Never Trust a Callboy by Birgit Kluger Read Free Book Online Page A

always eccentric, and I actually thought we were past the point where she could surprise me. At her near seventy-five years, she still wears high heels, thigh high boots, miniskirts and deep cut tops. And she can carry it off. She still plays 18 holes on the golf course every Saturday and looks at least 10 years younger than she is.
    "Tamara. Has the cat got your tongue?"
    “Yes. Actually it has," I admit.
    "You have to talk to her and rid her of this moronic idea."
    "Me? Oh, no. Nana's old enough. I will not interfere in her love life."
    "Love life? PAH. The man is only interested in her money."
    "Yes, but..."
    "Tamara, no excuses! You're the only person she listens to. If you tell her that you think it’s not right..." With a sigh, I blank her voice out and wait for a break in her speech. When she’s in this mood, there’s no sense trying to discuss anything with her. So I do what any reasonably intelligent person in my situation would do: calm her down, promise to do everything she wants, and wait for the problem to solve itself.
    About half an hour later I can end the call at last. Of course, not without making a huge number of promises which I have no intention of keeping. Ron has left in the meantime.
    I make myself a cup of coffee in the kitchen and take it out with me on to the terrace.
    A gentle breeze caresses the plants and ensures that it is not too hot. Thoughtfully I sip on my drink. My decision is final: tonight, Ron will know the truth. But until then I will banish all thoughts of this conversation and instead think about what I’m going to do today. There is so much to organize for the wedding. It should be a very special day. The day when my dreams finally comes true.
    If I'm not sitting in pre-trial detention.
    The thought brings me back to reality with a jerk. Fear washes over me. I can remember only too well the feeling of despair and helplessness that I felt at my first arrest. But this time it's different. Ron will help me, I try to calm myself down. Together, we will find a solution. Ron's ability to comprehend even the most complicated situations, is one reason why he has come so far in his profession, and is one of the youngest Board members of a small private bank in Frankfurt.
    As if to prove to myself that I have nothing to worry about, that with Ron’s help I will be able to get out of this mess, I deliberately turn my attention to the part of the garden I recently turned into a graveyard.
    Not a good idea. A cold chill crawls up my back. What was I thinking? I can’t just bury a corpse! If you find a dead body, you call the police! Just as it happens in any good murder mystery... Whoever moves a corpse in the trunk of their car or buries it in their back garden, is usually the one who is also responsible for their demise, an unwanted voice in my head says. So, in this case: me.
    I must find a lawyer. Whatever happened, one thing is certain: there was a stranger in our house who is now dead and buried on the property.
    As so often in the last few hours, I suddenly see a picture in my mind's eye. Ron, coming home yesterday evening, being angry about the fact I was drunk and making unwarranted accusations. Ron, wearing the blue striped shirt... that I didn’t pack.
    Ron was wearing the wrong shirt! I know that he didn’t have it, because I packed him his two white shirts made of Egyptian cotton. I remember particularly well, because I had to iron them first. And I hate ironing!
    It’s as if a giant hand has brought the world to a halt. In one fell swoop, all the sounds around me seem to be muted. As if on autopilot I stand up and head in the direction of the bedroom to take a look at the clothes Ron was wearing yesterday. Usually I would have already put them in the laundry, but this morning I was too confused to think.
    With trembling fingers, I reach for the shirt. It is the blue striped one! I wasn't so drunk after all!
    Maybe it’s possible that it wasn’t Ron I saw with another