Yrsa Sigurdardóttir - My Soul to Take

“Quite,” said Matthew, then fell silent. A knock on the door had interrupted him and he stood up to see who it was. To his surprise it was Stefanía, still standing in the same place as when Thóra had shut the door in her face.

She smiled at him, still carrying the bag, which she handed to Matthew. In her excitement, Thóra had completely forgotten to take back the gift bag from the sex therapist.

“Here, this for you. You may have. Believe me, it have help many men like you,” she said to Matthew in broken English, then turned and left.

Matthew stood rooted to the spot. In one hand he held his beer glass, in the other the sex toy. He stared at it, lost for words, but as soon as he had closed the door behind Stefanía, he turned to Thóra. “Surely you didn’t tell that woman I was gay?”

“No, are you crazy?” answered Thóra innocently. “I would never make up stuff about your sex life. Come on, let’s go and find Thórólfur. He may not have figured it out yet.”

“Unless that weird woman is distributing her kinky toys to all and sundry,” said Matthew. He put the box down and stood up.

In reception, Vigdís told them that Thórólfur and another police officer had gone out with Thröstur to find and remove the canoe. Thóra assumed they would send it for tests, in case Thröstur had not succeeded in obliterating all the evidence, but she didn’t hold out much hope, based on what Thröstur had said.

While she and Matthew stood with Vigdís, deciding whether to wait for him or try to contact another police officer, she noticed the injured stockbroker limping toward reception. He was pulling a suitcase behind him with some difficulty. “I’m going to give him a hand,” she said to Matthew, and hurried over to Teitur. “Hey, I’ll do that,” she called, and was rewarded with a smile.

“Thank you,” he said with relief, allowing Thóra to take the case. “I’m still not a hundred percent better, but I’ve got to get home.”

“Is someone picking you up?” she asked. She didn’t think he should be driving in his condition.

“Yes, my brother,” puffed Teitur. “I’ll have someone collect my car later. You don’t need a car to get to town, do you?”

Thóra laughed. “No, actually,” she replied, thinking of the SUV and how she would get it back to the city. Gylfi wouldn’t be driving it, that was certain.

Teitur stumbled and winced. “That bloody mare,” he said. “I don’t think anyone will ever get me on horseback again.”

“You’re lucky it wasn’t worse,” said Thóra. “I don’t understand why the place you rented it from didn’t give you a safer horse. Which riding stables did you go to?”

“Oh, it was the farm just up above here—Tunga, I think—but it wasn’t their fault,” said Teitur. “The woman was terribly upset. Not a good start to a new business.”

“Tunga?” asked Thóra. “You hired a horse from there? Was it a wild stallion, by any chance?”

Teitur laughed. “No, I’m not that daft. It was just an ordinary horse. I was incredibly unlucky, though. I mean, what are the chances of coming across a dead fox? The horse was still panicking long after I had fallen off.”

Thóra stopped in her tracks. “Was it near here? Was the dead fox near the path to the old farmhouse?”

Teitur nodded. “Yup. I had no idea horses hated them so much.”

“Did you tell the horse-rental people about this?” Thóra was struggling to stay calm.

“Yes, of course,” said Teitur, surprised that Thóra was so interested. “I had to go back and let them know their horse had run off into the wild blue yonder.”

“And you told them what happened and where?” asked Thóra. “You told them about the fox and how the horse reacted?”

“Yes,” said Teitur. “The woman was in shock, of course, because the horse was gone, and also because I was injured.”

“This woman,” said Thóra. “Was her name Rósa?” Teitur nodded. “Was there anyone with her who could have heard the story about the fox?” she asked. “Her husband, maybe?”

“No,” answered Teitur. “She was home alone. I wouldn’t know if she told him, but I’d imagine she probably did.” He looked searchingly at her. “Why do you ask?”

“No special reason,” said Thóra vaguely. “Well, I hope you get home safely and make a swift recovery,” she said, and set the case down by the reception desk.

“I will,” said Teitur. He reached into his jacket pocket for his wallet. For a moment Thóra thought he was going to tip her for her assistance, but he handed her a business card. “Do get in touch if you’re ever wondering what to do with your money,” he said with a smile. “I get good returns on my clients’ investments.”

Thóra took the card, politely read it, and put it in her pocket. Something major would have to happen in her life for her to ever scrape together enough money to make an investment. “Thank you,” she said. “You never know.”

“There’s one thing that doesn’t make sense,” said Matthew. “We don’t know if Rósa came here the evening of the séance. And how does this fit in with Jónas’s phone and the canoe?”

Thóra watched the front door open, hoping it would be Thórólfur at last. It was not. A young couple entered pulling a suitcase behind them: new guests, heading for reception. She turned to Matthew. “Maybe Jökull pinched the phone for her and sent the text message.”

“That doesn’t explain the canoe,” said Matthew. “She must have come here, otherwise using the canoe makes no sense.”

“Maybe she was here,” said Thóra. “She needn’t have been at the séance.”

Matthew looked dubious. “It seems to me that the only reason for using the canoe was to be able to leave the séance unnoticed and return before the interval. Perhaps there’s another explanation, but I can’t see it.”

Thóra stood up. They had been sitting in chairs by the main door, so as not to miss Thórólfur. “I’m going to have a word with Vigdís.” She went over to the desk and waited while the receptionist dealt with the young couple, who finally left happily with their key.

“Vigdís,” said Thóra, “do you know Jökull’s sister by sight?”

Vigdís removed a sheet of paper from the printer on the desk in front of her and reached for a hole-punch. “Rosie, or whatever her name is? Yes, I do,” she answered, punching holes in the paper. “Why? Are you looking for her?”

“Her name’s Rósa, actually,” Thóra corrected her. “No, I’m not looking for her. I was just wondering if you remember whether she came to the séance last Thursday?”

“No,” said Vigdís firmly. “She wasn’t here.” She opened a binder and placed the sheet of paper in it. Then she stopped and looked up at Thóra. “Oh, wait, yes. She was here.”

“She was?” Thóra tried to conceal her excitement.

“Yes, I remember I felt kind of sorry for her. She had brought a bunch of flowers for that man who got hurt falling off her horse—Teitur Jakobsson, the one who just checked out.” Thóra nodded. “She had to walk all the way down the drive because there was a gap in the road, and the flowers were a bit windblown.”

“Are you sure this was on Thursday evening?” persisted Thóra.

“Absolutely,” replied Vigdís. “I remember I had no time to talk to her because I was so busy dealing with people who were arriving for the séance. I took the flowers and said I’d deliver them. She thanked me and asked if she could pop into the kitchen to see her brother.”

“Did you see her leave?” asked Thóra.

“No, I don’t think so,” answered Vigdís. “I wanted to go the séance myself, so I left a note on reception asking people to come inside if they needed anything. I had the cordless phone, in case there were any calls.”