FORTHCOMING IN THE SANDHAMN MURDERS SERIES
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2008 Viveca Sten
Translation copyright © 2015 Marlaine Delargy
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Previously published as I de lugnaste vatten by Forum in Sweden in 2008. Translated from Swedish by Marlaine Delargy. First published in English by AmazonCrossing in 2015.
Published by AmazonCrossing, Seattle
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and AmazonCrossing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
Cover design by Kimberly Glyder
For my brave mother
MONDAY, THE FIRST WEEK
THURSDAY, THE FIRST WEEK
TUESDAY, THE SECOND WEEK
WEDNESDAY, THE SECOND WEEK
THURSDAY, THE SECOND WEEK
FRIDAY, THE SECOND WEEK
SATURDAY, THE SECOND WEEK
SUNDAY, THE THIRD WEEK
MONDAY, THE THIRD WEEK
TUESDAY, THE THIRD WEEK
WEDNESDAY, THE THIRD WEEK
THURSDAY, THE THIRD WEEK
FRIDAY, THE THIRD WEEK
SATURDAY, THE THIRD WEEK
SUNDAY, THE FOURTH WEEK
MONDAY, THE FOURTH WEEK
TUESDAY, THE FOURTH WEEK
WEDNESDAY, THE FOURTH WEEK
THURSDAY, THE FOURTH WEEK
FRIDAY, THE FOURTH WEEK
SATURDAY, THE FOURTH WEEK
SUNDAY, THE SIXTH WEEK
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR
Everything was completely still and peaceful as only winter can be, when the archipelago belongs to those who live there, and the raucous summer visitors have not yet taken over the islands.
The water was dark and shining, the cold of winter lying heavily on the surface. Odd patches of snow rested on the rocks. A few mergansers stood out like dots against the sky, and the sun was low on the horizon.
“Help me,” he yelled. “Help me, for God’s sake!”
Someone threw a tangle of rope out to him, and he rushed to loop it around his body in the ice-cold water.
“Pull me up,” he said, panting as he grasped the side of the boat with fingers that had already begun to stiffen from the cold.
When the anchor attached to the rope was thrown over the rail, he seemed more confused than anything, as if he didn’t understand that its weight would soon drag him to the bottom.
That he only had a few seconds left to live before his body followed the heavy lump of iron.
His hand breaking the surface of the water, tangled in the abandoned fishing net, was the last visible thing. The waters closed over it with an almost imperceptible sigh.
Then there was only the sound of the engine, as the boat turned to make its way back to the harbor.
MONDAY, THE FIRST WEEK
“Here, Pixie! Come here!”
The man gazed irritably at the dachshund as she ran down the beach; she had been cooped up on the boat for several days. He really should have kept her on the leash. Dogs were not allowed to run loose in the summer on Sandhamn, a small island in the Stockholm archipelago, but he didn’t have the heart to observe the rule when the little dog was so happy to run free.
Besides, there was hardly anybody in sight so early in the morning. Those living in the few houses along the shoreline had hardly woken up. The only sound came from the screaming gulls. The air was fresh and clear, the overnight rain had given everything a newly washed feel, and the sun was already warm, promising another glorious day.