Hidden Riches by Felicia Mason Page A

either straightened with a hot comb or relaxed—was long enough to be in a ponytail. But the look suited him. He was tall, at least a head taller than both Clayton and Archer.
    If he ain’t now, he used to be.
    Clayton couldn’t see it. But Archer’s gaydar was usually pretty accurate. This time, though, he was wrong. Drapersville didn’t suffer homosexuals lightly, and there was no way a gay preacher, no matter how deep on the down-low, could survive if the culture in the black community was the same as it had been when Clayton was coming along . . . and coming out.
    His suit, the blue so dark it was almost black, was a throwback to an earlier age. Clayton pegged it as ’60s vintage and liked it a lot. What he didn’t like was the way the man’s gaze seemed to gobble up Archer. Almost as if Clayton wasn’t standing right there.
    â€œReverend!” Rosalee bustled over, breaking both the growing green settling somewhere in Clayton’s midsection and the minister’s intense perusal.
    Clayton looked at Archer, who winked at him.
    The playful gesture confused Clayton.
    â€œBe right with you, Sister Jenkins,” Reverend Toussaint called. “I am truly sorry for your loss,” he said, directing his comment toward Clayton. “Ana Mae was a special woman. We’re all going to miss her dearly.”

    â€œWould you just look at that?”
    â€œWhat?”
    Bertie and Eula Lee, two of Drapersville’s busiest busybodies, had a view of all the goings-on. Their attention at the moment zeroed in on the area where the Futrells greeted the mourners a few feet away. Their lasers trained on the three couples.
    Eula Lee looked at Bertie. “You sure he’s a little . . .” She waggled her wrist to make her point.
    â€œOh, yeah. Everybody knew when he was growing up.”
    â€œNot him,” Eula Lee said. “The other one, the good-looking white boy with him.”
    â€œHe’s the one who was named in the paper. The partner,” Bertie said, with emphasis on the word as if it didn’t quite sit well with her. “I thought all those sissy boys were, well, you know, sissy-like. But he’s looks regular. Real easy on the eyes too.”
    â€œWhere do you think she got that dress?”
    â€œWho, Delcine? I don’t know, but did you notice how fragile she looks? She needs some of them pounds Josephine done picked up.”
    â€œBertie, the woman’s sister just died. Don’t you reckon she ought to be looking at least a little bit fragile?”
    Bertie snorted. “Nary a one of them Futrells ever gave a rat’s ass about Ana Mae. Now they’re all here, pretending like they cared. If they cared, they would’ve kept track of their sister.”
    â€œHow do you know they didn’t?”
    â€œAna Mae told me,” Bertie said, her puffed-out chest and chin indicating she had some status with the recently deceased. “Said she hadn’t seen that Las Vegas one since their mama died. The fancy one from up north would send a hoity-toity Christmas card every year, sometimes from places like England and Zimbabwe.”
    â€œZem Bob who?”
    â€œZimbabwe. It’s a country over in Russia or something,” Bertie added, clarifying for her less-informed friend.
    â€œActually,” Archer said, sidling up and interrupting the ladies. “Zimbabwe is in Africa. The country borders South Africa and Mozambique. It used to be called Rhodesia. Its people are the Shona. And if you don’t mind my saying so, I believe the two of you would be treated as queens there.”
    Eula Lee pursed her lips, distaste marring her red-rimmed mouth. “You’re the partner.”
    Archer nodded. “That’s correct. I’m a partner in the law firm of Matthews, Dodson, and Dahlgren. I’m Dahlgren.”
    Bertie chuckled and nudged Eula Lee. “I like him.”
    That made Archer smile. He winked