Music to Die For at the Seaview Hotel

Book 5: A Helen Dexter Cosy Crime Mystery

by Glenda Young

Genres: Mystery

Synopsis

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

Eighties pop band The A64 are reuniting for the gig of a lifetime at Scarborough's Open Air Theatre, and Helen Dexter is overjoyed when they book into her Seaview Hotel.

However, as old tensions rise within the band, it's clear each musician has something to hide. Why is lead singer Starr running away from her past? Why is Pete the drummer secretive about where he's been for the last forty years? And when guitarist Dave breaks his legs in a freak window-cleaning accident, a new guitarist arrives, causing even more discord for all. Then, as the band rehearse for their comeback gig, a dead body is found.

Can Seaview Hotel landlady Helen Dexter and her rescue greyhound Suki hit the right note and solve the crime?

The Seaview Hotel mystery series was shortlisted for Best New Crime Series alongside bestselling series by Richard Osman and Val McDermid in the Dead Good Readers Awards.

Praise for the previous Helen Dexter mysteries

'I loved Glenda's book and her characters - perfect for all fans of dance, mystery and cosy escapism.Absolutely smashing!' ANTON DU BEKE

'Think Richard Osman and Agatha Christie visit Scarborough ... Cosy crime to a tee' PETERBOROUGH TELEGRAPH

Release date: September 23, 2026

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 288

Sample

‘It’s small, rough around the edges and smells bad,’ Marie said. ‘Reminds me of my ex-husband, Daran.’

Helen Dexter looked around the old beach hut, trying not to inhale too deeply. Marie was right about the smell. It stank of sweat and damp. Marie found a rickety red-and-white-striped deckchair abandoned at the back. Helen watched as she unfolded it, dusted it down, then placed it in the middle of the doorway before sinking into it and gazing out to sea. Helen and Marie had been friends since childhood, and when Helen needed help cleaning the beach hut, she knew there was only one person to ask. Unfortunately, that person hadn’t been free and she’d ended up with Marie instead.

The first person Helen had thought of to help her clean the hut was Jean, the cook at the Seaview Hotel. The Seaview was Helen’s pride and joy. It was her home and her business, her life. An attractive building with ten guest rooms, it stood on the corner of King’s Parade, overlooking Scarborough’s North Bay on the beautiful Yorkshire coast. In addition to its ten well-appointed rooms, it had four stars, three storeys, and a caramel-coloured rescue greyhound called Suki, who was currently asleep on the grass outside the hut. When Helen and her late husband, Tom, had bought the Seaview, they’d inherited Jean with the fixtures and fittings. Jean was a no-nonsense Yorkshirewoman who you messed with at your peril. However, as it was Jean’s ballroom-dance day, she couldn’t help. And so, with some reluctance, because Marie didn’t like getting her hands dirty, Helen had asked her instead.

Marie was well manicured, well dressed and stylish. When Helen had called her that day, she’d caught her at a loose end and cajoled her into coming along. Marie’s long, glossy hair was wound up on top of her head. She wore a pair of stylish, expensive dungarees with a pristine white T-shirt. Her feet were clad in designer flip-flops, the jewel-studded thongs disappearing between painted toenails. Her make-up was immaculate, as always. In comparison, Helen wore jeans, ankle boots and a T-shirt, with an old fleece jacket tied around her waist. Her bobbed brown hair was pushed behind her ears and her face was red with the exertion of cleaning. Marie hadn’t proved much help and hadn’t broken a sweat.

Helen walked to Marie, placed her hands on her shoulders and sighed. Ahead of them, laid out in all its glory, was Scarborough’s North Bay, where gentle waves hugged the shore.

‘I’ll never get bored of this view,’ she said.

A group of kids were being taught how to surf in the shallows. Couples walked hand in hand while dogs ran to the waves and barked. Above the beach, seagulls flew. Far out at sea, past the children and the surfers, if you looked hard and long enough, there were dolphins and seals to be found.

‘Speaking of my ex-husband, I ran into him in town,’ Marie said. ‘You’ll never guess what he’s doing next week.’ She turned and looked at Helen. ‘He’s working as security for the A64, the band playing the Open Air Theatre on Saturday night.’

Helen tensed.

‘It’s been impossible to get tickets,’ Marie continued. ‘The gig sold out within hours.’

‘Oh,’ Helen said dully.

Marie shot her a look. ‘Oh? Is that all you can say? This is the A64 reunion gig we’re talking about. It’s huge! It’s the first time they’ve played together in forty years after their lead singer disappeared when . . .’ She paused. ‘After what happened. It was tragic.’

