I know I didn’t imagine the look of frustration on the police officer’s face when she arrived and saw the four of us for the third time. “Hello,” she said and walked past where we stood in the front garden, as we’d been directed by the first officers on the scene.
There hadn’t been any need to check Elena’s vitals since we could see the knife in her chest and the blood from the wound, so we hadn’t even gone fully into the house. Instead, Adaire had called the police from his phone, and we had stood shivering in the yard waiting for, thankfully, just a few moments.
I told the first officer and three officers after that, including our “friend”—whose name I finally learned was Officer Jonsdottir—that we had come back after a day out and found her like this when we returned. The door had been unlocked as usual, and neither my friends nor I had noticed anything unusual.
After Elena’s body was cleared from the room, Officer Jonsdottir told us we’d have to find a new place to stay since this was now a crime scene. She recommended another home a few blocks away and sent an officer up with us so we could collect our things.
“I’ll be in touch if we find anything out,” she said as she walked with us to the street. “Normally, I would think this was a robbery, but given what has been happening with you, I fear foul play.”
I nodded because, well, I couldn’t disagree.
“Have you had any further contact with Ms. Weber?” she asked me.
I almost told her the whole situation, but Aaran stepped up and said, “No, nothing since we told you about our encounter yesterday. Right, Poe?”
Officer Jonsdottir looked from him to me, and I could tell she sensed something was off. But I went along with Aaran. “Not a word. Hopefully, she’s cleared out.” I looked back at the house. “This does seem too odd to be a coincidence, though.”
The officer nodded. “I have your numbers and will be in touch,” she said as she turned back to the house.
“Oh, wait,” Beattie shouted as she turned back. “Our hamster.”
“Excuse me?” Officer Jonsdottir said. “Did you say hamster? As in the rodent?”
“Yes,” Beattie said as she tried to get around the officer into the house. “Elena was pet-sitting him while we were out. He must still be inside.”
“Please wait here,” Officer Jonsdottir said as she signaled for two other officers to join her.
A few moments later, they returned without BB. “I’m sorry. There is no hamster anywhere that we can see.”
“Oh no! He must have escaped from his bag. Did you see a thick plastic bag about this big?” She held her hands out to mimic the size of a small purse.
“No, nothing like that either,” one of the men who had searched said.
I could see Beattie’s breaths coming faster, and a look of panic was forming in her eyes. I was worried, too, but I didn’t have nearly as much of my heart tucked into that tiny hamster body as my best friend did. “Beattie, we’ll find him.” I turned to the officers. “Do you mind if we take a quick look?”
Officer Jonsdottir nodded. “I’ll go with you.”
The three of us scoured high and low, but there was no sign of BB or his bag. I didn’t want to think it, but I knew it was true. “The murderer took our hamster,” I said in a whisper.
Beattie started to hyperventilate, and Officer Jonsdottir helped her outside onto the stoop, where Beattie put her head between her knees and took deep breaths.
“Please put that in your report,” I said. “Butterball’s very special to us, and we want him found. I’ll even offer a reward.” I didn’t really have substantial cash for such a reward, but given the scheme we’d launched with Inga and Gunnar, I might be able to get some help there. “Okay?”
Officer Jonsdottir nodded. “Of course.” She sat down beside Beattie. “I have a cat. Her name is Astrid, and I love her like my child. We will find Butterball.” She rubbed small circles on Beattie’s back, and I saw my friend begin to breathe more easily.
The two women stood a few moments later, and then Adaire and Aaran took our bags and loaded them into the cab going to our new guesthouse. On the way there, Aaran instructed the driver to take a route that wound through Reykjavik by saying we just wanted to relax and see the city a bit. It was a nice cover, and it was relaxing. It was also hopefully enough to shake any tails we had so that we could feel confident in our new lodgings.
When we finally arrived, the new place was nice but truly not as lovely as Elena’s place had been. Of course, nowhere would have been, not after our host had been murdered . . . apparently because of us.
Aaran checked us in under the fake names we’d quietly selected on the drive—Patricia Bannister, Beatrice Hampshire, and Alan and Amos Alexandran. Then he inquired about other guests, saying that I had a bit of a social phobia and needed to prepare to meet new people. I sat with my face turned in a chair away from the desk, trying to act far shyer and much more nervous than I naturally was.
The gentlemen who owned the cottage assured us we were the only guests. “And we only have two rooms, so no one else will be coming during your stay,” he added.
