The Little Old Lady Who Struck Lucky Again!

by Ingelman-Sundberg, Catharina

  ‘Our old raid in Täby? That was easy as pie. Things will turn out, just you wait and see. And I’ve actually got an idea!’

  And all the way back from Drottningholm to their new home on Värmdö, they sat in the car and planned. The first thing they would do would be to check that their money had been used in the way they wanted. Because money – and they knew this from their own experiences – could easily go astray.

  9

  ‘Martha, are you really sure this is such a brilliant idea?’ Rake touched his pointed cap for the tenth time and looked decidedly grumpy. The upside-down cone was a part of the traditional costume for the Lucia procession. ‘So I’ve got to have this on, then?’

  ‘If we’re going to have a Lucia procession, everybody must do their bit.’ Martha had made up her mind and her tone of voice signalled that any further discussion was ruled out. They were on their way to their former retirement home, Diamond House, to see what had been done with the big donation they had made. On Lucia day they had simply decided to do a Wallraff undercover project of their very own. Perhaps their idea of how a Wallraff investigation should take place was somewhat original, but investigative journalists and people in the secret services had to put up with a lot. The five of them had disguised themselves with suitable wigs and flowing Lucia gowns and then had squeezed into their newly purchased vintage Volkswagen minibus. It was one of those minibuses with a hydraulic ramp at the back so you could transport people sitting in wheelchairs, and so on.

  Now the five of them were sitting there practising scales. Anders drove while Martha, who sat next to him, didn’t bother with the scales. Instead she hummed the ‘Sankta Lucia’ song and ‘Silent Night’ in rotation.

  ‘We must hold the key when we sing “Sankta Lucia”. Luciaaaaaa, it should be. It doesn’t sound right if you make it too short,’ she said.

  ‘And we must disguise our voices so that nobody will recognize us,’ Christina added.

  ‘Yes, of course. Good, Christina!’ Anna-Greta praised her.

  ‘But, Martha, listen now. Have you thought of something? We are almost five hundred years old together and a Lucia procession is usually made up of young girls. Have you completely lost your marbles?’ sighed Rake, always quick to criticize.

  ‘But however else are we going to get into Diamond House without being recognized? Don’t forget that we are on the Wanted list!’

  ‘But I look utterly daft in a cone cap! And anyway, that’s what the boys wear!’ Anna-Greta complained.

  ‘Calm down now, it’s a good disguise. Now let’s sing “Sankta Lucia”.’ Martha started but no one was deterred from the conversation.

  ‘Do I have to wear a boy’s cone just because I’m tall?’ Anna-Greta persisted. ‘That’s discrimination. I want to be Lucia.’

  It was doubtful as to whether they could pull this off with a Lucia who was as tall as a drainpipe and came complete with a distinctive horse’s neigh, Martha thought to herself, but instead she expressed herself in as gentle a tone as possible:

  ‘But, Anna-Greta, you didn’t want to be Lucia earlier, because you didn’t like the idea of everybody staring at you. So there wasn’t much else to choose from. But if you’ve changed your mind, then I can wear the boy’s hat instead.’

  Silence now settled inside the minibus while the lights of the city passed by. Lit-up shop windows and Christmas street decorations in red and silver glistened outside the bus windows.

  ‘ “The cold of the mid-winter night is stern, the stars glisten and glow”,’ Christina declaimed from the back seat, overwhelmed by the atmosphere around them. ‘That’s a quote from Viktor Rydberg; isn’t he good?’ As usual, her head was full of quotes from her favourite authors, the Swedish classics, but nobody listened. They were all fully engaged in the debate.

  ‘No, I’d rather be one of the girls in the procession, because with a boy’s conical hat I’ll look taller than usual,’ Anna-Greta said decisively. She thought about Gunnar whom she had met on the ferry to Finland the previous year. He could have been a boy in a Lucia procession. He was tall and wiry and actually looked like the former Liberal politician Gunnar Helén. A pity he couldn’t be with them now. His sense of humour and warm smile always put her in a good mood and he would certainly have thought that this was fun. Besides, he shared her interest in vinyl records and music, and they used to listen to the golden oldies together. But he still hadn’t been in touch, even though she had left new messages on his answering service. She really did hope that nothing untoward had happened to him.

