Salander was not at the Vanger estate when Blomkvist and Frode arrived, fifteen minutes later. For a moment, Blomkvist feared she may have had a change of heart and turned around, or worse; maybe she'd wrecked her bike on all of this ice. The latter, he decided, was highly implausible. If anyone could evade death, it was Lisbeth Salander. Blomkvist knew that better than anyone.

Any residual fears Blomkvist may have felt dissipated instantly as he followed Frode up the drive. Only then did he notice Salander, standing off to the side of the estate. She was nearly invisible, dressed all in black. Only the tip of her cigarette could be seen, glowing softly in the snowy haze.

Blomkvist couldn't see her bike anywhere. She must have parked somewhere else.

Frode let out a huff and turned to Blomkvist.

"What's the matter?" Mikael asked, pulling his coat more tightly around himself. His face was going numb.

"Someone moved the key," Frode grumbled.

"What? You don't carry one with you?" Blomkvist asked.

Frode shook his head. "I gave my copy of the key to Cecilia. She's been placed in charge of distributing Henrik's possessions. She and Gunnar spent the evening lugging boxes in and out of the house… I left the key with her, thinking she'd be here when we returned. And then your train was later."

"And then my train was late," Blonkvist sighed. "Well, where's Cecilia?" he asked, rubbing his hands together. He hoped the friction would bring him warmth. His efforts were in vain, though. It was nearly twenty below zero— uncommonly cold, even for Hedestad.

Frode looked conflicted.

"Where is Cecilia?" Blomkvist repeated.

With a sigh, Frode strode back down the drive. "I imagine she's with Harriet," he said. "Follow me."

Blomkvist did as he was told, stepping off of the porch. He couldn't help but feel slightly annoyed with the old man. Blomkvist really had no desire to be in Hedestad in the first place, let alone stand around outside in this weather…

Out of the corner of his eye, Blomkvist saw Salander stamp out her cigarette, and follow them, keeping a safe distance. Mikael lagged back slightly, hoping to walk beside her. Of course, Salander never made things that easy. She dawdled mercilessly, seemingly unaffected by the cold, until Blomkvist felt obligated to hurry and keep up with Frode. He frowned. Of all his unusual interactions with Salander, this was verging on the most absurd. He couldn't understand why she insisted on keeping her distance. Then again, Blomkvist rarely ever understood Salander's actions. He accepted long ago that she was unpredictable.

Still, every once in a while he wished he had some kind of grasp on what went on in her head. Salander rarely talked about herself. She was adamant in her solidarity. She maintained regular contact with very few people. Mikael was not one of them.

Blomkvist felt the familiar stab of jealousy return, as he realized Annika— maybe even Erika— had exchanged more words with Salander in the past year than he had. For someone who fought so vehemently for justice, Salander could be painfully unjust when she wanted to be.

"Where does Harriet live?" Blomkvist asked, finally. He couldn't keep himself from shivering in the frigid headwind.

"Just up the hill. Not much further," Frode said. "Harriet's house was constructed here six months ago," he explained. "We offered her any of the empty houses— God knows there are enough of them— but she said she wanted a place that was entirely her own."

Blomkvist nodded. This he could understand. After enduring so many traumatic events in Hedestad, he was surprised Harriet agreed to live on the island at all.

Blomkvist gazed at his surroundings, barely visible in the midst of the storm. He recognized Isabella Vanger's house, one second-floor light glowing dimly in the night. Blomkvist had read a number of articles that stated a person's outlook on life could control his or her lifespan. The more positive the person, the longer the lifespan. Supposedly. In this sense, it amazed Mikael that Isabelle had outlived Henrik. Never in his life had Blomkvist encountered a colder, or more hateful woman. Her own negligence had nearly cost her daughter her life. Blomkvist wondered if Isabella had said a word to Harriet since her return.

They rounded the corner a moment later. Blomkvist stopped, finding himself in front of a large estate with a grand entry, and at least three floors.

"It's a little extravagant," Frode said, noticing Blomkvist's stare. "But after everything she's been through, we all agreed Harriet should have every luxury."

Blomkvist gave a wordless nod. There was no arguing with that.

Frode rang the doorbell.

Only then did Blomkvist notice Salander standing off to his right. She must have caught up when he wasn't paying attention. He met her eyes, holding her gaze for all of three seconds before the door opened.

