Free Pernicious by James Henderson, Larry Rains Page B

enough money for a decent funeral.” Shaking her head: “It was the saddest funeral I’ve ever attended…the saddest.”
              “Did Donny leave?” Joanne said, an obvious attempt to change the subject.
              Mrs. Banks ignored her. “I swore ‘fore God, Reverend Black and Ty thirty-seven years ago that I would never know another man outside of Tyrone Banks. To this very day I’ve kept that vow.” Tears rolled down her face.
              There was a long silence; it was Mrs. Banks’ turn to play again. No one commented.
              A hissing from the stove interrupted the quietude.       
              “My greens!” Mrs. Banks exclaimed, rushing to the stove. “Damn!” She took the smoking pot to the back door and threw it out.
              Kimberly laughed. “First you burned the cornbread, then the peas, now the greens. What’s next?”
              “I might burn your fat ass,” Mrs. Banks said, grinning.
    “See what that smells like.”
              Tasha took another sip of her drink; now it didn’t taste as strong. She could feel the effects of the gin, slowly but surely creeping up on her. Lightheaded. And she no longer wanted to talk about death and murder. She wanted to socialize with these women, laugh with them, talk with them about anything except the reason that brought her here.
              “I wonder,” Kimberly was saying to Mrs. Banks, “what happened to her daughter?”
              Mrs. Banks took a generous sip of her drink. “Last I heard she was living with her grandmother down in Dawson. I feel for any child with a mother like that woman. She sent that girl to the funeral all alone. Pitiful. Just pitiful!”
              “What was her name?” Kimberly asked.
              “I forgot. Hold on, it’ll come to me. I know it starts with a K. Keisha…Kenyata…Keshana, that’s it.”
              “What?” Tasha said, snapping to attention. “What did you just say?”
              The three women stared quizzically at Tasha.
              “The name Keshana, who were you referring to?”
              “Perry’s daughter,” Kimberly answered.
              “Her name is Keshana Green?” Tasha asked.
              “I don’t know ‘bout the Green part,” Mrs. Banks said. “I know her first name is Keshana.”
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
                                         
                               Chapter 5
     
             
     
              Every square foot of her front yard, except the driveway, was covered with flowers. Oriental poppies lined the base of the house from end to end, their hue so brilliantly crimson the house appeared to bleed. Purple foxgloves ran along one side of the driveway, while red, yellow and white roses ran along the other.
              There the symmetry ended. Petunias, verbascums, delphiniums, chrysanthemums and helianthemums were scattered throughout the yard in no discernible pattern. A chaotic profusion of colors.
              Perry abandoned the shovel and stepped back to admire her handiwork. She’d planted every flower, pulled every weed and clipped every…She wasn’t sure what exactly she’d clipped, but if it was clipped, she’d clipped it.
              A pink two-story antebellum with four columns shadowed the yard.
              Perry had replaced the original portico with a double-tiered, cast-iron railed gallery. She’d stained and varnished all the shutters and replaced the prison-gray colored wooden door with a solid brass one, shipped all the way from Horsehead, New York. When the sun hit it just right, the reflection glimmered like a star.
              “Mine,” Perry said under her breath. “All mine. Bought and paid for.”