The Body in the Fjord

business trip, too, but she insisted on coming this time, and then he had the idea of inviting their bridge friends to come along. ‘I’m glad he did,’ she said, ‘because otherwise it would have been very boring.’ There was not much to do in Norway so far as she could see.”

Marit frowned. “Didn’t they visit the museums in Oslo, Frogner Park with its Vigeland statues? Maybe they don’t like scenery, but still…”

“I think she likes to shop and play bridge, period. Things are too expensive here, so that leaves cards. I did notice Sidney was wearing a Rolex and a diamond pinkie ring, so he must make some money.”

Mother is getting as label-conscious as Faith, Pix reflected. She wouldn’t have thought Ursula could have told the difference between a Rolex and a Timex.

“But what about oil secrets? Is he passing them on to the Russians? Did you work that into the conversation?”

Ursula gave her daughter a “Now, don’t be silly” look.

“Actually, he is in research and development. I found that out. And he spends weeks in Bergen, and Stavanger. I’m also pretty sure he speaks Norwegian. Anders walked by, saying something to Sonja, and Harding said to us, ‘I guess I’d better go wash up. We’ll be docking soon.’ How would he know that unless he’d been able to translate what Anders had said? His wife complained about the number of business meetings he’d had to attend during the trip and he reminded her that for him, it was not a vacation. She started to say something about telephone calls and meetings at all hours, but he told her that people weren’t interested in hearing about his boring life, then asked, ‘Are we going to play cards or what?’”

The three left their dirty plates and moved on to the next course—and the next subject. Oscar Melling. It was Marit’s turn. Marcussen had not been revealing state secrets when he told Pix Oscar’s real name and what he’d been up to during the war. That had been all over the hotel, too, along with the fact that Pix was a suspect.

“There has to be a connection with Stalheim and the swastika. Yet how does it relate to Kari and Erik?” Pix asked.

Marit replied, “I have been thinking of nothing else. Kari might have discovered that Oscar was connected with the Lebensborn home. He lived in the area. Maybe he supplied the groceries or was somehow connected. The Nazis did not permit Norwegians to work in places like that, only Germans, but there were always exceptions. Could it have been this that she wanted to tell me on the phone?”

Pix was deep in thought. Could Oscar have been Hanna’s father—Kari’s grandfather? If Kari had discovered this, it might have upset her so much that she ran off. But to stage an elopement? Plus, it still left Erik’s death unanswered. She sighed.

“I’m going to have some of that applesauce dessert layered with the toasted crumbs—what is it called, any

way?—but no coffee. Maybe a slice of the cake with the almonds on top, too.”

“It’s called tilsiorte bondepiker, which means ‘veiled country maidens,’” Marit answered. “I have no idea why. The whipped cream on top could be the veil, but as for the rest…”

“Whatever it means, it’s one of my favorites. Bring me a little, will you?” Ursula asked.

The two older women fondly watched Pix leave. A big hungry girl.

She returned with the cake and pudding, plus some fruit compote with vanilla sauce. With only a fleeting thought to what Faith would think of this plebeian dessert plate, she dug in. Norwegian food was the ultimate comfort food, lacking only macaroni and cheese to be complete.

“The police wouldn’t tell me why they think Oscar was murdered, but they seem pretty sure.”

Marit was surprised. “It’s because he was hit from behind with something before he fell. He had an injury on his shoulder that couldn’t have come from the fall, given the way the body was found.”

No wonder Ursula and Marit were such friends.

“Who told you this?” Pix asked admiringly. When she grew up, she’d like to be just like them, but she wasn’t too sanguine.

“Some of it was from the policeman, who was so reassuring about my safety, and some was from the maid who tidied my room. We decided it must have been a full bottle of something, because they didn’t find any broken glass, and an empty one would have shattered.”

“It could have been something else like a piece of wood, but that’s not so easy to come by,” Ursula added.

This was true. The grounds were manicured and unless one trekked up into the mountains, a cudgel of this sort would be difficult to locate. It would have helped that Oscar was blind drunk, and maybe the person hadn’t planned to kill him, but a blow to the rear, precipitating a fall on the jagged rocks below, suggested a strong desire

for at least grievous harm. The actual outcome meant the

killer was either lucky or unlucky, depending on the intent.

Intent. Pix looked at her watch.

“I’m going to the gift shop to get something for the kids and Sam, then bed.” She kissed both women good night and headed off to the tempting array of handicrafts, silver and enameled jewelry, and shelves of hideous- looking trolls. Forty minutes later, her Visa card having made it altogether too easy to acquire some gorgeous ski sweaters, Pix was in her room, eyeing her bed longingly. She had spent so little time there. But first she wanted to call Annelise, Kari’s friend in Bergen, and ask her about how hard it was to smuggle antiques out of the country. Helene Feld was a collector, and collecting can be an obsession. And obsessions can lead to other things. Marit had had the number with her and, thanks again to her phone card, Pix soon heard ringing and a voice: “Annelise Christensen her.”

“You do speak English, don’t you? This is Pix Miller, an American friend of the Hansens.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Is there news? Have you found Kari?”

“No, I’m sorry. Nothing has changed. Marit is with my mother and me at Kvikne’s in Balestrand. We joined the tour to see if we could find anything out the police may have missed.”

“Marit’s idea?” The girl sounded impressed.

“Yes, but we haven’t discovered anything, except there is a woman with quite a passion for Norwegian antiques, and that started me wondering how difficult it would be to get them out of the country.”

“Very difficult indeed, and a heavy fine if you are caught. There was a big case last year and both the buyer and seller had to pay a stiff penalty. Still, it does happen, and that’s why we have such an elaborate security system at our museum. Even security systems aren’t foolproof, though. You can have human error. Like when Munch’s

The Scream was stolen from the National Gallery in Oslo. Maybe you remember?”

Pix did. They’d used a ladder from a nearby building site, climbed in an open window, and were out again with the painting in sixty seconds. The guard thought the alarm, which went off, was malfunctioning, but it was all recorded on video and the painting recovered unharmed in two days. Since then, security in all the museums had increased.

“In terms of the world market, are these antiques worth a great deal?”

“In a way, because our laws are so strict, the value has increased. But the average tourist would not be able to buy anything over a hundred years old, so I’m not sure I follow you.”

Pix wasn’t sure she did, either.

“Just a thought. Well, thank you, and if we hear anything at all, we’ll let you know.” She was about to hang up when she recalled her sauna musings about Kari’s personality, so she asked Annelise on the spur of the moment, “You know Kari well. How would you describe her?”

If Annelise thought the question odd, she didn’t say so. “Well, she is very loyal to her friends and very sure. I’m not saying this right, but sure of herself and what she thinks is the right thing. Sometimes this annoys people.”

“What about Kari and Erik? Did you think it was a good match?”

Annelise hesitated. “That is not for me to say. It was their business, but they had fun together and I think they probably would have been married someday. They weren’t in a rush. My generation isn’t, I think. Maybe we’re too picky.”

“Did Kari have other boyfriends?” Pix had married her high school beau the week after she graduated from Pembroke, and the generation gap suddenly seemed an abyss.