The Little Old Lady Who Struck Lucky Again! Read online

  ‘Not me, no way. You should have seen how I climbed up past the topsail on the big sailing ships. Right up to the cross-trees of the topgallant, I’ll have you know. Ropes and agility, that’s my thing. I know how to do this. But we need a block and tackle.’

  Rake went off to find the equipment he needed, and that same moment caught sight of Tompa. The giant stopped next to the gate and looked at the heaps of stones.

  ‘Ah, garden work, is it?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Rake nonchalantly, reaching out to the rope and tying an elegant knot around the biggest slab.

  ‘Listen, mate, at your age, you should be relaxing. Me and Jörgen, we’ll sort this out in no time. We’ve done this before.’ Tompa flexed his biceps, pulled out his mobile and phoned his comrade. Rake didn’t know what to do; it looked as if Tompa was going to get all the glory. That wasn’t the idea.

  ‘But you shouldn’t have to . . .’ Rake protested.

  ‘Now listen, we’ll fix this!’ Tompa declared and he nodded up the hill to where Jörgen could now be seen wandering down. Whether Rake wanted them to help or not, the two Bandangels members had taken over his project.

  They fetched a wheelbarrow, Rake took the lead, and then the two bikers laid the stone slabs to where he pointed. Now and then Rake glanced across to the brick house, but, thank goodness, Lillemor didn’t seem to be at home. After less than two hours, everything was done and a satisfied Rake came back into the house.

  ‘Clever lads, those two!’

  ‘Rake, there’ll be a price to pay . . .’ Martha groaned.

  ‘But Christina, it looks nice, doesn’t it?’ Rake asked. Christina had no option but to nod and give praise, after which calm settled over the old house once again. And that lasted exactly two days.

  It was late in the evening and really cold and dark outside when Tompa and Jörgen knocked on the door. This time they didn’t have boots with steel toecaps on, but they didn’t seem any the less intimidating. Martha felt a cold shiver go deep into her soul.

  ‘Hello, one and all. Bit chilly outside, isn’t it? Anyway, we’d like to have a word about something,’ said Tompa with a bundle of papers in his hand. He was just about to cross the threshold.

  ‘Of course, of course,’ said Brains, who wanted to hear if they’d got any new motorbikes of late.

  ‘Hello, guys,’ Rake greeted them. ‘Thanks for helping with the slabs. A nice job, lads!’

  ‘A little cup of coffee, perhaps?’ said Martha with a forced smile. She had a lump in her tummy. She always did when she got bad vibes. The giants nodded and sat down at the kitchen table. Martha made some coffee and put out Christina’s newly baked cinnamon buns. Tompa took a big bite and put the bun down.

  ‘Yes, the pathway looks very nice indeed,’ Tompa started saying with his mouth full.

  They all nodded. Waited.

  ‘But that’s not why we’re here.’

  ‘No, we realize that,’ Martha mumbled.

  ‘Yes, well, you see, we buy and sell properties. We drew up a new contract and got it signed but now our mates have gone home. We just need to have the document witnessed. So we need some signatures.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. It usually requires two witnesses,’ Anna-Greta recalled from her bank days.

  ‘No problem,’ said Rake.

  ‘Let’s have a look,’ said Martha, reaching out to pick up the contract. The lump in her tummy was now the size of a Pilates ball. Documents, bikers and signatures did not mix well together.

  ‘Yes, you only need to sign down there.’ Jörgen pointed at the last page of the bundle of papers.

  ‘Yes, right,’ said Martha, trying to play for time. Shady types and contracts – she had read time and time again about how naive people got swindled. The theme came up a lot in crime novels and books about the mafia. Unscrupulous villains could buy a property, do no repairs, treble the rents and squeeze all they could out of it. When the mismanagement was reported and the authorities were alerted, it was too late. By then, the crooks had already transferred the property to a ‘goalkeeper’ – usually a drunk or a homeless person who didn’t have any money anyway. But what if Tompa and Jörgen had decided that their elderly neighbours would be good as goalkeepers? Martha’s nose could smell out anything fishy and she thought things were starting to smell rather bad. She tried to produce a smile.