  ‘Righto. You can be one of the girls,’ Martha decided. ‘But don’t forget why we’re doing this. We want to get inside without anybody suspecting anything. OK? We’re going to check that the money from the Robbery Fund is being used for good purposes. So remember. This time we are NOT going to steal anything.’

  ‘NOT steal anything!’ came the refrain from the back of the bus.

  ‘You don’t think that we’re going to attract attention ourselves, then? In Lucia processions, they are usually beautiful young girls,’ said Christina with a touch of envy in her voice.

  ‘You know what, almost no ordinary person can fulfil ideals of beauty like that. Let’s create a new ideal!’ Martha retorted.

  ‘A Lucia procession of old tigresses? Not for me, I’d rather look at beautiful girls,’ Rake grumbled.

  ‘Yes, a nice thought,’ Brains chipped in, but said no more when he saw Martha’s keen glance.

  ‘Pah, those stylized Lucia girls you see on TV nobody really looks like that,’ said Anna-Greta.

  ‘My point exactly,’ Martha said. ‘Besides, we have an important mission. Who will ever suspect that a gang of Lucia singers are out doing a Wallraff investigation? Nobody! We’ll surprise them all.’

  ‘Yes, you can be sure of that,’ Rake muttered.

  ‘But it is important to ensure that the money has ended up in the right place,’ said Anna-Greta. ‘All charity contributions and foreign aid must be followed up, even if the money has been stolen before it has been donated!’

  ‘Yes, yes, but now we must practise the “Sankta Lucia” song,’ said Martha, and she started singing again.

  ‘It’s important to keep in tune.’

  The League of Pensioners sang their way through not only the Lucia song but also their entire choir repertoire, and didn’t stop until Anders turned in towards the entrance to Diamond House Retirement Home. The dark glass porch looked rather uninviting, there was no Christmas tree by the door and the outside lamp was not working. There were a few lights on in the windows, but there wasn’t a traditional Advent light with four lamps to be seen anywhere.

  ‘Hmmm,’ said Martha, when they all stood outside.

  ‘How do we get in? It seems to be locked,’ said Christina feeling the door handle.

  ‘If I can get into cash boxes at one of the largest casinos in Las Vegas, then I can get into a retirement home,’ Brains thought out loud.

  ‘Right, get your picklock out then, that’s probably the quickest way in,’ Martha replied.

  A few moments later they were all standing inside the old building with its asbestos-cement cladding from the 1940s, and they took the lift up to their former home. Anna-Greta led the way, Christina who was the Lucia, came after her and they were followed by Rake and Brains. Then Martha realized that their Lucia procession wasn’t entirely well thought out. Now they had a Lucia, a maiden, and all of three page boys. She should at least have stuck to her original intention of being a maiden herself.

  ‘First we’ll sing “Sankta Lucia”, then “Prepare the Way for the Lord”, and after that we’ll finish off with “Christmas, Christmas, Brilliant Christmas”. On our way out, we shall sing “Sankta Lucia” again,’ said Martha and she took out her tuning fork. ‘Everybody ready?’

  An expectant murmur was heard. Martha struck her fork, raised her arms and they all hummed an A. Then she rang the doorbell of the retirement home where they had lived for so many years. They had l
iked it there before the cuts had resulted in them feeling forced to seek out other accommodation. But now the management ought to have received some of their Las Vegas money and so everything should have become much better. Martha peeped in expectantly as the door was opened. A young girl stood in front of them as they started to sing their choral version of “Sankta Lucia”. In a solemn procession they then made their way into the lounge with lighted candles while Rake and Brains, at the rear of the procession, handed out ginger biscuits. The residents of Diamond House, who sat half-asleep around the dining tables, were disturbed from their dreams and at first thought they had found themselves in another world, but when they heard the choir they smiled happily and keenly accepted the Christmas biscuits. Other than the young girl who had opened the door, no other members of staff were to be seen and although it was 13 December, there wasn’t a Christmas tree, nor were there any Christmas decorations in sight. And the room needed cleaning. Hadn’t they received the money from the Robbery Fund?

