Deadly Dancing at the Seaview Hotel

Book 5: A Helen Dexter Cosy Crime Mystery

by Glenda Young

Genres: Mystery

Synopsis

The fourth in the page-turning cosy crime series from Glenda Young, this unputdownable whodunnit is perfect for fans of Julia Chapman's Dales Detective Agency, Richard Osman's The Thursday Murder Club, Betty Rowlands and Helen Cox.

Praise for Murder at the Seaview Hotel:

'I loved this warm, humorous and involving whodunnit with its host of engaging characters and atmospheric Scarborough setting' CLARE CHASE

'Just the heart-warming tonic readers need right now. Endearing characters, intriguing twists and one very cute canine' HELEN COX

Release date: September 11, 2025

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 288

Sample

On a warm summer’s day, two women dressed in black sat on a bench on a Scarborough clifftop. The younger woman was Helen Dexter, owner of Scarborough’s Seaview Hotel. The other was Helen’s right-hand woman, Jean, the hotel’s cook. Ahead of them was a crescent-shaped bay where the blue sea sparkled. Behind them stood the hotel. It was Helen’s home and her business, her life. It had ten rooms and three storeys and was her pride and joy.

Helen pushed her bobbed brown hair behind her ears and listened to the waves below and the seagulls overhead. She unbuttoned her black jacket but noticed that Jean kept hers firmly closed. Jean turned her face to the sun and squinted through her big round glasses.

‘It’d be a perfect Scarborough day . . . under different circumstances,’ she said with a crack in her voice.

Between the women stood a bottle of champagne and two glasses. And on the ground at Helen’s feet, in the shade of the bench, lay Suki, her rescue greyhound. Suki’s caramel limbs spilled on the ground and her lead was tied to the bench. Helen looked at Jean.

‘Are you ready?’ she asked.

Jean took a deep breath and nodded, with tears in her eyes. Helen picked up the champagne bottle and twisted the cork, which came out with a subdued pop. Jean held out her glass, which Helen filled. Then she filled her own glass and set the bottle down.

‘To your mum,’ she said.

Jean clinked her glass against Helen’s. ‘To my mum. She’s no longer suffering from the pain in her legs,’ she said, wiping away a tear.

Both women turned to the sea as they sipped their drinks.

‘It was a lovely funeral,’ Jean said quietly.

‘The vicar did her proud,’ Helen agreed. ‘And the care home staff put on a delicious spread afterwards.’

Jean opened her handbag and invited Helen to peer inside.

‘I took enough ham sandwiches to last me all week.’

Helen couldn’t help but smile. It was typical of Jean, letting nothing go to waste.

They sat in silence for a moment, sipping champagne. Then Jean raised her glass again.

‘Here’s to living life to the full, like Mum used to do.’

‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Helen. She took a sip, then lowered her glass and looked at Jean. Her friend was clearly tired, done in; her mum’s death had hit her hard. Jean had never been one to show her emotions, but Helen knew she was suffering, no matter how much she said otherwise. She gently placed her hand on the older woman’s arm. ‘If you need me, I’m here.’

Jean pushed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose, then sat up straight in her seat.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she said briskly. ‘Aren’t I always?’ But then her face clouded over. ‘Mind you, life will take some getting used to now that Mum’s gone. I used to walk up and down Filey Road to visit her care home three times a week. I’m not sure how I’ll fill my time now.’

Helen thought for a moment.

‘Well, when you feel ready, you could think about starting a new activity in town. There are art classes, for instance.’

Jean shook her head. ‘I can’t draw to save my life.’

But Helen wasn’t about to give up.

‘There are yoga lessons in the South Cliff Gardens. I could go with you.’

‘Yoga? Me? Pfft!’ Jean huffed. ‘You’ll not catch me doing a downward dog with my backside in the air, or standing on one leg pretending to be a tree. I’m not daft.’

‘You could learn how to upcycle furniture,’ Helen continued, undeterred.

‘Upcycle? What’s that when it’s at home?’ Jean sniffed, then took another swig of champagne. A misty look came into her eye.

‘Mind you, there is one thing I fancy doing.’

‘Oh?’ Helen said, intrigued.

Jean rolled the stem of her glass between her fingers, watching the liquid move in the flute.

