Friends & Foes

by ReShonda Tate Billingsley

  “She can if they’re five thousand dollars. Who you think you are, NeNe?” Rachel headed toward the door. “Come on, let’s go. This is the third shi-shi poo-poo shop you’ve dragged me in and I want to go somewhere that’s more my speed.”

  Jasmine placed her item back on the shelf. “I don’t know if there’s a Walmart around here,” she casually said.

  “Jokes, you got jokes,” Rachel said, walking out the door.

  They walked for another ten minutes before Rachel finally spotted the Marshalls.

  “Finally,” she said, a huge smile across her face.

  Jasmine stood outside the large white building, a look of disgust on her face. “You seriously want me to go in Marshalls?”

  Rachel grabbed her arm and pulled her inside the store. “If you don’t bring your siddity tail on.”

  “Oh, my God. I hope no one sees me in Marshalls,” Jasmine mumbled.

  “That’s the problem with you nouveau riche folks,” Rachel said once they were inside. “When you get a come-up, the way you stay up is by being smart with your money.”

  Jasmine looked around the store, clutching her purse tightly like they were in the middle of the Goodwill.

  Rachel ignored her as she browsed a rack. After a few minutes, she held up a plum-color jumpsuit. “This looks like your size. Go try this on.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “What?”

  “I don’t do Baby Phat,” Jasmine said, horrified.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Kimora is a top designer.” Rachel held up some jeans. “What about these?”

  Jasmine turned up her nose even more. “I don’t wear anyone else’s name on my behind.”

  Rachel put both items back on the rack. “Bourgie folks, I tell you.”

  “Please tell me you don’t wear this mess,” Jasmine asked.

  Rachel smiled. “I’m just teasing you. Of course I don’t. Anymore,” she mumbled.

  Jasmine’s eyes bucked in horror.

  “What? I’m young, remember? I like trendy stuff.”

  “You’re also a first lady.”

  “Hence the reason I stopped wearing it. The people at my church were trippin’ about it.”

  “As well they should have been.”

  “Well, I don’t wear it anymore.” Rachel walked over to the next aisle and started looking at the suits. “Oh, hold up, wait a minute,” Rachel announced. She picked up a suit, turned around, and flashed it at Jasmine. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but did you or did you not wear this suit to one of the ABC meetings at the conference?”

  Jasmine snatched the suit. “Oh, my God, they sell Dana Buchman in Marshalls?”

  “My point exactly. And if I recall, it wasn’t last season when you had it on.” Rachel flashed an “I told you so” look.

  Jasmine looked at the price tag and gasped. “Ninety-nine dollars?”

  “And let me guess, you paid twice that?”

  “Try five times that.”

  Rachel tsked as she took the suit and placed it back on the rack. “I rest my case.”

  “Okay, maybe I will have to give Marshalls a chance,” Jasmine acquiesced.

  Just then, two little boys came barreling past them. A woman in a bright red headscarf was chasing after them.

  “Junie and Lil’ Man, if y’all don’t get your behinds back here, I’m gonna beat the black off you!” she screamed as the boys rounded the aisle and began racing down the other side, giggling like crazy. The woman stopped, took her shoe off, and threw it over the rack of clothes, hitting the older of the boys in the head. “I ain’t playin’ with y’all. Can’t bring y’all bad asses nowhere!”

  Jasmine looked at Rachel, lost her smile, and said, “On second thought, maybe not,” and then headed toward the door.

  They browsed a few more stores on The Magnificent Mile before Jasmine announced that she was starving.

  “How about we go to this nice Italian restaurant on Michigan Avenue?”

  “Got a better idea,” Rachel said, hailing a cab. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?” Jasmine said, climbing in the cab.

  Rachel leaned up and whispered in the driver’s ear. He nodded and pulled off.

  Just five minutes later, they were pulling in front of the small brick building.

  “You have lost your ever-loving mind if you think I’m about to go in there.”

  Rachel pulled her arm. “Stop being a prude. You only live once. Think about it. Can you go to Hooters in New York?”