I let out a long sigh of relief, if not for the reason our host expected, and followed at the end of our little train of people to our rooms on the second floor. They were quaint and well-kept, with reading chairs and lots of light, and while I missed the bookish snugness of Elena’s space, I was glad we had a new place to stay that was personal and calming.
Much to my delight, which I kept tamped down, the host said he and his husband would be delighted if we brought dinner in to eat in their sitting room by the fire, so Aaran, in a knit cap and high-collared jacket to help him look a bit less noticeable, ducked out to a local place and got us burgers—lamb burgers in fact—and French fries that were fried dark and crispy, just like I loved them.
While we ate, our hosts stepped out for the evening to see a string ensemble play, they said, so we had the house to ourselves. Still, we were all nervous at being overhead, so I put my phone onto some Guns N’ Roses, turned it up, and then set it near us to hopefully drown out our voices if someone was listening in.
We had a lot to discuss, but my most pressing question was for Aaran. “Okay, what do you know?” I asked after I had devoured half of the most amazing burger I’d ever eaten, even though it was lamb.
Aaran looked at me and sighed. “I’ve had run-ins with Swagley’s people before . . . in my work.” He shrugged as he looked over at his brother. “The world of fishermen is pretty small.”
Adaire nodded. “So what happened?”
“I always steered clear, but a couple of guys I’ve worked with have violated catch limits and such so that they could sell to Swagley. Black market catches mostly. Totally shady.” Aaran took another bite of his burger. “The guy is just really bad news. One of those men I was talking about . . . he disappeared.”
The bite of French fry that I was chewing stuck in my throat. “You mean Swagley had him killed?”
Aaran shrugged again. “I can’t say for sure, but yeah, I think so.” He wasn’t exactly nonchalant about this whole story, but given the rate at which he was eating his food, I could tell he wasn’t exactly torn up about it either.
“Why didn’t you say something?” Beattie said.
“I wasn’t sure how. You two seemed so excited about the prospect of playing spy, and to be honest, I thought the Icelandic government would offer some protection or something. But now Poe’s being targeted when she’s alone, and they’ve kidnapped your hamster.” His voice got louder as he spoke.
Beattie waved her hand to suggest he lower his voice. “Now that you say that, maybe we should ask Gunnar and Inga for some protection from the government.”
Aaran shook his head. “Do that, and you’ll be in more danger. It’s best to carry on with the plan and see if Poe can make her way in.”
“Are you sure?” Adaire said. “This is sounding quite dangerous.”
I looked over at Adaire, realizing I’d begun thinking of him as my boyfriend, and found it awfully cute that he was being so chivalric in his nerdy feminist way. “I’m okay with going forward. Aaran’s right. I’m already in. Any change in tactic will put us all in more danger.”
Beattie almost whispered. “And they have BB.”
“And they have BB,” I said as I leaned over and put my hand on her knee. “We’ll get him back.” I had no idea how we were going to do that. I wasn’t even all that certain Weber and Swagley had our hamster. Kidnapping a hamster?
“The way you two fawn over that little guy,” Aaran said, “it’s no wonder they took him as collateral.”
“The way they fawn over him?” Adaire said. “I seem to remember a certain fisherman napping with said hamster just yesterday.”
Adaire said it as a joke, but the memory hit me hard as I thought about Elena and her warm living room. Thinking of that kind woman made me even more determined to follow through. If these people had killed her, I couldn’t let them get away with it.
But that brought up a question, and I couldn’t help but voice it. “Why would they kill Elena?”
Aaran shook his head. “Maybe she tried to protect BB.”
Beattie gasped. “Oh, that precious woman. What a hero!”
I loved our hamster, but I wasn’t sure saving him was worth risking your life. But then again, I wasn’t sure the chance to kidnap him was worth killing for. I didn’t say any of this, of course. If Beattie needed Elena to be our hamster’s hero, so be it. I wasn’t really willing to believe that, though.
“What’s next then?” Adaire asked.
As if on cue, my phone rang. I answered after the first ring and heard Weber’s voice on the other end of the line. “Tomorrow, meet us at 10 a.m.” She named a location. “Your friends may come,” she said.
I almost laughed at the opposite of the standard “come alone” requirement from other ransom situations. But I managed to hold the guffaw back behind a cough, then said, “Please be sure Butterball has plenty to eat.”
“We’ve given him his own sofa. He’s fine,” she said and then hung up.
I stared at my phone for a moment, trying to figure out if the sofa comment had been serious or a sarcastic joke.
