Sorry for the delay posting this chapter. I was a little busy over New Year's but now I am back! Thank you all for all the favorites and especially the reviews! I know I've said this before, but I'll say it again; they really do motivate me to write. So thank you! Hope you enjoy. : )
~TruthIsOutThere
Blomkvist awoke to the sound of scratching. He opened his eyes slowly, alarmed by how bright the room was. He had fallen asleep with the windows open, he realized. Compared to his softly lit apartment in Bellmansgatan, this place was blinding.
Blomkvist got to his feet, stretching. He felt stiff and exhausted, like he hadn't slept long enough. The clock on his bedside table said seven 'o' clock.
No wonder, Blomkvist thought, shuffling over to the window and pulling the curtains closed. Only then did the scratching sound catch his attention again.
Blomkvist turned around swiftly to see a small dog standing beside his bedroom door. He nearly jumped in surprise. Had Henrik owned a dog? He couldn't remember, but he didn't think so.
Blomkvist grabbed his jacket from beside the bed, and walked over to the door. He pushed it open gently, and watched the little dog scamper out into the sitting room.
Blomkvist gazed at his surroundings. What he saw before him took him by surprise. Salander lay on the couch with her back facing him— a surprisingly sedentary position for her. She flipped through the channels, lazily, looking utterly… normal.
Blomkvist stared on, slightly bewildered. In all the time he'd known her, he couldn't ever recall seeing Salander so… casual. She was always immersed in something. A project. A strategy. A way around a prison sentence. She made this seem strange by comparison.
"Morning," Blomkvist said, finally. He walked over to the kitchen. "Is there any coffee?"
Evoking no response, Blomkvist looked up to find the person lying on the couch was not Salander at all, but a girl, no older than fourteen. The girl stared at him, wordlessly, her eyes wide as saucers. She looked just as startled as Blomkvist felt. Her mouth hung agape. Her jaw quivered. She looked as if she were on the verge of explaining herself, but all she could muster up was an embarrassed, "Sorry." Then she reached down, scooped up the small dog sitting beside the couch, and fled the room, without turning the television off.
Blomkvist stood motionless for several moments, trying to work out what just happened. He could recall Frode mentioning something about other guests coming to stay at the Vanger Estate, but Blomkvist couldn't imagine anyone would make it here so early. Besides, hadn't Frode also mentioned that the other guests would have their own wing of the house?
Blomkvist heard voices out in the hallway. He stepped closer to the door, listening intently.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you he was staying here. It completely slipped my mind."
"It's fine, it's fine," the girl's voice replied.
"If you'd like, you can stay in the west wing until the guests arrive. Then we can find somewhere more suitable for you to go."
"I'll just go home."
"You could go to Harriet's. I'm sure she wouldn't mind."
"Maybe," the girl said.
"Do come to dinner tonight, won't you?"
"Will anyone want me there?"
"Henrik would have."
"I don't know Henrik."
"But he would have liked to help you. I'm sure of it."
Blomkvist heard the sound of footsteps fading down the hallway. He frowned, then winced at the sound of a door slamming.
A moment later, someone knocked.
Blomkvist opened the door to find Dirch Frode standing in the hall, looking distraught.
"I'm sorry to bother you so early," Frode said.
"I'm surprised you're awake," Blomkvist remarked.
"I've been helping Cecilia with funeral arrangements," Frode explained.
"Ah."
"Mind if I come in?"
"Be my guest." Blomkvist stepped aside to let the old man into the sitting room. "I'm sorry I can't offer you any coffee. It's not done yet."
Frode waved him off. "Don't worry yourself. I'm only here because I heard you ran into Nadia."
Blomkvist nodded, and put some coffee on. "Yeah, yeah. She was here watching television here when I woke up."
Frode nodded. "Nadia spends a considerable amount of time up here these days," he explained. "It seems I neglected to tell her about your stay."
Blomkvist frowned. "It's no trouble," he said. "But if you don't mind my asking; who is Nadia, exactly?"
Frode let out a sigh of resignation. He took a seat on the couch.
