His Last Wife

“Lunch? I let Ethel leave for the day. I guess I could pull something out of the freezer,” Thirjane said drily.

Val rolled her eyes and stopped herself from saying something nasty, for Kerry’s sake. Thirjane didn’t like her and that was okay with her. This was about class and Thirjane thinking she was better than Val. If only she knew that Val had gotten word of her murder-for-hire plot, she’d snap in line and run to the kitchen to heat up whatever Val wanted to eat to keep her secret from Kerry, who obviously had no idea about what her sweet Southern mama had been up to. Thirjane should’ve been serving up steak and potatoes. Veal and fresh tomato sauce. Whatever. Val thought that and smirked.

“Mama, I want to show you something on my iPad,” Tyrian said, jumping up and down with excitement in front of Kerry.

“On your iPad? What is it? A new game?” Kerry smiled and picked a piece of lint from Tyrian’s hair.

He looked at Thirjane and then back at his mother to say softly, “It’s a secret. I can’t tell you in front of everyone.”

Thirjane jumped in with, “Boy, you don’t have any secrets in my house. I’ve told you that. Children don’t get to keep secrets. When you get a job, you can have secrets.” Thirjane laughed, but Kerry kept her attention on Tyrian.

“Oh, Mama, he’s just wanting to show me something. That’s all he meant by it.” She took Tyrian’s hand. “Where’s your iPad, sweetheart?”

“In my room,” he replied, pulling her toward the steps that led upstairs to the bedrooms.

Excusing herself, Kerry asked Val if she minded if she spent a few seconds with Tyrian and then followed him upstairs to find the tablet.

Val watched Thirjane boil as Kerry and Tyrian played freeze tag up the stairs and then loud thuds could be heard from upstairs as they padded toward the bed.

“Sounds like a whole football team up there,” Thirjane said, getting louder with each word, so they could hear her upstairs. “And Kerry knows better. I didn’t raise her to walk like an elephant. Not in my house.”

Val listened and noted how Thirjane sounded like she was talking about a little girl or someone she could control. She giggled, but not because she thought anything Thirjane had said was funny. She giggled at Thirjane. There was a difference.

And Thirjane, a person who specialized in conversational shade and knew too well how to make someone the butt of any joke, knew that difference.

She eyeballed Val to consider what she could be laughing at.

“Hmm,” Thirjane offered, pursing her lips at Val. There was a time when someone like Val, with a dress so tight and with earrings dangling so close to her shoulders, wouldn’t be allowed in Thirjane’s house—or at least they’d know never to come. Thirjane eyed Val’s long nails and the ring on her i

ndex finger and announced quite uncomfortably, “Guess we should go sit in the parlor and wait for Kerry.”

“Sure,” Val agreed smugly. “Sounds like a plan to me.” She followed Thirjane to the parlor (which was really just a living room), looking at the assiduous decorator’s elaborate collection of interestingly placed antiques and cultural trophies. Everything looked so expensive and delicate. A huge painting of a black female slave being baptized in a river hung over a couch loaded with so many pillows Val had no choice but to sit on the edge.

Thirjane sat across from her in a chair with wooden eagle talon feet and crossed her legs like she was beginning an interview.

“So interesting how this all turned out. You getting Kerry out of jail,” Thirjane started speaking and her tone was so flat it sounded like she was just trying to fill the silent moment with sound. “You know I’ve been meaning to be more helpful with things, but having Tyrian here—that was a lot. I’m saying if you had children, you’d understand. It’s a lot of work. A mother’s work is never done. Raised one and here I am raising another.”

“Well, now that Kerry’s home, you won’t have to worry about that anymore. Right?” Val quizzed.

“Oh, yes I will. That boy needs more guidance in his life. My Kerry is a good mother, but she’s no disciplinarian. Neither was that Jamison. And with things the way they are now, all Tyrian’s got is me and his mama.”

“Yes. It is sad that Tyrian lost his father under such—” Val stopped and grinned at Thirjane for effect “—circumstances. Good thing he had a good grandmother like you at home to help take care of him. Especially since the killer is still out there.”

Thirjane looked at Val like she’d peeked under her dress.

“What?” Val followed up. “Haven’t you thought about that? The reality that whoever killed Jamison may be an insane serial killer planning to kill off everyone Jamison loved?”

“I doubt that. It was just an isolated incident,” Thirjane said, obviously perturbed by Val’s morbid analysis.

“How do you know? Hmm?”

“Someone said it—on the news or one of those detectives, maybe. Someone,” Thirjane stuttered out.

“How could they know that? I mean, come on—they don’t even know who did it. No leads.” Val leaned toward Thirjane in the chair and spoke so low and sharp she sounded like a witch whispering a spell into a cauldron boiling over with remnants from a magic potion. “The killer could be planning anything. He could be anywhere. At any time.” She sat back and looked around. “Could be in this very room.”

“What? Hunh?” Thirjane looked flustered—like she was sitting in the stand in a court of law and going through cross-examination for a crime she committed.

Val had decided she wasn’t going to tell Kerry about her mother’s plot to have Jamison killed. She figured she would leave that to Leaf. But with Thirjane and her constant airs and putting on sitting in front of her squirming, she thought she could at least have a little fun. Especially since Thirjane had no idea her plan had failed and really thought her actions had led to Jamison’s demise.