Bessie nodded. John was probably correct; if the man lived in Douglas, she probably didn’t know him.
“Surely, if he’s doing okay now, he’s forgotten all about Mark Carr,” Bessie suggested.
“He wrote to Joan not long before she died and warned her that if Mark came back to the island when he was released from prison that he would, quote, ‘make sure Mark paid for what he did,’ end quote.”
“Oh, dear,” Bessie said.
“Yes, Joan kept the letter in a pile of important papers that we found when she died. That suggests that she took the threat seriously.”
“What did he say when you questioned him?”
“That he was just going to beat Mark up and try to get his money back,” John shrugged. “I’ve already told you a lot more than I should have. I’d better go before I tell you anything further.”
Bessie wanted to protest, but she didn’t want to risk upsetting John. He had told her rather a lot and she really wanted to stay on his good side so that he’d do the same in the future.
“Well, thank you for letting me know about Mark,” she said. “Is that classified, or can I tell people?”
“Oh, you can tell people that much,” John replied. “You can even tell people that we have several suspects under investigation. I’d rather you didn’t tell anyone the story about the man in Douglas, though, if you don’t mind.”
“That’s no problem,” Bessie assured him. “I’ll tell people that you’re looking at a few criminals from across that served time with Mark, and that’ll satisfy most of them. Everyone would rather think the bad guys always come here from across, rather than consider the idea that we might have any home-grown murderers.”
“I can’t say as I blame them,” John replied.
“Have you figured out if Mark was hiding in one of the storage units?” Bessie asked as she walked John to the door.
“That’s for tomorrow,” John said. “Apparently they found something in one of the other storage units, but I haven’t had a chance to have a look. I’ll be driving up to Jurby in the morning to go over what they’ve found with Pete Corkill.”
“Doesn’t Jurby have a CID division?” Bessie asked.
“They do, but it’s one guy and he’s swamped with the murder investigation,” John replied. “Pete’s involved anyway because we now know Mark was in Douglas for at least some of the time he was on the island. I’m involved because Mark is from Laxey originally and also because his death might be tied to Adam’s, although that’s speculation. Anyway, both Pete and I are happy to help out the Jurby CID.”
After he left, Bessie finished the pot of tea and had several biscuits, sitting at her kitchen table. She remembered a very young Mark Carr sitting at that very table having biscuits and telling her about the sandcastle he’d been building. Joan had often brought young Mark to the beach to run and play, and sometimes they’d stop for a chat with Bessie.
Poor Joan had been devastated by the loss of her baby girl, right around the child’s third birthday. In many ways Joan had never recovered and young Mark had suffered from his mother’s sadness. Bessie wondered now if that tragic event had been the turning point for Mark that put him on the path to prison or if he’d have ended up that way no matter how happy his childhood. She shook her head. All this introspection wasn’t accomplishing anything.
She got ready for bed and then slid under the covers with her book. Luckily it was excellent and she was soon happily lost in it once again. She slept well once she’d finished and woke at her usual time. Showered and dressed, she ate her way through a bowl of cereal before heading out for a walk. It wasn’t yet seven, so she had the beach to herself for her long stroll.
It was dry, but the air had a bit of a chill to it that suggested autumn. At Thie yn Traie, she turned back around and headed for home. Her mind had been bouncing around everywhere while she walked, but one thing became increasingly clear to her on her way home. She had nothing to wear to the art auction tomorrow.
Friday was her regularly scheduled day for grocery shopping in Ramsey, but she didn’t want to wait to do the clothes shopping then, just in case she couldn’t find anything in Ramsey and had to make a trip into Douglas. Once home from her walk, she rang her taxi service and asked for the first available driver immediately, and also cancelled her scheduled Friday pickup.
The knock on her door about fifteen minutes later let her know that her car had arrived. If it had been Mark Stone, the driver she liked least, he would have simply honked his horn until she came out. All of the other drivers were far more polite, and Bessie was pleased to find Dave, her favourite, when she opened the door.
“Off to Ramsey a day early,” he commented once she was safely buckled into her seat and he was pulling away from her cottage.
“I have a special event to attend tomorrow night and I need a new outfit,” Bessie explained. “I’m afraid if I wait to shop until tomorrow I’ll find I need a trip into Douglas as well and I’ll run out of time.”
“Makes sense,” Dave said. “Should I plan on taking you to Douglas tomorrow, or do you usually find what you want in Ramsey?”
“I’m usually good with Ramsey,” Bessie replied. “There are still a few little dress shops that cater to those of us that are in the later portion of middle age. Most of the shops in Douglas seem to be trying to attract a much younger customer.”
“Aye, my sister was just saying the same thing,” Dave told her. “She ended up on one of those day trips across to the shops in Liverpool.”
“Those trips sound so exhausting,” Bessie said. “I’ve thought about trying one, but leaving on the early ferry one day and coming back on the late ferry that same night seems like a bit too much sailing for me.”
“She was well knackered when she got back,” Dave agreed. “But she found a bunch of clothes she liked, so she was happy. And her husband was happy too, because he didn’t have to go with her.”
