The Little Old Lady Who Struck Lucky Again! (13 page)

‘To tell fortunes? But, Rake, my dear, you must have the gift.’

‘It might come to me.’

‘But I can tell your fortune. Isn’t that enough? It takes a long time to learn how to interpret the Tarot cards.’ Lillemor went and got something out of the desk drawer and
returned with a leather pouch. She carefully untied it, and pulled out a deck of cards wrapped in a black silk cloth.

‘You know, the cards don’t have any power in themselves, but they feel your energies,’ Lillemor said, making eyes at him. ‘To succeed, you must have a well-developed
intuition and learn all about the cards.’

‘I’ve got intuition, that’s for sure,’ Rake assured her, cockily. ‘When I was out at sea I could feel when a storm was brewing, and I can predict when it’s
going to rain.’

‘No, that’s not really what I meant. Every card means something special, and can be laid in different combinations.’

‘No problem.’ Rake reached out to pick up the deck of cards.

‘No, stop! This deck of cards is mine. It is not good for them to be influenced by another person. I’ll get another deck for you,’ said Lillemor, and she got up.

What the Dickens is she going on about? Rake wondered. Couldn’t she just sit down so that, well, he could cosy up with her? When she came back, he moved his chair a little closer.

‘Can’t you do that volcano for me?’ he asked, and let his hand fall onto her knee.

‘The Arcana, you mean? But then I need to know which sign of the Zodiac you were born under,’ she said, removing his hand. ‘Now, tell me your date of birth again.’

‘I’m a Capricorn,’ he mumbled. He’d completely forgotten the date he had given her last time. He didn’t dare give her his real personal identity number. That number
was the key to all manner of information about somebody, and what if she was in cahoots with the biker gang up the slope? He tried to remember what he had said, was it perhaps the day before his
real birthday? He took 3 January 1931.

‘Ah, right,’ said Lillemor, and she gave him that smile that sent a tingle of heat all through his body. ‘The Capricorn tempts us, and takes over our common sense. We lose our
self-control and start thinking things we don’t want to do, or ought not to.’

‘Oh,’ he mumbled, and gave her leg a squeeze.

‘The Devil stands for selfishness, manipulation, greed, ill-will, envy and—’

‘Can’t you take another card?’

‘The Capricorn will not allow himself to be guided by lower impulses.’

It’s really more a question of male impulses, Rake thought, and moved his hand up her leg a little.

‘The card symbolizes what has been pre-ordained,’ Lillemor went on, without removing his hand. ‘As a Capricorn you might feel that you’re not really capable, or that
others haven’t discovered just how capable you are.’

‘I can agree with you about that last bit,’ said Rake and he moved even closer to her.

‘Perhaps you feel dependent upon the person you love, but at the same time experience the feeling that perhaps you are not good enough.’

‘Pah,’ he muttered, because by now he had tired of her talk. Instead he did what he always did when he had an attractive woman right next to him. He put his arm around her waist and
kissed her. Lillemor came to an abrupt halt, closed her eyes and leaned back.

‘You know what, Rake, I can teach you a lot of other things too,’ she breathed, and put her hand with the red nails around his neck.

A little later, Rake left the red-brick house feeling exhilarated and happy. He almost felt like dancing for joy where he stood, but then he remembered Christina. Best to lie
low a while. His Christina was quite wonderful and he didn’t want to ruin their fine relationship. No, this was just a little adventure, something to spice up his life and nobody need know
about it. He opened the gate and whistled to himself as he walked home. When he passed the veranda on the way to his room, he said hello to Christina as naturally as he could before sneaking
upstairs. But he caught a glimpse of her face. And what an ice-cold look she gave him!

Martha had seen Rake sneaking upstairs, and had shaken her head. It was bad enough that Rake had gone to visit that fortune-teller woman but it was almost worse that he then spent his time
staring longingly out through the window or busying himself with his cards. Christina had cried herself to sleep and Martha sincerely hoped that her friend would have the strength to put up with
this until the day when Rake finally realized that Lillemor was simply a gold-digger. Then he would surely apologize and beg Christina to take him back. Sometimes you had to let men do their thing,
Martha thought; it was best in the long run.

