Dead Calm (A Dylan Scott Mystery)

by Wells, Shirley

  Her mother-in-law nudged her. “Someone’s tired.” Vicky had Freya, only just recognisable beneath a thick woollen hat and huge padded coat, on her lap. Freya was sound asleep and Bev couldn’t resist stroking her daughter’s cheek.

  Bringing Freya, not even a year old yet, had been another of Bev’s worries, but these days she was the most placid, easily pleased child imaginable. She was breathtakingly beautiful too. Beneath lids closed in sleep, she had huge dark eyes that were completely at odds with her cherubic blond curls. Teenage boys weren’t noted for their love of babies but even Luke was enthralled with her.

  Vicky grinned and nodded in Dylan’s direction. “He’ll be asleep in a minute too.”

  Realising he was being talked about, Dylan looked up. “What?”

  “I thought you were falling asleep, but you look as tense as a coiled spring,” Vicky said. “Calm down.”

  “I am calm.” He sat back on the bench and stretched his legs in front of him.

  Bev knew he was far from calm. It would be a long time before she forgot his panicked expression as he’d raced into the sun lounge early that morning.

  If she’d tried to reach their cabin only to find police and security men barring the way, she would have panicked too. Especially if a worried-looking crew member had asked for her cabin number.

  “I wonder what did happen on the ship this morning,” she said.

  “I bet it was a bomb scare.” Luke wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his coat. No matter how many times she scolded him, he still considered his clothes the best place for cleaning hands and face. She had visions of him doing it when he was thirty.

  “It could have been,” Dylan said, but Bev could see from his expression that he didn’t believe it.

  She didn’t either. If that were the case, they would have ushered everyone off the ship pretty damn quick, not kept them on it.

  “It was obviously nothing important.” Whatever it was, she refused to let it spoil her holiday. “Shall we check out the museum?”

  They strolled along the streets with Luke lagging behind to take dozens of photos of colourful buildings against an obliging blue sky. The people, some locals, many more tourists, looked happy and relaxed.

  Bev was determined to look equally relaxed when they returned to England. Her friend Lucy had been on half a dozen cruises and always claimed that, apart from the entertainment and the terrific odds for meeting unattached men, the best part was having nothing to do. Admittedly, Lucy had cruised to hot and sunny parts of the world, but even if Bev was amid the dark and cold, she could appreciate it. She didn’t have to worry about buying food, preparing it, washing up, cleaning the house, marking kids’ homework or anything at all. On board, she could stay in her cabin and read with no distractions, she could attend the lectures, eat or drink in one of the bars, take a dip in the pool, visit the gym or anything else she chose.

  The arrangements had worked out well. Dylan’s mum and Luke were sharing a cabin which left her, Dylan and Freya to share another. It was great having Vicky along, especially as Luke got on so well with her. The two were soul mates, which really wasn’t surprising. As Dylan often said, they had the same mental age.

  Vicky, born to travel, would enjoy every second of this cruise. The smoking arrangements might throw up the odd problem but she’d find a way round them. She didn’t smoke marijuana in front of Luke, but he knew his gran was a pothead. Smoking was only permitted on a small area of the deck though so she’d either shiver outside or come up with another solution. Bev would bet on the latter.

  As for Dylan, she wasn’t sure what he’d make of it but she was looking forward to spending time with him. With an eager babysitter in Vicky, they’d be able to share precious time alone. It would be fun behaving like newlyweds.

  He was walking ahead of them and she thought how little he’d changed in the fifteen years they’d been married. If you looked closely, you might spot a grey hair mixed in with the dark but, other than that, he hadn’t changed. She still fancied him like mad.

  He nodded, smiled and said something to a young couple he passed. Bev ran to catch him up.

  She slipped her arm through his. “Who was that?”

  “I had a brief chat with them in the bar last night,” he said.

  Bev hadn’t met many passengers yet, but the ones she had seemed friendly enough. Dylan said he’d had a run-in with the woman in the cabin next to theirs, but that was probably just Dylan being Dylan. He’d called her the most obnoxious woman he’d met all year, but perhaps she was simply tired, as they all were. Also, she was travelling alone and that was far more stressful. Bev would seek her out and make up her own mind.

  The only part of the holiday not going to plan was the long-range weather forecast. Her sole reason for booking this cruise was to see the aurora borealis for the first time. During breakfast, someone had said the weather wasn’t right though, and he claimed it didn’t look set to improve. She’d be bitterly disappointed if they didn’t see the northern lights after all.

  They were walking back to the ship when a man, dressed for Arctic conditions as they all were, accosted them in the street.

  “I’ve seen you on the Midnight Sun,” he said, looking pleased with himself. “Have you enjoyed Ålesund?”

