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“Work, damn you, work. WORK!” Lilliana Dawson pounded her fist against the dashboard of her rental before screaming in frustration. “What good’s a GPS if all it does is flash without providing useful information?”
She thumped her finger against the screen; in return, it blinked and then went blank.
“This is a big cock up.” She turned the machine off, let it set for a few seconds, then flipped it back on. It replied with another flash before the screen turned dark. “Bugger off!”
She clasped the steering wheel firmly in her hands. Why hadn’t she written the directions down on her pad? Because you knew you had your mobile. Who knew the battery would die? And that the GPS would go on the fritz?
Surely she was heading in the right direction, though. The map she’d looked up on the Internet last night had given her the instructions she’d followed this morning. If she’d been smart, though, she would have printed out the map. Instead, she’d relied on what could be her sometimes faulty memory and the technology she would have with her.
Her shortsightedness and faith in gadgets had put her in quite a pickle.
“Right,” she snorted. “It’s not my fault I’m in Norway with no idea where I’m heading. I place this problem squarely on Uncle Trenton’s shoulders.”
He was the one, after all, who said he needed papers delivered to a Mrs. Westergard, and that it had to be done by hand. He could have sent one of his clerks, but he’d patted her on the shoulder at a family dinner and basically said since she was jobless, she could do this for him and earn a little bit of money.
The cash would come in handy, but first she had to get through what was turning into a trip from hell. The airline had lost her luggage, and she’d been forced to purchase new clothing the day she’d arrived. It was what she got for checking a bag, but some of the items in there, shampoo and the like, were not allowed in carry-ons, so she’d really had no choice.
“Should have just left all the liquids at home and bought new,” she whispered as she glanced out the window. “Would have been cheaper than buying clothes.”
She could take the blame for that, but the entire trip was definitely Uncle Trenton’s fault. She’d tried to beg off, saying she didn’t have the proper authority to deliver legal papers, since she wasn’t a notary. He’d countered with the fact that the delivery wasn’t for official papers, but a map that they woman had purchased during an auction.
“She trusts me completely and has no problem with you delivering it. As a matter of fact, she was thrilled when she heard your name.”
That information didn’t seem to bother her uncle, but it had thrown Lilliana for a loop. Why would the woman know her name? She’d finally rationalized the argument down to the fact the older woman was glad it was another female coming to her house, which was in the middle of nowhere.
“Of course, if I sit here much longer, the only thing to come out of this trip will be going home in a box after freezing my arse off.” She fiddled with the GPS one more time, getting the same result she had before.
“Just go in the direction you’d been going in,” she said. “There’s a gate to turn into the property. Just keep on the lookout for the gate. And if it’s not the right place, maybe the people you find on the way can tell you where Mrs. Westergard lives.”
She carefully pulled out onto the road, not at all surprised that she hadn’t seen another car for many kilometers. The roads were fairly slick, as there’d been a heavy storm last night. The driving in town hadn’t been bad, but the further away she’d traveled, the worse the conditions had become.
It was time to pick up the pace so she could deliver her parcel and get back to town before the sun went down. It wouldn’t be good to get stuck in the vehicle in these frigid temperatures.
Another ten kilometers passed before she saw a gate. She hit the brakes so hard the car fishtailed and it took all her strength to keep it going in the right direction. When that debacle was solved, she pulled off to the side. Her hands shook and she tried to take even breaths to steady her heart.
“I should have hired someone to bring me out here,” she said as she pulled a u-turn.
A sigh of relief escaped her mouth as she pulled into the private roadway. It was dirt under the snow, and obviously, it hadn’t been kept up very well. The car bounced and rattled as she drove, but she kept going. If this was the right place, she could be in and out in seconds, and then go back to the hotel where it was warm and she could order a large gin and tonic, or two.
The car rounded a corner and a house came into view. “Thank the stars,” Lilliana said as she pulled up beside an SUV. Seeing the larger vehicle reminded her of the clerk at the car rental agency who had suggested just such a vehicle for her. She’d nixed the idea, and was now kicking herself for it.
