Free The Body in the Fjord by Katherine Hall Page Page B

Carl and Jan about her. I thought they should know—for the good of the tour.”
    The greater good, Pix thought dismally. Lord preserve us from all the things large and small resulting from this particular rationalization. She asked another question.
    â€œHow did you hear that the boy had drowned?”
    â€œJan told everyone and the police came. We were in Bergen. They wanted to know if anyone had seen anything. The girl has disappeared—or her body hasn’t turned up yet. I think they had a fight and she pushed him in, then realized what she’d done and jumped after him. We know they’d been fighting. Helene Feld saw them when she went to get something to eat.”
    Bingo. Now Pix knew who had been the last to see them. She felt a warm—but brief—rush of gratitude toward Carol Peterson.
    â€œThere you are, dear.” It was Ursula. Pix made the introductions, heard again what a small world it was, Roy senior having been to Boston in 1985, and vowed to stand back until she saw which bus the Peterson clan boarded.
    Carol was the type who asked questions. Lots of questions.

Three
    The Petersons got on one bus and Pix steered Ursula onto the other. Jan was standing in the aisle at the front with a microphone.
    â€œNow we are on our way to the famous Stalheim Hotel, making one stop for a ‘photo opportunity’ and time to eat our box lunches either on or off the bus, as you choose. Do I have any German-speaking people aboard?” He repeated the request in German. No one answered. “This is advertised as a bilingual tour, but so far, I have not had to use both languages.”
    Pix looked at the itinerary sheet. The bus trip would take them through a “wonderland of waterfalls and mountains,” after which they would arrive at the hotel, “famous for its spectacular location and folk museum.” After dinner, there would be a “program of traditional Norwegian folk dancing and music performed in native costume.” The tour did not leave one at a loss for things to do. What with admiring the view, touring the museum, eating, and then clapping along—or whatever one did to the sounds of a Hardanger fiddle—it could be a very late night indeed. Pix sighed. At least Jan wasn’t making a lot of inane comments, and the scenery was breathtaking. The waterfalls cascaded down the mountains in one long, sheer teardrop. They were passing through a beautiful denselywooded forest now and Jan picked up the microphone, resuming his position in the aisle.
    â€œDuring the war, the Germans literally blew up Voss, and to this day, no one will buy wood cut from around here, because no factory will cut it. There are still so many bullets and pieces of metal embedded in the trees that it would break the machinery. Soon we will be coming to Tvindenfossen, a nice waterfall, and you can all take some pictures.”
    Ursula raised her eyebrows at her daughter. “Now we know why Jan wanted to be sure there weren’t any Germans on board. Whenever I’m in Norway, I always feel as if the war ended only a short time ago. The Occupation was a terrible time.”
    The bus was stopping.
    â€œDo you want to walk up to the foss ?” Pix asked.
    â€œI think I’ll look at it from the parking lot and eat whatever this is at one of those picnic tables. You go and take a picture.”
    Pix had brought her camera to Norway as part of the disguise and also in case she needed to record something. She got out, following the rest of the herd up a well-worn path to look at the falls. They were not so dramatic as the one she remembered from FlÃ¥m, but steeper, starting far up in the mountains. She waited until almost everyone had gone to eat their lunches, so she could get a shot without people posing in front. Jennifer Olsen had apparently had the same idea and they walked back down together.
    â€œThank you so much for last night. I know I would have been