The Body in the Fjord ff-8

by Katherine Hall Page

  “Do you think Oscar Melling—I can’t get used to calling him Eriksen—had anything to do with the Lebensborn home at Stalheim? He was from the area.”

  “Oh Lord, you don’t think he was my grandfather, that obnoxious old lech. He made things very difficult on the tour. I was sorry for nice people like the Felds and the Bradys. He always seemed to want to pick a fight with them in particular.”

  Pix couldn’t think of anything to say to reassure her. She’d cast Oscar in the role herself, and she couldn’t say they bore no resemblance to one another, what with such a common genetic background, although she’d have to see a picture of a much younger and less dissipated Oscar to find one.

  “I’m sure the odds are quite slim. Why don’t I row for a while.” They changed places and soon Pix was enjoying the exercise, the steady in-out rhythm of the oars.

  She thought of another role she’d cast: Sven. Kari hadn’t seemed to know what Pix was talking about earlier when she’d asked if Sven seemed familiar to the girl.

  “Do you think this Sven might be your father?” It was out.

  “Oh, is that what you were getting at before!” Kari started to laugh. “My poor father is in a home for alcoholics. He came back to Norway when he was almost fifty and had

  run out of money and women who would take him in, I suppose. I don’t have much feeling about him, except, of course, I wouldn’t be here otherwise. He got in touch with my grandmother and we went to see him. He cried and said I looked like my mother. I didn’t want to go back. Marit visits him. She’s a much better person than I am. He doesn’t have anybody else, she says, but I think she wants to hear about Hanna.”

  There went that theory, Pix said to herself. Maybe a couple of theories. Certainly Kari had not run off in search of her identity. She seemed quite in control of who she was. It had been a kidnapping and one kidnapper was in for a big surprise.

  Pix brought the boat silently along the dock at Balestrand, relieved to see the Viking fjord cruiser dwarfing the other pleasure boats. Farther back on shore, the hotel was illuminated by several outside lights and a few shone from windows scattered across the grand old lady’s facade.

  They tied up and slipped aboard the bigger boat. Without skeleton keys, they had to resort to Sven’s knife, which Pix adeptly used to pop the lock and enter the main cabin. As they had assumed, Carl had cleaned out the hidden storage space in the closet in the staff room. He’d been clever enough not to sweep, leaving and, Pix was sure, adding dust and dirt particles.

  Kari went to the refrigerator in the galley and took two bottles of Solo, the sweet orange soda, a national addic-tion—Solo and pølser, hot dogs, every child’s idea of a perfect meal: “But there’s fruit in Solo, Mom!” She handed one to Pix. “Put some of Sven’s money in the jar over there. I don’t feel right just taking it, but I’m still so thirsty.”

  They sat down at one of the tables. Carl had straightened the chairs after her attempted flight the other night. Pix took a swig of her soda. “Soo Loo”—it was fun to say.

  “We have to try to think like Carl. Walk in his shoes.”

  “English. Custom-made,” Kari said.

  “But of course. Now if he wanted to hide something, where…”

  Several hours later, Pix rolled off the bunk she’d fallen asleep on and went to rouse Kari, who was sleeping above. They had not thought it wise to sleep on board the Scandie Sights boat, and although the boat with the tarp was still docked, Pix could not recommend its accommodations. They’d slipped into a large sailboat, assuming the owners were at Kvikne’s or elsewhere in the district.

  “Kari, wake up. It’s time!”

  The girl swung her long legs over the side and jumped down. Then they straightened their berths and went above.

  Outside, it was what Pix would have called a perfect Maine day. The sun was shining. The sky was blue, with large puffy white clouds. A slight warm breeze fanned across the water and the air was clear. A perfect Maine day, except she was in Norway.

  They strolled over to the front of the dock, sat cross-legged facing the hotel, the Scandie Sights boat behind them. The Midsummer bonfire pile had grown considerably in her absence, Pix noted. There was a whole new layer of vegetable crates.

  Kari leaned back on her arms and stretched her face toward the sun.

  “Now we wait.”

