A Small Indiscretion

by Denise Rudberg

  Paula nodded and felt the anxiety rise from the middle of her stomach. She couldn’t resist eating that cinnamon bun this morning. But she could take a second lap this afternoon.

  Lotta studied Paula with intense curiosity as she sat down.

  “Come on! Tell me all about it! You sounded hysterical when you called.”

  Paula laughed. “Yes, well, now it sounds so stupid. I’d done my morning run and was coming through the yard when I saw someone standing in our bedroom. I panicked, as I was absolutely sure I’d set the alarm earlier.”

  “How scary! I’d have been frightened, too.”

  “I called Jens first, but he didn’t pick up the phone, so I called you. Then our cleaning lady came out with the garbage. I’d forgotten that she was supposed to be there.”

  “She has the code to your alarm?”

  “Yes, Jens gave it to her. I didn’t want her to have it, but he said we have to trust some people. He thinks it’s racist of me to be suspicious since I have no problem giving the babysitters our code. I just forgot we’d decided to switch days this week—so please forgive me for calling and sounding so frenzied.”

  “Don’t think about it. I was worried. You were out of your mind with fright.”

  Paula shook her head. “I really have to get a grip on my anxiety. It’s not good for a grown woman to have such fear at night. Jens is absolutely correct. It will affect the girls. I’m so glad they weren’t with me today. What if they’d seen me lose it like that?”

  “Maybe you’d have reacted differently if they were there. You were alone, so you gave yourself permission to be afraid. Tell me, do you want to go out with me tonight? Go to Velvet?”

  “Oh, is that tonight?”

  “Yes, and I bet you’ve never been there—right?”

  Paula shook her head. Velvet was a once-a-month nightclub that met at the exclusive Villa Pauli. She’d heard that the atmosphere was giddy. People who were no longer young enough for the “in” clubs at Stureplan now had somewhere to go.

  “As long as Jens is out with customers, you should join us. There’ll be five of us girls having dinner at my place beforehand.”

  “It does sound fun. Let me just check with Jens first, in case he managed to change his evening plans.”

  Paula really wanted Jens to choose her over his customers. It was also important to her to get his approval. It was a good idea, she thought, for spouses to check with each other before doing anything out of the ordinary.

  “Aren’t you going to eat your bun? I really do worry that you’re not eating enough. It looks like you’ve lost weight. Are you doing all right?”

  Lotta’s words made Paula feel good. She smiled gratefully.

  “Thanks for your concern. You’re so sweet, but don’t worry about me. I just look a bit tired. You know how it is when Jens is working overtime so much. My responsibility for the girls is greater. I get exhausted not having anyone to share that with. But as far as eating is concerned—you’re talking to someone who eats candy every day!”

  She laughed to indicate how improbable it was that Lotta should think, even for a moment, that she was too thin. It was the best compliment that she’d received in a long time. She smiled at Lotta, continuing: “I’m just going to touch base with Jens and then I’ll give you a call. It’ll be great to get out of the house for an evening. But I’ve heard rumors things get pretty crazy there. What’s it really like?”

  Lotta laughed. “It’s almost like the days when we were young and wild. The same guys stand around the bar popping champagne—except now they’re almost fifty. Then they try to pick us up. Our neighbor, the one who got divorced last year, was caught having sex in the bathroom. How embarrassing! People so desperate for sex that they risk being thrown out of a bar! But there’s a great deal of that. Velvet has the nickname “Wild Divorcées” in town. My sister says that the young guys she works with go there to pick up women because they know they won’t get turned down for sex.”

  “Really? There’s that much sex?”

  “Come on, don’t be such a prude. That’s the whole point.”

  “I’m certainly out of the loop. Is it really going to be that bad for our daughters when they get older? How are they going to understand the real world?”

  “Now, really, we’re not all that old. We’re not like our mothers when they were our age.”

  “Aren’t we?”

