The Scent of Almonds: A Novella

‘So you were planning to ask your grandfather for a million kronor?’

‘Yes.’ Again that stubborn toss of the head. ‘That’s pocket change for him. Do you have any idea how much the old man had in the bank?’ She rolled her eyes but then realized what she’d just said. Again her lip started quivering.

‘But you hadn’t yet asked him for the loan?’ Martin now felt considerably less sympathy for the woman as he watched the crocodile tears rolling down her cheeks.

‘No, no,’ she assured him, leaning forward. ‘I was planning to ask him during the weekend.’

‘What about the other family members?’

‘What do you mean? What about them?’

‘Ruben seemed to have strong opinions about them as well. Do you think any of them might have had a more violent response than—’

Miranda cut him off. Her eyes were flashing with anger.

‘Do you seriously imagine I would sit here and accuse a member of my own family of murder? Is that what you think? Is it?’

‘I merely asked whether anyone might have had a more violent response than the rest of the family.’

‘But isn’t that the same thing as asking me who I think killed Grandpa?’ replied Miranda coldly.

Martin had to admit to himself that she was right. He suddenly felt extremely tired. For weeks he’d been dreading coming out here with Lisette, and he could now say that everything had turned out a hundred times worse than he could possibly have imagined. He glanced at his watch. It was gone eleven p.m.

‘I think we’ll stop here,’ he said. ‘It’s getting late. We’ll continue tomorrow.’

A relieved expression appeared on Miranda’s face. But she merely nodded as she got to her feet. Martin followed her into the library to speak to the others. The mood was so oppressive that he almost felt as if he’d walked into a wall.

‘I’m going to stop the interviews for tonight. I know everyone is tired, and I think it would be more productive to continue in the morning, after we’ve all had some rest.’

No one replied, but everyone looked relieved.

‘Would you like a cognac?’ asked Lisette as she came over to Martin and put her hand on his arm. His first instinct was to decline. In a practical sense, he was officially on duty. But exhaustion and the weight of responsibility had taken their toll, and he found himself nodding as he sank into the nearest armchair. Outside, the snow was still coming down hard. A branch could be heard banging against a windowpane at the other end of the building.

‘Is it true that we can’t get over to the mainland?’ Vivi’s voice broke, and her hand shook as she again raised it to her neck where her pearls had been.

‘Didn’t you hear what they said? It’s impossible!’ Gustav’s voice was a bit too shrill, and he went on in a more muted tone: ‘We can’t do it, Vivi. We’ll have to wait until morning. Maybe by then the worst of the storm will be over, and we can make the crossing.’

‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ said Harald. ‘The weather forecast says that the storm is going to last until Sunday. So I suppose we’ll just have to sit tight and wait.’

‘But I can’t stay here for two days. Not with a … corpse!’ cried Vivi. Everyone was now looking at her.

‘So what do you suggest we do? Skate across the ice to Fjällbacka?’ Harald yelled.

Gustav sprang to his feet and put his arm around his wife.