“I think mum is tired,” Nigel said. While the woman shook her head, Nigel finished his drink quickly. “I’d better get her home.”
Bessie walked to the door with them. “Thank you for making the effort to come by,” she told Nigel. “It was nice meeting you,” she said to his mother.
The woman made a sound and then her eyes met Bessie’s. For a moment, the cloudiness in them seemed to disappear and Bessie was startled when the woman winked at her. Nigel pushed her out the door before Bessie could speak. She watched him push the chair towards the lift before he dashed back.
“I was wondering if you’d like to have a drink later,” he said to Bessie. “I try to get to know all of our residents personally, you understand. Maybe after dinner? I could come up when mum’s asleep and we could go down to the pub?”
Bessie shook her head. “I can’t tonight,” she said. “I’m having dinner and drinks with my friend. Maybe another time.” She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t try to pin her down to anything. She didn’t want to be rude, but she had no intention of going anywhere with the man.
The lift pinged and slid open. Nigel glanced at it and then back at Bessie. “Soon,” he said. “I’d like to do it soon.” He dashed back and pushed him mum into the waiting lift.
Bessie shut her door and headed back into her flat.
“Did I hear him asking you out?” Doona asked.
“You did,” Bessie replied.
“I already told him we had plans for tonight,” Doona said. “He asked me out as well.”
“I suspect he had very different motives for asking you than for asking me,” Bessie said.
“I don’t know,” Doona replied, shaking her head. “He seems like he’s just desperate for female company.”
“Other than his mother,” Bessie added.
The pair feasted on leftover party food and shared a bottle of wine, enjoying one another’s company. As she snuggled into her bed for the night, Bessie sighed. If she stayed in Douglas for long, she was really going to miss Doona.
Chapter Thirteen
The next morning, Doona was already awake when Bessie woke at six. They shared a pot of coffee before Doona headed for home while Bessie went out for her walk. Having been as far as Summerland the previous day, today she went in the opposite direction. Again, the change of scenery kept her walking longer than she might have otherwise, and she soon found herself at the Sea Terminal.
She looked out to sea for a while, watching the early morning ferry. Ferry staff were loading it up, ready for its departure. It didn’t seem that many years ago that the terminal building had been built, but when Bessie did the math, she realised the building was over thirty years old. She frowned and turned to head back towards her flat, smiling when she spotted the Tower of Refuge in the harbour.
The tower had been built on a partially submerged rock as a safe location for people to shelter within if they hit the rock during a storm and couldn’t get safely to shore. As it had been constructed in the eighteen-thirties, Bessie felt young by comparison. Back at her flat, she combed a few wind-blown tangles from her short hair and then headed to Bahey’s flat next door.
“Ah, Bessie, come in and have some coffee,” Bahey suggested as she showed Bessie into the flat.
“I’ve had rather a lot of coffee already today,” Bessie replied. “If tea is too much bother, I’ll just have a glass of water, please.”
“Oh, tea’s no bother,” Bahey replied. “I’ll even join you and leave the coffee for Howard.”
“I think I need it today,” Howard commented as he topped up his mug from the pot on Bahey’s counter. “I didn’t have a good night.”
“Too much fussing over that daughter of yours,” Bahey muttered under her breath. Bessie heard it clearly, but Howard either didn’t or pretended he didn’t.
“So, what’s new with the investigation?” Bahey asked as they all sat down with their drinks.
“From what I learned yesterday, it does seem as if there are several odd things going on,” Bessie told her friend. “And there is definitely someone using flat five, even if they aren’t actually living there.”
“So why does Nigel keep telling me it’s empty?” Bahey demanded.
“He told me that someone is using it and that I should mind my own business,” Bessie replied. “Someone else suggested that it’s being used as a love nest.”
“I suppose that’s possible,” Bahey said. “But what about all the other strange little things? And what about the post? And what about the mystery man?”
“As for the mystery man, I think that’s going to have to remain a mystery. But I’m going to send myself a bunch of letters this week and see how long they take to get to me,” Bessie told her. “And I’m going to start leaving notes on your door to see if you get them. The mirror is still in place outside my door and my welcome mat hasn’t moved for a few days, so perhaps whoever was playing games has grown bored and stopped.”
“I hope so,” Bahey replied. “I haven’t noticed anything odd in the last few days, either, now that you mention it.”
Bessie smiled. “Maybe I can move back to Laxey sooner rather than later.”
“I’d hate to see you go,” Bahey replied. “Are you missing your home a lot?”
Bessie thought about her reply for a moment. “Yes and no,” she said eventually. “I miss my privacy and my beach, but I’m quite enjoying the change in scenery. All of the little things going on here seem harmless enough, so it’s sort of fun to play detective as well.”
The trio finished their drinks while speculating on who might be using the ground floor flat.
“Maybe Nigel is using it for late-night meetings with some woman who’s too embarrassed to be seen in public with him,” Bahey suggested.
“I’ll bet it’s some Member of the House of Keys,” Howard said. “Politicians all seem like the type to cheat on their wives.”
Bessie shook her head. “Actually, most of the MHKs I’ve known over the years have been wonderful,” she told the man. Of course, I don’t actually know any of the current group.”
