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there.”
    â€œYes, I remember. Kari was joking about how often she had been a bridesmaid lately. And you were reminiscing about your own wedding there during the war, wearing your grandmother’s dress and drinking the toast with some sort of raw alcohol mixed with orange soda your father concocted.”
    â€œAnd Annelise?” Pix persisted.
    â€œShe was at school with Kari and now she lives and works in Bergen. She hasn’t been there very long, and you know how it is for us on the east coast. We cannot get used to the rain—and if you are not from Bergen, you are really an outsider to many people there. You know they always say Bergen, not Norway, when someone asks them where they’re from. I think Kari wanted to see how Annelise was doing—if she’d found friends.”
    â€œWhy couldn’t she just look her name up in the telephone book when she got there, or ask information? Why would she call you for it?”
    â€œThere are not so many names in Norway and there are as many Hansens as Christensens, I’m sure. That’s why we put our professions as part of our names so often. Without Annelise’s address, Kari would have had to call many A. Christensens, and she wouldn’t want to bother people.”
    Heaven forbid, Pix thought. Bothering people was another sin in this very polite society.
    â€œI phoned Annelise after I spoke to Carl, the tour guide. I thought maybe Kari had been in touch with her some way, but she hadn’t heard from Kari and was as surprised as I was that they had eloped. When the news of Erik’s death came, she called right away. She, too, is worried about Kari, of course, and if she hears anything at all, she said she would let me know at once.”
    Pix nodded.
    â€œI think you’re looking a little peaked, dear,” Ursula said to her daughter. “I’m sure Marit wouldn’t mind if you took a short nap before we leave for the station.”
    Pix was about to protest that, like her mother, she could sleep on the long train ride, but she closed her mouth when she felt the meaningful glance from Ursula hit her full force in the face. Her mother wanted to be alone with her old friend. To comfort, console…plot?
    â€œYou can lie down in Kari’s room. I’ll show you.” Marit led the way out of the living room and down thenarrow hall. “The bathroom is just here.” She nodded at a closed door marked with the traditional heart.
    Kari’s room also overlooked the bustling Oslofjord, and the thin muslin curtains let in the sunlight. Pix noted the heavy roller shades, necessary at this time of year, when the sky could still be bright at midnight. The walls of the room were covered with blue-flowered wallpaper that Pix recognized as Laura Ashley. Kari was something of an Anglophile after working as an au pair outside London one summer. Bracelets and necklaces hung from an assortment of wooden pegs. A bookshelf held childhood books, in addition to her university texts. She was studying to be an occupational therapist. The shelves also held a piggy bank, photo albums, and a funny-looking troll. There was a full stereo system, stacks of cassettes and CDs, and headphones—presumably for Marit’s sake. The antique pine bed was covered with a dyne, the down-filled comforter that served as bedding in Scandinavia, its crisp white cover changed, instead of a top sheet. Two fluffy pillows were at the head, and for a brief moment, Pix thought she might crawl in and pull the comforter over her head for a few minutes of blissful unconsciousness. But she didn’t like to sleep in the daytime. It made her groggy, cranky—and she had a lot to think about after talking to Marit.
    Most important, though, was the realization that here she was in Kari’s room. What would Faith do in a similar situation? She’d snoop, of course. Pix felt fully justified in opening any and all drawers if it would give