Perra took to meditation like a professional… that is, she worked too hard at it, goofed off when she could get away with it, and bitched constantly about the pay.

                “So when do I see the Light?” she demanded after keeping her eyes closed for an interminable thirty seconds.

                “You are the Light,” murmured Buddy beatifically.

                “Great!” She opened her eyes. “Got any papers?”

                Ernest did, and Perra rolled, and the three shotgunned each other into a naturally meditative state.

                Suddenly a hot pink Camaro swerved onto the peaceful scene, pulling a roostertail of dust from the dirt road. Helena slammed to a stop just short of the Fiesta’s back bumper and got out, making a second try with the pink camo outfit. She sighed with relief at the unbloodied Buddy, but Perra’s presence put her hackles up.

                “Why, Perra Cabrona, bless your heart!” She fired an opening salvo of Southern sweet talk.

                “I do declare,” responded Perra, “it’s the Soybean Queen of 2018.”

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                Helena gritted her freshly-whitened teeth. Even as a callback the point went to Perra, but Hel was on to other game.

                “I need your help, Buddy,” she cooed in her helpless-feminine voice.

                “Wha’ for?” Buddy slowly opened his eyes, having no plans to stand up anytime in the near future.”

                Helena did her best to look distressed. “I saw a deer in the Back Garden down by the Gazebo, it was eating Momma’s peonies and you know she loves those peonies, I got Daddy’s 30-ought-6 and I shot it from my bedroom window!”

                “It’s dead?” Buddy asked, stonedly stupid.

                “Of course it’s dead!” Helena snapped in a distinctly non-distressed voice. She was proud of her Girl Scout Marksmanship badge.

                “Then it’s not a problem…” Buddy opined sagely, closing his eyes again.

                Helena sensed that the moment was slipping away from her.

TO BE CONTINUED…