Aunt Bessie Finds (An Isle of Man Cozy Mystery Book 6) (20 page)

“No time like the present to meet the
neighbours
,”
she muttered to herself as she knocked on the door to number nine, which was
right across the hall from Howard’s flat.
 
After a few moments, the door opened slowly.

“I’m not interested,” the woman who looked out said flatly.
 
“And how did you get in here
anyway?
 
We’re supposed to have
security.”

“Oh, but I’m not selling anything,” Bessie said, feeling a bit
flustered by the unexpected response to her knock.
 
The woman had opened the door with a
security chain in place, so Bessie could only just see a tiny sliver of a
rather thin and unhappy looking older woman.
 

“I’m Elizabeth
Cubbon
,” she said.
 
“I’ve just moved in to number ten and I
was hoping you might be able to lend me a small amount of milk so I can have a
cuppa
.”

“Never touch it,” the woman replied.
 
“No tea or coffee or dairy
products.
 
Try her next door.
 
She’ll eat anything.”

Before Bessie could reply, the door was shut firmly in her
face.
 
“That went well,” Bessie
muttered to herself, turning to the next door in the hall.
 
No one answered her knock
there,
so she tried the final door, number seven.
 
After a few moments, she could hear
movement inside the flat.
 
It was at
least a minute later that the door finally opened.

“Ah, Bessie, wasn’t it?” Bertie Ayers smiled out at her.
 
“Are you moving in today, then?”

“I am,” Bessie told him.
 
“Actually, I’ve just finished and I was going to have a
cuppa
, but I don’t have any milk.
 
I don’t suppose you could spare a little
bit?”

“Oh, I’d love to come over for a
cuppa
,”
Bertie told her.
 
“Just let me find
the milk and I’ll be right over.”

He shut the door in Bessie’s surprised face.
 
She shook her head and then turned and
went back into her own flat.
 
Her
new
neighbours
were turning out to be rather
interesting.

Bessie smiled at Spencer when she walked back into her flat.
 
“Milk is on the way,” she told him.
 
By the time she’d filled the teapot,
someone was knocking on her door.

“Ah, Bertie, do come in,” Bessie said, as she pulled the door
open.
 

“I brought the milk,” he told her.
 
He held up a pint container.

“Excellent,” Bessie replied.
 
“This is my friend, Spencer,” she told him when they’d reached the
kitchen.
 
“He helped me move in.”

“Oh, I didn’t
realise
you had company,”
Bertie said, looking flustered.
 
“I
hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Oh, goodness, no,” Bessie laughed.
 
“We were just going to have a quick
cuppa
before Spencer has to get back to
Laxey
.”
 
She poured the tea and everyone added
milk and sugar to taste.

“I have a date tonight,” Spencer told Bertie.
 
“But I was happy to help out Aunt
Bessie.”

“Oh, she’s your aunt.
 
That makes sense,” Bertie said.

“She isn’t really my aunt,” Spencer replied.
 
“Everyone in
Laxey
calls her Aunt Bessie, though.”

Bertie frowned.
 
“Why?”

“Since I never had children of my own, I’m sort of an
honourary
auntie to many of the children in
Laxey
,” Bessie explained.
 
“They know I always have biscuits and
cakes and I’ll always listen to their complaints about their parents.”

“I do hope you aren’t planning on having lots of small children
visit you here,” Bertie said.
 
“I’m
not fond of small children.”

“Oh, I’m sure things will be very different here,” Bessie said,
trying not to sound as sad about that as she suddenly felt.
 

“Do you have children?” Spencer asked the man.

“No, I never married,”
Bertie
replied.
 
“I managed to avoid
getting caught and I’m not letting my guard down, even now.
 
There are some women in this building
who would like very much to be Mrs. Bertie Ayers, I can tell you.”

Spencer chuckled.
 
“I
hope I’m in as much demand when I’m your age,” he said.

“Widowed women are everywhere when you get to my age,” Bertie said,
shaking his head.
 
“And they all
seem to want to get married again.”

“How unpleasant for you,” Bessie murmured, wondering
who
on earth would want to marry this rather odd little man.

“Oh, it’s not all bad,”
Bertie
said in a
confiding tone.
 
“I get a bit
spoiled at Christmas time and the like.
 
Muriel and Ruth seem to try to outdo each other and I end up with all
sorts of things I wasn’t expecting.”

“Like what?” Spencer asked, clearly fascinated.

“Oh, Muriel bakes.
 
She’ll make me a Christmas cake and mince pies and all sorts of
delicious treats.
 
I usually have
Christmas dinner with her, as well.
 
She’s a wonderful cook.
 
Ruth, on the other hand, has allergies or sensitivities or something, so
she eats only very plain food and nothing with any sugar in it.
 
She knits or something with yarn, so I
get scarves and jumpers and mittens and hats and all sorts like that from her.”

“How very kind of both of them,” Bessie said.

Bertie flushed.
 
“I know
they mean to be kind,” he answered.
 
“But it does get rather tiresome.
 
I only have the one head and two hands, so I don’t really need four
pairs of mittens or six hats, and a dozen or so mince pies is really my limit.”

Spencer laughed.
 
“Perhaps I need to meet them,” he said.
 
“I could use a winter hat and some
mittens, and I’ve never met a mince pie I didn’t like.”

