The Little Old Lady Who Struck Lucky Again!

by Ingelman-Sundberg, Catharina

  ‘Have you given them anything? They seem so sleepy.’

  ‘Just some tranquillizers,’ said Anja.

  ‘If you take care of old people, they don’t need tranquillizers, do they?’ Martha muttered. ‘What about gym exercises?’

  ‘Gym exercises? I don’t know anything about that,’ Anja answered.

  ‘And the kitchen? Have you got a new kitchen yet?’

  ‘We’ve got the microwave ovens . . .’

  ‘There should at least be a new kitchen here! Don’t you communicate with Director Mattson?’

  ‘Director Mattson and Nurse Barbara? They own so many retirement homes now, and most of the time they are away on business trips.’

  ‘I want to get hold of them.’

  ‘That won’t be so easy.’ Anja gave a little laugh. ‘We’ve tried to present them with our complaints, but we never get any answers. They have an address in New Jersey.’

  Martha felt a burning anger and the knuckles around her notebook turned white. The money that she and her friends had sent from Las Vegas might have disappeared, but she had learned that the management of Diamond House Enterprises had made a profit of more than seventy million kronor last year. Martha had hoped that they had reinvested some of the money in the retirement homes. But no. She opened her big cloth bag.

  ‘My friends!’ Martha said, pulling out a bundle of gift cheques from a company that Anna-Greta had found on the Internet. They stocked and delivered all sorts of equipment.

  ‘These cheques are valid for a whole year and I’ll mail copies of them to Diamond House Enterprises. Now you can buy ovens, cookers, sink units, dishwashing machines, yes, all the kitchen equipment you need. In two months, our control unit will return and check that everything is installed.’ Martha signed the delivery list and put her pen back in her bag. ‘Surely you realize, Nurse Anja, that conditions should be as nice as possible when you are old.’

  The girl turned red in the face and was just about to say something when they heard a strange noise from the big sitting room. They all rushed in. Dolores had lent her Rippy all-round knife to Henrik, also in his nineties. To the accompaniment of jolly cheers, he cut through the tape around the parcels. Anja had never been in a situation like this before. She hadn’t read a word in the regulations about what you should do in the event of gifts and contributions from outsiders.

  ‘Ooooh!’ could be heard from the residents at Diamond House. Like children at Christmas, they ripped off the wrapping paper and threw it aside. With exclamations of joy, the residents pulled out iPads, iPhones, books and DVD films. Some Belgian chocolates fell onto the floor and Martha realized that Christina must have been responsible for that particular order. She herself had ordered yoga mats, stretching bands, dumbbells and lots of other exercise equipment, while Rake had wanted to bring joy to the residents with computer games, model boats and garden tools. Brains, for his part, had ordered workshop tools as well as anti-slip mats, magnifying glasses, talking watches and walking-stick holders to attach to Zimmer frames. Right at the bottom of one of the packages lay a packet wrapped in gold paper. Everyone became silent.

  ‘What’s this?’ the driver wondered out loud, and he looked on the back of the packet. ‘It says here that this package shall be opened in the presence of the Ministry of Health’s control unit for standards in retirement homes.’

  ‘Yes, that’s correct,’ said Martha and ticked an item in her notebook. Henrik, the man whom Dolores was evidently rather fond of, offered to open it. He untied the string, slowly and carefully took off the paper wrapping, and opened the packet.

  ‘It’s full of envelopes,’ he mumbled, pushing his glasses up to the top of his nose and looking more closely.

  ‘Good, that’s as it should be. The box contains an envelope for each and every one of you,’ said Martha. She picked up a bundle and handed them out. The rustle of envelopes being opened could be heard, and then Henrik exclaimed:

  ‘I can’t believe this. An electric scooter! I’ve got an electric scooter!’

  ‘Right. The same present for everyone,’ said Martha. ‘The scooter is for walks here in the vicinity and there is also a voucher for a package tour to Gran Canaria.’ She again dipped her hand into her floral bag, pulled out a brown envelope and handed it over to Anja. ‘This is for the management, it’s a list of all the things that have been donated to you today. The donator wishes to remain anonymous. And in addition . . .’ Martha took a deep breath, because what she was now going to say was extremely important. ‘In addition,’ she said again, ‘to enable these gifts to be made proper use of, here is a special cheque to pay for two new members of staff who will assist in looking after the residents here. The money is specifically for that purpose. We at the Ministry of Health’s control unit for standards in retirement homes will return to check that the donation has been used for the purposes stipulated.’