“Do they have him?” Beattie shouted.
I nodded. “He’s fine, though.” I hoped I was right. “They want to meet tomorrow.” I relayed the rest of the demands. “I guess we know what’s next now.”
Aaran nodded. “We can go have breakfast at the coffee shop and leave word,” he said. “Maybe they’ll provide some protection, just for the meeting, without being obvious.”
I sighed. “I hope so.” A quick search told me that the location Weber had given me was in a small park just a few blocks away. “At least we’re meeting in the open. They can have the police keep an eye on us.”
“Speaking of which,” Adaire said, “Do you think we should have told Officer Jonsdottir?”
Aaran shook his head. “We were definitely being watched, and my guess is she knows the situation. She seems to be quite the savvy lass.”
I looked over at Beattie, but she wasn’t taking any of this in. She looked exhausted—pale and drawn—and I decided to call it a night. “Gentlemen, I think we’re going to bed. We can strategize further in the morning.” I turned off the music on my phone, which had changed from GnR to The Commodores. “Beattie, you ready?”
Beattie nodded and then let Aaran kiss her cheek when they both stood up. He put his arm through hers and led her up the stairs. Adaire and I followed behind, our arms similarly interlocked. It was a quiet goodnight outside our rooms, and not just because someone might have been listening.
The next morning, the sun was bright and warm, and the soft yellow color of our room’s walls made the whole space fairly glow. I woke before Beattie and slipped into the shower, hoping to let her sleep as long as she could. But when I came out, she was sitting up in bed with her clothes laid out beside her.
I took one look at her selection and smiled. “Feeling better?”
She scooped up the black leggings, hot pink sweater, and pink and green scarf. “Not really better, but determined.” She winked at me and went into the bathroom.
When she came out, her hair was in a perfect twist, with the scarf tied jauntily around the front. She’d done her makeup style somewhere between a pin-up and a 1950s runway model, and as she sat on the bed to put on her knee-length stiletto boots, she smiled. “Let’s go catch the bad guys.”
“Okay, but first, I need you to do my hair and makeup. No way I’m showing up for this meeting looking all plain Jane,” I said.
“You got it, sister,” she said and proceeded to cream and lotion my hair until the curls were soft but solid. She did my makeup with waves of blue across my eyes over cat-eye liner, and I looked like I was one of Charlie’s Angels but with hips, less finesse, and a whole lot more attitude. It was perfect.
When I walked outside, I decided that I could live in Iceland, mostly because the dry, cool air was perfect for my hair, but also, the people were nice, the food was good, and it never got very hot. I really hated the heat, and unfortunately, Charlottesville was a sweltering bowl of humidity and heat from May to September. Ugh. Icelandic weather and my Iceland-tempered hair suited me.
I tried to distract myself as we walked to the coffee shop to let our barista spy know about our meeting. Thoughts of how I might take Icelandic lessons and study Icelandic folklore at the university filled my mind, and I wondered if I might even begin to like fish if I lived here. That one was highly doubtful, but the disgust at the thought of me eating seafood was nicely distracting.
After I ordered our coffees and used our purposefully silly code phrase—“We have the package”—and passed the note with the meeting location and time to the server with my money, I made my way back to our table and waited. I thought I was just waiting for my coffee and some fruit pastry thing that made me feel like I was eating healthily when really the fruit was candied and not at all healthy.
But a few moments later, Officer Jonsdottir came in and headed right for us. I kind of wanted to scream and shoo her away, but I figured that would look even more suspicious than just sitting with the police officer who was handling the case of the woman who was murdered in our guesthouse.
Apparently, she felt the same way because when she sat down, she said, “We’re talking about the investigation of your host’s murder.” The comment sounded forceful, as if she needed to command our attention to the matters at hand, but I knew she was just making sure we knew that she knew. A wave of relief passed over me.
“My usual,” she said as the barista dropped off our coffees and pastries and a very large cup of coffee. “This is my usual spot.”
I smiled and admired the way she closed her eyes to take her first sip. This woman appreciated coffee, and any coffee lover was a friend of mine.
“We haven’t made any headway on BB’s location, but we did receive this email this morning.” She slid a single page across the table so that both Beattie and I could see it.
The hamster is safe and well-cared for. When we have what we want, we will return him unharmed.
Beneath the text was a photo of BB in front of a bowl of blueberries with today’s paper beside him.
I laughed out loud. “This is proof of life,” I said as I looked at Beattie.
