Kendra Clayton Mystery Box Set

by Angela Henry

  After getting his wireless microphone attached to his sweater, Rollins started greeting the audience members in the first row, stopping to speak to each one, hugging some, and slapping five to others. You certainly couldn’t say the man was unfriendly. Though one could argue that being friendly was part of his whole problem. Some of the women in the audience whom he greeted had pressed themselves against him in such a familiar way that I wondered just how well they knew the reverend.

  I noticed Bonita Kidd watching from the stage as Rollins made his rounds. She was staring at him with so much naked love and admiration that she didn’t even notice her husband had walked up and asked her a question. Rondell looked from his wife to his brother and I saw a momentary flash of fury on his usually placid face. Rondell waved his hand in Bonita’s face to get her attention and she glared at her husband so fiercely he took a step backwards. I couldn’t hear what Bonita said to Rondell, but whatever it was sent him back to his piano with a hurt look on his face. I wondered if it was in God’s plan for Bonita to be in love with her brother-in-law.

  By the time Rollins reached the third row, which was two rows ahead of where I was sitting, Bonita whispered something to him and he headed back towards the stage to take his place behind the desk. I felt strangely disappointed. Remembering why I was there, I looked around for Nicole Rollins but didn’t see her or anyone else with braids. The lights in the studio dimmed, indicating that it was showtime. The show opened with the Holy Cross choir singing a rousing rendition of “This Little Light of Mine,” which was apparently the show’s theme song, and was included on their CD. I wondered where Shanda was. Probably off somewhere being a punching bag for her psycho-thug boyfriend.

  Rollins’s soothing voice brought me out of my thoughts as he greeted the viewing audience and introduced the show’s guests. The first guest was Ermaline Pierce, a minister from Trinity Baptist Church in Cleveland, who would be discussing the role of female ministers in the modern church. Joining Ermaline were the Trinity Baptist Church Faith Dancers, who would be performing. Also on the show was Melvina Carmichael, a local author of Christian romance novels, who would be discussing her latest release, I Will Follow Him. I flipped over the book that had been included in our gift bags and saw a picture of a solemn-looking woman in glasses.

  Rollins stood and the audience applauded as the Reverend Pierce made her way onstage to the sound of Rondell Kidd’s organ intro. Reverend Pierce was a big woman, almost as tall as Rollins, dressed in a flowing yellow caftan. Her hair was hidden in a multicolored turban, and she wore a large cross on a strand of wooden beads. Her voice was loud and booming and she constantly sounded like she was delivering a sermon. But she was also very funny and a great storyteller. She regaled the audience with stories of how hard it was to be taken seriously as a female minister at the start of her twenty-year career and her struggle to get more women to “heed the call,” as she put it, to become ministers.

  Rollins proved to be a good host and knew just how to graciously move the conversation forward when Reverend Pierce got a little too long-winded. After her interview, and a ten-minute question-and-answer session with the audience, the Trinity Faith Dancers‚ eight girls ranging in age from six to eighteen‚ performed to “Stomp” by God’s Property. The girls were dressed in black leotards and multicolored tunics in the same material as Reverend Pierce’s turban. Their energetic synchronized movements mirrored the lyrics of the song perfectly. They received very enthusiastic applause.

  Next up was Melvina Carmichael, who approached the couch like she was afraid it would bite her. Melvina was slender, and slightly bucktoothed, wearing a shapeless sweater dress and black pumps. I could tell by the way she tipped across the stage that she wasn’t used to wearing heels. She took a seat on the couch next to Reverend Pierce, quickly shook hands with Rollins, and squinted blindly into the audience. She must have left her glasses at home. I heard some scattered giggling and instantly felt sorry for the woman, who clearly was out of her element and didn’t look any happier in person than she did in her picture. Once again, Rollins proved to be a smooth and gracious host.

  “Ms. Carmichael, you’ve written ten Christian romance novels in the past twelve years. Where do you get your ideas?” He leaned forward in his seat in anticipation, like he truly cared about what she had to say.