  Lotta laughed and then shook her head as she took a huge bite from her bun.

  “No, we certainly are not. There weren’t all that many plastic surgeons when they were our age!”

  They both laughed and cheered each other with their coffee cups. Paula tugged at her sweater and hoped that Lotta’s plastic-surgery comment hadn’t been a subtle jab about noticing her breast operation. The she wondered whether going out with Lotta and her friends was a good idea. She didn’t know if she was up for a night on the town.

  CHAPTER 7

  The Ica Banér grocery store was deserted, although there was seldom a rush at this midmorning hour. The faithful older ladies wouldn’t come in to pinch the freshly baked loaves until early afternoon. The aisles echoed. A young woman at the register was reading a magazine. She nodded at Marianne with no sign of recognition.

  Marianne paused to choose between a full-size shopping cart and a basket on wheels. Forty-five minutes later, she was lugging five fully packed grocery bags down the block to her front door.

  She was relieved to see that Peder had come home. He greeted her in the hallway with a smile that made her think briefly of him at five years old. But Marianne couldn’t ignore the major beard he’d grown while in Australia.

  Peder peered into the bags as he helped her carry them into the kitchen.

  “What are you making for dinner tonight? By the way, you’re energetic today.”

  “Thanks. I realized that I hadn’t made a single one of your favorite meals since you’ve been home. So this evening, I’m making Kassler Florentine, and I hope to make all the other ones before you leave for Australia. By the way, have you booked your flight?”

  Peder looked a little apprehensive. “Yes, I’m flying out this Saturday. Is that all right?”

  Marianne felt a pang in her heart, but she smiled anyway. “Of course. You need to get back to your life. That’s the way it is. But tonight we are going to eat a wonderful dinner together, and then I hope you’ll come home again soon so I can make your other favorites for you.”

  “What’s your plan for dessert?”

  “You can choose between baked pears and blueberry surprise.”

  Peder looked so happy that Marianne broke out into laughter. She patted him on the cheek.

  “My sweet son—it has always been so easy to please you with food!”

  She started to unpack the groceries. Peder’s cell phone rang, and he chatted with a friend he was supposed to meet. Marianne wondered if it was Clara. Perhaps they’d already gotten together this visit. Clara and Peder had been close friends since childhood. Marianne secretly hoped he’d end up with her. She loved Clara almost as much as her own children. She had no explanation for this, except that there was something very special about her. She’d felt it the first time she’d seen the little girl at the parents’ cooperative on Banérgatan.

  “Hey, Mamma, I’d like to meet some of the guys downtown. Is it all right if I go out later, after our dinner?”

  “Sure. You know I go to bed early. You don’t have to stay home just to keep me company.”

  “Great! I’m looking forward to dinner, too, especially since I haven’t seen Grandpa almost all summer. What does he do all day?”

  Marianne sighed.

  “I have no idea. It’s impossible to keep up with him. He’s always involved in some social event or another. I really don’t understand how he has the energy, but people are always sending him invita
tions. The last one was to go hunting, but for once he had to decline. He hasn’t been hunting for over thirty years! Otherwise the chairman of this or the petitioner of that is asking him to each and every charity event.”

  “That’s not so bad. At least he’s not sitting around alone all day.”

  “He’s probably having the time of his life,” Marianne said. “Not like me. I’ve hardly left home all summer long.”

  “Things will be different now. You should do whatever you want. You don’t have to wait for someone else to give approval, right?”

  Marianne looked into her son’s dark eyes. They were framed by the kind of thick, black lashes most women would pay a fortune to have.

  “Maybe so.”

  She knew that he was hinting at something else entirely. It wasn’t just that she’d stayed cooped up ever since her husband had died. Peder was the only one who knew the truth. He’d been in the room with her when Hans said those last, hurtful words.

  Peder wrapped his arm around his mother and kissed her on the forehead. She closed her eyes and leaned against his shoulder. My little boy.