She, however, was not laughing. “I hope they aren’t feeding him too much fruit. It gives him stomach trouble.”
I didn’t dare point out to my distressed bestie that a little indigestion was the least of BB’s worries, so I just patted her hands. “He looks good,” I said.
She nodded half-heartedly before looking up at Office Jonsdottir. “What do they want?”
The officer shook her head and said, “We don’t know.” She sounded so sincere that I thought maybe she really didn’t know. But then she said, “It’s a familiar saga—kidnapping, ransom with unclear demands.”
The word saga was a very particular word for this situation, and I got her meaning exactly. She knew precisely what was going on, and she wanted us to know she knew.
I couldn’t get any words out, but fortunately, Aaran was quick to respond. “Really? A lot of people make ransom demands without naming their demands.”
Officer Jonsdottir smiled. “You’d be surprised.” She shook her head. “Once, a man demanded that he be given what, and I quote, ‘I’ve been asking for from my father for years,’ before he’d let his sister out of their family mansion north of the city.”
“Did he make that demand of his father?” Adaire asked.
“No,” the officer said with an even broader smile. “They asked it of their sister, who was seven at the time, the child of their father’s second marriage. She had no idea what he wanted, but fortunately, she also thought her kidnapping was a big game and was none the wiser when we stormed in and ‘saved’ her. She was eating cake.”
I laughed, and even Beattie cracked a smile. “Criminal mastermind, that guy,” she said.
“Precisely,” the police officer said before she grew more stern. “But unfortunately, in this situation, we have less to go on. Our IT department is looking into the source of the email, so that’s a good lead.”
“I suppose, though, that you don’t have the resources of several massive government agencies at your disposal like on TV,” I said, hoping to keep levity in the conversation but also ferret out a bit more info.
“Alas, no. It’ll take us a couple of days at least, even with all the tremendous resources we have at our disposal.” She looked down at the table. “But we are doing everything we can, and we will keep you closely updated.”
I wasn’t sure if that last sentence was code or a simple statement of fact, but I felt better just knowing she was here. “Thanks,” I said. “I’m afraid we have to go. Got some appointments as tourists this morning.”
She stood and picked up her gigantic paper coffee cup. “I’ll be in touch,” she said and headed out the door before us, another smart move on her part since now she wouldn’t be thought to be lingering in order to follow us.
I downed my coffee and snagged a pastry before leading our party of four out the door. I felt like the drum major out in front of a band. I was tempted to try to do that thing the HBCU drum majors do where I high-stepped and spun around, but it would not have been pretty with my pastry. Not at all.
Instead, I just walked straight ahead and tried to look confident. I didn’t feel confident, but sometimes, as they say, faking it is making it. The entire time I walked toward the park, I remembered my marching band instructor, Mr. Nail, and his instructions on how to heel-to-toe our feet so that our walk was smooth. It worked because when we turned into the park, I was much calmer and also very focused on how much the tendons in the top of my feet hurt, just like they did when I was in high school. Well, worse. Much worse, in fact.
When I saw Weber on a bench near the park entrance, I forgot all about my feet and clasped my bag to my chest for comfort. I hoped, after the fact, that the gesture looked protective, but given that I was protecting a stack of chopped-up newspaper hidden in the fake dictionary, I wasn’t feeling very cautious about the material in the bag. Instead, I was just hoping it might stop a bullet if need be.
“I’m glad to see you, Ms. Baxter. And you, too, Ms. Andrews, Mr. Anderson, and Mr. Anderson. Thank you for coming.” She gestured to the park bench beside her as if we were in a boardroom. It was weird.
Not knowing quite what else to do, I sat down, my bag still cradled against my chest. “I’m still not sure about this,” I said. “But since you have BB . . .” I didn’t know how to finish that sentence. I loved my pet, but I was having a hard time believing someone would actually think I’d go into business with an organized crime boss to save my hamster.
“We do, and he is fine.” She looked up at Beattie. “I assure you. He is living quite the life in our care.” She looked back at me. “Your friend is very distressed. So let us finish our business, and then we can have your beloved pet back to you in an hour.”
It was then that I realized Weber’s plan was more conniving than I thought. She wasn’t banking on me making a deal to save BB. She was confident I’d make the deal to help Beattie, and she wasn’t wrong. I’d do anything for my best friend, even put myself in grave danger, as I was about to do right now.