  “Absolutely not and wouldn’t want to.”

  “Right. We’re here where no one knows us, so let’s live it up.”

  “I cannot go in there.”

  “Okay, you can wait right here then. I’m going to get some wings.”

  “Ugggh,” Jasmine said, following her out of the cab.

  Jasmine cringed as the scantily clad waitress showed them to their booth.

  “Relax. It’s not like you’ve never been around women with their boobs all out,” Rachel said, unable to resist getting the dig in.

  Jasmine ignored her as she slid into the booth.

  “I have to go to the restroom,” Rachel said before sitting down.

  “They’re right over there,” the waitress said, pointing to the corner.

  Jasmine had been right, Rachel thought as she headed to the restroom. The shopping, even this trip to Hooters had been just what she needed to get her mind off the nightmare of these last few days. And truth be told, she enjoyed the bonding time with Jasmine.

  She’d just returned to the table and was about to apologize for the quip she’d made a minute ago. She needed to stop doing that and wanted to let Jasmine know that. But the look on Jasmine’s face stopped her in her tracks.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Rachel said.

  Jasmine didn’t say a word as she pointed at the TV directly in front of their booth. Rachel turned around to see what she was looking at and almost fainted when she saw her face plastered across the 32-inch television screen.

  Rachel watched in horror as the photo of her dressed in her Sunday best, with a fuchsia wide-brimmed hat to match her fuchsia suit, filled the screen. It was the photo Rachel had taken for the ABC website.

  Jasmine jumped up and raced over to the bar so she could hear better.

  “. . . Authorities have identified the woman wanted in connection with the death of prominent minister Earl Griffith, whose body was discovered earlier today in a car pulled from Lake Michigan,” the anchor announced. “She is Rachel Jackson Adams, the wife of the current American Baptist Coalition president, Lester Adams. Police are stopping short of calling her a suspect, but for now, they are saying she was the last person with Griffith and that makes her a person of interest in his murder.”

  Rachel fell down onto the bar stool, her mouth open. This was an absolute and utter nightmare. All of her efforts to destroy the surveillance video and they still had ended up with her photo?

  “What? How?” Rachel gasped.

  Jasmine eyed Rachel, like she was wondering if this would send her over the edge.

  “Oh, my God!” Rachel sobbed. “Yesterday they were just looking for someone. How did they tie me to this?”

  “Calm down, Rachel,” Jasmine whispered. “Don’t bring attention to yourself.”

  “This is bad. This is so bad,” Rachel cried. What did this mean? Could she be arrested? Suddenly it dawned on her. “Lester watches WGN.”

  Jasmine rubbed her hand over her face. The look on her face told Rachel she wished she had never agreed to help. Rachel braced herself for Jasmine to announce she was leaving. Instead, Jasmine looked around as several people had started staring at them, then said, “All I know is we need to get out of here. Let’s go back to the hotel. Then we can figure out what to do next.”

  Dazed, Rachel followed her out, grateful that Jasmine had once again stepped in to save the day.

  Chapter

  TWENTY-TWO
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br />   All Jasmine could think about was that this had all started because of Oprah.

  But as she watched Rachel scramble through the room, inside her head, she took that lie back. There was no way she could blame any of this on the Queen of Daytime. This had all started because she wanted to get one up on Rachel. That’s why she’d befriended Yvette, that’s why she’d come to Chicago without giving Rachel any notice or any chance to come with her, and that’s what had the two of them here in the middle of this mess today.

  All of their fighting had led to this.

  “I don’t care if I have to walk to Houston,” Rachel shouted as she rolled her suitcase across the bedroom and flung it onto the bed. “I’m getting out of here tonight.”

  “You can’t go,” Jasmine said.

  Rachel looked at Jasmine with wide, incredulous eyes. “Watch me.”

  Jasmine sighed. All of the talking she’d tried to do with Rachel on the way back to the hotel had done nothing except stop her from screaming hysterically in the cab. “But you wanted to clear your name,” she reminded Rachel.

