What Never Happens
Chapter One
To the east of Oslo, where the hills flatten out down toward
Lørenskog, a station town by the Nita River, cars had frozen solid
overnight. People on foot pulled their hats down over their ears and
wrapped their scarves tighter around their necks as they trudged the
few punishing miles to the bus stop on the main road. The houses in
the small cul-de-sac fended off the frost with drawn curtains and
snowdrifts that blocked the driveways. Huge icicles hung from the
eaves of an old wooden villa at the end of the road down by the
woods, disasters in waiting.
The house was white.
Inside the front door with its leaded glass and molded brass handle,
at the end of the unusually spacious hall to the left, in a study
that was dominated by minimalist art and lavish furniture, sitting
behind an imposing desk between b ... read full excerpt from What Never Happens ebook
