The kids, the husbands in Spain, the Radlers, the dead body, the car in the shop, and the hairdresser.
- The kids, the husbands in Spain, the Radlers, the dead body, the car in the shop, and the hairdresser.
- Cold-blooded killer or mold-studded pillar?
Life was as it should be and all was in order. Until it suddenly wasn’t.
The Radlers were flowing, the sun was shining, and the worst bit of news was the son’s girlfriend’s hair.
“It’s just so short, it’s like a rockstar, but she’s not a rockstar,” Beth said, trying to sound friendly, but not doing a great job.
“Is it cute?” Andrea asked, not terribly interested and in fact more interested when the next Radler was coming. The sun was setting in the late afternoon and the lemonade-infused beer was perfect and she wanted more.
The conversation lulled and the three women chatted with the waiter about drinks and heavy tables that only “men like him” could move.
“Where are your men, ladies?” asked the waiter as he expertly lifted the table up just enough to put a folded cardboard beer coaster under it to level it.
“In Spain,” Beth giggled and looked at Andrea.
“Too bad for us, right?” Andrea tossed her comment back into the air and it landed on Beth and she giggled more.
Life was easy and free. The three husbands were indeed somewhere further down the continent and the three women had a long weekend to do whatever it was that their desires led them.
“Too bad for them,” the waiter said with a dashing smile and Andrea reached out to touch his arm, but he was pulling away.
“He should date my daughter,” Andrea suggested to no one but herself.
“Or me,” Beth said a little too loud and giggled again.
Sips of beer, bites of bread, and a relaxed silence overcame the table on the terrace.
“There’s a dead body in my kitchen,” Charlotte said with about the same level of interest as Andrea did about the son’s girlfriend’s hairstyle. Charlotte took a sip of her Radler.
Andrea looked at Beth and Beth looked at Charlotte. Andrea raised an eyebrow and started to speak.
“So, Charlotte,” she started. “I’m sorry, dear, but you didn’t just say that there was a dead body in your kitchen, did you?”
“I did,” Charlotte said and had another sip of her drink. She raised her glass towards the middle of the table and waited for the others to join her.
“What are we celebrating?” Beth asked.
“The dead body,” Charlotte said cooly and calmly as if this type of conversation happened every day. The thing was that it didn’t happen every day and Charlotte didn’t even recognize herself that she was so calm.
None of the women was actually so cool and collected that they might not scream or bombard Charlotte with questions, but somehow, this time, it’s exactly what they did.
“To the dead body,” Andrea added with enthusiasm that was at first forced but came out just a little too truly enthusiastically.
“To the dead body,” Beth joined in, but could only barely hold onto her curiosity and her tongue and not assault Charlotte with questions about what she was possibly going on about.
Andrea and Beth and Charlotte held their glasses above the middle of the table in the small town outside of Utrecht on the sunny afternoon in the cafe where the Radlers were freely flowing, son’s girlfriend’s hairstyles were being judged, and Charlotte was silently enjoying the anticipation of explaining why there was a dead body in her kitchen to her two oldest and best friends and how they were going to be intimately, physically, and even passionately involved in dealing with it.
“To the dead body,” Charlotte chimed in and without another word, the bond was set, the fire started, and there would be no turning back.
