by Dijorn Moss
No Sin in Paradise
Dijorn Moss
www.urbanchristianonline.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
Readers’ Questions
AUTHOR’S BIO
UC HIS GLORY BOOK CLUB!
What We Believe:
Copyright Page
Dedication
To my granny Ruth Jonice
“The Queen of Queens.”
To my muse Trinea Moss
I love you just as Christ loves the church.
To my son Caleb
My greatest joy is watching you grow up.
Acknowledgments
I would not have completed this book if it were not for my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I am reminded every day that I am fulfilling your purpose for my life. Since becoming a parent, I have developed a profound appreciation for my parents. To my mother and father, thank you for molding me into the man that I am today. To my family and close friends, thank you for your love and continued support over the years.
To my editor Joy, thank you for constantly pushing me to deliver my best and challenging me to become a better writer. I truly thank God for both your faith and your wisdom. You deserve all of your success, and then some.
On this extraordinary journey, God has blessed me to be taught by some of the greatest minds the earth has ever produced. One of those mentors is Minister Kevin Murray. The Lord has called him home, but his legacy and his words remain. One of his greatest sermons was about pressing toward the mark and not letting the fog set in and cloud your vision. I am thankful for Pastor Dace and Bible Way Christian Center. My life has been enriched as a result of your ministry. To Bishop Noel Jones and City of Refuge, thank you for warmth and your kindness. Finally, to Pastor Bayless Conely and Cottonwood Church, thank you for being a great spiritual home.
I also would like to acknowledge the writers who inspired me and have inspired Nicodemus Dungy: Walter Mosley, Michael Connelly, and the late Elmore Leonard. You guys have enriched my life with unforgettable characters, and I endeavor to enrich my readers’ lives with my stories and unique characters.
And finally, to my loyal readers, you help me to realize my dream, and I will continue to provide you with my very best. I thought of you when I wrote this novel, and I thought of the many avid readers who do not know Christ as their Lord and Savior. I pray that this book will inspire a deeper relationship with God for my fellow believers, and for those who might not know Him, I pray that this book will inspire you to want to have a relationship with God.
Prologue
I realize that I am about to die, and at this moment, I have developed a new power. I’m not talking about powers like X-men; no, I’m talking about a higher sense of the world within me and the world around me. My senses are so keen that I wonder why they haven’t kicked in until now.
Take, for example, the view from my room. Every day for the last two weeks I have walked out onto the terrace of my room and gazed at the ocean. I have only been able to see so far, but today, I can almost see the nearest island next to the one I am currently on. I can smell the saltwater from the sea and feel the wind race through my skin. I pour myself a glass of scotch without ice. I know for a fact that it cools as much as it burns while going down. Of course, I haven’t had a sip, and it’s not like I haven’t recently had a drink, but still, there is something to be said about going to meet my Savior having at least challenged my darkest demon. I stare at the glass for what feels like an eternity before I set the glass back down on my desk. Even though I am about to die, and I’m certain that I won’t lose my salvation over a drink, I still can’t take a drink; not now, not anymore.
I spend a good portion of my life delving in secrets and entertaining the demon elixir. As a result, there aren’t too many things that I am proud of in my life. No amount of alcohol could drown out my problems, I see that now, but I also see my end. What’s one last drink? I know I said that I wouldn’t, but I can’t resist.
I pick up the glass and bring the scotch to my nose. It’s a decent scotch, but I’ve had better. It will have to do though. I take the drink, and it satisfies my thirst. Lord, forgive me for being weak and flawed in my hour of temptation.
Since I have already given into one temptation, I take in my other vice. I pick up the pack of smokes I have on my table, and place one cigarette on the edge of my lips.
I savor the taste of the tobacco for a minute before I strike a match that I picked up from the Atlantis Casino. I couldn’t resist making a stop along the way to Crystal Cove.
I protect the flame with my hands from the island breeze as I draw it in close and light the end of my cigarette. Then I take in the smoke before I release it into the wind. The day is clear, and the ocean is inviting. It’s a good place God picked for me to die.
At least I will die a millionaire, though I didn’t get the chance to spend the money. And what’s the point? No one knows about the money except my employer. I wish I could give it to charity or to Victory, another thing on my list of regrets.
Any moment now, my killer will arrive. It won’t be long now . . . last call. I think about Victory and the last time I saw her. Her eyes were full of disappointment, and it was well deserved. I was rotten to her, and I took something that was special and ruined it. I did it to myself. There is so much I want to tell her, and I can’t now. I guess my final lesson before I check out is that I should say the things that I need to say when I have the time to say it. Oh well, what good does regret do for me now? It can’t make me bulletproof.
