She took a sip from her wine glass and adjusted her position. When she put the glass down, she said. “I guess I wanted to be close to him. His grave...is in Stockholm, but I know his soul is here, somewhere, maybe in the house.”I cleared my throat. “I understood from Karl that you are the person who cleans it.”“Yes, and that’s why I asked you who owned it. I need a big favor.”She looked lovely on the sofa. A little tipsy and her blouse had slipped down a bit over her shoulder, and I could see the. Hours, had it really been that long? I don’t even remember what she called herself. It started with an M—whatever. It doesn’t matter. She logged on with a different handle every day. But from that first day, I knew. I just knew it was her when another conspicuous handle appeared in the participant list. It was as if I heard her voice, a voice I hadn’t even experienced for real. It was in the rhythm of the sentences, the uniqueness of punctuation, the choice of words. All those little things. More

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