December 10
The day was gray and Ingrid’s mood even grayer. She’d been in such good spirits yesterday after the cake tasting and the nice
afternoon with Thor. She was sick of the dark clouds that always drifted over her after periods of energy and sunshine. What
had happened to good old vivacious Ingrid Berg?
She’d been planning on going to bed early the night before but ended up sitting up late, obsessing over renovations and bills
and missing orders, eating caramels until her stomach protested and her mouth felt glazed in fat and sugar.
She was lethargic when she woke up. Her battery level was close to zero. Three cups of strong morning coffee had helped a little, but not as much as they should have. Apparently Nana Borghild wasn’t feeling great either; she had asked whether they could postpone their daily chat until later in the day. So after breakfast, Ingrid had taken a trip down to the basement to look at some walls that needed painting. She’d noticed not only that the paint was peeling, but that the wood was bulging in some places. Was the drainage system not functioning properly? Had water gotten in from outside? When she stuck her thumbnail into the wood, it had given way. Was it rotten? Oh no . . . she couldn’t take any more of this.
Her phone buzzed. It was a text from Vegard: Can you come up to Pia ’ s room?
Coming!
What was it now? Pia and Vegard couldn’t possibly already be ready to leave. He was notoriously slow-moving and always took
forever to pack. Ingrid always wondered how he could take so long; it was just a matter of throwing everything you’d brought
into your suitcase! To be fair, though, Vegard packed more clothes for a weekend than she would have packed for a week, and
he had so many skin and hair products that the shelves in the bathroom usually didn’t even have enough room for everything.
Ingrid knocked on Pia’s door, bracing herself for another disaster, but found Vegard and Pia sitting by the small table in
front of the window. Vegard had clearly brought breakfast upstairs, but Pia didn’t seem to have eaten much. The juice glass
was half empty, and only a few bites had been taken from a roll lying on the plate. Pia looked pale, even though she seemed
to be freshly showered and made up, and her hair was just as beautiful as when she’d arrived.
“Are you all right?” Ingrid asked. “Or is something wrong?”
“No, not really, but I feel a bit off,” Pia replied. “Nauseous and dizzy. I don’t think I can drive all the way back to Oslo
when I’m feeling like this.”
She almost looked like she was going to cry, and she shut her eyes for a moment before looking at Ingrid again. “I guess I just need to rest. Is it okay if I stay until tomorrow? Or maybe the day after? I’ll pay for my stay, of course.”
Ingrid looked at Vegard. He gave her a pretty please? look, which was really quite unnecessary. Ingrid would never say no to paying guests or Vegard’s friends, and definitely not to famous influencers. And Pia P—she was the whole package.
“Of course you can stay until tomorrow,” Ingrid replied. “You can stay as long as you want! You’re more than welcome here.
But let us know if there’s anything we can help with.”
Pia nodded. “Yes, I will.”
“You... don’t need a doctor or anything?”
Pia shook her head energetically but stopped quickly. “No, no, it’s not that bad! Don’t worry. I just don’t feel quite ready to travel. It’s probably better to stay here and gather my strength. I think
I’ll try to go outside and get some fresh air later.”
“You should definitely rest,” Ingrid said. “And I hope you feel better soon. And it’s a good idea to take a little walk outside
later, if you feel up to it. Silver linings and all that. We’ve been really looking forward to showing you Glitter Peak at
its finest, and now maybe we’ll have the chance!”
Pia smiled weakly.
“What about you, Vegard?” Ingrid asked. “Will you stay a little longer, too? And keep Pia company?”
Vegard’s work mostly took place online, so she knew he didn’t have to return to the capital to get back to the office or anything
like that.
He smiled and nodded. “I might as well work from here for a few more days,” he said. “If you have room, that is.”
“Of course I have room,” Ingrid assured him. “You know I’m just happy to have you here.”
“Then I’ll tell David right away.”
Her gray mood was brightened by a glimmer of sunshine. Vegard would stay here a little longer! That warmed her enough to be
able to bear the thought of finding Alfred and getting him to take a look at the wall in the basement.
***
“That is insaaaaanely cool!” Vegard practically shouted when she showed him the front page of the newspaper about the young woman who disappeared
in 1962. They were drinking coffee together in the library.
