Under cover of darkness, she made her way to Krokslätts Allé 16. It was quite a distance away, so to be on the safe side, she’d put on her spiked boots. It was a good decision; the sidewalk was slippery, and the last thing she needed was to fall and hurt herself. The icy wind made her lower her head and hunch her shoulders. It was seven o’clock on a Saturday evening, but there was hardly anyone around. If she was seen, a witness would only recall an elderly lady in a bulky coat and a big fox fur hat.
When she reached Johannes’s address, she peered at the list of residents’ names by the main door. She began to feel a little anxious when she couldn’t find Johannes Petrén, but then remembered that he was subletting. And maybe he was trying to protect himself from whoever he owed all that money to.
She took a step back and looked up at the second floor. Immediately she was sure which two windows were his. Thick curtains with a green and white pattern were firmly closed, with no sign of light. Saturday evening—he was out, of course. No doubt with his friend Totte, pretending that everything was fine, that he was happy and debt-free. Sure that Mommy would rescue her baby. Not this time, you little shit, Maud thought. She felt her jaws tighten and took several deep breaths to relax before she stepped up to the intercom.
She pressed the button for one of the top-floor apartments. After a few seconds the loudspeaker crackled.
“Hello?” said a young female voice.
“Oh . . . hello. I’m Johannes Petrén’s aunt. I believe he lives here, but I can’t find his name . . . I wonder if you could possibly let me in?” Maud said in her best slightly-confused-old-lady voice.
“No problem.”
The lock buzzed and Maud was in. There was no elevator, so she had to plod up the stairs. On the right was the door that ought to be Johannes’s. Maud leaned forward. Someone had taped a scruffy piece of cardboard with “J. Petrén” scrawled on it in blue ink over the mailbox. Typical. There wasn’t a sound from inside the apartment. Either he was asleep, or he was out.
Maud took out the Father Christmas bag and hung it on the door handle, with the Christmas card poking out. MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR from HSB Co-operative Housing Association! said the neatly typed message.
She picked up her empty shopping bag and hurried down the stairs. In seconds she was swallowed up by the snow and the darkness.
On Monday morning Maud was woken by the sound of the doorbell. On and on it went. She glanced at the clock radio: almost seven-thirty. Time to get up anyway. With a sigh she got out of bed and pulled on her robe. She had a good idea of who her visitor might be.
Elsa was standing on the landing in a navy-blue suit that was so creased it looked as if she’d slept in it. She was sobbing and clutching a crumpled handkerchief; the poor woman was devastated.
“Goodness me, whatever’s happened?” Maud asked, eyes wide with surprise.
Elsa merely shook her head, incapable of speech.
“Come in, come in.” Maud almost had to drag Elsa into the hallway; it was as if she’d forgotten how to use her legs. Gently Maud led her distraught friend into the living room and sat her down in the armchair in front of the TV.
“I’ll put some coffee on,” she said, and headed for the kitchen.
While the coffee was brewing she made four cheese sandwiches. She arranged a few heart-shaped gingerbread cookies from Sockerkringlan on a small plate. She’d taken them out of the cellophane bag and replaced them with her own—the ones made with ground almonds instead of flour. Then she’d carefully retied the red cotton ribbon in a pretty bow. No one could tell that the bag had been opened, or that the cookies had been swapped.
I guess Johannes tried my cookies, she thought, a thin smile on her lips. And they must have been a hit.
There was no trace of the smile when she carried the tray into the living room; her expression showed nothing but concern and sympathy. She poured the coffee, then said, “Now, help yourself to a sandwich and tell me what’s happened.”
Elsa shook her head. “Can’t . . . eat.”
Then she sat and cried for a long time. Maud took the opportunity to munch her way through a sandwich. When she’d finished, she tried again.
“Elsa, what is it? Have you sold the apartment?”
This unleashed a fresh bout of weeping. Maud managed another sandwich before Elsa began to make a brave attempt to pull herself together.
“It’s . . . it’s Johannes. He . . .”
