Read Online The Disenchanted Widow by Christina McKenna - Free Book Online

cupboards and drawers, not really knowing what she was looking for. If the aunt had died two months ago it was unlikely there would be any food.
    She crossed to the window. A row of healthy-looking potted plants lined the sill. Mr. Grant must water them. What dedication!
    A job is what I need, she thought. Yes, a catering position like the one I left behind. I still have my glowing references. Why not?
    The window looked down into a small valley of sorts. At the bottom she was surprised to see an imposing three-story house, painted white and set in its own grounds. It was obvious she was seeing it from the rear. Lines of stone stables skirted the extensive yard, and there was what looked like a well-tended vegetable garden.
    Her nearest neighbor was clearly well-off.
    Interesting.
    “God, Ma, look what I found!”
    She turned back from the window to see an agitated Herkie carrying in what looked like a filthy shinbone.
    “Get that disgusting maggot outta the house this minute, son!”
    “But, Ma, whose is it?”
    “How the hell should I know, son? A horse’s or a cow’s maybe. Get it out.”
    He came and held it under her nose. To Bessie’s horror, a fat red earthworm detached itself and plopped at her feet. “Throw that filthy thing away this minute! D’ye hear?”
    “But, Ma, maybe it’s the aunt, and maybe he cut her up and—”
    “Son, I’ll be cuttin’ you up if ye don’t get rid of that now !”
    She chased him out the door and watched as he threw the bone over a nearby hedge.
    “Now,” she said, taking him by the ear and leading him back into the house. She pulled a tissue from her pocket. “You’re gonna pick up that disgusting thing, throw it outside, and wash your hands. When you’ve done that, we’re goin’ into the town to get something to eat.”
    Twenty minutes later they were sitting at a claggy table in the only eatery in town: the Cozy Corner Café. The place was deserted savefor an elderly woman nodding over a cup of tea and whispering animatedly to a bottle of HP Sauce.
    “Ma, why’s that oul’ doll talkin’ till the brown sauce?”
    “’Cos she’s dotin’, son.”
    “What’s dotin’, Ma?” Herkie had started up a rhythmic kicking of the table leg, hungry for sustenance and some distraction.
    “Talkin’ till sauce bottles when ye’re ninety, that’s what dotin’ is. Now, stop askin’ silly questions, and stop kickin’ the table !”
    Herkie curled his lower lip in a sulk. “Canna have some ice cream?” The boy’s taste buds were permanently in sugar-fix mode.
    “Now, son, you’ll be eating a fry, like normal people do this hour of the morning. That’s if we ever get served in here.” She looked about her. “Not as if they’re run off their feet.”
    Finally the proprietor, Josie Mulhearn, a midlife crisis in a soiled overall, emerged through a beaded curtain behind the counter, wiping a dinner plate. Bessie, with half an eye still on the menu, was aware of the plate being slowly set down while she and the boy were scrutinized with almost palpable mistrust.
    It was only when the widow looked at her pointedly, raising an eyebrow, that Josie finally decided to extricate herself from behind the counter and slap her way across the linoleum.
    “What is it yis’ll be wantin’?” she asked, a well-chewed blue ballpoint poised over a grubby note pad.
    No “Good morning; how are yous today?” Bessie noted, feeling that her presence was already causing offense.
    “Two fries, a cup of tea, and a glass of milk for the boy, please.”
    “Now, the fries might take a bit, for I’ve run outta gas, so I have. Had tae cook for a funeral yesterday evenin’, and—”
    “The fries are off then?” Bessie cut in. What in heaven’s name is wrong with these people? You asked a simple question and got a bloody life history.
    “Aye, the fries is off,” said Josie, peeved. She was sizing Bessie up, wondering who this flashy stranger might be. “Are yis just passin’