“I’m willing to sell, but I want to meet your boss, Mr. Swagley, I believe. I will only sell to him personally.” My voice was trembling when I said it, but I knew it was what I needed to do. If I could get close to him, I might be able to help the president catch him. “And I need to be paid in cash.”
Weber sat back and flicked her nails against each other. “Those are large demands, Ms. Baxter. May I ask your reasons?”
I was fortunate that Beattie and I had run through potential responses as she did my hair this morning because I didn’t hesitate. “First, I want to meet your boss because I want to be sure he understands the value of what he is buying. I only sell, on principle, to people who understand the immense importance of books like these.”
Weber nodded. “And the reason for cash?”
At this question, I looked down and tried to seem embarrassed. “I’m not getting paid very much, and we would like to enjoy our time abroad a bit more,” I said with a quick glance at my friends. “Cash will allow me to make a small withdrawal before depositing the rest and transferring it to my uncle.”
“So, in other words,” Weber said, “you’d like us to pretend, for your sake, that we wanted to do the deal in cash, as a favor, so to speak.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way, but yes, I suppose so.” My hands were shaking as I spoke.
“Very well, I can arrange both of those things. Cash works better for us anyway, untraceable that way.” She smiled and turned her body more fully in my direction. “May I please see the book?”
I hadn’t anticipated this development and almost froze. Fortunately, Aaran was very quick on his feet and said, “You don’t think we’d bring it with us in a public setting like this, do you?”
My eyes darted from him to Weber to see if she was frustrated, but she seemed, as always, completely calm. “Very well, but before you are allowed to see my employer, I will need to see the book. I can’t give you access to him without the merchandise, you understand?”
I nodded quickly. I understood very well. We had to get the book back to make this work. “Absolutely. You’ll be in touch, I assume,” I said as I stood up.
“Of course. Look for my call in one hour.” At that, she stood and walked away as if she were simply out strolling in the park for the day.
The four of us turned in the opposite direction and headed toward a café nearby. I was fairly certain we were being followed, but I couldn’t tell for sure. Still, we didn’t take any chances and avoided all incriminating conversations while we ordered lunch. As soon as we had our food order placed, I excused myself to the bathroom and sent Inga a frantic text telling her we needed the book. She called me immediately.
“Can’t give you the original, but we’ve created a very good copy. Where are you?”
I gave her the name of the café, and she moved her mouth away from the phone and spoke to someone I could vaguely hear in the background.
“There’s a back door there. Ask your server for more napkins in ten minutes, and we’ll take care of the rest.” She hung up.
I stared at my phone a moment, then flushed and stepped back into the main part of the bathroom, where I found Beattie reapplying her lipstick.
“What?” she said. “We could very well have had someone listening to you, couldn’t we? Besides, aren’t women supposed to go to the bathroom together?” She rolled her eyes and dabbed her lips. “Ready?”
I nodded and followed her back to our table. For the next nine minutes, I forced myself to eat something that resembled a Reuben but wasn’t quite that. The bread was amazing, and eventually, just to keep myself busy, I reverted to my childhood practice of taking something apart before eating it. Then I ate the bread.
Exactly ten minutes after Inga’s instructions, I waved our waitress over and asked for more napkins. Since we had four perfectly good ones on the table, she gave me a bit of a weird look but came back a few minutes later with a huge stack of napkins that she handed directly to me with a sharp nod of her head. “As you requested,” she said.
I dropped the stack into my lap and slid the fake book into my bag while pretending to rummage for a pen. When I had indeed located the pen, I spread out the napkins and drew a mountain scene, again relying on the gifts of my younger days to occupy me. It was the best I could come up with as a reason for all the things that had just transpired.
My friends, bless their kind hearts, followed suit, and soon, we were all scribbling on napkins as we waited for Weber’s call. I couldn’t risk explaining the situation, but I appreciated that they all trusted me enough to just follow my lead.
Adaire drew a very respectable tiger head, and Aaran sketched some sort of seascape that felt perhaps just a wee bit too on-brand for him. Beattie, of course, had to outdo us all and created a completely symmetrical mandala pattern with various patterns and shading throughout the form. I wanted to frame her napkin art and hang it in my office at Uncle Fitz’s shop.
But before I had a chance to compliment her, my phone rang. When I answered, Weber said, “Ten minutes, the café across the street.”
I hung up and relayed the information to my friends, and we passed a silent look that said the equivalent of “so we are being watched.” I could only hope that my sleight of hand was good enough when it came to getting the book into my bag.