The Little Old Lady Who Struck Lucky Again! (19 page)

‘Let him be. He’ll discover soon enough that he won’t be able to do it,’ Brains reassured her.

‘But he is so obsessed by all those do-it-yourself programmes on TV Yesterday there was a smiling man who built, painted, furnished and then cooked all in the very same programme. Rake
muttered that the idiot gave all of Sweden’s male population a complex, and then he went out, put a half-hitch on one of the stone slabs and dragged it off towards the garden. I thought he
would have a heart attack!’

‘Best we go out and help him, then,’ Anna-Greta said, and Gunnar nodded in agreement. But Christina shook her head.

‘I don’t think he wants any help. Since Rake started hobnobbing with Lillemor, you can’t talk to him. I bet you he’s doing this to impress her,’ she sighed.

‘It’ll blow over,’ Brains consoled her, and he put his hand under her arm. ‘Guys can be like that sometimes. Now let’s go outside. Be careful on the
steps.’

When they got out into the yard they saw that Kalle’s Mini Excavator AB had left and Rake now stood there on his own. He looked at the heaps of slabs, bent down and tried to move one of
them. He couldn’t. Christina rushed forward.

‘No, Rake, please, take it easy. You can hurt your back, fracture your thigh and—’

‘Not me, no way. You should have seen how I climbed up past the topsail on the big sailing ships. Right up to the cross-trees of the topgallant, I’ll have you know. Ropes and
agility, that’s my thing. I know how to do this. But we need a block and tackle.’

Rake went off to find the equipment he needed, and that same moment caught sight of Tompa. The giant stopped next to the gate and looked at the heaps of stones.

‘Ah, garden work, is it?’

‘That’s right,’ said Rake nonchalantly, reaching out to the rope and tying an elegant knot around the biggest slab.

‘Listen, mate, at your age, you should be relaxing. Me and Jörgen, we’ll sort this out in no time. We’ve done this before.’ Tompa flexed his biceps, pulled out his
mobile and phoned his comrade. Rake didn’t know what to do; it looked as if Tompa was going to get all the glory. That wasn’t the idea.

‘But you shouldn’t have to . . .’ Rake protested.

‘Now listen, we’ll fix this!’ Tompa declared and he nodded up the hill to where Jörgen could now be seen wandering down. Whether Rake wanted them to help or not, the two
Bandangels members had taken over his project.

They fetched a wheelbarrow, Rake took the lead, and then the two bikers laid the stone slabs to where he pointed. Now and then Rake glanced across to the brick house, but, thank goodness,
Lillemor didn’t seem to be at home. After less than two hours, everything was done and a satisfied Rake came back into the house.

‘Clever lads, those two!’

‘Rake, there’ll be a price to pay . . .’ Martha groaned.

‘But Christina, it looks nice, doesn’t it?’ Rake asked. Christina had no option but to nod and give praise, after which calm settled over the old house once again. And that
lasted exactly two days.

It was late in the evening and really cold and dark outside when Tompa and Jörgen knocked on the door. This time they didn’t have boots with steel toecaps on, but
they didn’t seem any the less intimidating. Martha felt a cold shiver go deep into her soul.

‘Hello, one and all. Bit chilly outside, isn’t it? Anyway, we’d like to have a word about something,’ said Tompa with a bundle of papers in his hand. He was just about to
cross the threshold.

‘Of course, of course,’ said Brains, who wanted to hear if they’d got any new motorbikes of late.

‘Hello, guys,’ Rake greeted them. ‘Thanks for helping with the slabs. A nice job, lads!’

‘A little cup of coffee, perhaps?’ said Martha with a forced smile. She had a lump in her tummy. She always did when she got bad vibes. The giants nodded and sat down at the kitchen
table. Martha made some coffee and put out Christina’s newly baked cinnamon buns. Tompa took a big bite and put the bun down.

‘Yes, the pathway looks very nice indeed,’ Tompa started saying with his mouth full.

They all nodded. Waited.

‘But that’s not why we’re here.’

‘No, we realize that,’ Martha mumbled.

‘Yes, well, you see, we buy and sell properties. We drew up a new contract and got it signed but now our mates have gone home. We just need to have the document witnessed. So we need some
signatures.’

‘Yes, that’s right. It usually requires two witnesses,’ Anna-Greta recalled from her bank days.