  “That was before they knew my name . . . and had my picture.” She stopped slinging clothes from the closet long enough to look up at Jasmine. “I cannot believe this. My face is all over Chicago. I’m wanted for questioning in a murder. A murder.” She shook her head as if she couldn’t believe it. “Pastor Griffith is really dead and now the police think I did it.”

  “No. That’s not what the reporter said. She said you were wanted for questioning in connection with his murder.”

  “Well, what do you think that means?”

  “Rachel, remember, you didn’t do anything.”

  “And how many people do you think are sitting up on death row right now remembering that they didn’t do anything?”

  “Death row? Come on, Rachel. You have yourself arrested, tried, convicted, and sentenced before you’ve talked to the first person.”

  “Why are you making light of this?” Rachel cried, and Jasmine was surprised that Rachel had held her tears back for this long.

  “I’m not. I just know that you didn’t do anything and that you’re not going to jail.”

  With the heel of her hand, Rachel wiped the wetness from her cheeks. “I can’t go to jail.” Her voice sounded so small. “I can’t. I have children. And Lester.”

  With slow steps, Jasmine moved toward Rachel, took her hand, and pulled her down onto the edge of the bed. The two sat side by side as Jasmine said, “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  “I don’t think you can stop it.”

  “I can.”

  “How?”

  “By doing what we were going to do. All we have to do is find Pastor Griffith’s girlfriend and she can tell the police whatever they need to know.”

  “But they’re not looking for her. They’re looking for me.”

  “They don’t know about her, but once we find out who it is—whether it’s Cecelia or not—we’ll tell the police what we know and you’ll be fine.”

  “But suppose they don’t believe me.”

  “They’ll believe us,” Jasmine said. “I’m not going to let you talk to the police by yourself. If they come after you, they’ll have to take me.”

  Through her tears, Rachel tried to smile. “Really?” she asked, sounding like a ten-year-old.

  Jasmine nodded. “Plus, I can’t let you talk to the police by yourself. There’s no telling what kind of nonsense you might say.”

  Rachel rolled her eyes, but when she turned back to Jasmine, there was nothing but gratitude in them. “So what do you think we should do?”

  “Like I said, let’s stick to our plan. We’ll go to church tomorrow and—”

  She was already shaking her head before Jasmine could even finish. “I’m not showing my face anywhere. Seriously.” She stood and paced in front of Jasmine. “I’m going back to Houston and if the police want to find me, they’re gonna have to get on a plane and get to looking.”

  “Okay, calm down,” Jasmine said, holding up her hands like she was surrendering. “We’ll leave Chicago.”

  Rachel stopped moving and exhaled.

  “But first,” she paused when Rachel looked at her with a sideward glance, “before we go to the airport, we’ll stop at the church.” Rachel opened her mouth to protest, but Jasmine intercepted her. “And, I’ll go in. You’ll stay in the car, but I’ll go in and see if I can find out something from someone.”

  “How are you going to do that in the middle of a church service?”

  “I’ve done it before,” Jasmine said, thinking about the time she’d gone to Hogeye Creek, Georgia, to get evidence on a pastor who she’d been sure was blackmailing her. Jasmine had marched right into the Church of the Solid Rock, scanned the women in the pews, and parked next to the one she was sure would do the most talking. And she was right. Jasmine had found Mrs. Evans, the town crier who’d given Jasmine everything she needed, plus some.

  If Jasmine ever needed a career beyond being first lady, she would be an investigator. She was definitely as good as any investigator out there. She had no doubt that she’d find out whatever she and Rachel needed to know—tomorrow.

  “So does that sound like a plan?” Jasmine said to Rachel.

  Rachel gave Jasmine a long glance before she answered, “And I don’t have to go into the church?”

  Jasmine shook her head.

  “And after that, we’ll go straight to the airport?”

  This time, Jasmine nodded. “Straight to the airport and on the way, I’ll call the police with an anonymous tip—the name of Pastor Griffith’s girlfriend. By the time you land in Houston, you’ll be cleared.”