  The Scandie Sights tour was the first down to breakfast, hitting the immense bowls of muesli, chafing dishes of fish cakes, and mounds of fresh strawberries as soon as the doors opened. There was a manic feeling in the air. Cheeks were flushed, voices raised in false heartiness. Equally false promises to write and stay in touch were made. Hunched over, forking in nourishment, never had the group seemed more like a new species, Ursula Rowe thought as she sat before a single slice of bread, some jam, and a strawberry, not eating anything. Locusts, lemmings, they reminded her of something. Children. No, not

  children. Teenagers. Avoidance of eye contact. Bolting of

  food. Yes, definitely adolescence.

  “May we join you?” It was Sophie and her cousin Valerie.

  “Of course,” Ursula replied. “We need to save a place for my friend Marit, who’s not down yet.” And where was Marit? Ursula wanted to get going.

  “We are very, very sorry that there has been no news of your daughter. Très charmante…” Sophie’s voice trailed off. Pix would be happy to hear herself so described, her mother thought, happily thinking that soon she could tell her so.

  “Yes, it is upsetting, but the police have not given up hope.”

  “Bien ur! Of course she will be found, wandering in these very thick woods, peut-être.” Valerie clearly thought the notion of a walk in these primordial forests madness. Lovely from afar.

  Marit arrived with a similarly skimpy repast.

  Ursula ate the strawberry and raised an eyebrow at Marit. Time to go.

  “I absolutely forbid it!” A chair being pushed back and the sound of broken crockery accompanied the statement, a statement that everyone in the dining room had no trouble hearing even above the concomitant noise.

  “Never, never, never!” Each word increased in volume and intensity, a tour de force. The four ladies looked at one another. “Madame Peterson seems upset,” Sophie said, her eyes saying what her lips did not; that is, The woman is completely crazy—fou.

  Lynette grabbed her mother-in-law’s arm. “It’s our turn now. I’ve eaten enough fish to last me the rest of my life and we’re going to London. That’s it.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re in on this.” Carol turned her eye on Roy junior, and although not turned to stone, he didn’t move, mumbling, “We’ll meet you at the airport in Oslo. It’s only a week.”

  “Only a week! Only a week! Exactly! One week out of your life to do something for somebody else. What am I

  going to tell the relatives?”

  Priorities were being set.

  “We don’t even know these people and we don’t care. They probably don’t care, either.” Lynette’s voice was just as loud, but her tempo was faster. “It’s our honeymoon and we’re going to see where Princess Di lives.”

  “Princess Di!” This was the last straw. This was not what people did on honeymoons. Princess Di was no role model.

  The whole room had grown quiet as everyone watched the scene unfold before them. Several people were smiling. After the events of the last few days, this comedy of errors was a positive relief. Neither Carl nor Jan had appeared to break the fight up and it continued to roll forward, taking on a life of its own, a final anecdote to entertain the folks back home when they sat captive watching the video of “our trip.”

  “Well, don’t just sit there. You say something!” Carol turned to Roy senior. He stood up.

  “I don’t have anything to say. Let them do whatever the hell they want,” he said, and left.

  Carol wasn’t going to give up. Abandoned by husband, son, and daughter-in-law, she was going down fighting.

  �
��I never thought I would see the day when a child of mine, my only child, would turn on me like this. You go have your little trip and miss meeting some of the nicest people you would ever have known. People who were going to take you into their home. Your Norwegian family. You go and have fun looking at all the sights. Don’t forget the Tower of London, either,” she shot at Lynette. “You ought to feel real comfortable there.”

  She’d gone too far.

  White-faced, but with a slow grin spreading across her face, Lynette said, “I was saving this news for when we got home, but I think now’s as good a time as any to tell you, Mother Peterson.”

  “No, honey!” Roy junior, suddenly mobilized, went to his wife’s side. “Not now, sweetheart. Come on—you

  promised!”

  “Promised what?” Carol liked to know things.

  “Nothing, Mom. Let’s all go pack and get down to the boat.”

  “Promised I wouldn’t tell you that he’s been promoted and accepted a transfer to New York City in three weeks,” Lynette announced coolly.

  The room braced itself.

