Still Waters (Sandhamn Murders Book 1)

by Viveca Sten

  Henrik sailed as helmsman on a Class 6, a one-design class boat with a crew of four to six. It was a class with long-standing traditions and Olympic status. Fantastic old mahogany boats kept in perfect condition by their owners still took part, but of course the new boats, like Henrik’s, were made of modern material enhanced by technological advances.

  His father had also sailed a Class 6 and had won the Swedish Championship several times along with a former chairman of the Royal Swedish Yacht Club, so sailing was a high priority for the Linde family.

  As far as Nora was concerned, this meant that she was more or less a sailing widow for the entire week of the Sandhamn regatta.

  This evening was one of the last opportunities for the whole family to have dinner together before the competition got under way. Tomorrow they were expecting guests, and then it would be time for Henrik to join the crew.

  She suppressed her frustration and forced herself to adopt a pleasant tone. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have dinner with the children this evening, just the family?”

  “But I’ve promised the guys. And we need to talk tactics before the competition.”

  He put down the rope and looked at her apologetically. “Come on, it’s not the end of the world. You know how things are.”

  Nora decided to drop it. There was no point in starting an argument over a dinner. “It’s OK. I’ll sort something out for myself and the boys.” She turned to fetch a watering can. The sun had been shining on the plants all day, and the soil in the pots was bone dry.

  “By the way,” Henrik called after her, “my mother called. They’d like to come over on Monday to watch the racing, if that’s OK. I said they were welcome, obviously.”

  Nora’s heart sank. A visit from Henrik’s parents was a full-time job. They expected to be provided with a delicious home-cooked lunch and to be entertained all day. With Henrik racing, she would have to look after them and keep an eye on the boys at the same time. And she would have to give the house a thorough cleaning before they arrived.

  She had once tried to explain to her mother-in-law that she just didn’t have time to keep everything in perfect order. She had been informed that if she just got herself a nice little Polish girl, everything would be fine.

  “In my day, finding decent help was never a problem,” her mother-in-law had said, waving her well-manicured hands. “I just don’t understand mothers today who insist on doing everything themselves. Imagine how practical it would be if you had a nanny to take care of the children. You need to learn how to relax, my dear.”

  Henrik’s parents had spent their entire working lives in the diplomatic corps, since Henrik’s father had worked for the foreign office until his retirement. They had lived in various embassies all over the world, where all the household chores were taken care of by others.

  It had left its mark.

  The first time Henrik’s father, Harald Linde, had met Thomas, he had looked him up and down. Then he had raised one eyebrow and said, in a supercilious tone, “Do I know your father?”

  Even though Harald had come across as unbearably superior, Thomas had simply smiled at him and held out his hand. “I shouldn’t think so,” he had replied. “Unless of course you used to work at Vårby School; he taught math there.”

  Nora had quickly explained that Thomas was one of her best friends from childhood, and then she had discreetly attempted to change the subject. She secretly thought that Henrik’s father was pompous, but she could hardly say that to Henrik.

  However, her father-in-law was marginally better than his wife, who was a rail-thin woman in her seventies whose greatest pleasure was to be seen at social events.

  Monica Linde was a pretentious snob who took every opportunity to prattle on about the latest exclusive dinner party she had attended or the prominent figure she had recently met. She dominated every conversation, never giving anyone else a chance to speak.

  How Henrik’s father had put up with her all these years was a mystery to Nora. And to everyone else. Nora’s own mother simply smiled whenever Monica was mentioned; she would murmur something about how everyone was different and that it was important to look for the best in people.

  Monica Linde also adored her only son and regularly reminded Nora of what a coup she had pulled off in capturing Henrik.

  The fact that the reverse might be true had never occurred to Monica.

  Nora had long since given up any attempt to get closer to her mother-in-law. These days, she maintained a polite but cool relationship, which worked perfectly well for all concerned. They ate Sunday lunch together at regular intervals or met up to celebrate holidays. The rest of the time Nora kept out of Monica’s way as much as she could.

  Fortunately, Nora’s parents could almost always be relied on to pitch in with great enthusiasm when she needed some help with the boys. Without them, she and Henrik would never have managed. But every time the boys saw their paternal grandparents, they were chastised by Monica because they were not sufficiently polite or well brought up.

  The idea of spending all of Monday tap-dancing for her in-laws made her groan.

  “Wouldn’t it be better if they came over one day when you’re home?” she said. “Then they could spend some time with you, too.”

  She looked hopefully at her husband.

  “But they want to watch the sailing.”

  Henrik just didn’t get it. He was blind and deaf to any hint that his mother might not be the best mother-in-law in the world.

  Nora gave in.

  THURSDAY, THE SECOND WEEK

  CHAPTER 11

  As was often the case, Kicki Berggren was sitting at the computer. She had bought it secondhand on an auction website, and although it was a few years old, it worked perfectly. Kicki enjoyed being online. She could spend hours on Facebook and Twitter at night; it helped her relax when she came home from the casino.

