Sixty-Five
‘Usch, this makes me nervous,’ said Christina to herself as she pushed the newly purchased stroller in front of her. It was the end of October and the wind that blew in from Nybro Bay was chilly and heralded winter. Her well-wrapped-up grandchild, Malin, slept in one half of the double stroller, and in the other lay the authentic-looking baby doll with its little hat. Christina and Martha took turns pushing the stroller in front of them because it was much heavier than they had imagined. Earlier that day, they had tucked in the baby doll, the blanket and the diapers stuffed with banknotes, and they had even added a little baby’s bottle, some baby socks and an extra sweater. Then they had taken a taxi to Blasieholm Square together with the little girl. The taxi driver helped them with the stroller and everything, and when they had put Malin and the doll in the double stroller, they started to walk in the direction of the Grand Hotel.
While they walked, Martha wondered who the painting kidnappers could be. She considered everyone from the Yugoslav mafia to the hotel staff to a rich businessman. But it didn’t really matter. The most important thing was for them to get the paintings back. When they reached Hovslagargatan, they looked carefully around them and then on the corner of Blasieholmgatan and Teatergatan they left the stroller on the pavement as stipulated. Just as Christina lifted her grandchild out of the stroller, she nudged the baby doll. She stopped.
‘Martha, we’ve thought this out wrong. If people see this authentic-looking doll, then they’ll think we have abandoned our child and will come rushing after us.’
‘Don’t worry. We’ll pull the rain cover up so nobody will see anything,’ said Martha, lifting the plastic and zipping up the cover. ‘Because I certainly don’t want to carry this around,’ she went on, pointing at the doll.
‘They are called children,’ said Christina with a sharp voice. ‘But Martha, if you can’t see anything in the stroller under the rain cover, what is the point of the doll?’
‘Hmm, well, we thought …’ said Martha, and she couldn’t for the life of her remember why they had bought it. Why did Christina always have to be so sensible afterwards? When it was too late. ‘Well, we—’
‘What do you mean, “we”? Don’t include me in that decision,’ said Christina. ‘I wanted us to use Emma’s stroller. Those villains must think we are crazy. A plastic doll! If I had been in charge of this, well, then—’
‘We’d best be moving,’ Martha broke in. ‘They said we must stay away for two hours. Then we can fetch the paintings.’
‘A Monet, a Renoir and a plastic doll in a stroller,’ Christina churned on.
‘Now, now, these are Swedish cultural treasures that are being returned to the nation,’ said Martha.
Christina shrugged her shoulders and locked the stroller to a railing. The street was deserted; people rarely walked there as they preferred the street alongside the quay. She wrapped Malin in a blanket and put her little hat on.
‘She’s so cute,’ said Martha with a gentle voice, trying to lighten the mood.
‘Yes, she’s REAL, you see!’ Christina snapped.
There wasn’t a café nearby, so they went to the Veranda at the Grand Hotel. Martha hesitated, because she was worried that they would be recognized and it had been so embarrassing last time when the receptionist had been so rude to her. But it was cold and there wasn’t really anywhere else to choose from. They ordered a starter, hardly ate any of it and, two hours later when they left the table they were rather unsteady on their legs. To give themselves strength, they had each had a drink, and it wasn’t until they had finished it that they realized that the sweet drink was not a liqueur as they’d thought but a raspberry-flavoured vodka. But what did that matter when their self-confidence had escalated to unimagined heights? Besides, Christina had been given some Belgian chocolate with her coffee, and she was beaming. Indeed, she was having such fun with Malin that Martha had to discreetly ask her to quieten down.
‘I hope we are dealing with an honest villain and not one who has taken the money and not bothered to give us the paintings,’ said Martha when they got out onto the street. ‘Otherwise, I wouldn’t like to be in their shoes. I’d give them a really good walloping.’
‘Or a karate blow to his crotch,’ Christina giggled and almost danced a step.
