeah, well, she’s smarter than me when it comes to relationships, so I’m letting her set the pace. It seems to be working.”

  After the waiter had cleared their plates and taken their orders for pudding, Bessie dragged the conversation back to Adam.

  “What did you think of Frederick and Nancy King?” she asked.

  Spencer frowned. “They were adults,” he replied. “I don’t know that I even saw Mr. King more than once or twice, aside from at the bank when my mother went in to do her banking and dragged me along. He had that big office, behind the teller windows, with the glass walls, and I remember staring at him, wondering what he did all day.”

  Bessie laughed. “I used to wonder the same thing,” she said. “It seemed to me that he was always on his phone, shouting at someone. I did think that maybe there was no one there and he was just shouting to look important.”

  “He always seemed to be flipping through piles of paper when I saw him,” Spencer said with a chuckle. “I used to think he should have been more organised so he could find what he wanted more quickly.”

  “What about Nancy?”

  “None of the jam ladies were overly friendly with us kids,” Spencer said. “When we were very small we used to rotate through their houses every week, all of us dumped at one place for an afternoon. I think they all hated when it was their turn to have us, really. There were quite a lot of us and, well, there were some real troublemakers in the group.”

  “Mark and Adam again?” Bessie asked.

  “And Nathan,” Spencer added. “Anyway, once we got a bit older, we quickly reached the stage where we all tried to avoid parents, our own and everyone else’s.”

  Bessie nodded. “I’m sure you’ve been going over all of this in your head since the body was found, but can you think of anyone else it might have been?”

  “When I first heard that a body had been found, I immediately thought of poor Myrtle Kincaid,” he replied. “Mary Carr used to watch her, you know.”

  “I didn’t know,” Bessie said.

  “She loved kids. She minded just about every child in Laxey, especially in the summer months. I gather the Kincaid family were close friends with one of the families she did a lot of minding for, and they recommended her. The Kincaids paid her extra for driving back and forth to Lonan.”

  “Well, it certainly wasn’t Myrtle that they found in the King house,” Bessie said. “Is there anyone else it might have been?”

  Spencer shook his head. “I don’t know of anyone else that went missing around that time, or even that moved across or anything. In those days it seemed to me like nothing ever changed at home. I suppose that’s why I was so shocked when I heard that Adam had moved to Australia.”

  “Who told you that he’d moved?”

  “I was good friends with Hazel Gelling in those days. She was just about the only person I stayed in touch with, really. She rang me one night towards the end of September and told me.”

  “Do you remember what she said?” Bessie asked. Before the man could answer, she held up a hand. “I know, that’s a dumb question. It was thirty years ago.”

  Spencer nodded. “I tried to remember this afternoon, when I was talking with Inspector Rockwell, but it’s all fuzzy. She actually rang to tell me about her own plans to move to Manchester. I was studying in Liverpool and she was hoping we could get together once she came over. At some point, she mentioned that Adam had gone, but I can’t recall exactly what she said.”

  “Maybe she’ll remember,” Bessie said with a sigh. “I understand the inspector is arranging for her to be questioned.”

  “She didn’t come back for her mother’s funeral,” Spencer said, sadly. “I was hoping to see her there. I haven’t seen her in, oh, twenty-five years or more.”

  “It always surprises me when I think about old friends and then realise just how long it’s been since I’ve seen them,” Bessie told him. “Time passes much more quickly than it should.”

  “You’re right about that,” Spencer agreed.

  He drove her home and walked her to her door. “Thank you for everything,” he told her.

  “Thank you for dinner,” Bessie replied. “Next time you must let me treat.”

  “That sounds good,” he said.

  Bessie was lost in thought as she got ready for bed. It bothered her that Adam was able to simply disappear like he had. She supposed it would be harder for such a thing to happen today. Kids all seemed have mobile phones now and appeared to be in touch with one another constantly. But surely Mark had missed his friend? And Mark would have known if his friend was actually considering a move halfway around the world, as well.

  She knew that John Rockwell was looking for Mark. Bessie decided that if the investigation were hers to conduct, finding Mark would be her top priority. He was the one person who should have missed Adam and not believed Frederick and Nancy when they said he’d moved away. Sarah had trusted her parents enough to ignore her doubts, but Mark wouldn’t have been that trusting of the Kings.

  Snuggling down with an old Agatha Christie mystery that she’d read at least a hundred times, Bessie read slowly through the familiar story. While the surprise ending was no longer a surprise for her, she still loved the way Christie constructed her stories. Bessie read until she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. She slept restlessly, and her dreams were full of Belgian men with huge mustaches, wielding magnifying glasses. They kept circling around her and whispering, “Find Mark,” in heavily accented English.

