Death Comes to Strandvig

by Diane Hansen-Ingram

  “Dum, de, dum, de dum…”, he ran his finger down the page. “Here we are! Strandhøj Kro.” A large smile came over his face. “Oh, Kenneth, I knew you were up to something!” Kenneth swallowed hard and his stomach flip-flopped. His hand went straight to his phone and he pushed it further underneath the counter, right to the very back.

  “You’ve been ever so fidgety today!”

  “Erm, have I?” Kenneth consciously put his hands on the counter and his feet on the floor and told them to stick there. Trying all the while to breathe normally.

  Henrik unconsciously patted his stomach, “It’s Stegt flæsk at Strandhøj tonight. Am I right? I am, aren’t I?”

  “Erm, yes. Yes, that’s it.”

  Henrik came over and squeezed his arm. “Ha ha, you can’t fool me!”

  “No!” Kenneth squirmed. “No, of course not, skat. I wouldn’t dream of it…”

  CHAPTER 8

  Karin checked the clock in the kitchen – 4 pm – and switched off the lights. She popped her head around the door of Red Room.

  “That’s me off, Jannick! Bye kids, see you all tomorrow!”

  “Farvel, Karin! Vi ses i morgen!” the kids chorused.

  “Right you are, Karin!” Jannick was on the floor of Red Room, surrounded by four girls who were battling over plastic dinosaurs and a Play Mobil pirate ship. Jannick himself was putting the finishing touches on a very strange looking edifice made out of Lego. Mathilde, Ninka Rabbit in her lap, was sitting beside him, looking on in wonder. And looking very angelic despite a very large smudge of strawberry jam on her left cheek. The smudge itself contained bits of black fuzz, no doubt from repeated close contact with Ninka Rabbit’s nose. Jannick leant back. “Ta da, Mathilde – we’re done! One fairy-princess-cowboy-fort.”

  Karin popped her head back round the door. “And don’t forget about the towels in the dryer, will you? Perhaps Sonja can hang them up before she leaves. No, forget that, she’s in the playground, I’ll tell her myself when I go past.”

  Jannick looked up. “Roger that! Oh, and I’ll make sure that Ida gets an extra snack. It’s getting late isn’t it?” He didn’t need to look at his watch, most of the children were collected at the end of afternoon snack time.

  “Oh, thanks, Jannick, you’re a sweetheart! I left an extra roll for her in the breadbin. See you in the morning!”

  Mathilde’s gaze immediately switched from the fairy-princess-cowboy-fort to Jannick. She prodded him with her pinkie and looked up at him with her huge brown eyes. “Can I have a roll?”

  “Mathilde, you already ate at least three rolls at the bonfire this afternoon. And you’ve still got jam on your nose!”

  Mathilde wasn’t easily put off. “I didn’t eat them all myself. I shared them with Ninka Rabbit. And poor Ninka Rabbit is still hungry and it’s the only thing she likes...” She held up the rabbit with both hands and stuck it into Jannick’s face.

  He laughed. “I’m really sorry, Ninka Rabbit, but we don’t have any left. Besides, you should be eating carrots and hay. Not rolls and strawberry jam. I’m sure you’ve got lots of them at home.”

  Mathilde giggled. “Yes! But I want a roll. And jam!”

  “No can do, Mr Bunny. Tell you what—”

  Mathilde giggled. “Ninka’s a girl! Look, she’s got a princess crown.”

  “Oops, very sorry, your Majesty.” Jannick looked very grave. He pointed at the Lego-fairy-princess-cowboy-fort. “Tell you what, Ninka Rabbit—”

  Mathilde shoogled the rabbit in his face again. “Princess Ninka!”

  “Okay then, Princess Ninka. How would you like to be the Queen, I mean Princess, of this very special fairy-princess-cowboy-fort.”

  “Okay…” Mathilde didn’t look convinced. “But I’m still hungry…”

  A voice came from the door. “What, are you hungry again, Mathilde?”

  “Ida!” Mathilde ran over to the new arrival, and threw her arms up and around Ida’s waist, then buried her head into Ida’s vintage fur coat. Jannick clumsily got to his feet, looking slightly embarrassed and held out his hand.

  “Er, hey there – you must be Mathilde and Mathias’ babysitter?”