  Anja’s eyes were like saucers, and several of the residents started to shed tears of joy. Martha, too, found it hard to hold back the tears and for quite a while couldn’t find any words at all. But the driver, who was getting impatient, broke the silence.

  ‘Right, that was the lot. Thank you and goodbye.’ He walked towards the door. Martha stopped him.

  ‘I know you have a lot of other deliveries today. I just happen to have been told to check those deliveries too. If I can follow along with you in your van, it will be quicker.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, mark my words. Our control unit often checks deliveries. When it comes to money, it is always necessary to check where it goes.’

  26

  Ever since Tompa and Jörgen had seen their elderly neighbours carry those bodies into the earth cellar, they had been extremely worried. They didn’t want the police to come to the neighbourhood, and if there really were dead bodies, they would soon be facing a serious sanitary problem as soon as the spring thaw set in. Then it wouldn’t be long before that nosey fortune-teller down the hill called the police. No, they had to deal with this themselves. Jörgen and Tompa kept a watch on the big old house and waited impatiently for an opportunity when all five of the elderly occupants were out at the same time. They waited and waited and, finally, early one Monday morning, the whole gang climbed into their old Volkswagen minibus, with the wheelchair ramp on the back, and set off from the house. When the sound of the engine faded away, Tompa realized that this was the chance they had been waiting for. Excellent!

  ‘They’ve gone. The coast is clear,’ he called out into the room. ‘Come along, let’s go straight there.’

  Jörgen Smäck peered out of their window. His hair stuck out at all angles, and he had dark rings under his eyes. He had been busy doing woodwork in the club premises long into the night.

  ‘Let’s go! Have you got the headlamps?’

  Tompa nodded.

  ‘I just hope there aren’t any corpses down there. We’d better put our gardening gloves on.’

  The men went down into the hall, put on scarves and jackets and pulled on their heavy boots. The cold air hit them when they left the house, and Tompa wished he had a woolly cap on too. But of course, bikers weren’t known for going around in woolly hats, so he would just have to suffer the cold. Even motorcycle helmets were frowned upon in the club. And now he suddenly regretted having shaved his scalp. A mop of hair did at least give you a bit of warmth.

  ‘It’s locked!’ said Jörgen when they got to the cellar. There was a gap in the door and it would be easy to force it open, so Jörgen looked around for an iron bar, but then remembered that they shouldn’t leave any trace of their activities. ‘OK, we’ll have to lift the door off.’

  Together they managed to bend the door a little so that they could get a good grip, which enabled them to lift the door off its hinges. They carefully leaned in against the wall and went inside. There was a smell of earth and potatoes, and when they got a bit further inside, their nostrils were filled with the smell of alcohol. Somebody must have dropped a whole box
of vodka bottles, Tompa thought, as he adjusted his headlamp and let the ray of light illuminate the wall. Or rather the boxes. Postal packages, unopened boxes, IKEA packets, and carton upon carton of whisky and champagne had been stacked up against the walls. Furniture too, garden tools, reading lamps and various other boxes of goods were lined up along the cellar wall.

  ‘When did all this stuff arrive?’ Jörgen wondered out loud.

  ‘Must have been when we were having a kip. It looks like a bleeding department store in here!’

  ‘No, more like a booze shop,’ said Jörgen and he kept his headlamp pointed at the cartons of bottles. ‘But what have we got here? Cloudberry liqueur?’

  ‘Just look at the whisky and all that other stuff. These oldies are criminals – isn’t that what I said? They must have been out on a burglary tour again. They’re a crafty lot!’

  ‘That must be why they wouldn’t sign those papers for us. That Martha, she’s a cunning one. Perhaps we ought to set her up!’

  ‘Yeah, or keep tabs on the whole gang.’

  The two bikers looked around and behind some boxes of whisky and a treadmill they caught sight of two mannequins dressed in winter coats, dresses and boots.

  ‘Well that’s a surprise. Are they going to open a fashion boutique too?’