Martha stared at her friend. It was amazing how bold she had become. It must be the Crime Journal and all those crime novels she read nowadays. Christina held Malin up high.
‘A crime a day keeps the doctor away,’ she exlaimed. Then Martha realized that Christina was in top condition. They were going to carry this off.
It would soon be getting dark and it had started raining. In her mind’s eye, Martha envisaged damp picture frames and paintings, so they hurried along. Indeed, she walked so fast that she found it hard to breathe, and in the midst of it all they had to stop so that she could get her breath back. Then she remembered the rain cover and calmed down. When they got round the corner, they could see the stroller. Martha’s heart beat faster. What if the umbrella stroller had stood there for two hours without the villain coming past? Or what if there had been a catch somewhere? They cautiously approached the stroller and when they were very close Martha stretched out her walking stick. There might actually be a bomb or some other dreadful thing in the stroller, so it was best to be careful. They walked round the stroller a couple of times and, after a lot of deep breaths, they dared to lift up the rain cover. Then they saw that the baby doll had slipped down and somebody had rummaged among the blankets. The cushion and the diapers with the money were gone, and under the blankets you could see a hump, indeed, two humps, like on a camel. Martha felt them and let out a big sigh because there were actually two paintings there. They were well wrapped and her fingers felt two solid frames. One was rectangular, like the Monet painting, and the other wavy and wide, with round corners, like the Renoir painting. She tried to lift up the Renoir painting to look at it, but she couldn’t manage—the gilded frame was too heavy.
‘All right, we’ll go straight to the museum, shall we?’ she said in a quiet voice, and Christina nodded. They unlocked the stroller and together started to walk towards Hovslagargatan. There they stopped again in an empty bus shelter.
‘It is a bit lighter here. First we must check that the paintings aren’t damaged. Have you got the gloves, Christina?’
‘The white gloves are in the bag. I must hold Malin. Her diaper needs changing too.’
‘Typical!’
Martha dug out the gloves, put them on and started to rip off the paper wrapping. It had been wound round the painting several times and was much harder to remove than she had expected. But when she saw the gilded frame shine from one corner, she beamed with joy.
‘Look, Christina. Oh, I am so happy. You know, owning something isn’t always the greatest joy. To be able to give something back is also a great feeling, perhaps even greater. But to be able to give back something really valuable that you have stolen—that is almost the best feeling of all!’
‘Martha, we’ve no time to philosophize now. I must change her diaper.’
Martha quickly pulled the blanket over the paintings again, and took a few steps back while Christina laid the baby on a towel on the bus shelter bench. The diaper change was soon accomplished and you could see that Christina had a natural maternal instinct; this was her third grandchild, after all. An unmistakeable smell spread around the stroller.
‘Good thing that Monet and Renoir don’t still have their sense of smell,’ Martha commented.
Christina didn’t answer, but put the dirty diaper down at the back of the stroller. Then she tucked Malin in again as best as she could.
‘We must hurry. Pull the rain cover up. People are coming.’
Martha looked up. Quite right: a group of pensioners was coming in their direction. She quickly zipped up the rain cover. ‘That lot will certainly be going to the National Museum.’
‘How can you tell that?’
‘Just one or two men and lots of elderly women. They must be on a cultural outing.’
They walked round the corner and down towards the museum, but when they approached the quay in front of the Grand Hotel, a gust of wind caught the stroller. It was a strong gust which caught the rain cover so that the stroller rolled towards the quay. Martha realized the danger and grabbed one of the handles to hold back the stroller. But that came loose, and she found herself holding a handle in her hand. Instinctively, Christina leaned over the stroller and grabbed Malin, but then came the next gust of wind. Now that the stroller had been relieved of part of its burden, the wind had an easier job of rolling it towards the water.
