“I thought you said he wasn’t breathing.”
“He wasn’t!”
“How do you know?”
“Because there was blood and I checked for a pulse!”
“Maybe you didn’t know what you were doing. Maybe he wasn’t really dead.”
“Or maybe whoever killed him was still there, hiding or something, then moved the body when we left!”
Now, Jasmine looked just as frazzled as Rachel. “Well, what else did Yvette say?”
“She said we need to get back over there because the reporter from O is on the way.”
Jasmine looked like she was thinking. “Okay, let’s go.”
Rachel stared at her incredulously. “Are you crazy? I’m not going back over there!”
“Rachel, the man must not be dead. Maybe he just got up and left.”
“Or maybe the killer moved his body.”
“Either way, are you prepared to be looking over your shoulder constantly? We need to go back and see what’s going on.”
Rachel cut her eyes at Jasmine. “You just want to do the interview.”
Jasmine looked like she wanted to curse Rachel out. “Girl, I’m not thinking about that interview. But you know what? Fine! Go on home and let Yvette tell the police that instead of coming back over there, you disappeared, left town. If that isn’t the act of a guilty woman, I don’t know what is!”
“I’m not guilty of anything,” she said, panic setting in again.
“Look, Rachel, if you say you didn’t kill Pastor Griffith, then I believe you.”
“I didn’t!”
“Well, obviously, someone did. And now, it looks like they moved his body. The problem is you have phone records showing you called him.”
Rachel didn’t say it, but they also had Ms. Martha as a witness, the argument at Oprah’s studio, and the fact that she was very vocal in her disdain for Pastor Griffith. The thought made her sick to her stomach. “Yeah, but the valet saw us both coming in,” Rachel managed to say.
“But if they pinpoint the time of death, they’ll see that I was downstairs trying to find the right apartment.” She paused. “And if they ask me under oath, I’ll have to tell them the truth—you sent me to the wrong apartment.”
Rachel’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, my God. You know I just did that to mess with you. Not to buy time to kill anyone!”
“I know that, but a good prosecutor can make it seem like that was exactly what you were trying to do.”
Rachel fell down onto the bed. “Ugggh,” she said, running her hands through her hair. How had a trip that was supposed to be a turning point in her career taken such a disastrous detour?
“So, I guess we have no choice. We’ve gotta go back.”
Jasmine handed Rachel her purse. “Come on. Let’s get this over with and see what we can find out.” She eyed Rachel’s hideous outfit. “But first, we need to get you a change of clothes.”
Chapter
EIGHT
Don’t you dare say a word!” Jasmine warned as she rolled Rachel’s rental car to a stop in front of the building they’d just left about two hours ago. “Let me do all the talking.”
Rachel said nothing, just stared straight through the windshield, and Jasmine prayed that the girl would be able to pull this off. Since she’d spoken to Yvette, Rachel had hardly said a word, and the few she had spoken came with a boatload of tears.
Jasmine jumped out of the driver’s seat and handed the keys to the same valet who’d taken care of them earlier.
“You’re back,” he said.
On the drive over, Jasmine had tried to think of all kinds of things to say to the valet in case he was ever questioned by the police. But she’d decided that the best thing was to stay as low-key as possible.
So, she merely nodded. “We won’t be here long.”
“No problem, just go right on up.” The attendant nodded to the concierge. “They’re Pastor Griffith’s guests.”
Just before Jasmine stepped through the double glass doors, she glanced over her shoulder. With a sigh, she pivoted and marched back to the car where Rachel still sat in the front seat, her eyes still straight ahead as if she couldn’t bring herself to even look at, let alone enter, the building where she’d found the dead body.
Jasmine’s voice was low when she coaxed, “Come on, Rachel.”
She shook her head and said, “I . . . don’t think I can go back up in there,” sounding as if another bout of tears was on the way.
“Do you think I want to go?” Jasmine hissed. “I saw his body, too. This is not just about you.”
