The Lost Photograph(er): Viking P.I., #5

By Tommy Ueland

A missing photographer. A slew of suspicious characters. And a bumbling P.I. who always seems to save the day.

 

When a photographer mysteriously vanishes halfway through a real estate photoshoot, it's down to everybody's favorite Norwegian "Viking P.I." Tommy to crack the case... except, his desk is bursting with more cases than he knows what to do with!

 

But things take a strange turn when the local police write the disappearance off as not worth investigating. With the victim's boyfriend contacting the Big Guns at KRIPOS (Norway's FBI) – along with a spot of "convincing" by his CSI girlfriend – Tommy quickly finds himself dragged away from his IKEA furniture assembly and roped into a puzzling mystery that pushes his frazzled wits to the limit.

 

Armed with nothing but his cunning and the victim's expensive camera, he's catapulted into a head-scratching investigation filled with quirky characters – from a furious hairdresser to the police department's most useless cop. In a genius bid to catch the culprit red-handed, Tommy masterminds a Poirot-style plot to blow the lid off this case for good... but what he finds is not quite what he expected.

 

Dive into a short and spicy mystery novella that carries all the cozy charm of a classic whodunit adventure. The Viking P.I.'s latest case is a fun read that's filled with no shortage of thrilling twists and turns. Scroll up and grab your copy today!

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tommy Ueland
• Release date: Nov 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215421086

Book preview

The Lost Photograph(er)

A Viking P.I. Mystery

Tommy Ueland

Tommy Ueland

Copyright © 2022 by Tommy Ueland

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Cover Art by Daniela Colleo of StunningBookCovers.com

Chapter one

The screwdriver was constantly slipping, making my already hurting blisters scream for mercy.

I was sitting on the floor, at an epicenter of manuals, parts, plugs, screws, and things I couldn’t name if my life depended on it.

Assembling BILLY was all but easy.

IKEA advertised it as the easiest bookcase in stock, one that everyone could assemble. They obviously hadn’t met me and my thumbs.

I was on my third attempt; the first time I assembled the shelves upside down, the second time they were askew. The prefabricated holes would not survive another go, so I had to double and triple-check the manuals before I went in for the final kill.

My heart was racing, and my t-shirt was soaked when the phone rang, saving me from an impending mental breakdown.

I tiptoed through the IKEA minefield, making sure I didn’t step on screws, parts, or Martin, the orange tabby I had adopted when I got his owner arrested, working a case for the local secondhand store. Martin looked lazily up at me when I grabbed my phone and answered without even bothering to check who it was – I would gladly chat with an annoying salesperson to get a break from the Swedish nightmare.

Yeah?

My girlfriend has gone missing, and I need help, a shaky voice said.

I sighed, knowing the much-needed break from my IKEA nightmare would be brief.

I’m sorry, but I am busy right now. I looked at the abused shelf. It wasn’t only BILLY that occupied my time, my calendar was booked for the next three months, too. I sighed and added, But if you go to my website, you can register on a waiting list, and if someone cancels, I will call you. I had become one of those businesses that had a waiting list, and even though I hated it, it was also a confirmation that I did something right.

It can’t wait, he said, almost whispering.

It still bugged me when I had to turn down customers, knowing they would call the next PI on the list, probably Detective 1. They were OK-ish, but I had been too kind with them the last year, feeding them clients. BILLY played a small part in how I planned to fix this problem.

You know, I have worked a lot of missing person cases, and in 90% of them they turn up again within a couple of days. I didn’t tell him that in 80% of the cases the person was cheating, gone off to lie in someone else’s arms and, well, snuggle.

Listen. If you haven’t heard anything within the next 24 hours, call the police. OK? I looked over at BILLY lying there all scratched and messy, challenging me. I’m sorry, but I am in the middle of a case right now and I must go. Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll return soon, good luck! I hang up, immediately taken aback by my own cynicism. I guess that’s part of being a successful private investigator.

I had picked up Martin to cuddle him when the phone rang again, an unknown number with a +46 in front of it. A Swedish number. I was about to decline when a thought hit me: what if it was IKEA calling me on a customer satisfaction survey? The thought of yelling at them swiftly brightened my day.

Yeah? I said through clenched teeth.

It’s me. I’m just calling to give you my new number, and to tell you I have moved to Stockholm now, a man said hurriedly.

Ok… I tried to place the voice that was unfamiliar and familiar at the same time.

Silence.

It’s me, Sondre. Have you forgotten about me already?

Sondre! Of course not, just didn’t recognize your voice. I thought you didn’t start until fall. Sondre was my go-to tech guy, web designer and hacker that occasionally helped me when I needed anything more complicated than easy googling. I first met him on a case when he was 15, spying on his neighbor.

No, the school doesn’t start for real until next month, but I had to take a couple of classes this summer to prepare. I’m on my way to a class now. Just wanted to give you my new number and let you know that I am OK. Not that you care...

I smiled. Jerk. Why the new number?

I’m 18. The other was registered to Mom.

I nodded at the phone. OK. Thanks for calling, Sondre. I need to come see you soon, I have never been to Stockholm before. I knew my schedule probably wouldn’t let me, but it’s one of the lies we tell each other.

Whenever you want; I even have a spare bedroom. I got to go. See ya!

I stood for a while looking at the phone, thinking about Sondre, feeling proud he had left the nest to study ‘nerd’ at the Royal Institute of Technology in Stockholm.

OK. You and me, BILLY. You and me…

Chapter two

My hands were wrapped in wet towels to soothe the blisters as I stood gazing at my artwork. BILLY had some nicks here and there, and yes, one shelf was upside down, but when I filled it with books it was almost invisible, unless you looked for it, but, more importantly, it hadn’t crumbled under the weight. I felt way too proud of myself when my front pocket vibrated.

Hello! I said, chirpy.