  “Very much,” Bev said. “It’s a gorgeous town, isn’t it?”

  “It is. Oh, Bill Carr, by the way.”

  Introductions were made all round and, again, Bev was warmed by the friendliness of her fellow passengers.

  “My wife, Maud, booked this trip as a treat for my seventieth birthday,” Bill explained.

  “Congratulations,” Vicky said. “You don’t look anywhere close to seventy.”

  Bev hid a smile as she saw Dylan roll his eyes. Vicky was never slow when it came to chatting up men, whatever their age.

  “Thank you. I must say I don’t feel seventy—however that feels.”

  “It’s only a number,” Vicky said.

  “Of course it is. I’m still fit enough to get up Mount Aksla and there’s a wonderful view of the town from there.” He winked at Vicky. “Okay, so I cheated and took a taxi. But that was only because we were later getting off the ship than I’d hoped. Not that I’m blaming anyone on the Midnight Sun. We wouldn’t expect them to carry on as normal when someone dies, would we?”

  “Sorry?”

  “A woman died. Haven’t you heard?”

  “No, we’ve been ashore all day,” Dylan said. “What happened?”

  “One of the passengers died. She was knocking on a bit and had suffered heart problems for years apparently, but even so, you don’t expect that, do you? I’m getting on a bit but I wouldn’t want to die on a ship. It makes you think, doesn’t it? You never know what’s round the corner.”

  “That’s terrible,” Bev said.

  “Who was it?” Dylan asked.

  Bill rubbed a thoughtful finger across his top lip. “Someone did mention her name. It was Norwegian.”

  This morning’s chaos had centred around a cabin very near to theirs and, as far as Bev knew, there was only one elderly Norwegian lady in the vicinity. The one Dylan had referred to as the most obnoxious woman he’d met all year.

  “It wasn’t Hanna Larsen by any chance?” Dylan asked.

  “That’s it, yes. Hanna Larsen.” Bill looked taken aback. “You didn’t know her, did you?”

  “Not really,” Dylan said. “She was in the cabin next to ours, that’s all. I met her briefly last night.”

  “Really? And now she’s dead. As I said, you never know what’s round the corner, do you?”

  “You certainly don’t,” Bev said with a shiver.

  “She had a heart condition, you say?” Dylan asked.

  Bill nodded. “That’s what I heard. She’d booked an alarm call and had been most insistent about it. When they couldn’t get her to answer, one of the ship’s stewards went into her cabin and found her. Dead. Still, when you think about it, it’s not a bad way to go, is
it? Give me a good swift heart attack any day. Better than having a stroke and ending up having to learn to eat all over again. Or spending years living with the C-word. At least she died happy, eh?”

  “I suppose so,” Bev said.

  Bill proceeded to give them a blow-by-blow account of how each of his family members had met their end. They were on Great-Aunt Ethel (crippling arthritis and two strokes) when Freya, bless her, took a breath and lunged into her banshee impression. Her timing couldn’t have been better and they made their escape, with Freya still screaming, to the ship.

  “What a dreadful thing to happen, Dylan. And in the cabin next door too.” Bev had no idea why that made it worse, but it did.

  “Hmm.”

  She looked up at him. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean? I know you didn’t like her, but it wouldn’t hurt you to be a little more sympathetic. That could be someone’s mother.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s all very well Bill Carr saying she died happy, but that’s not the point, is it?”

  “Hardly. And I’d be surprised if she died happy. Hanna Larsen didn’t strike me as the type to waste much time on happiness.”

  “Dylan!”

  “I’d be surprised if she had a heart attack too.”

  “And what makes you say that, Doctor Scott?” she asked.

  “Last night—well, at twenty past three this morning, to be precise—I heard noises. I’m fairly sure I heard someone leaving her cabin.”

  “So?” she said. “She was a breath away from dying so I expect she went to get a drink or something. Maybe she needed some fresh air. Or perhaps she went to see the ship’s doctor.”

  “No. Whoever it was, was bigger and heavier than her. I heard another noise too.”

  “What sort of noise?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Did she have this straight? “You’re not saying—”

  “I’m saying I don’t believe she had a heart attack, that’s all. There will be nothing but gossip circulating the ship. She was travelling alone so no one could claim to know her and yet they’re saying she’d had a heart condition for years. How would they know that?”

  “I don’t know, but what business is it of yours?”

  “Probably none. All the same, I’m going to see what I can find out—”

  “Dylan, there are a thousand passengers on this ship—”

  “Minus one.”

  “Okay, so there are nine hundred and ninety-nine passengers on this ship. And every single one is enjoying the trip. That’s what people do, you know. They save up all year for their holiday, they look forward to it and, come hell or high water, they enjoy themselves. Why do you have to be so different? Let it rest. You’re on holiday. Besides, you can only go poking your nose into other people’s business when you’re asked to.”