The door clicks open. The hardwood floors snitches on my assailant. It’s almost that time. Now my heart is more scared than my mind.
I have to take a deep breath and remain calm. This person may take my life, but they won’t take my pride. I won’t give them the satisfaction.
The door to my office creaks open.
“I know who you are,” I say with my back turned. “I know everything, and I know why you killed him.”
I turn around to face my murderer. It turns out to be the person who I suspected. I am right. Boy, how I hate being right, especially now when I am about to die. I hope the information I left will be enough to see this person brought to justice. Now a smirk stretches across my assailant’s face, and a 9 mm gun points at my temple. Here we go.
Chapter One
It is eleven forty-six, and he’s still not here. Maybe he is a prophet and foresaw that I will be here. I know I couldn’t have missed him. There is one main road that goes throughout the island and Doctor Dixon’s house is the house that is near the top of the hill. There is someone who lives on
top of the hill, but I don’t care. I’m waiting for only one person to arrive. Adele, the person whose home I’m staying in, informs me about the affair.
At eleven forty-six, a black Mercedes with black-tinted windows pulls up across the street from Doctor Dixon’s driveway. I thought that I wasn’t going to get fireworks on this glorious day. Prophet Chambers exits his Mercedes and starts to cross the street. He is alarmed when he sees me, probably for the reason that he has never seen me before today. Prophet Chambers is a six foot four, silver-haired, good-looking gentleman. I can see why so many women find him appealing.
“Can I help you?” Prophet Chambers asks.
“Actually, that’s why I’m here, to help you save your ministry,” I say.
“And who are you?”
“I’m what the young people call a ‘hater,’” I say.
“Listen, young man, I don’t have any time for shenanigans. I’m very busy.”
Prophet Chambers tries to walk past me, and I stand in his way. He starts to breathe heavily, and he balls his fists.
“Did you know that Doctor Morris Dixon is one of the foremost pediatric surgeons?” I ask.
“Yes, I know. Mr. and Mrs. Dixon are prominent members of my ministry.”
“He travels from island to island helping understaffed and underfunded hospitals out. I mean, he’s certainly not adequately paid for the services he renders. That’s why I think the last thing he would want to hear is the prophet of the church that he attends and writes large checks to is laying healing hands on Mrs. Dixon after-hours.”
Prophet Chambers still doesn’t know who I am. But he now knows why I am here. His face conveys that he is concerned about me being outside Mr. Dixon’s home.
“Who are you?” Chambers asks.
“Someone you’ll hate today and thank tomorrow.” I put my hands in my pockets and walk up to Prophet Chambers. “I’ve read up on you. You’re actually the real deal. I’ve read testimonies of little girls with leukemia that were healed. People with longtime illness who are healed once they come to one of your meetings.”
“It’s a gift God has blessed me with, and I wish I could do something else, but what do you do when you’ve been called?”
I wish I could answer that question. I myself struggle with my calling. At times, I wonder if I was ever called to ministry. I started helping ministers who wanted to keep scandals from destroying their churches, and years later, I find myself so far away from my original intention.
“God has given you an amazing gift. Don’t squander it for the profit of the flesh,” I said.
I can tell my words are penetrating Chambers’s soul. He looks down at his feet as if he’s searching for answers.
“I never meant to go down this road with Phaedra,” he says.
“I know,” I say. I didn’t do a lot of research on Mrs. Dixon, so I assume that Phaedra is her first name.
“But she proves to be a hard woman to resist.” Chambers starts to rub his head.
“You need to do what God has placed you on this earth to do . . . and that’s help people through the ministry of healing.”
“What is going on here?”
I look over Chambers’s shoulders and I see Mrs. Dixon walking out to the drive in a silk robe. It doesn’t take a genius to see that she probably has on lingerie underneath, if anything at all. Chambers was headed for a fun afternoon before I intervened. Sin costs, and too many of us don’t even bother to look at the price tag.
“Who are you?” Mrs. Dixon asks me.
“I’m on vacation, and your husband is on his way home. His last appointment cancelled out early.”
That part is not a lie. I found out that the good doctor is headed home and that would make this situation downright murderous.
I’ve seen too many cases where a man who wouldn’t kill a fly one minute, turns around and kills the person that he loves the next minute. A crime of passion is very possible.
I turn to Chambers. “You can do whatever you want. I just hope that you would encourage her to tell her husband the truth and bring an end to this affair in a mature way.”
“Do you know him?” Mrs. Dixon asks Chambers while pointing at me.
“He doesn’t,” I say.
“Will someone talk to me?” Mrs. Dixon says.
“I’m trying to save your marriage and Mr. Chambers’s ministry.”
“My marriage is none of your concern.”
