Why Did You Lie? by Yrsa Sigurðardóttir, Katherine Manners, Hodder, Stoughton Page A

tedious – operation. The simplest solution would have been to spray air freshener in all the rooms but Vala was allergic to synthetic scents, so that was out of the question.
    Nói made do with shaking his head, then finished his coffee and went to rouse Tumi.
    Púki was lying curled in a ball in front of the bedroom door, tail wrapped around as if to hold himself together. His ears flickered slightly when Nói approached, then he raised his head and stared at him, unblinkingly. It was as if the cat expected something of him or wanted to convey some message: It wasn’t me in the bathroom.
    ‘Who was it then, old boy?’ muttered Nói. The cat didn’t stir when he opened the door so he had to step over him.
    Inside the lights were off and the curtains were still drawn. There was a musty smell and their son had managed to strew his belongings over the floor and half the desk, though they had only been home for a few hours. Before evening the room would be as much of a pigsty as it had been before they went to America.
    Tumi’s tan looked even deeper against the white sheets; the unaccustomed colour suited him. More familiar was the sight of the open laptop beside him. Nói was about to close it when he decided to grab the opportunity to take a quick peek at the webcam in the chalet. Vala would be annoyed if she caught him using the computer in the kitchen. He perched on the side of the bed, taking care not to wake Tumi. His son muttered something without opening his eyes or stirring.
    To his surprise, Nói saw that three new files awaited him on the holiday chalet webpage, all from that morning. Selecting the oldest, he fast-forwarded through the first few seconds that showed a still of the living room and open-plan kitchen, as it should. He tried enhancing the brightness but the video was still too dark for him to see properly. Yet he thought he could detect a faint movement at the end of the decking or just beyond it, though there was no telling what it was, no matter how Nói tried to enlarge the image or tilt the screen this way and that. Eventually he gave up and opened the next video clip. The timer showed that the camera had been activated almost immediately after the first recording, so it was equally dark. Again he fast-forwarded through the first part, then slowed down a few seconds in when the movement appeared. He did his best to watch the whole screen and flinched when something white suddenly appeared under the door that led to the decking. He zoomed in until it was clear that there was a crumpled piece of paper or letter lying on the floor. Nói pulled back a little from the screen and racked his brain to remember if they had ever received any post or flyers at the chalet before. He zoomed in again in a vain attempt to read what was written on the paper but it appeared to be blank. It was impossible to be certain in the poor light, however; the paper could just as well have been a hand-drawn advertisement for the local women’s institute cake sale, or a notice from the electricity company that they were turning the power off for maintenance work. The thought reassured him. Of course, it must be something like that.
    He checked the third recording, reassured by this innocent explanation. The footage had been captured a little after the last one, but by now he had grown accustomed to the grainy image and could see what it showed more clearly. As a result he had no problem making out the figure walking along the decking – presumably the postman. The face of the black silhouette was invisible and all he could really tell was that it was human. Nói frowned when he realised that, instead of leaving, the figure was walking across the decking, past the large window, to vanish round the corner of the chalet in the direction of the shed and barbecue. Then all was still until the figure reappeared, passed the window, then stepped down from the decking and melted into the darkness.
    Nói stopped the video at the