  Even if she was sometimes so tired that she could hardly stand up, she rarely felt sleepy when she finally got home after a long shift at the blackjack table. Her brain, which had been on high alert in order to keep the cards running all evening, couldn’t be fooled into relaxing right away, so she would sit down at the computer to wind down. Sometimes she would check out celebrity websites, just so she could dream about a life full of possibilities.

  She went to the website for Waxholmsbolaget, the ferry company. She clicked on the “Boat Schedule” link and selected Sandhamn as the destination, bringing up the timetable.

  On Fridays there was a boat every two hours. You could catch a bus from Slussen out to Stavsnäs at ten after eleven; the next boat arrived in Sandhamn just after one. She could be there in a couple of hours.

  She started thinking about the letter again. It had been on her mind all week. The knowledge that was the key to the future.

  Would she really have the courage to make use of it?

  With Krister gone, she was the only one left, and this was her only chance. And she was certain the law was on her side.

  As she lit another cigarette, she made a decision. She would go to Sandhamn the following day. She didn’t have to go back to work until after the weekend, so if she went over there tomorrow, she could stay until Sunday if she liked. That should give her enough time.

  FRIDAY, THE SECOND WEEK

  CHAPTER 12

  The ferry was nearly bursting. It was the height of the summer season, and the tourists had completely taken over. Families carrying packs of Wet-Naps, retirees with their picnic baskets, people heading to their summer cottages with one load after another.

  Kicki had never seen so many IKEA bags. It seemed as if the entire population of the archipelago had decided to move all their possessions in the big blue bags. In the luggage area, potted plants shared space with overfilled sacks from the discount food store, bicycles, and strollers.

  With some difficulty she managed to find
a seat out on deck. There was a slight breeze, but compared with the oppressive heat inside, it was sheer paradise. She flopped down with a sigh and lit a cigarette. She gazed out over Stavsnäs, the central point for traffic serving the southern islands. The white boats were lined up by the dock. Over by the gas station, a long line snaked toward the kiosk selling hot dogs and ice cream. Her stomach growled, and she wished she had bought something to eat.

  In her peripheral vision she noticed yet another packed red bus pulling in at the stop; the passengers hurried toward the boats as soon as they got off.

  To think that there were so many people heading for the archipelago at the same time!

  When the boat docked at Sandhamn, it took forever for people to disembark. Slowly the line of passengers edged onto the deck and down the gangplank. Kicki handed over her ticket and hesitantly stepped ashore among the local residents who were meeting friends and relatives off the boat.

  In one corner of the pier, a truck was busy moving cases of food and alcohol piled high on top of one another. There were people everywhere, and beyond the jetty the harbor was busy with yachts and motorboats. Countless children raced around clutching ice cream cones. The whole island seemed to be buzzing with life.

  Kicki went over to the bulletin board at the back of the pier and stood there for a moment to get her bearings. She realized the harbor was lovely now that she had time to look at it properly. Directly in front of her was a long two-story building painted Falu red, with a clothes shop on the left-hand side. The sign on the awning said “Sommarboden—Everything You Need for Sunny Summer Days!”

  To the left she saw the promenade, leading to the Royal Swedish Yacht Club’s clubhouse. She had read about it in one of the gossip magazines; they had held a huge ball there after some sailing competition. It had been attended by the king and queen, she seemed to remember, and Princess Victoria, too.

  Between the pier and the clubhouse she could see rows of boats of all types and sizes packed close together. To the right, the harbor curved in a semicircle, lined with shops and restaurants. The far end was dominated by a large yellow building that proclaimed it was the Sandhamn Inn; various signs indicated that it offered a bar, a restaurant, takeout, and outdoor seating.

  Kicki decided to find somewhere to stay the night. She went over to the kiosk to buy cigarettes. As the girl handed over the pack of Princes, Kicki asked where she might find a room that wasn’t too expensive. She didn’t want to pay a ridiculous amount for only one night.

  “The Mission House,” the blond teenager said. “They’re a bed-and-breakfast. It’s OK. And the breakfast is great. Otherwise it’s really hard to find somewhere that doesn’t cost a fortune. The Seglarhotell costs the same as hotels in the middle of Stockholm. Although it’s really nice, of course.”

  Kicki smiled at the girl, who leaned out and pointed toward the grocery store Kicki had noticed earlier.

  “It’s about five hundred yards; it’ll only take you five minutes to get there,” she said.

  Kicki picked up her bag and set off. Her sandals were immediately covered. There was sand and gravel everywhere on this island.

  CHAPTER 13

  “Get a move on, Henrik!” Nora yelled up the stairs. “They’ll be here soon, and we haven’t even scrubbed the potatoes yet!”

  It was Friday evening, and they had invited two local couples to dinner, along with Thomas. Nora had wondered whether to invite a single female as well, but somehow it didn’t feel right. Since Thomas and his wife, Pernilla, had divorced during the winter, unable to find their way back to each other after the loss of their daughter, Thomas hadn’t so much as looked at another woman, let alone attempted a new relationship.

