Thank you guys so much for your feedback. Really helps me to keep going. I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far and I PROMISE next chapter there will be some legitimate story progression. There are only so many scenes you can set on the drive to Hedestad, after all. : )

~TruthIsOutThere

Two conflicting transportation schedules, three luggage mishaps, and a minor medical emergency all contributed to Mikael Blomkvist's train arriving in Hedestad almost two hours later than expected.

Blomkvist peered out his window as the train rolled into the station. He grabbed his coat and hat from the empty seat beside him. From the looks of it, the temperature on Hedeby Island had definitely dropped below zero. He shivered at the thought, and collected his things, hastily. The sooner he got to the Vanger Estate the better.

Waiting for him in the station was a rather impatient looking Dirch Frode, dressed appropriately in a heavy coat and knit scarf that made him look positively friendly. Blomkvist knew better, of course. Still, he greeted Frode diplomatically, and following him to his car in the parking lot.

"I hope your trip was pleasant," Frode said, as he pulled out of the lot.

"Pleasant but long," Blomkvist replied. "Mind if I turn on the heat?"

"Be my guest," Frode said. He gave a little cough into his closed fist. "All this cold is unhealthy. I'm convinced it was this monstrous winter that finally drove Henrik over the edge." He shook his head.

"He passed of natural causes then?" Blomkvist asked. "At least it wasn't anything painful."

"Painful?" Frode asked. "Maybe not. But I'm afraid Herr Vanger did indeed have his fair share of hard times leading up to the end."

"How so?" Blomkvist asked, curiously. He shifted around in his seat.

"Oh well…" Frode breathed. "The poor man lost his mind! It was tragic really. One day he'd be… livid. So alive." Frode's eyes gleamed at the mere memory. "The next day he wouldn't remember his own name." He shook his head, and Blomkvist wondered if Frode might still be mourning his oldest client and friend.

"How long has he been dead?" Blomkvist asked.

"Three days," Frode said, with a curt nod. "The family is in a state of absolute turmoil. It seems no one knows what to do anymore…"

"How do you mean?" Blomkvist frowned.

"Well, no matter how loathsome and beaten down he may have found his own relatives, Henrik Vanger was always the patriarch of the family," Frode explained. "Even those who hated him had a degree of respect for the man. Either he had the job they wanted, or he had the job they didn't want. Either way, he was the most functional Vanger of all, and being functional commands a degree of respect."

Blomkvist nodded slowly.

"Now that he's dead people don't know what to do with themselves," Frode reiterated.

"Well, I'd assume they would simply carry on with their lives," Blomkvist said.

"Under normal circumstances I would agree…" Frode said. "But you're forgetting that the Vanger family is less of a family, and more of a business."

"But Henrik stepped down years ago," Blomkvist argued.

"That may be true," Frode said. "But it doesn't change that fact that Henrik was always a sort of… figurehead for the Vanger Company. Even when Martin was in charge—" he spat out Martin Vanger's name, as if it were poisonous. "People always looked to Henrik. He was a great leader— a great man. He accomplished things in his lifetime others could only dream of. When he stepped down as CEO the only thing that really changed was the he no longer had to sign paperwork. People still came to him for big decisions, and they continued to do that after Harriet was appointed as CEO, and right up until his death."

There was a brief silence as they crossed the bridge.

"I'm sure things will straighten out given time." Blomkvist shrugged.

"Of course," Frode explained. "But do we have the time?" he asked. "This is a temperamental economy, Herr Blomkvist, as I'm sure you know." He shook his head. "This is no time to be fiscally irresponsible."

"Harriet's CEO now," Blomkvist reasoned. "She's quite smart— very competent."

"Yes, of course," Frode nodded. "But she also disappeared for forty years."

"With good reason," Blomkvist pressed.

"With good reason indeed," Frode said. "She has my complete sympathy. She has your complete sympathy. But you can't expect the detestable Vanger's to sympathize with anyone. The truth of the matter is; she's not trusted. In the wake of Henrik's death, people are scared for their finances— scared for their livelihood. No one is willing to put their faith in an unreliable girl who hid herself away from the family and the business for forty years— good reason or not."

Blomkvist tried to think of an adequate argument for Harriet's sake. He knew the woman well. He'd spent a considerably amount of time with her since he had first found her in Australia four years before. Harriet had adjusted to family life well. She was incredibly intelligent, and a born leader. Blomkvist had no doubt in his mind that she was the right person to run the Vanger Company. A person would have to be exceptionally ignorant— or possibly blind— not to see that. Blomkvist frowned and gazed out the window, as they passed Susanne's Bridge Café.

That's when he saw it.

"Frode, pull over, would you?"

"Lord, did you see another broken down car?" Dirch asked, shaking his head. "I had to drive four families across the bridge during the two hours I waited for you, alone. This is no weather for cars, and no weather for people."