‘No problem,’ said Rake.

‘Let’s have a look,’ said Martha, reaching out to pick up the contract. The lump in her tummy was now the size of a Pilates ball. Documents, bikers and signatures did not mix
well together.

‘Yes, you only need to sign down there.’ Jörgen pointed at the last page of the bundle of papers.

‘Yes, right,’ said Martha, trying to play for time. Shady types and contracts – she had read time and time again about how naive people got swindled. The theme came up a lot in
crime novels and books about the mafia. Unscrupulous villains could buy a property, do no repairs, treble the rents and squeeze all they could out of it. When the mismanagement was reported and the
authorities were alerted, it was too late. By then, the crooks had already transferred the property to a ‘goalkeeper’ – usually a drunk or a homeless person who didn’t have
any money anyway. But what if Tompa and Jörgen had decided that their elderly neighbours would be good as goalkeepers? Martha’s nose could smell out anything fishy and she thought things
were starting to smell rather bad. She tried to produce a smile.

‘Well, you see, I never usually sign anything without actually reading what I’m signing first,’ she explained.

‘That isn’t necessary. We’ve had our lawyer check it all,’ said Tompa, in a slightly more decisive voice.

‘Of course we’ll sign. Give me the documents,’ said Anna-Greta, who wanted to get rid of the bikers as quickly as possible.

‘Wait,’ said Martha.

‘But witnessing something isn’t a problem,’ said Anna-Greta, who had retired from the bank long before all these shady goalkeepers became common in Sweden. And before Martha
could stop her, Anna-Greta had signed with a flourish and then handed the document to Gunnar, who signed without even looking. Tompa nodded, thanked them and quickly snatched the document back.

Martha felt a cold shiver run down her spine. The bikers must not be allowed to leave the house with her friends’ signatures.

‘Thanks very much, we’ll be off now,’ said Tompa.

‘Oh what a pity! Perhaps I can just borrow the document a moment so I can make a photocopy. It’s my memory, you know. An old person like me doesn’t remember anything. Nothing
at all.’ Martha got up and stretched out her hand.

The bikers looked at each other, and she could see what they were thinking.

‘I’ll just make a little copy for myself, and if you change your mind, then I promise I’ll rip it up.’ Martha made her decision and quickly snatched the little bundle of
papers from them.

Tompa shrugged his shoulders while Martha disappeared into the library.

The others could hear the machinery starting up and then making a rattling sound. After a while, Martha came back in, bright red in the face.

‘So sorry, boys, now don’t you go getting all angry at me. We’ve got a new photocopying machine and … I think I did it wrong. I should have asked for your help,
but—’

‘Do you need help?’ Tompa interrupted.

‘Err, it’s a bit late now,’ said Martha and she pulled some paper out of her floral bag.

‘To think it could go so wrong! I’m not so familiar with these apparatuses. I think I must have put the piece of paper in the shredder,’ she said, and she held up the
strips.

It suddenly felt bitterly cold in the room, and Tompa jumped up.

‘You did WHAT? We’ll be back, you can be sure of that! Jörgen, come on, we’re off!’

The two bikers stormed out and no one dared say a word until they had vanished up the slope.

‘Why did you have to go and do that?’ Anna-Greta wondered out loud.

‘They wanted to involve us in their criminal activities,’ answered Martha. She went and threw the shredded paper into the fireplace, then piled up some logs before reaching out for
the matches. But when she lit the fire, her hands were shaking so much she could hardly manage it.

‘Are you all right, Martha dear?’ said Brains, putting his arm around her shoulders.

‘I’m frightened. For the first time in my life I am really frightened.’

Perhaps the Bandangels were just biding their time. Either that, or they were planning something dreadful. Days passed and the League of Pensioners worried about what the
bikers would get up to.

‘We can’t exactly lower our guard,’ said Martha. ‘Before we know it, they’ll be back with some new trick.’ The League of Pensioners gathered in the library
while they listened to Beethoven’s
Fifth,
the
Victory Symphony,
over and over again.

Finally, Rake shrugged his shoulders and said: ‘I’d best go and see Lillemor and find out what she has to say about the future!’

Christina, who was busy reading a play by Lars Noren, stiffened and looked daggers at him. As soon as Rake had gone out, she phoned Anders.