  Carol said, “New York City?” in a “Did I hear correctly?” kind of voice. New York City? That hellhole? That crime-and vice-ridden capital of corruption? That New York City? Come again?

  “Yes, New York City. We’ve already rented an apartment.” Lynette did not bother to hide her triumphant smugness.

  “I’d like to go to my room, son,” Carol said regally, reaching for Roy junior’s arm. “I think I’m going to throw up.” Leaning heavily on him, she slowly made her way out, a battleship that had taken a direct hit but, against all odds, stubbornly stayed afloat.

  “I’d say she took it rather well,” Ursula said.

  Marit nodded.

  “Méchante, that girl,” Sophie observed. “I’m glad I never had children.”

  As Ursula and Marit rapidly left the room—the Peterson scene had taken valuable time and it had been too fascinating to leave—Ursula remembered Lynette’s words to Pix in the sauna at Fleischer’s Hotel. She’d predicted correctly. Carol had not liked what was coming one bit.

  Inspector Marcussen was in the lobby, holding an envelope that he hastily stuffed in his pocket.

  “The tour group will be leaving at eight o’clock and we’re going to say good-bye to some of the friends we made. Would you care to stroll down that way with us?” Ursula asked.

  “I’m sure Officer Jansen would like to come, too,” Marit added, nodding at the pleasant-looking rounded-faced young man.

  Now what were they up to? Johan Marcussen wondered. They made it sound as if they were inviting him to coffee or some such social outing. And who had called Fru Rowe in the middle of the night? The clerk had gone home, so he didn’t know whether the person had spoken Norwegian or not. But surely if it had been her daughter, she would be saying something, or betraying her obvious relief. Both women looked the same as yesterday, and the day before. Calm, slightly detached, well scrubbed.

  “Yes, I’m sure we would be happy to come with you.” Nothing better to do, that was for sure, and he had intended to watch the boat leave.

  Ursula was carrying some envelopes. “Tips. The staff have gone out of their way to make this a memorable trip.” Some more than others, to be sure, but there was no envelope with his name on it.

  Outside the hotel, Ursula turned to the inspectør. “We have something to tell you….”

  At the dock, Kari had gone to the small market and bought them some juice, rolls, and yogurt when it opened. No one seemed very interested in them and they continued to sit where they were, ducking out of sight behind the unlighted bonfire only when Captain Hagen came down to the ship.

  Busboys from the hotel brought several large wagons filled with the luggage and slung it on board. Kari and Pix kept their gaze fixed on the one and only path from Kvikne’s to the dock.

  Safety in numbers? Virtually the whole tour, even Carol Peterson, who did look as if she’d thrown up—pale and wan—arrived at once with Carl, Jan, Anders, and Sonja—so many sheepdogs nudging the flock along one last time. Marit, Ursula, and the police brought up the rear.

  Pix looked at Kari. Kari looked at Pix. “Now,” she whispered.

  They emerged from behind the mountain of wood and paper awaiting a Midsummer Eve torch.

  “Hello, Carl—and everyone else,” Kari said in English.

  “I’m glad we didn’t miss you,” Pix said, standing in front of the young man. “Although you may not be so happy.”

  Carl looked about desperately and started to walk toward the road out of the village. The police had moved in close. He decided to bluff.

  “Why, Mrs. Miller, Kari, you’re safe! Everyone has been so worried!”

  Jan joined him. “It’s a miracle. But what happened? Where have you been? How do you know each other?” He had the feeling he had missed several important chapters. None of it made sense, but things were looking a whole lot better for the tour evaluations. He liked working for Scandie Sights. The oil company’s office was boring.

  Jennifer Olsen came running toward Pix and threw her arms around her. “I thought something terrible had happened to you, to both of you!” She grabbed Kari.

  “Something did. Tell them, Carl,” Kari ordered.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, and if Mr. Harding is going to make his plane, we really must leave now.”

  “Not so fast. Why don’t you show the police what you have hidden in the closet on the boat?” Pix suggested.

  Carl smiled. He looked relieved. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but of course the police are welcome to look at anything they want on the boat.”

  “What’s going on?” Helene Feld asked.

  “Are we leaving or not?” Sidney Harding complained.

