Right now, Jasmine had no idea what had happened to Pastor Griffith, but she wasn’t about to shed one tear over that man. And in fact, with the way he’d been using people, Jasmine was going to use his death for her own profit.
Mae Frances said, “Well, he really was a good man.”
“Once upon a time, but now he’s nothing but a dead drug dealer.”
Mae Frances glared at Jasmine for a moment as if she wanted to know where her compassion was . . . and Jasmine stared right back at her.
It was Mae Frances who blinked first. “Okay,” she began, “so what’s your plan?”
“Okay,” Jasmine said, shifting to the edge of the sofa. “Like I said, Rachel was the one who found Pastor Griffith; I just walked in on her. So technically, she was the one who should have called the police.”
“Why didn’t she?”
“Because I told her not to.”
Mae Frances frowned. “I’m not sure, but I think there’s something illegal in there. Sounds like a bunch of trouble to me.”
“Exactly. Trouble for Rachel, nothing for me.”
“You’re gonna have to explain this to me, Jasmine Larson. Because nobody in the world knows how to put a scheme together better than me and I don’t see anything here.”
That was exactly what Jasmine had been waiting for. She jumped up and, as if she were in the middle of a dramatic movie scene, she swooped a piece of paper off the desk and presented it to her friend.
Mae Frances frowned. Her eyes scanned over the letters, cut from magazines, that were glued onto the page, then widened as she read aloud, “ ‘We know what you did to Earl Griffith and soon the police will know, too. Stay tuned for further instructions!’ ” Her mouth opened into a wide, perfectly shaped O. “Jasmine Larson, what is this?”
“It’s exactly what it looks like. I’m blackmailing Rachel.”
“To get what?”
“The presidency of the American Baptist Coalition for Hosea.”
Mae Frances shook her head as if this was all so sad. “I thought I taught you better than this. Even that girl with her borderline-special IQ will be able to figure out that this is from you.”
Jasmine let her friend rant a bit more about postmarks and everything else that could go wrong. When she settled down, Jasmine asked, “Are you finished?”
Mae Frances rolled her neck as if she was twenty years younger. “I’m just sayin’.”
“Then let me just say how this is gonna go down. First, we’re gonna use one of your connections in Chicago and have them FedEx the letter from some fake address, then I’m going to get one of these letters, too.” She handed Mae Frances another paper with cut-out letters and as Mae Frances read, Jasmine recited the words she’d glued onto the paper, “ ‘We know what your friend did. We’re calling the police. Stay tuned for further instructions!’ ”
“I’m going to call Rachel first, before her letter arrives. And of course, I’ll be so upset and scared for her . . .”
Mae Frances was still staring at the notes, but then she slowly began to nod her head. “This . . . just . . . might . . . work.”
Jasmine clapped her hands. “See? I am your student. Now, of course, I can’t make it obvious. I’ll send her a couple of other notes and finally demand that she make Lester step down.”
“And what kind of demands will be made for you?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know; I may say that Hosea has to give up his television show or something like that . . . it won’t matter. Rachel will be running so scared, she won’t even be thinking about what the blackmailers are asking of me. She’ll be too worried about keeping her butt out of jail.”
Mae Frances nodded as if she agreed with all that Jasmine was saying. But there was something in her eyes that made Jasmine ask, “What’s wrong? What’s bothering you?”
Her friend shook her head. “I don’t know. It seems like it could work, but still, it doesn’t feel right. I mean, Jasmine Larson, you’re still ignoring the fact that a man is dead.”
“So? What am I supposed to do about that?”
“Or maybe he isn’t,” Mae Frances added. “Why aren’t you upset about the fact that at first his body was there, and then it was gone?”
“Because I just don’t care about a man who never cared about anyone else. But anyway, trust me, Mae Frances. The man was dead. There was a gash and there was blood. Maybe the people who killed him decided they didn’t want any evidence. Maybe they took his body to dump him in the Chicago River. I couldn’t care less.”