  ‘The second verse is the same as the first,’ Martha whispered in English to her friends when they had sung their first round of songs. They hadn’t practised very many tunes. They continued down the corridor, Anna-Greta opened door after door and they sang for the people inside. But the residents were all very drowsy. For each new room they looked inside, the friends became all the more dispirited. This wasn’t a home, but simply a shameless way of putting people in storage! How could it have got as bad as this? The rooms were shabby and the only one that looked to be in better condition than when they had lived there themselves was Brains’s old room. But he’d always lived in such a mess that nobody could really say what his room had actually looked like beforehand. His belongings had hidden the floor as well as the walls.

  All the more concerned, the League of Pensioners continued their procession through the so-called retirement home and, even though Martha tried to keep up appearances, she found it hard to hold back her tears. The unfortunate people who lived here had it even worse than they themselves had suffered in their day. What had happened? Had the money disappeared somewhere between Las Vegas and Stockholm? If Anita, ninety-one years old, hadn’t gripped her arm and looked at her with a smile all over her face, Martha would indeed have burst into tears. But Anita beamed with joy.

  ‘What a lovely Lucia procession,’ she said and took a little bite of a large ginger biscuit. ‘The Lucia and her maidens are just like us. That was the best Lucia procession I’ve ever seen!’

  And Dolores, in her nineties, who went around with a shopping bag on wheels that was crammed full with blankets, held out some five hundred-kronor banknotes that she wanted to give to them.

  ‘This is for singing so nicely,’ she said and tried to give some of them to Brains. ‘Usually I buy some decent food with my money, but I’m happy to share. Everybody ought to be able to live well and eat well.’

  Brains didn’t know what to do, but Martha nodded to him to accept the money and thank her. He understood, and on their way out he discreetly put the notes in the tin for coffee money.

  They spilled out onto the street where Anders was waiting to pick them up in their minibus. They drove on to Raspberry Garden Home, Flower Courtyard Home, Bush Terrace Home and two other residential homes they had donated money to. But none of the residents had any better conditions at any of these care homes either. Martha noted all this down in a red book and swore out loud.

  ‘Who the hell has laid their hands on our donations!’

  Soon they were all in a really miserable mood.

  ‘We’ll go to the National Museum and see which paintings they’ve bought. We donated millions to the museum too, didn’t we?’ Martha suggested, wanting to end the day on a positive note.

  Even though they were now all yawning widely, they decided to take a look at the grand old building. They went up in the lift, stepped out into the exhibition rooms and had a good look around them. But when they came to the French Impressionists they couldn’t see any new paintings in the section where they had recommended that their donation was to be sent. There were only the same old paintings that had always hung there. With long faces, they marched through the rooms and were finally stopped by some security guards.

  ‘We haven’t booked in a Lucia procession,’ said the oldest.

  ‘Lucia procession? Goodness me no, this is an art installation!’ Martha exclaimed indignantly. And then the friends took the lift back down again and returned to their minibus. On their way home the mood in the bus was sombre. They were all asking themselves the same question: Where on earth had all their money gone?

  10

  There was a humming sound from the computer and a beaming Anna-Greta sneaked a look at Gunnar. He had forgotten to disconnect his old answering machine and hadn’t heard her messages. But when she finally did get hold of him, he had wanted to meet her straight away. She had seen him park his car and when he came in through the gate and walked up towards the house, she felt so happy, she was warm all over. She had missed him so! It was amazing how some people made you feel good just by being there.

  He greeted her with a big bear hug and after a cup of tea, with a drop of cloudberry liqueur, they went up to her room and listened to her new vinyl record, a recording of somebody called Bruce Spring— something. She had wanted to try something new, but was completely astonished to find such modern music on vinyl. And the record had been so expensive too! In fact, she had grumbled quite a lot about that, until Gunnar put on one of their old favourites – Jokkmokks-Jokke – and managed to steer the conversation on to other subjects. He was very keen to know what she had been up to, but he soon noticed that something was weighing on her mind.

