“Anyway,” Jasmine said, taking the lead, “Rachel and I have a theory.” She paused and waited for Mae Frances to take her eyes from Rachel. When she turned to her, Jasmine continued, “We think Cecelia King killed Pastor Griffith.”
“What? Why would she kill him?”
“Well, you heard what Hosea said. Reverend King and Cecelia are trying to take over the Coalition.”
“And so you think they murdered a man to do that?”
Jasmine and Rachel nodded together.
Jasmine said, “I think she killed him and then set up Rachel to take the fall.”
Mae Frances chuckled and shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense, Jasmine Larson. She wouldn’t have to kill anybody to do that. Remember, you were just going to—”
Jasmine shook her head wildly and Mae Frances clamped her mouth shut.
Rachel frowned. “You were going to do what?”
“Nothing,” Jasmine said as Mae Frances smirked. Jasmine wanted to choke her friend. Mae Frances was too smart to let something like that just slip out. She’d done it on purpose and once they finished figuring all of this out, Jasmine was going to kill her.
“Nah, I wanna know. What was you gonna say?”
“I was just gonna remind Jasmine that when she was trying to get Hosea elected we didn’t kill anyone.” She paused and glared at Rachel. “Although we did think about killing you.”
“Mae Frances!”
“What? We never killed her. We just set it up so that her husband would win.”
“Mae Frances!” Jasmine exclaimed again. She was really going to kill her now.
“What are you talking about? Lester won that election. You didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Exactly!” Jasmine said as she stared Mae Frances down and with a glare dared her to say anything else.
Rachel turned her scowl to Jasmine and Jasmine wondered if things would ever be the same between the two of them.
Five minutes. Mae Frances had been in Chicago for all of five minutes and already she was tearing down what the two had built together.
“Can we just get back to business?” Jasmine asked, hoping this would make Rachel forget what Mae Frances had said. “Anyway, Mae Frances, you may not believe that Cecelia killed him, but let me ask you a couple of questions. Why did Cecelia just happen to have meetings while we were here?”
“I don’t know, but what—”
Jasmine interrupted, “And why is she everywhere? Cecelia seems to know things before they happen. Is she the one that turned the police on to Rachel? How did they know Rachel was at the church?”
“Well let me ask you something. If she murdered Earl just so she could frame Rachel, how did she even know Rachel was going to be in Chicago?” Mae Frances turned back to Rachel. “You weren’t invited to Oprah’s show, right? You just showed up. Uninvited.”
Rachel frowned and paused. As if she wanted a moment to think through this thing that sounded like a trick question. “I should’ve been invited.”
“So, I repeat, how did Cecelia know that Rachel was going to be here? And,” Mae Frances held up her finger, “how did she know that you were going to come back?”
Jasmine paused and thought about her friend’s questions. Okay, so Mae Frances had some good points and maybe her and Rachel’s theory didn’t make sense. But none of this did.
“You know what?” Rachel said, her mind replaying the call from Yvette once she’d made it back to Houston. “When Yvette called me in Houston, she told me about the surveillance video.”
“Because she knew you’d come running back to Chicago,” Jasmine said, finishing her thought.
“And she’s the one who insisted I drink that bottle of water when we went back to Pastor Griffith’s. She was trying to make sure my fingerprints would tie me to being there!”
“But what does that have to do with Cecelia?” Mae Frances asked.
Jasmine shook her head. “I don’t have all the answers, but we may have someone that can give us the proof we need.”
“Who?”
“A really old woman, about your age,” Rachel said and without missing a beat, she added, “I saw her right before I went into Pastor Griffith’s apartment. She was kneeling on the floor because someone had just about knocked her down as they ran down the hall.”
“And you think it was Cecelia?” Mae Frances asked.
“We do,” Jasmine and Rachel said at the same time.
Jasmine added, “So, we’re gonna go talk to this woman, take this picture of Cecelia,” Jasmine pointed to the photograph she’d pulled up on her iPad, “and once she identifies her, we’re gonna tell Buddy everything that we know.”