She shushed him, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“I mean, we should do a podcast or something,” he continued. “That’s the big thing now, you know. True crime.”
“Okay, you have to stop,” Ingrid laughed. “We’re not going to be making any podcasts here. At least not until we know what
this is all about. We don’t even know if there even was a crime to begin with!”
“That doesn’t make it any less exciting, though.”
“No, I guess not. But I’ll ask Nana Borghild about it. And Thor is going to try to help find more newspapers.”
“Trustworthy ol’ Thor,” Vegard said. “He has a crush on you. You know that, right?”
Ingrid snorted. “Oh my God, now you really have to knock it off, Vegard. Thor and I were boyfriend-girlfriend when we were
about... eleven. I think he’s gotten over it.”
“Do you think so? And what about you? Have you gotten over it? He is pretty cute. If it weren’t for David, I might’ve considered going after him myself. Sheep and all.”
Vegard had put on his most coquettish voice.
“You goofball,” Ingrid laughed.
***
Ingrid was sitting on the sofa in Borghild’s apartment with a pile of insurance papers that she intended to go through with
her grandmother. But of course, she had to ask about the mysterious disappearance first. Borghild stood with her back turned,
looking out the window.
“Yes, a young woman disappeared,” she said. “She was only nineteen. It was her wedding day. The groom was waiting at the altar,
but she never showed up.”
“And no one knows what happened to her?”
“At least no one who wants to talk about it.”
“So the mystery was never solved?” Ingrid asked.
Her grandmother turned around.
“No, it wasn’t solved.”
“But who was it? Did you know her?”
“Yes, I knew her. She was from the village.”
“Oh, wow. It must have been pretty... I mean, what do you think happened?”
Nana Borghild sat down next to Ingrid and put her hand on hers.
“Some people think she ran off, others think she jumped into the falls. Or that something happened to her. Why are you asking
about this now, sweetie? It was a long, long time ago.”
“I found some newspaper clippings in the cupboard with the guest books. Someone kept the front page of the paper that said
she was missing. Was it you?”
“It could be. I . . . don’t really remember. Like I said, it was a long time ago.”
“So you don’t know if we have the rest of the paper somewhere?”
“No, I don’t know... I can’t remember what was saved decades ago.”
“Of course,” Ingrid said. “Thor’s going to help me investigate some more. Did you know he’s interested in local history?”
“No, I didn’t,” her grandmother said. “Your grandfather was, too, in his last years. He was always talking about wanting to
write Glitter Peak’s history, but he didn’t get around to it before he died.”
“Do you think about him a lot?” Ingrid asked.
Nana Borghild looked at her, clearly surprised. They didn’t usually talk about Grandpa Christian.
“Of course I do,” Borghild said. “But I’ve lived longer without him than I did with him.”
“Why didn’t you ever remarry after he died?” Ingrid asked.
Borghild had never even had a boyfriend or “friend” after she was widowed—at least not that Ingrid knew about.
“It might have made things easier up here if you had a husband? For support? A kind of partner?”
Nana Borghild shook her head.
“No, that would only have complicated things. For me, life is easier without a husband getting involved in everything.”
Ingrid wasn’t sure whether she was joking or serious. For all she knew, her grandmother could have had romances without Ingrid
being aware of them. She felt that she’d already gone a bit too far with the questions now. Maybe a person didn’t always want
to tell her grandchild absolutely everything.
Ingrid knew that love and romance were elements that had to be pushed aside when life demanded something else of you—and life had indeed demanded a lot of Borghild.
“But what about you, then?” her grandmother’s lively voice said. “You’re the one who needs a husband—not me!”
“Me?!” Ingrid couldn’t imagine sharing her life or job with a man right now. “Oh no, no, no... taking care of myself and
the hotel is more than enough. I can’t imagine having to nurture a relationship as well.”
She paused for a moment before continuing. “I guess I’ve never really pictured it either. I’ve never really longed for a partner
the way other people seem to. The thing with Preben was kind of... something else.”
Her jobs as a mountain guide and expedition leader had always been lonely. True, she’d been surrounded by teams, but she was
the leader, she was the one making the decisions: where they were going, who could join, when they should attempt a summit,
when they should wait. She listened to other people’s opinions, but she had to be strong. Not just strong—she knew a lot of
people thought she was cold, too. But she had to be that way. As a leader and as a climber, you had to be focused and disciplined.