She pressed the sodden handkerchief beneath her nose and sobbed.
“He’s . . . dead!”
Good, Maud thought. Problem solved. According to Swedish law, a relative can’t inherit a deceased person’s debts. Elsa can stay in her apartment.
“What? When? How?” she said, sounding horrified.
It took a while, but eventually Elsa managed to tell the story. As Maud already knew, Johannes had visited Elsa on the day before her birthday and had promised to come back for Sunday dinner. He and Totte were invited to Christmas parties on the Friday and Saturday, so he couldn’t come then.
At about four o’clock on Sunday afternoon, Elsa’s doorbell had rung. She’d hurried to answer, looking forward to seeing her son, but two police officers were standing there instead. They asked to come in, and Elsa began to get a bad feeling. Her suspicions were confirmed when the officers informed her that Johannes had been found dead in bed by his friend, Torsten von Pansarklinga. Apparently they’d both been at a party in an apartment on Götabergsgatan on Saturday night. When they staggered home at four in the morning, Totte had asked if he could sleep on the sofa. He lived in Hovås, which he felt was too far to go in the wind and snow.
According to Torsten, when they reached Johannes’s apartment, they discovered a bag of Christmas treats hanging on the door handle. Gingerbread cookies, chocolates, and a few other things, including a bottle of mulled wine. Since Johannes didn’t have any other booze, they decided the wine would make the perfect nightcap. They warmed it in a pan and drank most of it. They also ate everything that was in the bag—except for a pack of ground coffee, of course. Then Johannes had stumbled off to bed and Totte crashed on the sofa.
Totte woke up at lunchtime, feeling hungry. He used the pack of Thea’s Christmas Coffee and managed to get the coffee machine going. He found some eggs in the refrigerator and scrambled them, then went into the bedroom to wake Johannes.
That was when he discovered that his friend was dead.
The medical examiner’s initial conclusion was that Johannes had died in his sleep. The exact cause of death wasn’t clear, but the suspicion was that he’d suffered a cardiac arrest, or choked on his own vomit.
Maud sat in silence throughout Elsa’s account, occasionally shaking her head or sighing sympathetically. When Elsa fell silent, she seemed a little calmer.
“I’ll go and get you a fresh cup of coffee. Yours has gone cold,” Maud said.
She took both mugs into the kitchen and refilled them. When she returned, Elsa was twisting her handkerchief around her fingers. Maud put down a mug.
“Have some coffee, and try to eat something,” she said. “You need it. I’m assuming you haven’t had anything since yesterday.”
“I can’t . . . eat.”
Maud picked up the plate of gingerbread cookies. “I’m sure you can manage one of these! They’re from Sockerkringlan in Haga. I stood in line for ages to buy them.”
Hesitantly Elsa took one and nibbled the edge. With a shaking hand she picked up her coffee cup.
“Thank you. The cookie’s delicious. I think you’re right. I do need something.”
Maud smiled to herself at the memory. Elsa had remained in her apartment for another six years. She and Maud met up from time to time to enjoy each other’s company. One sunny summer’s day, Elsa quietly collapsed on the sidewalk outside Ljunggren’s Bakery. The ambulance arrived quickly, but it had
been impossible to save her life. A quick and painless death, Maud thought.
Sometimes she missed their little chats over coffee and cake.
An Elderly Lady Takes a Trip to Africa
The heat struck Maud with full force as she stepped off the plane at Johannesburg’s international airport. According to the information a flight attendant read over the intercom, the temperature was in the high eighties, but the heat had never really bothered her.
A tall man was waiting in the arrivals hall, holding up a sign that read south africa grand tour. He must be their guide. He was wearing long, pale shorts that exposed his muscular, tan legs, and sturdy boots with white socks rolled down to his ankles. There was a discreet SAGT logo on his T-shirt, beneath the image of a roaring lion’s head. Maud knew that the twenty-two participants would be split into two groups; her party would be starting the tour in Johannesburg, while the other had taken a different flight from Dubai to Cape Town.
