Page 25 of Whispers at Dusk
“Yep, you,” Mason assured him.
Then, finally, they were back out the door. Wilhelm pointed out the pub, a place within easy walking distance. The building itself was a charming Victorian as much of Lillehammer, wooden, offering porches with benches and tables as well as an inside eating area. The bar itself was crafted of mahogany, handsome and well-polished. Della headed straight for the bar, took a seat, and he followed.
They were lucky to find seats. The hour was growing late, and more and more people were out for the evening. Two old codgers were arguing in a friendly manner at the end of the bar, while two couples were to their left and another couple was to their right.
Looking out at the tables, he wondered if a group that included two women and four men might be with the dig outside the city.
The bartender, a fellow who looked like he could have chosen a career as a linebacker, approached them with a friendly smile.
Della greeted him with her bit of knowledge regarding the Norwegian language, and Mason thought he had learned enough to believe she also asked him if he spoke English.
“Americans!” the man said. “Yes, I speak English. The Queen’s English, not the president’s, I’m afraid, but...”
“You have a great accent!” Della assured him. “Americans love accents. A British accent on a Norseman is great.”
The man grinned. “Well, typical Norse name, too. I’m Sven.”
“Sven, hi. I’m Della, this is Mason.”
“Nice to meet you. What can I get you?” Sven said, nodding politely to Mason and then to Della.
“Something Norwegian,” Mason said pleasantly.
“Like a mojito?” Sven teased.
“Norwegian beer,” Della said.
“Gotcha! That’s American, I think!” Sven said.
He turned to the taps and poured them each a drink, sliding the glasses expertly before them. They thanked him as he went on down the bar to check on his other patrons.
“We’re going to have to ask him,” Mason told Della.
“Ah, but our Bloody Mary drinker might just come in tonight, too.”
“And we may just sit here and drink beer.”
“Worse things can and will happen,” she assured him.
“Right.”
Their drafts were good but a single swallow reminded Mason they hadn’t eaten in hours and hours. When he saw Sven was standing back, he called the man over and asked about food. If they liked salmon, Sven assured them he could recommend a great plate.
They ordered the salmon.
He and Della spoke softly between themselves, listening to the conversations around them—many of which were in English. Naturally, people were talking about thevampirekillings.
“Horrible! So horrible!” a woman, speaking English, teased the man at her side. “I’m so happy I’m married right now!”
“Great!” her husband said, grimacing. “You’re glad you’re married to me—so a vampire doesn’t get you!”
“Hey, not a good time to be dating,” she returned. “I can promise you, if we hadn’t been married for a decade, I wouldn’t be hanging out with you.”
Sven stopped in front of Mason and Della to produce their meals. He was glancing at the couple. He shook his head and spoke quietly.
“I don’t think they realize just how horrible this is for us. We are a peaceful country and a more peaceful area. These days, and since the Dark Ages, just about. Yeah, yeah. Vikings. Long ago. These murders...so painful for so many.”
“I am sorry. Maybe...maybe that’s their way of relief,” Della suggested. “We’ve heard, though, that others at the bar—”
