Page 52 of Hidden in Memories
Ida shakes her head. “No, it’s just me.”
“Would you like some company? I promise to behave myself.”
He winks at her, and Ida has to laugh at his mischievous expression. All at once the atmosphere between them is easy, the way it used to be when they worked together. They are the same age and have always had a casually flirtatious relationship; they even made out at a party or two.
Before she met Daniel. Before she got pregnant.
The teasing glint in Gustav’s eyes makes her feel more cheerful, younger, less weighed down by responsibilities. Like the girl she used to be before she had a baby.
Carefree.
She is suddenly glad that she didn’t put on her old, worn ski jacket today, but chose the new black-and-white one she bought in the Christmas sale. The one Daniel thought was too expensive.
The snow sparkles in the early spring sunshine. Their chair slowly moves up the mountainside. The stately fir trees beside the lift posts are a beautiful shade of dark green, their branches still carrying patches of snow.
In a particularly sunny dip, a narrow stream has come to life, and is burbling cheerfully on its way to freedom.
The chairlift glides over the steep overhang where one of Ida’s favorite routes, Lundsrappet, begins. As they continue onto the plateau itself, she sees the embarkation platform for the gondola over to the left.
There aren’t too many people waiting in line here either. Ida picks up her ski poles and prepares to get off.
“So what do you say?” Gustav prods her gently in the side. His interested look is irresistible.
“Why not?” Ida beams at him. “Let’s go!”
41
The telephone rings in Bengt Hedin’s office at the council headquarters in Järpen. When he reaches over to pick up, his chair squeaks loudly. He has gotten used to it by now, but new visitors often react to the unpleasant noise.
It’s all about leading by example. Not buying a new chair sends a clear message. It is important to be thrifty with public money.
Bengt glances at the display—it’s Musse from customer services. What does he want? It’s almost eleven o’clock, and he doesn’t have anything in his diary until after lunch.
“Hi.” Musse also deals with visitors. “There’s a detective here who wants to speak to you.”
It takes a few seconds for the words to sink in. Then they hit him hard. He really hopes this isn’t about Storlien and Charlotte Wretlind.
“A detective?”
“Can you come down and collect him?”
A thousand thoughts crowd into Bengt’s head. He rests his forehead on his hands as he tries to compose himself. They can’t possibly have discovered what’s gone on—not yet. It’s only two days since Charlotte was found dead in her suite, and he has been so careful.
They can’t catch him out.
Or can they?
His mouth is so dry that he can barely formulate an answer. Sweat breaks out on the back of his neck as he mentally reviews the latest bank transfers.
How easy would they be to trace? Can the police access his computer, see what he’s done?
The thought makes him sweat even more profusely.
Bengt looks around the room, as if the solution were hiding in a corner. His phone feels damp in his hand.
He has to fix this.
Hatred for Charlotte burns intensely within him, even though she is dead. She is fucking haunting him. Will he never be rid of that woman?
