Obsessed (9781617732393)

by Gibson, Jo

  “Ingrid, dear. Why don’t you take this to your boyfriend’s family.” The plump Mrs. Bergstrom put the last loaf of bread in a white paper bag and handed it to Ingrid.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bergstrom.” Ingrid smiled at her mother’s friend. “How much did we sell?”

  Mrs. Bergstrom glanced down at her tally sheet, and a satisfied smile spread across her broad face. “Twenty dozen rolls, sixty loaves of bread, and fifty dozen cookies. We made over five hundred dollars.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Ingrid beamed at her.

  “Putting the cookies in small packages was a good idea, Ingrid. We sold almost all of them at four for a dollar. And our original price was two-fifty a dozen. We made fifty cents extra on those smaller bags.”

  Mr. Bergstrom, a tall, middle-aged man with snow white hair, came up in time to hear his wife’s comment. “My, my! It sounds like we have a retailing genius here. Maybe we should ask Ingrid to come down to the store and give us advice.”

  “I don’t think you need my advice, Mr. Bergstrom.” Ingrid smiled at him. The Bergstroms owned a very successful Scandinavian import store and they contributed generously to all of the church charities. “You can’t sell lingonberries at four for a dollar.”

  There was a twinkle in Mr. Bergstrom’s eyes as he nodded. “Yah, that’s true.”

  “But, maybe you could . . .” Ingrid blushed and shook her head. “No. It was just a silly idea.”

  “What is it, Ingrid?” Mr. Bergstrom looked interested.

  “Well . . . I was just thinking about those gift packs they sell at Christmas. I’m sure you’ve seen them. A bottle of wine, a couple of wine glasses, and some chocolates all wrapped up in a pretty basket.”

  Mrs. Bergstrom nodded. “Yah, I’ve seen them. They charge a fortune for something you could make yourself.”

  “That’s just it.” Ingrid blushed even harder as she told them her idea. “Why don’t you make up Scandinavian gift packs? You could put a package of Swedish pancake mix and a jar of lingonberries in one of those wonderful griddles you sell. If you wrapped it all up and put a bow on top, people might buy the package for a gift.”

  Mrs. Bergstrom turned to her husband, and he began to beam. “I think that’s a very good ideal We could do all kinds of packages, a little of this and a little of that, all wrapped up for Christmas.”

  “Everything except lutefisk.” Ingrid shuddered as she thought of lutefisk. It was a slab of cod that had been dried as stiff as a board. The lutefisk was soaked in lye to reconstitute it, and then boiled or baked at Christmas. It was a Norwegian tradition, and Ingrid’s father was Norwegian. He insisted that Ingrid’s Swedish mother make lutefisk every Christmas.

  Lutefisk smelled horrible when it was cooked, and it tasted the way it smelled. It had the texture of fish jello, and she’d begged her mother not to serve it when they had company at Christmas. But Ingrid’s father, normally a reasonable and taciturn man, refused to sit down for Christmas dinner unless lutefisk was served as the first course.

  “Don’t worry, Ingrid. We won’t include lutefisk.” Mrs. Bergstrom laughed. “I always say that God gave us lutefisk to remind us of His suffering. And then He gave us lefse to prove that He had mercy.”

  “Ilka!” Mr. Bergstrom gently chastised his wife, but his eyes were twinkling.

  Ingrid burst into laughter. “It’s true. My father says lutefisk proves that God has a wicked sense of humor. And we must show our appreciation for His joke by pretending to enjoy it!”

  The Bergstroms burst into laughter that lasted for a full minute. Finally, Mr. Bergstrom took out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes. “Oh, yah. That’s good, Ingrid. My compliments to your father. I agree with his sentiments exactly. No lutefisk. But we will definitely have lefse. Ilka makes wonderful lefse from her grandmother’s recipe.”

  “I know. My mother buys it every year.” Ingrid nodded. Mrs. Bergstrom sold homemade lefte right before Christmas, and the thin pancake-like bread made of potato was one of Ingrid’s favorite Norwegian foods. She liked to spread it with butter, sprinkle it with sugar, and fold it up like a tortilla. “Are you really going to make gift baskets, Mr. Bergstrom?”

