Ten minutes later, Karen glances down at the tinfoil packet on the passenger seat. Her aunt hadn’t been in the mood to share any more information and Karen hadn’t had a chance to ask any of her questions about Gabriel Stuub or the Groth family. Without another word, Ingeborg Eiken had cleared the table and pulled out a roll of aluminium foil from one of the kitchen drawers, wrapped up the untouched apple turnovers and handed the parcel to her niece.

‘It’s best to leave the past in the past,’ she’d declared.

And it’s probably best not to think too hard about what Karen now remembers hearing her mother say once.

God only knows where Odd got that red hair from. It certainly wasn’t from Lars.

Chapter 27

27

The organist has already struck the first blaring chords. Karen sits down at the far end of the backmost pew, quickly looks up at the hymn board and opens her hymnal to number 302. ‘Come Let Us Give Praise’.

She dutifully sings along; unsure of the melody, she lets herself be guided by her neighbours while idly wondering why the key is always, invariably, inappropriate for her voice. And for virtually everyone else’s, too, she notes, wincing as the congregation strains to reach the highest notes.

Once they’ve finally reached the end of the interminable hymn, Karen lets her eyes sweep over the assembled congregants. Skreby Church is full today. Custom dictates that all parishioners attend funerals, whether or not they knew the deceased. No one should have to meet their maker without a proper send-off: empty pews at a funeral service are considered sacrilege. It used to be the norm in every part of the country, but Karen doubts any of the churches on Heimö or Frisel would be able to drum up this kind of crowd. Especially on a Wednesday morning.

It had been the only way to get Fredrik Stuub buried within a decent time frame. New Year’s Eve is tomorrow and waiting until after the holiday would have been severely frowned upon. The living accommodate the dead – not the other way around. Fortunately, neither Kneought Brodal nor Sören Larsen had raised any objections.

‘So long as they weren’t poisoned, I don’t care what you do with the corpses once I’ve stitched them back together,’ as Brodal had so pleasantly put it.

*

After the one in Lysvik, Skreby Church is the largest of Noorö’s houses of worship. It’s imposing and richly ornamented, at least compared to the simple seamen’s church in Gudheim and the many evangelical chapels that dot the island. Karen cranes her neck to find someone she knows. Her own relatives belong to the Gudheim congregation, but both Byle and Tryste’s families live in Skreby.