Free Dead Calm by Shirley Wells Page B

“I’m sure it can only help.”
    “I can soon get it though. I think I’m finally finding my way around the ship.”
    “It’s a maze, isn’t it?”
    “It is. That’s half the fun though, isn’t it? I’ve met some lovely people as I’ve been trying to find my way around. There’s a chap with a cabin on the same deck as me who’s an architect. Another is a marine biologist. You meet some fascinating people, don’t you? There are people from every walk of life imaginable on this ship, you know.”
    There was no need for Dylan to add to the conversation. A nod now and again and Carr was happy.
    Thankfully, the ordeal was reasonably short-lived.
    “Time I was off,” Carr said, “or I’ll have Maud after me. We have to keep our women happy, don’t we?”
    “We do, Bill. It’s time I made a move too. I’ll see you around.”
    “Probably when we’re both lost.” Chuckling at his attempt at a joke, he headed off in the direction of the cabins.
    Dylan expelled his breath and ordered a nightcap. He was taking a long draught when Tom Jackson came into the bar, a laptop bag slung over his shoulder.
    “Hi, Tom,” Dylan called to him.
    Jackson looked around and gave a nod of recognition before joining Dylan at the bar. Most passengers had a rosy glow courtesy of the weather, but Jackson looked pale. Tense, too. The only colour in his face came from dark circles surrounding his eyes.
    “You haven’t been working, have you?” Dylan asked as Jackson put the laptop case on the bar.
    “Me? Certainly not.” He gave a smile that was at odds with those shadows around his eyes. “I’m sure everything’s running smoothly back in Spain. I have good staff. They’re all perfectly competent.”
    Dylan would love to know how well—or badly—Jackson’s business was doing. It was bad enough for him to ask his mother for money. Dylan would need to be close to starvation before he approached his own mother, but perhaps Jackson had no such qualms. Or perhaps he was close to starvation.
    “I’m sure it is. Or as smoothly as anything can run given the current economic state. Greedy bankers have a lot to answer for.”
    “Too true. They’ve left us in a right mess.” Jackson ordered himself a double whisky. “Are you having one, Dylan?”
    “Thanks, but I’ve just got one.”
    Jackson’s hands shook as he took a huge gulp of the fiery liquid. Something wasn’t right in his world and Dylan would love to know what that was.
    He was about to ask some probing questions when Jackson’s phone, buried somewhere deep in his pockets, trilled into life. He made no attempt to answer it.
    “You’re turning into your mother,” Dylan said with a chuckle. “She was telling me that she’s refusing to answer her phone too.”
    Jackson, the whisky relaxing him, gave a weak smile. “It’ll probably be for her anyway. Laura, my sister, phones all the time when we’re away. Of course, Mum doesn’t answer her phone so Laura insists on pestering me. She can damn well wait.”
    “You don’t get on well, I take it?”
    “We’re okay, probably because we rarely see each other.” He shrugged. “She’s the baby, you know? I suppose she was always going to be spoiled rotten. Daddy’s little girl and Mummy’s favourite.”
    That wasn’t the impression Dylan had from Ruby. According to her, both children irritated her equally. She loved them both equally too.
    “What about you?” Jackson asked, looking slightly more at ease as he embarked on boring small talk. “Any brothers or sisters?”
    “None.” At times, Dylan thought that was a good thing. As they said, you can choose your friends but not your family.
    “Lucky you.” Jackson spoke with feeling.
    They lapsed into a thoughtful silence until Dylan decided to break it.
    “People are still talking about Hanna Larsen,” he said.
    “Who? Oh, the woman who died?”
    “Yes. I’d love to know what really happened, wouldn’t you?”
    “How do you