"Nadia is Isabella Vanger's grand niece," he began. "I take it you haven't forgotten Isabella?"
Blomkvist shook his head. "She's not particularly forgettable," he admitted.
"Or particularly agreeable," Frode added.
Blomkvist raised his eyebrows. "I'm glad I'm not alone in thinking that."
"You most certainly are not," Frode said, with a huff. "As I'm sure you know, Isabella has never been among the more preferable Vanger's— if you consider any of them preferable, that is. Lately, her reputation seems to have deteriorated even further, if you can believe that."
"Because of Harriet's return?" Blomkvist asked. He wasn't sure if the truth surrounding Harriet's disappearance had even been fully disclosed to her family, but if it had, Blomkvist wouldn't be surprised to see someone like Isabella completely ostracized for her participation— or lack thereof— in the entire ordeal. Then again, Blomkvist also wouldn't have been surprised to hear the family had simply turned the other cheek. It was hard to tell with the Vangers, as they were, indeed, a generally loathsome and unpredictable bunch.
Frode shook his head. "No. Isabella's recent unpopularity actually has nothing to do with her daughter," he said. "It's all about Nadia."
Blomkvist nodded. "Why is she here?" Blomkvist asked. "Nadia, I mean." He noticed the coffee was ready, and poured two cups, offering one to Frode and making sure to save some for Lisbeth, whenever she woke up.
Frode decline the coffee, holding out his hands. "My heart," he said, patting his chest lightly. "I've been advised by my doctor to stay away from caffeine."
"That sounds difficult," Blomkvist said.
"It is," Frode chuckled. "It's made winter all the more unbearable." He shook his head. "Anyway, Nadia."
Blomkvist took a sip of coffee and nodded. "Nadia," he confirmed.
Frode cleared his throat, and sat forward. "I should preface this story by telling you; it's not particularly pleasant."
Blomkvist nodded. "Well, I've heard plenty of unpleasant stories in Hedeby."
Frode raised his eyebrows. "Yes, indeed, you have," he breathed. "You can take comfort in knowing this one doesn't include any aggravation or torture by the hand of a Vanger."
Well, this certainly is new, Blomkvist thought, though he didn't say it aloud. He only nodded and let Frode to continue.
"Nadia and her older brother, Julien, are the only grandchildren of Isabella's recently-deceased sister, Anna," Frode began. "Anna married young. She was probably no more than seventeen at the time. Her husband, a man called Lars Amundsen, lived in Kristiansand, so they settled there. Isabella stopped speaking to her sister during this time. The circumstances surrounding their falling out remain a mystery, but I'm sure it had something to do with Isabella's all-around disagreeable personality."
Blomkvist nodded.
"Anyway," Frode sighed. "Shortly after moving to Norway, Lars and Anna had their son, Magnus. Unfortunately, one morning Magnus woke up with a cough. Forty-eight hours later, he was dead. Bacterial meningitis. Quick killer. It devastated the family."
"I can imagine," Blomkvist said.
"Yes. It was quite traumatic," Frode agreed. "It was several years before Lars and Anna had their second child. A girl called Sofia. During this time that Anna and Isabella patched up their relationship. For a couple of years, Anna would send Sofia to Hedestad for a few weeks during the summer. I've never met a child more spoiled and pampered by her mother. She had every possible material possession under the sun. But she was never conceited. No. Sofia was always a very pleasant, good-natured child. Everyone liked having her around. Henrik always kept a close eye on her, as she was staying with Isabella, who he never trusted. But even while she lived with that vial woman, Sofia always seemed remarkably well-adjusted."
Blomkvist frowned. "I don't remember hearing about any of this when I was writing Henrik's memoir."
Frode looked out the window at the lake, already bustling with people out fishing and sailing for the day. "No," he sighed. "You wouldn't have. This was all after Harriet's disappearance. And like I said, it was only for a few summers."
Blomkvist nodded slowly.
"Eventually Isabella and Anna had another falling out. Sofia went back to Norway in August of 1984, and we never saw her again after that."
