Free The Girl Who Played with Fire by Stieg Larsson

by a worrisome thought.
    “I suppose everybody will be going down into their cellars about now,” she said quietly.
    Ella watched the family going down the stairs.
    “Unfortunately ours is one of the few cellars on Grand Anse. More people will probably be coming to seek shelter here.”
    Salander gave her a sharp look.
    “What will the rest do?”
    “The ones who don’t have cellars?” She gave a bitter laugh. “They’ll huddle in their houses or look for shelter in a shed. They have to trust in God.”
    Salander turned and ran through the lobby and out of the entrance.
    George Bland
.
    She heard Ella call after her, but she did not stop to explain.
    He lives in a fucking shack that will collapse with the first gust of wind
.
    As she reached the road to St. George’s she staggered in the wind that tore at her body, and then she began to jog. She was heading stubbornly into a heavy headwind that made her reel. It took almost ten minutes tocover the four hundred yards to the shack. She did not see a living soul the whole way there.
    The rain came out of nowhere like an ice-cold shower from a fire hose. At the same instant, she turned in towards the shack and saw the light from his kerosene lamp swinging in the window. She was drenched in a second, and she could hardly see two yards in front of her. She hammered on his door. George Bland opened it with eyes wide.
    “What are you doing here?” He shouted to be heard above the wind.
    “Come on. You have to come to the hotel. They have a cellar.”
    The boy looked shocked. The wind slammed the door shut and it was several seconds before he could force it open again. Salander grabbed hold of his T-shirt and dragged him out. She wiped the water from her face, then gripped his hand and began to run. He ran with her.
    They took the beach path, which was about a hundred yards shorter than the main road, which looped inland. When they had gone halfway, Salander realized that this might have been a mistake. On the beach they had no protection at all. Wind and rain tore at them so hard that they had to stop several times. Sand and branches were flying through the air. There was a terrible roar. After what seemed an eternity Salander finally spied the hotel walls and picked up the pace. Just as they made it to the entrance and the promise of safety, she looked over her shoulder at the beach. She stopped short.
    Through a rain squall she spotted two figures about fifty yards down the beach. Bland pulled her arm to drag her through the door. She let go of his hand and braced herself against the wall as she tried to focus on the water’s edge. For a second or two she lost sight of the figures in the rain, but then the entire sky was lit up by a flash of lightning.
    She knew already that it was Richard and Geraldine Forbes. They were at about the same place where she had seen Forbes wandering back and forth the night before.
    When the next flash came, Forbes appeared to be dragging his wife, who was struggling with him.
    All the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. The financial dependence. The allegations of chicanery in Austin. His restless wandering and motionless hours at the Turtleback.
    He’s planning to murder her. Forty million in the pot. The storm is his camouflage. This is his chance
.
    Salander turned and shoved Bland through the door. She looked around and found the rickety wooden chair the night watchman usuallysat on, which had not been cleared away before the storm. She smashed it as hard as she could against the wall and armed herself with one of its legs. Bland screamed after her in horror as she ran towards the beach.
    She was almost bowled over by the furious gusts, but she clenched her teeth and worked her way forward, step by step, into the storm. She had almost reached the couple when one more flash of lightning lit up the beach and she saw Geraldine Forbes sink to her knees by the water’s edge. Forbes stood over her, his arm raised to strike with what