by Willow Rose
The officers on TV were searching a young backpacker for drugs. Dogs were sniffing his belongings. They were my favorite part of the show.
“I always wanted a dog,” I said.
“Were you even listening?” Morten asked.
I was leaning against his shoulder on the couch. “Yes, sorry. I heard you. A woman was assaulted?”
“A sixty-nine year old woman. She described the attackers as Eastern European. They tried to steal her purse. They’ve had a lot of trouble with these types on the mainland the last couple of years. I hope this doesn’t mean they’ve found their way here. I really don’t want this kind of stuff on our little island. It’s bad for tourism and really bad news for us. Especially now that they’re talking about cutting back on the police force.”
“When will you know more about that?” I asked.
“Next week, I think. I tell you, I’m not looking forward to it.”
“Is the woman alright?” I asked, as the dog found something and sniffed it closely. The officer pulled the dog back and started searching the pocket of the backpack. I loved the dogs. They always found something.
“Yes, apparently she chased them off.”
“Who was it? Was she a tourist?”
“No, it was Jonna Frederiksen. She lives on the North side of Nordby. She was very shaken when I spoke to her, but not so badly she couldn’t give me a very detailed description of the couple that assaulted her.”
“I don’t think I know her,” I said.
“She’s one of the real locals. You know, one of those that grew up here. Not moved here like you and me.”
“I know. We’ll never be real locals, not even if we live here for the rest of our lives,” I said, laughing. There really was a distinction between those that had lived on the island for generations and those that had moved here. Even if it was your parent’s generation that had moved here, you still weren’t considered a local. That was just the way it was.
“Look at that dog. Look how smart he is,” I said. “And adorable.”
“He is very cute. I used to have a German shepherd once.”
“For work?” I asked. “Was he a police dog?”
“Yes. I lost him to cancer. I loved that dog.”
“Did you ever consider getting another one?” I asked.
Morten shook his head. “No. When you buy a dog, you also buy yourself some sorrow. They don’t live long. It was rough on Jytte as well when he died. I don’t want to put her through that again. You should get one, though. It would be good for Victor.”
My eyes left the screen, and I looked at Morten. “Why, I think you might be on to something there, Detective. I’ve read about how being close to animals, especially dogs, can help kids with autism. I am looking to do something a little more radical. I’ve been looking into doing more about his diet. There are a lot of studies out there about how a gluten-free and casein-free diet can help his symptoms. Maybe this would be even better. I think I’ll take him to the shelter tomorrow. Wow, I can’t believe I hadn’t thought about this before. He loves animals. Thanks.”
Morten chuckled. “You’re welcome.” He leaned over and grabbed a cookie. The officer on TV was now pulling out bags of cocaine from the guy’s bag, and he was starting to make excuses. I felt happy. In this moment, everything was just perfect. Well, maybe not perfect, but good. Real good.
Chapter Seven
March 1959
BEING THE OLDEST, Ulrik Larsen was always a little concerned about awakening his father’s wrath. It was easier for his two year younger brother Peter. Ulrik had, from a very early age, learned that he was responsible for both his and Peter’s actions. That was just the way it was. So, if Peter got himself in trouble, Ulrik took the fall. It wasn’t fair, but that’s how life was, his father always said.
It seemed to Ulrik that life had been getting increasingly unfair ever since the baby had arrived. At thirteen, Ulrik was expected to be a grown-up. And act like one. So, when his father told him to go to old Hansen’s house and ask if he need help, that’s what Ulrik did. There was no room for complaining like Peter while they rode their bikes all the way across the dirt road and entered old Hansen’s farm.
Old Mr. Hansen had fallen and broken his hip. That’s all they had told Ulrik. And now, he couldn’t work on his farm, so it was falling apart. He needed an extra pair of hands, Ulrik’s father had said.
“Out here we take care of each other.”
Ulrik loathed working with his hands. He knew it was his fate. He knew his father expected him to take over once he could no longer work. He was to run the farm. He had no choice.
Ulrik looked at his baby brother, who laughed and raced him to get there first. It was so unfair. Peter got to do whatever he wanted with his life. He could even go to college if he liked. Once he was done with high-school, Ulrik would come and work for his father. That was what was expected of him. It didn’t matter that he hated working there. It didn’t matter that the smell of pigs made him want to throw up, or that he loved to read books. Farmers didn’t have time to read books. Farmers didn’t go to college. Everything Ulrik was supposed to learn, his dad could teach him.
“I got here first!” Peter exclaimed, and made a skid mark in the gravel with his bike as he stopped. He threw Ulrik one of his bright and handsome smiles. It annoyed Ulrik how Peter had everything. Peter was going places. He would go see the world, visit museums, and read all the books he wanted, while surrounded by beautiful women all of his life. Meanwhile, Ulrik would be shoveling manure and smelling of pig. No wonder his dad was such a grumpy old man.
“Now, behave yourself,” Ulrik said, as they parked their bikes, leaning them up against the wall of the white main building of the farm. A cold wind hit his face. Ulrik breathed in the breeze coming from the ocean not far away. He loved the sea breeze and dreamt of sailing away to exotic places.