  “Who could ask me? Hanna Larsen? She’s dead. Possibly murdered in her bed.”

  Bev shuddered. It really was worse knowing she’d died on the other side of the wall. “Of course she wasn’t murdered.”

  Dylan merely shrugged in his infuriating have-it-your-way manner. She might still fancy him like mad, but he could annoy the hell out of her without even trying.

  “That’s a ridiculous thing to say, Dylan. Completely ridiculous. Why would anyone murder an old woman? It’s crazy. And it would mean—”

  “That there’s a killer on board.” Dylan nodded. “It would indeed.”

  Chapter Four

  Hanna fucking Larsen.

  He threw cold water on his face, leaned against cool tiles of the toilet wall and dragged in some deep breaths. The ship had left Ålesund an hour ago and the sea was calm, but his head and stomach couldn’t have felt worse if they’d been thrashing around in the roughest ocean. With a groan, he pushed open the door and threw up in the toilet bowl again.

  He flushed it and moved back to the basin to splash more cold water on his face.

  “Shit!”

  It was the smell making him sick. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly—old people, death or decay—but he couldn’t rid it from his nostrils and throat. He could still feel her fingers, crowlike, clawing into his arm.

  Christ, she’d struggled. Despite being old and supposedly frail, she’d fought hard for her last breath. It felt like he’d had to hold that pillow over her face for hours, but he knew it could only have been minutes. Then—he swallowed on bile—then he’d had to lift that old lifeless head and put the pillow beneath it. He’d had to touch her skeletal arms and put them beneath the covers.

  Her eyes, the eyes of the dead, had been wide and staring. Staring at him.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

  The soap in the washrooms was supposed to have a citrus scent and, although he used it on his hands and face, all he could smell was death. Death and something else. The old bird must have shat herself or something.

  He leaned back against the tiles, closed his eyes and forced himself to ignore his racing heart and breathe deeply. He must keep calm. There was nothing to fear.

  Apart from a brief moment of panic when he’d thought he wouldn’t be able to return the master keycard to its rightful place in time, everything was all right. Well, all right given the fucking circumstances.

  The door opened so suddenly that he almost cried out.

  A man had come to use the facilities. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine. Yes, fine, thanks.”

  Before the bloke could see how badly he was shaking, and before he threw up again, he left the washroom and marched off. Act normal, he told himself. Act normal.

  He passed several people who took no notice of him at all. Perhaps he didn’t carry that cloying stench of death with him after all.

  “Christ! Hanna fucking Larsen. By the light of the silvery fucking moon…”

  Chapter Five

  Dylan was alone. As soon as they’d finished dinner, Bev had gone back to the cabin so that his mum and Luke, who’d been acting as babysitters, could get some food. Dylan was finishing his coffee, watching the passengers and playing Spot the Killer.

  “Do you mind?”

  The voice was familiar. Dylan looked up, straight at the man responsible for his meeting Hanna Larsen in the first place. He’d intended to have another couple of drinks in the bar last night but this chap had been loud, full of his own importance, and very drunk. Rather than get involved, Dylan had headed back to his cabin and met Hanna Larsen.

  “Not at all,” Dylan said. It was a lie.

  “I don’t know about you but I like to socialise when I’m on holiday. One gets so little chance when working.” His companion put a cup of coffee on the table and sat opposite him. He patted his expanding waistline. “The food’s fantastic, isn’t it?”

  “Delicious.”

  “Have you done this before?”

  His game of Spot the Killer was over. This chap was so busy making pointless small talk that he was more likely to be victim than killer. “No. My first time. You?”

  “Not with this particular company, but my mother loves cruising this part of the world so we’ve travelled on the Hurtigruten Line many times. We make it an annual treat. Sorry.” He’d been about to take a sip of coffee, but he put down his cup and extended his hand. “Tom Jackson. Good to meet you.”

  Dylan shook his hand. “Dylan Scott.”

  Jackson was about the same age as Dylan. He was shorter and carried more weight though. Also, his hair was thinning. As companions went, this one made Dylan look pretty good, although he had an enthusiasm for socialising that Dylan couldn’t replicate.

  Jackson was giving a whole new meaning to the word prattle when Dylan glanced across at the bar in time to see a willowy, sexy-as-hell blonde get off her stool and cross the room. She was heading their way. Dylan recognised her. Once seen never forgotten. Jackson had been talking to her last night. Lucky bastard.

  She stopped by their table, leaned in close to Jackson and—well, Dylan wasn’t sure if she whispered or bl
ew in Jackson’s ear. Either way, it was enough to send a scarlet rush of blood to Jackson’s cheeks.