  Melvina swallowed hard and nervously looked at the audience. “Well, Reverend Rollins,” she began timidly, “I get my ideas from real life situations. Things that I see going on in society. Then I take those situations and I add a God-centered theme.”

  “Amen, sister,” declared Reverend Pierce so loudly that Melvina jumped and almost fell off the coach.

  “Tell us about your new book, I Will Follow Him,” said Rollins, quickly squelching the dirty look Melvina was shooting Reverend Pierce.

  “It’s the story of a young woman who must decide whether to stay at home and marry her college sweetheart or go to Africa to work as a missionary.”

  I wondered what in the world that had to do with the scantily clad woman on the cover crawling across an open field. Maybe the answer was in the book.

  “Ah, yes, I remember my own missionary work quite well,” said Reverend Pierce. It appeared the reverend was reluctant to give up the spotlight. Her comment was met by a smattering of applause, which Reverend Pierce took as her cue to continue. But Rollins pressed forward before she could say anything more.

  “So, does the ‘Him’ in the title refer to God?”

  “Now Reverend, I don’t want to give away too much of the plot,” said Melvina, giggling. “Let’s just say that my heroine has a hard time deciding which ‘Him’ to follow, her sweetheart or her Lord.”

  “Yes. Yes. The eternal struggle between matters of faith and matters of the heart, I understand it all too well,” said Reverend Pierce, shaking her head. “I’ve counseled many women who are going through the same situation. Ah, the stories I could tell.” She turned to face the audience like she was going to tell one of her stories. I could almost hear the anticipation in the room.

  Rollins attempted to steer the conversation back to the topic at hand. But Melvina, realizing her interview was rapidly going down the tubes, decided to take matters into her own hands. She jumped up from the couch and teetered perilously close to the edge of the stage.

  “Are there any writers in the audience?”

  The audience, disappointed at being denied the chance to hear Reverend Pierce’s story, was silent. And the silence was brutal.

  Why I raised my hand I do not know Maybe it was because I was having a flashback to my senior year of college, when I gave a grammar workshop while doing my student teaching. A roomful of bored and semi-comatose high school students, who would rather have had their eyelashes pulled out one by one than answer any of my questions, did not make for a good time. I knew how the shy author was probably feeling. Or maybe I was just trying to impress Rollins, who was staring at me with a mixture of surprise and relief. Either way, I was the only one who raised a hand and Melvina smiled at me so gratefully that it was too late to turn back.

  “What’s your name, miss?” asked Melvina, flashing a triumphant glance at Reverend Pierce, who was looking sulky.

  “Yes, please stand up and tell us about your writing,” said Rollins, who was smiling mischievously. “I’m sure Ms. Carmichael has some helpful tips and advice for you.”

  Wonderful. I wasn’t expecting this. I stood slowly, my mind desperately trying to figure out what I was going to say. I’d never written creatively in my life unless you counted a few horrific poems written in college that my poetry professor had labeled twaddle. I didn’t even know what twaddle meant but I knew it wasn’t anything good. Everyone was staring at me as I stood with my mouth hanging open and my hands twisting nervously. My composure wasn’t helped at all by the knowledge that this was being taped for television.

  “Don’t be shy,” said Melvina encouragingly. I noticed how much more relaxed she seemed now that th
e spotlight had shifted to me. Why in the world did I raise my hand? A thumbtack enema couldn’t be worse than this.

  “Uh, my name is Kendra Clayton,” I began. My mouth was dry and my voice came out sounding strangled. “And I...um...am writing a science fiction novel,” I declared. Melvina looked a little taken aback. Apparently she wasn’t expecting my answer. Neither was I.

  “How fascinating,” she gushed.

  I wished Reverend Pierce would interrupt again as I was now dying to hear her story, but she just rolled her eyes and sat back in defeat.

  “We’d love to hear all about it, wouldn’t we folks?” asked Rollins, who had come out from behind his desk and was now leaning against it. The audience clapped enthusiastically. He was getting a big kick out of this and I wanted to punch him.

  They were all waiting to hear about my masterpiece in progress. I quickly thought about all the episodes of Star Trek that I’d seen. I thought about the Star Wars movies and even E. T. the Extra-Terrestrial.

