“Mama, why are you screaming at the TV?” Jordan asked, appearing in the doorway.
“I’m not. Go lie down.”
“Can I go play football with Terrence and Dave?”
“You’re sick, boy. And you’re not hanging with those juvenile delinquents. Go lie down.”
“I’m bored,” he groaned.
Rachel glared at her son. “Jordan, I am not in the mood,” she hissed. “Get your little behind in your room and take a nap.”
He frowned. “Dang, I feel like I’m in jail,” he said, stomping off.
Jail. The word sent chills up Rachel’s spine. Could she really be facing jail time? It’s not like she killed anyone.
But you lied about seeing him. Jasmine saw you standing over his body. She could testify against you.
She shook her head. No, if Pastor Griffith was chopped up in a Dumpster somewhere, it had nothing to do with her.
But then a glance at the blackmail letter brought Rachel back to the cold, sobering reality. Earl Griffith was dead and people would think she was to blame.
Rachel knew what she had to do. She had to erase all evidence that she’d ever been at Pastor Griffith’s building. She had to get the surveillance video. She didn’t know how, but she had faced tougher tasks before and had always come out on top.
Rachel took a deep breath and gathered her strength. Enough of the crying. She had to save her behind, and the first step would be to return to Chicago. Only this was something she couldn’t do alone.
“Okay, God, this plan has to work,” she said, picking up the phone and scrolling through until she found the number she was looking for.
“Jasmine, it’s Rachel,” she said, not giving Jasmine time to say anything other than “hello.” “Pack a bag. We need to get back to Chicago ASAP.”
Chapter
FOURTEEN
Jasmine could not believe this!
Here she was, thirty thousand feet in the air, heading west across the country from New York to Chicago. What was she doing on this plane? No one could have paid her money to believe that she would be on her way to Chicago to help Rachel Jackson Adams. The only help Jasmine wanted to give that girl was help her get arrested.
And that was the reason she was on the plane.
When Rachel had first called yesterday and told her to pack a bag, Jasmine was sure that the dimwit had lost that single brain cell that she was working with.
“Pack a bag for what?” Jasmine had asked Rachel.
“I got one of those letters!”
Jasmine had tried to keep the laughter out of her voice as she listened to Rachel wail on the other end of the line. “You should have been expecting it. I tried to warn you.”
“Well, it’s worse than just the letter. Yvette just called me. Pastor Griffith’s daughter is waiting to report her father missing.” As Jasmine listened to Rachel go on about the pastor’s daughter and the police probably going after the videotape in Pastor Griffith’s building, another plan began to form in Jasmine’s mind.
With this trip, Jasmine could have a multifaceted plan.
First, she’d have Rachel all over Chicago asking all kinds of questions about the missing/dead pastor. Then, she’d leak information to the police about Rachel. Not to have her arrested (though that would be a bonus) but to have the police sniffing around so much that there would be outside pressure for Lester Adams to step down from his position.
“So that’s why you need to go with me.” Rachel had broken through Jasmine’s thoughts. “Because you’re on that surveillance tape, too.”
“True,” Jasmine said, calculating it all in her mind. “But the tape will clearly show that I came back down to the lobby after you sent me to the wrong apartment. And, I can easily say that I met you in the hallway when I finally got to the right apartment and you told me that Pastor Griffith wasn’t there.”
“So you’re just gonna lie!” Rachel’s tone sounded like she couldn’t believe it. As if she had never lied before.
“Please. As if you would help me if I needed it.”
“I would,” Rachel said. “I would help you any way I could.” Then Rachel had coughed as if she was choking on her words.
“Look, Rachel, I’m sorry for what you’re going through, but I don’t want to get any more involved in this.” Just to push Rachel closer to the edge, she added, “I’ve been doing some research and the people Pastor Griffith was involved with, the people who are blackmailing you, are some really bad folks. I don’t want to put myself in danger like that. So, good luck and . . . God bless.”
