Free The Body in the Fjord by Katherine Hall Page

asked.
    â€œYes,” said one. “I’m afraid my English is very poor, but please come.” She was French. As Pix searched her mind for the remnants of Madame Durand’s earnest efforts, grades seven through twelve, Ursula fluently introduced herself and her tongue-tied daughter, then proceeded to elicit the following information. The women lived outside Paris, were cousins, and took a trip together every year to break the routine. “We escape our husbands,” the woman who had spoken before added in English for Pix’s benefit. Her name was Sophie and Valerie was her cousine . “ C’est bizarre, le petit déjeuner norvégien ,” Valerie contributed to the conversation, fork poised above a fish cake. Pix had never thought of these splendid repasts as bizarre, but if one was used to a croissant and café au lait, this spread would definitely appear strange.
    Carl strolled by. He and Jan wore matching Norwegian sweaters each day, it seemed. Jan’s had a few pulls, butCarl’s looked like new. Maybe he hadn’t worked for the tour group that long. Maybe he was neater.
    â€œHow is everything, ladies?”
    Mouths full, they all nodded. Pix found her voice first. “Do you know anything more about what happened last night?”
    Carl gave a worried glance at the Frenchwomen. Obviously, Jennifer Olsen’s adventure was not being posted with the day’s events.
    â€œNo, nothing. But all’s well that ends well,” he said brightly and moved on.
    One of your staff dead, one missing, and an intruder in the night. Pix did not think that all was well.
    She tuned back in to the table conversation. Mother must have been listening to her French tapes again while she rode her Exercycle, Pix thought.
    â€œThey knew the tour would be in English, but they didn’t think they needed to understand everything. It’s all nature, and who needs words for that?” Ursula laughed. The cousins were smiling agreement. From what Pix knew of the French, she was sure the two believed that compared to their own history, art, and culture, the Norwegians were savages, so if they missed what year a particular stave church was built in, it would be no great loss.
    After a second cup of coffee, Pix left her mother to her new friends and went back to the room to shower. But first she stepped out onto her own balcony. The door was equipped with a heavy drape to keep the light out, and since it had been partially drawn, she hadn’t realized the balcony was there. It was furnished with two chairs and a small table. Pix peered over the edge. It was an easy climb up or down to the ground—or to Jennifer’s room. The balconies were joined together. Tour groups were easy targets for thieves, even in Norway, and Pix was inclined to think that was all there was to it.
    Feeling greatly refreshed by the shower, Pix got her things together, placing her bag outside the door as they had been instructed. Her mother’s was already out andthere was no answer to her knock. She decided to go down to the lobby and see if Ursula was there or if she might have decided to take a walk.
    A bright voice greeted her as she entered the elevator. “I see you’re another of the Scandie Sights group.”
    â€œWhy yes, I am.” Pix wondered how the woman knew.
    â€œI saw you last night. Is that your mother with you? I told my husband it must be. You’re like two peas in a pod. I’m Carol Peterson, from Duluth. In Minnesota. My husband, Roy, is with me and my son, Roy junior, and his new bride, Lynette. Lynette’s not Norwegian, probably not a drop of Scandinavian blood in her body, but we love her anyway, and she wanted to take her honeymoon here to get to know our roots just as much as Roy junior did.”
    The elevator doors opened. They stepped out into the lobby and Carol finally came up for a breath. Pix knew she was expected to make a comment, and the one