The next day, Christina settled down in the library with her camel-hair rug over her legs, a much-read book and a steaming cup of tea on the table. A pile of crumpled tissues
lay there too. She had been crying. Again. Brains came in through the door and saw her withering figure. He went across to her.

‘Is that book so very sad?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know about that,’ said Christina almost inaudibly, and hid it under the rug.

‘What is it?’

‘The book?’ She took one of the last tissues from the Kleenex box and tried to say something, but couldn’t find the words. Then Brains’s curiosity got the better of him
and he tickled her arms until she let go of the book. He fished it out from under the rug. It was pink and the title bluntly announced:
How to Get Them Where You Want Them. All About Men: A
Manual For Women.

‘But my God, Christina, what on earth are you reading? If anybody can take care of men in this world, then it’s you,’ said Brains sitting down next to her.

‘Rake doesn’t think so. I believe he is enthralled by Lillemor.’

‘I’m not so sure about that. I think he rather fancies himself, that’s what this is about.’

‘That’s nothing new, but just watch how he runs over to Lillemor. I’m jolly well going to outwit him.’ Now Christina’s voice sounded a little bolder. ‘Because
in this book I’ll find out how to read men’s signals.’

‘Signals?’ Brains couldn’t follow her. Signals reminded him of telegraphy and mysterious radio signals in the atmosphere. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Well, those subtle signals that men send out unconsciously,’ Christina explained. ‘It says here that you should listen to your man, talk to him and study the inside of his
brain.’

‘But, Christina, my dear, is Rake really worth all that effort? Can’t you just be your usual self? You are really nice exactly as you are,’ said Brains.

‘Do you think so?’ asked Christina and she started to cry again. Brains picked up the manual and started to thumb through it.

‘It says here that the way to a man’s heart is via your nose,’ he said. ‘What sort of hocus-pocus is that?’

‘Nothing strange about it at all. It’s an important book. There is so much about men that women don’t know.’

‘But via your nose? That sounds like a detour to me,’ said Brains. ‘Usch, just have a bit of patience with Rake. I’ll see if I can have a word with him.’

There was total silence.
Postpone the bank robbery?
What had Rake said? He couldn’t be serious, surely? And on an evening that had begun so well.

As always, Martha thought it was important to make the evening before a big job a really special occasion. Faithful to her habits, she claimed that you ought to celebrate both before and after
an event, because if something should go wrong then at least you would have had a bit of a party. So the evening had begun with a glass of champagne, which happened to turn into two, and everyone
was slightly tipsy even before dinner. While they ate the delicious shellfish salad, Christina had quoted her favourite lines from a Swedish classic,
Karlfeldt and Heidenstam
and they all
listened contentedly. But when they got to the lamb fillet with herbs and parmesan cheese, Christina switched to detective stories which included tales of murder by poison. The stories got worse
and worse in their descriptions of sudden, violent deaths. It wasn’t really her style and everyone realized that things still weren’t as they should be between her and Rake. Martha
tried to lighten the mood by suggesting that they sing something by Evert Taube, but even though she filled the wine glasses, their usual high-spiritedness didn’t materialize. Something was
wrong – you could feel it in the air. And Rake had been unusually withdrawn and quiet, not saying much during the meal at all. In the end, he wiped his mouth, pushed his plate away and, after
a long hmmmm, he cleared his throat.

‘Lillemor has said that it isn’t the right time to do anything adventurous just now. The moon is on the wane, so you shouldn’t involve yourself in anything new and
demanding,’ he said in a loud voice. ‘All my energy should go to developing things on a personal level, and I shouldn’t waste time on other things. I think we should postpone the
robbery.’

‘You can’t be serious!’ said Martha.

‘Well, if that’s what Lillemor said,’ Christina replied in a cutting voice, ‘then we must of course cancel the whole thing.’

Total silence followed, and Rake fidgeted with his cravat. His gaze was firmly fixed on his plate and he didn’t dare look anyone in the eye.

‘It would be dreadful to end up in prison without you, Christina,’ Rake mumbled.

‘Enough of your daft talk, you fool!’ Christina responded with glowing cheeks. She had seen with her own eyes how Rake had gone across to the brick house earlier in the day.
‘You know perfectly well that men and women don’t end up in the same prison,’ she hissed.

