Harry Hole Mysteries 3-Book Bundle Read Online Free Page B

So we’ll have to do it my way.’
    He hadn’t raised his voice, yet there was an irritation that made Jonas cringe. He never quite knew what made his father so angry. Or, now and then, even
whether
he was angry. Until he saw his mother’s face with the anxious droop round the corners of her mouth, which seemed to make Dad even more irritable. He hoped she would soon be there.
    ‘We don’t use them plates, Dad!’
    His father slammed the cupboard door and Jonas bit his bottom lip. His father’s face came down to his. The square, paper-thin glasses sparkled.
    ‘It’s those plates, not them plates,’ his father said. ‘How many times do I have to tell you, Jonas?’
    ‘But Mummy says –’
    ‘Mummy doesn’t speak properly. Do you understand? Mummy comes from a place and a family where they’re not bothered about language.’ His father’s breath smelt salty, of rotten seaweed.
    The front door banged.
    ‘Hello,’ she sang out from the hall.
    Jonas was about to run to her, but his father held him by the shoulder and pointed to the unlaid table.
    ‘How good you are!’
    Jonas could hear the smile in her breathless voice as she stood in the kitchen doorway behind him while he set out glasses and cutlery as quickly as he could.
    ‘And what a big snowman you’ve made!’
    Jonas turned in surprise to his mother, who was unbuttoning her coat. She was so attractive. Dark skin, dark hair, just like him, and those gentle, gentle eyes she almost always had. Almost. She wasn’t quite as slim as in the photos from the time she and Dad got married, but he had noticed that men looked at her whenever the two of them took a stroll in town.
    ‘We haven’t made a snowman,’ Jonas said.
    ‘Haven’t you?’ His Mummy frowned as she unfurled the big pink scarf he had given her for Christmas.
    Dad went over to the window. ‘Must be the neighbours’ boys,’ he said.
    Jonas stood up on one of the kitchen chairs and peered out. And, sure enough, there on the lawn in front of the house was a snowman. It was, as his mother had said, big. Its eyes and mouth were made with pebbles and the nose was a carrot. The snowman had no hat, cap or scarf, and only one arm, a thin twig Jonas guessed had been taken from the hedge. However, there was something odd about the snowman. It was facing the wrong way. He didn’t know why, but it ought to have been looking out onto the road, towards the open space.
    ‘Why—?’ Jonas began, but was interrupted by his father.
    ‘I’ll talk to them.’
    ‘Why’s that?’ Mummy said from the hall where Jonas could hear her unzipping her high black leather boots. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
    ‘I don’t want that sort roaming around our property. I’ll do it when I’m back.’
    ‘Why isn’t it looking out?’ Jonas asked.
    In the hall, his mother sighed. ‘When will you be back, love?’
    ‘Tomorrow sometime.’
    ‘What time?’
    ‘Why? Have you got a date?’ There was a lightness of tone in his father’s voice that made him shiver.
    ‘I was thinking I would have dinner ready,’ Mummy said, cominginto the kitchen, going over to the stove, checking the pans and turning up the temperature on two of the hotplates.
    ‘Just have it ready,’ his father said, turning to the pile of newspapers on the worktop. ‘And I’ll be home at some point.’
    ‘OK.’ Mummy went over to Dad’s back and put her arms around him. ‘But do you really have to go to Bergen tonight already?’
    ‘My lecture’s at eight tomorrow,’ Dad said. ‘It takes an hour to get to the university from the time the plane lands, so I wouldn’t make it if I caught the first flight tomorrow.’
    Jonas could see from the muscles in his father’s neck that he was relaxing, that once again Mummy had managed to find the right words.
    ‘Why is the snowman looking at our house?’ Jonas asked.
    ‘Go and wash your hands,’ Mummy said.
    They ate in silence, broken only by Mummy’s tiny questions about how school had been