She’d hung up on Rachel, but that was only for effect. Jasmine had already made up her mind—she was going with Rachel, but she needed the girl to stew a bit more. By the time she called Rachel back, Jasmine wanted the skinny simpleton to be on her knees with gratitude.
And so, half an hour later, Jasmine had called, told Rachel that she couldn’t let her go through this by herself . . . and just like she expected, Rachel had been tripping over her words, thanking Jasmine.
But while Jasmine had the reaction she’d wanted from Rachel, all was not good on the home front. It was easy enough to tell Hosea that Yvette wanted her in Chicago for another publicity event, but Mae Frances wasn’t happy to hear of Jasmine’s plans.
“I thought I told you to leave this alone, Jasmine Larson,” the woman had said as the two shared chai teas at Starbucks yesterday afternoon.
“I was. I was going to do exactly what you said, but then, Rachel called me.”
“And you should have told her that you weren’t going to Chicago and neither should she.”
“I couldn’t do that,” Jasmine said. “I can’t leave Rachel out there like that.”
Mae Frances’s frown was so deep, so tight, her eyebrows became a unibrow. “I know you don’t care a daggone thing about that girl. What are you really up to?”
“Nothing. Just what I said. I want to help Rachel.”
Mae Frances had leaned so far over the table that she was right in Jasmine’s face. “Stay away from this, Jasmine Larson. Those people are bad news and if you end up in the middle of this, it will be a disaster for you, too.”
Jasmine had been sorry that she’d confided in Mae Frances. It was just that she’d been so used to working with her friend on everything. But this time, Mae Frances didn’t want to have anything to do with this. And every time Mae Frances talked about Pastor Griffith, she spoke with such fear in her eyes.
It was a little disconcerting to Jasmine. She’d never known her friend to fear anything. But there was no need for Mae Frances to be afraid over this. Jasmine had no intention of getting involved with Pastor Griffith’s people. Everything she was going to do in Chicago was just for show. Rachel was going to be the one out there, out front, for the whole world to see.
Jasmine knew she’d be just fine.
Still, Jasmine lied and told her friend that she wouldn’t go to Chicago, even though she knew that Mae Frances would find out. Her hope, though, was that by that time, she would be back and Lester Adams would be writing his resignation letter.
As United Flight 87’s wheels skidded across the tarmac in Chicago, Jasmine formulated the last of her plan in her mind. This was all happening so quickly, she hadn’t had a chance to cross every T and dot every I, and she didn’t have the benefit of Mae Frances and her calculating ways. But she still had enough of a plan to make Rachel look hella guilty to anyone looking back over all of this.
Jasmine was almost giddy with anticipation when she stepped through the jet-bridge, but then she stopped the moment she passed through the gate.
“What are you doing here?” Jasmine frowned as she almost bumped into Rachel, who was standing right at the edge of the doorway. “I thought we were meeting in baggage claim.”
“I wanted to make sure that you didn’t slip off to do your own thing.”
“My own thing? I’m only here to help your sorry behind.”
“Well, I just wanted to make su
re that your old sorry behind was right next to me so that I could keep my eye on you.”
“You know what? I can get right back on this plane, go back to New York, and mind my business like I was doing before you called me. Because I am not the one who found a dead pastor and didn’t report it.”
“Ssshhh!” Rachel hissed. “Do you have to be so loud?”
Jasmine raised her eyebrows. “Look, do you want my help or not?” She folded her arms and waited. She wasn’t going to take another step until Rachel gave her the right answer.
Rachel pressed her lips together, turned around, and then marched away, as if her apology was somewhere in her silence. With a shake of her head, Jasmine followed. From behind, she took in her enemy and Jasmine almost busted out laughing.
It was Rachel’s ghetto ninja outfit that had her wanting to roll on the floor. She had on a thick black turtleneck, black leggings, black boots. Even a black skullcap. While she was trying to be incognegro, she stood out like a flashing light.