Blomkvist nodded.
"Anna's facet of the family completely isolated themselves after that. Isabella refused to speak of her sister, brother-in-law, or niece. She pretended they didn't exist, and eventually we were all forced to do the same."
Another nod from Blomkvist.
"Anyway, about three years ago, Isabella learned her sister had died of a stroke. She was seventy-eight years old. She had a long life. Of course, Isabella never spoke of this. Partially because she was still pretending her sister didn't exist, and partially because she was pretending no one else on the island existed, either!" Frode chuckled. Then his face became somber. "Ah. Then about two months ago, Isabella got a call she couldn't ignore. Sofia and her husband were killed in a shooting at a supermarket in West Kristiansand. Nadia's older brother Julien, and his partner, a man called Nordhamm, tried to obtain legal custody of the girl, but both men work as artists, and make a very yearly income. The state ruled that it would be best for Nadia to live with her next closest relative."
"Isabella?" Blomkvist guessed.
"Exactly." Frode gave a sad-looking nod. "It seems poor Nadia is not as quick to adapt as her mother was. And who can blame her? She's been in a state of utter turmoil since her parents were killed, and now living with Isabella…" Frode shook his head. "I'm afraid she's very troubled. She wants nothing more than to return to Norway with her brother. Until then I'm afraid she'll be stuck in Hedeby. The poor girl is scared senseless by Isabella. She spends all her time here, hiding away." Frode glanced around the room, forlornly.
"Well, I certainly don't mind if she hangs around our sitting room," Blomkvist shrugged. "I don't imagine I'll be here very often. I'll probably spend most of my time working, either in my room, or at the café. I don't know about Lisbeth. I assume she'll find some way to keep herself busy. We'll make ourselves scarce."
"Oh, that won't be necessary. I think you'll find that Nadia is shy to the point of paralysis in front of others. Her parent's death had a jarring effect on her— more so than on her brother. Nadia is afraid of everything, and everyone. It's quite tragic, really."
"Sounds tragic," Blomkvist concurred. "Let me know if there's anything I can do."
Frode got to his feet. "You're a good man, Blomkvist," he said. "I learned the hard way; it's best not to get involved with Vanger familial problems."
"And yet, here I am," Blomkvist said.
"And yet, here you are," Frode repeated. "I'll show myself out. Have a nice day, Herr Blomkvist. We're all reconvening for dinner at six. I hope to see you and Froken Salander there."
"Of course," Blomkvist said, taking another sip of coffee.
Frode disappeared out the door.
Salander woke around noon, feeling oddly content, though she wasn't sure why. She got up quickly, showered, and paced out into the sitting room, where she found Blomkvist frantically typing something up on his computer.
That's it, she realized, in a jarring moment of clarity. How had she not noticed it before? Her complacency wasn't some random occurrence. It was some strange sound association, brought on by the Mikael's typing. Salander recalled a similar feeling during their stay in Sandhamn together.
Blomkvist looked up from his computer screen.
"Good morning," he said. "There's coffee in the kitchen. You'll have to heat it up, though. I'm sure it's gone cold by now."
Salander nodded once, then moved wordlessly into the next room.
"I picked up bagels," Blomkvist called, from the other room. "They're on top of the fridge. I couldn't remember what kind you liked, so I got a couple different ones."
Salander retrieved the paper bag from on top of the refrigerator, and analyzed the contents, finally selecting the vegetarian bagel for the sake of variety. She heated up some coffee and ate in silence, sitting on the kitchen counter.
For some reason, she couldn't bring herself to eat breakfast in the sitting room with Blomkvist. It all felt too strange to her, like she was reenacting a thing of the past. Salander chewed her bagel, gazing thoughtfully out the window at the lake. After a few minutes, she lit a cigarette and tried to figure out how best to spend her time in Hedestad. She couldn't avoid him forever… And did she want to?
"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Blomkvist said, abruptly. He walked into the kitchen and took a cigarette from his own pack. "Dirch Frode has invited us both to dinner with the Vangers this evening."