Bessie laughed. “Let’s just hope I can find something in Ramsey and be done with it,” she said. “I don’t have time to go across; the party is tomorrow night.”
She had Dave drop her off on a little side street near a few small boutiques. It had been several months since she’d been clothes shopping and she was surprised to find some changes in one of the stores she’d been shopping at for many years.
“Ah, Bessie, how nice to see you,” the fifty-something shop assistant greeted Bessie with a smile.
“Hi, Jane,” Bessie replied. “I need a dress for tomorrow night.”
Jane frowned. “I’m not sure,” she said slowly, glancing around the small shop. She took another step towards Bessie and lowered her voice. “We’re under new management now,” she whispered. “And we’re, well, stocking some rather different lines than we used to.”
She took Bessie towards the back of the store. “There might be something here,” she suggested as she began to flip through a rack. “This is the rack of things we’re clearing out,” she explained to Bessie.
Bessie took a closer look at the dresses hanging on the nearest rack. “I’m sorry,” she said to Jane. “Is this a dress or a shirt?” Bessie held up the tiny little dress that was barely more than a scrap of fabric.
Jane shook her head. “That’s the whole thing,” she said sadly. “And they’re flying out of here. Every girl in Ramsey between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five seems to be buying at least one, and we have a few customers that are buying them in multiple colours.”
Bessie made a short circuit around the shop, checking out cropped tops and mini-skirts, sparkly mini-dresses and longer gowns that had dangerously low-cut tops. “I guess you’re right,” she said after a moment. “There isn’t going to be much here for me now.”
Jane held up two dresses from the sale rack. “These are the last two things we have that I think might suit you,” she told Bessie. “But I don’t know that either of them is appropriate for your event tomorrow.”
Both dresses were perfectly fine,
but neither felt right for the art auction, so Bessie moved on to the next shop, feeling rather let down by what had been one of her favourite stores. Luckily the other two shops had yet to follow suit and Bessie ended up with three good possibilities between the two stores. After trying them all on twice, she finally selected a favourite before moving on to ShopFast.
The trip around the grocery store was, as always, frequently interrupted by friends and neighbours who wanted to hear the latest skeet. No one seemed overly surprised at hearing that the body had been identified as Mark Carr. Maggie Shimmin, whom Bessie ran into near the tills, summed up the general reaction that Bessie had been getting.
“Well, we all knew he was going to come to a bad end, didn’t we?” Maggie said. “If ever there was a child who was trouble from birth, that Mark Carr was one. I know he treated me badly, and I wasn’t the only one. I always thought Adam would have turned out okay if he’d not been friends with Mark.”
“Any thoughts on who might have killed Mark?” Bessie asked.
“Someone must have followed him from across after he got out of prison,” Maggie said with a shrug. “I’m sure he made more than a few enemies in there. No doubt whoever did it is now back across, sleeping in his own bed and feeling pretty sure he got away with it.”
“So you don’t think Mark’s death is connected with the body that was found at the King house?” Bessie felt she had to ask.
“Haven’t they figured out if it was really Adam or not yet?” Maggie said, shaking her head. “I guess Mark’s death could be connected to that somehow, but I don’t know how. It would make more sense if it wasn’t Adam that was found.”
“Why?”
“Well, say Mark and Adam were up to something and somehow they ended up killing some poor bloke. Mark would have helped Adam hide him in the wall and then Adam could have run away while Mark went across. That makes perfect sense to me anyway.”
It made some sense to Bessie as well, but she knew it hadn’t been Adam who built the wall. Sarah had seen her father doing it himself after Adam’s disappearance.
“The police are working on identifying the body from the wall,” Bessie said to Maggie. “I’m sure they’ll make some sort of announcement when they do.”
“Yes, well, that isn’t going to get my shopping done for me, is it?” Maggie said. “I’m off.”
Maggie headed down the cereal aisle while Bessie headed for the tills, her mind playing with the notion that Mark and Adam had killed someone unknown. She could just about imagine Nancy and Frederick King helping their son hide the body. But where had Adam gone, if that was the case?
Bessie was so distracted that she had to count the money for her shopping twice before she arrived at the right amount. She shook her head at her lack of concentration and then headed out to the taxi rank. Dave was waiting for her as arranged and he whisked her home. It wasn’t until later that Bessie realised she’d barely spoken to the man on the drive home, her brain being still focussed on other things.
The rest of Thursday passed quietly. Bessie ignored her phone, letting the answering machine deal with the inevitable callers. She only answered once, when Doona rang to double-check the arrangements for Friday night. Otherwise, she read and did a bit of light cleaning. Friday morning was dry and sunny and Bessie walked past Thie yn Traie and continued for a long while down the beach.
Letting her mind drift, she found herself thinking about Matthew Saunders, the man she’d loved and lost so many years earlier. What would he have thought of my sticking my nose into murder investigations, she wondered. He’d probably have been right here with me, poking around and trying to figure out what was happening. Matthew had always been trying to figure out how things worked or what made people behave in certain ways. He’d been smart and he’d had a very bright future in front of him. Bessie forced her brain onto other things as she felt tears welling up in her eyes. You might have found that you were totally ill suited and been divorced after three months, she told herself sternly. Anyway, you wouldn’t be mixed up in murder investigations here, you’d be living in Ohio or somewhere else in the US.