  Ida rocked to and fro with Mathilde attached to her, smiling. “Yes, I’m Ida.” She sniffed and looked down. “Hmmm, you smell of smoke, Mathilde. And you’ve got jam on your cheek.” She took Mathilde’s face in her hands, and peered closely. “By the looks of it, I’d say strawberry.” Mathilde beamed. “So putting two and two together, I’m guessing you’ve been eating snobrød out in the playground today?”

  “Spot on, Sherlock!” Jannick loved to channel Sherlock himself. And, on catching his reflection in a mirror on a rare good hair day, liked to think that he shared more than a passing resemblance to Benedict Cumberbatch.

  Ida smiled. “Elementary, my dear Watson.”

  Mathilde loosened her grip on Ida’s waist and held up Ninka. “His name’s not Watson, it’s Jannick.” She turned around reprovingly. “And naughty Jannick won’t let Ninka have a roll!”

  “Well, Jannick is perfectly right. Ninka will get a carrot as soon as we get home. And you, young miss, can get a nice piece of ryebread with liver pâte—”

  “And chokolade pålæg!”

  “Yes, okay, chocolate too if you eat the liver pâté first. You know the rules. Now, where’s Mathias?”

  “Out in the playground with Sonja and the other kids.”

  “Oh, right. Didn’t see him on my way in, but it’s already dark out there. And cold!” Ida shivered.

  Jannick stepped forward, moved T-Rex into his left hand and held out his right hand to Ida. “Nice to meet you, by the way.”

  Ida, who was now battling with Mathilde – who was currently scaling Ida’s back like a mountain climber – managed to free her own hand to return his greeting. “So you’re the famous Jannick who can draw cool dragons?”

  “At your service.”

  “Mathias talks about you all the time. When he’s not talking about football, of course.” Ida managed to shake Ida off. “Well, we must get going. Don’t want Ninka to get hungry now do we?”

  “It’s Princess Ninka today”, added Jannick, winking.

  Mathilde ran over to Jannick, took his hand and started dragging him over towards Ida, “I want you two to get married!”

  Ida laughed and then made a sad face. “Sorry, Mathilde. But I haven’t got time for that today.” She looked up. “Besides, I’m sure Jannick is already married. What with him being so cool at drawing and building,” she looked over at the Lego, “erm, things.”

  “No, he’s not! He doesn’t even have a girlfriend!”

  Jannick looked on awkwardly then knelt down in front of Mathilde. “Hey, I thought you and me were going to get married, Mathilde?”

  “Don’t be silly, Jannick! I’m going to marry Ninka Rabbit! Or Daddy.” She turned around and grabbed hold of Ida’s coat. “So you can marry Ida!”

  Ida winked at Jannick. “Maybe another time, right? But, hey, cool t-shirt!”

  “M.M.M. Have you heard of them?” Jannick wasn’t used to anyone taking particular note of what he was wearing. Especially not here at the nursery, where the feature most parents recognised about Jannick was a new pair of eyes, ears and hands to look after their child. They really wouldn’t care less if he arrived at work wearing a top hat, a fez or a feather boa around his neck. Which, in point of fact, could be the case at the end of the working day if he allowed the kids from Red Room to dress him using their favourite items from the dressing up box. Which he often did. So the fact that someone noticed his work attire was unusual. And the fact that someone recognised the name of the underground band emblazoned on that particular t-shirt was downright unheard of.

  “Muzzy Meets Millie? Sure! I saw them when they played at Roskilde Festival last year.”

  This day just got stranger and stranger. Jannick was beginning to think that he had fallen down Princess Ninka’s rabbit hole.

  Ida lowered her vo
ice slightly. “Not that I really remember it well. The Apollo stage, right? About 1 am?”

  “Ha ha, yeah! I don’t remember much about that night myself. I was very drunk.” The words were out before Jannick heard them himself. Why did I say that? And it’s not even true – I only ever drink a couple of beers at most! God, I must sound really stupid!

  Mathilde – bored by what was obviously turning into grown-up talk, and the attention turning away from herself – took Ida’s hand and led her towards the door. “Ninka’s hungry. Let’s go!”

  “Yes, sorry Jannick, we should get going. I’m taking the kids home and then I’ve got a shift tonight up at Strandhøj. It was nice to meet you. See you around!” She picked up Ida into her arms. “Okay, let’s go find Mathias!”