  ‘Well, you see, I never usually sign anything without actually reading what I’m signing first,’ she explained.

  ‘That isn’t necessary. We’ve had our lawyer check it all,’ said Tompa, in a slightly more decisive voice.

  ‘Of course we’ll sign. Give me the documents,’ said Anna-Greta, who wanted to get rid of the bikers as quickly as possible.

  ‘Wait,’ said Martha.

  ‘But witnessing something isn’t a problem,’ said Anna-Greta, who had retired from the bank long before all these shady goalkeepers became common in Sweden. And before Martha could stop her, Anna-Greta had signed with a flourish and then handed the document to Gunnar, who signed without even looking. Tompa nodded, thanked them and quickly snatched the document back.

  Martha felt a cold shiver run down her spine. The bikers must not be allowed to leave the house with her friends’ signatures.

  ‘Thanks very much, we’ll be off now,’ said Tompa.

  ‘Oh what a pity! Perhaps I can just borrow the document a moment so I can make a photocopy. It’s my memory, you know. An old person like me doesn’t remember anything. Nothing at all.’ Martha got up and stretched out her hand.

  The bikers looked at each other, and she could see what they were thinking.

  ‘I’ll just make a little copy for myself, and if you change your mind, then I promise I’ll rip it up.’ Martha made her decision and quickly snatched the little bundle of papers from them.

  Tompa shrugged his shoulders while Martha disappeared into the library.

  The others could hear the machinery starting up and then making a rattling sound. After a while, Martha came back in, bright red in the face.

  ‘So sorry, boys, now don’t you go getting all angry at me. We’ve got a new photocopying machine and … I think I did it wrong. I should have asked for your help, but—’

  ‘Do you need help?’ Tompa interrupted.

  ‘Err, it’s a bit late now,’ said Martha and she pulled some paper out of her floral bag.

  ‘To think it could go so wrong! I’m not so familiar with these apparatuses. I think I must have put the piece of paper in the shredder,’ she said, and she held up the strips.

  It suddenly felt bitterly cold in the room, and Tompa jumped up.

  ‘You did WHAT? We’ll be back, you can be sure of that! Jörgen, come on, we’re off!’

  The two bikers stormed out and no one dared say a word until they had vanished up the slope.

  ‘Why did you have to go and do that?’ Anna-Greta wondered out loud.

  ‘They wanted to involve us in their criminal activities,’ answered Martha. She went and threw the shredded paper into the fireplace, then piled up some logs before reaching out for the matches. But when she lit the fire, her hands were shaking so much she could hardly manage it.

  ‘Are you all right, Martha dear?’ said Brains, putting his arm around her shoulders.

  ‘I’m frightened. For the first time in my life I am really frightened.’

  24

  Perhaps the Bandangels were just biding their time. Either that, or they were planning something dreadful. Days passed and the League of Pensioners worried about what the bikers would get up to.

  ‘We can’t exactly lower our guard,’ said Martha. ‘Before we know it, they’ll be back with some new trick.’ The League of Pensioners gathered in the library while they listened to Beethoven’s Fifth, the Victory Symphony, over and over again.

  Finally, Rake shrugged his shoulders and said: ‘I’d best go and see Lillemor and find out what she has to say about the future!’

  Christina, who was busy reading a p
lay by Lars Noren, stiffened and looked daggers at him. As soon as Rake had gone out, she phoned Anders.

  ‘Now, my boy, it’s time to do it! I can’t stick this any longer. It is time to carry out the plan.’

  ‘But Mother, are you really going to go through with this?’ Anders replied. ‘I thought you were joking?’

  ‘Now you’ll do as I say, or else you can forget any inheritance,’ Christina replied firmly.

  The next day, Anders drove into town and, a few hours later, came out to the big old house with a large box. When the others asked what was in it, he answered somewhat evasively – but Christina looked pleased.

  ‘Are you really sure that you want me to do this?’ Anders asked his mother after dinner when they sat in the basket chairs on the veranda. The oil lamps were burning, and the sea lay black and still before them. The lights from the city lit up the evening sky and the smell of the oil lamps spread across the veranda. The others had gone into the library to play bridge, but Christina had stayed on outside because she wanted to talk to Anders.

