Louisiana Bigshot

doing here?”
    Talba pushed past her. “Hello, darlin’. You’ll get to like me. I promise.” She pulled out a candy bar. “I have good things for little girls.”
    Raisa reached out and snatched it, and at that moment, Darryl walked into the room. “Raisa! Is that any way to behave?”
    “She gave it to me.”
    “She did not.”
    Talba, trying to make peace, said, “Well, I was going to.”
    Darryl decided not to push it. He said, “Raisa, say thank you.”
    “No!” The kid stamped her foot and ran into her bedroom, a small chamber Darryl had furnished with bunks.
    That was the way the evening began, and from there it progressed to Raisa’s spilling a chocolate milkshake onto Talba’s lap, apparently on purpose. Darryl, appalled, decided on depriving her of the movie as punishment, which produced a tantrum of approximately the size and duration of Hurricane Bob. By the time they left McDonald’s, Talba’s ears hurt so badly all she wanted to do was get away, but Darryl said no, that was what Raisa wanted—to drive her away. They could all three play Monopoly or something.
    However, the tantrum showed no signs of abating when they got home, and when Raisa actually started throwing things, and Darryl went for her with a glint Talba’d never seen in his eye, Talba thought she was about to witness child abuse firsthand. Instead, he picked her up, put her in the shower fully clothed, and turned the cold water on. Talba wasn’t sure it wasn’t cruel, but anyway it worked. The kid came out docile as a bunny rabbit, got into warm jammies, and settled down to watch
101 Dalmatians
for the nineteenth time—thus getting a movie after all—while the adults tried to calm their nerves with a glass of wine.
    Talba said, “I don’t mean to be critical, but—”
    “I know, she’s getting worse.”
    “She is, Darryl. She needs to go see somebody.”
    And thus began yet another discussion that left them both in despair. Technically, Darryl really had no rights to Raisa; Kimmie only let him spend time with her because she needed money from him; any time he had a bright idea about child-rearing she got furious and threatened to cut him off completely. Which upset him, because he really thought Kimmie was crazy—felt he was the only link to stability Raisa had.
    While Talba had to respect that, it was a big fat thorn in their relationship.
    Kimmie had called him one day when Raisa was two years old and told him he was a father. He’d accepted the news happily and without question and had come to love his daughter—however difficult. (“But you don’t understand,” he’d say to Talba, “she was the sweetest little baby.”)
    He could try to get official custody—or partial custody—but he hadn’t, and Talba understood that he was afraid—afraid that DNA testing would show she wasn’t really his and afraid he’d lose. However much he did or didn’t love the child, Talba was sure of one thing—he’d never abandon her. He’d just rather not face the thorny questions a court case would produce. At least not yet.
    Talba had two glasses of wine and left feeling worse instead of better.

Chapter Nineteen
    Eddie’s Saturday night was shaping up no better. He was truly pissed off about what had happened to Ms. Wallis in Clayton and had brooded about it till he hatched a plan. He figured his cover wasn’t completely blown yet and he’d better take advantage of it while he could.
    Angie came over that afternoon to get some of Audrey’s red gravy. His wife made it by the gumbo pot and froze most of it in quart-size freezer bags, so she could take one out and thaw it every time she wanted to make pasta—which was about three times a week. Angie always got a couple of the bags, though judging from her skinny little body, she never ate any—at least not with spaghetti.
    She was in an upbeat mood—for her. “Hey, Dad, how’s Talba?”
    “Mean as ever.”
    “That’s Miz Clara you’re talking about, isn’t it? Talba’s the nice one.”
    “Clara Wallis is the closest thing to a saint I’ve ever met in my life—and that’s not just ’cause she has to put up with that hellion of a daughter. The woman fries chicken like a member of the highest order of angels.”
    Audrey sniffed, a little annoyed, because she was waging a one-woman fight to save Eddie from death-by-cholesterol.
    “Hmph. Seraphim. I could make ya happy too if I wanted to kill ya.”
    “No, Mom, I think it’s Cherubim.”
    “I