Viking Private Investigation - Season Three: Viking P.I., #3

By Tommy Ueland

"I even got to knock one thing off my bucket list when I traveled to Svalbard and drove a snowmobile over glaciers to an abandoned mining town, all in the name of love."

 

Business is booming for Tommy, the Norwegian "Viking PI". Yes, it may be hard to believe, but people are actually choosing to hire this failed crime writer-turned private investigator. And his cases are getting even bigger… and darker.

 

From mysterious buried bodies in unmarked graves, to bare-knuckle brawls and knife fights… Tommy really is finally seeing all that the 'dark' underworld of private investigating has to offer. Does he regret his career change? Perhaps!

 

Things may be booming on the work front, but sadly, the same can't be said for Tommy's blossoming romance. His close 'working relationship' with Alvilde, the KRIPOS technician, is not quite going the way he had hoped. But Tommy's determined not to give up hope.

 

Will Tommy manage to satisfy his ever-growing list of crazy and dangerous clients? And will he be able to win over Alvilde before it's too late? Maybe… maybe not. You'll have to read to find out!

 

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 3 in the Viking Private Investigation series and contains the stories:

 

• Unmarked Grave
• Lost Love
• Lost Superstar (Part 1)
• Lost Superstar (Part 2)
• The Unsafe House
• Bullied By Cop

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tommy Ueland
• Release date: May 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201681968

Book preview

1

THE UNMARKED GRAVE

The church doors were wide open, inviting me in. I stood looking up at the white stone church that had followed me from my baptism to the marriage that crashed and burned. It had been a while. The church looked down at me with a reproachful glare. Like it knew how long it was… Well, of course, it knew.

My footsteps echoed through the hall as I walked slowly down the aisle, wondering if I would ever do it with an audience again. Or perhaps it was too late. Confined to a life in solitary. I shook my head, annoyed by the fact it had taken precisely 17.6 seconds from passing over the doorstep until I went all out philosophical.

Hi, a voice said behind me, startling me out of my wedding dream. I released a not-so-masculine sound as I spun around, hands up as if I expected to find a gunslinger. In front of me stood an old man in dirty overalls. His big, callused hand hovered in the air between us.

I shook it.

Johan? I said.

He nodded.

You need help to identify someone? I asked, to make sure it was the right Johan, even though there was no one else there. No one from what I could see with the naked eye, at least.

---

When I got the call from Johan an hour earlier, asking to meet up at a church late in the evening, I was 83.4% sure it was a serial killer. That is, until I saw the sexton sign glued to his overalls.

Yes. Follow me.

He led me back outside, and we crossed the road separating the church from the graveyard, weaving through heavy traffic.

I could swear Johan’s shoulders visibly went down when he passed through the stone fence gate marking the graveyard entry. This was his domain.

I, on the other hand, am uncomfortable walking amongst the dead, so I went in big arches around the headstones, afraid of hands punching through the ground, grabbing, and pulling me down. Yeah, too many horror flicks.

Johan stopped in front of an ancient headstone covered in moss, but I couldn’t discern a name on it.

It’s this one.

I waited for him to continue, but he just stared at me.

Ok… I started, but Johan was already off. I traipsed after him back across the road, barely surviving a second time, and into the back of the church to his office. He told me to sit down and served me a cup of coffee. It tasted like heaven. No blasphemy.

Mrs. Olsen recently passed. She cared for this grave— Johan nodded at the wall, presumably in the direction of the grave we’d just visited and continued, She was here three times a week, every week— This time, his pause was long enough to make me insecure. I was about to say something when he spoke again.

It was the prettiest grave in the whole cemetery. I owe it to her to find any living relatives of the person buried there, if they exist. If not, we have to empty the grave and re-use it.

Oh, I can do that, I said with flair. However, I couldn’t see a name on the tombstone.

He nodded.

That’s the problem. I don’t know who it is. That’s why I called you. Johan talked in the same monotone voice that made it impossible to identify any emotion. I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed with me for asking obvious questions, or ecstatic that I had agreed to take the case.

I was regretting it already. I didn’t know how to find someone without a name, someone that had been dead since... forever?

I am not a rich man, Johan said. How much do you charge?

That’s when I realized the Church hadn’t hired me; Johan had. And he had just presented me with a get-out-of-jail-for-free card. All I had to do was price my services high enough. I smiled my biggest smile and prepared to lie through my teeth inside the house of God.

I don’t even know if it’s possible to help you, I said and saw a poster of Jesus hanging on the wall behind Johan. They both stared at me with challenging looks. I closed my eyes and let my chin fall to my chest before mumbling, "But I have to