Dead Calm (A Dylan Scott Mystery)

by Wells, Shirley

  With a smile on her full lips and a promise in her eyes, she turned away from them. They both watched her swaying hips until she was out of sight.

  “I might be an old hand at this cruising lark,” Jackson said, the colour still staining his face, “but not all nights are as good as the last one.”

  “Oh?”

  “People relax on cruises, don’t they? They forget the real world and let their hair down.”

  Dylan had no idea.

  “They do,” Jackson said before Dylan could answer. “Anything goes, if you get my drift.” This was accompanied by a particularly unpleasant wink.

  “That sounds like fun.” Surely to God he wasn’t saying that he got off with Miss Sex on Legs?

  “One minute I was talking to Celina in the bar,” Jackson said, not bothering to lower his voice, “and the next she was taking me back to her cabin. Only on a cruise could I get a stunning twenty-five-year-old Norwegian chasing me.”

  He sat back in his seat, waiting for Dylan to congratulate him. He’d have a long wait. Dylan was too shocked to utter a word.

  “You know what they say about these Scandinavian women.” Jackson gave a sly chuckle. “It’s all true, believe me.”

  “Really?” Lucky bastard. Lucky, lucky bastard.

  “Oh, yes. Like you wouldn’t believe. I’ll tell you something else—”

  Dylan was beginning to wonder if there was a normal person on board this ship. Hanna Larsen had been unbearable, Bill Carr was intent on sharing his enormous family tree with anyone forced to listen, Miss Norway was happy to shag an overweight, balding forty-year-old, and now Tom Jackson was intent on telling all.

  “I work in television,” Jackson was saying, “and women find that a real turn-on.”

  “Television? That’s interesting.” It wasn’t, but it was preferable to hearing about his sexual exploits. “What exactly do you do?”

  “I have my own company in Spain,” Jackson explained.

  “You live in Spain?”

  “Yes, for the last—” Jackson broke off abruptly. He’d spotted something or someone over Dylan’s shoulder. Better company? Another sexy blonde? “Mum, I thought you were having an early night. You look so tired.”

  The woman Jackson spoke to looked fairly normal but Dylan wouldn’t bet on it.

  “Oh, for goodness sake, Tom. I’m not an invalid.” Rolling her eyes in exasperation, she added, “I hope you haven’t been boring this poor man.”

  “Not at all,” Dylan said.

  “Let me get you a coffee. Or would you prefer something stronger?” Jackson asked her.

  His mother gave a hoot of laughter. “Shall I let you drink it for me too? Stop being such an old woman, Tom. The day I can’t get my own drink will be the day they put me in my box.” She dropped her handbag on the chair next to Tom’s and strode over to the bar.

  There was something about her that reminded Dylan of his own mother. The two women were the same age, but other than that, no similarities leapt out at him and he’d bet Mrs. Jackson didn’t spend half her days stoned. His mother wore clothes that she’d bought at least twenty years ago whereas Mrs. Jackson dressed in smart designer clothes. Although his mother wore enough jewellery to sink the Midnight Sun, a fiver would have bought the lot. Mrs. Jackson favoured pearl earrings, a slim gold watch, a plain narrow wedding band and a diamond ring. Dylan would bet the pearls and the diamond were genuine.

  “She’s in her seventies, but she won’t thank you for reminding her.” Jackson smiled fondly as his mother laughed with the girl serving the coffee. “She looked tired after all the travelling yesterday and she visited Ålesund today. I thought it might have been too much for her. It probably was, but she won’t admit to it.”

  “Mothers can be tricky beasts. I’m travelling with mine. With my wife and children too.”

  “A family holiday. That’s nice, isn’t it? When it comes down to it, family is the most important thing.”

  Dylan couldn’t argue with that. Family was the most important thing, but he still couldn’t get excited about spending ten days on a ship with his. His wife and kids, yes. His mother, no. He loved the woman, but she drove him to the edge of insanity. She was too determined to grab life by the throat and choke every last bit of enjoyment from it. She’d slept her way round the world as a young woman and—

  Perhaps that was unfair. Dylan had no idea how many men she’d slept with, but it was enough for her not to have the remotest idea who his father was. She’d often volunteered to tell him who his father wasn’t, but never seemed even slightly concerned that she didn’t have a clue who it actually was. Dylan had visions of holidaying in Turkey one day and coming across an ageing waiter who was a ringer for him.

  Dylan and Jackson rose to their feet as Mrs. Jackson returned to the table with her coffee. She was one of those women who, without so much as a gesture, commanded gentlemanly behaviour.

  “I haven’t introduced you,” Jackson said. “Mum, this is Dylan Scott. Dylan, my mother.”

  “Call me Ruby,” she said, sitting down. “Everyone does. Good to meet you, Dylan.”

  She took a reviving sip of black coffee as if, like Dylan, she couldn’t face the likes of Jackson without a caffeine fix.

  They chatted about Norway and the ship’s facilities until Jackson made his apologies, promised his mother he’d meet her at her cabin in the morning, and left them alone.