  Jörgen lifted up one of the mannequins and held it up so that Tompa could see too. ‘So they weren’t dead bodies, they were shop-window dummies! Talk about false alarms – this was nothing to worry about, then. No wonder they could manage to carry them.’

  ‘But what are they going to do with all this stuff?’

  ‘They must be a bunch of kleptomaniacs, the whole lot of them. Can’t be any other explanation.’

  Tompa and Jörgen looked at the other boxes and then passed the mannequins again on their way out.

  ‘Hey, you know what? Wouldn’t it be fun if we had one of these dummies in our club room? We can dress it in a jacket with our logo on it, and then put it next to the bar counter,’ Tompa suggested.

  ‘Yeah, that’d be fucking cool! We’ll do it!’

  That evening, some Mad Angels members and the rest of the guys from Bandangels were coming for a party. And the club room needed to be ready by then. The shop dummy would be perfect. The two bikers nodded to each other in agreement and set to work. They quickly took the coat and boots off one of the dummies and fashioned them to make it look as if the dummy was still lying there. With a bit of luck, the old codgers wouldn’t even notice that the dummy was missing. When they had finished, they turned off their headlamps and put them in their pockets. It was time they were on their way. They quickly put the door back onto its hinges, checked nobody had seen them and then hurried down the path to the gate – with the mannequin in Tompa’s arms. As they did so, they heard an engine and saw a delivery lorry on its way up the hill.

  Tompa quickly looked for a hiding place for the dummy, but didn’t have time to hide it before the van came to a halt just outside the gate.

  ‘We’ll have to pretend we live here,’ Tompa whispered to Jörgen as the driver jumped out of the lorry.

  ‘Ah, here come the goods we ordered,’ Jörgen improvized and the two of them exchanged glances. Tompa was reminded of all the booze and other stuff in the cellar. The evening’s party was to celebrate the fifth anniversary of the Bandangels and to inaugurate their new club room. The pensioners probably wouldn’t even remember half of what they had ordered. So they might as well borrow a few boxes of booze and arrange a prize-giving to reward the lads who had done a good job. Tompa walked up to the driver, looking as though he owned the place.

  ‘You can unload the goods here beside the gate. We’ll sort it out.’

  The driver, who was in his fifties, glanced quickly at Tompa.

  ‘Andersson, Myrstigan Two?’

  ‘Yepp, Andersson, that’s me. Myrstigen Two.’

  ‘Right you are, sign here!’

  The driver held out his order pad, and Tompa scribbled something illegible.

  ‘Do you want it all here by the gate?’ The driver went round to the back of the van and opened the doors.

  ‘Here will do fine. We’ll put it all in the cellar afterwards.’

  The driver looked at Tompa’s leather waistcoat and seemed to be weighing up how to react. But then he shrugged and lowered the ramp at the back of the lorry, got out the trolley and started to pile up the boxes. He unloaded them at the gate, and then went and fetched some more. Looking rather stressed, he thumbed through his delivery instructions and checked the boxes still in the lorry. Some boxes were to be delivered to a retirement home too, he noticed, and he fumbled with the lists. Then he put another three boxes on his trolley, stopped and checked through the lists again, then changed his mind and replaced the three boxes with four others. Then he ticked off the items on his list and wheeled the boxes to the gate.

  ‘Right, then. That’s the lot,’ he said, at the same moment catching sight of the shop dummy. The dress hung down crookedly. ‘Ah, you’re in the fashion branch, right?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ Tompa blushed.

  ‘Oh I see. Nowadays lots of guys like women’s clothes. You don’t have to be ashamed of something like that . . .’

  ‘What the . . .’ Tompa raised his hand to hit the driver but managed to restrain himself. ‘No, no, it’s for my girlfriend, you know. A surprise . . .’

  The driver broke into a wide smile, closed the back doors of his lorry and climbed up into the cab.

  ‘Don’t be shy, guys. I know what it’s like. I like dressing up sometimes. You can actually find really lovely clothes second-hand. Lots of lace, frills and the like.’ He laughed, put the lorry into first gear and drove off with the wheels spinning.

  ‘Idiot!’ Tompa muttered. ‘Take it easy. Drop it, and come and check out the boxes instead.’

  ‘There’ll be loads of stuff here for our party. What about having a raffle?’

