Home Free - Fern Michaels [103]
Myra did her best to absorb what she was hearing. “That . . . that’s wonderful. I won’t say a word, and I’ll act surprised. God in heaven, I miss you, Barbara.”
“I know. I miss you, too. You’re doing the right thing, you know. That’s what I came to tell you. I know how worried you are, but don’t be. It smells good in here. Charles was always the best cook. If I try, I can almost taste those brownies cooling on the counter.”
Tears rolled down Myra’s cheeks as she walked toward the bright light and the beautiful girl in the red sweater. “I need to touch you, honey. I need to feel you. Can I do that?”
“Let’s try, Mummy. Let’s both try real hard.”
Her arms outstretched, Myra waited until the girl in the red sweater moved. She heard the endearing words, “Oh, Mummy, Mummy, you feel so good, so warm, so soft, so motherly.”
“Oh, God, oh, God, you feel just the way you felt the day I held you in my arms for the first time. I can feel you. I can really feel you. I want to hold you forever, never let you go,” Myra sobbed.
The blinding white light waned, and Myra was left standing with her arms outstretched, tears rivering down her cheeks. The last words she thought she heard ricocheted inside her head. They were words Annie was fond of saying to her and they now were the words her spirit daughter was whispering. “You rock, Mummy.”
Myra sat down on the kitchen chair where her spirit daughter had been sitting. Was it her imagination, or did the seat still feel warm? She smiled as she wiped at her tears. Well, if she even had one doubt about what she was planning, that doubt was now gone.
Off in the distance, Myra heard the sound of a horn, then a second one.
Time to get moving.
Fifteen minutes later Myra and her entourage descended the steps leading to the war room, where Charles stood waiting. The large-screen TV was on so Lady Justice could preside over the meeting and the people seated at the table.
In the middle of the table was a package wrapped in brown paper and sealing tape.
All the chairs were full.
Charles descended the two steps from his dais and stood behind Myra’s chair. “Before we begin, I would like each of you to affirm that you will swear your loyalty to this little group. As I call your name, say aye or nay.
“Annie de Silva?”
“Aye.”
“Fergus Duffy?”
“Aye.”
“Nellie Easter Cummings?”
“Aye.”
“Elias Cummings?”
“Aye.”
“Pearl Barnes?”
“Aye.”
“Myra Rutledge Martin?”
“Aye.”
“Martine Connor?”
“Aye.”
“Since we’re all in agreement, let’s begin our meeting. Myra, open the box.”
Myra ripped at the wrapping and held up the box for everyone to see. She turned to Martine Connor and said, “I think you should do the honors.”
Martine Connor opened the box and withdrew a gold shield and held it up for everyone to see. “It’s the only thing I took with me when I left the Oval Office. I have one for each of you and one for myself.”
“Then, ladies and gentlemen, I think we are good to go,” Charles said happily. “That’s another way of saying, we are indeed back in business, and I, for one, couldn’t be happier.”
If you enjoyed HOME FREE, you won’t want
to miss Fern Michaels’s brand-new
stand-alone novel
Southern Comfort.
Turn the page for a special preview.
A Kensington hardcover on sale in May 2011.
Prologue
Atlanta, Georgia
March 2002
Detective Patrick Kelly—Tick, to his friends—signed out of his precinct and headed to his car, an eight-year-old Saturn with 120,000 miles on it. It purred like a baby when he turned the key. Then it sputtered and died. He’d given it too much gas and flooded the engine. He knew the drill—wait five minutes, try again, and if he was lucky, Lulu would get him home.
Sally, his wife, had named his car Lulu but never told him why. She’d just giggle and say it was a lulu of a car. Sally drove