The Banks Sisters 3 Page 6

  Wolfe insisted he could handle the lock change alone. “No need to bother you with it.”

  “It’s no bother at all,” Maestro insisted. “She will need a few items of clothing anyway. Under the circumstances, I think she should stay with us for a couple of days. I’ll pick up the clothes.”

  Rydah felt funny listening to them speak about her as if she weren’t there, but she knew that they were only trying to do what they thought was best, so she let it go.

  Wolfe agreed. “Not a bad idea. I’ll see ya when you get there. Tell Rydah to please give me a call.”

  “As soon as I get settled in,” Rydah said loud enough to be heard over the speaker phone

  * * *

  Wolfe rang the bell.

  Since her parents weren’t letting her out of their sight, even though Rydah didn’t want to, she invited Wolfe over to their house—provided he and her father were still on speaking terms after they met up for the first time at her house.

  Amanda answered the door, wearing an apron. “Hello. You must be William?”

  Wolfe wore a pair of jeans and a T-shirt with white Gucci sneakers and a matching cap with a blazer. “And you must be Rydah’s sister,” he said.

  What woman didn’t like to be complimented? And Amanda was no exception. She ate it up. “Flattery will get you far in this world. Come in. I’ll get my daughter. I hope you’re hungry.”

  Wolfe took off his hat. “Actually, I haven’t eaten all day. I’m hungry as a wolf,” he said, pun intended.

  The foyer led down a hall that opened to a large, beautifully furnished family room. Wolfe said, “You have a very nice home.

  “Thank you.” Amanda asked Wolfe to take a seat while she went to get Rydah and check on dinner.

  Rydah walked into the room, barefoot. Wolfe almost didn’t hear her approach. Almost. But slipping wasn’t something that he could afford to do. Slipping is kin to sleeping, and everyone knows that sleep is the cousin of death. Wolfe wanted no parts of that family tree.

  Rydah had on a pair of jeans and a tank top that her father had picked up from her house. They hugged; a long hug. She didn’t want to let him go. Wolfe’s body felt both hard and warm in her arms. He asked if she was okay.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Dinner’s ready.” Amanda asked everyone to come to the dining room. She’d made enough food to feed a troop of Boy Scouts, and everything looked delicious. There was grilled salmon, baked chicken, potatoes, seasoned broccoli, shrimp, rice, and some other things that Wolfe didn’t recognize right off top, but he was willing and ready to sample everything.

  Once they were seated, Maestro said grace.

  “Thank you, Father, for providing this food for us to nourish our bodies. Father in Heaven, may you bless those who are about to partake in this meal. Father in Heaven, may you bless the person who prepared the wonderful meal. Father in Heaven, we thank you for sparing my daughter’s life as you see fit. In Jesus’ name we pray, and let us all say Amen!”

  Amen!

  The food tasted even better than it looked sitting on the table. And as promised, Wolfe tried it all, including dessert—a flaky-crust apple cobbler that was still warm from the oven.

  “Ms. Banks . . .” Wolfe wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. “I can’t remember when I’ve had a better meal.”

  Maestro wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. “I see the man has good taste. Can’t take that from him.”

  Amanda said, “Thank you. I learned to cook from my mother.”

  “Well, she taught you well.” After a couple of minutes of small talk while their food digested, Wolfe and Rydah excused themselves from the table.

  “If anyone wants me,” Rydah said to her parents, “I’ll be in the den.” She then led Wolfe downstairs.

  The moment they were alone, Wolfe asked, “Give me some good pictures of that bitch Buffy and that ho’s address.”

  “What for?” Rydah asked.

  “Because the bitch set you up, and I don’t intend to let it slide, by no stretch of the imagination.”

  Rydah thought about what Wolfe had just said. She’d thought about the possibility of Buffy being responsible also, but in the end, she had dismissed it.

  She said to Wolfe, “I don’t think she’s smart enough or crafty enough to orchestrate something like that. And it doesn’t make sense. Why would she do something like that?”