"Oh, Frode. I'm sorry. Come in, come in."

Cecilia Vanger stood in the doorway, an apologetic look on her face.

"You must be freezing to death. I can't believe I forgot."

Cecilia ushered her guests through the doorway, taking coats and hats, and apologizing profusely. Frode strode into the foyer and called for Harriet, while Cecilia appraised Blomkvist with her scrutinizing gaze.

"Hello, Mikael," she said. There was an edge to her voice, as always.

"Nice to see you," Blomkvist said, as pleasantly as possible. Of all the woman he had spent time with in recent years, Cecilia Vanger was by far the most complicated. During their brief time together, she had developed an attachment to him. And though she knew, without a shadow of a doubt that she did not want to fall in love, Cecilia Vanger had gone against her better instincts and pursued their relationship until it turned into just that; love. On her part, anyway. Though she knew it was unreasonable, Cecilia resented Blomkvist for making her fall for him. She avoided him like the plague for the duration of his stay in Hedestad, four years before. But now he was back again, looking her square in the face with that same small, but confident smile.

Cecilia Vanger was not happy.

She seemed even less happy to see Salander, whom she greeted with a simple, curt nod. Cecilia had seen her on television, no doubt, as indicated by her general look of suspicion. After months of being called a 'murderer', a 'mad woman', and even a 'lesbian Satanist', many people still had no idea what to make of Lisbeth Salander.

Her name had been cleared only in the most lawful sense of the word.

On many occasions, Blomkvist had likened Salander's very-public defamation to libel, a subject he knew all too well. Unfortunately for Salander, she couldn't exactly sue all of Sweden for their wrongdoing. Not that she would ever want to. Blomkvist vaguely recalled reading somewhere that Lisbeth had flat-out refused all compensation offered for her trauma. She wasn't interested in people's sympathy, even when it came in the form of several thousand kroner.

Cecilia let out a defeated sigh, watching them both as her expression grew stern.

"Follow me then," she said, turning on her heel and leading her guests into Harriet's sitting room.

Cecilia took a seat across from Mikael, skillfully avoiding eye contact. Blomkvist glanced back and forth between her and Lisbeth. He quickly found himself wondering if this were some kind of skill known only to women. It seemed every female in the room was doing a fantastic job at unnecessarily averting her eyes.

Much to Blomkvist's relief, Harriet appeared in the doorway a moment later, a broad smile on her face.

"Mikael!" she said, crossing the floor to meet him. She embraced him quickly, and took his frozen hands in hers. "I didn't know you were coming."

"Frode called me this morning," Blomkvist explained. "He said something about the will…"

Harriet's smile faltered. "Yes, yes," she said, taking a seat. "That will all need to be dealt with eventually. But for now, how about a drink?" Harriet reached for a bottle of wine sitting on the table before her, and promptly poured five glasses.

Harriet sipped her wine, and gave a tight-lipped smile. She looked around the sitting area her eyes finally stopping just right of Blomkvist.

"Froken Salander, isn't it?" she asked, taking another sip of wine.

Salander nodded and took a drink herself. Blomkvist could tell she was uncomfortable. That made two of them…

"Frode spoke highly of your work finding me," Harriet explained. "He said you were an excellent researcher."

"Well she is," Frode chimed in. "The best I've ever seen."

"Well, I'm glad you came all this way," Harriet said, pleasantly. "I know it's quite the trek from Stockholm."

"Especially for Froken Salander," Frode pointed out. "She road a motorcycle all the way here from Lundagatan."

Blomkvist gave Salander a curious look. He knew for a fact that she hadn't occupied her Lundagatan apartment in at least three years. Mikael took comfort in the fact that he knew at least this much about her.

Harriet looked amused. "Did you really?" she asked, sitting forward. "My son Jeff used to ride quite a bit back in Australia."

"Is he still there?" Blomkvist asked. "Your son, I mean. Is he still in Australia?"

"Jeff? Oh yes," Harriet sighed. "I can't say I blame him. He has a life there."

"You had a life there too," Salander said. Her eyes were on the windowpane, watching the snow fall. There was a brief silence. It was the first thing she said since arriving at Harriet's.

