She looks sweeter than a jar of peach preserves on a Sunday picnic table.

Big smile, soft voice, calls everybody “sugar” and “darlin’.” Most folks take one look at Emmie and think, “Bless her heart, she’s too nice to win.”

That’s their second mistake.

One minute she’s patting you on the arm saying, “It’s just a game, sugar.” Next minute she’s got another can in her hand and whispers:

“Bless your heart… I reckon that one’s mine now.”

She’ll bat her eyelashes, giggle like she don’t know what she’s doing, then drop a Cattywampus card so nasty it’ll make grown men cry into their sweet tea.