  “What a fusspot he is,” Ruby said when he was out of sight. “He believes he’s doing me a favour by coming on holiday with me, but, really, it’s the other way round. I’m the only person prepared to put up with him. He keeps telling me I look stressed—well, is it any wonder?”

  That was exactly the sort of comment Dylan’s own mother would come out with.

  “We’ve always travelled with Hurtigruten,” she said, “but we left it too late to book this year. I thought I’d escaped, but no. My daughter found this on one of those last-minute holiday internet sites and booked it as a treat for me.”

  “Tom was saying he lives in Spain,” Dylan said. “Do you live there too?”

  “Me? No, I’m happy in London. I’ve lived there all my life. What about you, Dylan?”

  “I’m a Londoner, too. Shepherd’s Bush to be precise.”

  She smiled. “I know it well. I love to get away and Norway is probably my favourite country, but I’d miss London. I like Spain too, although I wouldn’t want to live there. I certainly couldn’t live near Tom, but even if he didn’t live there, it wouldn’t appeal to me.” She nibbled at the chocolate that came with her coffee. “I suppose he bored you with tales of his TV company?”

  “He didn’t, no.” He’d been too busy describing the athletic attributes of Scandinavian women.

  “It’s all he thinks about.” She spoke with a hint of sadness in her voice. “But I suppose he can’t be blamed for that. It’s no secret that it’s not doing well. Nothing is, is it? The global economy is in a right old mess and many businesses are struggling. I’ve made Tom promise not to discuss it during this holiday, but I know he won’t be able to resist. In fact, it’s caused a bit of a frosty atmosphere between us.”

  “Really?” The atmosphere had seemed anything but frosty.

  “I’m afraid so.” She took a long, thoughtful sip of coffee. “Tom says I’m too old to understand how business works these days. He thinks I’m too set in my ways, that times have changed and I haven’t changed with them. Perhaps he’s right.”

  “I tell my mother all that,” Dylan said, “and she takes not a blind bit of notice.”

  Ruby laughed. “Good for her.”

  She might be pleased to know that her son hadn’t been worrying about his business last night. He’d been too busy keeping his sexy blonde happy.

  “Tom struggles to settle to anything,” she said. “He wanted to study business law at university but dropped out because it was too much like hard work. Then he joined the army but gave that up when he realised that seeing the worl
d while dodging bombs and bullets wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Next he dabbled in computers. For the last couple of years, his TV company has been everything to him. I often wish he was more like his father,” she said, twisting the gold band round her finger. “Howard started from nothing and Tom forgets that. And when I say nothing, I mean nothing. Fifty years ago, while I was busy making wedding plans, Howard bought a cheap terraced house at auction. He spent every spare minute renovating that place, such hard work, until he sold it at a good profit. We married, spent most of that profit on a house for ourselves, and then he bought another property and another. He worked long, hard hours, seven days a week.”

  Howard—Howard Jackson? Surely not the Howard Jackson?

  “Howard died five years ago,” she explained, “and the company was sold. It still uses the same name—perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

  “Howard Jackson Properties?” One of the biggest construction companies in the UK?

  “That’s it.”

  There was no question that the pearls and diamond were real. Ruby Jackson must be worth a fortune.

  “Anyway—” She brightened. “I’ve told Tom not to discuss business and I’m not even going to think about it. Instead I shall enjoy every minute of this cruise. And if I’ve made my son sound a real horror, I should add that I love him dearly. I love his sister too and I couldn’t live with her either. Laura’s totally different to Tom. She lives a quiet life in the Cotswolds, where she works as a teacher. People would describe her as the perfect daughter, but, boy, can she fuss. She’s very bossy too. I love my children, Dylan, but they both drive me to distraction. Just as they despair of me.”

  “Isn’t that what families are for?”

  Ruby laughed, an attractive sound that had several passengers glancing their way. “I suppose they are.” She finished her coffee and picked up her bag. “I’m going for a nightcap. Care to join me, Dylan?”

  “I’d be honoured.”

  They walked along the corridor to the now crowded bar. People were having to talk loudly to make themselves heard over the old Beatles tunes that were being played. It wasn’t Dylan’s kind of bar but it had one thing in its favour. It served drinks.

  “Wasn’t the death of that poor woman awful?” Ruby said. “I saw her last night, you know. Of course, I didn’t know who she was at the time, but she certainly seemed healthy enough then. She was having a right old ding-dong with the chef in the kitchen.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, and he’s an enormous chap, tall and broad. You’ll have seen him, Dylan. Shaved head with a tiny gold cross hanging from one ear. Well, she was tearing him off a strip. Mind you, he gave as good as he got. I thought they were about to come to blows.” She frowned. “I hope that wasn’t responsible for her death.”

  “What were they arguing about?”

  Ruby perched on a tall stool at the bar. “I’ve no idea. By the time I saw them, she was ranting in Norwegian and he was yelling at her to get the hell out of his kitchen. When she stormed out, he followed her for a few yards brandishing a huge meat cleaver. It was amusing at the time with him being so huge and threatening. It’s not funny now, of course.”