  Mr. Bergstrom nodded. “Yah. Your idea is good, Ingrid. And if you have any other ideas, I hope you’ll tell me about them. I think you have a pretty good head for business.”

  “She certainly does!” Mrs. Bergstrom patted Ingrid on the shoulder. “Does your young man know how talented you are?”

  Ingrid felt a blush rise to her cheeks. Her mother must have told Mrs. Bergstrom about Michael. “Oh, I’m not the talented one. Michael is.”

  “She’s modest, too.” Mr. Bergstrom smiled at his wife. “Come along, Ilka. Now that you’ve sold everything in the booth, we have time to see the rest of the carnival.”

  Ingrid lingered at the booth after the Bergstroms had left. There was really nothing to do now that they’d sold everything. The fair still had another hour to run, and Michael wouldn’t be here to pick her up until eight. Perhaps she should walk around and see how the other booths and the rides were doing. She’d posted a notice at Covers advertising the carnival, and several people had promised to try to come. Since she’d been working at the bakery booth all day, she hadn’t had time to see if any of her friends from Covers were here.

  As she walked through the crowded fair grounds the church had rented, Ingrid could see that business was booming. Children and their parents were lined up to buy tickets on the merry-go-round, and everyone seemed to be carrying food.

  “Hi, Ingrid!”

  Ingrid turned and smiled as she recognized Lars Olafsen. Lars was tall and handsome, and she’d dated him a couple of times last year. Tonight he was taking tickets at the Tunnel of Love. “Hello, Lars. How are you?” she called out to him.

  “Just fine. You want to take a spin for free? I could go with you.”

  “No thanks, Lars.” Ingrid began to smile. Lars had probably been riding with girls on the Tunnel of Love all night. “I’m just getting ready to leave.”

  Lars looked disappointed, but he quickly recovered. “How about going to a movie with me next Sunday night? We haven’t gone out in a long time.”

  “Sorry, Lars. I’m dating someone right now.”

  “That figures.” Lars shrugged. “I knew I should have snapped you up when I had the chance. Is it serious?”

  Ingrid hesitated, and then she nodded. “Yes, Lars. It’s serious.”

  “Well . . . congratulations. My loss is his gain. Is it anybody I know?”

  “I don’t think so. He’s a freshman at U.C.L.A.”

  Lars raised his eyebrows. “And that’s where you’re going next year, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Ingrid smiled happily. She’d taken extra classes for the past three years, and she’d be graduating early, at Christmas. Six months from now she’d be on campus with Michael, and she could hardly wait. “How did you know my plans?”

  “Your mother told my mother. And she also said you had a new boyfriend, but she didn’t tell me it was that serious. Are you going to marry him?”

  “I don’t know.” Ingrid could feel herself blushing. Had her mother told the whole congregation about Michael?

  “You still have my number, don’t you?”

  “Why . . . yes. I’m sure I do.”

  Lars grinned. “Invite me to the wedding. And if there isn’t a wedding, call me right away.”

  “But . . . why?” Ingrid was confused.

  “So I can console you. I’m really good at that.”

  Ingrid burst into laughter. “I’m sure you are. Bye, Lars.”

  “Bye, Ingrid. I’m going to be holding my breath, waiting to hear from you.”

  “Don’t hold it too long. You’ll turn blue.” Ingrid was still laughing as she walked away. Lars was very popular and she knew he wouldn’t be holding his breath waiting for her. But it made her feel wonderful to know that he thought she was attractive. If Michael hadn’t come into her life, she might hav
e considered going out with Lars again. He was handsome, and funny, and very sexy. But Lars Olafsen didn’t make her knees turn weak when he kissed her, and he didn’t turn her insides to soft, quivering jelly. Michael was the only one who did that.

  Ingrid glanced at her watch. It was only seven-fifteen, and she still had forty-five minutes to wait before Michael would arrive. Since she’d been working in the booth all day, she really should check her makeup and hair to make sure she looked all right. But the ladies’ room was near the entrance, and she didn’t feel like walking all the way there and back. Perhaps there was something closer? Any reflective surface would do.

  The House of Mirrors was right across the midway and Ingrid headed directly toward the brightly colored building. She could comb her hair and freshen her makeup inside, and she wouldn’t have to walk all the way to the ladies’ room.