Helen took a deep breath. ‘Are you sure that’s what Daran said? He’s definitely working for the A64?’

‘I’m certain. What’s up with you? You’ve gone pale.’

Helen turned away. ‘I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?’ she snapped. But Marie’s news had come as a shock.

Helen didn’t like Daran. He liked to think of himself as a local gangster and was involved in all sorts of illegal and dodgy goings-on, yet he always managed to stay one step ahead of the police. When Marie first met him, she’d told Helen that Daran’s dad had been killed in a car accident when Daran was a child. Ever since, he’d had an aversion to the sight of blood. It made him squeamish and pass out. It was one of the reasons he now got other people to do his dirty work for him. If someone needed beating up, he couldn’t do it himself.

‘Come on, let’s get back to work. We can’t sit around in deckchairs all day.’

‘I can,’ Marie said dreamily.

Helen helped her friend to her feet and handed over a string of coloured flags. Marie wrinkled her nose in distaste.

‘This bunting’s a bit twee, even by your standards,’ she moaned.

‘It’s pretty and colourful, and that’s exactly what this hut needs,’ Helen replied. She picked up a hammer and a packet of nails.

‘What made you decide to dust off your old beach hut anyway?’ Marie asked as the bunting went up.

‘I’m going to offer it to my guests to use,’ Helen explained. ‘It’s a bonus for staying at the hotel. I felt I needed something to compete with the growing number of Airbnbs and self-catering apartments in town. The amount of new accommodation makes me fear for traditional hotels like mine.’

Marie shot her a look. ‘Rubbish! There’ll always be a market for old-fashioned places like the Seaview.’

Helen gave a wry smile. ‘Old-fashioned. That’s exactly how people see hotels like mine. Everyone wants flashy apartments these days, with grey and beige furnishings.’

‘Greige,’ Marie chipped in. ‘It’s called greige. It’s the new neutral, very fashionable.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with a chintz curtain,’ Helen said. ‘Anyway, who wants neutral when they come to Scarborough on holiday? People want colour, excitement, bingo, fish and chips, seagulls, open-top bus rides, Punch and Judy, donkey rides, slot machines, karaoke. Coloured lights in Peasholm Park with their reflection shimmering in the lake. Greige? If they want greige, they can go to flaming Filey!’ She hammered in another nail, this time with more force.

When the bunting was strung, she stood back to admire her work.

‘Looks pretty,’ she said.

‘It still smells, though,’ Marie said, wrinkling her nose.

‘Let’s leave the door open to air the place, see if that helps. We’ll sit outside with Suki,’ Helen suggested.

The friends walked outside, and Helen plonked herself down on the grass beside her dog. The news about Daran working for the A64 had unsettled her greatly. Suki lifted her head, then promptly went back to sleep. Marie walked to her red convertible sports car parked on the prom. She opened the boot and pulled out a blanket and picnic basket, then returned to Helen and spread the blanket on the ground. She opened the basket, took out a flask and poured two cups of tea. Then she unwrapped a shop-bought cake.

The two women turned their faces to the sun. It was a perfect Scarborough day. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the air was still. It was April, early in the tourist season, but the beach was already busy with visitors and walkers. The wooden hut was behind them, its turquoise exterior reflecting the blue of the sea.

‘I hope this season at the Seaview goes without incident,’ Helen said.

Marie held up her cup of tea. ‘Let’s drink to nothing going wrong this time.’

Helen raised her cup too. ‘Here’s to no murders or missing guests. No divas, fraudsters or fakers, and definitely no more dead Elvis impersonators.’

They touched the cups together in a toast.

‘Speaking of Elvis impersonators,’ said Marie, ‘how’s Jimmy?’

Helen had fallen for Jimmy Brown after the death of her beloved husband. Jimmy had fallen for Helen, and for Scarborough, and had moved to the town to live in a smart semi off Falsgrave Road. However, he was increasingly making noises about wanting to move into the Seaview. These were noises that Helen was turning a deaf ear to. At times she felt uncomfortable enjoying her relationship with Jimmy. It felt like she was being unfaithful to Tom.

‘He’s working in Dubai, singing Elvis songs for overpaid oil execs. He sends me messages every day,’ Helen said, then she turned her face away, hoping Marie wouldn’t ask more. They sat in silence a while.

‘I’m bored,’ Marie sighed.

‘Do you want to help me hang pictures in the hut?’ Helen asked.

Marie shook her head. ‘No, I mean I’m bored of my life. I need a project. I want to get my teeth stuck into something. When you called today, I only came along because I had nothing else to do.’

‘Oh, cheers, love,’ Helen said, raising her eyebrows.

