“That’s not unusual. She frightens everyone,” Jasmine replied coldly. “She frightens me too, and I’ve known her my entire life.”
“I didn’t mean it in a scary way. I meant I’m usually a good judge of a person’s character,” Gideon said, proceeding with caution. “I couldn’t get a read on just what exactly she is capable of or willing to do to get whatever it is she might want.”
“I know what she’s capable of, “Jasmine said with a distant look in her eyes. “I think she killed my father.”
“What makes you say that?” he asked casually.
“She hated him. I saw her with a gun the other day.”
“Did you ask her about it?”
“Yes. She denied everything and told me to never mention it again. She must have freaked out when Daddy told her about Danny. Now I know she thinks she had a good reason to kill him.”
Danny returned to the room and quietly sat back down on the couch. He had heard their entire conversation from the kitchen.
“There’s something I didn’t tell the police,” Jasmine said, ignoring his return. “I know the man who was here. He goes to the church, and I’ve seen him at the house a few times since my father died. I think my mother sent him here to kill you, Danny.”
“Do you actually think your mother is capable of murder?” Gideon asked, casting caution aside.
“Do you think it’s a coincidence that he broke into your house with a gun?” she asked.
“I knew him too,” Danny finally said.
“From where?” both Jasmine and Gideon asked simultaneously.
Danny fumbled with the now tepid mug of tea. “He tried to kill me before. Gideon, he was the man who attacked me.”
“Why didn’t you tell the police?” Gideon asked angrily.
“I couldn’t, and you already know why—”
“I don’t know why,” Jasmine interrupted.
Danny stood again and began to pace the floor.
“Tell her, Danny. She’s been honest with us. We have to be honest with her.”
“Jasmine, I very embarrassed to say this, but I tried to blackmail you mother. I was afraid and confused after your father was killed, and I thought she would try to do something to me next,” Danny said in a nervous rant. “I was going to use the money to leave the country and disappear. It was stupid and wrong, but I didn’t know what else to do at the time.”
“It looks like you were right,” Jasmine said, pulling the blanket tighter around her. “And if she thinks you know about any of this, Gideon, then you are in as much danger as Danny. I don’t think she’s done with you. When my mother starts something, she sticks with it until it’s finished to her satisfaction. She never backs down—”
The conversation was interrupted by Gideon’s telephone ringing in his pocket. “This is Gideon Truman,” he answered.
“Mr. Truman, This is Pastor Samantha Cleaveland. I’m watching the news. You are on every channel. Are you okay?”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Pastor Cleaveland,” Gideon said, looking at Jasmine and then at Danny, “but I’m fine, and so is Danny St. John, no thanks to you.”
Both Jasmine and Danny sat erect on the couch. Jasmine gestured to Gideon not to say she was in the house.
“I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Truman. I’m just calling to tell you I’m praying for you.”
Gideon decided all bets were off at that point. Jasmine was in his home, Danny’s life and his own life had almost been taken away, and the woman responsible for it was on his phone.
“Did you notice that the man you sent here was taken out in a body bag?” Gideon pressed the speaker button on the phone and placed it on the coffee table in front of Jasmine and Danny.
“I doesn’t matter that this one failed,” Samantha said, her voice filling the room. “Trust me, there’ll be another one coming for you soon, and another and another, until the job is complete.”
Jasmine cupped her trembling hand over her mouth to muffle her cries.
“What do you mean?” Gideon asked, goading her.
“It means that I took care of my husband, so you must know I now have to take care of you and his handsome young lover. Hello, Danny. I assume you are listening to this conversation.”
“You can’t believe you can get away with killing us without anyone knowing,” Danny said timidly.
“You’d be surprised at just how much I’ve gotten away with over the years, Danny. Eliminating you will be easy compared to some of the things I’ve had to do in my life.”
Danny took the now trembling Jasmine into his arms. She buried her face in his chest to muffle her sobbing.
“What makes you think we won’t go to the police with what we know?” Gideon asked calmly.