“You’re too young for either of them,” Bertie said with a
laugh.
 
“Otherwise, I’d tell you to
go for it.
 
Although you’re not much
younger than the building manager, and he seems quite keen on both ladies.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Bessie asked
,
trying to sound less interested than she was.

Bertie shrugged.
 
“He
just seems to spend a lot of time talking to them both, that’s all.
 
He’s much more friendly with them than
he is with me.”

Bessie finished her tea and set her cup down on the kitchen
counter.
 
“So Muriel is in number
eight and Ruth is in number nine?” she asked Bertie.

“Yep, and you said you know Bahey and Howard, right?”

“That’s right,” Bessie agreed.

“So that’s everyone up here,” Bertie said.
 
“Have you met anyone from the ground
floor yet?”

“Just the building manager,” Bessie replied.
 
“Who else is there?”

“Well, Nigel, the manager, has his mother living with him,” Bertie
told her.
 
“She’s not well, either
physically or mentally, but I’m never sure which.
 
Anyway, she doesn’t leave their flat
very often and when she does, she just sits and stares into space.”

“Oh, dear, I wonder what’s wrong with the poor woman,” Bessie said.

Bertie shrugged.
 
“Nigel
might tell you, if you ask.
 
I never
have.”

Bessie nodded.
 
She’d be
sure to ask the man the next time she saw him.
 
“Who else lives on the ground floor,
then?”

“Simon O’Malley is in flat number one,” Bertie replied.
 
“Muriel and Ruth went crazy for him when
he first moved in, but he’s not much interested in the ladies.
 
He moved here from Ireland after working
for one of the big department store chains over there for many years.
 
He did windows, or something like that.”

“Washed them or installed them?” Spencer asked.

“Neither,” Bertie replied.
 
“He decorated them, like.
 
The big display windows that they do up at Christmas and that sort of
thing.”

“Oh, I see,”
Spencer
replied.

“Anyway, Mabel Carson lives next to him in number two.
 
“She was a nurse and a midwife in Leeds
and she has family here and there, so she isn’t around all that much.
 
She seems really nice, when I’ve spoken
to her.”

“I hope she’ll be able to make it to my housewarming,” Bessie said.

“Oh, slip a note under her door and she’ll probably stop by.
 
She’s plenty friendly enough; she’s just
quite busy.
 
It’s the one after her
you probably don’t want to invite.”

“Oh, dear, who’s in number three, then?” Bessie asked.

“A lady named Annabelle Hopkins.
 
She’s retired from the civil service and
she doesn’t like anything or anyone.
 
She could complain for England, she could.
 
If you do invite her, she won’t like
anything you have to eat or drink.
 
Don’t take it personally.
 
She
hasn’t been happy since before the war, I reckon.”

Bessie shook her head.
 
“Life’s too short to be miserable all the time,” she said thoughtfully.

“Anyway,
Tammara
Flynn lives across from
Annabelle.
 
She’s in number
six.
 
She’s Irish like Simon, and
they seem to do things together quite a bit.
 
I don’t really know her, but she seems
pleasant enough.”

“What about number five?” Bessie asked, curious what Bertie would
say about the flat she knew was
empty.

“It’s empty,” he replied.
 
“From what I understand, someone bought it a while back, but they
haven’t moved in yet.”
 
He
shrugged.
 
“I’m sure someone will
move in eventually.
 
I can’t imagine
whoever it is can afford to have two places forever.”

“And Nigel and his mother are in number four?” Bessie checked.

“Yep, and I’m not sure how they manage it,” Bertie replied.
 
“These flats are comfortable enough for
one person, but they aren’t big enough for two.”

Bessie glanced around her compact space.
 
“I’d have to agree with that,” she told
her new
neighbour
.

Spencer left after he’d finished his tea.
 
Bessie knew he was eager to get back to
Laxey
to get ready for his date.
 
Bertie proved harder to get rid of.
 
He drank his tea and told Bessie all
about his life while Bessie smiled politely and tried to figure out how to get
him to leave.

“Well, it’s getting late,” he said finally, just as Bessie was wondering
how best to fake a heart attack.
 
“Did you have plans for dinner?”

Bessie took a deep breath, trying to figure out the best possible
response.
 
Before she’d managed it,
Bertie continued.

“I’m not asking you out,” he said hastily.
 
“I mean, like, not on a date or
anything.
 
I just think I need to
make sure you understand that.
 
But
I thought
,
if you didn’t have plans, maybe we could go
somewhere together.
 
I don’t have
plans, you see, and I don’t really like to cook.
 
We would each pay for ourselves, you
understand.
 
It isn’t a date or
anything.”

Bessie bit back a laugh.
 
“That’s very kind of you,” she said.
 
“But I do have plans.
 
A dear friend is coming over and I need
to run to the grocery store and do some shopping before she gets here.”

“Oh, I’ll just get out of the way, then,”
Bertie
said.
 
“Maybe we could do dinner
another night.”

“Maybe,” was as far as Bessie was willing to go.
 
“But don’t forget my housewarming on
Saturday,” she told him as she walked him to the door.
 
“I’m hoping to get to meet all the
neighbours
.”

“I expect most of them will turn up,” Bertie replied.
 
“We’re all pensioners on fixed incomes,
so if there’s food on offer, we’ll be here.”