But Jasmine didn’t say a word as she swung her cashmere cape over her shoulders. The two made their way from the terminal to the car rental in total silence. Even as they stood in line for the car, they ignored each other as they studied their phones, read messages, sent texts, and checked their emails.
Right before Rachel stepped up to the counter to rent the car, Jasmine excused herself to go to the restroom. She didn’t step inside the ladies’ room, though. She just wanted to make sure that only Rachel would be remembered. Only Rachel would be on any surveillance tapes here.
They didn’t speak to each other until they slid into the car. Jasmine asked, “So, do you have a plan, Miss Ninja?”
“Why you calling me that?” Rachel asked with an attitude.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Jasmine said as she looked Rachel up and down.
“Look, you can waste time calling me names or we can get to work and figure this out.”
“That’s what I asked you. Do you have a plan?”
Rachel rolled her eyes. Just hearing Jasmine’s voice annoyed her. “I haven’t figured it all out yet, but I know for sure that we have to talk to the valet at Pastor Griffith’s building because he’s already identified me.”
“Identified you? To who?”
“Yvette told me that he said someone named Rachel had visited Pastor Griffith on that day.”
This is getting better and better. “So, you’re going to walk into the building and ask him what?”
“I said I haven’t figured it all out yet,” Rachel snapped.
“Well,” Jasmine began, her tone calmer than Rachel’s. She was going to show this trick that she was the grown-up in this car. “You can’t just walk in there and say, ‘Show me your surveillance tapes.’ But, I’ve given some thought to what you could say. You can tell them that you’re a graduate student, working on your thesis about security systems. Then, you can ask some questions about how their system works, where they keep their videos, you know, stuff you want to know.”
“Hmmm,” Rachel said.
“But I found out that most of these buildings don’t keep the tapes past two weeks. So, after you talk to the concierge, we should try to see if we can meet up with Pastor Griffith’s daughter. Maybe if you talk to her you could stop her from going to the police so soon, and by the time she goes, the tape would be gone and there won’t be any signs of you being in that building.”
“Or you.”
“Like I told you, I’m not worried about me. And if you want, we can test it. We can go straight to the police and you can watch me convince them that you are far more guilty than I am.”
Jasmine could almost see the steam rising from Rachel’s head, but though she was sure Rachel wanted to throw her out of the car, it was clear that she was the one doing all the thinking.
“Okay,” Rachel said finally. “So, if we can talk Pastor Griffith’s daughter into waiting a little while, we won’t have to worry about the tape at all. Maybe that’s all we need to do. Maybe we don’t need to go to Pastor Griffith’s building at all.”
“You need to do both,” Jasmine said, wanting to encourage Rachel. She needed Rachel to be in front of as many people in Chicago as she could. “It won’t hurt to talk to the concierge so that you can have a backup plan. And who knows? Maybe the tapes are someplace where you’ll be able to get them anyway. Maybe they keep the tapes right there at the front desk. Plus, you do need to know how long they keep their tapes before you talk to his daughter.”
“Okay, you’re right. So, we’ll do both.”
“Uh . . . you’re going to have to be the one to speak to the concierge and valet.”
Rachel frowned. “Why just me?” she asked, her voice filled with distrust.
“Remember I said you’re going to pretend to be a student? Well, honey, I’m a little bit older than you. I can’t pass for a graduate student.”
Even from her profile Jasmine could see Rachel’s wide smile. Oh, yeah. This chick loved calling Jasmine old but the one thing she was too dumb to know was that with age came wisdom. And as good as Jasmine looked, Rachel could only hope that she looked half as good when she got into her . . . forties.
For the rest of the ride, the two went back to their silence. The scenario was playing out in Jasmine’s head: Rachel all over Chicago asking questions about videotapes and the missing pastor. This was going to play out so well.
“Okay,” Rachel said finally. “Pastor Griffith’s building is in the next block. Should I park in there or on the street?”