‘Save it, save it,’ Christina shrieked as Martha hurried after it. In her mind’s eye she could see the stroller tipping into the bay, and Monet and Renoir sinking to the depths while she looked on helplessly. An imminent danger can give you unsuspected energy and an unrealistic mindset. Martha tried to run. After only three strides she realized her limitations and shouted for help. Yes, she shouted and gesticulated, even though they had planned to approach the museum quietly and discreetly. A skipper from one of the island ferries beside the quay saw what was happening. He ran after the stroller, managed to get a hold of it and steered it back towards the pavement again.
‘It might be best to take off the rain cover so that the wind doesn’t catch it again,’ he said amicably.
‘No, no, that’s not necessary,’ Martha answered, not wanting him to discover what lay in the stroller. ‘Thank you so very much.’
Then she grabbed hold of the stroller, put the handle back in its place and started to walk briskly towards the museum.
When they reached the main entrance, the man exclaimed, ‘But my dear, is that where you are going? I can give you a hand,’ the man insisted.
‘No, we can manage,’ Martha insisted. ‘We’ll walk over to the ramp around the corner.’ But the skipper pushed forward and took command.
‘I’ll help you up the steps. You need a man for that.’
Then he lifted the stroller up the steps and put it down beside the doors with an audible crash.
‘There we are, now you’ll have to manage on your own.’ The man smiled, raised his hand to his cap like skippers do, and Martha and Christina mumbled even more thanks.
‘It’s not good that he saw us,’ said Martha.
‘But surely the police won’t be angry with us for bringing the paintings back? Calm down, Martha. Anyway, he seemed kind.’ Christina was exhausted by all the drama. She leaned against the stroller to rest a little, but immediately discovered that it had become strangely crooked. A bolt fell to the floor.
‘Just look at this! And the stroller was so expensive too. I had been hoping to be able to give it to Emma,’ she grumbled.
‘Emma will probably be relieved she doesn’t get it,’ said Martha as she tried to push the damaged stroller through the doorway. The wheels had taken quite a blow, and since it wouldn’t roll so well, the stroller had become heavier to manoeuvre. Panting, she leaned against the wall.
‘If we push it into the elevator, we’ll get rid of it,’ said Christina, looking around her for somewhere to put Malin down.
‘Good idea,’ said Martha. The elevator was to the right of the entrance, and next to it was a bench. Christina carefully laid her grandchild down on the bench, and with a joint effort they steered the stroller towards the elevator doors. Some people gave them funny looks, but Christina and Martha pretended not to notice. Thank God the elevator was already on the ground floor, and when they pressed the button the doors immediately opened. Two youths offered to help and together they pushed the stroller into the elevator. However, the visitors were young and strong and unfortunately pushed a bit too hard, so that the stroller hit the side of the elevator.
‘Oh, sorry!’ they apologized.
‘Thank you, my dears. That doesn’t matter, it was so kind of you,’ Martha panted. ‘We can manage now.’
That wasn’t quite true though, since when she grabbed the handles to put the stroller into the corner of the elevator, a screw loosened and several bolts followed it.
‘Best to close the elevator doors,’ she said to Christina, pressing the button from outside. More chaos followed as, when the doors closed, they must have hit one of the handles because a sudden crash could be heard from within.
‘What happened?’ Christina wondered, and Martha quickly pressed open again. The elevator doors opened, and there lay the stroller.
‘Oh dearie me, what a mess!’ said Martha.
‘You should never buy something online without it being recommended,’ said Christina.
They gaped at the tangle of the rain cover, wheels, diapers and blankets that was in there, topped by a baby doll and two hump-like raised parts which must have been the painting frames. The stroller—just like the blogs had warned—had collapsed like a fox trap. Martha acted instinctively and pressed close. While the elevator doors shut again, she signalled to Christina that it was high time they departed. On top of everything else, Malin had started screaming, and with forced smiles they took the baby and moved towards the exit. They left the museum in the slowest and most dignified manner they were capable of. Not until they were behind the Grand Hotel and a taxi drove up beside them did Martha pull out the mobile phone. She had borrowed a pay-as-you-go card and she immediately phoned information.