  As Ingrid approached, she noticed that there was no line. Mr. Swensen was manning the ticket booth, and he greeted Ingrid with a wave.

  “We are closed, Ingrid. I am leaving now to meet my wife so there are no more tickets. I let you go for free.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Swensen.” Ingrid smiled at the elderly man. “I just want to comb my hair.”

  Mr. Swensen laughed. “That might be pretty hard to do in there. Those mirrors are all wavy, you know?”

  “I know.” Ingrid laughed, too. “Is it scary inside?”

  “No. I was in first to check it out. I wanted to tell the little ones to stay away if it would frighten them. But inside is not scary. The little children had fun in there all day. There are many mirrors, and it is a puzzle when you try to get out.”

  “Oh, great!” Ingrid frowned slightly. “If I go inside, will I be stuck in there all night?”

  “There is a trick, Ingrid, and I will tell it to you. I also told it to the children. You must look at the floor. The building is old and you can see where many people walked in a path. Follow the path and you will come right out on the other side.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Swensen.” Ingrid took one step toward the entrance, and then she turned back. “But you said you’re leaving. Don’t you have to turn out the lights?”

  “The lights will stay on until everyone has gone home. Then the carnival people will pack up the rides, and turn them off.”

  Ingrid smiled as she climbed the steps to the entrance. She’d never been in a House of Mirrors before, and she had the whole place to herself. She’d always wanted to make funny faces at herself in a carnival mirror and now she could do it in privacy. It was too bad Michael wasn’t here. He might enjoy walking through with her. They could have stopped in front of the mirrors and laughed at their reflections.

  Today the temperature had been in the high eighties, and it hadn’t cooled off that much when darkness had begun to fall. The inside of the House of Mirrors was air-conditioned, and Ingrid welcomed the blast of refrigerated air as she stepped through the doorway. Perhaps she should just stay here until it was time to meet Michael. It was the coolest place in the whole fairgrounds.

  Ingrid began to smile as she stepped in a little further and caught sight of her reflection in one of the convex mirrors. Since the mirror curved out, it made her look as short and fat as a dumpling. She whirled around once, and watched her skirt billow out to expose legs that looked as solid and sturdy as tree trunks. Thank goodness she didn’t really look like this! If she did, she’d be even heavier than her plump, jolly mother. She’d have to watch her weight, once she was married. Her mother had taught her to cook and appreciate good food, and that could be a definite liability.

  Would Michael still love her if she got fat? Ingrid frowned and her chubby reflection frowned back at her. Of course he would, but his eyes might stray to the girls with slimmer figures. She owed it to Michael to keep in shape and continue to look attractive.

  Ingrid moved deeper and deeper into the building, fascinated by the hundreds of different reflections. The mirrors were positioned to form a maze, and her distorted face greeted her from every angle. There were lights overhead that added to the illusion, high-lighting different parts of her body.

  Ingrid gasped as she turned a corner and entered a room with green lights. This section was like being trapped in a giant terrarium, with pale green creatures, wearing her distorted face, staring at her from every corner. It wasn’t exactly scary, but it did make her nervous. If she let her mind float free, she could imagine a giant hand lifting the cover to reach down and pluck her out, like a harmful bug on a prize fern. Ingrid hurried through the maze, following the path on the floor, and drew a deep sigh of relief when she came to the next corridor.

  The next section had blinking red and yellow lights overhead, and Ingrid felt as if she were in the middle of the fires of Hell. To add to the illusion, it was warmer here. Her face looked suddenly demonic, and Ingrid almost screamed as she bumped straight into one of the mirrors and confronted her own giant reflection. It was fifteen feet high and terribly distorted, and it seemed to be accusing her of some horrible crime.

  “Oh!” Ingrid stepped back and bumped into the mirror behind her. She turned to the left and bumped into another mirror. To her dismay, she found another mirror on her right. And still another, directly in front of her. Where was the path? Was she lost?

  It was difficult to see the worn places on the floor. They didn’t seem to show up under the red lights. Ingrid almost panicked until she realized that if she shut her eyes, the reflections would no longer confuse her. She banged into a couple of mirrors on the way, but at last she made it into the next corridor.