  “Never underestimate what anyone will do at any given time.” Wolfe put his hand on Rydah’s leg. “And it doesn’t matter why,” he said. “It only matters that she going to pay for her sins.”

  “No, Wolfe.” She thought about his reputation and some of the things she’d heard about him, and she didn’t want that karma to come back on her. “Vengeance isn’t mine.”

  “You right, it isn’t yours.... It’s mine.”

  Chapter 9

  A Vessel of Blessings

  Richmond, VA

  “Great morning, sunshine.”

  Gladys Banks was dressed in a long black pleated skirt and flat-heeled leather ankle boots. The fur at the top of the boots complemented the mink mid-length swing jacket. Despite having been on this earth for nearly a century, Gladys was still young at heart and bubbling with energy. Though many of her childhood friends had gone on to see their maker, she remained upbeat and positive about life. A beautiful fall Tuesday morning was as good a reason as any for Gladys to be dressed in her Sunday’s best when she strolled into the United Negro Bank of Virginia.

  She figured, why deprive the world of getting the very best version of herself, each and every day, regardless of her age or circumstances? She may not be able to always control what happened around her, but there was one thing that she could control. Nobody knew when his or her time on Earth would come to an end, and if that day came sooner rather than later, Gladys wanted to be remembered at her very best. Especially on the first of the month, when it seemed like everybody and their grandmother’s mother was at the bank, cashing their social security check.

  “Good morning, Ms. Banks.” Kim was the head teller at the bank. “I love those boots you’re wearing.” Kim had been employed at the bank for two decades. She tried to make it her business to get to know all of her customers, and Gladys and her husband, Malcolm, were no exception. In fact, Kim practically knew Gladys’s entire family. She considered Gladys—who was quick-witted and still drove a brand-new Cadillac—to be one of the last of the old-school black Southern belles.

  The compliment from Kim brightened Gladys’s eyes even more than they already were. She said, “Thank you, darling.” Her voice was angelic. “You’re always so sweet and considerate. I tell my granddaughter all the time that the prettiest girls are the nicest girls.”

  Kimberly displayed two rows of even, white teeth before Gladys went on about her health and overall wellness.

  “I’m doing splendid for an old lady,” Gladys told her. “I’ve had better days and I’ve had worse days, but as long as I keep on seeing ’em—good or bad—I can’t complain.” She added, “Never seen complaining help no one get through tough times, no how.” Enough about herself, Gladys took a seat at Kimberly’s desk and asked, “How was your vacation?”

  “The vacation was wonderful. We went down to our rental house in Hilton Head for a few days.”

  “Well, I’m sure that it was very lovely. Did your children join you all?”

  All of Kim’s children were grown. “My oldest boy, Shawn, brought his new wife, and Christina and her husband gave us the news that they are expecting.”

  “Congratulations!” Gladys’s face illuminated with adoration. “I’m so happy for you. It seems like it was not too long ago that you were pregnant with Christina. Now she’s giving you your first grandbaby.”

  Kim agreed. “It seems like yesterday.”

  “Time flies, sweetie.” Gladys locked eyes with Kimberly and spoke from the heart. “So always be good to people and, most importantly, be good to yourself. You make sure you enjoy every precious
second God gives you, because there isn’t a day that’s ever promised to any of us. God can take us home at any given time.”

  “I’ll be sure to remember that,” said Kimberly. She loved when Ms. Gladys came in. She was a ray of sunshine. But Kimberly also liked the fact that Ms. Gladys didn’t accept any wooden nickels. She was the spunkiest, sassiest, sweetest eighty-nine-year-old she’d ever met. Kimberly prayed that her skin looked like Ms. Gladys’s when she got to that age. The maxim “black don’t crack” was alive and well.

  “How’s your son?”

  “He’s wonderful,” she said with even more animation in her voice. She dug into her leather pocketbook and searched for her phone. “He’s still in Florida, preaching the gospel and saving souls. Here are some pictures of him.” Ms. Gladys retrieved the album folder she wanted and then passed the phone to Kimberly. The album contained fifty-six photos: pictures of her son’s church; Maestro on the pulpit; Maestro with his wife, Amanda; the two of them with their daughter, Rydah.