‘I wouldn’t mind picking up my ballroom dancing again.’

Helen raised her eyebrows. ‘You used to dance? Just when I thought I knew everything about you, you go and surprise me like that! You know, the guests we’ve got coming in today are ballroom dancers. They’re taking part in a dance competition at the Spa. You could ask them for some tips.’

A faint blush came to Jean’s cheeks. Helen wasn’t sure if the champagne had gone to her head or if it was just the warmth of the sun. But when Jean began to speak, Helen realised it was the rush of memories that was making her animated for the first time since her mum’s death.

‘I was a young girl when Mum made me take dancing lessons. I hated it at first. I was a right little madam, stamping my feet and bawling my eyes out when she left me at the dance class. But do you know what? In time, I began to love it. It was the dresses I loved most, the pretty colours, pink and lemon. Frills on my socks. T-bar dancing shoes. Oh, the clothes were gorgeous.’

Helen was intrigued to hear more about this side of Jean’s life that she’d never been aware of.

‘I danced for years, until I was a teenager,’ Jean said. She patted her ample stomach under her black mourning jacket. ‘That’s when I started to pile on the weight and became self-conscious about the way I looked. So I stopped dancing. No matter what I did to get the weight off, nothing helped. I had to accept my body shape, accept I wasn’t going to change it no matter how much I jived or jitterbugged. I tried diets, but, well, you know me, I enjoy my food too much. That’s why I’ve spent my lifetime working in catering. I love cooking and baking. Anyway, I soon realised I was the wrong shape for being a dancer back then. Nowadays, it’s different, and people of all sizes are welcomed into the world of dance.’

‘Oh Jean,’ Helen murmured.

Jean took another sip of champagne and shrugged. ‘It’s all water off a duck’s back. I accepted long ago that I’m a dumpy little woman. I take after my mum.’ Tears filled her eyes again, and she swallowed hard. ‘Oh Mother, I’ll miss you,’ she called out to the sea. ‘But here I am, doing exactly as you told me in your will. Sitting on the seafront in Scarborough, raising a toast to you with champagne.’

They sat in silence for a while. At Helen’s feet, Suki slowly pulled herself to standing on her long, skinny legs. The dog looked out to sea and Helen gently stroked her head.

‘You’re welcome to join me and Suki on our beach walks each morning,’ she offered, but Jean shook her head.

‘I’ve got my morning routine and I’ll stick to it, thank you. You know I like to make an early start on cooking breakfast at the Seaview. I don’t have time for dog walks.’

Suki looked at Jean with imploring eyes. Helen lifted the champagne bottle and refilled the glasses. Jean raised hers again.

‘Another toast,’ she said. ‘This time to my future.’

‘To you, Jean,’ Helen said, clinking her glass against her friend’s.

‘What time are the guests due to arrive?’ Jean asked, snapping back into business mode. Helen looked askance at her.

‘Now, Jean, I’ve already told you that you’re not working today. This morning we buried your mum after her long illness. The last thing you need is—’

‘To be stuck at home with too much on my mind,’ Jean said firmly.

Helen protectively laid her free arm around Jean’s shoulder. ‘Are you sure you want to come to work?’

‘I’m certain,’ Jean replied quickly. ‘I can’t be on my own. Not today.’

Helen bit her lip. ‘You could have stayed at the hotel tonight, but our guests coming in have booked all the rooms on an exclusive-use contract.’

‘All ten rooms? But you told me I’ll only be cooking for six guests,’ Jean said.

Helen counted on her fingers. ‘That’s right, we’ve only six guests, but one of them wants a separate room for her office – she called it her HQ – so that’s seven. Another wants a room to do his podcasting from, so that’s eight.’

‘Podcasting? What’s that?’ Jean said.

‘Well, in simple terms, it’s a way of broadcasting over the internet on a particular subject. In this case, the subject is ballroom and Latin American dance. Podcasts are dropped live online—’

‘They’re what?’ Jean complained.

