Dead Calm (A Dylan Scott Mystery) by Shirley Wells Read Free Book Online Page B

However, the sun was shining on Trondheim and, according to a sign outside a nearby hotel, the current temperature was thirty-six degrees Fahrenheit.
He and Luke were ambling along the town’s main street. Bev, his mother and Freya were inspecting the shops, and Bev also wanted to see the preserved stave church from Haltdalen in the museum. Dylan suspected they’d be some time.
“I thought there’d be snow everywhere,” Luke said.
“Me too.”
Trondheim was the exact opposite of the dull little town Dylan had expected. The old centre with its narrow streets and wooden buildings was fascinating. It was vibrant too. He’d flicked through Bev’s guidebook and learned that Trondheim was a university town. He’d bet it really came to life in the evenings and he’d love to visit then.
“You’ll soon see plenty of snow,” he said. “It’s all to do with the Gulf Stream, you see.”
Luke snorted with laughter. “Wasn’t that bloke boring? I bet he’s a teacher in real life.”
Dylan wouldn’t be at all surprised. He’d certainly had a pompous overbearing desire to impart knowledge that Dylan could easily have lived without.
Breakfast had been a bleary-eyed affair. Much to Bev’s dismay, he’d been in the ship’s well-equipped conference room using their computers most of yesterday and until three o’clock this morning. When he’d gone to his bed, his mind had been too active to sleep.
He hadn’t learned a lot. In fact, nothing might be a more accurate description. He had managed to verify his mother’s story about Jorstad’s chemical company trying to buy land to access its new factory and Hanna Larsen refusing to sell up. As most of the news reports had been in Norwegian though, and as website translation software was a joke, he couldn’t entirely rely on it.
The dining room had been filled with people eating hearty breakfasts before the ship docked at Trondheim but he only recognised a few by sight. All had been clad in thick sweaters, some carried padded coats with them.
He’d checked out photos of Jorstad and his two sons but wasn’t sure if he’d recognise them. All the same, he’d keep looking.
Ever since his mother had mentioned Murder on the Orient Express, he’d wondered if Hanna Larsen had received death threats. Perhaps she’d been living on her nerves and the anxiety was responsible for turning her into a cantankerous, moaning old woman. If that was the case, Dylan could almost forgive her rudeness.
They walked on to Mariden Park and sat to watch people ambling beside the River Nidelva. Behind them was Nidaros Cathedral, with its gothic architecture, and they inspected the many photos Luke had taken of the building earlier. Given the blue of the sky, anyone might think they’d holidayed in Egypt or—
“It was death on the blasted Nile.”
“You what?”
“Your gran was talking about a Hercule Poirot film, and I think she meant Death on the Nile not Murder on the Orient Express. Have you seen it?”
“Don’t think so. Has it got vampires?”
“No.”
Unless a film featured vampires, werewolves or zombies with plenty of blood on show, Luke wasn’t interested. “Is it any good?”
“I can’t remember.” Dylan had watched all those old films but, after a while, they all seemed the same. “I think, although I could be wrong, that a wealthy heiress is murdered on a steamer going up the Nile and practically every passenger has cause to want her dead.”
“Like the old woman who died on our ship?”
“Not really, no.” Dylan smiled at Luke. “Hanna Larsen wasn’t a wealthy heiress. Well, as far as we know. No, someone would have mentioned it. And, as yet, we don’t know of a single passenger who wanted her dead.” Except Jorstad’s sons perhaps.
Maybe there was no crime to solve and Dylan’s overactive imagination was being fuelled by a ship filled with gossipmongers.
“Dad, which do you think is longer? The equator or the Norwegian coastline?”
“The