"I did," Harriet shrugged. "Now my life is here. Funny how quickly things change." She tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling. "I feel lucky to have left Hedestad for a while. Uncle Henrik never left, and I'm convinced it drove him to his wit's end. He should have gone away with me. I offered to take him to meet my son, but…" Harriet shook her head. She put her glass down. "He never agreed. He was always to busy here. Always too immersed in the family business, even when it wasn't his business to tend to anymore." She looked away, a touch of emotion in her voice.

"Henrik was always very devoted," Blomkvist offered. Harriet and Cecilia both nodded in agreement.

To Blomkvist's surprise, Harriet wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

"Lord help us all now that he's gone," she sniffed. "Everything's on the verge of collapsing."

"Oh, come now, I'm sure it's not that bad," Blomkvist said. "All businesses have their ups and downs. During the Wennerstöm event we thought Millennium was toast, but your uncle swooped in and kept us from crumbling. Opportunities always come around eventually."

Blomkvist knew these words were bullshit, even as he said them. As a financial journalist, he couldn't count the number of times he'd seen businesses sink because opportunities did not come. But Blomkvist liked Harriet Vanger. He hated to see her so distraught. He hoped, for her sake, that the Vanger Company was not in as bad of a condition as she was alluding it to be.

Somewhere in the house, a grandfather clock let out a chime.

"Christ, is it already midnight?" Harriet asked. "I've kept you out late. Let me give you all a ride back to Henrik's. Come on."

"I'll head hope as well," Cecilia announced, getting to her feet. She gave her cousin a quick kiss on the cheek and then disappeared out the back door.

Harriet got up quickly and collected her things. She led the others to her car, parked

in the drive.

The ride home was a somber one. Few words were exchanged. In the dim light, Blomkvist thought he could feel Salander's gaze upon him. But it was too dark to be sure, and he didn't want to turn his head and risk scaring her off again.

Salander had never been one for frivolous living, a fact that had gained irony since she'd come into nearly 2.5 billion kronor in recent years.

At first, the money had been confusing. Having always lead a more-or-less impoverished lifestyle, Salander really had no idea what to do when granted full-access to the late Hans-Erik Wennerstrom's bank account. Her first order of business was purchasing an apartment in Fiskargatar and furnishing it as best as she could. Salander wasn't entirely sure why she did either of those things. It simply seemed right at the time. She didn't regret it. Her old place in Lundagaton was a dump, and it was nice to have a couch to sit on that wasn't torn to shreds. Shortly after her move, though, things slowed considerably. Salander grew bored with spending money and buying things unnecessarily. In time, she found herself reverting back to old behaviors. She wore clothes until they fell apart, and refused to shop until her cupboards were bare. Her only real expense now was cigarettes— she'd switched to a more lavish brand. Aside from that, Salander lived quietly. Her home was large, but many rooms were still empty— left unfurnished. Salander could recall the night Mikael Blomkvist came to visit her after her trail, he had explained to her that during his stay at her apartment, the empty rooms had always puzzled him.

"Must be nice to have more space than you know what to do with," Blomkvist had offered, between bites of bagel. "Or maybe it's just ridiculous."

Salander had only shrugged.

"It's a lovely place, really," Blomkvist had continued. "But I think I would get lonely staying here forever…"

Salander only shrugged again. She liked solitude. It was nice.

Salander liked to be left alone.

The Vanger estate was similar to Lisbeth's Fiskargatan apartment in the sense that it was huge, and largely useless. Following Frode through the house, Salander saw at least five rooms that were left completely vacant, and at least five more devoted entirely to housing boxed furniture, or unappealing artwork, or other such nonsense. Salander was suddenly glad she had empty rooms in her apartment. In her opinion, empty rooms were a lot nicer than rooms full of dusty crap no one cared for.

Salander followed Frode up the stairs to the guest quarters. She itched for a cigarette, but told herself to hold off until she got to her room. Smoking would calm her nerves, and Salander wasn't ready to be calm just yet. She had learned never to trust the Vanger family last time she visited Hedestad. That was not a lesson she would soon forget.

"I'm sorry I can't offer you your previous accommodations," Frode said, as he led Blomkvist and Salander down a long, narrow hallway. "I'm afraid the power in the guest house went out some months ago. I hope I was correct in assuming you would both prefer a place equipped with central heating?"

