Anna Märklin, chapter 1

No, I am not going to give you the full novel for free. The sneaky plan is to offer you a couple of chapters – to make sure this will be the Scandinavian mystery you must have in the autumn

And don´t worry, my competent and highly esteemed beta-readers will help me get it in great shape before that. The prologue can be found here.

 

Chapter 1. May 2007

Anna scrubbed at the brown stains on the off-white carpet. She had to remove them before… Under the dining table there were more stains. She had no idea what they were. Tea, or perhaps red wine? She didn´t even want to know, she just had to get them off! She rubbed until her arms began to shake. She tried with cloths and brushes, and in the end she just poured soapy water all over the carpet. Bleach, chlorine. There must be something which could remove the stains. But the more she scrubbed, the more they grew. They spread across the carpet, colouring her raw, water-sodden fingers red.

She tried to dry her hands on her jeans while listening for the slightest warning that someone was approaching. She was wet all the way up her thighs, but perhaps it was just the tepid water. She had to have a shower too. But the carpet was the main thing. No matter what she did, she mustn´t forget the carpet. She should have used cold water from the beginning, she realized. Albumen dissolved in cold water. Science for toddlers. Why did she have to be so daft?

She patted the carpet around her. Perhaps the water had been cold enough after all? The scrubbing brush, where was that bloody brush? All her senses screamed at her that it was urgent. She could hear heavy steps coming up the stairs. Time was running out. But the brush had gone. A pair of scissors! She had to find her scissors or a Stanley knife so she could cut the stains off the delicate surface. She fought to get on her legs, the hair at the back of her neck bristling, but her legs would not obey her.

A bell rang. Once, twice, shrill and mean, and she knew it was too late. She lay down on the carpet, spreading her arms in a vain effort to conceal the spots with her own body. Now the bell rang insistently, and with a jerk she fell off the sofa and landed right on the white carpet.

- Okay, I´m coming! Hands trembling, she smoothed her hair before she removed the door chain and fumbled with the Yale lock. She reminded herself she would have to get a new doorbell.

Suspiciously, she stood on the empty landing, scowling at Karin´s door. Had sounds from in there interfered with her dream, or had that damn nightmare really been bred in her own mind? Right now all was quiet behind the door which was decorated with a couple of huge Swastikas.

€€€€€

- Are we going to marry on your birthday then, darling? Lars threw both arms around Anna from behind and tickled her persuasively between the ribs.

Spluttering, Anna folded up like a pocket knife with the aroma of his well-known aftershave hitting her nose. She just had time to put the huge bouquet of red roses safely down on the kitchen table. Lars had been away at a course all week, and it was good to have him back home.

- Mum called yesterday. She asked us if we came on Sunday.

- Mm. Is your dad ill again or…? Lars mumbled something she didn´t catch as he buried his face in her brown curls. He let go of her so she could turn around and look up at him. She was glad she had remembered to slip into her new jeans; they didn´t squeeze together that flapping roll of fat above the waistband.

- Mum has talked him into seeing his GP again. And will you stop your despicable behaviour before I pee in my pants. She deliberated how much to tell him because she didn´t want to make a fuss if it was nothing. It was just such a rare thing for her father to get as far as the doctor´s door.

- But all´s well then, isn´t it? Lars laughed, he had had two years to get used to their Jensen speak.

- I suppose so. There were some lab results the doctor wasn´t satisfied with, but I am not sure my mother knew what he meant.

- Perhaps he should stop smoking, athletic Lars suggested.

- Well, but it didn´t sound as if it had anything to do with his lungs.

- That´s the way it always is in your family, Anna. You will beat about the bush instead of facing the music. He slapped her bottom teasingly but promised to go with her home Sunday afternoon.

- I´d better find a vase for these ones, and could you open the red wine? She grabbed the roses on the table, spun around and slipped past him into the living room. She had felt a yes on the tip of her tongue the first time he asked her, but that proposal had come out of the blue. Marriage. And they lived happily ever after. She stroked the velvety petals and stuck her nose into the large bouquet. Roses smelled so intoxicating, almost seductive. Was that why men thought they could buy anything for a bunch of dark red roses?

€€€€€

- Mattias called me, by the way. Anna had just put her knife and fork down and sat swirling the last drops of red wine around in her glass.

- Mattias who… No, not that Mattias?

- Well, yes, but it was just to invite me to our reunion. Will you believe it; next week it´s ten years since we passed our A-levels. It was a bit belatedly they remembered, but they aim for something by the end of August.

- How cheeky of him. You don´t intend to go, do you? Lars threw the last peas into his mouth and wiped the plate with a bit of his baguette.

- I don´t know yet. There are a couple of the other classmates I´d like to meet.