  “It, um, takes place on the planet Zircon. And involves a forbidden romance between Zirconian Princess Zippy and Prince Qumquat of the planet Ooom.” I looked around, daring anyone to laugh. Rollins looked like it was taking everything in him not to bust a gut, Melvina looked like she was wondering what kind of an idiot I was, and Reverend Pierce was laughing and trying to disguise it as a cough, or maybe she was choking. I couldn’t tell, but figured she was laughing when no one rushed over to administer the Heimlich maneuver. The audience looked confused.

  “What’s the title of your book?” asked Melvina.

  “The Princess and the Planet Ooom,” I replied like it should be obvious.

  “How original. And is this a stand-alone novel or will there be other books about the planet of Doom?” Melvina asked, standing so close to the edge of the stage I was afraid she’d fall off.

  “Ooom, not doom. It’s the planet Ooom,” said Reverend Pierce, who was now laughing and not bothering to hide it. I was starting to get a little mad. How dare she laugh at my imaginary book!

  “Did you have something to ask me about writing, dear?” That was a good question. What advice could I ask her about a book I wasn’t really writing?

  “Yes,” I said. “How do I get published?” I figured it was a safe enough question. But Melvina’s face turned hard and she crossed her arms and shook her head in disgust. You’d have thought I’d just asked her the color of her bloomers.

  “All you aspiring writers are the same,” she spat out, still shaking her head. “You all seem to think that there’s some big secret to getting published that we published authors are keeping from you. Well, I’m here to tell you that there isn’t. Getting published takes a lot of hard work and persistence. I studied the publishing business and I mastered my craft. It took me almost twenty years of rejection before I signed my first book contract. And I know what you’re going to ask next,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “The answer is no. I won’t show my publisher your book about the planet of Doom or Zoom or whatever it’s called.”

  “It’s Ooom,” I said weakly, but she didn’t hear me.

  “You have to put forth some blood, sweat, and tears. You have to pay your dues like I did. There are no free lunches in this life.”

  You could have heard a pin drop as I sank back down in my seat. I was mortified. I couldn’t believe I’d felt sorry for this woman. Even Reverend Pierce had stopped laughing in the face of Melvina’s tirade. Rollins’s look was unreadable.

  “Thank you, Ms. Carmichael. That was very helpful,” he said with just enough sarcasm to make the audience giggle and Melvina slink back to the couch and take her seat.

  Rollins quickly thanked his guests for being on the show and reintroduced the Trinity Faith Dancers, who performed to a song by the Holy Cross Choir. Rollins ended the show with a passionate plea for donations to Holy Cross Ministries. His pitch was so slick and his demeanor so humble it almost had me digging deep into my own purse. But I was ready to leave, having accomplished nothing more than getting myself embarrassed on television. Nicole never did turn up. I got up from my seat and headed towards the basement steps when I felt a firm hand on my shoulder. I turned to see Rollins smiling down at me. He smelled like Lagerfeld, one of my all-time favorite colognes.

  “I hope you’ll accept my apologies, Ms. Clayton. I’ve known Melvina Carmichael for many years and she’s always been wound a little tight. She’s really quite a lovely lady when you get to know her.” He had taken my hand and was squeezing it lightly. I felt a warm, tingly sensation running up my arm and I had an overwhelming urge to climb the man like a tree.

  “No harm done, Reverend,” I said, looking away from him. His intense gaze was making me nervous. “I guess that’s what I get for lying,” I said, laughing to show I wasn’t mad, at least not at him. I tried to pull my hand away but he held on.

  “There’s no fault in trying to be helpful. You were very amusing. I haven’t had much to be amused about recently. Everyone’s been telling me I should postpone the tapings for a while. But being here at Holy Cross gives me so much comfort. Keeping busy keeps me from thinking about my loss. I’m so happy you decided to come tonight.”

  “Well, I found myself with some free time this evening and decided to take you up on your offer.”

  “I’m glad you did.” He finally let go of my hand, but I could still feel the warm imprint of his fingers.