  “I think we’ll just take the time to look in this closet and then I’m sure you’ll be able to be on your way,” Marcussen assured them.

  Pix and Kari led the way on board, followed by Carl, who was managing to let several in his immediate vicinity know that he thought both women were clearly unbalanced. Pix looked to be of a certain age, he whispered to Don Brady. He

  didn’t know what Kari’s excuse was. Guilt over what she had done to her lover, probably.

  Pix was bemused. What a superb actor. She and Kari had thought he would try to bluster through, figuring that it was his word against theirs, yet she had still expected him to falter a little. His conceit was truly awesome. That was teenspeak, but it was the only word that applied.

  As many of the Mermaid/Troll tour as possible crowded into the little room and watched while Pix revealed the false back with a single blow to the wall. There was a universal gasp, then another even more pronounced as a small soft-sided suitcase was pulled out.

  “I had no idea that was here!” exclaimed Carl.

  “I’m sure you didn’t!” Kari said sarcastically. “Yet, it has your name on the luggage tag.”

  “Well, I have never seen it before in my life.”

  “Let’s have a look, shall we?” Inspector Marcussen took the bag and opened it. It was the one with the jewelry. Helene Feld elbowed her way to the front to get a better look.

  “What beautiful things! And in such good condition. It’s wedding jewelry, about a hundred and fifty to two hundred years old, I’d say.”

  Before she could launch into a description of the various regional nuptial customs, Johan Marcussen took Carl’s arm.

  “I think we’d better have a little talk.”

  “You can’t prove this is mine just because it has my name on it. I demand that you fingerprint it!”

  Pix smiled serenely and slipped her hand in her pocket, feeling Faith’s plastic gloves. The luggage tag had been on the inside. They’d merely put it on the outside. But there was still more to come.

  Marcussen announced everyone was to return to the hotel for what he was sure would be only a short interval while they investigated further. As they passed the bonfir
e pile, Pix said loudly, “We won’t be here for Midsummer Eve and I think we all deserve some fun on this trip.”

  She struck a match, tossed it well into a mass of shredded paper, then pulled her can of hair spray out for good measure, preparing to spritz the flames.

  “No!” screamed Carl. “You lunatic! Put that away!” He reached into the middle of the papers, pulling a leather backpack from underneath a wooden crate.

  Pix slipped the hair spray back in her pocket and Kari tossed a pail of water on the fire. No use spoiling all that work.

  Carl had the knapsack in a death grip and in a vain effort to escape sprinted down the dock toward the boats. Captain Hagen stood squarely in his way. The police were not far behind.

  “Give me the sack, Mr. Bjørnson,” Inspector Marcussen said.

  “A fortune! I would never have had to work another day! Never have had to listen to stupid people like them.” The police grabbed the knapsack as he flung his hand, appropriate finger extended toward the astonished Scandie Sights tour. Carl was ranting in Norwegian and Kari was providing simultaneous translation. “A once-in-a-lifetime chance! Viking silver! Do you have any idea what that’s worth!” His face was as red as the flag and his eyes were bulging. He was close to apoplexy.

  The inspector had ripped open the bag when Carl said, “Viking silver,” and now he was carefully unwrapping the hoard—a hoard of smooth stones gathered from the shore.

  Carl screamed and almost got away from Officer Jansen’s grip. “You bitches! I should have killed you when I had the chance!” He continued, but Kari said, “I don’t think my grandmother would approve of the rest of his language,” and she stopped translating.

  Good-bye, Jennifer. Au revoir, Sophie and Valerie. Farewell, bachelor farmers. Adieu, Dahl sisters. They had waved until the boat was out of sight. It reminded Pix of the time she’d come to Norway as a little girl with her

  mother and her brother, Arnold. Her father had stayed behind. He’d had to work, but he’d seen them off in New York. The huge ocean liner, the Oslofjord, had moved slowly away from the pier into the harbor, piloted by the tugboats. Everyone had thrown bright-colored streamers. Her father held one end, Pix the other. People went down below, but she clung to the paper strand, still connected to her father, until finally it tore and they were separated. Years later, she’d recalled the sensation in the days following his death—snap!