  ‘Lillemor isn’t at home, so you can put the carton on her porch,’ Christina said and she lowered the wick of the oil lamp which had started to smoke. ‘Make sure the carton is damaged in one corner to arouse her curiosity, so she can’t resist looking inside. And don’t forget to address the parcel to Bertil “Rake” Engström.’

  ‘So you want it to look as if the delivery has gone to the wrong address?’

  ‘Yes, like I’ve said all the time,’ said Christina, and her tone of voice was so sharp that Anders gave a start.

  ‘OK, but I refuse to do anything like this again.’

  ‘Now, now. Let’s hope there won’t be any more times,’ said Christina.

  At eleven that evening, when Lillemor came home on her bicycle from a meeting with her Tarot friends, she found a large parcel outside her front door. She leaned her cycle against the railings and quickly went up the front steps. Feeling a little sleepy, she opened the door and took the parcel into the kitchen. After she had taken her coat off, and turned the coffee machine on, she lit a cigarette. Then she looked at the parcel, but was disappointed when she saw the label. It was not addressed to her, but to Bertil ‘Rake’ Engström. There was no sender and the box had been damaged in one corner. The lid was now crooked and the contents were almost spilling out. She fetched a roll of sticky tape but couldn’t manage to get her nail under the edge of the tape on the roll. What could be inside Rake’s parcel? No sender – that in itself seemed strange. Her curiosity increased. Lillemor put the tape aside and got the lid off the carton. There was a large, soft package inside. She prodded it first, but then couldn’t resist opening a corner. The colour of her face changed from light pink to darkest red and she pressed her lips together. When Rake rang the doorbell the next day, she had spent all morning getting more and more angry.

  ‘I think you shall have to go to somebody else with your questions about the future,’ Lillemore said, without letting him over the threshold.

  ‘But can’t you tell my fortune and then we can sit on the sofa?’ Rake replied and made an attempt to give her a hug. ‘You can’t imagine how well I’ve been getting on with the Tarot cards.’

  ‘Sit on the sofa with you, you dirty old man! Over my dead body!’ She pointed at the opened parcel. ‘That parcel seems to have come to the wrong address.’

  ‘What parcel?’

  ‘Don’t play all innocent! I’ll make one thing damned clear to you: you can keep your inflatable Barbara for yourself! The front gate is over there. Be off with you!’

  She kicked the carton so that Inflatable Barbara fell out and flopped onto her side with what sounded like a sigh.

  ‘But I had no idea . . .’

  ‘Be off with you!’

  Christina saw Rake return from the brick house across the road, and had the greatest difficulty keeping a straight face. God punishes some people straight away, the saying goes. But if God doesn’t do his bit, then you must take care of things yourself, Christina thought, and she sent a thought of gratitude to Anders too. This should have taught Rake a lesson.

  During the following week, Rake hardly responded when people talked to him; he just didn’t seem to hear. They had never seen him with such an absent look on his face before, and the only person who wasn’t worried about it was Christina. Everybody thought that was a bit strange, but when they realized that Rake had stopped visiting Lillemor, they started to put two and two together. Something had happened.

  The weekend passed, and on Monday Rake asked if he could get a lift with Emma into town. He was away all day and when he came home late in the afternoon, he had a large parcel under his arm. He just said a brief hello, told them he needed to rest a little, and then he stayed in his room until suppertime.

  ‘I’m beginning to be rather worried about Rake. I just hope he isn’t ill or something,’ Martha sighed.

  ‘Rake?’ Christina snorted. ‘There’s nothing ailing him, believe me.’

  After supper Rake went and fetched a handful of birch logs and laid a fire in the grate in the library. With nimble, practised hands he laid a bed of firewood on some crumpled paper, put the logs on top in a criss-cross pattern and then lit it. It immediately started burning brightly, and the others smiled in relief. Rake always saw it as a challenge to try to light a log fire with only one match, and he was just as pleased every time he succeeded.

  During the evening they played a hand of bridge, but when Rake didn’t try to cheat, they got a little worried again. No, he still wasn’t his real self and when they asked how he was feeling, he just grunted. Soon they all felt so tired that they thought it was time to go to bed, so they got up and bid one another goodnight.

