Hidden in Snow (The ?re Murders, #1)(47)

47

The wind snatches at Hanna as she finds her way to the restaurant where she is meeting Karro. She hopes the snowplow will do its job before she goes back to Lydia’s house; it is snowing so heavily that she can barely see her hand in front of her face.

Supper is an old red-painted hunting lodge between the square and the train station. When she opens the door, she is met by a festive atmosphere and the hum of conversation. The place is packed, even though it’s a Sunday.

“Hi,” says a girl with a ponytail who appears to be the ma?tre d’. She smiles warmly. “Have you booked a table?”

Hanna realizes that she doesn’t know in whose name the booking was made, but then Karro appears. Gone are the cap and the shabby jacket from the search party. Her honey-blond hair has been carefully blow dried and curled, and she is wearing a leopard-print blouse with a generous décolletage.

“She’s with us,” Karro says, leading Hanna upstairs to a corner table where two other girls are already seated. Malin has long hair with blond streaks, and she is wearing a sparkly top. Jenny’s arms are festooned with bangles, complementing her boatneck black top with trumpet sleeves.

Hanna, who is in her usual jeans teamed with a white shirt, immediately feels underdressed.

“Let’s get this party started,” Karro calls, beckoning over the waitress.

Hanna drove the car here. She can’t afford a cab and doesn’t want to spend too much on booze. However, she should be able to manage one drink if she sticks to water afterward.

“Four mojitos,” Karro decides.

The dark-haired waitress takes down their order with a smile on her lips; she tends to say “Fantastic” with unnecessary frequency. Hanna counts four times before she moves on.

“Make them strong,” Karro adds with a wink.

Hanna looks around.

It’s a big restaurant with space for plenty of people. The upper floor is divided into two areas—a long bar with lots of room to hang out, and on the other side there is a long table with tall stools. Behind the table is the kitchen, where the cooks can be seen preparing the food.

The place is noisy and full, with South American dance music playing in the background.

Hanna manages a smile and tries to get in the party mood. Christian is not going to ruin this evening.

The waitress returns with their cocktails. Straws, ice, and bright-green mint leaves adorn the tall glasses.

“We usually let the kitchen put together the menu,”

Karro informs Hanna. “They know what’s best on the night.”

Hanna nods as if this is an excellent idea.

She just hopes it won’t be too expensive.

They clink glasses, and the mojitos are every bit as delicious as they look. Hanna’s shoulders relax a fraction.

She’ll worry about the tab tomorrow; these girls don’t seem the kind to go crazy. She needs this.

Karro describes at length how she and Hanna met during the search for Amanda. She makes it sound as if they were out on some kind of adventure.

“It’s just terrible,” Malin says with a sigh, tossing her hair. “Hard to believe that something like this can happen in a place like ?re.”

The waitress is back with another tray, and begins to set out the food. Prawn tacos, ceviche, and grilled corn on the cob. It looks wonderful. Hanna reaches for a couple of sweet-potato fries dusted with Parmesan. They both smell and taste amazing, and she helps herself to a few more.

Jenny leans across the table. Her lipstick is a pretty shade of dark pink, but the plumpness of her top lip seems unnatural to Hanna. She can’t help wondering if Jenny has had some kind of filler. You see it all the time in Stockholm, but she’d thought it was a big-city phenomenon.

“I really hope they find the person who did it,” Jenny says. “I’m almost scared to go out.”

Karro gives Hanna a little nudge. “You’re a cop—what’s your theory?”

Hanna is embarrassed. She wishes Karro hadn’t mentioned her profession; she has no desire to explain her current circumstances.

“Who do you think murdered Amanda?” Karro persists.

Hanna picks up the dish of prawn tacos and passes it around as a distraction, but to no avail.

“I’m only here for a few weeks,” she says dismissively.

“What exactly do you do in Stockholm?” Malin has no idea how much this question hurts. Hanna’s throat tightens; she pretends to have a coughing fit and hides her face in her napkin.

“Have some water,” Karro says, handing her a glass.

Hanna drinks gratefully and hopes they will change the subject, but Malin won’t let it go.

“What do you work on?”

“I deal with . . . domestic abuse,” Hanna replies quietly.

She uses the present tense even though they don’t want her there anymore. It’s too hard to use the past tense.

“Wow,” Jenny says. “That sounds tough.”

Hanna tries to come up with a suitable response. The truth can destroy the best of atmospheres—she’s been there before.

During her seven years with the City Police she has seen most things, from sexual harassment to rape or serious violence within a marriage. She can’t talk about the heartrending murder of Josefin; the very thought causes her anguish.