‘Perhaps we should sing something,’ Martha tried to distract them. ‘ “Gulli-Gullan” might not be appropriate, but—’

‘What about a sweet little song about how you can get lady fortune-tellers to go up in smoke.’ Christina lost her temper, pushed her chair back with a crash and rushed out of the
room with her hands over her face. Martha looked appealingly at Rake.

‘Please, try to get her back in a good mood, otherwise it will all go to pot tomorrow.’

‘I think we ought to postpone—’ Rake tried again.

‘No, we aren’t changing any plans,’ Martha cut him off in such a decisive tone that Rake didn’t know what to say. ‘Go upstairs and console Christina,’ Martha
ordered.

‘Well, I don’t understand why she got so angry. She has been completely out of sorts recently.’

‘Of course she’s angry. You have ignored her, as you must know!’ said Martha. ‘You have only been paying attention to Lillemor.’

The conversation was interrupted by a shrill ring of the doorbell. Oh, not her again, Martha thought angrily, and she marched across to the hall. There she took a deep breath and stood up tall
ready to refuse admittance to the fortune-teller who had destroyed the good atmosphere in the gang. She pulled the door open wide.

‘Now, you just listen to me, you hocus-pocus hag, be on your way!’ she said.

‘What the hell!’ Tompa in a black leather jacket and heavy-duty boots moved back so quickly that he came close to tumbling down the steps.

‘Oh, dear, I thought . . .’ Martha muttered.

‘I wonder if I could borrow a carton of milk?’ asked Tompa, scratching the tattoo on the back of his neck. It’s bloody typical, we’ve run out.’

‘Ah yes, come in, come in!’ said Martha, thinking that it wasn’t every day you were relieved to get a visit from a member of a biker gang. She led the way into the kitchen.

‘Here you are.’ Martha handed over a carton of milk.

‘Nice place you’ve got here,’ said Tompa, nodding in towards the rest of the house. ‘Perhaps we could have a look round? Last time we only saw the kitchen.’

Martha quickly worked out the pros and cons, and came to the conclusion that a quick round tour might be good for neighbourly relations.

‘Yes, happy to oblige,’ she answered, and when she walked past the others she winked and pointed into the interior.

‘I’ll just show him round a little,’ she explained with a smile, the giant of a man behind her. Rake got up to protest, but Brains put his hand on his shoulder.

‘Martha knows what she’s doing, don’t worry,’ Brains whispered and smiled at Tompa as he passed.

‘The bedrooms upstairs aren’t much to look at, but down here we have the dining room and the lounge,’ said Martha. She proudly displayed the large rooms with their wooden
floors and antique wallpaper and let Tompa see the view from the veranda. Finally they stopped in the library.

‘Piles and piles of books!’ exclaimed Tompa reverently and pointed at the book spines. Slowly and deliberately he looked at the authors’ names and read out Strindberg,
Heidenstam and Lagerlöf before stopping when he reached the big collection of crime fiction. Then he caught sight of something on the side and took a few steps to the right. Martha
hadn’t had time to see Christina’s most recent purchases, but as soon as she saw Tompa’s expression, she regretted the round trip. His eyes grew darker as he picked up book after
book with titles such as
The Swedish Godfather
,
Mafia War
,
The Swedish Mafia
and
Hell from Inside
. The last one was about a member of a dangerous biker club. When Tompa
looked up, his facial features had tightened up and his shoulders were tense.

‘Well, well I never . . .’ he said and when she asked what he meant, she didn’t get an answer. He just shook his head, pushed the books away as if they were carrying the
plague, and muttered something about being in a hurry. In two quick strides he was out in the hall and in one swift movement he had slammed the door and was gone.

‘Goodness me, he was suddenly in rather a hurry,’ said Martha.

‘Next time why not suggest that Mad Angels have their annual general meeting here when the house is full of stolen goods?’ snorted Rake.

‘You know what, soon I’ll start thinking it was calmer at the retirement home,’ said Anna-Greta with a quick glance out into the yard. ‘That Tompa is a fishy character
and he must have been suspicious when he saw the books. A criminal can smell out another criminal.’

‘We’re not criminals, we are simply generous pensioners,’ Martha protested.