Free The Little Old Lady Who Struck Lucky Again! by Catharina Ingelman-Sundberg

fill the freezer and larder with meat, fish, berries and vegetables every time
they came on a visit.
    The aroma of cinnamon buns became all the more intense and when two baking plates were ready, Martha thought it was high time to summon a meeting. They must continue to search for the golf bag
and get some order in their everyday income. Not least, they ought to find out how their money in the Robbery Fund had been used. Martha wanted to see the retirement homes with her own eyes to make
sure things had got better. And then, of course, there were their contributions to culture. She thought about their anonymous donation to the National Museum, along with which they had suggested
the purchase of more paintings by the French Impressionists. Perhaps the museum had even purchased a new Renoir? It would be exciting to follow up what had happened. And they must also decide what
they would do with the remaining capital in the Robbery Fund. None of the five friends liked
passive
riches. Money should promote culture, create jobs or be given to people of less fortunate
circumstances in society – not left lying around in a bank account. Martha looked around the room. Her friends had already started on the buns and were now on their second cup of coffee. It
was high time to get going.
    ‘Now, everybody, I think it’s time we got down to business,’ she said in a firm voice, but was interrupted by a creaking sound from the gate. They heard steps on the gravel
path and, with an irritated wrinkle between her eyebrows, she went up to the kitchen window. Two big men wearing bulky leather jackets were approaching the door. The men were very beefy and walked
with their legs apart and their arms out, rather like little children who have wet themselves. They wore black leather trousers and waistcoats, and clumsy black boots. It was a grim sight and they
looked threatening.
    ‘They aren’t the police, but it doesn’t look good,’ said Martha, taking some hesitant steps into the hall. She stopped and opened the front door a little. The very next
second it was pushed wide open and a damp, icy cold swept into the house. Martha saw the steel-capped boots and instinctively drew back, but still tried to manage a smile.
    ‘Visitors, how nice, please come in! Can I offer you some breakfast?’
    The men gave a start, but collected their wits when they smelt the aroma of freshly baked buns.
    Jörgen Smäck, neighbour,’ said the man with the most muscles and long rat-coloured hair. He held out a large hand.
    ‘Tompa Eriksson, also neighbour,’ said the giant with the shaved head and a tattoo on his neck. He nodded in greeting.
    ‘I’m Martha,’ she said, and tried to sound unconcerned.
    ‘We would like to have a chat with the gang who live here.’ The giant put his hands by his sides.
    ‘Yes, that’s fine. Take a seat,’ Martha answered. The men sat down at the kitchen table wearing their leather waistcoats and black T-shirts. Their forearms were covered in
tattoos. Christina got out two coffee cups but her hands shook when she put them down on the table. With a forced smile she offered them a basket of freshly baked cinnamon buns.
    ‘Please, help yourselves!’
    The men each dug a hand into the basket and put several buns on the table. Anna-Greta said hello to them somewhat hesitantly. Christina backed away.
    ‘The boys, will they be coming soon?’ Tompa asked with his mouth full of bun.
    ‘Here we are!’ Rake and Brains held out their hands as they introduced themselves. ‘Boys, well, it isn’t every day we get called that. Thank you.’
    The two bikers looked uncomprehendingly at each other. Martha fetched two more glasses.
    ‘Some cloudberry liqueur perhaps? It goes nicely with wafer biscuits.’
    Yet another nervous shudder crossed the men’s faces before they gathered their wits together.
    ‘Cloudberry liqueur? Booze is booze, I guess. So why not,’ said Beefy and he filled his coffee cup. ‘We thought