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always believed that he was a trash-talking and opinionated braggart—but not a cheat, and especially not with a cheap
     trick like Tangie Bonner.
    Plus, Tangie should have been ashamed of herself, considering the many times she had been to Marquita’s house, soliciting
     her help with a special catering job at the school that food services wasn’t equipped to handle. Not to mention how many times
     the girl had been at the house stuffing her face with some of Marquita’s good food, or bemoaning the loss of one more man
     who Tangie had previously claimed was
the one.
And there were absolutely no words to describe a man who would tap some tail off a woman who had been all up in his wife’s
     house.
    Yvonne could hear Rico laughing and wished she couldn’t imagine what that negro looked like sitting in that red Cadillac STS,
     grinning and talking trash. Because she knew exactly what he looked like—had seen him countless times whenever they were around
     Marquita and her family. It was a good thing for those two that Yvonne didn’t have her nail gun down in that bag, or else
     she would have shot out all of Rico’s 350-dollar tires.
    She went into the building, momentarily refreshed by the song playing over the department’s sound system. Elder Jimmy Hicks’s
     “I told that ole’ devil to get on out of my way, he’s got to move,” was playing. Yvonne loved that song. It said exactly what
     the saints felt when the enemy was standing in the way causing trouble. There were two gospel musicians who could get you
     going good in the morning, as far as she was concerned: Elder Jimmy Hicks and Keith “Wonderboy” Johnson. Their earthy, down-home
     songs always told it like it needed to be told.
    One of the best things about working in this department was that it was staffed by saved, sanctified, and Holy Ghost–filled
     folk. That was rare. Most times there were a few saved folks in the cut, but never like this. And it was a beautiful thing
     to work with people who loved the Lord and worked hard to live and work in line with the Word of God.
    Yvonne unlocked the door to her office, which was more like an office/workshop. The room was about the size of a large family
     room in a good-size home. The walls were painted a soft and soothing shade of gray, with charcoal on all of the wood trim
     and molding. Her door was brick red, as were the wooden blinds and her desk and shelves. There were large plants in charcoal-
     and brick- colored pots placed along the windows, which practically surrounded the entire room. Industrial steel lighting
     hung from the ceiling, and there were two large steel cabinets at the back of the room that were full of rolls of upholstery
     fabric, area rugs, paint, and a host of interesting tools and items. There were also two ebony-colored wood tables, surrounded
     by brick stained steel chairs, with charcoal- and brick-colored tile flooring. Yvonne had decorated her own office, which
     was the envy of many of her colleagues.
    She flipped on her computer, typed in the password, and then began her morning ritual of opening the blinds and checking on
     her plants. The phone rang just as she was about to stick her finger down into the soil of one of the plants.
    “Do you ever answer your phone on time?” her cousin Maurice’s wife, Trina Fountain, asked.
    “I answered it on time this time,” Yvonne responded defensively.
    “Quit lying,” Trina told her. “You know that you got to the phone on time by accident, and you probably wasn’t even concerned
     if you got to it on time or not.”
    Yvonne didn’t say anything. Trina was right. She didn’t care if she didn’t get to the phone on time. All she had to do was
     check her voice mail, and then call whoever it was back. What was so bad about that?
    “Uh … huh … your butt always gets quiet when you get called out,” Trina told her. “So, are you still coming to the
     house for dinner this evening?”
    “I think so—have a