  ‘A raffle? We’re not having an afternoon tea session for housewives, OK?’

  ‘Well, what about giving prizes?’

  Tompa didn’t get any further than that before they heard the sound of an engine again and a delivery van from a well-known wine merchants approached at full speed. It slowed down and finally came to a halt right in front of the old house. Jörgen prodded Tompa in his side.

  ‘This is our lucky day, no doubt about it!’

  Tompa nodded and signalled to the driver to lower his side window.

  ‘Is this Andersson, Myrstigen Two?’

  ‘That’s right. You can put the boxes next to the others,’ directed Tompa authoritatively and he pointed to the pile next to the gate. ‘We’ve a party this evening!’

  The driver glanced at Tompa’s tattoos and hesitated.

  ‘Gimme the paper so I can scribble on it!’ Tompa roared and grabbed the delivery list. With a grand gesture he wrote his illegible signature, and then gave the driver a hearty thump on his back. He talked a bit about the weather and watched as the stressed delivery driver unloaded his van with more boxes of booze. Perfect – just what they wanted! He followed after him and helped to unload the cartons while Jörgen stacked them next to the others.

  ‘Cloudberry liqueur? Who drinks that?’ the driver asked when they had finished.

  ‘The girls, you know,’ said Tompa.

  The driver rolled his eyes and climbed back into the cab.

  ‘And that shop dummy, what’s that for?’ the driver asked, pointing at the mannequin which leaned at an angle next to the gate.

  ‘Drunk as hell! Cloudberry liqueur is potent stuff,’ Tompa smirked.

  The driver guffawed, started the van, raised his hand in a wave, and set off.

  ‘He didn’t check very carefully. Just because we were here by the gate he thought it was our booze,’ Tompa laughed.

  ‘He just wanted to be on his way as soon as he saw us. But what shall we do about the oldies?’

  ‘They’ll think the goods haven’t arrived yet or they’ll forget the
whole order. Short-term memory and all that. That’s what happens when you get old. We can simply take the lot.’

  ‘But if they kick up a fuss, what then?’

  ‘We’ll soon sort it out.’

  ‘OK, but we’d better take the shop dummy first before anybody else catches sight of it.’

  Tompa fetched their big trolley from the yard and quickly loaded all the boxes. Then they took the lot up to their shed, unloaded it all and returned with the snow blower. They still had time to cover the tracks of the deliveries.

  27

  The glassed-in veranda was really cosy and they were all happily occupied with something. Anna-Greta and Gunnar were solving sudoku puzzles, Martha was knitting, Christina was reading and Rake looked longingly out across to where a big ship was passing. Brains put his feet up on the sheepskin stool in front of him and hummed in contentment.

  ‘We haven’t ended up in prison yet,’ Brains said. ‘Now we’ve fooled the police again. We’re getting good at this.’

  Prison? They all gave a start and it was as if the light from the oil lamps fluttered in fright. The unease could be seen in everyone’s eyes. As with health care and schools, things had gone downhill for the country’s prisons recently. No member of the League of Pensioners wanted to end up behind bars again.

  The gang had eaten a good dinner and the coffee cups had been emptied. ‘We’ve committed a crime and mustn’t get too cocky, that would be dreadfully dangerous. The police might be on our tracks without us having a clue about it,’ said Martha, putting her knitting down on her lap. She was busy knitting a scarf for Brains and discovered to her horror that she had made it striped black and white, so that it reminded her of prison clothes. It might be best to dye it another colour perhaps? The week had passed by quickly, it was Friday evening and they really ought to do something. After all, the art of living a good life was to brighten up grey everyday life with tiny treats. That was what made life worth living. She looked around her. Anna-Greta and Gunnar were still busy with their sudoku, Brains had started to dismantle an old wireless and Rake had got out his Tarot cards. Christina looked up from her book and sneaked a look at him. Now that he didn’t visit Lillemor any longer, he interpreted his future in the Tarot cards all by himself. He had laid the cards out in a circle on the veranda table and tried to work out if he could see any sort of pattern. Christina gave him a stern look, put her book to one side and pulled out her nail file. Then she started to file her nails with rapid, sweeping movements. Rake hadn’t actually been over to Lillemor for a long time, perhaps everything would work out in the end. Martha looked at the wall clock and put her knitting aside.