The island’s store was a two-story building close to the co-op building. Its doors faced west, but on its eastern side there was an extension and other entrances. From there was a staircase to the top floor where Asmundur, the storekeeper, lived with his wife in a small apartment. The store and stockroom were on the lower floor. When Kjartan opened the door into the store, a shrill bell resounded in the empty space. Kjartan looked around and took a deep breath. Strong and familiar odors lingered in the air. Wooden furnishings gave off a symphony of smells to the accompaniment of a broad range of products: candy, shoe polish, coffee, nails, books, oatmeal, hooks, potatoes, needles, baking powder, coffee jugs, raisins, scythes, brown sugar, paint, lemonade, grindstones, snuff, caps, peas, rubber shoes, vanilla drops, rakes, chocolate, and net buoys. These and many other products were crammed into cluttered piles on the shelves that covered all of the store’s walls. Some categories of products simply lay in bundles on the floor or on the counter.
Asmundur soon appeared in the store. He was a short, fat man, bald with a round jovial face, dressed in a white storekeeper’s apron tied around his potbelly. In his breast pocket there were two pencils and a folding ruler. The storekeeper greeted him amiably: “Hello, young man. We’ve got special offers on penknives and vitamins this week, cattle feeding corn is back in stock, and we’ve got the latest fashion in shoes from Reykjavik.”
“I’m not here to buy anything and I apologize for the intrusion, but I came for another reason,” said Kjartan at the end of the storekeeper’s sales pitch. He then asked him the same questions he had asked the farmers earlier. Asmundur’s answers were similar. He remembered the Danish visitor quite well. The man had come into the store to ask about film for his camera.
“Unfortunately, I didn’t have any rolls of film. I order them especially from Reykjavik when someone requests it. Since the Dane was on his way south anyway, I didn’t bother ordering any film for him,” said Asmundur. “I did, however, manage to sell him two pairs of woolen socks.” Then he thought a moment and said, “My boat certainly wasn’t moved during that time.”
“What do you use the boat for?” Kjartan asked.
“Mainly for small deliveries from the store,” the storekeeper answered. “Having a decent motorboat can come in quite handy when you need to pop over to the mainland or to the inner isles when the farmers are busy in the summer. The co-op doesn’t offer a good service like that, and that’s how you get customers. But I never go south to Stykkisholmur because the mail boat brings supplies over once a week. Then I always take my boat away after the slaughtering season and let it rest in the storehouse over the winter. I don’t like traveling by sea in the winter, both because of the dark and the cold. Farmers also normally find they have more time on their hands in the winter and like the change of doing their shopping in town.”
“Have you any idea how that Danish man could have ended up in Ketilsey?” Kjartan asked.
“It’s all people can talk about in the village,” the trader answered. “But nobody can figure it out. Who the hell could have left the man out there? I know every single person on these islands, and I can assure you there isn’t an ounce of evil in any of them. Maybe there was an accident. Maybe the man boarded the mail boat without any of the crew really noticing him. Then maybe he was standing by the gunwale and fainted and fell into the sea. Then perhaps he regained consciousness and swam until he found something to hang onto. Or the current was really fast and carried him all the way to Ketilsey. But it’s all so unlikely that one can barely believe it.”
Kjartan was on the point of giving up on the investigation. He felt no closer to solving Gaston Lund’s death.
“How much do you charge for these penknives of yours?” he asked.
Question three: The bad choice he made for me. Second letter. King Magnus said, “Many people can be grateful to their fathers, and so am I in many ways and more than most, but he made a bad choice in the mother he selected for me.” So “mother” is the answer, and the second letter is o.