‘Can you connect me to the National Museum, please?’ she said while Christina got into the taxi with Malin under her arm. Martha asked to be put through to the director of the museum.
‘Hello, how can I help you?’ an operator inquired.
Martha took a deep breath and disguised her voice. ‘There is a stroller with Monet and Renoir in the elevator in the museum’s entrance lobby,’ she said and then quickly turned the phone off. Then she, too, climbed into the taxi and asked the driver to drive them to Bromma airport. Domestic as well as foreign flights flew from there, and Martha thought it was an excellent false trail.
‘The mission has been accomplished,’ she said.
‘Accomplished? Are you quite sure about that?’ said Christina. ‘We forgot the baby doll.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Martha. Despite this serious mistake, she started laughing. ‘Paintings worth thirty million—and then we forget a doll with a hat on. You can’t say that life isn’t full of surprises.’
When they arrived at Bromma, they went for a walk inside the terminal and the departure hall and made sure people noticed them before they took the bus back into the city. Once there, they gave Malin back to Emma, after which they returned to Diamond House. Brains and Rake helped them off with their coats, and Anna-Greta was in such high spirits that she didn’t even bother with her record player. Instead, she laid the table in her room with tea and biscuits for them to have a celebration. They each helped themselves to a cup of tea and sat down on the sofa.
‘Well?’ Anna-Greta inquired, polishing her glasses and holding them up against the light. She had bought new, modern frames which suited her perfectly and didn’t slide down her nose.
After a few gulps of tea, Martha and Christina started to retell what had happened. When they came to the part where the stroller collapsed, Anna-Greta wrinkled her face in delight and chuckled in a completely new manner, which made the others look at each other nervously. But when Martha mentioned the baby doll they had left behind, Anna-Greta let out her usual neigh of laughter and they were all most relieved. Anna-Greta had just been tired, so the horsey neigh had taken a bit longer to materialize.
‘That “Best in Test” is evidently not very reliable,’ she said at the end, when she had more or less pulled herself together.
‘In the old days, you had shops with knowledgeable staff who could answer questions,’ said Martha. ‘Now everything is sold on the Internet and anybody at all who doesn’t know a thing can give their opinion. “Best in Test”? Of two strollers which collapsed, this one collapsed the least, perhaps?’
&
nbsp; ‘But society develops. The Internet is here to stay,’ declared Rake.
‘Just because society develops, it doesn’t mean it gets better,’ said Martha. ‘Not always.’
‘You and your philosophizing,’ he muttered.
Silence reigned a while, and they all occupied themselves with their teacups. Christina made a bit of extra clatter with hers, and finally put the cup down.
‘You know what? I think we have missed something again,’ she said.
They all listened carefully—when Christina used that special tone, she usually had something important to say.
‘Missed what?’ Brains asked.
‘Why all this sneaking around with the paintings? Martha, you said in the police interrogation that we only wanted to kidnap the paintings and then give them back again as soon as we got the ransom money.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Martha replied.
‘Well, then. There was no need at all for us to complicate things. We could have taken the paintings under our arms and walked in with them—and avoided all the hassle with the baby doll and everything. It is not a crime to give something back. The false trail out at Bromma airport was completely unneccessary.’ Christina gave a light snort, which developed into several sneezes. She had sat in a draught and caught a cold again. ‘It was totally pointless to do all that,’ she concluded, pulling out her hanky and blowing her nose.
Martha looked down at the table and her face had turned bright red. Brains held his hands on his stomach and Rake hummed to himself. It was Anna-Greta who broke the silence.
‘But for goodness’ sake! When you are old, you make mistakes sometimes. It doesn’t matter, does it?’
‘For future crimes we need young and strong people who can think straight,’ said Christina. ‘Like Anders and Emma, for example. If you can’t manage everything yourself, you need help, and we’re not getting any younger.’
The Little Old Lady Who Broke All the Rules Page 27