Aunt Bessie Finds

by Diana Xarissa

  “Word does travel fast, doesn’t it?” Bessie agreed.

  “I’ve just arrested your building manager,” the inspector told her.

  “Can I ask why?” Bessie asked.

  “We’ve had our eye on him for some time. There were a few things going on that triggered the investigation.”

  “Am I going to have to keep asking leading questions or are you just going to tell me everything?” Bessie asked, giving the man a smile to take any hostility from her words.

  Corkill laughed. “I’ll tell you the whole story, but please don’t repeat it for now. I understand the Chief Constable is having a news conference at two. After that, I guess nothing will be confidential.”

  “Would you like a cuppa to go with your story?” Bessie offered.

  The man hesitated and then nodded. “If you don’t mind,” he said.

  Bessie made the tea and put a few biscuits on a plate as well. It was nearly time for lunch, but she was too eager to hear the story to offer to make lunch for the man.

  Corkill took a sip of tea and then gave Bessie a smirk. “I suppose I’ve kept you in suspense long enough,” he said. “The story starts some eight or nine months ago. We got a call from Linda Smith’s daughter. She was concerned about Mr. Green’s relationship with her mother. One of our investigators did a little bit of poking around, but Mrs. Smith passed away before he’d done much more than start. What he discovered, though, was enough to keep us digging.”

  He stopped and munched his way through a biscuit, leaving Bessie on the edge of her seat. The twinkle in his eyes told Bessie that he knew exactly what he doing, as well.

  “To put it simply, the man was flirting with and dating the single female residents in the building in an effort to get them to buy him expensive presents and the like. We found three different women, over the last four years, who rewrote their wills in his favour as well.”

  Bessie sat back, angry. “What about the women’s families?” she asked. “Surely they ought to have complained.”

  “These were elderly women, living on their own without family nearby,” Corkill told her. “We’re interviewing everyone now, but in one case at least, the woman’s only child felt so guilty about never visiting her mum that she didn’t feel she deserved anything anyway. None of them left vast fortunes, although that woman, at least, left more than the daughter realised. She’s consulting a solicitor to see if she should sue.”

  “I hope she does,” Bessie said. “That horrid man doesn’t deserve the money.”

  “He did provide the women with companionship,” Corkill said. “It’s all a bit of a legal nightmare, and I’m happy to leave it to the solicitors and advocates to sort out.”

  “So that isn’t why you arrested him?” Bessie asked.

  “No, that was distasteful, but probably not illegal,” Corkill replied. “What is illegal is tampering with the post and fraud.”

  “Nigel was tampering with the post?”

  “Mostly, he was just collecting it all and taking his time going through it. From what we’ve managed to work out, he was going into the post room as soon as the postman left each day and collecting everything out of all the boxes. At night, he’d go through it all and then, early in the morning, he’d put back what he wasn’t interested in.”

  “But sometimes he’d miss a day or two,” Bessie said.

  “Yeah, he wasn’t terribly efficient at it,” Corkill replied. “He’d been doing it for so long that he got sloppy.”

  “But what was he getting from the post?”

  “Mostly he was intercepting letters for previous residents. That’s where fraud comes in.”

  “Really?”

  “When someone passed away or moved out, Nigel kept his mouth shut. Some of the residents moved here from across or even further afield and they were receiving pensions or other payments from elsewhere. If no one bothered to notify the correct authorities about the person’s death, those cheques would simply keep coming. Nigel was quite happy to collect them all and keep the money.”

  “Hilary Montgomery,” Bessie exclaimed.

  “She passed away more than a year ago,” Corkill said. “She didn’t have any family left and named Nigel as her heir. He didn’t bother to inform the company that was paying her pension about her death, so he’s been collecting that money every month since.”

  “I knew I didn’t like the man, but I never imagined that,” Bessie said, shaking her head.

  “He’s trying to blame his mother at the moment. He said when she doesn’t take her medication, she gets up to all sorts of trouble, wandering around the building. He said she’s been stealing the post, although he can’t explain how she managed to get all of the stolen money into his bank account.”

  Bessie sighed. “That poor woman. Who’s going to look after her now?”

  “She’s been taken to Noble’s for an evaluation, then we’ll see what care she needs.”

  “But what about the missing man?” Bessie asked. “Who is he? Who beat him up and where has he gone?”

  “We still don’t know who he was,” Corkill said. “But we’ve only just started questioning Nigel. At the moment, he’s claiming he doesn’t know who the man was or where he came from. Apparently Nigel was letting his mother use the empty flat, since the owners weren’t using it. The folding bed was his.”

  “And one day he found the homeless man in there and beat him up?” Bessie guessed.

  “Could be. To be honest, we have so many other things to charge Nigel with that we aren’t all that interested in the missing man. As he isn’t around to press charges, we haven’t any case anyway.”