  “Sounds kind of simple.”

  “Usually life is. People just make it complicated.”

  Rachel nodded. “Okay. I’ll stay here, just one more day.” She glanced around the bedroom and shivered as if she was suddenly cold. “I can’t wait to get home.”

  “Neither can I,” Jasmine said as she stood up. “Okay, pack up the rest of your things, then call Lester, but don’t say anything to him. If he’s heard about it, play dumb and tell him you’re coming home tomorrow. Don’t turn on the TV unless you’re gonna be watching the Cartoon Network or something. Better yet, why don’t you read a book?” She paused and grinned. “The Bible, maybe.”

  Rachel’s neck twisted with every syllable as she said, “I hope I’m not that bossy when I get to be your age.”

  “You should be so lucky.”

  “Do you always have to have the last word?”

  “Yup.” Moving toward the door, Jasmine’s voice softened as she said, “Call me if you need me, okay?”

  Rachel nodded. “Thank you, Jasmine. Thank you for everything.”

  “I have a very bad feeling about this.”

  Jasmine rolled her eyes. If Rachel said that to her one more time . . .

  “I really do, Jasmine. I think we need to get out of Chicago. Let’s just go to the airport, let’s get out of here.”

  “And once you get home to your family, what’s going to happen? You think the police are just gonna forget that there’s a dead man and they’re looking for you? You think those thugs are just gonna forget about their money?” Jasmine didn’t wait for Rachel to answer. “Before we can get on that plane, we have to find the girlfriend and you know she’ll be here in church, especially today. Now that Pastor Griffith is no longer missing, everyone is gonna be here talking about it. This is a perfect time for me to go in there.” She paused. “I’ll make it quick, find out what we need to know, and then we’ll head straight to the airport.”

  Rachel nodded and stayed silent this time and Jasmine was grateful. It was a good thing that they were all packed and ready to go, because though she was growing fond of Rachel, she still couldn’t say that she really liked her—especially not when she was in this scared-of-everything mode. Plus, both Lester and Hosea had been caught up in church business, but it was just a matter of time befor
e they found out what was going on and demanded that Rachel and Jasmine come home.

  This time, when Rachel turned down Howard Street, it was impossible to drive to the front of the church. The street was packed with cars parked and double-parked and others still trying to pass through.

  “This is a mess,” Rachel whispered as she tried to swing around a van that had stopped dead in the center of the street.

  “Yeah, the church is definitely packed this morning, especially now that everyone knows that Pastor Griffith is dead. There are probably a lot of looky-loos here.”

  “I bet you’re right,” Rachel said. With a bit of hope in her tone, she added, “I bet his girlfriend is here.”

  “Definitely.” Jasmine nodded. “Look, you’re gonna be backed up here for a while, so let me get out. The sooner I can get to work, the better.”

  “Okay,” Rachel said, stopping the car completely.

  “Just make sure that you wait for me right at the front. I don’t care how many cars are parked there. You never know when those thugs are gonna show up again and if they do, I want to make a quick getaway.”

  “Okay,” she repeated.

  As she moved toward the church, Jasmine mingled with the crowd of latecomers who strode quickly toward the church doors. She hadn’t planned on being late and she wished she could blame it all on Rachel. But she was the reason they were driving up to the church just a little after eleven. She’d overslept and hadn’t awakened until Rachel was banging on her door, dressed, packed, and ready to get the hell out of Chicago.

  Jasmine had pulled it together as fast as she could, and really, being ten minutes late was probably a good thing. This way, she could stand in the back of the church, scope through the crowd, and find the woman that she needed to sit next to, to get the information they needed.

  Inside though, the church was already packed to the rafters and Jasmine didn’t see one empty seat.

  “You’re gonna have to go to the standing-room-only section,” one of the white-gloved ushers shouted at her, raising his voice above the praise and worship that had started.

  She followed behind a double line of men and women to the far right wall.

  “Stand, church, and let us give praise for the life of our founder, Pastor Earl Griffith!”