Mae Frances sighed. “You two are such amateurs. We need to just wait to see what my connections come up with.”
“I don’t want to sit around and wait for anything. The longer I’m here, the longer I’m away from my kids,” Rachel said as if she was the only one missing her children. “If she can identify her, I know I’ll be cleared.”
“Whatever,” Mae Frances said, standing once again and slipping into her coat. “If this is how you two want to play it, let’s go.”
Rachel glanced at Jasmine and then rolled her eyes. As the two marched behind Mae Frances, Jasmine whispered to her, “Remember, she hired Buddy for you and he’s good, right?”
With a sigh, Rachel nodded.
Jasmine added, “So be nice.”
Another sigh, another nod. “I’ll try,” Rachel hissed, not sounding like she was going to try anything.
As they stood at the elevator, Rachel smiled at Mae Frances. “I really love your coat.”
Jasmine groaned, not knowing what was coming, but knowing whatever it was, it wasn’t going to be good.
With just the very tips of her fingers, she stroked Mae Frances’s mink. She didn’t get too close, though, as if she was afraid something might be growing inside those old hairs. Rachel said, “So what do you feed this thing? Cat food?” Then she laughed as she strolled onto the elevator.
Mae Frances actually growled under her breath, while Jasmine shook her head. It was gonna be a long afternoon.
This had almost been too easy—finding Windy City Custom Tailors, the shop on 103rd where Martha Miller worked.
“So what do you geniuses plan to do?” Mae Frances asked. “Just barge in there?”
“She gave me her card,” Rachel began, “so that I’d come by if I ever needed anything. Well, now, I need something.”
As they edged the car to the curb, Rachel glanced at the buildings. This had to be some kind of manufacturing section of town, with its nondescript gray buildings and not a sign of nature in sight. No grass, no trees. Just brick and mortar.
Jasmine jumped from the car, then Mae Frances slipped out from the back. But Rachel stayed inside, her eyes still studying her surroundings.
“What’s wrong?”
Rachel shook her head. “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem to be safe.”
“What?” Mae Frances grunted. “You think the police are gonna come ’round here looking for you? Oh, please. And even if they do, Buddy Clemons will get you out of it. So just get your silly behind out of that car.”
“I’m not thinking about the police . . . at least not right now. But those other guys. Maybe I should stay out here and be the lookout.”
“If you’re thinking about those thugs, I’m not gonna leave you out here by yourself,” Jasmine said.
“But someone should stay,” Rachel insisted. “Just in case we have to make a fast getaway.”
Mae Frances laughed, but Jasmine didn’t. She and Rachel had been through so much, she knew Rachel had a point. Which was why she wasn’t about to leave Rachel alone.
She turned to Mae Frances. If those thugs stepped to her, Jasmine knew the thugs would be the ones who’d end up sorry. “You can stay out here while Rachel and I go inside.”
“Fine!” Mae Frances said, and Jasmine was glad that her friend didn�
�t mention that there would be no quick getaway if they needed it since Mae Frances didn’t know how to drive.
A bell tinkled as Jasmine and Rachel stepped inside the shop, and the four women who all sat behind sewing machines glanced up. It was the woman at the first machine who stood.
“May I help you?”
“Yes, I’d like to talk to Ms. Martha,” Rachel said, pointing to the woman she recognized right away. It wasn’t hard to pick her out. She was the oldest one in the shop by at least three decades.
The old woman frowned as she heard her name. Even from where they stood Jasmine could see Ms. Martha squinting, and the way she looked didn’t give Jasmine a lot of hope. But according to Rachel, Ms. Martha had seen the person who was barreling down the hall up close and personal. She just prayed the woman had been wearing her glasses that day.
“Ms. Martha, remember me?” Rachel asked the moment the woman was right on top of them.
The lady squinted and leaned forward, though she couldn’t get much closer. “Ahhh . . .”
“Remember we met when I helped you get your things off the floor because someone almost knocked you down in the hallway when you were leaving a customer’s apartment?”
“Oh, yeah! How you doing, baby?” She grinned. “You got something you want me to make for you?”