“Go up to the concierge. He wasn’t at the desk when you came to visit Pastor Griffith, so the chances of him remembering you are slim. Use that to your advantage to get information from him.”
“Okay, that’s a good idea.”
“And just drop me off around the corner.”
“What?” Rachel slammed her foot on the brake and both of them jerked forward. “Why? Why don’t you want to go in there with me?”
“Because,” Jasmine began, though she looked at Rachel like she wondered if the girl was trying to kill her, “if you’re supposed to be here just doing some research, why would I be riding around with you?” Before Rachel could protest any more, Jasmine added, “Plus, I have my own investigative work to do. I want to check out the whole building. While you’re in there talking to the valet and concierge, I want to check out the number of different ways Pastor Griffith’s body could have been taken from the building. I’m trying to find everything I can to prove that you’re innocent.”
“I am innocent!”
“I know that. I’m just saying if there is ever a question, we will already have all the answers.” When Rachel twisted her lips, Jasmine added, “Look, I’m trying to help you, Rachel. Just go in there, do your part. Ask them all kinds of questions about the tapes, where they keep them, how long, even ask them what company they use. And I’ll be checking out everything around the building.”
“Okay,” Rachel mumbled as she edged the SUV to the curb.
Jasmine jumped out. “I’ll meet you right back here.” She watched Rachel drive off, then turn into the curved driveway that led to the front of the pastor’s luxury high-rise. With a smile, Jasmine stepped around the corner and into the Starbucks that she’d noticed when she and Rachel were here last week.
“May I have a grande, soy, no-water, chai?” Jasmine gave her order to the barista. Then she pulled her Kindle from her tote and sat down at one of the tables.
She would be able to get a good fifteen minutes of relaxation in before Rachel came back. She leaned back in the chair, sipped her tea, and wondered in what other ways she could set Rachel up while she brought her husband down.
Chapter
FIFTEEN
Rachel caught a glimpse of herself as she passed a mirror in the foyer of Pastor Griffith’s building. Okay, maybe the skullcap was a bit much. She pulled it off, stuffed it in her purse, then fluffed out her curls. She frowned as she thought of Jasmine belittling her outfit.
Rachel was just trying to be prepared for anything. And although she knew how to get down and dirty, she wasn’t proficient at real criminal activity like Jasmine, so she thought the outfit was fine.
The concierge was sitting behind the front desk. He was tall, with a protruding stomach that made him look like he was seven months pregnant. But he was clean shaven and immaculately dressed in a gray uniform, so Rachel forced a smile as she approached him. Jasmine’s idea of being a college student working on a thesis might work. But then again, judging from the way the man’s eyes lit up as she strutted toward him, Rachel thought her idea would work so much better.
“Good evening. May I help you?” the man said with a cheesy grin.
“Hello,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I sure hope you can help me,” she added sweetly. “My name is Lois Lane-gly,” she quickly corrected. She needed to seem legit. “I am a reporter with Ebony magazine and I am doing a story on people behind successful people.”
He looked confused as she continued. “See, I was thinking about doing a story on successful Chicago residents, but then I thought, why don’t I look at the people who make the successful people’s lives flow smoothly. Like assistants, maids, and”—she pointed at him—“doormen.”
He smiled. “Technically, I’m not a doorman. I’m more of a front-desk security.” He stuck his chest out. “But I definitely keep things in order around here.”
“Oh, I can only imagine,” she cooed. “You probably make life so much easier for the rich people that live in this building and they don’t appreciate or recognize you for all that you do.”
He looked at her in awe. “Wow, somebody gets me.”
“So, what’s your name?”
“Victor. Victor Swanson.”
“Victor, do you mind talking to me?”
He looked around nervously. Rachel had purposely come late so there wouldn’t be much traffic in and out of the building. “Ooooh, I don’t want to get in any trouble.”
“Oh, no, this is a positive feature story. But if you can’t do it, I’ll go talk to the guy at the building across the street.”
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