  Bessie nodded. “I still want to know who he is and what he was doing here,” she said, thoughtfully.

  “I do as well, but Nigel says he doesn’t know, and Mr. Robertson and Mr. Quayle are already on record denying any knowledge of him.”

  “So they’re going to have to find someone new to manage the building, aren’t they?” Bessie asked.

  “You’d have to talk to them about that,” Corkill replied. “That isn’t a police matter.”

  The pair talked through a few other aspects of the case before the inspector left to get back to work. After the inspector departed, Bessie made herself some lunch, then waited patiently until two o’clock. Once she was sure the news conference had started, she went and found Bahey.

  “That horrible man,” Bahey said once she’d heard the whole story. “Thank goodness I never succumbed to his questionable charms.”

  “You weren’t his type,” Bessie told her. “From what the inspector told me, he mostly went after women who were alone in the world. You have a sister right here on the island.”

  “So I guess that explains all of the weird things that were happening,” Bahey said.

  “It explains a lot of them,” Bessie replied. “It seems Mr. Green wanted to keep my flat empty, either because of the fraudulent post he was getting to that address or so he could use it for something else. He was the one starting a fire in the lift every time there was a showing.”

  “And the moving mirror, the welcome mats, and the missing notes?” Bahey asked.

  Bessie shrugged. “I think maybe there’s a different explanation for those things, but I’m not sure yet.”

  Bahey and Howard headed off to his daughter’s the next morning, leaving Bessie feeling somewhat alone in her tiny flat. She pottered around after seeing them off, reading and eating a light lunch. She was just thinking about an afternoon walk, when Mary Quayle knocked on her door.

  “Do come in,” she invited Mary.

  “I do want to visit with you,” Mary answered. “But first I’m going to have a chat with Margaret. I was wondering if you’d like to come along.”

  “Margaret Green? Is she back in her flat?” Bessie asked.

  “She is, and I feel it’s my duty to check in on her.”

  Bessie followed Mary down to the ground floor. Outside flat four Mary knocked and they waited for a re
ply.

  “She’s in a wheelchair,” Bessie commented. “How will she even open the door?”

  A moment later the door swung open and Bessie felt her jaw drop. The woman standing there was only barely recognisable as Margaret Green. Her hair had been washed and cut into a short bob. Her eyes were sharp and she looked at them suspiciously.

  “What can I do for you ladies?” she asked.

  “I’m Mary Quayle. My husband is part-owner of the building, and I wanted to check in on you and make sure you were okay.”

  “I’m fine, although I’m not sure what’s happening now,” the woman replied, her hostile look fading slightly. “I guess I need to find a new place to live. I suppose you’ll be looking for a new building manager. No one is telling me anything, you see.”

  Mary nodded and then patted the woman’s arm. “There’s no rush for you to move,” she assured her. “We’ll work it all out in time. You must be very upset about your son’s arrest and I’m sure that’s causing you enough stress.”

  “Upset? More like delighted,” the woman said with a derisive snort. “He kept me drugged up to my eyeballs, did my baby boy, and he spent every penny I had while I couldn’t complain. Now he’s gone to prison and I’m left with nothing.”

  “I’m sorry,” Bessie interjected, “but I have to ask. Did you sometimes sneak around the building at night, moving things around and taking notes off doors?”

  Margaret flushed. “When the drugs he gave me would start to wear off, I’d get restless,” she said defensively. “Sometimes he’d be out, so I’d take a walk around the building, sure, why not? And if I stumbled over something on the ground, like a note, and I wasn’t sure where it went, I might tuck it in my pocket, that’s all.”

  “And the mirror and the welcome mats?” Bessie asked.

  “Yeah, maybe,” Margaret shrugged. “I didn’t mean any harm, like. It was really the drugs doing the bad things.”

  Bessie wasn’t going to force the issue. Clearly the woman wasn’t going to accept responsibility for her actions, but at least she’d admitted to doing them. And finding out who was behind the pranks was what Bahey had wanted Bessie to move to Douglas to do. Now she could go home.

  Mary assured Margaret that she wasn’t going to have to leave the building any time soon and that someone would be checking in on her regularly. Margaret looked exhausted by the time the conversation finished.

  “I think I’ll just grab a nap,” she muttered as she pushed the door to the flat shut.

  “She’s going to need a lot of looking after,” Bessie remarked as she and Mary walked out of the building.

  “I’ll have someone assigned to check on her at least twice a day,” Mary said with a shrug. “George and Grant can argue between themselves about who’s going to pay for it. Grant is already paying for Nigel’s expensive lawyer.”

  “Why?” Bessie asked.

  Mary shrugged. “I have no idea. He said something about it being the least he could do, but I can’t imagine why.”