“Maybe that Grant Robertson who owns the building is the real owner,” Bahey said. “Although he isn’t married, so I’m not sure why he’d need to sneak around in a tiny flat down here. He has a huge house in Onchan that overlooks the sea, anyway.”
Bessie thought again about George Quayle, but she bit her tongue. She wasn’t going to speculate about his private life. She could only hope, for Mary’s sake, that it wasn’t him using the flat.
With nothing else planned for the day, Bessie walked into town to do some more shopping. Not all the shops had Sunday hours, but there were enough stores open to allow her to get everything she was after. She returned home with a few new books and a box of expensive chocolates as a special treat.
There was a note stuck to her door when she got back. She pulled the light green envelope off and carried it into her flat with her.
Just a little thank you for the lovely party yesterday. Muriel
Bessie smiled as she tucked the slip of green paper into the front of one of her new books. It would work quite nicely as a bookmark. She was always using random things such as torn theatre tickets or unwanted business cards in the many books she read. They were just as effective as the things marketed as “bookmarks” and they were generally to hand.
She fixed herself a light lunch and then curled up with one of the books. The sound of a door slamming disturbed her a few minutes later. Someone knocked on her door. Bessie sighed and set her book down.
“Ah, Bertie, how nice to see you again,” she said politely when she’d opened her door.
“I was just heading down for some Sunday lunch at the pub and I wondered if you’d like to join me,” he said, giving Bessie a bright smile. “As a thank you, like, for yesterday.”
“I just had lunch,” Bessie told him with an apologetic smile. “Maybe another time.”
“Next Sunday?” Bertie asked. “I�
�ll collect you about this time, if that works for you.”
Bessie felt a bit stuck. “Sure, that sounds great,” she said reluctantly.
“Good, okay then.” Bertie glanced down the corridor. “I suppose I should ask Muriel or Ruth to join me today,” he said, sighing. “I hate eating alone.”
Bessie gave him a sympathetic smile. “I’ve grown quite used to it over the years,” she told the man. “I always take a book.”
“I don’t read much,” Bertie said. He took a few steps down the hall and knocked lightly on Muriel’s door.
Bessie stood and watched, curious as to what was going to happen next.
“Ah, Bertie, how are you?” Muriel asked. Bessie could see that the other woman looked slightly flustered, but delighted to see the man on her doorstep.
“I was just going down to the pub for lunch and I fancied a bit of company,” Bertie replied. “Just friendly, like.”
“Oh, I’d love that,” Muriel gushed. “I was just wondering what to do for lunch.” She disappeared back into the flat, presumably to get ready.
“Don’t forget your money,” Bertie called after her.
Bessie pressed her lips together so that she wouldn’t laugh out loud as she turned and went back into her flat.
After that little bit of excitement, the rest of Bessie’s Sunday was uneventful. Soup was her evening meal, and then she spent some time trying to come up with some sort of plan for the next week. She needed to see if Bahey was right about the post, she wanted to leave notes on Bahey’s door to see if they disappeared, and she hoped to spend more time with Margaret Green. Bessie had a feeling that Nigel’s mother knew everything that was going on in the building, but she had to find a way to communicate with the woman.
Up at her normal time, after breakfast on Monday morning, Bessie took a long walk. She dropped letters addressed to herself in three different post boxes along the promenade. Back at home, she stuck a note on Bahey’s door and then let herself into her own flat. A moment later she walked back out, uncertain of what was different, but sure that something was.
There was a welcome mat in front of Bertie’s door, Bessie realised. And it looked exactly like Bessie’s own. Her own mat was still there; she would have noticed its absence immediately, but the new one had only barely registered in the back of her mind. She shrugged. There was no law against Bertie buying the same mat.
Now that she was living in Douglas, Bessie decided it was time to take advantage of all that the town had to offer. Accordingly, she spent the day at the Manx Museum, first taking a slow stroll around the exhibits she’d seen hundreds of times before and then tackling some research that she’d been meaning to do for weeks.
She’d never had a set routine for working in the museum library, instead coming and going as she pleased, but now that she was within easy walking distance of the place, she felt like maybe she should make some sort of formal arrangement.
“I think I’ll try to come in on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays while I’m staying in Douglas,” she told Marjorie, when her friend stopped at the table where she was working.
“It would be great to have you here that often,” Marjorie replied. “We just received another box of papers from one of the parish churches and I haven’t even opened it. I would love it if you could catalogue it for me.”
Bessie beamed. That was exactly the sort of work she loved best. Who knew what treasures might be hidden away in the piles of papers? “I can start now,” she suggested to Marjorie.
“How about after lunch?” Marjorie countered. The pair had a quick lunch together in the small museum café, where Marjorie insisted that Bessie practice her Manx.
“Kys t’ou?” Marjorie asked.
“Oh, um, ta mee braew,” Bessie replied awkwardly. “And I don’t remember any food words, so please don’t ask.”
Marjorie shook her head. “You’ve taken my beginner’s class what, three times? You should be able to have a simple conversation by now.”
