asked Ruby for money and that he was confident she’d come good. Perhaps he wasn’t confident. Perhaps Ruby had refused to help. Maybe he’d decided it was time to take matters into his own hands.
No way had Jackson broken into that cabin in the early hours. No matter how dark it was in the room, he would have recognised his own mother. Besides, he had an alibi. He’d spent the night performing acrobatics with Miss Norway. Lucky bastard.
Dylan had an ever-increasing list of suspects for two victims. One of those victims probably died in her sleep and the other was very much alive. Crazy.
He sat in the sun lounge for an hour, seeing nothing but the jagged Norwegian coastline with its inlets and islands, but was no further forward. He had no idea what had happened that first night aboard the Midnight Sun but he was damn sure something had.
He was about to go for a wander round the ship when two men came into the room, took seats next to each other and opened identical copies of a Norwegian newspaper.
Well, well, well. There was no mistaking Sigurd and Mathias Jorstad. They simply looked taller, broader, blonder and more tanned than they had in the pictures on the internet. Both men were in their thirties and were dressed casually in jeans and chunky sweaters.
Dylan needed an excuse to talk to them. He left the sun lounge, went to the café to buy a coffee and returned to stand just outside the room, where he had a good view of the Jorstads. They weren’t speaking, they were too engrossed in their newspapers.
Slowly but surely, the lounge was filling up. Dylan waited until there were only a couple of free seats and then strode inside, coffee in his hand.
“Excuse me,” he said. “Do you mind if I share your table?”
Two blond heads looked up from newsprint. Sigurd, older and a little broader across the shoulders than his brother, smiled politely and said, “You’re welcome.”
“Thanks.” Dylan made a fuss of stirring coffee that was probably too cold to drink now. “Excuse me,” he said again, “but you’re Norwegian, yes? I wonder if you could remind me of the name of the cathedral in Trondheim?”
Sigurd, perhaps guessing he’d get no peace now the mad Englishman was in close proximity, carefully folded his newspaper. “Nidaros Cathedral.”
“That’s it. Thank you. It’s a very beautiful building. Because we only had a day in Trondheim, we only had time for a brief look round. Hopefully, we’ll return one day to do it justice. It really is beautiful.”
“Indeed it is. And you have many impressive buildings in England. St Paul’s Cathedral. Westminster Abbey.”
“Yes, but I’m afraid we take them for granted.” Dylan had got them talking more easily than he’d dared hope. “Do you know England well?”
Mathias seemed less sociable than his brother, but he too put down his newspaper. “We do a little business in London from time to time.”
“Really?” Dylan was about to say “how interesting” but he doubted he’d sound sincere. “What business are you in?”
“Chemicals,” Sigurd said. “Mainly the production of polystyrene and polypropylene for packaging. And you—?”
He wasn’t asking for Dylan’s name, he was merely making polite conversation and asking about Dylan’s line of business. However, pretending to misunderstand, Dylan thrust out his hand. “Dylan Scott. Good to meet you.”
A half smile tugging at his lips, Sigurd shook his hand. “Sigurd Jorstad and this is my brother, Mathias.”
“Pleased to meet you both. So you’re taking a holiday from the rough and tumble of the chemical industry?”
“Part holiday and part business,” Mathias said. “We have a factory near Tromsø that we’re on our way to visit. We also had some business to conduct earlier but now we’re relaxing.”
“Conducting business on a cruise ship?” Dylan grinned. “It’s all right for some. Lucky you.”
“You’ll find that many Norwegians use the ships as
No way had Jackson broken into that cabin in the early hours. No matter how dark it was in the room, he would have recognised his own mother. Besides, he had an alibi. He’d spent the night performing acrobatics with Miss Norway. Lucky bastard.
Dylan had an ever-increasing list of suspects for two victims. One of those victims probably died in her sleep and the other was very much alive. Crazy.
He sat in the sun lounge for an hour, seeing nothing but the jagged Norwegian coastline with its inlets and islands, but was no further forward. He had no idea what had happened that first night aboard the Midnight Sun but he was damn sure something had.
He was about to go for a wander round the ship when two men came into the room, took seats next to each other and opened identical copies of a Norwegian newspaper.
Well, well, well. There was no mistaking Sigurd and Mathias Jorstad. They simply looked taller, broader, blonder and more tanned than they had in the pictures on the internet. Both men were in their thirties and were dressed casually in jeans and chunky sweaters.
Dylan needed an excuse to talk to them. He left the sun lounge, went to the café to buy a coffee and returned to stand just outside the room, where he had a good view of the Jorstads. They weren’t speaking, they were too engrossed in their newspapers.
Slowly but surely, the lounge was filling up. Dylan waited until there were only a couple of free seats and then strode inside, coffee in his hand.
“Excuse me,” he said. “Do you mind if I share your table?”
Two blond heads looked up from newsprint. Sigurd, older and a little broader across the shoulders than his brother, smiled politely and said, “You’re welcome.”
“Thanks.” Dylan made a fuss of stirring coffee that was probably too cold to drink now. “Excuse me,” he said again, “but you’re Norwegian, yes? I wonder if you could remind me of the name of the cathedral in Trondheim?”
Sigurd, perhaps guessing he’d get no peace now the mad Englishman was in close proximity, carefully folded his newspaper. “Nidaros Cathedral.”
“That’s it. Thank you. It’s a very beautiful building. Because we only had a day in Trondheim, we only had time for a brief look round. Hopefully, we’ll return one day to do it justice. It really is beautiful.”
“Indeed it is. And you have many impressive buildings in England. St Paul’s Cathedral. Westminster Abbey.”
“Yes, but I’m afraid we take them for granted.” Dylan had got them talking more easily than he’d dared hope. “Do you know England well?”
Mathias seemed less sociable than his brother, but he too put down his newspaper. “We do a little business in London from time to time.”
“Really?” Dylan was about to say “how interesting” but he doubted he’d sound sincere. “What business are you in?”
“Chemicals,” Sigurd said. “Mainly the production of polystyrene and polypropylene for packaging. And you—?”
He wasn’t asking for Dylan’s name, he was merely making polite conversation and asking about Dylan’s line of business. However, pretending to misunderstand, Dylan thrust out his hand. “Dylan Scott. Good to meet you.”
A half smile tugging at his lips, Sigurd shook his hand. “Sigurd Jorstad and this is my brother, Mathias.”
“Pleased to meet you both. So you’re taking a holiday from the rough and tumble of the chemical industry?”
“Part holiday and part business,” Mathias said. “We have a factory near Tromsø that we’re on our way to visit. We also had some business to conduct earlier but now we’re relaxing.”
“Conducting business on a cruise ship?” Dylan grinned. “It’s all right for some. Lucky you.”
“You’ll find that many Norwegians use the ships as
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