"No, no, it's not that. Just… pull over."

"Alright," Frode said, with a tiny shrug. He stopped the car by the side of the road. Blomkvist opened his door.

"W— Where are you going?" Frode asked, over the howling wind.

"The café," Blomkvist shouted back. "I thought I saw someone I know."

He slammed the door and jogged over to tiny parking lot in front of Susanne's.

The only vehicle parked in the desolate lot was a Honda CB350. Blomkvist brushed his hand across the deep black veneer. He shook his head in disbelief.

This was Lisbeth's bike.

Blomkvist ran into the café, glancing around, frantically.

"Oh, hello, Mikael," Susanne said. She stood behind the counter, polishing a collection of empty teacups. "Haven't seen you in a while. Have you come for Henrik's funeral?"

Blomkvist, heart pounding, gave a quick nod, and looked around himself. The café was empty.

"I was just about to close up," Susanne said, following his gaze around the room.

"Great… Listen…" Blomkvist rubbed the back of his head. "You didn't see a girl come through here did you?"

"Through here?" Susanne asked. "I see girls come through here all day, Mikael. Care to be more specific?"

"It would have been recently," Blomkvist said. He could deduce that alone from the small amount that had collected on Salander's bike. "You know the woman. Small. Piercings."

"Oh, your girlfriend." Susanne got a nasty look on her face. She— like many others in Hedestad— had approved of Blomkvist straight up until he took Lisbeth in. From then on he was seen as another deranged sex-fiend living with a woman half-his-age.

"Lisbeth," Blomkvist corrected her. "Has she come through here?"

"Yeah, actually," Susanne said. "She was my final customer for the day. She came in here ten minutes ago. Bought a pack of cigarettes, and a coffee to go."

Blomkvist felt his heart accelerate even faster. "Do you know where she went?"

Susanne craned her neck to see out the large, glass windows on the south wall of the café.

"Out there somewhere," she said, nodding in the direction of the woods. "I saw her smoking by that window for a few minutes. Then she disappeared. I figured she probably went for a walk, though I don't know why anyone would want to in this weather." Susanne shivered.

"Brilliant," Blomkvist breathed, pulling his coat closer around himself. He pushed the door open and ventured back out into the frigid air, shouting thanks over his shoulder.

Salander jammed her hands in her pockets and stubbed out her cigarette. She turned around to make the trek back up the hill to her bike. It was getting dark out. If she waited any longer she ran the risk of getting lost out here. Having already seen her fair share of horrifying things on Hedeby Island, Lisbeth had no real interest in sticking around to see what came out after dark.

It was at the top of the hill that she saw him, silhouetted against the purple sky. She would have walked right into him, had she not looked up at the exact right second.

"Goddamn, you walk fast," he said, his breath a plume of steam in the freezing air.

Salander stared at him, startled and partially horrified.

"Didn't get my message then?" Blomkvist asked, holding up mobile.

"I got them," Salander said. "I'm here."

"Yes, but I suppose you didn't care to let me know you were coming."

"I don't report to you," Salander said. She pushed passed him, her head down.

Blomkvist let out a sigh of frustration.

"Lisbeth!" he called, jogging to keep up with her. He caught her arm, and she promptly flinched away. "Lisbeth," he panted. "At least let me drive you the rest of the way."

"I have my own means of transportation," Salander said, without looking at him.

"The roads are frozen," Blomkvist argued. Salander started walking away again. "Lisbeth!" Blomkvist called. "Lisbeth!"

"What do you want?" Salander said, finally, stopping in the middle of the parking lot.

"Listen, Lisbeth," Blomkvist began. "I'm mad at you, if that's what you think."

"I'm not mad at you, either," Salander said, staring fixatedly at the road behind him. "I have to go." She started off again, when he caught her shoulder. She stood, frozen. He slowly retracted his hand.

"What?" Salander asked, her back to him.

"I—" Blomkvist began. He seemed to be searching for the right words. "I… hope you enjoyed your trip."

The sound of footsteps caught both of their attention.

"Ah! Froken Salander!" Dirch Frode called out. "I see you've chosen to join us. Fantastic. Would you like a ride up to the estate?"

"I've got it," Salander said, quickly. She passed Frode, briskly, swung her leg over her bike, put on her helmet, and allowed herself one, quick look at Blomkvist before she rode away. She could sense them staring at her as she left, and looked away, pointedly, avoiding their bewildered gazes.

Salander knew she would have to do better next time. There would be no avoiding Blomkvist at the Vanger estate.

Plus, she thought. Do I really want to avoid him?

Salander wasn't sure. The one thing she was sure of was that Blomkvist was right— the roads were icy. She focused all her energy on driving, and left the rest behind.