Bessie sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said with genuine feeling. “I wish I could, but somehow, no matter how hard I try, none of it seems to stay in my brain.”
Marjorie patted her hand. “You need to practice more,” she suggested. “If you’re going to be at the museum three times a week for a while, I’ll try to stop by and chat with you whenever you’re here.”
Bessie forced herself to smile and thank her friend. Marjorie meant well and truly loved the difficult Celtic language. The least Bessie could do was try a little harder.
After lunch Bessie dug into the newly arrived box with enthusiasm. Each paper had to be read through and categorised and then listed on an index. Bessie only managed to get through a small portion of the box before it was time for the library to close for the day.
“I’m afraid I didn’t get very far,” she said apologetically to Marjorie as she passed the box back to her.
“I’d rather you took your time and did it correctly,” Marjorie replied.
“I know, but so far I haven’t found anything interesting, either,” Bessie said. “I was hoping for a really detailed will or an eighteenth-century household inventory, but it’s all been sheets from the parish register and letters from the bishop so far.”
“I have a researcher who is always excited about new sheets from the parish registers,” Marjorie said. “She’s working on the demographic history of the island. I’ll have to ring her and let her know about this box once you’ve finished with it.”
“I’ll be back on Wednesday,” Bessie promised. “Or maybe even tomorrow if I’m bored.”
Marjorie smiled. “Your move to Douglas could be very good news for the museum.”
Bessie stopped at her postbox and found it empty. After exchanging quick greetings with Nigel, she headed up to her flat. There she found another note taped to her door.
Got your note. Hope you get this one.
Bessie chuckled. She recognised Bahey’s handwriting, so it didn’t matter that it was unsigned.
On Tuesday morning Bessie stuck another note on her friend’s door before heading into town again to do a bit more shopping. Again, she posted several letters to herself in different postboxes. After a quick lunch at one of her favourite Douglas cafés, she found herself at a taxi rank with a burning desire to head for home.
The trip to Laxey seemed to take forever and Bessie found herself wishing she could drive, as the man behind the wheel of the taxi seemed to be in no particular hurry to get anywhere.
Bessie’s cottage felt abandoned and unloved to her after she’d let herself in. She frowned as she walked from room to room, unable to stop herself from touching nearly every piece of furniture as if she hadn’t seen them in years. After several minutes she gave herself a mental shake and took herself out for a walk on the beach she knew so well. By the time she got home, having had to dodge a dozen flying discs and what seemed like hundreds of small children, she felt ready to head back to Douglas. The sheer size of Douglas beach meant it never felt as crowded as Laxey beach did today.
She rang her regular service and her favourite driver picked her up only a few minutes later.
“I guess you won’t be needing me on Friday,” Dave said as he drove her back to Seaside Terrace.
“No, I did tell them to cancel my regularly scheduled pickup,” Bessie told him.
“How’s Douglas treating you?”
“It’s okay,” Bessie said thoughtfully. “There are things I like and things I don’t. I suppose everywhere is like that.”
Dave laughed. “I think you’re right,” he agreed.
Back at her building, Bessie checked her postbox. It was still empty.
“What time does the post come?” she checked with Nigel on her way to the lift.
“Oh, he came about an hour ago,” the man replied. “But he comes at different times every day. You can never be sure.”
“I was expecting something today, you see,” Bessie told him.
“Post can take an
extra day here,” Nigel said. “Something about sorting out for the individual postboxes or something. It will probably arrive tomorrow.”
“I don’t suppose you could check the other boxes, just in case my friend put the wrong flat number on the letter?” she asked.
“I wish I could,” Nigel told her. “Only the postman has the key to get into the back room to deliver the post, though. That’s for everyone’s security.”
“I didn’t realise that,” Bessie said. “Interesting.”
She headed up to her flat, wondering if she’d have another note from Bahey. She did.
Got today’s note (Tuesday). We’re going for dinner at six if you want to join us.
Bessie looked at her watch. It was half six, so she’d missed them. It was just as well; she still had some leftover party food that she should eat. Her phone rang at around eight o’clock. Bessie had brought her answering machine with her from her cottage this afternoon, but she answered the call anyway.
“Ah, Bessie, I just wanted to let you know that I received your lovely note today,” Mary Quayle said. “We were so happy to have you, you didn’t need to thank us.”
“I won’t argue about that,” Bessie replied. “But I’m glad the note got there so quickly. I just posted it yesterday.”
They chatted for a moment about the two parties before Mary said, “Are you free for tea one afternoon this week?”
“How about Friday?” Bessie suggested. “I’m going to be working at the museum on a project, but I’ll definitely need breaks. We could do tea or lunch, whichever suits you.”
“Oh, let’s do lunch,” Mary said with a laugh. “Shall I meet you in the museum café at midday?”
“That sounds perfect,” Bessie agreed before finishing the call.
While she had the phone in her hand, she made a quick call to Doona, as she’d promised.
“Just checking in,” she told her friend.
“No news from there?” Doona asked.
“Nothing, what’s happening in Laxey?”
Doona sighed deeply. “John’s extended his holiday by another week,” she told Bessie. “We get to keep Inspector Kelly until the end of the month.”
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