Helen smirked. ‘Sorry, Jean. Podcasts are made available in bite-sized chunks, usually once a week, but you can listen to them any time you like. Anyway, the podcaster is just one of our guests. The rest of them are dancers, and they’ve asked for the biggest room we’ve got to house all their costumes – dresses, shoes and so on – so that’s nine. I guess they’ll be bringing a lot of luggage. However, I don’t mind asking them if you can use the room that’s left, if you’d like to stay. I’ll offer them a discount if they grumble. The main thing is that I don’t want you to feel as if I’m sending you home if you’d prefer company. I’m sure the guests would understand, given the circumstances.’

‘No, thanks, love. A group booking the whole place sounds too noisy for my liking,’ Jean muttered.

Helen turned her head to look at the Vista del Mar, the hotel next door to the Seaview. It was run by Miriam, a difficult woman who thought herself and her hotel a cut above Helen and the Seaview.

‘Miriam might have a quiet spare room; you could always stay there if you’d like to be close by.’

Jean almost choked on her champagne. ‘Me, stay at the Vista del Mar? You must be kidding, lass. Miriam’s too snobby by half. I can’t think of anything less pleasant than staying with her. Plus, she’s got her “No Vacancies” sign in the window, although I haven’t seen anyone going in or coming out for a few days. I wonder what’s going on.’

Helen shrugged. ‘Can’t say I’ve noticed much about Miriam or her hotel lately. Anyway, you’d be welcome to stay on my sofa. It’s yours, Jean, any time you need company, or a place to stay, or a shoulder to cry on.’

‘I’ve got shoulders of my own,’ Jean huffed.

Helen took a sip of champagne. Jean patted her hand.

‘Thanks, lass. I appreciate everything you’ve done. The last few weeks have been rough. But Mum had been ill a long time. She lived in the care home for years. At least she’s not suffering now, and I’ll take heart from that.’

At Helen’s feet, Suki began to move, straining against her lead. Something had caught her attention.

‘Steady, girl,’ Helen said, stroking the dog’s ears.

Tourists were walking along the clifftop, admiring the stunning view of Scarborough Castle and the beach. Close by, a man leaned on the railings, looking out to sea, and Helen couldn’t fail to notice that he wore the most remarkable shoes. They were black, well polished and looked expensive, but it was the heels that caught her eye; they were built up at least two inches. The front of the shoes curved up and away, and there were large silver buckles on the sides.

‘Cuban heels,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘Don’t see many of those these days.’

‘What’s that, love?’ Jean said.

‘Nothing,’ Helen replied.

A little boy ran by, chasing pigeons. Cars pulled up at the kerb to unload holidaymakers with buckets and spades, windbreaks and picnics. Helen watched as families meandered down the cliff path to the sea. Then she noticed that Suki’s ears were up on alert; the dog was watching the man in the Cuban heels.

‘It’s just a man,’ she told the dog softly. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

Warmed by the sunshine, Helen took off her jacket, then topped up their glasses. Jean gave a long sigh.

‘Of course, now I’m going to have to think about what to do with all the money.’

Helen placed the bottle on the ground. The champagne bubbles had gone to her head. She didn’t normally drink so much when she was working, but today, after the funeral, was an exception to her rule.

‘What money?’

Jean’s brow furrowed. ‘My inheritance, of course. The money Mum bequeathed me in her will. I’ve been left a small fortune that I don’t know what to do with. It was tied up in stocks and shares, payable to me on Mum’s death. I knew nothing about it until I was called to see her solicitor. Mum always was a dark horse.’

Was Helen mistaken, or had the man at the railings moved closer to her and Jean? She shook her head to remove the daft notion. The emotion of the funeral and now the heat and champagne were making her see things that weren’t there. And what if he had moved closer? There was no law against it. Perhaps he was trying to get a different view of the beach.

‘I don’t know what to spend it on, Helen. Or should I reinvest it? I haven’t a clue where to start. I know nothing about finances and money.’

Suki pulled on her lead, causing Helen to turn and look again at the man in the Cuban heels. This time, she was certain he had moved closer and must have been able to hear every word Jean had said. She eyed him cautiously, wondering if she knew him, but she didn’t recognise him. She guessed he was in his late sixties. He had a kindly face and wispy white hair, and was dressed smartly in chinos, a crisp white shirt and the unusual shoes. But he was now invading their space and she felt uncomfortable.

‘It’s time you were going indoors, love, to get ready for the guests coming in,’ Jean told her.