She parked next to the SUV and picked up her package, determined to knock, deliver and run. After she received the woman’s signature, that is. She needed some sort of proof the item had made it to its destination.
Clutching the package to her chest, she exited the vehicle and hurried up the steps, then knocked on the door long and hard. There was a shuffling noise inside and then the door opened.
An older woman stared at Lilliana, her hand moving in a quick motion that indicated Lilliana should come inside.
“No, really, I’d just like you to examine the map, then sign for it so I can leave.” She thrust the packet at her, but the woman took a step back.
“Come in, come in. You must be Lilliana. We have much to do, so don’t dawdle, child. Come in and have a seat in my very special chair.”
Great, just what she needed; someone who thought she was here to visit for the entire afternoon. “Thanks for the offer, but I must beg off. If you’ll just sign, then I’ll—oh!”
Mrs. Westergard grabbed her arm and pulled her inside the house, slamming the door behind her and shooting home a bolt. For a woman her age, she had a lot of strength behind her.
“I can’t stay.” Her hostess scurried across the room, effectively ignoring Lilliana. “Damnit,” Lilliana whispered. Why could nothing be simple?
“Mrs. Westergard?” If she stayed where she was, maybe the woman would get the message that Lilliana didn’t want to dawdle. But when the woman didn’t reappear, she decided a tougher stance was needed. “I just need a signature and then I’m off.”
There was a lingering silence, and then Lilliana heard…humming. A soft, female voice sounding as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
“Crap on toast,” she whispered, shaking her head. She could stand here and wait, or she could go after the woman, stick the papers in her face and demand a signature, and then she could leave.
Lilliana strode across the floor, the sound of her boot heels clicking against the wood floor. She approached the doorway through which Mrs. Westergard had vanished, and stopped. The woman was at a table, filling a plate with food.
Meatballs, cabbage, potatoes…the fare looked heavenly and smelled even better.
“You can put your coat over in that corner.” Mrs. Westergard indicated a chair against the wall. “Then come and have something to eat, please.”
The urge to say no, thank you, was strong. But the smell made her stomach grumble, and truthfully, the idea of getting back out on the road wasn’t something she was thrilled about. However, the longer she waited to leave, the worse the conditions would get.
“Can we take care of business first?” She wiggled the packet. “You look at the map, sign and then…I’ll eat.”
“Eat first.” Mrs. Westergard held out a plate piled high with food, and Lilliana felt as if the woman were someone’s grandmother, eager to please with her culinary skills.
“Oh, fine.” She put the packet under her chin and held it in place by tipping her head down as she took off her coat, tossing it, and the envelope, onto the indicated chair. “Promise me, though, that you’ll sign pretty quick. I don’t want to get caught up on the roads too late at night.”
“You won’t.” She held out the plate once more.
The food looked delicious. Lilliana took the proffered plate and fork and speared a meatball, taking a huge bite of it. She mumbled her appreciation around the food.
She swallowed, then said, “Delicious.”
“My son always says so. This is his favorite thing.”
Here’s hoping she’s not keeping me around to meet her son. Unless he’s a strapping Viking. Then I’ll take a quick shag before I go. —No! No! No! Your wild days are over. Stop thinking like that.
“Does your son live with you?” Lilliana put another meatball in her mouth.
“Not anymore.” Mrs. Westergard sat down and folded her hands in her lap.
Lilliana frowned. “Aren’t you eating?”
“No, I’m not hungry.”
Lilliana cast a glance at the table where every surface was filled with a dish of food. Strange her hostess would cook so much food for one person. Unless someone else was on their way. Like the woman’s single son.
She took another meatball, then set down her plate. She picked up the packet and waved it gently. “Your map, Mrs. Westergard. Would you like to examine it before you confirm delivery?”
“No need.”
That was a shocker. If she didn’t want to examine it, why couldn’t the map have been placed in the post? “You sure?”
“Positive.” There was her sweet smile again, as if she were someone’s grandmother. Either that or she was a really good actress who was actually a serial killer and used things like delivering maps to lure people into her web. If that were the case, at least her uncle knew where she was and expected her to check in with him tonight to make sure everything went according to plan. If she failed to call, he would ring Mrs. Westergard to see what was what.