  The last section was the worst of all, and Ingrid gasped as she stepped in. Strobe lights were flashing everywhere, and it was very disorienting. She stumbled as she lost her balance, and she reached out to steady herself on the surface of the nearest mirror. This section reminded her of the strobe effect that Judy had used, the night Mary Beth had performed her last dance.

  Mary Beth’s last dance. The dreadful finality of those words made Ingrid shudder. Mary Beth would never dance again. Mary Beth was dead, killed by a maniac she’d let into her own house. Why hadn’t Mary Beth been more careful? She’d known that there was a killer on the loose.

  But perhaps she’d known her killer, known him so well she’d trusted him completely. Perhaps she’d even been in love with him. Detective Davis had cleared Mary Beth’s former boyfriend. He had come up with an air-tight alibi. Who else had Mary Beth trusted?

  Michael. The answer popped into Ingrid’s mind, and she winced. The thought was about as welcome as an invasion of ants at a picnic. Mary Beth trusted Michael completely, and she’d been expecting him that night. If Michael had knocked on Mary Beth’s door, she would certainly have opened it. But of course, he hadn’t. Michael hadn’t arrived at Mary Beth’s house until after she’d been killed. She’d heard him describe the scene of the accident that had slowed him down, and Detective Davis had confirmed that there had been a collision.

  But he could have heard about it on the radio. Ingrid tried to push that thought from her mind, but she knew that several radio stations gave periodic updates on the freeways and surface streets. And Michael always listened to the traffic report. He’d done it the other night when they’d been stuck in traffic.

  But she loved Michael. She had to trust him. That’s what love was all about. Michael was sweet and kind and good. He’d never brutally murder a girl, and then thrust an arrow into her chest.

  The arrow. Ingrid wrapped her arms around herself. The House of Mirrors was suddenly very cold. She could feel an icy draft seeping down, and she shivered violently. No one had been able to explain the significance of the arrows. The police were stymied because they hadn’t been able to find any gang that used arrows for a symbol. But Michael had told her, just last night, that he’d been an archery coach at summer camp. And Judy had suggested that they might have something to do with Cupid

  No. The whole idea was preposterous. Ingrid squared her shoulders and frowned at her flashing reflectio
n. The strobe lights must be affecting her mind. There was no way Michael had killed the girls he’d been dating. What earthly reason could he have for doing a horrible thing like that?

  Because he found out that they were dating him to win the contest. Ingrid gasped out loud as the thought occurred to her. Someone could have told Michael about the contest. Perhaps one of the girls had even admitted it. And Michael had been so incensed, he’d . . .

  Ingrid did her best to push down that horrible suspicion. Michael might have been angry if he’d found out about the contest, but he certainly wouldn’t have been mad enough to kill Deana, and Becky, and Mary Beth. Michael had agonized over their deaths. She knew that. He had told her. But had he really felt the agony he’d told her about? Or was he glad that the girls who’d led him on were dead?

  There was no way she could think rationally with the strobe lights flashing. Her head was pounding and she had to get out. Ingrid hurried down what she thought was the path, but somehow her feet took a wrong turn, and she ended up in another circle of mirrors that seemed to provide no escape.

  Relax. Don’t panic. Just look for the path on the floor. Ingrid forced herself to take a deep breath and let it out again. Calm. She had to stay calm. These flashing strobe lights were driving her crazy!

  And then she saw it. Another reflection in the mirror right behind her. A dark figure with one hand raised high in the air.

  “Who’s there?” Ingrid’s voice was frantic as she cried out. But the other reflection didn’t answer. Instead, the hand came down with deadly force, trying to crash into the top of her golden blonde head.

  Ingrid moved sharply to the right. She banged into a mirror, but she managed to deflect the blow. She had to run. She had to hide! But she couldn’t see the path on the floor with all these flashing lights.

  “No! Stop!” Her voice was a terrified wail as the reflection raised its hand again. The killer was here in the House of Mirrors! She had to run away before the killer could strike again! But she couldn’t tell which image was real and which belonged to the distorting mirrors. How could she run if she didn’t know whether she’d bump straight into the killer?!