Weekend Warriors

Weekend Warriors by Fern Michaels Page A

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Authors: Fern Michaels
Tags: Fiction, Suspense, Retail
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the difference anymore. I don’t know what to do. I’m lost. It was like Alan was an extension of myself. I took care of him for so long I don’t know what to do with myself. When he was lying there in that . . . that box . . . I got so angry. I screamed and yelled at him for leaving me. He didn’t give a good rat’s ass about me. He was so ready to die it was pathetic.
    “You know what else, Myra. There was only one other person at Alan’s funeral beside myself. A trucker who just happened to be in the area. I wanted to kick him out of the funeral home but I didn’t. The damn funeral director kept coming into the room that was bare of flowers because I didn’t even have enough money left to buy a bunch of daisies to put on his casket. I have to deliver those toilet seats and I have to bring back a load of lettuce or I won’t be able to pay for his funeral. I had to charge his funeral. Alan must be spinning in his grave. That damn undertaker wanted me to cremate him, said it was cheaper. I couldn’t do that because I need to have him in a place where I can . . . I can go. I didn’t want him blowing away in the wind. What does that make me, Myra?”
    “A grieving widow who loved her husband. I paid for your husband’s funeral, Kathryn. You can pay me back someday or not pay me back. It really doesn’t matter. I’m so sorry for your loss because I know exactly how you feel. When my daughter died, I wanted to die with her. It wasn’t until Nikki and I saw Marie Lewellen shoot the man on the courthouse steps that I came to life. That’s what I should have done but I was so grief-stricken, all I could do was think about my own misery. She had the guts to shoot and kill the man who took her child’s life. I can’t wait till my case comes up,” Myra said vehemently.
    “I’ll personally kill the son of a bitch for you, Myra. No parent should have to bury a child. I do thank you for paying for Alan’s funeral. I didn’t know you had done that. I swear, I’ll pay you back.” She opened the door for Murphy.
    “Kathryn, you may not be able to go back to trucking if you stay in the Sisterhood. Your time will be required on the cases we have to deal with. Perhaps not every one, but on most of them. Charles and I have taken the liberty of fattening up your bank account as well as the other sisters’. If we want this project to be successful, we can’t have you worrying about food and bills, now can we?”
    “Just how rich are you, Myra?” Kathryn asked bluntly. “If I had a hundred bucks in my bank account, I’d feel rich. Dog food and diesel fuel are expensive.”
    “I’m sure they are, but you don’t have to worry about that anymore. As to how rich I am, I’m not sure. My accountants tell me I’m a billionaire. And all that money comes from making candy. The first batch was made right here in this kitchen on this very table. The old wood-burning stove is gone, but I’m sure they poured the candy into trays on this table. Is your dog hungry?”
    “He’s always hungry. The day I got him I forgot to feed him. He didn’t whine or cry or anything. He just waited. I have so many regrets, Myra. I need to know something. I don’t know if you have the answer or not but I have to ask. When my case is over, what if I don’t feel vindicated? What if . . . I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing it for Alan.”
    Myra whirled around. “Stop right there. You are not doing this for Alan. You are doing it for yourself. You have to admit that to yourself. You cannot hide behind your husband. Make no mistake about that. I think there are many things you need to come to terms with, Kathryn. In your off time, dear, I’ll make arrangements for you to talk to a psychiatrist and a grief counselor. I should have done that but I didn’t. You’re much too young to let all of what went on before destroy your life. Don’t even think about saying no. Mothers always know best.”
    “Then I won’t say no. Do you have

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