come back from your idyllic interlude, sit down and think about it all. If you make a list, burn it afterward. Oil, drugs—remember what a long seacoast Norway has. Something’s staring you in the face. Get Ursula to find out what’s bothering the Peterson woman. She’s good at getting people to tell her things. And above all, don’t take any more saunas.”
Pix hung up, then put on her jacket. She was feeling better. And maybe Oscar’s death was an accident after all.
On her end, Faith put the phone down reluctantly. She was filled with conflicting emotions. Pix was a big girl, a very big girl if you considered her height, and she could take care of herself. But she was also a trusting soul and did not possess Faith’s innate skepticism. This was why Faith was worried. Pix believed people. And most of the time, the trait served her well, but there had been some disasters. More than once, Sam had had to rescue her from friendships that were covers for self-centered imposition. “You have enough to do for one family. There’s no reason Lydia Montgomery can’t take her own dog to the vet”—and worse. Pix was always chagrined, vowed to be a better judge of character—and, she always led with her chin again the next time.
The other emotion Faith was feeling was out-and-out jealousy. Here was Pix having all the fun, up to her ears in potential international intrigue. And what Japanese man? Faith didn’t know the Hansens, so it was easy for her to concentrate on the sleuthing aspects the trip afforded and not feel the pain Pix was seeing on Marit’s face every day. But even if Faith took a plane that night, by the time she got to fjord country, the tour would be over and the members scattered to the winds. Faith would just have to let Pix handle it herself. She hoped she’d call again. She also hoped she wouldn’t see Sam or any of the other Millers for a day or two. To put it mildly, Sam would not
be at all happy that Pix had found a body. The one in Maine had been enough.
Sleep was going to be impossible now. She had too much to think about. If Oscar Melling’s death “wasn’t an accident, it was murder.
Pix arrived at the boat, calling out apologies to the guides
and stewards who were patiently waiting on the dock.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I…”
Jan smiled. “Slow down. No one is in a hurry. You’re on vacation, remember?”
It was hard at times. Besides, she wasn’t.
Sonja and Anders pulled up the gangplank and untied the lines. Soon they were in the middle of the Sognefjord and Pix made her way below to the large cabin, where she knew she’d find Ursula. It was slightly overcast and there was no one on the upper deck. The door to the cabin that adjoined it was closed.
At least some things were predictable. At the bottom of the stairs, the farmers from Fargo were in the stern, placidly smoking their pipes. Mr. Knudsen and Mr. Arnulfson wished her a good morning. She detected a slight air of excitement among the men, anticipation. At last—dirt, farm machinery, manure.
The cabin was crowded. It seemed that the entire tour had opted for togetherness, yet there was no jollity. Oscar’s death had cast a pall on the group. Even the cardplayers seemed distracted. As Pix walked past, she noticed both Golubs were staring out the window and not at their hands.
The Petersons were clustered around a table. Carol was gripping a mug of coffee so tightly, her knuckles were white. And Roy…Roy!
“Are you all right?” Pix blurted out.
Roy senior was sporting a shiner, a hell of a shiner—puffy, black-and-blue, with the promise of more colors to come—that particularly unpleasant-looking zinc yellow, chartreuse, and carmine.
“Walked into a damn door,” he mumbled, and turned his head away.
Carol looked even more woebegone than she had earlier, if that was possible. She’d barely gotten herself together—her lilac pants suit was rumpled and her hair uncombed. Her lipstick was crooked. Lynette, on the other hand, looked almost obscenely gorgeous, radiating the beauty a good night in bed, and just enough sleep, endowed. She was obviously pleased about something.
“Good morning, Mrs. Miller. How are you? We missed you at breakfast.”
Possibly the news that Pix had discovered Oscar’s body had not been widely broadcast. Well, she wasn’t about to say anything. The last thing she wanted were ghoulish questions about the poor man’s appearance.
“Fine, thank you. The farm should be very interesting. I hope we get some sun.” Pix decided to ignore the breakfast remark. Let them think her a sluggard.
Close to the front of the boat, her mother was sitting in solitary splendor. She reached out for Pix, drawing her into the next chair. “I was afraid you wouldn’t make the boat on time, but Carl said they’d hold it for you. They are rather dear, don’t you think?”
Pix told her mother she’d stopped to call Faith; then she gave Ursula her assignment for the day. It wasn’t going to be easy to get Carol Peterson alone, but Mother had her ways. Once cornered, Carol had no more chance of holding on to her secret than Pix had in days of yore—actually, not so yore. Something about Mother looking one right in the eye—it had the effect of instantly causing the mouth to open and tell all, like pushing the correct spot on an old desk to reveal the hidden drawer.
“It’s so quiet in here,” Pix commented.
“Of course it’s quiet. There’s been a death,” Ursula said.
Pix wondered how long it would take for Oscar Melling to move from “rotten apple” to “poor, unfortunate elderly gentleman,” “one of the old school,” “a character, but
you had to hand it to him, built his own business from nothing,” et cetera, et cetera. All those neutral platitudes that got said once someone was dead. She gave a little shudder. Her sound sleep, then talk with Faith and the race for the boat had effectively suppressed the image of that grotesque form on the rocks. A stranger. She hadn’t known him, but they had formed an intimacy. She was the first to know he was dead—perhaps.
She hadn’t even said a prayer for him. What would Tom Fairchild, not just her friend but also her minister, say? He’d say it was fine. Tom, the least judgmental person she knew. Tom, whose gentle guidance had helped her over a particularly rocky place some years ago. Rocks. That brought her back to Oscar again, and she commended his soul to whatever heaven he might have believed in. Would there be many who mourned him? A loss to whom? Loss, lost. She’d always thought that terminology woefully inadequate. “I lost my father, my mother, my husband.” As if the beloved had been misplaced. It sounded so careless.
“Pix, what are you thinking about? You look so sad,” Ursula said. “Sonja’s making
The fragrant smell of the waffles seemed to restore some unanimity to the tour group and the hushed conversations became almost normal. Carl took the microphone to describe some of the places they were passing.
“Look quickly out the right side and you will see Fritjof with his Viking sword. It is a long story, but basically he had to earn his stripes in a series of difficult quests before he could become the leader. The statue is twenty- seven meters high and a landmark of the Sognefjord, which I think we have mentioned is one hundred miles long but rarely broader than three miles wide. Fritjof has the best view around here. He was a gift to the Norwegian people from…”
Pix and Ursula mouthed to each other as he spoke: “Kaiser Wilhelm the Second.”
“Obviously attracted by the noble warrior, all that rampaging and pillaging,” Pix whispered softly, and Ursula laughed.
The statue was indeed a landmark, towering above the park it stood in. Fritjof seemed to like what he saw, leaning on the long sword, with his other hand jauntily at his hip.
“Now, if you look out the windows on the left side, you will see what appears to be a line of big blue balloons. This is a new way we are trying to farm mussels. There’s a long line descending from each and the mussels grow there. In Norway, we think it’s very important to keep our farms and save the way of life they represent, so we have to think of things for the farmers to do to make some money.”
“Look at the road!” Marge Brady exclaimed, pausing a moment from busily scribbling in her journal. “You’d think people would topple straight into the fjord. Oops!”
There was a moment’s embarrassed silence as everyone recalled Oscar’s recent “toppling.” Then the silence was broken as Carl hastily told them, “The road is safer than it looks, and again the government has paid for it in order to encourage people to live here. In the past, the only way for the farmer and his family to travel was by water, and it was a hard life. The roads enable them to get to Vik and other places for medical care and shopping. But the farm we will visit this morning is pretty isolated still. No road, as you will see.”