She’s right. Mrs. Dixon’s marriage is none of my concern. One day I will learn to mind my own business, but today is not that day.
“You can do what you want. I just pray that you would do the right thing,” I say to both of them before I turn away.
I start to walk down the hill, and when I look back, I see Chambers trying to talk with Mrs. Dixon and reason with her. Maybe there is hope, but I don’t do free jobs, so for me, it’s back to my vacation.
I never knew how much I was in need of a vacation until I finally took one. Sitting in a beach chair watching people fish and parasail, the sky has banished the clouds and the wind races past my shoulders.
I know I look like a dork in my cream pants with my white-collar shirt and straw hat, but I don’t care. I just continue to eat shrimp the size of a fist and drink a virgin mango daiquiri while reading the latest Michael Connelly book. I like reading mystery novels, even though I can figure out who the murderer is early on in the novel.
I could sit out here all day, but in the back of my mind I know that it won’t last; it never does. That’s why moments like these are so special. I need moments like this to remind me that it doesn’t always rain, and that one does not have to spend life walking through muck and mire. I need this moment since God only knows what lies in the next moment.
Lord knows that when I took the Sacramento job, I didn’t expect that I would be tracking down a serial killer, among other things. It was strange enough that the reason I was in Sacramento to begin with was that I was looking for a first gentleman who went missing, only to find out that his wife, the senior pastor, was a former porn star. But that’s neither here nor there. I consider myself lucky to come out of that whole ordeal.
I finish my lunch and drift off to sleep, listening to the waves crash the shore and the sound of tourists at play. I dream I am at church. I know it’s a dream because I’m wearing jeans, and I don’t think I even own a pair of jeans. The church is almost empty, but the presence of God is in full effect. I’m clapping to the music, which is another indication that I’m having a dream since I don’t clap or dance in church. I lack the aptitude to do either. The pulpit is empty, and I don’t see a preacher. Maybe the open pulpit is meant for me. I’m an ordained minister, but I don’t feel like one.
The sound of a horn wakes me from my sleep. I gather myself and recognize the culprit.
A fourteen foot boat name The Exodus pulls into the docks. I leave my book behind and start to walk toward the dock. It’s a short walk from the palm tree, where I was posted near the dock. The sun makes it difficult to walk barefooted on the sand. I walk along the shore so that the water can cool my feet. I arrive at the dock and up pops Sam Moses. Sam moved to the island after he retired from the water and power company. He now spends his days fishing and selling his catch to the local restaurants.
“Hey, Doc, I see you were napping,” Sam says.
“That didn’t stop you from waking me up.”
“You didn’t come here to sleep. You came here to take in the island and all of its fine pleasure. Here!” Sam hands me a cage filled with his catch, and I’m reluctant to take it. “Don’t be shy now, take them.”
“They seem less hostile at Red Lobster,” I say.
Inside the cage are four large lobsters that were plucked from the ocean. Sam sells these lobsters to the restaurants throughout the islands. He doesn’t turn a big profit. I hear it said that the Bahamas are the land of lost wealth. Many people come out to the island looking for wealth, something that they never find. I think going ou
t to sea gives him a sense of purpose. A man cannot survive without a sense of purpose.
“You should get a good price for these,” I say.
“Oh, these are not for sale. These bad boys are for us. Me, you, and the lovely Adele,” Sam says as he steps off the boat.
Adele is not only the woman who I am renting the house from while I am on the island, but she is also the object of Sam’s affection.
“I see you’re trying to get me caught up in this little coup you’ve staged for Adele,” I say.
“I just don’t want her to think that I’m trying to hit on her. I want her to think that it’s just a nice dinner between friends.”
From what I’ve been told, Sammy has been hitting on Adele since he came to the islands fifteen years ago. I’ve only known him for a few weeks, but we walk along shore like we’ve been friends for years.
“Did I ever tell you about the time I was in California?” Sam asks.
I shake my head, but in truth, Sam has told me this story every day since the time I met him, but Sam tells the story with so much enthusiasm that I just let him go on.
“The Dolphins were in the Super Bowl. Man, my boys just administered a beat down on Washington.”
“The final score was only fourteen to seven,” I say.
“Hush up, now, it’s my story. I let you tell your stories any way you want. Any who, I spent the rest of my time out in Hollywood driving around. You Californians are some strange folks. I saw things there that would make Sodom and Gomorrah blush.”
I chuckle at Sam’s story, and then take a right onto a trail that leads to a row of homes that sit on the beach.
“So when are you going back?” Sammy asks.
“I don’t know, some day, one day before I get used to this.” I extend my hand out to an empty blue sky.
“Some things you can never get used to,” Sam says. “I’ve been here fifteen years, and I am still awestruck on days like today.”