“Well, you should care, Jasmine Larson, because—”
Jasmine held up her hand. “It doesn’t even make sense to talk about this anymore. The fact is that man was mixed up with some really bad people. You were the one who told me how deep he’d been in.”
“And I also told you how I’d heard he was trying to get out.”
“It doesn’t matter if he was in or out. Whatever happened with Pastor Griffith doesn’t have anything to do with me. It doesn’t even have anything to do with Rachel. I’m actually really glad that someone took his body because now we won’t have to deal with the police coming around asking any questions. I can just concentrate on using this situation for what it is—the chance to get Hosea into the position that I took away from him because of Pastor Griffith. It feels like justice to me.”
“All right, Jasmine Larson. I’ll take these,” Mae Frances said after a moment, picking up the letters. “I’ll have them sent by one of my connections from Chicago, just like you wanted. Rachel will get hers the day after tomorrow.”
Jasmine grinned. “Let’s do the daggone thing.” She clapped. “A month from now, Hosea will be in his rightful place.”
Mae Frances nodded as she stuffed the letters deep into her purse. “I hope you’re right. I hope he’ll be the president of the Coalition.” She moved toward the door. “And I hope you won’t find yourself inside somebody’s jail . . . or someplace even worse.”
Jasmine laughed, but then her laughter faded when she saw the expression on her friend’s face.
“Mae Frances . . .”
But she didn’t have a chance to say another word. Her friend just marched out of the room, with her mink coat dragging behind her.
Was she kidding? Jasmine wondered. “Yeah,” she whispered. “She was kidding.” And then she laughed again. Only along with her laughter, her heart pounded deep inside her chest.
Chapter
ELEVEN
When she was younger, Rachel’s mother used to tell her she sometimes lived in a place of denial. Denial about her schoolwork. Denial about her chores. Denial about anything she didn’t want to deal with.
Right about now, denial was a great place to be.
“Let the church say amen!”
At the pulpit podium, Lester closed his bible. He had just delivered a rousing sermon and the congregation was on their feet. Sister Ida, who had to be pushing ninety, had caught the Holy Ghost again (as she did every Sunday) but this time, it seemed for real.
Rachel smiled at her husband. Being president of the ABC had energized him. He didn’t preach as much on Sundays anymore because he traveled a lot, but when he did, it was with a fire Rachel had never seen before.
As the associate pastor began the altar call, Rachel felt her phone vibrating in her purse. She frowned. Who in the world would call her on a Sunday morning? She carefully eased her purse open as if she were looking for a tissue because Lord knew if she pulled that phone out, it would be the talk of the church for the next month. She’d texted her friend Twyla during service one Sunday and you would’ve sworn she’d broken out a romance novel and started reading the way these folks acted.
Rachel’s heart dropped when she noticed the name on her screen. Bug-a-Boo—the name she had in her phone for Jasmine.
Rachel quickly closed her purse and tried to focus her attention back on the front of the church. She hadn’t heard from Jasmine in over a week and that had been just fine with her.
Not talking to Jasmine made it even easier to pretend that Chicago had never happened.
But now Rachel couldn’t focus. What if Jasmine was calling her with some news about Pastor Griffith? Lester had said yesterday that still no one had heard from Pastor Griffith. Part of Rachel was hoping that he did surface, at least that way she would know he wasn’t dead and she didn’t have to worry about anyone thinking she killed him.
The phone vibrated again. Don’t look, the little voice in her head said. But Rachel’s gut told her it was important. So, once again, she eased her purse open and glanced down at the phone.
It was a text from Jasmine. Call me ASAP! Fear gripped Rachel, and she had to raise her index finger and excuse herself. She felt the eyes on her back as she eased out of the sanctuary, but right now only one thing was on her mind—what in the world did Jasmine want?
