Chilled to the Bone

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Gunna stamped the snow from her boots and flinched as the overpowering heat of the hotel’s lobby hit her like a slap in the face. The door whispered shut behind her as she looked around, spying a man wearing a grey suit and a worried expression by the reception desk. He immediately hurried over to her.

“You’re from the police?” he asked in a voice laden with drama but kept so low as to be almost a murmur.

“That’s me. Look like a copper, do I?” Gunna replied brightly, shooting out a hand for the man to grasp and shake limply. “Gunnhildur Gísladóttir. And you are?”

“Yngvi Jónsson, I’m the duty manager. Where are the rest of you?”

“Only me to start with. Can you show me what’s happened?”

Yngvi wrung his hands as he scuttled toward the lift, which opened in front of them.

“Of course, we’ve had guests who’ve had problems before, and even people who have …” he gulped, “passed away on the premises. But never anything like this.”

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