After a while, seven people had gathered around the guide; where were the other four?
“Welcome to South Africa and Johannesburg,” he said in English. He smiled at his little flock and added in Swedish: “I speak Swedish too. My mother is from Sweden, and my father is South African.”
Goodness! Is that young man going to be responsible for us out in the bush? Maud wondered. I bet he can’t even grow facial hair yet. However, she had to admit that he made a reassuring impression with his toned body and his height. He was obviously a talented linguist too; his Swedish was very good, although he did have a slight accent. And even Maud had to admit that he wasn’t bad to look at. He had long, light-brown hair with blond streaks that was tied back in a pony tail, and his blue eyes lit up when he gave a dazzling white smile.
“My name is Pieter Booth, and I’ll be your guide throughout your stay. As you can see, there are only seven of you in the group. A family from Norway had to cancel at the last minute, and we didn’t have time to replace them.”
He frowned briefly, then smiled at them again.
“We’re going to the hotel now, but we’ll go on a little tour of the city along the way. We’ll be there in about an hour, and you’ll have the opportunity to unpack and rest. We’ll meet at seven on the roof terrace for welcome drinks, and I’ll tell you about the itinerary and mention one or two things to keep in mind when you’re out and about in Johannesburg. You’ll also have the chance to ask questions, and we’ll get to know one another a little better. There’s no point now; I’m sure you’re tired after your long journey. Okay, let’s go.”
He led them toward the exit, where their minibus was waiting. It only had twelve seats, but it was clean and looked new. It also had air-conditioning; Maud noticed units on the side windows. The driver was a powerfully built black man, his curly hair peppered with gray, who welcomed them warmly.
“My name is Luhandre, and I’ll be your driver throughout your stay. Welcome to South Africa!”
Maud was pleased to have a middle-aged driver to compensate for the young guide. Before she climbed on board, she paused and took a deep breath. It was strange, but there was always a particular smell when she arrived in Africa. Despite the exhaust fumes from all the buses and cars in the parking lot, she picked it up easily: a dry, heavy, almost dusty smell, carrying with it clear notes of herbs and spices. A balsamic aroma she recognized but couldn’t identify drifted by.
The guide’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Shall I help you up the steps?” he asked, firing off another of his dazzling smiles.
“No,” Maud snapped. Who the hell did he think he was? As if she needed help! She was fitter than most middle-aged people, despite the fact that she was almost eighty-nine.
Pieter Booth turned out to be a good guide; he spoke interestingly about the various sights they passed on their short tour. Three of the passengers were so tired after the long journey that they fell asleep, but Maud enjoyed reacquainting herself with the vibrant city’s mixture of nationalities.
The hotel’s five stars were displayed on a sign by the main doors. The lobby was elegant, with pale leather sofas and armchairs arranged around dark, highly polished coffee tables. Three large artificial Christmas trees had been placed in different corners, sprayed white and adorned with red baubles. Strangely enough this was quite attractive; Maud didn’t much care for Christmas decorations, and usually put out only her two electric Advent candle bridges. Bing Crosby’s version of “White Christmas” was pouring out of hidden speakers. At least it wasn’t the appalling “Jingle Bells.” On one side of the room there was a bar, a sparkling mixture of gold, glass, and mirrors. The reception desk lay directly opposite.
Pieter Booth went over to speak to the young woman on duty. With those eyes and cheekbones, she should be on the catwalk in Paris or Milan, Maud thought. Pieter smiled (of course) and leaned forward over the counter, but received only a small smile and a professional look in return. With a resigned shrug he took out the list of his party members and got everyone checked in. When that was done, he gathered them around him once more.
“The hotel restaurant is regarded as one of the best in Johannesburg. You can also order simpler dishes from the bar, which I’d recommend if you’re hungry now. As I’m sure you’ve seen in the program, we’ll be having dinner at eight, and as I said earlier, we’ll meet on the roof terrace for drinks at seven.”