Now Rachel faced her. “I know it’s not just about me. That’s why both of us need to get out of here. Let’s just call Yvette and tell her we changed our minds. Tell her we don’t care about the interview,” Rachel pleaded. “We can tell her that too much crazy stuff was going on and we decided to just get on our planes and go home.”
Any other time, Jasmine would have left Rachel’s butt sitting right there, gladly taking this interview by herself. But she wasn’t about to do that. This child was so traumatized Jasmine didn’t know what Rachel would do if left alone.
All she wanted to do was grab a handful of Rachel’s weave and drag her from the car. But she kept her tone as soft and kind as she could. “We’re gonna do that, Rachel. We’re gonna go home as soon as this interview is over.” Still, Rachel did not move and Jasmine had to hold herself back. “Come on, Rachel,” she said, her tone a bit stronger this time. “We’ve got to play this through. If we don’t, everyone will wonder, and then everyone will question, and then the police will come, and then . . .”
“Okay, okay,” Rachel said as she swung her legs out of the car. “I’ll go just so I don’t have to hear your motor mouth anymore.”
In the past, Jasmine would have had a comeback and a smackdown for Rachel, but this time, she stayed silent. She hardly had any more energy after all she’d been through in the past couple of hours.
When she’d first found Rachel and Pastor Griffith, her plan had been to use this situation to her advantage. That was still the plan, but she hadn’t realized that before she could take Rachel down, she’d have to hold her up. That’s what she’d been doing over the past hours; she’d taken on a caretaker’s role. From taking Rachel to that filthy motel, to stopping by The Limited on Michigan Avenue and buying Rachel a new dress for this interview, Jasmine had jumped in, taken over, and cared for Rachel as if she didn’t hate her.
But even though Jasmine had to do all of it with gritted teeth, she knew that if she just kept playing it straight like this, in the end, the presidency of the American Baptist Coalition would belong to Hosea, the man who should have rightfully had it in the first place.
Now, with Pastor Griffith dead, the path was clear. There would be no one in the way to stop Hosea from doing great things. And she would be right by his side—the first lady of the world.
Inside the elevator, Jasmine asked Rachel if she was all right. Rachel nodded, and Jasmine repeated her question when they stood outside Pastor Griffith’s door.
“I’m fine,” Rachel snapped, though she looked like she was about to throw up.
“I’m only asking because we both have to pull this off.”
“I know.” Her voice was softer this time, sounding like she was ten years old.
For a moment, Jasmine felt sorry for her, but then she shook those feelings away. Emotions had no place in business, and this was all about business. She had a job to do and this mess was going to help her get what she wanted.
Rachel stood behind her as Jasmine knocked on the door and before she had a chance to pull down her hand, Yvette swung the door open.
“Okay, they’re here,” Yvette said into the earphone that was pressed inside her ear. There was a pause and then, “I got it.” The intensity in her voice made Jasmine frown.
Yvette pressed the End button on her earpiece, and then faced Jasmine and Rachel with an expression that revealed her thou
ghts before the words came out of her mouth. “Where have you been?” she asked as if she was speaking to children.
If it had been any other situation, Jasmine would’ve shut Yvette down right there, but her focus was to just get in here, do this interview, and get out.
“I’m really sorry we’re late.”
“I’ve been calling and calling you.”
“We had to make a stop. Rachel spilled something on her dress and we had to get her something else to wear because she couldn’t come to the interview that way.”
For the first time, Yvette glanced past Jasmine and stared at Rachel as she stood with her back pressed to the door. “Well, you wasted your time,” Yvette said, directing her words to Jasmine, “because this interview isn’t going to happen.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t find Pastor Griffith, and then the reporter never showed up and when I called her, she said she’d gotten a call from her editor telling her that this interview was canceled.”
“What?” Rachel and Jasmine said together.
“Yeah, that’s why I was trying to reach you guys. This whole thing is off. It’s a mess. I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Okay, bye,” Rachel said as she turned around and grabbed the doorknob.