  Chapter Seven

  Bessie woke up feeling more tired than she had when she went to bed. A longer than normal shower went some way towards waking her up. She didn’t usually drink much coffee, but today she set a pot brewing before a short walk up and down the beach. After the second cup, she’d managed to put the ludicrous dreams out of her head.

  After a second, somewhat longer walk, Bessie was feeling almost back to normal. At home, she sat down at her phone and began to ring her friends. Someone on the island had to know where Mark Carr was, if he’d actually come across. Her first call was to Doona.

  “I know I’m not supposed to get involved in police investigations,” Bessie began when her friend came on the line.

  “I hear a ‘but’ coming,” Doona laughed.

  “I was just wondering if John had had any luck in tracking down Mark Carr,” Bessie said. There was no point in Bessie spending all day hunting if the man had already been found.

  “I’m glad you asked,” Doona told her. “John actually asked me to rin
g you and see if you could ring around to a few of your friends. He’s hoping someone out there might know where the man is.”

  “Really? That is good news, because that’s exactly what I was planning to do,” Bessie replied.

  “Here’s what we know so far,” Doona said. “Mark definitely bought a ferry ticket as a foot passenger, and someone used the ticket. You know their security isn’t always as good as it could be, but in theory he had to show identification when he boarded.”

  “I don’t suppose there are any security cameras that might have recorded his departure or arrival?” Bessie asked.

  “They aren’t quite that sophisticated, at least not yet,” Doona told her. “Most of the cameras that are in place are monitored, but don’t record. The ones that do record overwrite themselves every twenty-four hours.”

  “Terrific,” Bessie muttered sarcastically. “And once he got to Douglas he disappeared without a trace?”

  “Pretty much, assuming he actually arrived in Douglas,” Doona told her.

  “Are you suggesting he jumped off the ferry?” Bessie asked.

  “It has, sadly, been known to happen,” Doona told her. “We don’t have any reason to believe that the man was suicidal, although we also have no explanation for his disappearance.”

  “And he hasn’t been in contact with his mother’s advocate? I’d have thought he’d be eager to get his hands on his inheritance.”

  “Scott Meyers is going to get in touch if he hears anything,” Doona replied.

  “I didn’t realise that Nancy used Scott Meyers as her advocate,” Bessie exclaimed. “I thought he only handled Grant Robertson’s affairs.”

  “From what I understand, he works for Grant, but does a few things here and there at Grant’s request. Remember that Frederick worked with Grant for many years when they were both younger. Apparently, after Frederick passed away rather young, Grant made a point of looking after his widow in some small ways, like providing her with an advocate when she needed one.”

  “Interesting,” Bessie said. “I don’t suppose anyone has asked Grant Robertson if he’s seen Mark?”

  Doona laughed. “As we’ve no evidence that the two ever met, that seems unlikely, doesn’t it?”

  Bessie hung up and fixed herself a cup of tea while her brain processed what she’d heard. She didn’t like Grant Robertson, but, as Doona said, there was no reason why he’d have ever met Mark, even if he did know Adam. There must have been hundreds of people who’d worked with Grant over his long career at the island’s main bank. It was probably unlikely that he would remember Adam, who’d only run errands at a small branch somewhat distant from the corporate headquarters where Grant had his offices.

  Sarah had told her that Adam had had disagreements with the man, but having met Grant, Bessie was fairly certain that wasn’t especially unusual. There was no doubt in her mind that Grant would have been a difficult person to work under. Presumably, Adam had only been given his job because of his father. Perhaps that connection wasn’t enough to help him keep his job if he disrespected his father’s boss.

  Tea in hand, Bessie began ringing people. Everyone wanted to hear every gory detail about her finding the body behind the wall, and they all seemed disappointed when she told them that she hadn’t actually seen a thing.

  “Not even one skeletal hand, stretched out as if trying to escape?” one woman had asked.

  “I didn’t see anything at all,” Bessie answered firmly. “And you have an overactive imagination.”

  The same woman was certain that she’d seen Mark Carr, but when she told Bessie that he’d been wandering around her back garden, wearing a fuzzy bathrobe and slippers, Bessie quickly ended the call and immediately rang the woman’s daughter.

  “Your mother seems to be having trouble with reality,” she told the younger woman.

  “Yeah, she keeps getting everything confused,” the woman agreed. “I have a nurse coming in every afternoon to check on her, and we’re looking for a place for her where she can be more closely watched.”

  Bessie hung up feeling sad. The daughter had thanked her profusely for her concern, but Bessie felt shaken. One of her biggest fears was dementia and it upset her when she saw signs of it in her friends. She rang a few more people and ended the morning feeling better. None of her friends were any help, but most of them were in good health and spirits. As most were in their seventies or eighties and still going strong, Bessie decided not to waste any more time worrying about her own mental health.

  Lunch was soup from the freezer with some crackers and more tea. Bessie had left one important phone call for last.