"I don't want to eat dinner with the fucking Vangers," Salander said, bluntly. She finished her bagel and wiped her fingertips on her jeans.
"Believe me. I agree," Blomkvist said. "Frankly, I'd like to avoid the Vangers at all costs, but this is all a part of Henrik's funeral. I think it's important that we attend."
"So attend," Salander shrugged. "I'm not going. I've already spent enough of my life around slimes and sadists. I'm done with them."
"Fair enough," Blomkvist said. He poured the last bit of coffee for himself, and sipped it, wincing at the temperature.
"I'm going to the store in twenty minutes to buy some actual food," Blomkvist declared, wandering off to locate his shoes. "If you'd like to come, you can. It's a bit warmer today. I think it'll be nice to get out of the house for a while."
Salander stared at him, apprehensively. She was torn. A part of her wanted nothing more than to go with him. To fall back into a routine with him. Maybe not the same routine they'd once had, but a routine nonetheless. Another part of her— arguably the more sensible part— fought his hold on her, vehemently.
She hopped off the counter.
Time to make a choice, Salander.
Frowning, Salander wondered if one walk would really hurt her. She viewed this concept as a kind of personal challenge. One walk with Kalle Fucking Blomkvist. Could she take it? Of course she could. Salander reached for her jacket, and walked out the door, waiting for him to follow her.
Moments later, he did just that. Together, they walked wordlessly down the staircase and out the front door. Blomkvist stopped only once to make casual small talk with Anna, the housekeeper. Salander waited impatiently nearby. When he was finished, they set out together on the snowy trek to the supermarket.
"The strangest thing happened to me this morning," Blomkvist said, breaking the silence.
Salander looked up at him— her way of encouraging him to continue.
"I woke up this morning, and there was a dog in my room."
"The Vangers don't have any dogs," Salander reminded him.
"Oh, they do now," Blomkvist said. "There's a girl living with Isabella Vanger. The dog belongs to her."
"A girl?" Salander asked, curiously.
"Her grand-niece. She's only fourteen. Her parents were killed in a shooting, so she's been sent here."
Unfortunate, Salander thought to herself.
"Anyway, I went to let the dog out and I found the girl sitting on our couch."
Salander gave him an inquisitive look.
"She ran out after that. Poor thing. She was mortified. Frode showed up shortly after that and explained that she stays at the Vanger estate during the day to avoid Isabella. He forgot to tell her we were coming."
Salander nodded.
"Oh wow." Blomkvist held out an arm, causing Salander to stop short. She glared at him. "There she is right now."
Salander followed his gaze across the street. Sure enough, a young girl sat alone on the snowy steps outside Isabella Vanger's house, resting her chin in her hands.
"The glove," Salander said, abruptly.
"What?" Blomkvist asked.
"She only has one glove. Look."
Blomkvist frowned.
"How did you notice that?" he asked.
Salander shrugged.
Blomkvist reached into his pocket and retrieved the red glove from the night before. He held it out to Salander who examined it quickly and then nodded. It was the same glove. It belonged to the girl.
Blomkvist set out across the street.
Salander rested her back against a telephone pole and looked the other way. Hidden, but still able to overhear their conversation.
"Hello. Nadia, right?"
Silence.
"Is this yours?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
"I must have… I don't know, stepped on it or something. Or maybe you left it at Henrik's."
Silence.
"Well, I suppose I'll see you at dinner."
No response.
Blomkvist crossed the street.
"She rivals only you for best conversationalist," he said, with a tiny laugh.
Salander frowned.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you—"
"— I'm not offended, I'm thinking," Salander said.
Blomkvist nodded, and carried on in silence.
When they arrived at the supermarket, Salander reached out and grabbed Blomkvist's shoulder, stopping him just outside of the door. He stared at her, surprised.
"The card must have been her's, too," Salander explained.
"Who's?"
"Nadia's."
"Right," Blomkvist breathed. He reached into his pocket and retrieved the card, holding it out to Salander. "Any chance you know Morse code?"
Salander nodded. "I already looked," she said. "What's written makes no sense."
"What do you mean?"