- But I don´t want you to see him again. You bloody well know that he almost wrecked your exams for you!

- Now you are exaggerating a bit. And before or later you have to get on. She wriggled on her chair.

Lars pushed his plate away and put his arms around her. – Anna, I don´t mind you meeting your old class, you know that. Just not Mattias. If I had been there…

- I know, darling, but it happened ten years ago. And now I have you. Anna leant forward and wiped his mouth with her napkin before she kissed him.

- But…

- No buts. I don´t want to hear more about him. She tickled him with the napkin. – Your first night at home, and you think I want to discuss old school flings.

But his voice on the phone had shaken her badly.

To be continued.

Free Cathryn Grant novella

I just noticed that “Fatal Cut”,  a psychological suspense novella written by Cathryn Grant is free on Amazon.com today.

Why not take the opportunity to try something new?

Cathryn Grant is a blog friend of mine, and one of the self-publishers who made me take the plunge. Thank you, Cathryn!

My review.

Katten og kællingen

Smagsprøve på min næste danske novelle

- Han skal bare ikke tro, han sådan kan smide mig ud herfra! Ikke efter fyrre år! Den gamle kone var så gal, at hun spyttede ordene ud, og jeg trak mig uvilkårligt et skridt tilbage. Hun skubbede arrigt til en gryde på komfuret, så gullaschen skvulpede over og fluerne lettede i en sort sky, greb ud efter en grålig karklud og tørrede det værste op. Tre katte kom straks springende til og gav sig hjælpsomt til at fjerne en lille sovsesø fra gulvet.

- Æh, men jeg kan da ikke tro andet end at Svend godt kan forstå….

- Nå, det tror præsten? Han kender nok ikke Svend! Men hvis han bliver her længe, skal han saftsusemig nok blive klogere! Hun tørrede sig om næsen med karkluden, som hun stadig stod med i hånden, før hun smed den fra sig på køkkenbordet mellem flere dages opvask og så sig om i køkkenet med et opgivende udtryk. Et par katte gned sig op ad hendes magre ben uden at lade sig forstyrre af hendes vredesudbrud.

Jeg vidste ikke rigtigt, hvad jeg skulle sige. Kirstine mente åbenbart, at Svend Larsen var parat til at smide hende på gaden fra den ene dag til den anden, og jeg kunne jo ikke vide, hvordan aftalen mellem dem var. Hvis hun havde boet i Svends fodermesterhus i en menneskealder, var der nok aldrig blevet skrevet en juridisk gældende kontrakt. Da Kirstines mand levede og passede Svends dyr, var der jo ingen brug for skriftlige aftaler.

Det var heldigvis ikke min opgave at lege advokat, så jeg foreslog Kirstine, at hun fik fat i sin søn og lod ham prøve at nå frem til en eller anden ordning med Svend.

- Peder? Håh, det skravl, så kan jeg da lige så godt selv ordne mine sager. Kirstines pistne krøller dansede om hovedet på hende, og fluerne lettede igen i forvirringen, og jeg mente, det var klogest at trække mig tilbage, før hun også så sig gal på mig.

Kirstine bemærkede dårligt nok, at jeg gik, og på vej ud af køkkenet kunne jeg høre hende mumle om dengang, hendes mand levede. – Da blev en anden én ikke behandlet som det rene skidt. Man kunne endda blive budt på kaffe på gården af og til, og når Dagmar havde bagt en af sine frugttærter, skulle vi da altid smage… Hendes stemme døde ud, som jeg gik ned ad trappen og hen ad havegangen. Jeg var lige ved at snuble over en lille, sort og hvid kattekilling, som var på vej ind til alle herlighederne i Kirstines køkken. Jeg snuppede den lille vagabond i farten og tog den med hjem under armen.

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Writing news

Two important steps:

First, both “The Cosy Knave” and “The Charity Shop” do amazingly well in the USA. My knave has been on the Kindle top 10,000 a couple of times lately, and I don´t think that is so bad for a debut. And I can see that several customers choose to buy them both.

Second, I have finished a very rough draft of “Anna Märklin´s Family Chronicles”. There is a long way to go, but I hope to be able to publish it around September, probably under a new and shorter title. It is a traditional Scandinavian mystery. Darker and more serious than my Knavesborough universe, but not exactly hard-boiled or fast-paced.

If a couple of you want to assist me by beta-reading it, I would be very grateful.

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Prologue – July 2007.

It was already mid afternoon. Anna fed the washing machine and the tumble dryer again and made up her mind that if she folded her creased canvas trousers very carefully, they would look much better when she fished them out of her bag at her mother´s. A fly in a bottle was what she was. Her waistband told her she had already lost a kilo or two this month, but with everything the way it was, she wasn´t even able to enjoy it. She checked the kitchen wall clock for the umpteenth time within a few minutes. Should she wait until Lars came home so she could cross-examine him about when he had last seen or heard their neighbour? No, she´d rather not. He didn´t like being involved in that kind of thing.