‘Since I sold my nail bar business, I’ve worked hard at Tom’s Teas to build that up. Now, it’s one of the best tearooms in town. I’ve got a great team working for me. In fact, they’re so good, there’s nothing left for me to do. I feel lost, adrift.’

Suki shifted position and laid her head on Marie’s knee. Marie began to fondle the dog’s ears.

‘Maybe I could do your hair and make-up?’ she said, inspecting Helen’s face.

Helen shot her a look. ‘Maybe you could stop suggesting that. It’s been your mantra since we were fourteen.’

‘You need to make more of yourself,’ Marie said. ‘Or maybe I could decorate your apartment. You haven’t changed it since before Tom died.’

Helen bristled. ‘I like my apartment the way it is.’

Marie held up her hands in surrender. ‘I’m just saying. I’ve got lots of free time and an itch to do something. What about helping you at the Seaview; is there anything I can do there? When are your next guests due in? Who are they, anyway? I expect it’ll be the usual bunch: couples coming for a dirty weekend; families with kids; middle-aged men turning up to watch the cricket. The Seaview attracts solid folk.’

‘Those people are my life, they’re what the Seaview is all about. And they don’t want greige.’

Helen shared a smile with her friend.

‘Marie, can I tell you something?’

Marie laid her hand on Helen’s arm. ‘You can tell me anything, any time. You know I’ll always be honest.’

‘Too honest, sometimes,’ Helen said.

‘If you want a friend who tells lies, you’ve got the wrong girl.’

‘It’s about Daran.’

Marie stiffened. ‘Go on.’

‘I haven’t been straight with you. I mean, it’s not that I’ve lied to you, I’d never do that. It’s just that I’ve kept something from you. And I wouldn’t have, honestly, but I was sworn to secrecy, see, and . . .’

Helen felt the full force of Marie’s glare.

‘I don’t understand. What’s my ex-husband got to do with you?’

Helen began absent-mindedly fondling Suki’s left ear while Marie fondled the right one. Suki groaned with pleasure.

‘The band that Daran’s going to work for as security, the A64, they’re coming to stay at the Seaview.’

Marie raised her eyebrows as Helen continued.

‘When the lead singer, Starr McKenzie, rang to book the rooms, she asked me if I could recommend a local security firm, as the band needed someone to stand guard outside the hotel to keep fans away. I had no idea Daran was working for the firm I recommended, otherwise I’d have given her the name of a different one. But it means that Daran’s going to be stationed outside the Seaview for a week, working shifts with two other guys.’

Marie’s mouth opened in shock. Helen took a deep breath.

‘Promise me you don’t hate me for keeping this from you?’ she said. ‘No one must find out where Starr and her band are.’

She looked around to ensure no one was in earshot, then quietly, softly, she began to sing a tune that both of them knew. It was the song that had made the A64 famous.

‘We’re heading home

We’re on our way

To our favourite place . . .’

Marie’s eyes opened wide. She dropped Suki’s ear and finished the chorus.

‘To our favourite place where you are near!’

Helen looked around again, saw the coast was clear and decided to say more. It was the first time she’d told anyone about her VIP guests, and it was a relief to share the news that had burdened her for weeks.

‘It’s really her. Starr MacKenzie and the A64. She’s due to arrive later today.’

‘But . . .’ Marie was struggling with the news, as Helen had known she would. It was another reason she’d kept it secret. ‘Starr disappeared forty years ago, after . . .’ She paused, and Helen understood why. The tragic event that had ended Starr’s career and split the band had made headline news. ‘She swore never to perform again. Why are she and the band stepping back into the spotlight? And more to the point, why are they staying with you?’

‘It’s top secret, Marie. If I tell you, you’ve got to swear to keep quiet.’

Marie crossed her fingers on both hands, then held them up in front of Helen. ‘I swear.’

Helen took a breath. Her livelihood depended on keeping the secret. She looked into Marie’s eager face. ‘I was hoping not to tell anyone, but now that I know Daran’s involved, I can’t keep it from you.’

She made herself comfortable next to Suki’s long caramel limbs.

‘You remember what happened to Starr all that time ago?’

‘Course I do,’ Marie said. ‘It was dreadful. When was it . . . 1982?’

‘November 1982. The band had returned from a tour of Japan. They were a huge success out there. Their hit song was used on a chocolate ad on TV.’

‘I remember the song, “Meet Me at Eat Me”,’ Marie chipped in. ‘It was massive, on the radio all the time.’