"You were correct indeed," Blomkvist said, still rubbing his hands together in an attempt to get his blood pumping.

"Good," Frode said. "I think you'll find the guest quarters very accommodating. You'll have an entire wing of the house to yourselves. There are five bedrooms— no, six— so you can each have your pick. The view in the sitting room really is quite lovely. The lake, as you'll remember, is absolutely gorgeous in the winter time."

Blomkvist nodded and stood aside as Frode approached a pair of double doors with a set of keys.

"Here we are," Frode said, pushing the doors open. "Here are your keys," he said, handing the key ring to Salander. "It's passed midnight now, so I'll have to be going. You'll be alone in the house until tomorrow morning when the guests start to arrive. Don't worry, they'll all be staying in a separate wing of the house."

"Thank you," Blomkvist said. "Good night."

"Good night," Frode said. He turned and disappeared down the hall.

Salander stood in the center of the sitting room. She gazed out the frosty window at the dark lake. From this angle, she could just barely make out the cabin she and Blomkvist lived in four years ago. It was dark, of course. Uninhabited since the two of them had shared it, no doubt.

"Alright, so," Blomkvist said, dropping his suitcase beside an adjoining door. "I'll take this room. You can go wherever you like, of course."

Salander nodded, eyes still on the window. She could see Blomkvist's reflection in the glass. He watched her for a moment, then disappeared into his bedroom. Salander stood stalk-still and listened to the wind howl. A boat crossed the lake, spotlight reflected dramatically in the black water.

"Lisbeth."

"Hm?"

Salander turned around to see Blomkvist standing in the doorway, looking confused.

"Is this yours?" he asked. He held out a red glove.

"No." Salander shook her head.

Blomkvist frowned and looked down at the glove, curiously. "I've never seen it before," he said. He held it up to the light, and then, just like that, something square and white tumbled out onto the floor.

Salander stooped down to pick it up.

"A playing card?" Blomkvist asked.

Salander gazed at the rough card stock. Queen of Hearts. She handed the card to Blomkvist.

"Must have grabbed it on accident at Pernilla's," Blomkvist said, though he didn't sound convinced. "Or maybe on the train…" He turned around and headed for his room.

"Wait," Salander said.

Blomkvist raised his eyebrows, expectantly.

"Can I see the card?"

"Sure." He handed it to her.

Salander took the card in her hand, and turned it over so she could see the Queen.

"What is it?" Blomkvist asked, stepping closer.

"Probably nothing," Salander said. "Just something weird."

"Something weird?"

"Look," Salander said. She pointed at the white lining on the edge of the card. A series of faint markings could be seen, as if someone had been writing on a piece of paper, on top of the card.

"What am I looking at?" Blomkvist asked.

"Look closely," Salander said. She ran her finger over the edge of the card. "Whoever owned this thing was writing something."

"Clearly."

Salander looked up at Blomkvist. "In Morse code," she finished. "Again, it's probably nothing."

"Well, now you have me curious," Blomkvist said, following Salander into the kitchen. Salander opened a cabinet, and found a can of soup. She took it gladly and cracked open the lid.

Blomkvist was still examining the card. "This is going to drive me crazy now…" he said, scratching his chin.

Salander put the soup in the microwave. "Of course it will," she said, crossing her arms.

Blomkvist looked up. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, amused.

Salander gave him a half-smile just as the microwave went off. She took her soup and walked out of the kitchen.

"Good night, Mikael," she said.

Inside her room, Salander pulled out her laptop. She checked Hacker Republic only to find she had no new messages. Then she finished her late dinner, undressed, showered, and finally crawled into bed, letting the exhaustion of the day wash over her.

Only then was she struck by the sheer absurdity of the situation. Mikael Blomkvist was just on the other side of her bedroom wall. Even after all this time, it still felt strange to be so close to him, and not have him crawl into bed next to her. Salander lay in the dark for a long time, brooding over this particular train of thought.

In the end, Salander realized that even though they found themselves back in Hedestad— back where everything began— things had changed. Things had changed radically.

Salander found herself wishing that she had kept that damn playing card instead of giving it back to Mikael before bed. It would be nice to puzzle over that mystery instead of agonizing over this bizarre day.