“No, not yet. I wanted to ask you something about that day we met.”
“Chile, I’ll never forget it. I thought that fool had broken my hip.”
“Well, Ms. Martha, this is my friend Jasmine, and we want to show you something.”
Already, Jasmine was pulling her iPad from her purse. “Ms. Martha, do you recognize this woman? Is this who knocked you over?”
“Well, it can’t be her,” she said, before taking the tablet.
“You haven’t even seen the picture,” Rachel said.
“But I know it wasn’t her, because it was a him that knocked me over.”
Rachel and Jasmine exchanged defeated glances. They’d been so sure it was a woman.
“Well, you said you are in that building a lot. Have you ever seen this woman? Did you see her that day?”
The woman took the tablet from Jasmine and squinted even more as she brought the screen close to her face. After a moment, she said, “No, I can’t say that I know that woman.”
Jasmine and Rachel both sighed. “Are you sure?” Rachel asked.
Finally, Ms. Martha lowered the picture. “No, I ain’t never seen her before. Who is she?”
“I was thinking that she was the lady who bumped into you that day. I thought maybe she was friends with Pastor Griffith.”
Ms. Martha shook her head. “No, like I said, it was a man that knocked me over.” She paused like she was thinking. “But you talking about that handsome preacher that lived in four-oh-four?”
“Yes!” Rachel said excitedly.
“Oh, I saw a woman there that morning when I first got to Lucy’s—that’s the lady that I sew for.” She glanced at the picture again. “But this definitely isn’t her.”
“Well, can you tell us what she looked like?” Jasmine asked.
Ms. Martha was quiet for a moment. She leaned her head back a little as if she were thinking. “Well, she wasn’t too tall, wasn’t too short, brown skinned . . .” She paused. “In fact, she looked . . .” She moved closer. “A little . . .” Now she was right on top of them. “Like you,” she said, pointing to Rachel. “I didn’t think about it ’til right now, but she looked like you.”
Rachel sighed. “That’s all I need. Someone else identifying me.”
“I’m sorry if I didn’t help.”
“No, you helped tremendously. Thank you,” Jasmine said before she dragged Rachel out of the shop.
“Now what are we gonna do?” Rachel asked, sounding like she was about to cry.
“Don’t worry, Rachel. We’re gonna figure this out. I know you don’t like her, but Mae Frances will fix this. Mae Frances knows how to fix everything!”
Jasmine didn’t say another word when she heard Rachel’s deep sigh.
Chapter
TWENTY-EIGHT
Are you sure you didn’t off Earl?” Mae Frances asked once they were in the rental car heading back to the hotel.
If Rachel wasn’t so disheartened by Ms. Martha’s declaration, she might have given Mae Frances a piece of her mind.
“Miss Daisy, can you just sit back there and let us drive you, please?” Rachel did manage to say.
“I’m just saying, since we all BFFs now, you can come clean.”
Her steady tone didn’t reveal whether she was being serious or sarcastic. Either way, Rachel didn’t have the energy to try to deal with her. Thankfully, Jasmine stepped in.
“Come on, Mae Frances. This is trying for us all,” she said as she pulled onto the freeway. They’d filled Mae Frances in on everything Ms. Martha had said and as expected, she’d reminded them that she had warned the visit would be useless.
“Us? There is no us. Y’all maybe, but no us.”
Jasmine glanced up at her friend in the rearview mirror. Rachel turned and stared out the passenger window. Every road she turned down in trying to solve this disaster was a dead end, and Rachel was starting to lose hope.
“Well, I was with Rachel and I can vouch that she didn’t do it,” Jasmine said.
“Umph, so you’re vouching for her now?”
“I sure am,” Jasmine replied with confidence. That brought a small smile to Rachel’s face, but it quickly dissipated when Mae Frances added, “Well, that lady we just left could only identify Rachel. One witness. That’s all you need to get executed these days. Just ask Troy Davis.”
Rachel suddenly sat up in her seat. “Wait, Ms. Martha said the woman looked like me.”
“Exactly,” Mae Frances said.
Rachel turned around in her seat. “Right. Looked like me. Not was me.”
