The Woman in the Hotel

by Sara Blaedel

Genres: Women's Fiction; Female Sleuths; Suspense

Synopsis

#1 internationally bestselling writer Sara Blaedel--whose books have sold over three million copies worldwide--presents a page-turning short story in which a journalist discovers that all is not as it appears in a seemingly idyllic tourist town. Journalist Camilla Lind gets a frantic phone call: her father has been assaulted. He's the editor of a local newspaper in Skagen, and the brutal attack also left the paper's newsroom in flames. Could it be a response to the hard-hitting series he'd been printing about a real-estate racket run by wealthy out-of-towners targeting the quaint seaside tourist town? As Camilla takes over the newspaper while he recovers, she quickly discovers that there are those in Skagen who would kill to keep their secrets safe....

Release date: December 4, 2018

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 54

Sample

1

The blow landed with such violent force that he was slammed against the wall and momentarily lost his balance.

John Lind had been heading toward the printer to get his article. He had noticed that the door to the editorial office was open, but he had not heard any footsteps.

The club hit him again, and this time he felt his own blood dripping as pain exploded in the right side of his head. He instinctually attempted to protect himself with his hands, but they were knocked out of the way by the next blows.

Is it money you…

He didn’t have time to finish the question before he was kicked hard from behind, knocking him down. Then a barrage of punches and kicks hailed down on him, until his consciousness withdrew in a fog.

He made one last attempt to get up before the club came down on him again, connecting with his skull with a crunching sound. Then, the light faded.

*  *  *

As the smoke twisted lazily toward the ceiling, Camilla Lind let her gaze follow it while she emptied her beer. The Friday bar at the Danish daily Morgenavisen had evolved into an actual party when the sub-editor put out more beer and wine and the youngest intern in the newsroom connected a pair of loudspeakers to his computer, turning up the volume of the music.

Camilla glanced at her wristwatch and noted that it was almost nine o’clock. The alcohol had drawn out little beads of sweat on her upper lip, and by now it was several hours since she and a couple of the other “mid-forties journalists” from the culture section had decided to stop going to the yard every time they wanted a smoke. That had provoked some tart comments—mostly from some of the younger female journalists, who still exchanged glances every time a lighter was drawn.

Taking in the position of the hands of her watch, she realized that she’d lost track of time. She had said she would be home an hour ago, but one beer had led to another, and suddenly she’d forgotten all about David, who was back in the apartment with her son, Markus. Her boyfriend had even offered to go shopping and have dinner ready when she got home.

Camilla heaved a sigh while rummaging through her bag for her cell phone, thinking about a plausible excuse.

The others were discussing Bruce Springsteen and his upcoming performance as the main attraction at the Roskilde Festival.

“There’s a bottle of cognac in it for you, if you assign me to it,” Balder tried, draining his beer while straining to focus on the editor of the culture section.

“I’d rather spend an extended weekend with a mummy than forty-five minutes with the Boss,” the younger colleague assigned to cover the concert quipped.

*  *  *

“Shut up, kiddo,” Camilla interrupted. She was about to defend her old idol when she spotted the eight missed calls from David on her phone. And another four from Markus. She couldn’t deal with calling them and explaining. Instead, she sent a couple of short text messages and was about to turn off the phone when it rang in her palm.

She nodded when her colleagues asked if she wanted another beer and was fumbling around to reject the call when she noticed the area code on the screen. It wasn’t like her stepmom to call this late on a Friday night, so Camilla answered it, pushing past the others who were packed around the oblong editorial table.

“It’s your dad,” Eva Lind said as Camilla came out into the hallway. “He’s been assaulted. It’s very serious; it happened down at the paper.”

The words hurtled along without pause. Camilla’s parents had divorced when she was eight years old, but she’d been mature enough to decide that she wanted to live with her dad and stay in Skagen. The last time she’d seen him had been four months ago, when she was home and visiting him and the stepfamily. During her childhood years, they’d grown to feel almost like her own mom and siblings.

“He’s just been scanned at the hospital in Frederikshavn, and now they’re moving him to the neurosurgical ward in Aalborg. It’s his skull. They don’t know if he’ll survive.”

While Eva talked, Camilla let herself slide onto the floor. It hadn’t been more than a couple of hours since she’d spoken to her dad, and now she visualized him. John Lind, editor-in-chief, and owner of the small independent weekly SkagensPosten and, furthermore, proprietor of a reputable printing house specializing in exclusive art books.

“He was unconscious when the ambulance arrived,” Camilla heard her stepmom say. The beer was beginning to surge up her throa. . .