notion that the minister’s spouse was actively encouraging malfeasance among the parishioners would not go over as big as the jams, always popular items with their HAVE FAITH labels, the name of the catering company.
“If it was locked, then she must not have been able to get on the boat at all.” Ursula’s anxiety increased. Pix had surely left the hotel on a mission—a mission dictated by her mother. Apparently, she’d never gotten there, let alone accomplished it. How could she have disappeared in the short distance between the hotel and the boat? Why hadn’t she returned immediately when she discovered the boat was locked?
Marit spoke her fears aloud. “But where can she be if she’s not on the boat, or somewhere in Balestrand?”
“According to the night desk clerk, no one left the hotel until the two of you went out this morning, and she swears she wasn’t away from her post, not even for a minute. They’re quite strict about it here. And we had a man stationed by the door. The clerk says he fell asleep, which he admits, but between the two of them, I’d say it was impossible for your daughter to have left by that door, and the other exits were alarmed.”
“Then you think she still may be in the hotel?” Ursula had had high hopes of the boat, imagining Pix, perhaps tied up, but safe and sound in the closet.
Marit gasped. “The sauna! Remember she’d gotten locked in the sauna the other night.”
Ursula was halfway to the door. They were in the same large meeting room Pix had been in, only this time there wasn’t any coffee or cookies.
“Mrs. Rowe, the sauna was one of the first places we checked. It was empty.” Ursula walked back to the chair she’d been sitting in. If she felt like slumping, she didn’t. She’d left her cane in her room, too.
“I know how hard this is—for you both.” Marcussen looked at the two elderly women in front of him, each missing a loved one. Marit Hansen reminded him of many Norwegian women he knew. The set of her mouth, the way she walked. This was a stubborn woman, a strong woman. He was interested in her American friend. Both Americans had come across the ocean at a moment’s notice to do what they believed the police had not been able to do—find Kari Hansen. They all had no doubt they would be successful at unraveling the mystery. Now Mrs. Miller was missing and he could see the doubt in both her mother’s and Fru Hansen’s eyes. They had failed—and thus far, so had he.
He infused his voice with a confidence he was far from feeling. “Let’s start again. Tell me the whole story from
the beginning—from Kari’s call at the station in Oslo…” Officer Jansen came in with a tray. “
?”
Pix was aware of movement and a shape moving toward her.
She infused her voice with as much bravery as she could muster, “I’m an American tourist and my name is —”
“Pix!” the voice shrieked. Arms were flung about her and she was enveloped in a warm, if slightly uncomfortable, embrace. “What are you doing here!”
It was Kari. At last.
“I have the same question for you,” Pix said, joy washing over her—and relief. She could just make out the girl’s features in the dark. Kari’s face looked thinner, and older, but it had been some years since Pix had seen her.
“Wait—let me get my blanket. You feel cold.” Kari bustled away, obviously much more familiar with the layout of the place. She wrapped the blanket around Pix and the two huddled close together.
“I heard them bring you in. They left food if you are hungry. But I didn’t know who you were and I was afraid to find out. It could have been a trick, or someone who didn’t know I was here and might not be happy to find out. It seemed smart to wait, but I got too curious.”
“You don’t have a gun.” Pix was not in the slightest bit hopeful.
“No,” Kari said sadly. “Otherwise, I would have been out long ago.”
“Where are we?” Pix asked. First things first.
“I was drugged when they brought me here, but from the size and construction, it could be one of the old huts where the farmhands stayed when they brought the goats to the summer pastures, or it could be a hiker’s hut on the
There is nothing here. Because it’s so cold, I think it must be the
“And there’s no way out.”
“The shutters must be barred shut from the outside and the door is locked. I tried to dig with my hands and the clip from my hair, but it was no use. And no loose stones. Believe me, I’ve pulled at every one of them.”
Pix felt herself start to panic, but it dissipated at once. She’d come to Norway to find Kari and here she was, alive and well. Mission accomplished. Getting them out of a locked cabin God knows where would surely prove less difficult. And now there were two of them. Her headache was better and she was beginning to feel her energy returning.
“You must tell me everything. Have you seen my grandmother? Do you know about Erik?” Kari’s voice ended with a sob.
“Your grandmother is fine—worried, of course, but convinced you are alive. She’s with my mother at Kvikne’s Hotel. And yes, I’m so sorry—I do know about Erik.” Pix put her arm around Kari.
“I’ve cried so much, I didn’t know I had any tears left, but I suppose I always will.”
“Do you want to talk about what happened?” While Pix did not want to dredge up the tragic memory, she was eager to have the mystery solved. “Why don’t you tell me the whole thing, starting from your call to your grandmother from the station. Erik was still alive then, right?”
“Yes.” Kari took a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. Pix resolved to find out what else the young woman had in her pockets, yet for the moment, all she wanted was to discover the events of a week ago that had led to a death and abduction.
“You must have found out about Carl; otherwise, you wouldn’t be here,” Kari said matter-of-factly. Pix nodded in the dark, before realizing subtle gestures were out.
“Yes. He had me—us—completely fooled.”
“Me, too. Erik knew Carl from last summer. They were on the same boat then, also. You know, Erik is like me, an only child, and he never had a big brother to do things with. Suddenly, everything was Carl this and Carl that. I must admit I was a bit jealous. They were going fishing. They were going out on the town in Bergen between tours. But then I met Carl, or Charles—he uses both names. His father is English.”
“I knew that, but not about the names.”
“Oh yes, he loves English people—more than Norwegians. But I didn’t find that out until this summer. That’s what started the whole thing. He has two passports. It’s completely legal. He was born in Britain. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Anyway, last winter the three of us—and sometimes he’d bring a girl along—did lots of things together. He had plenty of money. I assumed his family was rich, and it was fun to be taken to restaurants like Theatercafeen and not think about a bill. He always insisted on paying. He knew so many things, especially about art and antiques. After a few days, he’d disappear on one of the winter tours and then come back to sweep us off our feet again. I was so stupid!”
Kari started to cry again. “If I had had more sense, Erik would be alive today!”
And Erik had been lacking in judgment, too, thought Pix, but she kept her mouth shut. She could picture Carl’s seduction of these two—a handsome, witty, charming older brother with deep pockets. What young person could resist someone like that? Where was the harm? How can one bite of an apple hurt me?
“This part is hard to admit. I had a kind of crush on Carl, too. Erik is the only man I ever loved or ever will love, but Carl was very flattering—not in a crude way, but he made me feel special. Now I know it was all an act.”
“Why was he courting you? I know he was illegally taking antiques out of the country, but I wouldn’t have
thought he’d want to divide his profits with anyone other than the farmer.”
As she spoke, Pix thought, The farmer! Sven! Was Kari aware of this?