  Kimberly had a confession. “I watch your son all the time on television. Every time I watch him it seems as if he’s talking directly to me.”

  “He inherited that from his daddy. Maestro is the spitting image of Malcolm.” Malcolm had died in a car crash thirty years ago. Gladys never remarried. “I wish Malcolm could’ve been around to see the man that his son has become.”

  “I’m sure Malcolm is looking down on him from heaven, Ms. Gladys.”

  Gladys looked up at the ceiling and then changed the subject. “I spoke with my son yesterday. He insisted that I spend next winter with him down there in Florida.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Kimberly said. “You get to stay in that beautiful house of his and escape the cold. Sounds like a great time.”

  “He didn’t have to do a whole lot of convincing, I’ll tell you that. I love spending time with him and his family, especially my granddaughter.”

  Kimberly watched Gladys’s eyes light up when she mentioned Rydah. “That’s one beautiful girl,” Kimberly said. “How has she been doing since the carjacking incident?”

  Ms. Gladys looked surprised that Kimberly knew about that. She was curious. “How did you hear about that?” The story didn’t make national news, thank God.

  “Your son talked about it during one of his sermons,” she said. “So sad. I also saw some stuff on saw Facebook.”

  “Facebook? Why would something like that be on the Internet?”

  “People were asking her if she was okay, so she addressed it to stop all the rumors, I guess. She said that she gives all praises to God.”

  Ms. Gladys made the sign of the cross over her heart. “If something would have happened to that gal, I don’t even want to think what it would’ve done to our family. But she’s okay now. Rydah is amazing. She’s so brave and resilient.”

  “A lot braver than me,” Kimberly said. “I don’t know what I would have done in that same situation. But I probably wouldn’t have had that kind of quick thinking.” And on that note, Kimberly changed the subject. “So . . . how’s your sister Mildred? I haven’t seen her in quite some time.”

  Mildred Banks—AKA Me-Ma—was Gladys’s younger sister, and the two were tight as a fat baby in a leotard. They shared everything, but Mildred drew an angry line in the sand when it came to her daughter, Deidra, and her grandkids. Me-Ma loved those girls to death, and in her eyes they could do no wrong. In that sense, Me-Ma was a lot more gullible than Gladys was.

  Like Gladys, Mildred was very religious. The only differences were that Mildred was completely indoctrinated by the church and believed nothing was right if it wasn’t in the Bible or quoted by her pastor. Gladys, on the other hand, loved the Lord as much as anyone, but she strongly believed that church was just a building where people came to rejoice in the Lord, and the people inside the building were sinners. She knew there were a handful of saints, but for the most part, people had plenty of shit with them. Being a first lady for over twenty-five years, married to a good man of God, Gladys had witnessed it all: saints, sinners, whores, liars, cheaters, thieves, murderers, gossipers, and plain-old miserable people.

  Although Mildred was both a wonderful and great woman, her blind faith in people made her gullible. Mildred only looked for the best in people, even if that person was evil to the core.

  Gladys dropped her head and took a deep breath. “God called my sister home about three months ago. She dropped dead while doing what she loved best, praising the Lord. However,” Gladys added, “I think it was that goddamn daughter of hers that sent her to yonder. Excuse my language, but that damn niece of mines makes me want to do more than cuss.”

  Kimberly had her own thoughts about Mildred’s daughter, Deidra, and none of them were good. But she kept them to herself.

  “Deidra ain’t never been worth more than two pennies, but Mildred didn’t want to see it. And I believe in every fiber of my body that Deidra and all of her bullshit is what killed Mildred.”

  Kimberly didn’t know what to say.

  “I’m so sorry about your sister,” she said. “I didn’t know.” In an attempt to comfort Gladys, Kimberly rubbed Gladys’s arm.

