Free Death of a Domestic Diva by Sharon Short Page B

Mama! She’s coming!”
    A few seconds later, Becky was by us, gathering Haley into her arms. As they disappeared into the crowd again—which was growing angrier and more restless—Lewis looked back at me. “You would do well to listen to Billy. We all would.”
    Just what was Lewis’s problem with Tyra? I was about to ask him, when a hush came over the crowd as an SUV—bigger, newer, and shinier than anything usually seen in Paradise—pulled up and parked in front of my laundromat. The passenger door opened, and Tyra Grimes herself stepped out.
    She stared at Billy—a bemused look on her face—when suddenly, as if pulled by some magnet, she looked over to us.
    She stared past me to Lewis, looking at him as if she was taking him in, bit by bit. Her face was expressionless and pale.
    And Lewis stared back, equally riveted, equally expressionless—but beneath the surface was anger. Cold, hard anger.
    Tyra looked away first.
    By now, a slender, young black woman had gotten out on the driver’s side and stood beside Tyra. Paige, I thought.
    Mayor Cornelia Hintermeister stepped forward from the crowd. “On behalf of Paradise, I’d like to apologize for this buffoon—”
    That miffed me. Billy could be an idiot, that was true, but he’d served Paradise long and well as a preacher, and now he was trying to make an honest living as a Cut-N-Suck salesman.
    â€œNo apology needed. I’m used to encountering a few people who aren’t exactly fans. Hard to believe, but perhaps they’re just so decorating-impaired they feel intimidated by little old me?” With that she gave a twittering laugh. The crowd twittered along with her.
    Maybe Lewis was just one of Tyra’s decorating-impaired un-fans—although his funeral home chairs did have nice upholstery. I turned to look at him, but he had disappeared. No, there was something more about why he didn’t like Tyra . . .
    I didn’t have time to finish the thought. My attention was drawn back to the crowd by hollers of, “Stop! Somebody stop him!”
    Billy had surged forward and was now facing Tyra, who looked totally unworried and just smiled up at him.
    â€œWhy,” she asked, “are you protesting me, my dear man?”
    â€œLook at this T-shirt,” Billy shouted, shaking his T-shirt-on-a-stick. “What if these people knew how it was made?”
    â€œWhy, it was sewn together, of course,” Tyra said, laughing.
    Again, the crowd laughed along with her.
    Poor Billy turned as red as the shirt. That was all the Billy-taunting I could stand. I put my head down and like a little bull—I was feeling mighty empowered by my new hair—I pushed my way through the crowd to Billy.
    â€œMake him stop, Josie,” someone near me hollered.
    â€œYeah,” someone else shouted. “He’s your cousin, Josie, do something about this.”
    But Billy hadn’t even noticed me. Or the fact that angry Paradisites were closing in around us, no doubt ready to drag us away from Tyra and sacrifice us for her, if she should so choose. For the moment she simply looked bemused.
    I saw Chief John Worthy moving toward us.
    I grabbed Billy’s arm, but he shook me off. So I grabbed him by the chest hairs and yanked, but he barely flinched. He started shouting, crazy loud, “Tyra Grimes is evil!”
    Chief Worthy was moving fast and glaring at Billy—and I knew if Billy didn’t shut up, he’d end up in jail. I also knew Billy wouldn’t shut up. So I did the only thing I could.
    I jerked Billy’s cross-effigy of Tyra Grimes away from him, and whacked him over the head with it. Billy went down with a moan, into a heap between Tyra and myself.
    The grotesque Halloween mask went flying off the top of the cross, and landed right on Tyra’s head. The crowd went quiet.
    Chief Worthy had made his way over to us, and now looked at Tyra with grave