  CHAPTER 8

  Torsten decided to take a drive to Djurgården, where he’d often gone to clear his thoughts and analyze his impressions from the crime scene. He found an open hot dog stand by Djurgård Fountain and had a plain dog while studying ducks floating along the Djurgård Canal. Then he drove onto the spit at Blockhus to sit in his car and stare at the water. But he didn’t come to any new insights or a tidy solution.

  Now he was on his way to Karlaplan, where he drove around the fountain and turned right at Karlavägen. He saw the classic sign Frukt och grönt—“Fruit and Veggies”—on his left. Since he planned to turn right at Skeppargatan, he grabbed an empty parking spot on the sunny side of Karlavägen. He walked across the wide boulevard, ignoring the “Keep Off the Grass” sign, and entered the small store called Karla Frukt.

  He remembered the first time he’d ever been inside this store. He was with his mother, who worked for a family in Wittstocksgatan, and he’d gazed in awe at the beautiful glass jars filled with colorful candy and so many different chocolates.

  Today the door was propped open—an invitation to step inside. Behind the counter the cashier—a woman his own age—was chatting with an elderly woman buying her week’s rations of cigarettes and raspberries. Torsten was struck by the fact that the place hadn’t changed much since his first visit as a seven-year-old boy.

  The cashier behind the counter smiled warmly. She had straight blonde hair with bangs.

  “Is there something I can help you with today?”

  “Do you sell coffee?”

  “Yes, is caffe latte OK?”

  “Sure,” Torsten said. “Just a small one, though. And I think I’ll get something to go with it. May I help myself?”

  “Absolutely. You’ll find bags on the shelf next to the bins, and there’s a basket with tongs and spoons.”

  Torsten grabbed a small, thin paper bag with the classic pastel bubble motif—and a pair of tongs to start digging into the bins. Two blue fish, one yellow caramel, three marshmallow bananas, a chocolate-dipped dolphin, a licorice pipe, and, finally, a tomteklubba, which he just couldn’t resist.

  “Let me count them for you,” said the cashier, pouring the contents of the bag onto a silver tray. She counted out loud. Torsten thought that this must surely be the only place left in the city where candy in bins was sold by the piece.

  “Adding the coffee, altogether it’s twenty-eight crowns. By the way, did you hear about the horrible accident this morning on Narvavägen?”

  Torsten looked up after fishing out two twenty-crown notes.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “A real tragedy. He used to come here with his children when they were little. They’d come every weekend to buy the Saturday candy. Usually it’s the dads who buy the candy for the kids on Saturdays, you know.”

  “So he came here often?”

  “Yes, pretty much every week. He was so good to them. Dear Lord, what a tragedy. Who could do something like that? Hit someone with your car and then just drive off? It must have been a drug addict, don’t you think? A normal sober person couldn’t do that.”

  “No, you’re right about that.”

  Torsten took his twelve crowns in change and stopped before stuffing them into his pocket, handing two back to the woman.

  “I think I’ll take one of those nougat pieces, too. They’re two crowns, right?”

  The woman smiled and said yes.

  Torsten took a ball wrapped in red foil from the candy dish beside the cash register. He pulled off the foil and stuffed the nougat into his mouth. The taste blended perfectly with his sip of coffee. He stood for a moment, enjoying the scents of candy around him. He listened as the cashier helped another elderly lady, who was asking for pears and mint kisses.

  Torsten drank the rest of his coffee and set the paper cup on the counter.

  “Thanks very much.”

  “Thank you, and come again soon. Do you need any chocolate or fruit for the wife before you go?”

  Torsten shook his head, smiling. “No, thanks, her new husband takes care of that now.”

  The woman laughed and waved good-bye as he left the shop. The stop at Karla Frukt had made him feel better, and he was looking forward to a quick visit to Escader, the store around the corner that specialized in Märklin model trains. From its old location on Gumshornsgatan, a small street behind Karlaplan, the owner had moved the shop and all its contents to a new spot on Östermalmsgatan. He’d even brought along some of the original interior decor from the thirties. Torsten found the place comfortable. For model trains, time was supposed to stand still.