Salander shrugged. "It's just three letters," she explained. "C-F-D. It's in code or something. Or it was cut off."
Blomkvist frowned. "It's probably nothing," he said, again.
"Probably," Salander said, though she wasn't convinced. She turned the card over in her hand, then put it in her pocket.
Blomkvist only watched her. "I take it you're not planning to return that to Nadia, then?"
"Not right away. No."
Salander stepped wordlessly into the store. She collected groceries quickly— her usual junk food and Billy's Pan Pizza— then spent the walk home silently brooding over the code on the card. It seemed so painfully simple. Like child's play. But for some reason she found it hard to crack.
Of course, it was possible the code was incomplete. After all, it didn't look like it was meant to find it's way onto the card in the first place. Still, it bothered her. Salander had trouble leaving things unresolved. Especially things that interested her.
For some reason, this silly card had caught her attention. She was stuck trying to work it out.
Back at the Vanger Estate, Blomkvist and Salander had a quiet lunch together, then parted ways once again. Blomkvist returned to his work, typing up an article on a child-labor conspiracy surrounding a popular construction company in Uppsala. Salander retreated to her bedroom and resumed trying to break down the code on Nadia's card. After twenty minutes, she decided her effort was useless. Even if these letters meant something, it was clear the message was incomplete. She cast the card aside for the time being, and ventured back outdoors to try and figure out how Nadia's glove ended up amongst Blomkvist's possessions in the first place. Finding nothing concrete, she decided to return to her room. It was then that something peculiar happened.
Salander walked through the door adjoining the kitchen and the estate's side-yard. It was here that she ran into Anna, Henrik's housekeeper. The woman stood hunched over the stove, her head bowed as she wept quietly to herself. If she noticed Salander entering the room, she didn't show it. She put a hand to her face and sniffed, turning towards the doors.
"Oh!" Anna jumped, looking startled. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were…"
"It's fine," Salander said. She attempted to leave the room, quickly, but Anna reached out and took her arm. Salander stood frozen, unsure of how to proceed. She stared uncomfortably at the door.
"Please don't tell anyone I'm such a wreck," Anna begged. "I desperately need to keep my position here, and the Vangers are ruthless, merciless people with very little tolerance for grief. If they think I'm mourning, and not working…" Anna took a deep breath. "Well, I'm sure several of them wouldn't hesitate to have me fired."
Salander stared at her. She shook her head. "It's none of my business," she said. "I'm not going to tell."
"Oh, thank you," Anna breathed, wiping her eyes on the back of her shirtsleeve. "I'm not usually like this." She sniffed. "I worked for Henrik Vanger for more than fifty years! Can you believe that? During my time here, I came to respect him immensely. He was a good man. A good friend." Another sniff. "In a way, I always assumed I'd outlive him. The last few months were impossible." She shook her head. "The poor man's health deteriorated more quickly than anyone anticipated. He spent his final days up in his office. Staring out of an old telescope, and muttering about playing cards…"
Lisbeth's head snapped up. "Playing cards?" she asked.
"Yes, yes," Anna said. "Henrik had hundreds of them, though I'm not sure where they came from. He would lay them all out on his desk, rambling on and on about codes, and mysteries. It seems all the time he spent dwelling on Harriet's disappearance took its toll on him in the end. He spent his last few weeks swept up in some… imaginary investigation." Anna waved her hand, dismissively. "Anyway," she said. "It was all very sad to watch. I can only hope Henrik now finds himself in a better place. Preferably one less troublesome and problematic for him. The poor old man could have benefitted from some peace of mind."
Lisbeth nodded, quickly, her mind working a million miles a minute.
"What time is dinner tonight?" she asked, finally.
"Six 'o' clock," Anna said. "It's actually good that you're here, because I forgot to ask whether you and Herr Blomkvist will be eating off the vegetarian, or the regular menu."
Salander shook her head slightly. "Umm… regular," she muttered. Then she turned and left the room in a hurry. She hoped Henrik Vanger's study was unlocked. She didn't want to waste time breaking in.