  “Oh, okay. Yes, see you around, Ida!” Jannick waved to them as they left the room. He turned back around to find the four remaining girls still at war: the plastic dinosaurs were putting up a brave fight, but seemed to be a poor match for the cutthroat Play Mobil pirates. He decided to let them battle it out on their own while he put the Lego back in the toy box. Well, Ida seemed nice. And Roskilde too. Yeah, really nice. And she works up at the Kro? That’s funny, I’ve never seen her in there, or have I? Maybe I should—

  He was knocked out of his reverie by a Play Mobil pirate ship sailing precariously close to his curly-haired, landlubber head.

  CHAPTER 9

  The hotel’s inn, Krostuen, was packed to the gunnels tonight. “If it isn’t the oldest swinger in town!” shouted Karsten, as Bent and Lea squeezed in through the doorway, trying not to let too much of the warm air escape out into the street.

  “The usual, Bent, a small draft beer?”

  “Don’t mind if I do, Karsten. Yes, en lille fadøl for me.” He glanced at Lea, as she struggled in with her large handbag. The bag was stuffed full and looked like it might erupt at any minute. “Erm, and a glass of white for Lea Mus here”.

  Karsten Holm, owner and proprietor of Strandhøj Hotel, took a full step backwards. “Opening up your wallet tonight, Bent? Well, well, well. What’s the big occasion? Won the lottery, have we?” Karsten put the glass of white wine on the bar then did a fit of ducking and diving, swatting his huge hands above him. “Damn moths! Must have come out of Bent’s wallet. Probably haven’t seen the light of day in years—”

  Bent chuckled. “You know what I always say, Karsten… Yes, it’s true, I may be stingy with my money. But I am always very, very generous with my body!”

  Lea screwed up her eyes. “Eew, Bent, please – you’re putting me off my dinner!” She looked up at Karsten. “So what’s on the menu, Mein Host?”

  “Tonight it’s a cracker!” Karsten looked around. “You can always tell when it’s stegt flæsk med persillesovs on the menu. The whole town is here!”

  Fried strips of pork belly served with boiled potatoes and white sauce flecked with parsley was, admittedly, not the most attractive sounding dish. But it was hearty, belly-filling food – one of the Danish classics – and any self-respecting inn would serve it up “Ad libitum”. The Danes, unable to resist unlimited amounts of pork or indeed, pork of any description, came out in force when it appeared on the menu. And tonight the residents of Strandvig were doing just that.

  “You can say that again,” said Lea, pulling off her thermal gloves and unravelling her long grey scarf, which was wound round her neck three times, “the car park is almost full and I had difficulty finding a place to put my bike.” Lea did her best to squash her gloves and scarf into the already bulging handbag, but gave up and put them on the back of her barstool. She eagerly took her glass of white wine from Karsten. She was flushed from her bike ride and the heat inside Strandhøj was intense.

  Lea lifted her glass towards Bent, and then Karsten. “Skål!”

  “Skål, Lea Mus!” Bent looked around, “Manning the decks yourself, Karsten?”

  “No, Johnny’s here – he’s in the cellar changing a barrel. Lisbeth and Ida will be run off their feet with it being stegt flæsk tonight, so Stig’s staying on to help until the kitchen closes.”

  “All hands on deck, then?” said Lea. And immediately heard Holy Helle’s voice in her head. I refuse to bake bloody cupcakes!

  “Yeah. Mette’s lad, Gustav, is supposed to be along here too tonight according to the duty roster, but you know teenagers.” He sneezed. “That was half an hour ago and there’s still no sign of the young rascal!”

  “Don’t worry, Karsten. I’ve just seen young Gustav,” said Bent, “I saw him talking to Stig in the car park when we came in. Or rather, Stig was talking to him. Reading him the riot act.”

  “Good, because Gustav really needs to pull his socks up. I let him come and do a few hours here and there because I felt sorry for him when his dad left. But now he’s a bit of a liability, you know. Only turns up when it suits him.”

  “Oh, give him a chance, Karsten. He’s just a boy.” Lea took a sip of her wine. Listen to me, talking like an old granny!

  Karsten sneezed again. “A lazy teenager, you mean.”

  “Oh, Karsten”, said Lea, “were you never young and foolish yourself? Just take a look at our Bent, here. He never grew up!” She winked at Bent, who winked back and lifted his glass to her. “Skål to that, Lea Mus!”

