The Readers of Broken Wheel Recommend Read Free Page A

Haninge
    Sweden
    Dear Sara,
    Thank you so much for your kind gift! It’s a book I probably wouldn’t have bought myself, so it was all the more welcome. What an awful tale. I had no idea such things took place in Sweden, though I don’t know why they shouldn’t. If you ask me, there’s much more violence, sex and scandal in small towns than in the big cities, and if that’s true of towns then I suppose it might also be true of small countries? I presume it’s because people get closer to one another there. We’ve certainly had our fair share of scandal here in Broken Wheel.
    But a Lisbeth Salander? That we definitely do not have. A remarkable woman. As I understand it, there are two more books in the series. Would you do me the honor of sending the second and third books? I won’t be able to sleep before I find out what happens to her. And that overwrought young man Mr Blomkvist as well, of course.
    I’ll pay you for them, naturally. Speaking of small towns, murder and sex, I’m sending you Harper Lee’s
To Kill a Mockingbird
as a first installment.
    With kind regards,
    Amy Harris

The Broken Wheel Newsletter
    YOU HAVE FOUR
new messages. Received today at zero five thirteen hours.
    â€˜Darling! It’s Mum … What? … Yes, yes, Dad too, of course. We’re just back from Anders and Gunnel’s. Remember them? Our old neighbours who moved to that lovely villa in Tyresö. How is everything? Have you arrived yet? What’s it like out in the sticks? Is Amy a complete nutcase? Did you manage to find the right bus? I don’t understand why you had to go to …’
    Received today at zero five fifteen hours.
Her mother continued as though she had never been interrupted:
    â€˜To the countryside … Wait, I’m not finished … Fine, here’s your dad, who absolutely has to say a few words, even though I’m not done.’
    Short pause, serious throat clearing.
    â€˜Sara! I hope you’re not just staying inside and reading. You’ve got to get out and talk to people. It’s a fantastic opportunity, travelling. I remember when your mother and I …’
    Received today at zero five eighteen hours
.
    â€˜What is it with these answerphones? Why don’t they let me finish? Well, bye for now then … Wait. Your mother wants to say something again.’
    â€˜You know if you change your mind, you can always go to New York instead. Or Los Angeles.’
    The message was cut off again, and the next hadn’t been recorded until three hours later. It was her mother again:
    â€˜Sara! Why aren’t you picking up? Is Amy a serial killer? I know what America’s like. If you’re lying in pieces somewhere, I’ll never forgive you. Unless you call us back right now, I’m ringing the CIA …’ Her father mumbled something in the background. ‘FBI.
Whatever
.’
    When Sara finally managed to get through to her mother, she was no calmer.
    â€˜I don’t like this small-town thing, not one bit,’ she started. It was a discussion they had had several times before.
    Sara rubbed her forehead and lay back down on the bed. The room she was in was small, maybe three by five metres. Apart from the bed, there was an armchair directly beneath the window, a bedside table and a little chest of drawers. That was all. The wallpaper was brightly floral and looked like at least a couple of decades old. The curtains were made from an entirely different floral pattern and were much too short for the window.
    â€˜Small towns are so … boring. You could’ve gone wherever you wanted.’
    It was ironic. Sara’s mother was always nagging her to travel, but now that she had finally gone and done it, her mother still wasn’t happy.
    â€˜And exposed. Who knows what kind of madmen are hiding there.’
    It wasn’t clear which was worse, the tediousness or the risk of bumping into one of