  Bessie shook her head. “At least with Nigel behind bars, Margaret won’t be overmedicated anymore,” Bessie said. “Imagine having your own son treat you like that.”

  “I’d rather not,” Mary said with a humourless chuckle. “I don’t think my children would ever do such a thing, but I doubt Margaret was expecting it. I suppose you’ll be moving back to Laxey now?”

  Bessie hesitated and then nodded. “Bahey was worried about the strange things that were happening here,” she explained. “I thought she was worried about nothing, so I agreed to poke around a little bit. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it from the beginning.”

  “But with George being one of the owners, you had to be careful what you said,” Mary suggested.

  “Maybe that was part of it, but mostly I thought she was fussing over nothing,” Bessie said. “But the thought of a month in Douglas really appealed. After the events after Tynwald Day, I really needed a change of scenery.”

  “I can understand that,” Mary told her, giving her a hug.

  “I am sorry about all your furniture, though. I suppose you’ll have to have it all shipped back up to Jurby and I never even paid you for having it brought down here in the first place.”

  “Actually, I might not have it taken back right away,” Mary replied thoughtfully. “I’ve been thinking that I need a little space to get away from things. Your little flat might be just what I need. Perhaps I’ll buy it and use it as my own little hideaway.”

  Bessie bit her tongue before the hundreds of questions she wanted to ask could pour out. “Let me know if you need to talk,” she said instead.

  “Thanks,” Mary said, hugging her again. “I’ll take you up on that soon.”

  Bessie watched as Mary climbed into her expensive car and drove away. The walk on the beach suddenly didn’t appeal. She turned back around and headed into the building. Packing wouldn’t take long and she could ring for a taxi if Doona was too busy to come and get her. Suddenly, she didn’t want to waste another minute. Bessie was going home.

  Glossary of Terms

  Manx Language to English

  fastyr mie

  good afternoon

  kys t’ou

  How are you?

  ta mee braew

  I’m fine.

  House Names – Manx to English

  Thie yn Traie

  Beach House

  Treoghe Bwaaue

  Widow’s Cottage (Bessie’s home)

  English/Manx to American Terms

  advocate

  Manx title for a lawyer (solicitor)

  aye

  yes

  bin

  garbage can

  biscuits

  cookies

  boot

  trunk (of a car)

  car park

  parking lot

  chippy

  a fish and chips take-out restaurant

  chips

  french fries

  comeover

  a person who moved to the island from elsewhere

  crisps

  potato chips

  cuddly toy

  stuffed animal

  cuppa

  cup of tea (informal)

  CV

  résumé

  diary

  calendar or schedule

  fizzy drinks

  soda (pop)

  flat

  apartment

  fortnight

  two weeks

  gaol

  jail

  holiday

  vacation

  homely

  homey

  jumper

  sweater

  lead

  leash (for a dog)

  lift

  elevator

  loo

  restroom

  midday

  noon

  pavement

  sidewalk

  pensioner

  someone of the age to collect a pension (generally “retired” in the US)

  petrol

  gasoline

  post

  mail

  pudding

  dessert

  queue

  line

  shopping trolley

  shopping cart

  skeet

  gossip

  starters

  appetizers

  telly

  television

  thick

  stupid

  till

  check-out (in a grocery store, for example)

  tin (of soup)

  can

  tip (children’s game)

  tag

  trainers

  sneakers

  Other notes:

  CID is the Criminal Investigation Department of the Isle of Man Constabulary (Police Force).

  “Noble’s” is Noble’s Hospital, the main hospital on the Isle of Man. It is located in Douglas, the island’s capital city.

  When talking about time, the English say, for exam
ple, “half seven” to mean “seven-thirty.”

  In the UK, the ground level floor of a building is the “ground floor.” The floor above that is the “first floor.” In the US, we would call the ground floor the “first floor” and count up from there.

  A charity shop is a store run by a charitable (non-profit) organisation that sells donated second-hand merchandise in order to raise funds for their particular cause. They are great places to find books, games and puzzles, as well as clothing, knick-knacks and furniture.

  When island residents talk about someone being from “across,” or moving “across,” they mean somewhere in the United Kingdom (across the water).

  The emergency number in the UK is 999, rather than 911, as used in the US.

  If someone is trying to “chat someone up,” they are flirting with them.

  When someone is asked to “be mother,” they are being asked to pour the tea (or serve the food).

  Flapjack is a baked bar of rolled oats, butter, sugar and golden syrup, sometimes with raisins added in.

  A Christmas cake is a cake made with dried fruits and nuts with alcohol that is often iced with marzipan. They are much nicer than what you might find in the US labeled “fruitcake.”

  Mince Pies are small pastries filled with “mincemeat,” which is a mixture of dried fruits, suet and spices steeped in brandy or rum. Although they originally contained meat, they no longer do.