You had to be in control of yourself in order to lead others.
At least that’s how it was until she met Preben Wexelsen. At some point in their relationship, she’d lost her focus, and she’d
definitely lost her leadership abilities. She’d let her feelings for him get in the way of her judgment.
She noticed that he was someone who took charge as soon as she met him—maybe even the first time they were in the same room. It was at a convention—“Nordic Summit: The Elevating Experience”—where they’d both been hired to speak about their expeditions. She was standing in a crowded room full of climbers and tour organizers, and the volume of the chatter and laughter around them almost seemed to lower a bit the moment Preben entered the room. She recognized him from TV and newspapers, but he was even more good-looking in person: tall, handsome, strong. He had dark, slicked-back hair and clearly chiseled features with prominent cheekbones and a defined jawline. He looked around, and when his eyes met Ingrid’s, she felt it like an electric shock. A bolt of lightning. She’d never experienced anything like it before.
Later, she thought that her fate had been sealed at this moment. If she’d known how it was going to turn out, she would have
walked out of the conference room right then and there and never looked back.
But she didn’t know. And she didn’t leave the conference room. On the contrary, she kept looking at Preben even after they
broke eye contact and he turned to greet someone from the company organizing the conference. She felt an immediate urge to
go over to him but controlled herself for as long as she could. Everything about him appealed to her. The tall figure, the
confident posture. The piercing gaze. She later found out that his eyes were green—and that his mouth was the only thing that
was soft about him.
“It’s you and me now,” he said as he kissed her and left her room the next morning. And so it was.
Preben had a natural authority that made it easy to trust him, to let him have the final say in things. If she wanted to climb Kilimanjaro from the south and he from the north, she would argue against it, but they’d most likely end up climbing from the north anyway. As their partnership and relationship developed, it became more and more natural for her to give in, to let him take the lead. She started to suppress her gut feeling if they disagreed, thinking that he must know better. An expedition couldn’t have two leaders anyway, and he had more experience than her. For a while, it felt right to do things that way. But in the end, it turned out to be catastrophic.
If she’d learned anything from all this, it was that she had to be able to make it on her own. The decision to give up climbing
and focus on running a hotel was related to this insight—except for the fact that she didn’t really have much of a choice,
either.
Vegard, who was the world’s biggest Disney fan, said that Ingrid was like Elsa from Frozen , sitting up here in her hotel: an ice queen on Glitter Peak. But she wasn’t a queen. She didn’t have any magical powers.
She’d simply learned from hard-earned experience that you couldn’t trust anyone but yourself. With Preben, she’d let go of
control, allowed someone else to take charge, and it had ended in disaster.
***
Spring 1962
“She’s not here? What do you mean she’s not here?” the groom’s best man growled. He was also the bride’s older brother, and
his broad shoulders were hunched, as if he were preparing to attack.
The usher took a step backward, tugged at his lapels, and widened his eyes, clearly frightened by the young man in front of him. This wasn’t a guy you wanted to mess with, but the usher could do nothing but tell the truth.
“She isn’t here,” he said. He was clutching a bundle of songbooks in a sweaty hand and set them on a shelf in the armory.
He fixed his gaze on the big, burly man who towered in front of him. “The driver came with an empty car,” the usher stammered.
“He waited outside your house for a long time, but she never came out. He went and knocked, too, but nothing happened, and
the house seemed empty. So he drove over here to see if he’d misunderstood and she’d come to the church some other way. But
she’s not here.”
“She’s not here. She’s. Not. Here.” The bride’s brother had turned red in the face and was breathing heavily. “What the hell
has she gotten herself into now?”
The usher couldn’t answer and therefore settled for shaking in his boots.
The bride’s brother ignored him and glanced into the crowded church, where the groom was still standing at the altar rail,
sweating in his slightly too-tight suit, and where more and more people in the pews had turned around to see what was happening.
The only person not looking toward the back was the bride’s maid of honor. She was sitting on a chair in the chancel, staring
straight ahead.
Rage flared up in the bride’s brother. That bitch. He would deal with her later. He’d never felt so humiliated in his entire life, and he had a strong feeling that the girl sitting right there was partly responsible for this scandal.
But first, he had to find out where his sister was.
Because she was going to regret this.