Out of the blue, she said, “I’ve been putting this off, but now’s a good a time as any. Zoe called about the job.”

“It’s a no-go, right?”

She nodded sadly. “Her husband Jerome heard one of the Bradfords was behind it. Betty Todd’s the county purchasing director and she told Jerome if he hired you, he could lose the Temptation library contract. Jerome said Sears Bradford is friends with all three commissioners. So’s his son Mead. They’ve basically blacklisted y’all…everywhere. That’s prob’ly why Cholly can’t get any local contractors for his club.”

I ground my jaw. An all too familiar hellish shade of red flashed before me. “Devious sons-a-bitches. I should’ve known.”

Not that I’d thought I’d had a snowball’s chance of getting that job, but I’d hoped something would’ve shaken loose by now so I wouldn’t have to lean so much on Cholly.

Sears and Mead Bradford wouldn’t be happy until they’d run us both off.

Bev took a drag. “Can’t you ask Shannon to talk to them?”

“Why should I?”

“Aren’t y’all friends now?”

Friends? Yeah, right. “Where’d you get that impression?”

“She called when I was at the house and Randa Quince saw you leave her office yesterday. Others have seen y’all as well.”

I rubbed my tired eyes. So Bev’s House of Nails also doubled as a hen-pecking factory. “Those women need to mind their own damn business.”

“Well, if y’all are friends it gives me hope. I mean, if you can forgive her…I dunno. Maybe you can forgive Patrick.”

I drew myself up. The girl was relentless. “I don’t want to talk about this no more, Beverly.” I fanned the air. “And stop blowing smoke in my face.”

“So now it’s ‘Beverly’? Yeah, you’re pissed.” She sucked on her cigarette as two crows landed on a nearby crypt. “Look, Patrick told me what he done at the plaza. He was just actin’ a fool, okay? But he’s my husband. Nothin’s gonna change that.”

“Does he even know you’re here? With me?” Soon as she hooded her eyes, I said, “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming at me with this when you’re sneaking around just to see your own brother.”

“It’s up to you to make amends. You started this war.”

I fixed her with a coarse look. “Your judgment’s always been off. The friends you pick, the men you choose—you’re a pleaser. Just like Mama. Every man you ever had treated you like shit. Hell, you up and married the first bum you met in stir. And why? ‘Cause you don’t think you deserve better.”

“Patrick’s not a bum. He’s a sinner—like all of us.”

“Uh-oh, I hear a sermon coming on.”

“Well, God knows you’ve lost your way.”

“And you’ve lost your damn mind.” I yanked off my seatbelt. “All that scripture slinging won’t erase the truth. You’re clueless when it comes to men. Eddie Gray proves it.”

Her cheeks burned red. “He has nothin’ to do with this.”

“Oh, really?” I stared a hole into the windshield. “Well, if you ask me, you went from one slimeball to another.”

“God’s word says I’m to cleave to my husband, rain or shine. Nobody’s perfect, so I don’t hold all his mistakes—”

“Mistakes?” I tore around. “Icky’s a crackhead and a wife beater. Mama even had him figured. Mama, the same woman who put up with Daddy’s shit. And you up and marry a sorry son-of-a-bitch just like him.”

“Judge not lest you be judged!”

“Don’t preach at me, Beverly,” I hollered. “You know that Bible-thumpin’ of yours drives me nuts.”

“‘Bible-thumpin’ helped me and him forgive each other.”

“What the hell does Icky gotta forgive you for?”

“We’ve all fallen short of God’s grace and glory!”

Any minute now she’d start speaking in tongues. I just shook my head. “No wonder you and Mama never got along. You’re both alike. Neither of you had the sense God gave a brick.”

I felt like an ass the second the words left my mouth. Especially after she ripped her seatbelt off and stormed out. I snatched up the flowers I’d bought at 7-11 and shouldered the door open. Wind hit my face and tugged at my jacket. Even in the dead of winter, cemetery air smelled of death and decay.

Bev tossed her cigarette. Her breath came in misty bursts while she paced back and forth in a frenzy. “You can be a hateful somethin’ when you wanna be.”

“Look, I’m just in a mood. We both are.” I slammed the door and the truck wobbled. “Swear to God, I didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah, you did.” She hugged herself. “You’re as judgmental as those prigs in Willow’s Corner. Lord help you.”

I set an apologetic hand on her shoulder when she zipped past me. “Hell, Bevy, I said I’m sorry.”

“Bastard,” she whimpered, jerking away. “Who are you? And what have you done with my brother?” Her ponytail waved as she blazed a trail up the hill.

Bev’s words had barely sunk in before her screams pierced the silence.

With my stomach lodged in my throat, I stumbled up the ruddy path, only to encounter my worst nightmare. Our differences forgotten, Bev and me stood side by side at the foot of our mother’s grave, both of us frozen in shock.

My flowers fell to the ground just as Bev’s legs gave out.

“Mama,” she sobbed. “Maamaah!” She grasped fistfuls of snow as her tortured cries echoed over the barren cemetery.

Something in me shattered. Dropping to my knees, I scooped her into my arms and she clung to me like a life preserver. “Aw, Bevy, please don’t cry,” I whispered. “Shhh. It’ll be okay. I promise, it will.”

But it was a lie. Nothing would ever be okay. Not until I did something. Just what that ‘something’ was, I hadn’t a clue. Squeezing my eyes shut, I took a slow lungful of air—like Doc had taught me—but my blood was already at a rolling boil, and the fire beneath it wouldn’t be quenched. Not today.

Jerome Dillon’s contract. The boycott. Cholly’s club troubles. The hate mail and crank calls. Bev’s window and now this. Everything pointed in one direction.

Sears and Mead Bradford had stirred all this shit up. What was next on their evil agenda? Torches and pitchforks?

I was a big boy, okay? And I’d made every effort to keep the bastards from getting to me. Hell, I’d survived Gainstown, after all. But this was different. This time they’d aimed true.

This time, they’d gone and fucked with my mama.

SHANNON

____________________________

Mead stared into his Scotch glass. “So what does Darien think?”

I took a leisurely sip of strong coffee. No doubt he was referring to the current edition of The Dirty Dish. He’d been on a tear about it all afternoon. With the party over, Granny Mae, Digger, Mead’s wife Francine, Uncle, Auntie, and I had retired to the dining hall for drinks, sweets, and peace.

That is, until Mead pulled up a chair.

“Well?” he prompted, his cultured southern voice issuing a challenge. “The man can’t be pleased with your behavior.”

Aunt Hesta sent her son a quelling look from across the massive table. “Must we discuss these unpleasantries now?”

Mead slipped a crumpled magazine page from his jacket in answer, and tossed it next to the remains of Granny Mae’s peach cobbler dish. It was a copy of the latest tabloid article by the same vulgar gossip columnist. From everyone’s stunned reaction you’d think he’d thrown a serpent atop a holy altar.

“Here we have a glorious exposé featuring Shannon’s nail-biting brush with death,” he continued. “Followed by her touching reunion with the Butcher Boy at the plaza. Next came the hospital melee with the Grays, and then the battle royale on Jefferson Boulevard at the peak of rush hour. And last, but not least, a rendezvous in the parking lot at Home Depot. How does Erica Davies know all this? The bitch has tentacles everywhere.”

“Stop being a bore, Mead.” Uncle’s droll voice drifted from the other side of the table where he sat sequestered behind a newspaper, his manicured fingers the only visible part of him. It was the most he’d said all afternoon—to anyone, including Auntie. “Talk will die down soon enough.”