Helena Handbasket gritted her perfect teeth. That Soybean Queen dig hit home.

                Thick glossy black hair was all that Perra’s papa left her before he moved further north to pick apples. That crowning glory, along with the low-cut spangly red dress stitched by her mother, joined forces to unseat Helena from the annual Cotton Queen throne where she had ruled for a decade. Soybean Queen was like taking Second Place, or as Laura Mercy had so cruelly pointed out, First Loser.

                “Where’s Buddy? Is he in there?” Now that Perra had zinged her she prayed that Buddy really was in there so that she could shoot Perra with a clear conscience. Her fine sense of Southern morality allowed blood vengeance against a man-stealer, but did not allow her to shoot Perra in cold blood just because she hated the bitch’s guts.                

“Buddy Sattva has never been here,” Perra stated flatly. “Why don’t you check at the Temple?”

TO BE CONTINUED…