Girl Who Played with Fire, The - Stieg Larsson [38]
In Lisbeth’s eyes Camilla was insincere, corrupt, and manipulative. But it was Lisbeth whom society had declared incompetent.
She zipped up her leather jacket before she walked through the rain to the main entrance. She stopped at a garden bench and looked around. On this very spot eighteen months ago, she had seen her mother for the last time. She had paid an unscheduled visit to the nursing home when she was on her way north to help Blomkvist in his attempt to track down a serial killer. Her mother had been restless and didn’t seem to recognize Salander. She held on tight to her hand and looked at her with a bewildered expression. Salander was in a hurry. She loosened her mother’s grip, gave her a hug, and rode away on her motorcycle.
The director of Äppelviken, Agnes Mikaelsson, greeted her warmly and took her to a storeroom where they found the cardboard box. Salander hefted it. Only five or six pounds. Not much in the way of an inheritance.
“I had a feeling you’d come back someday,” Mikaelsson said.
“I’ve been out of the country,” Salander said.
She thanked her for saving the box, carried it back to the car, and left Äppelviken for the last time.
Salander was back in Mosebacke just after noon. She put her mother’s box unopened in a hall closet and left the apartment again.
As she opened the front door a police car drove slowly past. Salander warily observed the presence of the authorities outside her building, but when they showed no sign of interest in her she put them out of her mind.
She went shopping at H&M and KappAhl department stores and bought herself a new wardrobe. She picked up a large assortment of basic clothes in the form of pants, jeans, tops, and socks. She had no interest in expensive designer clothing, but she did enjoy being able to buy half a dozen pairs of jeans at one time without a second thought. Her most extravagant purchases were from Twilfit, where she chose a drawerful of panties and bras. This was basic clothing again, but after half an hour of embarrassed searching she also settled on a set that she thought was sexy, even erotic, and which she would never have dreamed of buying before. When she tried them on that night she felt incredibly foolish. What she saw in the mirror was a thin, tattooed girl in grotesque underwear. She took them off and threw them in the trash.
She also bought herself some winter shoes and two pairs of lighter indoor shoes. Then she bought a pair of black boots with high heels that made her a couple of inches taller. She also found a good winter jacket in brown suede.
She made coffee and a sandwich before she drove the rental car back to its garage near Ringen. She walked home and sat in the dark all evening on her window seat, watching the water in Saltsjön.
Mia Johansson cut the cheesecake and decorated each slice with a scoop of raspberry ice cream. She served Berger and Blomkvist first before she put down plates for Svensson and herself. Eriksson had resolutely resisted dessert and was content with black coffee in an old-fashioned flowered porcelain cup.
“It was my grandmother’s china service,” said Mia when she saw Eriksson examining the cup.
“She’s scared to death that a cup is going to break,” Svensson said. “She takes it out only when we have really important guests.”
Johansson smiled. “I spent several years with my grandmother when I was a child, and the china is almost all I have left of her.”
“They’re really beautiful,” Eriksson said. “My kitchen is one hundred percent IKEA.”
Blomkvist didn’t give a damn about flowered coffee cups and instead cast an appraising eye on the plate with