“Our mama was a saint,” Kate said. “The only difference in what she did and what both of us did was that she got paid for it.”

Edith took a step forward and kicked at Kate’s leg, but Betsy stepped in front of her sister and the blow landed on her shinbone. Hetty and Magic chose that moment to head back to the living room, so when Betsy took a step back, she stepped on Hetty’s tail. The cat let out a squeal and became little more than a blur as she left the kitchen.

Kate tried to catch Betsy as she fell backward, but all she grabbed was air. Betsy threw one hand behind her and went down hard on the kitchen floor. Her head bounced off the floor like a basketball. Blood spewed out from her head wound, but she was holding her arm when she sat up.

“That bitch broke my arm. Kill her, Kate,” Betsy said.

The only thing that saved Edith Wilson’s life that Sunday afternoon was that Sloan and Ginger rushed into the kitchen at that very moment.

“What’s going on in here?” Ginger gasped.

“Is Betsy all right?” Sloan asked.

Kate wanted to finish the job her sister had started, but she couldn’t kill Edith with Ginger there. The poor child had been through enough, and it might cause the baby to come early if she murdered that bitch right in front of her.

Edith’s hands went to her hair, but no amount of patting would take care of the mess it was in right then. Kate was pretty sure the woman would have to see Lucy at the Hondo Cut and Curl the next day to get it under control.

“I’m bleeding,” Betsy said, and then fainted dead away.

Ginger left Sloan’s side and went to Betsy. “Don’t be dead,” she kept whispering over and over.

“She’s not dead, darlin’. She’s just fainted. She never could look at blood,” Connie said. “Don’t know how she handles raw meat.”

That seemed to be a strange thing for Connie to say during a crisis, but it was the truth. Betsy came to herself before Kate could get the smelling salts and glared at Edith again. “You’ve got until I get up off of this floor to get off my property, or I’m going to get Mama’s shotgun and shoot you myself. I won’t mind spending my last days in prison if I get to see you in a casket.”

“You’d better go on now, Mrs. Wilson.” Sloan tried to guide her to the door by laying a hand on her shoulder.

Edith jerked away from him and glared at Kate. “I’ll have you all in jail for this. And, young man, don’t you ever touch me again. I don’t need your help.”

Ginger grabbed a tea towel from the countertop and went straight to Betsy. She applied pressure to the head wound at the back of Betsy’s head and said, “We should get you to a hospital.”

“You’ll stay with me, won’t you? You won’t leave me,” Betsy whined. “And you’ll tell Mama that Edith started it.”

“She’s got a concussion,” Ginger whispered. “She don’t have any idea what she’s sayin’.”

“I know I’m disappointed in Kate for not killing Edith.” Betsy’s eyes rolled back in her head and she was out again, though she regained consciousness a few moments later.

Kate went straight for the wall-hung phone and dialed nine-one-one. While she waited for them to answer, she said, “We’re not moving her. I’m getting an ambulance to come get her. We’ll follow it to the hospital. I’m too nervous to drive. You’ll have to do it for me, Sloan.”

“While we’re there, we better have you two checked out, too,” Sloan said. “Kate, you’re bleeding from a long scratch on your arm, and, Connie, you’ve got bloody knuckles. What in the hell happened here, anyway?”

“History surfaced,” Connie told him. “You can’t hold it down forever.”

“Testify, Sister.” Betsy tried to raise her arm and cried out in pain.

As she was giving the operator the address, Kate noticed a look that passed between Sloan and Ginger. If everything happened for a reason, she sure hoped the result of four old women acting out like teenage drama queens had something to do with that.

Chapter Thirteen

Ginger loved all the sisters, but she’d spent so much time in the kitchen with Betsy that she’d become her favorite. She sat on the floor beside her, holding her good hand and reassuring her every few minutes that everything would be all right.

“You won’t leave me,” Betsy kept saying. “You left me once, and I never got over it. I can’t lose you again.”

“I’ll stay right with you the whole time you’re in the hospital, no matter how long it takes,” Ginger assured her each time.