  Gladys thanked her. “Since Mildred passed away, everything has gone sort of haywire. Some would say it’s gone to hell. The pastor at the Baptist church that she was attending convinced Mildred to sign some papers over to him. For the life of me, I don’t know why she would think that was a good idea. It goes without saying that the pastor was as crooked as that road in San Francisco.” Gladys was referring to Lombard Street, which is notoriously known for its hairpin-winding curves. “Then my nephew, Ginger, you know that was my favorite, outsmarted the preacher at his own game. Did I tell you that the preacher was gay?”

  “No, you didn’t.” Kimberly was thoroughly intrigued with the story, and the bank wasn’t too busy this morning, so she listened intently.

  “Well, I’m not one to gossip, but you need to take a look at that porn Web site you young kids look at.” Gladys leaned in and whispered, “That pastor on there doing all kinds of nasty stuff to both men and women. Almost gave me a heart attack when I seen it. I’ll tell you that.”

  Kimberly whispered, “I think I heard something about Ginger and a preacher.” It was impossible to miss. Everyone in the city was talking about the preacher having sex with a known tranny. “But I haven’t seen the Web site,” she lied.

  Ginger was one of Deidra’s four kids that were left with Mildred to raise. “Well, it got them their house back. If that child hadn’t blackballed that preacher, they would be homeless.

  Deidra had four kids—three girls and a boy that wanted to be a girl—whom she abandoned and left Mildred to raise.

  Kimberly corrected, “I think you mean blackmailed.”

  “Whatever. I know he had a set of black balls all up in places where they had no business being. I’ll tell you that.”

  “Well, how are the rest of the girls doing?” Kimberly had attended high school with two of the Banks sisters, Bunny and Tallhya.

  “Well, Tallhya went a little crazy for a while, but she’s feeling better now, thank God. And poor Simone got breast cancer.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about their hardships. It sounds like they’re really going through tough times.”

  “God works in mysterious ways. And when it rains, it sometimes come a-pouring. But God don’t give us no more than He knows we can handle. Sometimes things have to fall just about to the gates of Hell, and as long as you stand on God’s word, He will bring you right on back out that fire.”

  Kimberly let Ms. Gladys’s words marinate as she thought about a few of the things that were going on in her family. “Amen to that,” she said. Kimberly punched some keys on her computer. “Hmm. . . .” Something wasn’t right.

  Seeing the puzzled look on Kimberly’s face, Gladys asked, “Is there a problem?”

  “Well, there hasn’t been any activity on Ms. Mildred’s accounts here. No one closed them or anything,
and usually—”

  Ms. Gladys cut in. “Because that slimy, fake prophet didn’t know about that account. That’s why. Forgive me for my language, but every time I think about either of them, that no-good pastor or Mildred’s trifling daughter, my pressure goes through the roof.”

  Mildred had opened an account that no one knew about: neither her family, nor her pastor.

  “I can imagine. Just take a deep breath and calm down, though. We don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  Gladys followed Kimberly’s advice. After taking a breath, she asked, “Who was the beneficiary of this secret account?”

  “Well, let me see.” Kimberly’s eyes bounced from one screen to the other. “There are five beneficiaries. Let me see.... Okay, here we go.” Kimberly read from the screen. “Simone Banks, Boniqua Bunny Banks, Natallhya Banks, Gene Banks, and Rydah Banks. They will all have to sign, and the money will be divided up and disbursed in equal parts.”

  Next, Gladys asked the million-dollar question. “Well, how much money is it?”

  “Oh.” Kimberly said, “I’m not supposed to say.”

  “Who’s going to know? I won’t tell. And Mildred is dead, so she certainly can’t rat you out.” Gladys raised an eyebrow as if to say, So what’s the hold up?

  Kimberly glanced around to see if any of her coworkers were paying attention. After seeing that they were all dealing with customers or minding their own business, Kimberly said, “I can’t give you the exact number, but it’s north of one hundred thousand.”

  Gladys wasn’t surprised that her sister had so much money squirreled away in a secret account. She confided in Kimberly that, “Mildred was always good with money. She lived like a miser. Me,” she said, “I couldn’t do it. I’m going to save what I can, but I like to see my money on my fingers, ears, in my house, and in my driveway.”