Rachel didn’t exhale until she was sitting in the back of Lester’s SUV. She’d actually thought about ducking into the ladies’ room but she couldn’t chance anyone overhearing her conversation, and Lester’s secretary was sitting outside his office so she couldn’t go there. So she went to the only place where she could safely talk: Lester’s Chevy Tahoe. The windows were tinted so she hoped no one saw her, but she ducked down in the seat just in case. She felt kind of silly hiding, but that’s how paranoid this whole situation had her.
“Jasmine?” she whispered once Jasmine picked up the phone.
“Rachel!”
“What’s up?”
“Why are you whispering?”
Why was she whispering? She was in a locked car in a parking lot in the back of the church. She shook her head. Get it together, girl, she told herself.
“Umm, no reason,” Rachel replied, a little louder.
“Where are you?”
“Duh, in church. I am a first lady.”
“You’re still in church? It’s almost three o’clock!” Jasmine exclaimed.
“It’s only two here,” Rachel snapped. “We ran a little long today, but regardless, we don’t have microwave services.” She took a deep breath. Now was not the time to be getting into it with Jasmine. “Look, what’s going on? You wanted me to call right away. Have you heard anything about Pastor Griffith?”
Jasmine was momentarily quiet, then said, “No, at least I don’t think so.” Her voice was shaky and that scared the bejesus out of Rachel.
“What do you mean, you don’t think so?” Rachel was back to whispering.
“I . . . I got a letter.”
“What kind of letter? And who sends letters these days?”
“Someone that wants to blackmail you.”
Rachel didn’t think her heart could drop any further, but it did. “Excuse me?”
“Y-you haven’t gotten anything?”
Rachel sat up straight in the truck. “No! What did you get? What did it say? Who sent it? Oh, my God!”
“Rachel, calm down.” Jasmine took a deep breath. “I just assumed you got one.”
“Got one what?” Rachel shouted.
“Got a letter. A blackmail letter. Mine said: ‘We know what your friend did and soon the police will, too.’ ”
A wave of panic roared through Rachel’s body. “I didn’t do anything,” she said meekly.
“I know that and so do you, but whoever sent this letter thinks otherwise. I just assumed you had gotten a letter, too.”
“I didn’t,” Rachel said, the tears now falling down her face. “I knew we should’ve called the cops. Now, I look like I had something to hide.”
“Rachel, you’ve got to hold it together. Now, obviously, whoever sent this wants something so we just need to wait and see what they want.”
“How do you know they’ll contact us?”
“Because the letter ended with ‘stay tuned for further instructions.’ ”
Rachel fell back against the seat. “Ohmigod. Ohmigod.”
“Let’s just wait and see what they want.”
“I don’t have any money.” She caught herself. She was distraught, but she wasn’t about to let Jasmine know her financial situation. The ABC presidency was about power, not money, and Lester didn’t even draw six figures as pastor of Zion Hill. “I mean, I don’t have blackmail kind of money.”
“Well, let’s just wait and see,” Jasmine said soothingly.
“No, I need to tell Lester and the police about this.”
“Rachel, you said yourself, Lester has made huge strides with the ABC. As much as it pains me to say this, you’ve even brought a positive light to the ABC. Can you imagine what the negative publicity of you being involved with a murder could do to Lester, to you, to the ABC? No. We just need to wait and see how all of this plays out.”
Rachel heard her, but she wasn’t convinced. This was already spiraling out of control. Now someone was blackmailing Jasmine? “Jasmine, I think—”
The sound of someone knocking on the window caused Rachel to jump, then yank her phone away from her ear.
“Sister Adams?” the old man said, leaning in and peering through the window. Rachel groaned at the sight of Deacon Willis. Why wasn’t his old behind in church? “You okay? Pastor sent me to check on you.”
Rachel composed herself and quickly wiped at her eyes. At least they sent the half-blind deacon in search of her. She eased the door open. “I’m okay. I felt a little dizzy and a chill creeping up on me so I needed to come sit in the car under the heater.”
He looked at the truck, then back at her. “But it’s not on.”