  ‘What’s the matter, Anna-Greta? You look as though something’s troubling you,’ he said, and stroked her on the cheek. Then Anna-Greta couldn’t hold back any longer.

  ‘I transferred all our millions from Las Vegas, but now it looks as if they didn’t arrive,’ she sniffled.

  ‘I’m sure we can sort that out too,’ he comforted her and he took her by the hand. ‘I’ll find your money!’

  They walked hand-in-hand down to the library where the others were sitting and reading, all except Brains, who was drowsing in his armchair. Anna-Greta and Gunnar went straight up to the computer and then Martha realized that Gunnar knew what had happened.

  ‘It’s absolutely dreadful,’ said Martha. ‘We transferred money to residential homes but the money seems to have disappeared.’

  ‘I heard that; almost two hundred million kronor, right?’ said Gunnar staring at the computer screen. He screwed his eyes up under his bushy eyebrows and shook his head. His fringe hung down over his eyes and his long, thin fingers quickly moved across the keyboard. The others got up and gathered around him to look. In the background a wall clock ticked away.

  ‘If so much money hasn’t reached its destination, there must be something fishy behind it,’ he went on.

  ‘Oh, Gunnar, this feels so dreadful. Of course, I was stressed, but everything seemed to be working as usual. I sent the money over the Internet. I wasn’t worried at all that it would get lost,’ Anna-Greta sobbed.

  ‘We’ll sort this out, just you wait and see . . .’ he consoled her, but his body language said something else. After all, Gunnar wasn’t exactly a hacker, even though he had been passionately interested in computers and had done his best to keep up with developments. After his wife died, he had completely immersed himself in the world of computers and his grandson Ola kept him up-to-date with the latest technologies. It was Ola, too, who had encouraged his grandpa to go on a cruise to Helsinki, the weekend trip where he met Anna-Greta.

  ‘A bit tricky getting inside these systems. Bank confidentiality is well guarded,’ he muttered. ‘You can see that the money left your account but then what happened? That’s the difficult bit.’

  A murmur of agreement went round the room.

  ‘That’s what is so weird about transferring money on the Internet. One moment it’
s there, and the next moment it’s gone. Vanished quick as a flash,’ said Martha staring at the computer screen with its columns of figures. From the outside she looked calm, but inside she was so upset that she had to clench her fists hard so as not to thump the table.

  ‘I can’t understand it at all. I transferred the money to the retirement homes and cultural institutions. Several millions. The banks guarantee that it works properly, after all,’ said Anna-Greta. She had lost a hair slide and some of her hair had fallen onto her shoulders. Her lower lip quivered.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure we can sort this out,’ said Gunnar to calm them, and silence again settled round the table. Anna-Greta found her hair slide and put her hair up again. Thank God for Gunnar! His optimism was one of the qualities that she had fallen for first of all. And he didn’t keep his computer skills to himself, he had taught her a lot of things too. When he sat there in front of the computer and tried to help them, a warm shiver went right through her. Gunnar was somebody you could rely on, and he didn’t just help her, he was ready to help them all. When they had first met, he had explained that most women bored him, but not her because she was different. For him she was an exciting tornado, and the fact that she was involved in criminal activity didn’t bother him at all. She was doing it for the sake of society and so that others would have a better life.

  ‘You know, this is going to take some time,’ said Gunnar after a while, and he pushed his glasses up onto his forehead. ‘Give me an hour or so and I’ll see what I can dig out. You can play cards or do something nice in the meantime.’

  Everyone except Anna-Greta left the library, and soon loud dance-band music blared out from the loudspeakers next to the vinyl gramophone. Gunnar had evidently brought some of his records with him. He was from the west of Sweden, from Värmland, and people from there were well known for trying to create a cosy feeling around them, but now, of course, he was faced with a real challenge. Two hundred missing millions made it hard to build up a cosy atmosphere!