Weep No More My Lady Read Online Free Page B

out by now. First-class passengers usually are.”
    Elizabeth reflected that few people economized on air fare when they could afford to pay a minimum of three thousand dollars a week at Cypress Point Spa. With Jason she studied the disembarking passengers. Jason held the card up prominently as several elegantly dressed women passed, but they ignored it. “Hope she didn’t miss the flight,” he was murmuring as one final straggler came from the passageway. She was a bulky woman of about fifty-five with a large, sharp-featured face and thinning reddish-brown hair. The purple-and-pink print she was wearing was obviously expensive, but absolutely wrong for her. It bulged at the waist and thighs and hiked unevenly over her knees. Intuitively Elizabeth sensed that this lady was Mrs. Alvirah Meehan.
    She spotted her name on the card and approached them eagerly, her smile delighted and relieved. Reaching out, she pumped Jason’s hand vigorously. “Well, here I am,” she announced. “And boy, am I glad to see you! I was so afraid there’d be a foul-up and no one would meet me.”
    â€œOh, we never fail a guest.”
    Elizabeth felt her lips twitch at Jason’s bewildered expression. Clearly Mrs. Meehan was not the usual Cypress Point guest. “Ma’am, may I have your claim checks?”
    â€œOh, that’s nice. I hate to wait for luggage. Sort of a pain in the neck at the end of a trip. Course, Willy and I usually go Greyhound, and the bags are right there, but even so . . . I don’t have too much stuff. I was going to buy a lot, but my friend, May, said, ‘Alvirah, wait and see what other people are wearing. All these fancy places have shops. . . . You’ll pay through the nose,’ she said, ‘but at least you’ll get the right thing, you know what I mean.’” She thrust her ticket envelope with the baggage stubs at Jason and turned to Elizabeth. “I’m Alvirah Meehan. Are you going to the Spa too? You sure don’t look like you need to, honey!”
    Fifteen minutes later, they were settled in the sleek silver limousine. Alvirah settled back against the brocaded upholstery with a gusty sigh. “Now, that feels good,” she announced.
    Elizabeth studied the other woman’s hands. They were the hands of a working person, thick-knuckled and callused. The brightly colored fingernails were short and stubby, even though the manicure looked expensive. Her curiosity about Alvirah Meehan was a welcome respite from thinking about Leila. Instinctively she liked the woman—there was something remarkably candid and appealing about her—but who was she? What was bringing her to the Spa?
    â€œI still can’t get used to it,” Alvirah continued happily. “I mean, one minute, I’m sitting in my living room soaking my feet. Let me tell you, cleaning five different houses a week is no joke, and the Friday one was the killer—six kids and they’re all slobs and the mother’s worse. Then we hit the lottery. We had all the winning numbers. Willy and I couldn’t believe it. ‘Willy,’ I said, ‘we’re rich.’ And he yelled, ‘You bet we are!’ You must have read about it last month? Forty million dollars, and a minute before, we didn’t have two quarters to rub together.”
    â€œYou won forty million dollars in the lottery?”
    â€œI’m surprised you didn’t see it. We’re the biggest single winners in the history of the New York State lottery. How about that?”
    â€œI think it’s wonderful,” Elizabeth said sincerely.
    â€œWell, I knew what I wanted to do right away, and that was to get to Cypress Point Spa. I’ve been reading about it for ten years now. I used todream about how it would be to spend time there and hobnob with the celebrities. Usually you have to wait months for a reservation, but I got one just