‘Well, when they got back, flushed with the success of their hit, they did a meet-and-greet with fans. One of the fans died while Starr was shaking his hand. He had a massive heart attack. It was terrible, shocking. Poor Starr, she never recovered. She hid away and became a recluse. No one’s seen her for forty years. The band split up and went their separate ways. She still blames herself for the man’s death.’

‘How do you know? Have you spoken to her?’ Marie asked.

Helen nodded. ‘She’s nervous about making her comeback and says the rest of the band feel jittery too.’

‘Then why is she doing it? Why get the band back together?’

‘Why do most bands reunite? Reading between the lines after speaking to her, she’s skint. She hasn’t worked much in the last forty years, and singing on stage is the only thing she knows. So she’s going to give it a try. As for staying with me, it’s because she wants to keep a low profile. She wants somewhere discreet and nondescript. Somewhere that’s tucked away and blends in, low-key. Somewhere – and these are her words, not mine – somewhere that’s a little bit dull.’

‘Dull?’ Marie cried. ‘How rude! The Seaview’s old-fashioned, yes, but not dull.’

‘Well, I didn’t take umbrage at her comment for long, as I needed the booking and the income. But I know what she means. The Seaview is ordinary. Perhaps I’m one of a dying breed of seaside landladies trying to keep the tradition of bed and breakfast alive. Anyway, Starr said she doesn’t want her fans to know where she’s staying. If she’d booked into one of the big hotels like the Crown or the Royal, booked a flash apartment at the Sands or hired the exclusive Spa Chalet, the chances are her fans would find her. Plus, staying at the Seaview is all the band can afford – the promoter is waiting to see how the reunion gig goes before investing further in them. Starr says she needs somewhere to rest. And she needs a lot of rest. She’s fresh out of rehab.’

‘Crikey,’ said Marie. ‘Drugs? Drink?’

‘All of the above. Now that she’s clean, she’s ready to play the comeback gig of her life.’

Marie was shocked into silence, which didn’t happen often. Helen checked her watch.

‘I should get back. Starr’s due to arrive soon and I want to make sure the new cleaner has left the Seaview in a decent state.’

‘Are you still using a cleaner from the employment agency?’

Helen nodded grimly. ‘Just until Sally’s back from maternity leave.’

Sally was the Seaview’s cleaner and one of Helen’s closest friends. She studied finance at college in her spare time. Married to local entrepreneur Gav, she had a seven-year-old daughter, Gracie, from a previous relationship and was currently on maternity leave after giving birth to twin boys. Helen missed her a lot.

‘I’ll be pleased to have her back. None of the cleaners from the agency have been half as good as Sal.’

Helen stood and brushed grass from her jeans. Suki stood too. Helen held out her hand to help Marie up from the blanket. Marie smoothed out a crease on her pristine dungarees.

‘Well, at least you looked the part, even if you didn’t do any work,’ Helen said.

Marie laughed out loud. ‘I handed you the bunting and brought tea and cake, and now I’m exhausted.’ She wiped a hand across her forehead and swooned theatrically for added effect.

‘Come on, let’s go,’ Helen said.

She took one last admiring glance at the colourful bunting inside the beach hut, then locked the blue wooden door. She clipped Suki’s lead to her collar. When she turned around, Marie was waiting by her car.

‘Want a lift?’

‘And where would Suki sit, on my knee? Or on the back seat that your tiny sports car doesn’t have?’

‘Good point, well made.’

Helen walked to her and they hugged, then Marie stroked Suki’s head.

‘Keep me updated about . . .’ she tapped the side of her nose, ‘and I promise I won’t breathe a word.’ Then she slid her slim legs into her sports car and drove off.

Helen began her walk to the Seaview Hotel. It wasn’t far, but it was uphill, and the path was steep.

‘Come on, girl,’ she told the dog, and Suki obediently trotted on.

At the top of the hill, Helen sank onto a wooden bench to catch her breath. Suki stood next to her and both of them gazed at the sea. In the distance below, an open-top bus rumbled by with tourists on board admiring the sweep of the bay. To her right were the ruins of Scarborough Castle. The castle was a Scarborough landmark, and the headland where it stood separated the town’s two bays. To the left were the clifftops of Scalby Ness and the Scalby Mill pub, one of Helen’s favourites, selling local Wold Top ales and nice chips.

She sat until rested, then started off again.

‘OK, girl?’ she said to Suki.

Suki didn’t reply. Greyhounds were quiet like that.

They walked along King’s Parade towards the Seaview Hotel on the corner. Next to it was the Vista del Mar. Its owner, Miriam, thought herself and her hotel a cut above Helen and the Seaview. Helen walked round to the back of the Seaview. She didn’t allow dogs in the hotel’s public spaces, and taking Suki through the front door would break her own rule. As the day was still warm, she threw open the patio doors of her basement apartment and Suki pottered outside. Helen quickly ran upstairs, picked up the post from the hallway, then inspected the cleaning work. It looked all right at first glance, but when she ran her finger along a dado, it came back covered in dust.