“Kate’s in love with Max Wilson.” Betsy giggled like a second grader. “I went to Woodstock and slept around, but Kate did, too. Connie, did you have sex, or did you just get into Kate’s special toy drawer?”

“She’s delusional.” Connie cocked her head to the side. “I hear the sirens. They’ll be here any minute.”

Sloan had just gotten back from seeing Edith to the door and said, “I’ll let them in.” He headed back to the living room.

Seconds later, two EMTs were hovering around Betsy, trying to figure out how to get her on a board and get a neck brace on her. Sloan began moving chairs to the living room, then picked up the kitchen table and set it off to one side to give them more room.

“Thanks,” the one with DYLAN embroidered on his shirt said. “That makes it easier.”

They got Betsy onto the board and then shifted her onto the gurney, popped it up, and rolled her toward the door, and not one time did she let go of Ginger’s hand. “Am I going to die?”

“No, ma’am, not if we can help it,” Dylan answered. “Me and Sammy here ain’t lost a patient yet, and we don’t intend to start with you. But you got to let go of the lady’s hand so we can get you in the ambulance.”

“She’s going with me,” Betsy said. “She promised.”

“And I promise she’ll be there when we roll you into the hospital, but, honey, there’s not room for her to ride with us,” Sammy said.

“It’s only ten minutes,” Sloan assured Betsy. “We’re all getting into the car right now, and we’ll follow right behind you.”

“If you don’t keep your word, as much as I love you, Sloan Baker, I will punish you.” Betsy gave him an evil look.

“I always keep my word.” He stepped back so Dylan and Sammy could get her into the ambulance.

Ginger hurried over to the car and got into the passenger’s seat. When they were all strapped in, Sloan started up the car, and they were soon right behind the ambulance.

“Why’d y’all come back so soon?” Kate asked.

“I forgot my purse, and Sloan said we could go to Walmart so I could shop for a few baby things,” Ginger answered, then let out a loud whoosh of air. “One of y’all want to tell me what Betsy was talking about when she said she’d lost me?”

“I expect she’ll tell you that when she’s ready. It ain’t our story to tell,” Connie said. “But we will tell you what happened with that bitch Edith.”

“I better own up to the background first.” Kate gave them a short version of her involvement with Max Wilson fifty years before. “All this time, I figured he was sleeping with both of us, but I guess old Edith has some skeletons in her closet, too.”

“Who threw the first punch?” Sloan parked behind the ambulance at the emergency-room entrance.

“Betsy did when Edith said bad things about Mama.” Connie got out of the car and slammed the door. “You take this to a place in the parking lot where it won’t get scratched, Sloan. Then you can come on inside with us.”

A random thought chased through Ginger’s head. Sloan had been used to taking orders in the military, so it didn’t bother him so much for Connie to boss him around. It seemed like she’d been listening to people tell her what to do and how to do it for so long that it didn’t faze her either.

“Gin . . . ger . . . ,” Betsy called out. “Where are you?”

“I’m right here,” she said as she ran from the car to the ambulance and laid a hand on Betsy’s shoulder. They wheeled the gurney through the doors and straight on back to a cubicle. Two nurses and a doctor rushed into the area, and pretty soon an IV was in Betsy’s arm, oxygen tubes were in her nose, and her arm was stabilized on a different board.

“Get an X-ray machine in here and get some blood work down to the lab.” The doctor barked more orders and then looked over at Ginger. “Are you a relative?”

“She’s my granddaughter,” Betsy answered.

“What happened?” the doctor asked.

“I tried to kill Edith Wilson, but I didn’t have a stake to run through her heart.” Betsy giggled.

“Four senior women got into a fight, and Betsy wound up on the floor. She’s got a concussion,” Ginger told him.

“Are you a doctor? If not, then keep your medical opinions to yourself,” he said sternly.

Betsy let go of Ginger’s hand and shook her good fist at the doctor. “Don’t you ever use that tone with my child again. I’m payin’ you to treat me, and I don’t even like you, so you can have some manners.”

The doctor chuckled. “Yes, ma’am!”

“And we won’t talk about my age or my weight, or you’ll feel that right hook again,” Betsy told him.