Jasmine smiled. “Of course. So that could mean Pastor Griffith’s girlfriend resembles you.”
“So, Earl’s girl looks like a hoodrat?” Mae Frances said.
“Mae Frances!” Jasmine admonished.
Rachel waved her off. She was on to something and she wasn’t about to let that old biddy get her off track.
“So that’s a clue. Now we at least have a description of who we’re looking for. That’s probably why the thugs think I’m Pastor Griffith’s girlfriend—because we look alike.”
Mae Frances released an irritated sigh. “Okay, Columbo, slow down. Maybe, the man that bumped into that old lady was some person that had nothing to do with Earl. Or maybe the real killer went out the side door, or hired someone, or any number of other things,” she snapped. “So what, Pastor Griffith’s girlfriend was there earlier in the day? You were the last person Earl was with.”
“His killer was the last person!” Rachel shouted.
“Little girl, don’t raise your voice at me,” Mae Frances warned.
“Sorry,” Rachel muttered halfheartedly. “I’m just so frustrated with all of this.”
Mae Frances groaned as she pulled out her cell phone. “Let me call Gil and see if he knows anything.”
“Who is Gil?” Jasmine asked.
“Gil Kerlikowske, the U.S. Drug Czar.”
“Drugs? You think this has something to do with drugs?” Rachel asked, panicked, not even bothering to ask how Mae Frances even had the drug czar’s phone number in her contacts list.
Mae Frances flashed a strange look at Jasmine, who suddenly seemed intently focused on the road.
“Hello!” Rachel said, waving her hand. “Does someone want to tell me what’s going on? Drugs?” She turned back to Mae Frances. “You think Pastor Griffith is involved in drugs?”
Mae Frances continued to glare at Jasmine before finally turning to Rachel. “You said those thugs wanted ten million dollars. That kind of money can only be drug-related.”
“Oh,” Rachel said, slumping back in her seat.
She waited while Mae Frances pulled u
p a number on her phone. She paused before saying, “Hey, Gil, it’s me . . . I’m fine . . . how’s the job? Tell Barack and Michelle I said hi and I promise I won’t come to DC again without calling . . . Uh-huh . . . Well, look, I’m trying to find out some info on a missing pastor in Chicago. It’s big-time. Wondering if you know about any drug connections . . .” Rachel stared on in fascination as she continued her call. “Oh, okay . . . yeah, I sure would appreciate it . . . Okay, I’ll wait to hear from you. By the way, tell Anna and the kids hello.”
Rachel and Jasmine stared at her, stunned.
Mae Frances dropped her phone back into her purse. “Now, we wait. Hopefully, he’ll find out something for us.” She leaned back in the seat, closed her eyes, and rested, like her work was done.
Rachel turned back around in her seat, amazed at the seemingly insurmountable powers of Mae Frances. They rode in silence for another fifteen minutes. Rachel replayed all aspects of the case in her head, trying to come up with something new. Her thoughts then shifted to Lester. He should be wrapping up the emergency board meeting by now. She hoped that the board didn’t do some underhanded stuff and vote him out. She knew that according to the bylaws, if there were any moral infractions, they could vote him out. But she’d have to ask Buddy if they had any legal recourse in case the vote didn’t go in their favor, especially since the infractions involved her and not Lester.
Rachel’s thoughts were interrupted by her ringing cell phone. She pressed the Talk button. “Hello.”
“Rachel, it’s Buddy. Where are you?”
“We’re all heading back to the hotel,” she replied.
“How long before you get there?”
His no-nonsense tone was making her nervous. “I guess another ten minutes. Why?”
“I’ll tell you when I see you. I’m on my way there.” He hung up the phone before she could say anything else.
“Who was that?” Jasmine asked.
“Buddy,” Rachel said. “He’s meeting us at the hotel. It sounds serious.”
Jasmine gently reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. “It’s gonna be okay. Everything is going to work out,” she said.
“Oh, Lord, guess we’re gonna start singing ‘Kumbaya’ next,” Mae Frances said, her eyes still closed.
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