Viking Private Investigation - Season Two: Viking P.I., #2

By Tommy Ueland

"I had driven past the second-hand store every day but never been inside. That was a mistake. The moment I crossed the doorstep I knew the shop would be relieving me of my money and time."

 

Tommy is back again! The failed Norwegian crime author, or "Viking PI" as his clients know him, is (sort of) getting the hang of this whole private investigator thing. "Sort of" being the important part.

 

He's now getting some 'real' cases… if you call missing dogs and cheatings spouses 'real'. In fact, his most high-profile client so far has been his own daughter and her lost iPhone. Not exactly an "epic" case but it will have to do!

 

However, Tommy is still determined to do a good job. So, bring on the lost iPhones, cheating spouses or missing dogs. Tommy is still (probably not) the man for the job, but he is low-cost, and that's what counts.

 

Throw in a love interest with a mysterious KRIPOS technician (the Norwegian equivalent of the FBI) as well as Tommy's own arrest (yes, he actually goes to JAIL!) and things get even more interesting.

 

This series of 6 short and hilariously funny cozy mysteries are sure to make you smile and are the perfect companion for your coffee break. These quick-read mysteries are short and snappy, but full of sweet charm and intrigue.

 

This is book 2 in the Viking Private Investigation series and contains the stories:

 

• Second-Hand Store
• Frozen Case (Part 1)
• Frozen Case (Part 2)
• Old Heist, True Love
• Lost iPhone
• The Day I Got Arrested

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tommy Ueland
• Release date: Apr 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201322809

Book preview

1

SECONDHAND STORE

Ihad driven past the secondhand store every day but never been inside. That was a mistake. The moment I crossed the doorstep I knew the shop would be relieving me of future money and time. A treasure chamber, hidden in plain sight.

My nostalgia was firing on all cylinders: the same china my grandmother had, old books and magazines, an entire area dedicated to vinyl, furniture, and clothes. At the back, it even had a room exclusively dedicated to retro electrical equipment.

Treasures abounded, in all shapes and forms, not least the old birch desk I immediately fell in love with. It was standing in the middle of the showroom, teasing me. I seriously contemplated throwing away all my other furniture to make room for this awesome piece. Surely, the desk would be the answer to all of my writing problems.

I was deep into the bookshelves, looking for a hidden gem, when someone tapped my shoulder.

I spun around and stared right into the smiling eyes of a middle-aged lady.

Tommy?

Eh, yes? I said, looking at her, rushing through my internal database of known faces. No match. Then it dawned on me. I reluctantly placed the book back onto the shelf. I had totally forgotten the reason I was there, too obsessed with Rage by Stephen King, priced at $1. Later I learned the book was worth $800. But that’s not why this was my most expensive case yet. The lady was my client.

Marianne?

She nodded.

I am so sorry. This is my first time here, and I got, well, distracted.

The best compliment we can get. Her smile widened. Shall we …?

The manager

Marianne led me up to the second-floor office. I almost tripped twice on the way, looking everywhere but where I placed my feet.

In the middle of the stairs, we met a plump woman with sunken eyes and the reddest hair I have ever seen. Marianne introduced her as the city church employee, their only paid employee beside herself. She told me her colleague, Randi, was their treasurer, secretary, controller, logistic chief, assistant manager, and house shrink. The praise made Randi’s face match her hair.

You know, Tommy, most of the people working here are former convicts or drug addicts. She held the door as I entered her office. Randi and I are no exceptions. I am a recovering alcoholic and have had two turns in prison. Marianne paused while she poured me coffee.

I am telling you this so you know what kind of employees we have here. It’s important for us to not only to give second and third chances but to keep on until they hopefully land on their feet. She took a noisy sip of her coffee while gazing at me through the steam.

We have had stuff stolen before, of course, but only small things. This is the first time during my fifteen years working here that we have been robbed, systematically.

Have you contacted the police? I asked. That was a mistake. Her face darkened.

Did you listen to what I just said? Many of us are former criminals. We don’t trust the police. I know they won’t investigate this.

I nodded and silently told myself to stop nodding all the time. OK. Give me a name, I said.

What do you mean? Marianne’s eyes were not smiling anymore.

You suspect someone.

Her gaze flickered to the door.

My P.I. senses were tingling. If you give me that person’s name, it would be easier to investigate, and cheaper for you. I met her gaze. If you still want me to take the case, that is.

Marianne looked at me for a long time before a veil of sadness covered her face.

Jørgen. She sighed. He is our latest employee. It started a week after he began working here.

She finished her coffee. What do you charge?

How much can you afford?

Not much. Marianne told me on an average day the shop made between $1,000 and $1,200. However, most of it went back into the community. She wanted to pay me out of her own pocket, but she could only afford $250.

The unusual suspect

I could only see the top of Jørgen’s head. He was standing behind the till fiddling with his phone. Jørgen was young; I guesstimate in his early twenties. Marianne told me he was required to work at the secondhand store twice a week to access his unemployment benefits.

I entered with stealth. Surveillance is difficult. It’s hard to go undiscovered