Somewhere far far away from this island.
Ulrik didn’t like Fanoe Island much. It was too desolate, he thought, and often dreamt of visiting big cities around the world. He dreamt of being surrounded by people, educated people who would discuss philosophy with him or art. He loved art. He wanted to visit museums and libraries all over the world. There was no culture out here in the countryside of the small island. Nothing but pigs and more pigs.
Ulrik was the first up the stairs, and his brother kept behind him as he knocked on the front door. “Let me do the talking.”
Peter didn’t argue. Neither of them were very happy to be at old Hansen’s farm. The man had always scared them, especially when chasing them off his property shooting his rifle in the air when they were younger. They had spied on the old man and his wife, pretending to be secret spies shooting with peas in a sling at the wife, pretending to be shooting with guns. Those days were gone and old Hansen had only gotten older and angrier with age. Ulrik hadn’t seen him in many years, not since his wife passed away. They had lost a child once, Ulrik’s mother had told him. That’s why they didn’t like children on their property. The wife had never stopped crying about it. In the end, that’s what killed her, Ulrik’s mother had said. The sorrow killed her.
“What do you want?” The door was opened forcefully and a rifle was pointed at the two boys.
“Mr. Hansen? It’s Ulrik. Ulrik and Peter Larsen. We’re your neighbors?”
The old man chewed on tobacco and spat. “Ah, the troublemakers. What do you want?”
“Our dad sent us to ask if you needed any help around the farm. He heard about your accident.” Ulrik looked down at the cane the old man was leaning against. He was holding the rifle clenched between his arm and chest. Only half of his face moved when he spoke. Ulrik’s dad had told him that the man had a stroke. That’s why he had fallen. It had numbed half of the man’s face, and he looked crooked when he spoke. He seemed taken aback.
“Well…that’s awfully nice of him, I guess. Well, you can start by feeding the dogs and the horse. I don’t have many animals left, but those
I have I can hardly take care of being like this. Then, if you could clean up in the barn over there. I can’t get the car out and I can’t bike downtown anymore with this hip. Your mother has been so nice as to bring me groceries whenever she went the last couple of days.”
“Sure thing. Looks like we should take a look at the roof of your house as well,” Ulrik said, when he spotted two buckets in the hallway behind the old man.
Mr. Hansen nodded with a deep sigh. “Yes. Yes, that would be nice of you. The storm in January took its toll on my old roof. Rains an awful lot at this time of year, huh?”
“I guess it does.”
Chapter Eight
November 2014
LISA RASMUSSEN was preparing for war. Well, actually, it was just for the mayoral election that was coming up at the end of the month, but it felt just like she was going to war. Not just for her, but for her family as well.
She was making strategies, holding meetings, bribing the right people, and getting rid of those that weren’t on her side. It was exhausting.
Lisa had her mind set on becoming Fanoe Island’s next mayor, no matter the cost. This was her goal, this was what she had worked towards. And she had the public on her side. Every day, as she took her usual walk from her house in Nordby to city hall, she took her time to talk to anyone who wanted to. Even if it was just to exchange a few words, or to tell her how wonderful a job she had done cleaning up the town, or if it was to complain that the elderly weren’t treated properly, that the food that was delivered by the city to their homes was bad. It didn’t matter. Lisa took the time to listen to every problem and comment. She would grab their hands and shake them using both of hers, like she had seen presidents do on TV.
Now she was sitting in her house going through her strategies as her husband Christian entered the living room. He sat on the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table.
“Do you mind?” Lisa said. She looked at her papers. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”
“And I want to read the paper,” he said with a grin. Ever since Lisa had gotten the idea that she wanted to be mayor, Christian had laughed at her. He didn’t think she was ever going to be elected.
“The current mayor, Erling Bang, has been in his seat for many years. People love him. You don’t stand a chance. People around here like things to stay the same. They don’t like change.”
Well, Lisa was just going to show him how wrong he was, wasn’t she?
Christian sighed and took his feet down. “How long are we going to live like this?” he asked.
“What do you mean live like this?”
“You’re never home. The house is a mess, look around. No one is at home to take care of the kids. I have to pick them up. You’re never here, Lisa.”
Lisa snorted. “Are you implying that I’m not a good mother?”
“No. You’re a great mother. You just…well, you just haven’t been around much lately. Amalie, Jacob, and Margrethe are all missing you. I miss you.”
“You just miss me because I used to do all the work around the house, and now you have help out,” she said.
“Well, yes. That too. It’s hard on me to have to do everything. This morning, I ran out of clean underwear.”
Lisa snorted again. “Didn’t I just cook you dinner?”
Christian nodded. “Yes, yes you did.”
“Didn’t you enjoy it?”
“The meat was very tasty, yes.”
“So, what are you complaining about? I’ve even hired a cleaning lady to clean up after you. I’ll wash your clothes tonight. What is it again you do that is so hard?” Lisa stared at her husband with contempt. She really couldn’t see the problem.