The silence in the room was a little oppressive. Lilliana cleared her throat as she toyed with a meatball on her plate.
“Do you collect maps? Or is the artifact going to lead you somewhere?”
For a moment, Lilliana thought the woman wouldn’t answer her. And then she nodded. “It leads somewhere, yes; a place that will hopefully…” Mrs. Westergard turned her head toward the huge window that dominated the far side of the room. “Are you familiar with Scandinavian folklore?”
“No, I’m not.” Lilliana ate the meatball she’d been rolling around. They really were delicious. “Is there a fairy tale about treasure? Is that where the map leads?”
“There are different kinds of treasure.”
“Yeah, but the gold kind’s the best,” Lilliana said, putting down her fork on the plate, which set on the table. “It’s getting late. If you’ll just sign this—”
“King Gunnmarr had three sons.”
Confusion shot through Lilliana at the woman’s words. “Excuse me? Oh, wait, you mean in the fairy tale? Three sons, okay. Listen, I’ll just pull out this sheet and—”
“Rugoff, Benedikt and Egill. All three are very different. Rugoff is kind and gentle, and very eager to please people. Benedikt is a scholar, always looking for ways to fill his mind with knowledge. This will help.”
The first guy sounded okay, but for the second one, Lilliana pictured a tall, thin man with wire-frame glasses and a book in his hand. Of course, this was a fairy tale, so she should nix the glasses, she supposed. “And the last one? Egill?”
“A warrior, always ready to do battle.”
“Does this map have something to do with the story?” She waved the packet, hoping once again to get the woman’s mind back on the business at hand.
“Yes, it does. Benedikt will be able to decipher it; he will be able to lead the way.”
A chill settled in the pit of Lilliana’s stomach. She’d said he “will be” able to decipher it, not that “he could.” If someone were telling a story it would be in the past tense, wouldn’t it? Something told her Mrs. Westergard wasn’t in complete control of her faculties. Did her uncle know that? Was he this woman’s solicitor just for the map transaction, or was there something more to it than that?
If he represented her in all matters, he needed to know that his client wasn’t entirely stable.
“Are you sure you don’t want something to eat?” Lilliana asked as she put the packet down on the nearest chair—a gnarly looking one that looked very uncomfortable. It seemed to be carved from the trunk of a tree. “Maybe I could fix you a spot of tea? Would you like that?”
“They were all banished by the witch, and the time has now come to bring them back to the light. You’ll know what to do.”
Oh yes, she knew what to do. Her uncle had made sure her cell phone would work internationally, and she needed to pull it out and give him a ring. But she didn’t need to do it in front of her hostess. “Tea it is, then.” Lilliana muttered and looked around. She was eager to get back to town, yes, but she couldn’t leave this sweet woman by herself when she was obviously having a break from reality. “Is the kitchen that way?”
“No tea.” Mrs. Westergard shook her head and Lilliana clicked her teeth together. It was a habit her mother had long berated her for, and something she did a lot when she was nervous. If she couldn’t get away from this woman to call then maybe she could text him. Would that function work out here? Only one way to find out.
Lilliana grasped her purse, then picked up the packet she’d brought and sat down in the chair.
“No!” Mrs. Westergard leapt toward her and Lilliana shrieked as the air around her seemed to shimmer. “Not yet! I have more to tell you. It’s not time!”
Lilliana felt as if she were on an amusement park ride gone wrong. Her stomach lurched, a nauseous feeling spread through her as the bottom of the chair seemed to cave in and she fell.
“No!” Mrs. Westergard’s voice sounded as if she were speaking from inside a well. Either that or Lilliana was the one inside the well. She tried to grasp the wood, to end the sinking feeling that intensified with each passing second. But the chair was no longer there. Nothing was there. Fear gripped her, wrapped around her heart and squeezed, made her feel as if it had stopped beating.
She tried to catch her breath as she continued to flail out, looking for something to grab onto. But nothing was there, except open air that seemed to whiz past her as she fell.
And fell.
And fell.
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