Camilla Lackberg - Buried Angels

‘How about Grandma’s rhubarb cake with marzipan?’ Erica held out a cake covered with cling wrap.

‘Are you kidding? Who could say no to that?’

Erica cut two big slices of cake and put them on a platter that she set on the table. Noel immediately launched himself towards the platter, but Anna managed to pull him back just in time. She broke off a little chunk of cake for each of the twins. Noel happily stuffed the whole piece in his mouth while Anton carefully nibbled at one corner as he gave her a big smile.

‘They’re so different,’ said Anna, ruffling the hair of the two towheaded boys.

‘You reckon?’ said Erica sarcastically, shaking her head.

She poured the coffee and set Anna’s cup down, making sure, as usual, that it was out of the twins’ reach.

‘Are you doing okay, or should I take one of them?’ she asked, noticing that Anna was trying to juggle the children, the coffee cup and the cake all at once.

‘No, I’m fine. It’s lovely to hold them close.’ Anna nuzzled the top of Noel’s head. ‘So where’s Maja?’

‘She’s glued to the TV. Her new great love in life is Mojje. At the moment she’s watching “Mimmi and Mojje in the Caribbean”. I think I’m going to puke if I have to listen to “On a Lovely Caribbean Beach” one more time.’

‘Adrian is obsessed with Pokemon right now, and it’s driving me crazy too.’ Anna cautiously sipped her coffee, afraid of spilling it on the squirming eighteen-month-old toddlers sitting on her lap. ‘What about Patrik?’

‘He’s at work. Suspected arson out on Valö.’

‘Valö? Whose house?’

Erica hesitated before answering. ‘The summer camp,’ she said, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice.

‘Oh, how awful. It always gives me the creeps when I think about that place and the way they disappeared into thin air.’

‘I know. I’ve tried to do a little research about it, off and on. I thought I could turn the story into a book if I found out anything. But there’s been nothing much to go on. Until now.’

‘What do you mean?’ Anna took a big bite of rhubarb cake. She’d also been given her grandmother’s recipe, but she rarely baked. Practically never, in fact.

‘She’s back.’

‘Who?’

‘Ebba Elvander. Although her last name is Stark now.’

‘You mean that little girl?’ Anna stared at Erica.

‘Exactly. She and her husband have moved to Valö, and apparently they’ve started renovating the place. And last night somebody tried to burn it down. That makes me wonder.’ Erica had given up trying to hide her enthusiasm.

‘Couldn’t it be a coincidence?’

‘Of course it could. But I still think it’s odd. The fact that Ebba comes back and suddenly things start to happen.’

‘Only one thing has happened,’ Anna pointed out. She knew how quickly Erica’s imagination could jump to conclusions. How her sister had ever managed to write a series of carefully researched and substantiated books seemed both a miracle and a mystery to Anna.

‘Okay, okay. One thing,’ said Erica, waving her hand dismissively. ‘I can hardly wait until Patrik comes home. Actually, I wanted to go with him, but I didn’t have anyone to take care of the children.’

‘Don’t you think it would have seemed a bit strange for you to show up with Patrik?’

By now Anton and Noel had grown tired of sitting on Anna’s lap. They climbed down on to the floor and dashed off to the living room.

‘Well, I was thinking of going out there to talk to Ebba one of these days,’ said Erica, refilling their coffee cups.

‘I can’t help wondering what happened to that family,’ said Anna pensively.

‘Mammmmaaaaa! Get them out of here!’ Maja cried shrilly from the living room. Erica got up with a sigh.

‘I knew it was too good to be true. This is what happens all day long. Maja is forever getting cross with her brothers. You have no idea how many times I have to intervene each day.’

‘Hmm …’ said Anna, watching Erica as she hurried out of the room. She felt a pang in her heart. Personally she could have done with a little less peace and quiet.

Fjällbacka had never looked better. From the dock outside the boathouse where he sat with his wife and in-laws, John had a view of the entire harbour entrance. The glorious weather had enticed more sailing enthusiasts and tourists than usual, and scores of boats were moored close together along the pontoon dock. He could hear music and laughter coming from inside the vessels, and he was surveying the lively scene as he squinted into the sunlight.

‘It’s too bad that debate is at such a low level in Sweden today.’ John raised his wine glass and took a sip of the nicely chilled rosé. ‘People pay lip service to democracy and say that everyone has the right to be heard, but we’re not allowed to express our views. It’s as if we don’t exist. What everybody forgets is that we were elected by the people. A sufficient number of Swedes showed that they harbour a deep mistrust of the way things are being handled. They want change, and we’ve promised them that change.’

He set his glass down and went back to peeling shrimp. A big plate of unpeeled shrimp was still awaiting his attention.

‘I know. It’s terrible,’ said his father-in-law, reaching for the bowl of shrimp and grabbing a handful. ‘If this is truly a democracy, we need to listen to the people.’

‘And everybody knows that lots of immigrants come here purely to take advantage of the social benefits,’ interjected his mother-in-law. ‘It would be fine if all these foreigners were prepared to work and contribute to society. But I have no desire to see my tax money used to support those parasites.’ She had already begun to slur her words.

John sighed. What idiots. They had no idea what they were talking about. It was the same with most voters: they were nothing but sheep, oversimplifying the problem, unable to see the big picture. His in-laws personified the ignorance that he loathed, and here he sat, stuck with them for a whole week.

Liv stroked his thigh in an attempt to calm him. She knew what he thought about them, and she mostly agreed. But Barbro and Kent were still her parents, and there wasn’t much she could do about that.

‘The worst part is the way they’re moving into all areas these days,’ said Barbro. ‘A family just moved into our neighbourhood, and the mother is Swedish, but the father is an Arab. I can’t begin to imagine how awful it must be for that poor woman, the way Arabs treat their wives. And I’m sure the children will be bullied in school. Then they’ll get in trouble with the police, and she’ll end up regretting that she didn’t marry a Swedish boy instead.’

‘You can say that again,’ said Kent, attempting to take a bite of a huge shrimp sandwich.

‘Can’t you let John have a rest from politics for a while?’ said Liv, her tone mildly reproachful. ‘He spends enough time discussing the immigrant issue in Stockholm, day in and day out. He deserves a break when he’s over here.’

John gave her a grateful look as he paused to admire his wife. She was perfect. Silky blonde hair swept back from her face. Classic features and clear blue eyes.

‘Sorry, sweetheart. We weren’t thinking. We’re just so proud of what John is doing, and the position that he has achieved. All right, let’s talk about something else. How’s it going with your little business, by the way?’

Liv eagerly began recounting all the difficulties she’d been having with the customs department, which seemed determined to complicate her business affairs. She was constantly dealing with setbacks to deliveries of the home furnishings that she imported from France and then sold through her online shop. But John knew that her interest in the shop had been dwindling. She was devoting more and more time to party politics. Everything else seemed unimportant in comparison.