“Honey. We miss you, that’s all. I know you take care of everything, but…well, even when you’re home, this is all we get. You’re always on the phone or writing or occupied with all this stuff. The kids are always asking for you. Every time we pass one of those posters on the streetlights when driving, they ask when this election will be over so they’ll get their mother back. What do you want me to tell them? I mean, I don’t think you’ll win, but have you even thought it through? What if you win? You’ll be so busy, we’ll never see you. What about Margrethe? You’re missing out on everything with her. Today, the teachers at the preschool told me she was crying because she missed her mother.”
Lisa looked at her husband. “She was crying?”
“Yes. Apparently she hurt herself playing on the playground outside. The teacher didn’t know how it happened, but she has a bruise on her back.”
Lisa felt how her hand started to shake. “They don’t know how it happened? Weren’t they keeping an eye on her? Who did you talk to?”
“It was Laiyla. You know, the one with the piercing and purple hair.”
Lisa broke the pencil in her hand. Yes, she knew her very well. Never trusted her much. Lisa closed her eyes and counted to ten backwards to calm herself down. Then, she looked at her husband again and smiled. Lisa tilted her head. She liked that they missed her. It was a good feeling. She put her hand in Christian’s.
“I promise I’ll try and be more present from now on, okay? So, Laiyla huh? And you say she wasn’t paying attention to what our daughter was up to? Tell me everything she said.”
Chapter Nine
November 2014
I TOOK VICTOR and Maya to the shelter the very next day. They were both very excited in the car on our way there. Well, Maya tried hard not to be, but I could tell by the look on her face that she really was. Victor was smiling and looking out the window at the houses passing by. I was excited as well. This was an excellent idea. Just seeing their happy faces would make it all worth it, I was sure.
Nordby seemed desolate, I thought, as we parked close to the main street. It was always like this in the fall. All summer, the island was overrun by tourists; there was so much life, and when they departed, it was all calm and strangely empty. At least it seemed to be. There was plenty of activity still going on. The mayoral election was coming up, and all the streetlights were covered in posters for candidates. I still hadn’t decided who I was voting for. They were down to two candidates. The sitting mayor, Mayor Erling Bang had been mayor for longer than anyone could remember. It was the first time in fifteen years that someone had gone up against him, I had been told. Lisa Rasmussen was his opponent. I liked the idea of change, and of having a woman in charge. I just wasn’t quite sure about Lisa. She seemed a little fishy. I stared at her poster as we passed one. She seemed to be trying too hard to look gentle and trustworthy, but all I could see were those mad eyes of hers. They gave me the chills. I had no idea why.
It was dark, and grey clouds hung over our heads, but it hadn’t started raining yet as we crossed the square. I was cold, even in my winter jacket. I nodded to a couple of people as we passed them. I knew most people by now. At least I recognized their faces. Like most Danes, the inhabitants of Fanoe Island didn’t like to say hello, but they would nod with tight lips if your eyes accidently met. For the most part, people tried to not look at each other. Especially at this time of year when the cold made you bend forward slightly while walking, and all you really wanted was to sit inside by the fireplace or the TV with a cup of hot chocolate between your hands.
We passed a few small shops, the local real-estate agency, the small gas station, then continued down Niels Engersvej where I stopped in front of a small house. I looked at my phone where I had the address on the screen.
“This should be it,” I said.
We walked up the small path leading to the front of the house. It was a couple that ran the place from their own home, I had read online. They took in sick animals, or animals that no one wanted and found new families for them.
A red-haired woman opened the door.
“Hi, I’m Emma Frost. I called about looking at a dog?”
The woman smiled. She seemed nice. She reached out her hand and grabbed mine. “I know who you are. Yes, come on inside. So, thes
e two are the lucky children, huh?”
“Yes, well. We’re just looking for now.”
The red-haired woman laughed. “That’s what they all say. But once you set your eyes on one, you can’t let go. Come on in. I’m Camilla, by the way. My husband Poul is in the living room with the dogs. He brought them all into the playpen so you could take a look.”
We walked inside, and the pungent odor of wet dogs and animal food hit my face. I could hear barking in the distance, and the sound of animals moving in cages.
“We have birds and cats as well, if there is any interest,” Camilla said.
“I think we’ll just look at the dogs for now,” I said, and followed her into the living room. It was like a zoo in there. Birds jumping around in their cages, cats jumping around on the furniture, and dogs barking and biting each other inside the playpen. Victor and Maya rushed to the dogs and leaned on the fence. I spotted a small black dog that looked like it had some poodle in it. Poodles were smart dogs, I had read.
“That one is cute,” I said and pointed. The small fluffy dog looked up and Camilla grabbed him and handed him to me.
“Oh, wow,” I said, and held him close. He climbed up and licked my ear.
“He is very affectionate,” Camilla said. “Loves children too. Fully potty-trained and up to date on his shots. He would be perfect. His name is Kenneth.”
Maya came over and petted Kenneth on the head. “He’s very cute,” she said.
“And smart,” Camilla said.