“Wait!” Jasmine stopped her. When Rachel turned around, Jasmine tried to calm her down with her expression. “Just wait a minute.” Turning back to Yvette, Jasmine asked, “So, Pastor Griffith isn’t here?”
Yvette spread her arms wide as if she was one of the show girls on The Price Is Right. “Do you see him anywhere?”
“So, how did you get in?” Jasmine asked.
She shrugged a little. “The door was cracked open. I thought Earl . . . Pastor Griffith had left it that way ’cause so many of us were coming up here.”
Jasmine frowned. She remembered closing the door, but then, someone obviously had been in there after her and Rachel.
Yvette continued, “So I came in, looked around, and I’ve called his cell a million times.”
“Did you check his bedroom?” Rachel asked. “Did you check in there?”
Yvette’s eyes became thin slits as she shook her head. “What is your fascination with the man’s bedroom? Go back there yourself if you don’t believe me.”
“Nuh-uh!” Rachel’s eyes got wide. “I’m not going back there!”
While Yvette looked at Rachel as if she was nuts, Jasmine again tried to calm her without words. She nodded and spoke slowly, “Why don’t I just check back there.”
“Go ahead,” Yvette said as she turned her attention back to her phone.
“It’s just that this all seems kind of strange to me,” Jasmine said as she took slow steps down the hall that led to the bedroom. “I mean,” she kept talking so that Yvette and Rachel would know where she was at all times, “Pastor Griffith said he was going to meet us here himself.” She tiptoed into the bedroom.
Just like Yvette said, there was no one, nothing there. She took an extra moment to stare at the space where she knew for sure she’d seen the body. There was a bit of a stain on the carpet. Blood. But against the brown carpet, it just looked like someone had spilled a small amount of wine or Kool-Aid.
Her eyes scanned the space slowly. Just like when she’d walked into the room before, nothing else was disturbed.
All afternoon, Rachel had been so worried. First with who had killed Pastor Griffith, and then after Yvette’s call, her distress had turned to what had happened to the man’s body. But neither of those questions had concerned Jasmine. Pastor Griffith was in knee-deep with some of the baddest dudes in Chicago. It was a wonder that he’d lived this long.
Now though, this whole thing did seem too bizarre. A body, then no body. And for the first time, she wondered if she and Rachel would be involved. Did the person who killed the pastor know that they’d been there? Had the person who’d come back for the pastor seen them?
Why was she thinking about any of this? This had nothing to do with her. She just needed to get her butt back home to New York and do what she had to do.
She rushed back into the living room, not wanting to leave Rachel alone with Yvette for too long. She was already shaking her head at Rachel when she stepped back into the living room. Rachel was gulping down a bottled water.
“Sorry,” Rachel said when Jasmine looked at her as if to ask what she was doing. “Yvette offered me some water because I’m feeling dizzy.”
Jasmine ignored Rachel and turned to Yvette. “You were right.” She shrugged. “He’s not back there. So, what should we do now?”
“Well, there’s no reason for either of you to stay here.” She glanced at her watch. “Jasmine, you can still make your flight . . . you’re scheduled for six, right?”
Jasmine nodded.
“What time are you heading back to Houston, Rachel?”
“Now. My plane leaves right now.”
“What?” Yvette asked.
“She means we have to leave now if we’re going to make our flights.” Jasmine hugged Yvette, then almost pushed Rachel out the door.
“So, he wasn’t in there?” Rachel whispered the moment they were in the hall.
“No,” Jasmine hissed back.
“Well, did you check everywhere?”
She tilted her head when she asked, “Everywhere like where?”
“Did you check the closet or under the bed or behind the door?”
Jasmine shook her head. This child was losing it, though she couldn’t say that she blamed her. How weird was this—a disappearing, dead, drug-lord pastor. It made for quite a novel.
But it was a plot that didn’t have anything to do with her.
