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somewhere else? A situation with a friend, someone they knowat the university?” Pix was trying to ask her question delicately, avoiding words like drugs. She added, “Or a senseless attack by a stranger?”
    â€œI thought of those things—of everything. I have told myself enough stories for many novels.” Marit sounded bleak. “I think I have spoken to everyone Kari ever knew, gone through her address book, reached friends of friends. Nothing. Everyone seemed genuinely puzzled about where she might be and what could have happened to Erik. The only thing left is the tour.
    â€œErik’s parents have believed from the beginning that it was suicide after a quarrel, and they blame Kari. They are very religious people and Erik seemed rebellious to them, although it was only normal growing-up behavior. Now, perhaps they feel he has been punished. I cannot pretend to understand, only grieve for them. They won’t talk to me any longer. But I don’t agree. I knew Erik and I’m sure he wouldn’t have taken his life. Kari and Erik were very happy together. As for a stranger, we do not have many of these random crimes in Norway, although I suppose it could have occurred. But why? They weren’t robbed. No, the tour is the only hope, and I have such a strong feeling about it. Almost as if Kari herself is telling me what to do.”
    She stopped, her lips set in a firm line. Pix knew there had never been any doubt about going on the tour. She’d just had to ask. This settled, or unsettled, the next question followed.
    â€œIsn’t it going to seem odd for us to be joining the tour so near to the end? Wouldn’t we have waited for the next one? What did you say when you made the reservations?”
    â€œRemember, Erik worked for this company last year, so I know a lot about it. Apparently, the most popular part is the fjord cruise. If there’s room, they let people sign up just for those four days. You can leave either from Bergen or Oslo and meet the rest at Voss. You won’t be the only ones, I’m sure.”
    â€œAlso, can you tell us exactly what Kari said when she called Friday night?”
    Marit closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and recited from memory, a memory she had obviously been over many times. “She said the tour was going well. No rain—they’d had rain with the first one and everyone complained. I asked her where she was and she told me she was about to get on the train to Bergen. She was in the main train station, Oslo S, not the smaller one at the National Theater. She said, ‘I don’t have much time, Bestemor, and I’d like you to do a favor for me.’ ‘Anything,’ I told her. ‘Could you go into the top middle drawer of my desk, get my address book, and give me Annelise Christensen’s phone number? No, wait—they’re boarding and I have to go. There isn’t time. Call me with it tonight. The tour is staying at the Augustin Hotel; you know it.’ I said no problem and that I’d talk with her later. ‘How is Erik?’ I asked, and she said, ‘He’s fine, but there’s something else…. I can’t talk now. I’ll tell you tonight.’ She hung up without even saying good-bye. At the time, I thought the train must have started to move, but now I think maybe someone came along, someone she didn’t want overhearing what she was about to say.”
    Pix nodded. “Two more things. Did she say anything about eloping? And who is Annelise Christensen?”
    â€œI’ve told you everything she said as exactly as I can remember. And if she had planned to elope, I know she would have said something. But she never would have eloped. It was always her dream to get married in the domkirken in Tønsberg where she had been christened and confirmed. Erik, too. They spoke of it when you were here, Ursula, and we went to that concert