By the time she’s argued herself out of her unexpected melancholy, she was home again. She kept both breakfast and lunch light, reasoning that there would be plenty of food at the evening event. Mary always had expert caterers and they always prepared far too much.
Doona was collecting Bessie at six. The event was scheduled to start at seven, but Mary had invited Bessie and Doona to arrive early for a quick chat before she got too busy to enjoy their company. Bessie took a second shower and then climbed into her new dress. She had always kept herself slender, and the simple sheath style in black suited her perfectly. A touch of makeup was all she bothered with. She didn’t like to wear it and she could see little point in changing the habits of a lifetime now.
Back downstairs, she slid on a pair of low heels, frowning as she did so. She’d much rather wear comfortable shoes, but no one seemed to make shoes that were both dressy and comfortable at the same time. Transferring all of her essentials from her large handbag into a smaller evening clutch took a moment, and then she simply had to wait for her friend.
Doona was right on time, as usual.
“Bessie, I love that dress,” Doona told her when Bessie had let her in.
“You look gorgeous,” Bessie told her friend. Doona had obviously put a great deal of time and effort into her hair and makeup. She was wearing a dress in a dark magenta that made Doona’s eyes seem an even brighter green. The dress was well styled to flatter Doona’s generous curves.
“Yes, well, the event is going to be full of rich men, right? I thought it might be worth making an effort.”
Bessie smiled as she followed her friend out the door. Doona alternated between swearing off men for good and hunting eagerly for a new boyfriend. Apparently, tonight was a night for hunting.
“Are you feeling very sad about Mark’s death?” Doona asked Bessie as she drove.
“Yes and no,” Bessie answered from the passenger seat. “I’m sad at what happened to him. No matter what he did, he didn’t deserve to be murdered. But I’m not surprised and I’m not sure the world will be worse off without him.”
Bessie sighed deeply. “That sounds very cold,” she said after a moment. “I don’t mean it to be. From everything I’ve heard, Mark Carr wasn’t a very nice person. I will mourn for the little boy who sat at my kitchen table and ate biscuits, but not for the man he became.”
“Was he a good kid or could you already tell that he was going to be trouble?” Doona asked.
“He wasn’t the best child,” Bessie said after a moment’s thought. “He could be impulsive and short-tempered, and Joan was hopeless at disciplining him. He started to really test her when the baby died and she was too grief-stricken to deal with it properly.”
“What about Adam?”
Bessie thought for a bit. “He had two older brothers and an older sister,” she said eventually. “He rather got lost in the crowd, as I remember. I recall him chasing after his brothers on the beach, but he never could quite keep up. He was several years younger, of course. I remember him as an opportunist. While Mark might take the time to plan a way to trick me into giving him extra biscuits, Adam would just wait until my back was turned and grab them.”
“So Mark was smarter?”
“Mark was certainly more clever,” Bessie said. “Adam was lazier; he was always looking for the easy way out or a quick fix for things. Mark was prepared to take his time and work for what he wanted.”
“But he didn’t want to work at his father’s business.”
“Oh, good heavens, no,” Bessie said. “That was not only hard work, but it didn’t pay terribly well. Both Mark and Adam had much bigger dreams than that.”
“And they were both willing to break the law to achieve them?”
“Mark wasn’t overly concerned with the law,” Bessie told her friend. “I remember him being arrested multiple times for st
ealing cars. He never did much more than go driving too fast around the island, and he always got caught, so I’m not sure why he kept doing it, except it was a bit of adventure, I guess.”
“I think I’m glad I never met either of them,” Doona said.
They’d reached Douglas now and Doona slowed for the entrance to the vast Quayle estate. The guard at the gatehouse checked a list and then opened the gate. Doona drove slowly down the long driveway and both women sighed when they spotted the enormous mansion as it came into view.
“It looks like a museum or something, not like a family home,” Doona said as she pulled up towards the mansion’s front door.
“The only room I like in the whole place is the library,” Bessie told her.
“That’s hardly surprising,” Doona said with a laugh.
A man waved for them to stop and Doona applied the brakes.
“One of the valets will take the car from here,” he said to Doona.
She glanced at Bessie and shrugged. “Poor kid, he was probably expecting to be parking fancy sports cars and luxury sedans.”
Bessie smiled at the young man who climbed behind the wheel of Doona’s sensible saloon car. He drove off as the women approached the front door. It flew open before they arrived, and Mary rushed down the steps to greet them.
“Oh, goodness, I’m so glad you’re here,” she told them both. “I’m beyond frazzled and I’m making both myself and my staff crazy. Please make me drink a glass of wine and stay out of everyone’s way for half an hour.”
Bessie and Doona both laughed and then followed Mary into the house. As Mary led them through the long corridor towards the kitchen at the back, Doona grabbed Bessie’s arm.
“This is seriously incredible,” she whispered.
“I’d forgotten you’ve never been inside before, have you?” Bessie asked.
Aunt Bessie Goes (An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Book 7) Page 17