Helen glanced at her watch. Jean was right, as usual. She lifted the bottle from the ground, untied Suki’s lead and stood.

‘I had no idea it was so late. Will you join me?’

Jean raised her champagne. ‘My glass is still half full,’ she said with a smile. ‘I’ll stay here to finish it, for Mum. It’s what she would have wanted.’

‘I’ll pop the bottle in the fridge in case you want to finish it later,’ Helen said.

She walked across the road with Suki. Before she entered the Seaview, she paused and turned to take one last look at her friend. Jean was sitting with her back to her, and Helen could see her cropped blonde hair, her black jacket and her hand holding her champagne glass. But then a chill ran down her back as she realised that the man in the Cuban heels had moved away from the railings and was talking to her.

Inside the Seaview, Helen let Suki off her lead. She never usually brought the dog in through the front door, but today she felt too hot and bothered after sitting in the sun in her funeral garb to go all the way round to the back. As she walked into the lounge, she couldn’t resist peeking outside again to see what Jean was up to. She grew concerned when she saw she was still chatting to the man in the Cuban-heeled shoes.

In the corner of the Seaview’s lounge was a small bar, and on the wall behind it was a framed photo of Helen’s late husband, Tom. She turned to the picture and spoke to Tom, as she often did when she had something on her mind.

‘Who is that man with Jean?’ she muttered, but as ever, Tom didn’t reply.

Helen watched as Jean stood from the bench. She was smiling and looked happy as she headed across the road to the Seaview. Helen jumped back from the window, not wanting her friend to think she’d been prying. She walked out of the lounge as Jean came around the corner from the hallway, and they almost collided with each other.

‘I’ve been chatting to a nice man out there,’ Jean said brightly.

Helen raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh?’

‘Yes, what a lovely chap. So interesting. He’s involved in the dance competition that’s going on at the Spa.’

‘Is he a dancer?’ Helen asked. The Cuban heels might make sense if he was, although he didn’t seem to have a dancer’s physique. Weren’t dancers supposed to have great posture? She remembered the man’s rounded shoulders and the way he was slumped against the railings.

Jean shook her head. ‘No, he’s something to do with putting the show on; a financial backer, he said.’

‘Is he a Scarborough man?’

‘Oh yes, he’s local. Lives on Paradise Mews. Can’t say I’ve met him before. He’s a few years older than me. Been in the army, he said. Divorced twice and he’s got a son.’

Helen laughed out loud. ‘My word, Jean. You found out a lot about him in such a short time.’

‘What can I say? When I like someone, I like to know all about them. You should know that about me by now.’

Helen shot her a look. ‘And did you tell him much about you?’

‘I told him why I was drinking champagne on a weekday afternoon. He seemed nice and I felt I could trust him. It’s been a long time since I had such a connection with a man. We had a good chat.’

Helen looked her hard in the eye. ‘What exactly did you tell him?’

Jean started. ‘That’s my business. What’s got into you, Helen? Why are you looking at me like that?’

Helen took the empty glass from Jean’s hands and put it on the bar. This gave her a second to think about what to stay next.

‘Jean, you’re in a fragile state. You’ve just buried your mum and now you’ve got her will to sort out, and from what you’ve told me, there’s an awful lot of money due to come your way . . .’ She glanced nervously out of the lounge window. She was relieved to see the bench empty and no sign of the man. ‘I wouldn’t want anyone taking advantage of you.’

Jean waved her hand dismissively. ‘Pfft! No one takes advantage of me, love, you should know that by now.’

She turned towards the door that led down to Helen’s apartment. When she reached it, she paused.

‘You’ve nothing to worry about, Helen. I’m as tough as old boots. Always have been. Now, come downstairs and I’ll put the kettle on. We’ll have a pot of tea and some biscuits.’

Downstairs in Helen’s apartment, the sun flooded into the open-plan kitchen and lounge. The heat was stifling, and Helen opened the patio doors that led out to a small paved area. Suki padded outside to lie in the shade. Jean immediately went to the kettle and Helen tried to stop her.

‘Jean, no. Sit down, please, and let me look after you. After the morning you’ve had, the least I can do is make tea for you.’

But Jean wouldn’t hear of it.

‘No, love. Let me do this. I need to. If I sit down and do nothing, I’ll start thinking about Mum and getting upset. It’s my way of coping, do you understand?’

