Hidden in Snow (The ?re Murders, #1)(31)

Every hour is critical.

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Amanda is lying on the bed, her eyes fixed on the glow as the last of the logs burns down.

Now there is nothing else to make a fire with.

She is freezing cold.

She has already used everything she could find, stained old comic books and the threadbare rug. She dare not shove the mattresses into the stove; she’s afraid they are so flammable that the whole cabin would catch fire. The risk is too great.

How long has she been locked up?

It is impossible to say, she just knows that her hunger has gone away. She is thirsty, though.

Why is she here? Why hasn’t anyone come to rescue her?

Soon the glow will fade and die. Then she will be alone in the darkness.

She is more afraid of the dark than the cold.

With the last of her strength, she drags herself over to the window. Everything is black and desolate; there isn’t a soul in sight. Should she try to get out that way?

It is pointless—barefoot and without clothes, she will freeze to death in a few short hours. She doesn’t even know if she’d be able to crawl under the bar across the pane.

She finds a rusty fork on the table and scratches her name on the window frame, right next to the glass.

She wants to write more, that she is alone and locked in, that she needs help, but she doesn’t have the energy.

Instead she crawls back to the bed and curls up under the thin coverlet and the mattress from the top bunk, which she pulled down for extra warmth. There is nothing else.

Mommy, she thinks again, wondering if they are searching for her.

Surely someone should be out there looking? It must be many hours since she disappeared.

Or is that an illusion too?

She no longer knows what is a dream and what is reality.

She doesn’t want to die like this.

All alone.

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30

When Hanna parks Lydia’s Mitsubishi on the drive behind the house, she is still frozen stiff after the search with Missing People.

The short time in the car hasn’t warmed her up, and she isn’t used to the cold. Up here it gets right into your bones, freezing your body from the inside. It’s dangerous if you’re not wearing the right clothes.

She unlocks the door and goes straight into the kitchen, takes out cocoa, milk, and sugar. Her body longs for something sweet and comforting; a cup of hot chocolate is exactly what she needs.

As she stands at the stove, stirring the mixture, the aroma evokes a different kitchen in another house in ?re, twenty-five years ago.

The house they used to rent during the February break when she was growing up.

She sees her mother whisking cocoa, milk, and sugar in a pan. Hanna is sitting at the table, waiting. How old was she then? Eight or nine, maybe?

There is a plate of freshly baked cinnamon buns in the middle of the table. They smell amazing, but Hanna doesn’t dare take one without permission. She and Daddy have been out skiing; she is happy and in a good mood. He told her she had real talent, and that she was better than Lydia had been at the same age.

The praise makes her proud; she feels grown up and clever as she sits there resting her chin on her hands.

Everything changes when she spills chocolate on her expensive new ski suit. Her stomach contracts. She is afraid of doing the wrong thing; Mommy told her to be careful. She can’t move, not even to wipe away the spot.

Mommy’s face darkens as soon as she sees what has happened. She sighs in that special way, the way that kills the atmosphere in a second. Then she doesn’t say a word all evening, as if everything has been ruined.

Her father didn’t speak up in Hanna’s defense. He let her mother’s feelings destroy their special day, just as he always let her mood swings dictate family life.

Hanna pours the chocolate into a mug and drops the pan into the sink with such force that the small amount of liquid remaining splashes up and scalds her.

Her father has never gone against her mother. When Ulla finds out about the situation with Christian, she will go on and on about it until Hanna falls apart. And her father will do nothing to stop it.

She can’t think about her parents anymore. At this time of day, they will probably be relaxing by the pool, enjoying the day’s first glass of rosé.

Hanna forces herself to think about something else as she sips her chocolate. After the search, Karro had asked if she wanted to go for coffee. She seemed kind, the sort of person who wants everyone to be okay. Hanna remembers what Karro told her about Amanda, her father, and her boyfriend.

When they returned to the square to report back, Karro pointed out Harald Halvorssen. He was standing with his dog, talking to two men. He had a tortured expression on his face.

Hanna moves to the table and opens her laptop. She wants to know more about Harald and his family. Maybe this will dispel her own dark thoughts. She googles the name, which brings up several images. Harald is smiling in every one, his blue eyes are striking. The surname sounds Norwegian. Quite right—his father comes from Trondheim, but Harald grew up in J?rpen with his Swedish mother and a younger brother.

Hanna reads everything she can find.

He has been a member of the Center Party throughout his adult life, active in the local youth federation, and he has always lived in J?mtland except for a few years when he studied economics at the University of Ume?. Married to Lena, his childhood sweetheart. Amanda is the eldest of three children. Harald has done a lot of cross-country skiing —he even competed for a while—and of course he owns a snowmobile like everyone else in this part of the country.