  “I was hoping to meet your wife this evening. I didn’t get a chance to meet her at the funeral. Is she okay?”

  Rollins looked uncomfortable. “Actually, she’s not doing very well. She’s grieved herself sick. She’s got a bad case of the flu and is at home under a nurse’s care. She can’t have any visitors.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, but somehow knew he’d told me a lie. Why didn’t he want me to talk to her?

  “If you’ll excuse me, Ms. Clayton, I have some details I need to attend to.” He started to walk away and I realized my chance to get more info on Nicole was walking away with him.

  “Reverend Rollins,” I called out. He turned and gave me a quizzical look. “I have a confession to make. I’m having a personal problem and I really need to talk to somebody about it. I was hoping you’d have some time for me this evening. I mean, if you’re not too busy, that is?”

  That predatory look, the one that had said “fresh meat” when I’d first met him at Inez’s funeral, appeared again briefly before he gave me a kind smile. “Of course, I have time for you. You’re more than welcome to wait for me in my office. I promise I won’t be long.” He gave me directions and I headed up the basement steps wondering what I’d just gotten myself into.

  ELEVEN

  Rollins’s office was located just off the large atrium at the church entrance. The door was unlocked and I let myself in. I was expecting a large, lavishly decorated office and that’s just what I found. Lush, pale gold carpeting covered the floor and a large circular oak desk sat in the center of the room like an island. The wall behind the desk was made of multicolored glass blocks and gave a distorted view of the street below. Instead of chairs in front of the desk there was a dark gold love seat with red silk accent pillows. The shelves built into the cream-colored wall to the right of the desk were filled with books, glass vases, and several small woodcarvings. A sliding panel in the wall to the left of Rollins’s desk was open and revealed a large-screen television, CD/DVD player, and an aquarium of tropical fish. I looked up and saw that a mural depicting Rollins in the pulpit delivering a sermon had been painted fresco-style on the ceiling. Good grief. Somebody needed to get over himself.

  I sat on the love seat for a few minutes but, being the supremely nosy person that I am, was soon up looking around. Rollins’s huge desk held dozens of pictures and I took the time to look at each one. Many were of him in his ministerial robes with members of his congregation. Several were family pictures of him and his brother Rondell when they were young men. I was surprised to notice that Rollin
s’s looks had gotten better as he’d aged. The pictures showed him to have been a lanky young man who looked uncomfortable with his height. I almost didn’t recognize Rondell. He was much slimmer and his clothes fit. There were many pictures of Inez as a little girl and even one of Inez as a teenager with a protective arm around her younger cousin Shanda. Shanda was looking up at Inez with an expression that can only be described as worshipful. Whatever their relationship had become at the time of her death, there’d clearly been a time when Shanda had adored her cousin.

  I noticed a more recent picture of Inez, her father, and another pretty young woman that I didn’t recognize. Rollins was in between the two young women with his arms around both of them. They were all smiling widely. Both Inez and the other woman wore braids but Inez’s hair was done in a much more intricate design, pulled away from her face, while the other woman wore her braids hanging loosely to her shoulders from a center part. This must be Nicole Rollins. While Rollins barely looked like he was in his fifties, he still looked old enough to be Nicole’s father. I didn’t blame Inez at all for being angry with her father. I tried to imagine my father marrying Lynette if something happened to my mother. I couldn’t do it. But I did get a sudden idea of what I would say to him about my so-called problem when he arrived for our talk. I sat the picture back in its place and noticed a stack of papers in the middle of the desk.

  I picked up the stack and flipped through it. It was mostly bills, invoices, and estimates for work that had either been done or was going to be done at the church. I glanced at a letter towards the bottom of the stack, and realizing what it was, pulled it out. It was a letter from Rollins’s insurance company denying his life insurance claim on Inez pending the outcome of the police investigation into her death. The letter went on to point out that this was standard procedure when the cause of death was listed as homicide. I looked at the date and saw that it was sent less than a week after Inez’s death. Rollins apparently hadn’t wasted any time trying to cash the policy. As lavishly as the man lived, it wouldn’t surprise me if he were having money problems.