Out in the hall she fumbled for Karin´s spare key. It had its place on one of the last pegs of the coat rack. She had to remove most of their coats before she was able to dig it out because she had been so certain it was hiding behind her grey raincoat. She used to leave the key there, and she had a clear image of her hand with the coat, and the key dangling back and forth against the rack. But she must be mistaken. She put it on the palm of her hand and studied the small metal object while she considered if you were allowed to lock yourself into your neighbour´s flat if you didn´t have some sort of agreement. Was it even legal?

Without a sound she locked herself out of her own flat. She´d better forget all about her mindless excuses; she had to do this. As Karin´s parents didn´t intend to do anything, Anna could not report her neighbour missing without any reasonable grounds. She tapped on Karin´s door a couple of times. She didn´t want their downstairs neighbours to hear her, but it would be too embarrassing to unlock the door and stand there, face to face with a wondering Karin.

No answer. It was as quiet in the flat as on the landing outside. She stuck the key in the hole and turned it around as if she were practicing for the regional championship of burglary. Without considering why, she left the doors wide open behind her while she penetrated Karin´s property.

The living room was nice and tidy apart from the dull sheen of dust and the withering wisps on the windowsill. It was too late to save Karin´s lush pot plants.

The room was a mirror image of Lars and Anna´s living room, and she knew each and every piece of furniture and ornament almost as well as she knew their own stuff. Apart from the huge sofa, Karin´s things were not expensive as she had never been able to hold on to money, but she kept her flat in meticulous order and had a certain style though it did not necessarily coincide with Anna´s taste.

Anna sneaked towards the kitchen step by step, hardly breathing. Karin´s kitchen was much simpler than the living room, functional and without trimmings or knick-knacks; this was just intended as a place where you could produce food. She had planed the floorboards just like in Anna´s kitchen, but she had never got beyond that, she had not even thrown out the ancient terrazzo worktop with the three loose gas jets in cast iron. Karin did not invite guests into her kitchen so it hardly mattered what the room looked like.

Anna kept her eyes on Karin´s spice rack. It hung precisely at her eye level which meant around one hundred and sixty centimetres above the floor. Tiny glass cylinders with basil, cardamom, curry, dill, marjoram, oregano, paprika, thyme, all written in flourishing letters. If you discounted the tall salt and pepper mills in beech wood, Karin´s modest collection of spices were lined up in alphabetical order with uniform army green forage cap screw tops. Anna didn´t know how long she had been breathing through her mouth. She forced herself not to look at the floor.

How on earth could it have come to this? Her brain could not fathom what was down there.

Basil, dill, marjoram, oregano… Anna had to rest her hand on the cold worktop for a moment until her feet understood that she wanted them to turn around and dart out of the flat. Now she had every reason to call the police, but she couldn´t do it in here. Thank God that at least there had been no blood!

Not about crime but here I am…

Now I don´t want to involve you in Danish politics, just inform you that for the first time in several years I have chosen to be politically active for some time because the government threatens with cuts which will hit the sick and the handicapped quite harshly.

Can´t help it, I just had to stick my nose in the wasp´s nest, and when I came up with this poster (a football team metaphor) it was so popular that a Danish handicap organisation asked me if I would add their logo so they could print it. So my little joke is now on its way to our minister for employment.

 

The Gage Project (in aid of children with cancer)

Some time ago I was asked to join a group of writers, editors and illustrators in “The Gage Project”.

It all began because one fourteen-year-old boy suffered from cancer and had to have surgery. Before long, more than forty writers and other artists had volunteered (all friends of his mother who is a writer), and together with Inknbean Press we created “The Gage Project”, an anthology of short stories, poems and art for children.

No one has been paid for their work, and as the profits will go to children with cancer, primarily via Ronald McDonald House, I trust that all my friends will help us spread the word – and perhaps buy a copy or two. I am sure you all know a child or teenager who would appreciate a book.

And for the first time ever, two of my flash fiction stories are in a paper-book

Of course you can also get the book via Amazon, both in paper format and as an e-book.

What I read in April

Well, I probably read more than these two, but they are the ones I remember and want to recommend. Both books were birthday presents from my clever children.

Jørn Lier Horst, Dregs (2011).

The sixth in the Norwegian series about Chief Inspector Wisting, but the first that has been translated into Danish and English. Nice, traditional police procedural.

Jo Nesbø, The Leopard (2011).

There is probably no need to introduce Harry Hole to my faithful readers, but even though I recommend this one for its exciting plot, I´ll have to warn you that this book is not for the faint.