She scrubbed until the sweat and grime disappeared from every citizen’s shirt. She rinsed, swirled, and spun clothes in the lake until they turned whiter than white. “You have a magic touch,” the townspeople said. “How do you make our shirts so white?” “Shhh,” she’d say and touch a pruned finger ...
Susan said. She handed Arnaldur the picture—a blurred shot of a gnome with chubby legs, a long white beard, and a pointed hat. It carried a dead cat in one arm and was pulling a rhododendron aside, revealing a ripped screen that led into the crawl space. ...