  Karsten nodded, “Oh, here we go. Here comes the lad now.” Stig had just entered the bar, followed by a sullen-looking Gustav. Gustav headed straight past the bar without looking up. “Hi Gustav, so glad you could finally join us. Get that parka off and your apron on. And look sharp about it, eh? The dishes are piling up in there.”

  Gustav scowled and slunk off into the kitchen, clutching his green rucksack.

  Karsten blew his nose, but it could just as easily have been a trumpet. “The lad looks like he could kill someone. What’s up, Stig?”

  Stig brushed off some specks of snow from his hair and jumper. “It’s all sorted. Gustav just needed a bit of direction. Teenage stuff.”

  “He’s not got himself involved in any bad business, has he? Because I told him last time that—”

  “No, nothing criminal.”

  Karsten sneezed again. “Nothing criminal yet, you mean—”

  Stig watched Gustav as he headed through the kitchen door. “He’s okay, Karsten, really. Just give him a chance to find his feet.” Stig reached behind the bar and hung a bunch of keys on his personal hook. “Can’t stand here chatting. I’d better go and give Lisbeth some help in the kitchen. That stegt flæsk smells fantastic!”

  “A beer for you, Stig?”

  “No, you know me, Karsten. Never drink on the job. Maybe later, when I’ve finished.” He disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Now – talking of favourite foods… Do you want to hear a joke?” Karsten asked, taking a quick glance over his shoulder at Lisbeth, his wife, who was just disappearing into the hotel kitchen with a teetering pile of dirty plates.

  “Oh, go on then,” groaned Lea. Karsten had an endless supply of jokes. Most of which he recycled, added to and retold at length. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred they were Aarhus jokes – where the people of Aarhus, Denmark’s second largest city, are portrayed as being downright daft.

  “Well, a Mexican, an Italian and a man from Aarhus” – here we go, thought Lea – “are working on the top floor of a skyscraper. At 12 noon they go outside, sit on the edge and open their lunchboxes. The Mexican says, ‘Please let it not be chili con carne again. If it’s chili con carne I’m going to jump!’ The Italian says, ‘Please let it not be spaghetti. If it’s spaghetti again, I’m going to jump!’ The guy from Aarhus says, ‘Please let it not be liver pâté. If it’s leverpostej again, I’m going to jump!’ So the Mexican takes one look at his lunch and says, ‘Ai, ai ai! Chili con carne!’ and jumps off. The Italian takes one look at his lunch and says, ‘Mamma Mia! Spaghetti!’ and jumps. The guy from Aarhus takes one look at his lunch and says ‘Åh nej! Leverpostej!’ and jumps. And lands – splat - on top of the other two. It’s all
one big mess of hands, legs and feet,” beamed Karsten, stopping the dialogue for a millisecond to take a quick breath.

  Bent took a quick sup of his half pint. Lea pounced. She had spotted Lisbeth behind Karsten’s shoulder, this time emerging from the kitchen with a bowl of steaming potatoes and a giant sauceboat of parsley sauce. “Lisbeth, can we put in an order for two stegt flæsk, please? I’ll be dead from hunger before he gets to the end of this one!”

  Karsten continued on, unabashed, “So it’s all a big mess of bodies and they have a joint funeral. The widows are standing around the graves and the Mexican’s wife says, ‘I don’t understand! Why didn’t Diego tell me he didn’t like chili con carne?’ The Italian’s wife says, ‘I don’t understand! Why didn’t Mario tell me he didn’t like spaghetti? It’s was his Mama’s recipe!’ The wife from Aarhus says, ‘I don’t understand! Jens always made his own packed lunch!’”

  Bent screeched with laughter, “Karsten, every time you tell that one, it gets better and better!”

  Lisbeth, who was setting a neighbouring table, looked up and shook a fork at them, “Hey! Don’t forget I’m from Aarhus!”

  “Not to worry, Lisbeth, my love,” Karsten winked, “I’ll explain the joke to you later!”

  CHAPTER 10

  Kenneth and Henrik appeared at the bar and were waved over by Bent and Lea, who had been keeping a couple of seats for them. Lea received a large hug plus a peck on the cheek. Bent received the same, along with the Frandsens’ usual greeting – which Lea had heard almost as often as Karsten’s jokes – “Hello there, Bent – didn’t recognise you with your clothes on!” They squeezed into their seats and Henrik looked adoringly at the plates piled high with stegt flæsk. Thick fried belly pork was a rare treat for them (the only bacon allowed in the Frandsen fridge being authentic Italian pancetta).