She banged on a door, screaming, “My name is Priscilla Davis. He is killing everyone…” Rattling around in her million mansion, Priscilla thanked God Thanksgiving had passed and prayed now to get through Christmas.
Priscilla wanted to ask her: what makes you think there is even going to be a tomorrow?
The pink heart with the words ANDREA’S ROOM was still on the door. She was five-seven and fully developed, a budding though larger replica of her mother.
There was always an armed guard downstairs, and the panel of lights on the bedroom wall told her that all locks were secure.
Without moving from the bed she could adjust the three TV screens or talk to the security men or close the magnificent drapes to blot out the view of the downtown skyline. Rich little poor girl, a prisoner in her own castle.
For weeks after the funeral Priscilla would open the hotel-size refrigerator and discover small concoctions that Andrea had stored. Stan was in his grave: Stan Farr, “the Bear,” the gentle giant, the former TCU basketball player and lovable hardlucker. Bubba Gavrel, a 21-year-old boyfriend of Dee’s friend Bev Bass, was still partially paralyzed from his gunshot wound.