‘Now, my boy, it’s time to do it! I can’t stick this any longer. It is time to carry out the plan.’

‘But Mother, are you really going to go through with this?’ Anders replied. ‘I thought you were joking?’

‘Now you’ll do as I say, or else you can forget any inheritance,’ Christina replied firmly.

The next day, Anders drove into town and, a few hours later, came out to the big old house with a large box. When the others asked what was in it, he answered somewhat
evasively – but Christina looked pleased.

‘Are you really sure that you want me to do this?’ Anders asked his mother after dinner when they sat in the basket chairs on the veranda. The oil lamps were burning, and the sea lay
black and still before them. The lights from the city lit up the evening sky and the smell of the oil lamps spread across the veranda. The others had gone into the library to play bridge, but
Christina had stayed on outside because she wanted to talk to Anders.

‘Lillemor isn’t at home, so you can put the carton on her porch,’ Christina said and she lowered the wick of the oil lamp which had started to smoke. ‘Make sure the
carton is damaged in one corner to arouse her curiosity, so she can’t resist looking inside. And don’t forget to address the parcel to Bertil “Rake”
Engström.’

‘So you want it to look as if the delivery has gone to the wrong address?’

‘Yes, like I’ve said all the time,’ said Christina, and her tone of voice was so sharp that Anders gave a start.

‘OK, but I refuse to do anything like this again.’

‘Now, now. Let’s hope there won’t be any more times,’ said Christina.

At eleven that evening, when Lillemor came home on her bicycle from a meeting with her Tarot friends, she found a large parcel outside her front door. She leaned her cycle
against the railings and quickly went up the front steps. Feeling a little sleepy, she opened the door and took the parcel into the kitchen. After she had taken her coat off, and turned the coffee
machine on, she lit a cigarette. Then she looked at the parcel, but was disappointed when she saw the label. It was not addressed to her, but to Bertil ‘Rake’ Engström. There was
no sender and the box had been damaged in one corner. The lid was now crooked and the contents were almost spilling out. She fetched a roll of sticky tape but couldn’t manage to get her nail
under the edge of the tape on the roll. What could be inside Rake’s parcel? No sender – that in itself seemed strange. Her curiosity increased. Lillemor put the tape aside and got the
lid off the carton. There was a large, soft package inside. She prodded it first, but then couldn’t resist opening a corner. The colour of her face changed from light pink to darkest red and
she pressed her lips together. When Rake rang the doorbell the next day, she had spent all morning getting more and more angry.

‘I think you shall have to go to somebody else with your questions about the future,’ Lillemore said, without letting him over the threshold.

‘But can’t you tell my fortune and then we can sit on the sofa?’ Rake replied and made an attempt to give her a hug. ‘You can’t imagine how well I’ve been
getting on with the Tarot cards.’

‘Sit on the sofa with you, you dirty old man! Over my dead body!’ She pointed at the opened parcel. ‘That parcel seems to have come to the wrong address.’

‘What parcel?’

‘Don’t play all innocent! I’ll make one thing damned clear to you: you can keep your inflatable Barbara for yourself! The front gate is over there. Be off with you!’

She kicked the carton so that Inflatable Barbara fell out and flopped onto her side with what sounded like a sigh.

‘But I had no idea . . .’

‘Be off with you!’

Christina saw Rake return from the brick house across the road, and had the greatest difficulty keeping a straight face. God punishes some people straight away, the saying
goes. But if God doesn’t do his bit, then you must take care of things yourself, Christina thought, and she sent a thought of gratitude to Anders too. This should have taught Rake a
lesson.

During the following week, Rake hardly responded when people talked to him; he just didn’t seem to hear. They had never seen him with such an absent look on his face before, and the only
person who wasn’t worried about it was Christina. Everybody thought that was a bit strange, but when they realized that Rake had stopped visiting Lillemor, they started to put two and two
together. Something had happened.

The weekend passed, and on Monday Rake asked if he could get a lift with Emma into town. He was away all day and when he came home late in the afternoon, he had a large parcel under his arm. He
just said a brief hello, told them he needed to rest a little, and then he stayed in his room until suppertime.

‘I’m beginning to be rather worried about Rake. I just hope he isn’t ill or something,’ Martha sighed.