“I, um, I just turned it off. But I was just taking a moment.”
He eyed her skeptically. “Oh, okay. You sure you don’t need anything?”
I need you to leave me alone, she wanted to shout. Instead, she said, “No, I’m okay.” She brushed her dress down, then reached back inside the truck for her purse and phone. “As a matter of fact, I’m going to go on back inside now. I feel a little better and want to stand by my husband’s side as we bid the members goodbye.”
He smiled, revealing his crooked and decaying teeth. “Yes, sireee. That’s what I’m talking about,” he said as he motioned for her to walk in front of him. “Even in sickness, you goin’ to be by your husband’s side.” He nodded his head in satisfaction. “You truly are a woman of God.”
The words made Rachel sick to her stomach.
Chapter
TWELVE
Bye, sweetheart!” Jasmine blew a kiss to her son before she closed the door behind him and his nanny. She had never been so grateful for a seventy-degree day in October.
When she suggested that Mrs. Sloss take her son, Zaya, out for a walk, the nanny didn’t hesitate. It would be a couple of hours before they came back from their journey through Central Park. And that would give Jasmine all the time she’d need.
Once alone, she ducked into her bedroom closet and gathered the magazines that she’d stuffed in the back. She laid the publications across her bed—six in all. This would certainly be enough to create the second letter to send to Rachel.
“Hey, darlin’!”
Jasmine jumped at the sound of her husband’s voice. “Hosea!” She pressed her hand against her chest as if she were trying to keep her heart inside. “What are you doing here?”
He frowned as he walked into the room. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, sweetheart, but I live here. I’ve been here with you and our children for how many years now?”
“Very funny,” she said, though she didn’t smile. “I’m just sayin’, I thought you were going to be at the church all day.”
“We have Jacquie’s parent-teacher conference,” he said as he rounded the bed and came toward her. “Did you forget?” He picked up one of the magazines.
“No.” She took the publication out of his hand, then piled together the ones that were still on her bed. Tucking them under her arm, she replied, “You’re the one who must’ve forgotten. We were supposed to meet at the school, remember?”
He shrugged. “I just decided that I wa
nted to walk into the school with my beautiful wife.” He eyed the magazines that she tried to hide as best as she could.
“What’s all this?”
“Nothing. Just some reading I’m trying to catch up on.”
The way he frowned, Jasmine knew that he was contemplating, calculating. They’d been married so long, Hosea could smell her lies. “What’s really up with you, darlin’?” He squinted as if he was trying to see her better.
“I told you . . . I got behind and there’re some articles I want to check out. Why are you so suspicious?”
He held up his hands in surrender before the battle even began. “I’m not suspicious; I’ve just been married to you for a long, long time.”
“And?”
He chuckled. “And, I’m totally in love.”
“Good answer,” she said as he kissed her cheek.
“Anyway,” he said as he stepped back. “I had an interesting call this morning.”
“From who?”
As he shrugged off his jacket, he said, “From Jeremiah Wright. Seems like you and Rachel aren’t the only ones causing havoc in Chicago.”
“Uh, excuse you! But I was not the one. It was that Adams chick.”
“I’m not trying to get into anything with you about Rachel.”
“I’m just sayin’ that if you stood me next to that over-age delinquent, I wouldn’t be the one who would be picked out of a lineup.”
“Jasmine, can we just focus on what I was saying?” he said before he stepped into his closet. “I was trying to tell you that Reverend Wright told me that Earl Griffith is missing.”
She was glad that Hosea couldn’t see her because she was sure that he’d be able to tell that her heart was beating just a little harder.
“Pastor Griffith?” she asked, giving herself some time to think about how she was going to play this. She hadn’t said anything to Hosea about seeing Pastor Griffith when she was in Chicago. If she’d mentioned that she’d seen him at Harpo Studios, she’d have to add that she’d seen him in his apartment and since she was never going to admit that she was there, she’d said nothing about Pastor Griffith—not dead or alive.
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