  Just as he turned onto Östermalmsgatan, his cell phone rang. Olle Lundqvist was on the other end.

  “Have you spoken to Brundin yet?”

  “Yes, I just left the scene.”

  “But since Brundin returned to the lab?”

  “No, what’s he have to say?”

  “This guy wasn’t just a hit-and-run victim. Somebody backed the car over him again. Twice. Brundin is already writing the report, and he is definitely labeling it a homicide.”

  “Hell. So now the Stockholm police take over?”

  “No, they can’t. They’ve called us in. They’re up to their ears in last week’s Nacka case.”

  Last week two motorcycle gangs had clashed and at least seven people had been severely beaten. There’d been massive coverage on TV and in the papers.

  “But why us? This’ll be a media circus—they’ve already gotten a whiff that we’re involved.”

  The Stockholm Regional Police were judged just as competent to investigate homicide as the National Police. Torsten couldn’t think of a single instance where the Stockholm Police had willingly handed over a murder case. Each had its honor to consider. Neither was ever comfortable interfering with the other. If homicides occurred elsewhere in the country, the National Police were usually brought in, since local police units weren’t equipped to handle such cases. They didn’t have the experience. But it was odd, very odd, that Stockholm was ceding this case to them.

  “What can I tell you? They asked us.”

  “I have nothing against that. I just don’t want them second-guessing us and breathing down our necks afterward.”

  “I’m taking full responsibility. Hurry up and go to Brundin’s lab. I’ll meet you there. What have you said to the press already?”

  Torsten told him, making sure to cover every detail. Olle was content.

  “Perfect. We’ll put together a press release while we’re at Brundin’s and send it out immediately.”

  Torsten frowned. Something else highly unusual: releasing information at this early stage. Then again, Torsten realized that Olle would not sit on his hands. This case would be a feather
in his cap, and that just might irk someone.

  Torsten cast a quick glance at the sign over Escader. He sighed and headed back to the car. As he turned on his police radio, he heard the rustle of paper in his pocket and felt happy that at least he had something to eat while driving across town. He pulled out the licorice pipe. It was as close as he ever got to smoking, and that was fine with him. When he was twelve, he’d sneaked a cigarette, just like lots of other boys in his school, but his father had found the butt in his pocket. He’d never gotten such a beating as he had that day. He still had scars on his arms.

  He started the engine and called Marianne Jidhoff. He left a message for her to call him, reciting his cell number slowly and clearly. He hung up, thinking her voice sounded different from what he’d imagined.

  CHAPTER 9

  Paula smoothed her hair behind her head, luxuriating in the warmth provided by her terry cloth robe. Her second round of jogging had gone much better than her morning run, and she had renewed energy. She also felt better about having eaten the cinnamon bun. On the whole, she was in a much better mood. She threw herself onto the freshly made bed with its set of blue-striped Lexington sheets. They had been recently pressed through the mangle, which was a great addition to their laundry room—after the cleaning lady finally learned how to use it. Paula couldn’t help touching herself at the same time she phoned Jens. She’d shaved away every hair and her skin felt soft to her touch. It would be good to get Jens’s mind off his work. This was worth a try at any rate. She giggled as she asked Jens’s secretary to put her through.

  “Hello, darling, it’s me. Guess what I’m doing right now.”

  “Glad you called. Saved me the trouble. My plans have changed. The Japanese want to go to the archipelago, so they’ve booked an overnight visit in Sandhamn. We’ll be flying out by helicopter and then take the boat home tomorrow after lunch. So I won’t be home tonight.”

  Paula pushed her hand into her robe pocket after sniffing to make sure her fingers didn’t smell. She had to control her emotions so her voice wouldn’t break.