  Nora shuddered as she thought about Thomas and little Emily. It had been dreadful. One minute they had a wonderful three-month-old girl; the next minute she was gone.

  Emily had passed away in her sleep.

  When Pernilla woke up in the morning, her breasts were sore because she hadn’t fed the baby during the night. The child had been lying there cold and lifeless in the Moses basket by her side. Both parents had been devastated, but it was worse for Pernilla because she felt so guilty.

  “I was so tired,” she had sobbed. “I slept right through instead of taking care of her. If I’d woken up, she might still be alive. A good mother would have sensed something was wrong.”

  In the end, her self-reproach and guilt had broken the marriage. Thomas sought solace in his work, but Pernilla was unable to find any comfort. The separation had been inevitable.

  Nora had tried to provide support as best she could, but it was impossible to get through to Thomas. He became silent, introverted. He withdrew to Harö and cut himself off.

  It wasn’t until the beginning of the summer that Nora began to feel she was getting back the old Thomas, her childhood friend with his tousled blond hair. But now she could see fine lines around the corners of his eyes, and his hair was peppered with gray. There was a shadow in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  Henrik had crept up behind her. Nora turned and smiled. He was in a good mood; this was going to be a great evening. She pushed aside thoughts of her in-laws, who were due to arrive on Monday.

  “Well, you could boil the potatoes, smoke the perch, pick some salad leaves, and make some vanilla sauce to go with the rhubarb crumble. Is that OK?” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and handed him the bag of potatoes and a brush. “Oh, and if you could repaint the roof and build a fence before our guests arrive, that would be great!”

  Henrik laughed. He was a very sociable person and enjoyed having guests. Nobody could mingle at a cocktail party like Henrik. When they had first met, Nora had been impressed by this aspect of his character; she was much less outgoing. Henrik was always ready to accept an invitation or invite friends over in the spur of the moment. As the only child of a diplomat, he was comfortable participating in a wide range of events and switching on the charm.

  Nora, who preferred cozy evenings at home, had gradually begun to protest. She didn’t mind the odd guest, but sometimes it was nice just to be alone as a family, particularly when the children were small and she was worn out from feeding them and getting up during the night; all she wanted to do was curl up on the sofa in front of the TV.

  But Henrik had often insisted. What could be nicer than spending time with friends, he used to say. We can invite a few people. Just one or two. Come on. It’s no big deal.

  That made Nora feel dull and boring, a real party pooper. There was no point in discussing it with him; he just wouldn’t listen. So she usually tried to make an effort in order to keep the peace, and she generally enjoyed the company in the end.

  Tonight he was in fine form.

  “I might not manage that, but if I pour you a glass of wine before I start, perhaps you’ll forgive me if I only get through half?” he said, winking at Nora.

  He opened the fridge and took out a bottle of Chardonnay. He poured two glasses and handed one to Nora, then found a bowl and a cutting board, ready to start on the potatoes.

  Meanwhile, Nora set the table. They had decided to eat in the garden in order to enjoy the fine evening. She would be serving a mustard sauce along with the perch fillets, together with home-baked rustic baguettes with an herb butter. She had picked some rhubarb earlier and had made an old-fashioned crumble, using her grandmother’s recipe.

  It was going to be a lovely dinner.

  By the time Kicki found her way back to the Mission House, she was still shaken. Her body was aching with tension, as if she had run a marathon.

  She tried to stop thinking about the icy voice that had asked her whether she had really thought about what she was demanding. And what the consequences might be.

  Kicki clamped her lips together. She had decided she wasn’t going to let herself be scared off. />
  If life had been kinder to her, she might not have been standing here, but she had learned a long time ago that there was no point in crying over spilled milk. She loathed the helplessness that came with a lack of money. She despised the fact that she always had to smile and make herself available every evening in the casino, never making a fuss about the drunken clients who were only too happy to paw her with their sweaty hands. She yearned for something else, for another life with different opportunities.

  A life that was so close right now that she could almost taste it.

  She had only asked for what she was entitled to. Nothing more, nothing less. She knew what she knew, and tomorrow she would go back, and they would reach an agreement. This wasn’t over, not by any means.

  She took an angry drag on her cigarette. She’d had to use three matches to light it. She wasn’t allowed to smoke in her room, but she couldn’t care less. With a resolute expression she tried to push away the image of herself she had seen reflected in the eyes of the person who was gazing at her.

  A middle-aged woman whose jeans were too tight and whose hair was too long; the color could no longer hide the strands of gray. A woman who was trying to look thirty-five, when in reality she was almost fifteen years older.

  Everything reminded her of the fact that she was one of the oldest in her profession, a croupier who could be the mother of the girls at the roulette table. Colleagues who made it very clear that this was something they intended to do for only a few years. You couldn’t waste any more of your life on drunken bastards who gambled away more money than they dared tell their wives about.

  She’d had no problem finding her way to the Mission House, which was just past the yellow Sandhamn Värdshus. It had taken five minutes, perhaps even less. Just as the girl in the kiosk had said.