movie.
She realized Inspector Marcussen was talking to her and that she had better pay attention—close attention.
“It must have been a terrible shock for you to discover Mr. Melling like that in the fjord.”
“Yes, yes it was.” She folded her hands together until the coffee came, then thought it looked like she was praying, so she quickly separated them.
“Could you tell us exactly what he looked like and what you did? Maybe starting with how you came to be at the fjord at this time of the morning?”
She definitely needed a lawyer. She didn’t know whether Norway was one of those countries like France where you were guilty until proven innocent. She hoped not.
The man at Marcussen’s side had leaned forward. The inspector followed her gaze.
“Do you mind if Jansen here takes a few notes—to help us find out what happened to Mr. Melling? You are free to look them over before you leave.”
Leave where? The room, the hotel, the country? She nodded, took a deep breath, and—the coffee arrived.
The smell was instantly calming. For a moment, they were simply four people adding cream and sugar to their cups, or not. And while there wasn’t cake, there was a plate of delicious-looking butter cookies.
“Where were we?” the inspector asked jovially. “You were going to tell us about finding the body.” The words were at odds with his tone.
“Yes.” Pix put her cup down on the table. She was afraid it might wobble. “I wasn’t sleeping.” She chose her words with care to avoid as many out-and-out falsehoods as possible.
businesspeople with the fjord view ever pay attention to their
flowcharts?
“Excuse me,” he interjected. “How did you leave the hotel?”
Obviously they already knew that no one at the front desk had seen her.
“I left by a side door. It was near the stairs.”
She paused, but he didn’t say anything.
“I walked along by the water, toward where the boat was docked, and met someone else from our tour, Carol Peterson.” She presumed they must know about Carol, who most certainly would have gone out by the lobby—unless, like Pix, she’d been sleuthing around for an inconspicuous side entrance and exit.
The inspector nodded.
“We sat on one of the benches and talked a few minutes, maybe five.”
“So, that would make it what time?”
“I left the hotel a little past four.” Seeing their faces, she added defensively. “People in my family have always been early risers.” Too true, too true. “It was probably ten past when I met Carol and close to four-thirty when I found Oscar.”
“You saw the body from the shore, and what did you do next?”
“I climbed down to make sure he was dead—I mean, to make sure that he wasn’t just injured and needing some help.” Neither man said anything. “Like CPR. I don’t know what it’s called in Norwegian, but it’s to resuscitate people when their hearts have failed.”
“Yet you thought he was dead before you got to him. Why was that?”
Why indeed?
“He looked dead. He wasn’t moving, and it seemed like a very awkward position to maintain.” Pix closed her eyes for a second, seeing the figure sprawled on the rocks. Oh, he had been dead. Anyone would have come to the same conclusion. Her eyelids flicked open. “I’m sure if
either of you had seen him, you would have thought so, too.” She could not keep a slightly accusatory note from her voice.
“Anyway, I felt for his pulse—on his wrist, his left wrist. I didn’t touch anything else.” She shuddered slightly. “Then I came straight back to the hotel to tell them. And you must know the rest.”
She started to get up. Inspector Marcussen put up his hand. He didn’t say, Not so fast, lady, but he might as well have.
“Just a few more things. You must be tired.”
Pix leaned back against the chair. It had a straight back, covered and tufted, as was the seat, in deep crimson. The room had elaborate brass chandeliers, she noted. This couldn’t be happening to her.
“Could you tell us about your other walk? The earlier one?”
She was glad Marit had prepared her.
“I suppose I’m not quite used to the time change.” Another nonfalsehood. “I got up at three o’clock and went outside, but I came in when it started to rain. I got very wet, in fact.”
“Again you left by the side door?”
“Yes, I didn’t want to disturb anyone.”
“Did you meet anybody during this walk?” Those blue eyes were looking straight into her soul.
“No one I knew. I saw two men running from the dock to get out of the rain.”
“Can you describe them?”
“They were speaking Norwegian—I could hear it as they passed me—but I didn’t get a good look at them. One had a dark beard, though.”
The inspector and officer exchanged glances.
“Now, you are from Aleford, Massachusetts?”
“Yes, it’s a small town west of Boston.”
“I have never been to the United States, but I have cousins in New Jersey. They have been here often and
sometime I must go see them.” If he hoped to keep her off
balance with such extraneous tidbits, it was working.
“Did you know Mr. Melling before the tour?”
“No, I had never met him before.”
“And your mother, Mrs. Rowe—had she met him here in Norway or in the United States?”
“No, and neither of us had but the slightest contact with him on the tour.” The question implied knowledge of Ursula’s trips to Norway. It certainly indicated that Oscar had been here before, but that was not surprising for someone who imported Norwegian food and had such a strong feeling for his homeland.
“And what brought you to Norway, Mrs. Miller, besides the fjords, that is?”
Here it was. She decided it was time to come clean, at least somewhat. If it came out later, it would look very peculiar, and besides, she had nothing to hide, except her hair spray and skeleton keys.
“My mother has a childhood friend, Marit Hansen, who has been very worried about the disappearance of her granddaughter, Kari.”
Both men sat up straighter and exchanged a few words in Norwegian. At this rate, Pix would really have to learn the language if she was going to find out anything at all.
“Kari Hansen? You knew her?”
Pix did not like the inspector’s use of the past tense.
“Yes, and Marit wanted us to come on the tour to see if we could discover anything about where Kari might be.”
“And have you?”
“Well, not really anything concrete. Some odd things have happened.” Pix told them about the man on Jennifer Olsen’s balcony and the swastika on the lawn at Stalheim. When she got to that, the two men gaped.
“Swastika! Are you sure?”
“Of course I am. I saw it myself. Ask the hotel—and the guides must know. Lots of people of the tour knew, too. What’s the significance? I mean, I know what it has
to do with the hotel, but what could it have to do with Oscar Melling’s death?”
“Oscar Melling—rather, Oscar Eriksen—was one of Vidkun Quisling’s most loyal adherents during the war.