Helen knew Jean well enough to know that no matter what she said, it wouldn’t change her mind. She sank into a chair at the dining table, watching her friend as she pottered in the kitchen, reaching for mugs, plates, biscuits and milk. Jean pulled a tray from a drawer and arranged things just so, then suddenly, without warning, she stopped. Her head dropped. Her shoulders slumped. The teaspoon in her hand clattered to the floor. Helen leapt from her seat and threw her arms around her. In silence, she led her to the sofa, where Jean’s tears of heartbreak over the loss of her mum finally began to flow.

Half an hour later, Helen and Jean were sitting at the dining table with a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits. Helen had changed out of her black funeral dress and tights and was now dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Suki was lying under the table, hoping for biscuit crumbs. There was a knock at the door, then the sound of a key in the lock. Helen knew exactly who it was, as there were only two people she trusted with keys to her apartment, Jean and Sally. Sally was the Seaview’s cleaner, and one of Helen’s closest friends. Married to Gav, she had a six-year-old daughter, Gracie, and was five months pregnant with twins.

Sally breezed into the apartment, her long blonde hair tied in a messy bun. She headed straight for Jean and wrapped her in her arms.

‘I’m sorry I missed the funeral, Jean. I had my accountancy exam at college this morning. How did it go? How are you? I had to come and see you as soon as I could.’

Without waiting for Jean to answer, she looked at Helen.

‘How is she, Helen? Is she OK?’

Then she looked back at Jean.

‘Are you coping all right? Is there anything I can do? People always say that, don’t they, after someone dies, but I mean it, Jean. If there’s anything I can do, you must tell me.’

Jean pulled away from Sally’s embrace.

‘There is one thing you can do for me, love, and that’s to sit down and shut up. Oh, and stop cuddling me, both of you. If I need a hug, I’ll ask.’

Sally and Helen shared a look. Sally bit her lip.

‘I was only trying to be nice,’ she said softly.

Jean patted her hand. ‘I know, love, and I didn’t mean to snap. I’ll be my old self again soon, you’ll see. Mum wouldn’t want me to be miserable. Tea?’ She lifted the teapot.

Sally pushed an empty cup towards her. ‘Please.’

As Jean poured, she looked at Sally. ‘How did your exam go?’

Sally crossed her fingers. ‘It was tricky, but I think I did well. If I pass and get my accountancy qualification, I could help you with the hotel accounts, Helen.’

Helen was about to speak, but Jean chipped in first. ‘You could help me,’ she said.

Sally perked up. ‘With what?’

‘I’m coming into some money. Mum left me everything in her will. I haven’t a clue what to do with it. I need investment advice.’

Sally’s face fell. ‘Oh, I don’t think I can help with that, Jean. It’s not my area of expertise. I could ask Gav; he knows a lot of financial advisers.’

‘How is Gav? We haven’t seen him or little Gracie in ages,’ Helen said.

Sally smiled widely. ‘Well, Gracie is a handful, and Gav, as always, is working non-stop. He adores being Gracie’s stepdad and he’s excited about being dad to the twins.’ She gently placed her hand on her growing stomach. ‘Mind you, there’s no slowing him down. He’s opening a new business in town soon.’

‘Another one?’ Helen cried. ‘How many will that make?’

Sally began counting them off on her fingers. ‘Well, he’s got his taxi firm, Gav’s Cabs; his plumbing business, Gav’s Baths; his security business, Gav’s Cams; the sandwich shop in Filey, Gav’s Grub. Plus there’s Gav’s Garden Services in town and Gav’s Go-Karts on the seafront, and he’s also a partner with Marie at Tom’s Teas vintage tearoom. So the new one will be number eight. He’s a creature of habit. Once he’s got a business up and running and it’s successful, he likes to open a new one.’

Helen was intrigued. ‘What’s the new business going to be?’

‘I can’t say. It’s a surprise. But it’s opening this week and you’ll be given a VIP invitation. You too, Jean.’

‘Can’t you give us a clue?’

Sally mimed zipping her mouth closed and shook her head, then gave a mischievous smile. ‘I could tell you . . . but then I’d have to kill you.’

Jean bristled in her se. . .