“So what are we gonna do now?” Rachel asked as they slipped back in the car.
“We’re gonna do exactly what we told Yvette,” Jasmine said as she turned the key in the ignition. “We’re gonna head to the airport and go home.”
“That’s it?”
“What else is there to do, Rachel?”
“I don’t know. I still think we should’ve called the police.”
“If we did that or if you do that now, then kiss that first lady’s position that you love so much goodbye.”
Rachel sighed and Jasmine did, too.
Jasmine said, “So, I’ll drive us to the airport, you can drop me at United, and then take back this car. What time is your flight?”
After a moment, Rachel said, “I wasn’t supposed to be leaving tonight.”
Jasmine frowned.
“I was gonna leave in the morning ’cause I figured that after Oprah and I met, we were gonna hang out for the rest of the day. I heard she likes having pajama parties with her girlfriends.”
So much had happened in the last few hours that Jasmine had almost forgotten what this heifer had done. So, Rachel was just gonna leave her in a locked-up room while she hung out with Oprah?
Oh, yeah. There was no doubt now. Jasmine couldn’t wait to get back to New York. Rachel was going to pay, big-time.
But all she did right now was smile and say, “Well, maybe the next time you come to Chicago, you and Oprah can have that pajama party.”
Rachel looked at her sideways. “Are you making fun of me?”
“I would never do that.”
“Yeah, right!”
And neither one of them said another word all the way to the airport.
Chapter
NINE
Rachel had never been so happy to be home. Thankfully, she’d been able to get a seat on the last flight. She’d had to do something she hadn’t done in a long time—take a drink of Jack Daniel’s on the plane ride home. She might have a glass of wine from time to time, but she’d long ago given up the hard stuff.
It’s amazing what seeing a dead man could make you do.
Rachel had left Jasmine with the understanding that they’d pretend the whole incident at Pastor Griffith’s place never happened. When Jasmine had first suggested that just before they went their sepa
rate ways at the airport, Rachel thought she was stone-cold crazy. There was no denying it—they had both seen Pastor Griffith dead as a doorknob.
So what in the world happened to him?
Rachel pushed the thought from her head as she navigated her Benz into the four-car garage of their Southwest Houston home.
“Mommy!” Rachel’s two youngest children—Brooklyn and Lewis—met her at the door. At two, they were only days apart. She’d given birth to Brooklyn, and Lewis—well, Lewis was a long story. He was actually the son of her husband’s one-time mistress. That woman, Mary, had claimed that Lewis was Lester’s child, but right before she was carted off to jail they’d proven Mary had lied. It had taken a lot of prayer, but Rachel had taken in Lewis anyway rather than send him to foster care. And now, she loved the child as if she’d given birth to him herself.
Too bad both of his mommies might end up in prison.
That thought had been haunting her all day. She could get a little ghetto from time to time, but Rachel knew she was in no way cut out for prison.
No! Rachel shook off that thought. No body. No crime. She repeated the mantra she’d been mumbling all the way home, then focused her attention on her kids.
“Hey, sweet peas,” she said, dropping her Louis Vuitton duffel bag and hugging both children tightly. They should’ve been in bed, but when she’d called Lester and told him she was on her way home, she knew he’d let them stay up until she got there. “Where is everyone?” she called out.
“Daddy’s upstairs playing Xbox with Jordan,” her eight-year-old daughter, Nia, said from the sofa. As usual, her head was buried in a book.
“Well hello to you, too.”
“Hi, Mom,” Nia said, standing, then kissing Rachel on the cheek before disappearing up the stairs.
The twins, as she called Brooklyn and Lewis, immediately raced back over to the sofa to continue watching their TV program. Rachel took a deep breath as she made her way upstairs to the family room to face her husband. She hesitated at the doorway, debating whether to turn around, go back to her room, and climb under the covers, because she wasn’t in the mood to answer a bunch of questions. But she knew she needed to go ahead and get it out of the way.
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