‘Not good enough,’ she tutted. ‘Sally, please come back soon.’

She walked from the hall to the lounge, where there was a corner bar. Above it was a framed photograph of Tom dressed in a white Elvis suit. It had been taken at one of the Seaview’s Elvis-themed parties. Tom was frozen in time with a smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes. Oh, what she’d give to see that smile again. She pushed her shoulders back. Life had moved on, and she had to move with it. She swallowed a lump in her throat. Turning the post in her hand, she noted a postcard from Jimmy. How quaint of him, she thought, how old-fashioned he could be, how romantic. He also sent daily text messages, even sent bouquets of roses, and rang her often while he was away. The postcard simply said: Wish you were here.

She walked to the window. A minivan had pulled up outside. Its windows were blacked out. Helen’s heart jumped. She checked the time. It was too early for Starr; she’d said she wouldn’t arrive until teatime, and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet. She put the post down and walked closer to the window, nervous but excited. Starr had been eighteen years old when she’d disappeared in 1982. That would make her in her early sixties now, ten years older than Helen. She braced herself.

The door of the minivan slid open and a thickset man with dark hair stepped out. Helen peered closely. Was he one of the A64? The band’s guitarist was called Dave something. Her memory failed her on his surname after forty years. The drummer was Pete Spain, who used to wear a slim leather tie and big round glasses with white plastic frames. And there was a guy on the keyboards, Keith Kay. The backing singer was Julie Flood, who used to perform barefoot on stage. But there was only one star in the band, Starr McKenzie herself. Another man stepped from the minivan, but there was still no sign of Starr. Helen left the window and returned to the hall, ready to greet her guests. She paused by the mirror to check her appearance. She’d hoped to have time to change and put on make-up before Starr arrived.

‘What a mess,’ she groaned when she saw her reflection. ‘Oh well, there’s nothing I can do now. Pop stars or not, they’re going to have to take me as they find me.’

She swung open the door and readied herself with her professional welcoming smile. It dropped off her face the minute she saw that the guests weren’t heading to the Seaview. They were going next door, to the Vista del Mar.

‘These guests are VIPs, dear. They’re mine,’ she heard a familiar voice say. She looked to her left, where Miriam stood on her doorstep, gloating. Miriam was a handsome woman of indeterminate age, perhaps sixty-five, although Helen had never been sure. She wore her years well and dressed smartly. Today she was wearing a flattering navy shift dress. She’d recently had her long, greying hair cut into a short, sharp silver bob. Helen noticed that she wore more make-up than usual.

‘I didn’t think they were mine,’ she lied.

She was about to close the door when Miriam spoke again. ‘Of course, I couldn’t possibly tell you who they are, dear. Did I mention they’re VIPs? I’ve another arriving tomorrow; a professor, no less. He’s something big in meat and is coming to town on business. I’m sworn to secrecy, of course. It’s all . . .’ she tapped the side of her nose just as Marie had done when they’d been talking about Starr MacKenzie, ‘confidential, dear. Sorry.’

Helen watched as Miriam waved at the two men from the minivan, welcoming them into the Vista del Mar.

Helen closed the door and walked back inside the Seaview. Then, as she always did when she wanted to know what Miriam was up to, she put her ear to the wall. Along the terrace of bed and breakfasts on King’s Parade, the walls were old and thin. Miriam’s voice rang out loud and clear.

‘Come in, dear. Mind where you step, I’ve just had the carpets cleaned.’

Helen heard a bump and a crash.

‘Do watch where you’re going,’ Miriam chided. ‘I’ll invoice for chipped paint. You can leave your cameras here while I check you both in.’

Helen’s eyebrows shot up. Cameras? She leaned closer to the wall and pressed her ear harder. Miriam’s voice became muffled, and Helen suspected she’d moved away to check in her guests. She held her nerve and waited, and was rewarded when Miriam spoke again.

‘You have more camera equipment to bring in, I see. Well, that’s fine, as long as nothing clutters up my hallway or blocks the fire-escape route. Breakfast is between eight and nine thirty a.m. and I don’t do dinner. Have you got that? No dinner.’

There was more shuffling and mumbling, then Helen heard one of the men.

‘We would like to ask permission to film your guests.’

Helen gasped. Cameras? Film? What on earth was going on?

‘We’ll need their consent, of course, and we’ve brou. . .