like a steak about something she’d already forgotten. Life was too short to get all wound up about who kidnapped whom and who had shot whom and why a woman might willingly dive headfirst into the van of her kidnappers!
Her sisters were so goddamn obsessive! Max didn’t obsess about anything but good honey and liquor flavored with snake venom. Those were the important things in life. Everything else was a waste of her energy. But there was no way out of it now, and all because of that damn cat!
“I don’t understand you!” Charlie raved.
“The Netherlands are nice this time of year,” Stevie rhapsodized.
“You put yourself in danger and for what?”
“You should have told me you were going to the Netherlands. I have a few scientist friends over there. And several conductors who would have let you stay at their homes. Really nice homes, too.”
“It’s like you’re trying to die. Are you? Are you trying to die? Are you depressed and I don’t know? Is life meaningless to you? Do you think you’d be better off dead?”
“Did you at least bring me a bitterballen? They’re delicious. My favorite snack when I visit. Did you bring me any?”
Max raised a finger. “Could you excuse me a minute?”
She pushed the kitchen chair back and walked out of the room. She went through the long hallway, through the dining room, up the stairs to the second floor. She went down that hallway until she reached Berg and Dag, standing outside one of the unused bedrooms. She stopped to untie her right high-top, pulled it off, and threw it through the doorway so that it collided with the back of the cat’s big head!
“Owwww!” The cat, who’d been busy putting on a pair of jeans loaned to him by one of the Dunns, spun around to face her, his hand rubbing the back of his head. “What was that for?”
“Because you deserve it!” she spit out between clenched teeth.
With only one sneaker on, she walked back through the house until she reached the kitchen and sat down at the table again.
“So where were we?” she asked her sisters.
“The beauty of the Netherlands!”
“Your stupidity and/or suicidal tendencies.”
* * *
“Why do you guys have jeans that fit me?” Zé asked the men, who were at least seven inches taller than he and ridiculously wide.
“Those jeans belong to the wolverine,” Berg muttered. “He’s only six feet but he wears his jeans long. We figured they’d fit you.”
“You have The Wolverine living here?”
“Not The Wolverine. A wolverine.”
“He doesn’t know,” the other brother replied. His name was Dag, which was a weird name. “Remember?”
“How does anyone not know?” the first brother asked.
“Charlie’s twin aunts didn’t know. That’s why they’re pissed now and trying to kill the whole family.”
“What are you all talking about?” Zé finally asked.
“Don’t worry your pretty little kitten head about it.”
Zé had no response to such a weird put-down, so he simply picked up Max’s orange Converse high-tops and walked out of the room.
Following the sound of female voices, he ended up in the kitchen. The rest of the house was rather run-down, so he had to stop a minute in the doorway to gaze in wonder at all the stainless steel appliances. Very nice and they appeared brand-new.
“Hey,” Charlie greeted, her smile warm. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. Now that I’m on the ground and wearing pants. Head still hurts, though.”
“That’s because you were hit with a steel light fixture. Crushed the back of your skull.” Max glanced back at him. “It’s still healing.”
“My crushed skull is still . . . healing?” He stared at her. Just stared.
“What’s unclear?” she finally asked.
“That sentence seemed logical to you, considering most crushed skulls don’t heal in . . . what? Two, three days?”
“Yesterday, actually.”
“So, my tragically crushed skull almost healed overnight? Again, what seems logical to you?”
“See what I mean?” she said to her sister, tossing up her hands.
The little blonde pushed away from the table and came to Zé’s side. “Here. You sit down.” She led him back to her chair. “Coffee?”
“That would be great.”
“Since my sister has no apparent breeding and doesn’t know how to properly introduce people to each other—”
“Because suddenly you’re incapable of introducing yourself?” Max snapped.
“—I’m Stevie.”
She placed a mug filled with coffee in front of him.
“Zezé Vargas. Accent over the last E. But everybody calls me Zé.” He glanced around at the three completely different women. “Sisters?” He let his gaze bounce to each one until he settled on Charlie. They were