  Christina went up to her room, put her volume of Gustav Fröding’s poems on the bedside table, and was just about to get undressed when there was a knock on the door. She recognized the knock. It was Rake.

  ‘Come in!’ Christina called out.

  Rake stood in the doorway, plucking up the courage to start speaking. He had combed his hair and smelt of aftershave.

  ‘This is not exactly an original gift, but you do like him,’ Rake mumbled and he handed over the rectangular packet he had brought with him from town earlier.

  ‘Goodness me, Rake!’ said Christina, surprised, and she ripped off the wrapping.

  ‘A reproduction, of course, but Anders Zorn’s Summer Delight is a beautiful watercolour.’

  Rake looked pleased but left the room. When he came back, he had a bunch of flowers in his hand. He put them down, fidgeted a great deal with his cravat, and not until Christina opened her arms did he dare go forward and give her a hug.

  ‘I apologize,’ Rake said. ‘I’m very sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Can you forgive me?’

  And then Christina smiled and gave him a really, really big hug.

  25

  Martha paced back and forth in front of the entrance to Diamond House retirement home. She looked expectantly down the hill. At last it was time for Operation Gift Drop. It was cold and the sun shone from a deep blue sky, but Martha was so excited that she hardly felt the chill in the air. A delivery van approached and she smiled to herself. The delivery seemed to be working. The van came to a halt by the retirement home.

  ‘I’m Inspector Siv Petterson from the Ministry of Health’s control unit for standards in retirement homes,’ said Martha walking briskly up to the driver as he opened the van door. She held up her official identity card, which Christina had produced, with her name and photo.

  ‘You what?’ The driver, a man in his thirties, stopped abruptly.

  Martha now stood in his way, pulled out a ring file and thumbed through the papers.

  ‘This concerns the goods to be delivered to Diamond House. We must check the delivery system is working correctly,’ Martha said in a friendly manner.

  ‘Then you’ll have to be quick about it. I’m in a hurry!’ the driver muttered. He looked at his delivery list, opened the back d
oors and pulled out the trolley.

  ‘Can I look at the order?’ said Martha in an authoritative tone. She pulled out a copy of the order from her cloth bag, took the list from the driver and checked that they contained the same items, which she ticked off.

  ‘This has got nothing to do with you. The goods are for Diamond House,’ the driver grumbled.

  ‘That is correct, but so many strange things happen today, and in this case the people who made the order have asked us to check the delivery. Things can disappear en route, there are hijackings and so on.’

  ‘Hijackings?’

  ‘Yes, it is really dreadful,’ Martha complained. ‘You must have read about how all those articulated lorries lose their trailers, vehicles are stolen, packages get lost in the post. So those of us at the control unit have a very important part to play. Now let’s see, it all seems to be in order. I only have to check that the goods in the packages are the same as what is listed on the order. I’ll come into the retirement home with you.’

  The driver swore in Finnish. Martha remained calm and watched closely when the disgruntled man went to fetch the packages. When he had put all the parcels in the goods lift, Martha followed and walked up to Diamond House with him. Martha discreetly pulled her hat over her wig, adjusted the elegantly shaded glasses and put her gloves on. As long as she didn’t give herself away by reverting to her childhood accent from the south of Sweden – something she tended to do when she got really excited . . . No, she must concentrate on her task. The driver rang the bell, the door was opened and Martha recognized the young dark-haired girl from the Lucia Day celebration.

  ‘I’m Inspector Siv Petterson,’ said Martha and they shook hands.

  ‘I’m Nurse Anja. What can I help you with?’

  Martha described the purpose of her visit, showed her identity card and, after Anja had signed the delivery list, they went into the large sitting room. Martha looked around the familiar surroundings. The stuffy smell and the same old furniture from when she and her friends had lived there were still there. Diamond House was just about as appealing as an old, run-down school. I must remember to send some new furniture, Martha thought, and jotted it down on her notepad. The driver rolled in the goods while Anja went round and gathered the residents. It took a while, but eventually about twenty people clustered around the big ornate table in the dining room. They looked sleepy and confused and Martha wrinkled her eyebrows.