Rites of Spring by Anders Motte (hardest books to read txt) 📕

to have dinner with David’s parents yet again, particularly with Nettan as an unexpected guest. However, David is in a good mood. Presumably he didn’t see the file this morning, which is a relief, so she decides not to raise any objections.

*

Her in-laws’ Mercedes is parked outside the coach house. In the kitchen Ingrid has made coffee and set out fresh rolls with a selection of toppings.

‘Hi, Thea, come on in. I thought you’d be hungry after work. I’ve got a bone for the dog too – there you go, sweetheart.’

Ingrid holds out a big meaty bone. Emee immediately grabs it and settles down under the kitchen table.

‘Coffee?’

‘Please.’

Thea takes off her jacket and shoes and sits down. The place looks different from when she left this morning. The removal boxes that were stacked by the walls have been unpacked and cleared away. The furniture is where it’s meant to be, the books are in alphabetical order, and even her jigsaws have been allocated their own space on a shelf. The whole house smells of detergent.

Ingrid pours the coffee while Thea tries not to show how much it bothers her that her mother-in-law has been poking around among her things.

‘How’s it going at work? Has Dr Andersson handed over the reins?’

‘She has.’

‘Excellent.’ Ingrid pauses, just long enough to enable her to change the subject. ‘Listen, there was something I wanted to talk to you about. People have started talking about you.’ She breaks off, takes a sip of coffee.

‘Talking?’

‘In the village. On Facebook. The word is that our new much longed-for doctor is taking a slightly unhealthy interest in an old murder case.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘No? Well, that’s what people are saying. You have to understand . . .’ Ingrid leans across the table. ‘If you and David are going to build a future here in Tornaby, it’s important for you to become a part of the community. Learn the village’s unwritten rules. One of them is not to bring up that terrible business of Elita Svart and her brother.’

Thea nods, mainly because she doesn’t have a choice.

‘The police investigation and the trial were terribly traumatic for David and his friends.’

‘And for Elita’s family,’ Thea blurts out.

Ingrid recoils slightly, narrows her eyes.

‘Elita’s family disappeared as soon as the girl was in the ground,’ she says dryly. ‘They left the farm without so much as a word, with the rent unpaid. But that was probably the wisest decision Lasse Svart ever made.’

‘Why do you say that?’

Ingrid pursed her lips. ‘In the past he’d always been able to lie low, keep himself to himself out there with his women and his dodgy dealings. But because of what happened to Elita, all that changed. He was in the spotlight. All eyes were on him, and he was smart enough to realise that.’

She tilts her head to one side.

‘I know the story might seem fascinating to an outsider. Ritual murder, a death pact – that’s what the newspapers wrote at the time. In fact, Elita Svart’s death was nothing but a . . .’

‘Family tragedy,’ Thea supplies.

‘Exactly.’ Ingrid has either missed the ironic tone or, more likely, has chosen to ignore it. ‘A terrible story that no one in the area wants to be reminded of. Especially David.’

‘Or Bertil.’

Ingrid’s face stiffens.

‘Bertil isn’t the man he used to be – I think you already know that.’ She gives a strained smile. ‘But there are few people who have been as important for Tornaby as Bertil has. He’s helped so many families with their problems. The village and its residents have a great deal to thank him for, let me tell you. Without Bertil . . .’

Ingrid purses her lips again, this time as if to stop herself from saying any more. She gets to her feet, brushing a few imaginary crumbs from her dress.

‘Well, I’d better make a move. I have to go shopping before dinner. If you have any further questions about Elita Svart, I suggest you speak to Arne. He was involved in the investigation, and he knows all the details. And he’s not interested in gossip. OK?’

Ingrid doesn’t wait for an answer, but picks up her handbag and heads for the door. Then she stops.

‘I’m so glad we’ve sorted this out, Thea. I’ll see you this evening. Oh, by the way – I brought in the post.’ She points to the hallstand. ‘I think there’s a letter for you.’

The front door closes behind her. Thea remains seated at the kitchen table. Has her mother-in-law just warned her off digging into the case of Elita Svart? Not in so many words, but this unexpected visit must surely be seen as a warning. What is it about Elita that still bothers people so much?

She collects the post and settles down on the sofa. There’s a parcel on top; it must be the book she ordered. Then bills, but right at the bottom she finds an envelope with her name and address written by hand. She opens it slowly, filled with trepidation even before she unfolds the letter. As she begins to read, she feels as if all the air has been knocked out of her lungs.

Hi, Jenny!

It’s been a while. You seem to be doing well.

Dad saw you on TV. He’d like to talk to you. No need to worry, he’s not angry with you, but he wants you to come home. Right now.

Best wishes,

Ronny

49

The rest of the afternoon passes in a fog. David comes home, they change their clothes, get in the car, drive to David’s parents. It’s as if Thea is observing the whole thing from the outside.

All her defences have been torn down – because of a stupid TV feature. The latest in a series of very bad decisions she’s made over the past year.

She shouldn’t have married David, shouldn’t have moved down here, shouldn’t have stood there on the castle steps, shouldn’t have let herself be persuaded to appear on camera.

‘Are you OK?’ David asks as they arrive. ‘You’re very quiet.’

‘I’m just tired.’

‘We don’t have