  “Mary? It’s Bessie. I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch with me tomorrow.”

  Mary Quayle was usually happy to meet with Bessie, unless she already had other plans. On this occasion, she apparently didn’t, as she was quick to agree. Bessie hung up and spent some time thinking through what she wanted to discuss with her friend.

  Mary was a few years younger than her husband, George, a man somewhere in his sixties. Bessie had only recently found out that George had begun his career working at the Manx National Bank with Grant. Apparently George had only spent a few years there, before moving across and starting his own business.

  Over the years, George had met with great success running a number of companies, selling everything from cars to insurance. He’d chosen to retire to the island, bringing his wife and their adult children with him. Bessie liked the man well enough; he was friendly and generous with local organisations, especially Manx National Heritage, even if she could only appreciate his brash joviality in small doses.

  Mary, on the other hand, was quiet and rather shy. Bessie found herself liking the woman more and more as she got to know her. Mary had recently complained to Bessie about the amount of time George was spending working on projects with Grant Robertson. Now Bessie wondered just how close the two men were and whether George had ever worked with young Adam King. Mary hadn’t met George until after he’d moved across, but she might be able to provide some background information. Anyway, it gave Bessie a good excuse to have lunch with her friend.

  Friday was wet yet again, but Bessie had too much to do to worry about the weather. She took a quick walk and then waited for her regular taxi to take her into Ramsey so that she could do her weekly grocery shop.

  “Just ShopFast today,” she told Dave on the drive. “I’m meeting a friend for lunch later, so I don’t have time to explore the bookstore and the rest of Ramsey.”

  She arranged for him to collect her somewhat earlier than normal and headed into ShopFast. Hoping she’d be early enough to avoid at least a few of the people who always wanted to chat, Bessie’s heart sank when she spotted Maggie Shimmin in the bakery department.

  “Ah, Bessie, how are you?” Maggie greeted her. She was a plump woman in her fifties. She and her husband owned the holiday cottages next door to Bessie and she enjoyed nothing more than gossiping about her neighbours.

  “I’m well, thanks. How are you?” Bessie replied almost mechanically.

  “Oh, can’t complain,” Maggie replied. Bessie stood patiently as Maggie then spent five minutes complaining about her recent health. “Still, mustn’t complain,” the woman finally concluded.

  “Indeed,” Bessie murmured.

  “But what’s this about finding a body at the King place?” Maggie asked. “I remember young Adam King, of course, but my mother warned me about him when I was a girl and I stayed well away from him.”

  “The police aren’t sure who they’ve found,” Bessie told her. “They’re doing DNA testing now, but apparently that takes some time.”

  “Can’t imagine who else it would be. They’d have known right away if it was Myrtle Kincaid, I reckon.”

  “They’re pretty sure it was a man in his late teens,” Bessie replied.

  “So there you go, Adam King, has to be.”

  Bessie grabbed a baguette and bit her tongue. There was no point in argui
ng with Maggie.

  “I hear you’re hunting for Mark Carr,” Maggie said as she poked a few bread rolls before turning away from them. “Now there’s a man I wouldn’t mind seeing again.”

  “Really?” Bessie asked. “Why’s that?”

  Maggie flushed and glanced back and forth. “He was my first proper boyfriend, if you know what I mean,” she said. “I hope he’s gone fat and bald since he dumped me for Hazel Gelling right after I finally let him, well, never mind that.”

  “You know he’s been in prison for many years,” Bessie told her.

  “Oh, aye, but that never surprised me. He was a troublemaker back when I knew him. That was part of his appeal, really. My mother was horrified when she found out I was seeing him, which made him all that more attractive.”

  Bessie nodded. “Well, I think you made the right choice with Thomas,” she said.

  “Oh, he’s a good guy, my Thomas. Not exciting, like, but a good guy. He worked hard at the bank for many years, he did, and now he runs those holiday cottages like a proper business. I don’t mind telling you that we’re making more money from them than we ever did from his banking career, even if the hours are a lot longer.”

  “Did Thomas work with Grant Robertson, then?” Bessie asked, suddenly making the connection.

  “Well, Grant was the managing director at the bank while Thomas was there, but I don’t know that he ever so much as spoke to Thomas. My Thomas is a good, steady fellow, but he never managed to make it past assistant branch manager. I doubt Mr. Robertson even knew Thomas’s name.”

  “Which branch was Thomas at?” Bessie asked, certain that she could remember the man working in the Laxey office.

  “Oh, he started out as a teller in Port St. Mary,” Maggie told her. “Actually, I bet he worked in every single branch, at least for a year or two, over the years. He did do his final six years at the Laxey branch, which was nice, because I’ve been a Laxey girl my whole life and I wasn’t moving every time he got moved around at work.”

  “I’m sure that working in Laxey much nicer for him, then,” Bessie said.