He gave yet another hundred-watt smile, then disappeared with a wave through the glass doors.
Maud walked into her room on the eighth floor, dropped her suitcase, and slowly turned around. Never in her life had she stayed in such a large, luxurious room. This was exactly what she’d wanted when she decided on this vacation, because it might well be one of the last long-haul trips in her life. She was determined to get the most out of her money! She helped herself to a juicy orange from the carved wooden bowl on the table in front of the white leather sofa.
After a nap on top of the bed’s shimmering gold silk bedspread, she got ready for the evening. A mid-length pale-blue cotton dress and white sandals were perfect; she draped a thin white cotton shawl around her shoulders.
The rest of the group had already gathered on the roof terrace on the fourteenth floor. They were sitting around a table with a glorious view of the city, where the setting sun had painted all the rooftops pink and red. A waiter in a snow-white jacket was taking their orders. Once Maud had sat down on the last empty chair, he turned to her and asked what she would like.
“A gin and tonic, please,” she said without hesitation.
She was about to add, “That’s what I always have when I’m in Africa,” but managed to stop herself. Gin and tonic didn’t taste as good anywhere else in the world, but that was just her opinion and had nothing to do with the others. They also didn’t need to know she’d been to South Africa before—although she’d only been in Johannesburg for two days on her first visit and had spent most of her time in and around Cape Town, which she was very much looking forward to revisiting.
When everyone had their drinks they raised their glasses in a toast, and Pieter welcomed them once again. He then suggested that they get to know one another, starting with Maud. She told them her name, said that she lived in Gothenburg and was a retired language teacher. She thought that was enough.
When Pieter realized she wasn’t going to supply any more information, he nodded to her neighbor, a well-built man. Maud had heard him and his wife speaking Danish on the minibus. He introduced himself as Morten Jensen, property director—whatever that meant. Then he pointed to his considerably younger companion and said, “And this is my wife Alise.”
The cool blonde nodded and gave a faint smile. The fact that she hadn’t been allowed to introduce herself irritated Maud. Jensen must be at least sixty-five. He was overweight and perspiring heavily; sweat patches were clearly visible under the arms of his pale-gray shirt. His thin hair was plastered to his balding
head in an unflattering comb-over. His wife could be anywhere between forty and fifty. Well preserved, Maud thought. Seems to be under her husband’s thumb. She was wearing a close-fitting white linen dress, which suited her. An expensive designer label, no doubt. A huge diamond set in white gold sparkled on the third finger of her left hand, with matching studs in her ears. He spoils her with expensive jewelry, Maud continued her observations, feeling smart. She’s almost young enough to be his daughter.
At that moment Alise Jensen turned her head and met Maud’s gaze for a fraction of a second; the blue eyes were sharp and alert. Maud was a little surprised, but pleased. So she wasn’t completely oppressed. Quite the reverse, in fact; she’d seen strength in that brief moment of contact.
Another blonde was sitting next to Alise, although Maud doubted whether the color was natural. Her hair was cut in a shoulder-length bob. She wasn’t nearly as ethereal as little fru Jensen; in fact, she was quite tall. She was wearing a low-cut dress in a pink patterned chiffon. Her makeup was discreet, but her nails were long and painted bright pink. Maud thought she was probably about fifty years old. Those nails won’t last in the bush, she thought.
The woman cleared her throat and said, “My name is Elisabeth Carlethon. I live in Örebro these days, but I’m originally from Stockholm. I’m a private dentist, and I work in a group practice with three colleagues. Because I’m single, I decided to treat myself to this trip. It’s my fiftieth birthday on New Year’s Day, so I’ll be throwing a party for family and friends on Valentine’s Day instead. Skål, everyone!”
She raised her glass with a dazzling smile that matched their guide’s, although it seemed to Maud that her teeth were suspiciously white and even. Everyone joined in the toast, then turned their attention to the man beside Elisabeth.
An Elderly Lady Must Not Be Crossed Page 8