  Trying to find Hanna Larsen’s killer—if indeed there was a killer—would be impossible. The woman had made enemies wherever she went.

  “I hope I don’t pop my clogs on this ship,” Ruby said. “What a horrible way to go.”

  “Someone else I was talking to thought it was a great way to go. He thought she would have died happy being on holiday.”

  “That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose. I still hope my own demise isn’t imminent. I have too much to sort out before I shuffle off this mortal coil. Mind you, I’ve been saying that for years and I’m no further forward. I wonder if anyone has ever been ready for death.”

  “Probably not.” He’d bet Hanna Larsen hadn’t been ready.

  He remembered now where he’d heard Howard Jackson’s widow mentioned. About a year ago, she’d given five million pounds to a hospice in Yorkshire. There’d been a fuss about it because the donation was supposed to have been anonymous and, somehow, the press found out about it. It had warranted a few paragraphs on page four of one of the national newspapers.

  Dylan wondered briefly what it must be like to be able to give the odd five million pounds to the charity of your choice. It was a feeling he’d never know. Broke was his middle name.

  “I’d hate to have so many people gossiping about me when I’m dead too,” she said.

  “Are they gossiping about Hanna Larsen?” He knew they were. People seemed unable to talk about anything else at the moment.

  “I doubt much of it is based on fact,” she replied with a rueful smile. “Although she was known to quite a few people because she often travelled on this ship. She had family, a daughter someone said, in Tromsø and she used to visit her regularly. She wasn’t the only one to treat this ship like a taxi. Apparently, it’s quite common because it’s such a comfortable way to travel. Seeing this stunning coastline on a regular basis must be wonderful, mustn’t it?”

  Dylan nodded. “She had heart problems, I heard.”

  “Yes, I heard the same thing. Also, she wasn’t feeling well when she went to her cabin last night. She thought she’d eaten something that had disagreed with her. That’s probably why she was arguing with the chef.” The barman put Ruby’s gin and tonic in front of her and she took a sip. “I tend not to pay any attention to gossip. I find that, as soon as someone dies, everyone’s their best friend and knows their innermost thoughts.”

  Dylan smiled at the truth of that.

  A passenger’s mobile phone went off and Dylan checked the signal on his own. For the first time since boarding the ship, he had decent reception.

  “I can think of few things worse than being in constant contact with the world,” Ruby said. “When Laura bought me a mobile phone, I thought it was a good idea. I’d always scoffed at the notion, but Laura said it would be useful in an emergency, and she reminded me, as she does on an almost daily basis, that I’m not getting any younger. I kept it switched on for about three days and it almost drove me insane. The thing didn’t stop ringing. And it was always when I was enjoying an afternoon doze or relaxing in the garden.”

  “Ah, yes. They rarely ring at convenient times.”

  “I do have it with me, just in case I need to call someone in an emergency, but it’s never switched on. I come on holiday to get away from the world. I don’t want to bring the world with me.”

  “I see your point,” Dylan said, “but there are times when they can be lifesavers.”

  Ruby wasn’t convinced. “You sound just like Laura. Oh, look. Ships that pass in the night.”

  The Midnight Sun gave a blast of its horn to a ship that was lit up like a Christmas tree. The Midnight Sun would look equally dazzling to those passengers gazing into the darkness from the other vessel.

  “What about you, Dylan? What brings you on this cruise? What do you do? No, let me guess.” She gave him a thorough appraisal. “Policeman?”

  Sod it. Dylan hated it when people did that. He thought he’d shaken off the copper look.

  “Very impressive. I used to be a detective sergeant,” he said. “I got kicked off the force.”

  “Really? How exciting.” Her eyes shone with humour. “What for? Selling on the cocaine you seized? Sleeping with the chief constable’s wife?”

  “Nothing as exciting, I’m afraid. I was arresting a known criminal and—well, to cut a long story short, I wound up in hospital and he claimed I used unreasonable force. They were having one of their clean-up sessions and wanted to show Joe Public that complaints about their officers were taken very seriously indeed. I spent five months behind bars for assault and was kicked off the force.”

  “That’s awful.” She studied him for a few moments. “Are you bitter about it?”

  He could say what he always said, that it was water under the bridge. “You bet your life
I’m bitter, Ruby.”

  She nodded, as if she’d expected nothing else. “So how do you fill your time these days?”

  “I’m a private investigator.”

  Again, her face lit up. “Now that is exciting. I bet you have all sorts of clever gadgets. Pens that are really recording devices. A gun disguised as a cigarette lighter. A car with number plates that change at the press of a button.”

  Laughing, Dylan helped himself to peanuts. “You’re confusing me with James Bond.”

  “But you must have some gadgets surely?”

  “Nothing very exciting. I’ve only just got the hang of my computer.”

  “Ah. I expect you’re more like Sherlock Holmes then.”

  “Not even close, I’m afraid.”