“Oh, I know you won’t,” she replied smugly. “Because if it comes out that Danny was Hezekiah’s jilted lover, he becomes the prime suspect in his murder. Danny, I forget to mention to you that I have a recording of you blackmailing me. If the police learn that you actually met David Shackelford before tonight, and under such incriminating circumstances, they’ll easily come to the conclusion that you killed him to cover up the fact that you were trying to blackmail me. If they put me on the stand as a witness for the prosecution, my performance will be so convincing, you will most likely get the death penalty. When it all comes down to it, it will be your word against mine. Who do you think they’ll believe, Danny? You or me?”
“Mother, how could you do this!” Jasmine finally blurted out uncontrollably. “You’ll never get away with this.”
“Jasmine?” Samantha said in shock. “Is that you? What are you doing there? Leave that house immediately. You are in danger. Those men killed your father. Leave there now.”
“I heard everything, Mother,” Jasmine shrieked. “I know you killed Daddy, and I know you sent David Shackelford here to kill them.”
“Jasmine, I was just saying those things to scare them into leaving us alone. They’ve been threatening me since the day they killed your father. Danny claims he was having an affair with your father. He’s defiling the memory of your father. He’s nothing more than a deadly opportunist. Did he tell you he tried to extort two million dollars from me? They’re cold-blooded killers and thieves. I want you to get out of there now. If you two harm my daughter in any way, I’ll kill you both myself.”
“Stop it, Mother!” Jasmine yelled and lunged at the telephone on the table. “I can’t take your lies anymore.” She disconnected the line and threw the cell phone across the room.
The phone rang immediately as Gideon and Danny sat on the couch, Jasmine crying hysterically in their arms. The three stayed huddled together for as long as it took for Jasmine’s tears to fade into gentle sobs and the sobs to melt into painful contemplation, the telephone continuing to ring the entire time.
Chapter 12
The day that had cost millions of dollars, four lives, public humiliation for many in Samantha’s orbit, lost love, emotional meltdowns, divorce, and destroyed reputations was now only two days away. The eyes of the world were preparing to focus on the first Sunday morning service in the new sanctuary. Samantha and an army of A-list entertainment industry publicists had successfully spun the completion of construction into a worldwide event.
News networks across the country featured it as their opening story for the entire week. Samantha was interviewed on The View, Ellen, The Steve Harvey Show, Jimmy Kimmel Live!, Conan, Good Morning America, and The Today Show. A flock of helicopters buzzed the campus daily for the perfect aerial images of the cathedral, and a steady flow of news vans clogged the streets.
A month of events, which included black-tie dinners, prayer breakfasts, VIP tours of the campus, and a series of live broadcasts of the finishing touches being put on the cathedral, was scheduled to culminate with a star-studded black-tie affair at the Cleaveland estate. Samantha’s gown for the evening had already been flown in from Paris, and the shoes were on a private jet from Rome and were scheduled to arriv
e at any minute. The jewelry to be worn that evening had been delivered in an armored car directly from Cartier on Rodeo Drive.
The estate had been filled the entire week with caterers and waitstaff crews rehearsing every choreographed step and the placement of every champagne glass and utensil. Groundskeepers had laid fresh grass, planted fields of flowers, and pruned trees to perfection. Security teams had combed the grounds for any possible breaches and had placed cameras discreetly in bushes, in chandeliers, behind paintings, and in other undetectable locations in every room of the mansion. No chances were to be taken with the security of Pastor Cleaveland and her guests.
Samantha paced the floor of her office, repeatedly pressing REDIAL on her cell phone.
“This is Gideon Truman,” said the recorded message over and over. “Please leave your name, number, and a detailed message, and I’ll return your call as soon as possible.”
“Damn it, Gideon,” Samantha snapped into the phone after the fifth try. “You’re fucking with the wrong person. You better get my daughter out of your house, or I’ll come there myself to get her. And believe me, you don’t want to see me at your door.”
“Jasmine, have you left the house yet?” Samantha said after dialing her daughter and hearing the recorded message. “Call me as soon as you get this message. I’m worried about you. Mommy loves you, honey. Come home so we can talk about this.”
Samantha slammed the phone down on her desk and walked to the window. For the first time since her husband’s death, something had not gone as planned. Fucking idiot, she thought while looking scornfully down at the scrambling ants on her property below. I should have never trusted him with a job this important. He probably had a goddamned panic attack and shot his own bumbling ass by accident. Now what am I going to do?
Even Samantha could see this had all the elements of a disaster. Her bravado earlier, during the call to Gideon, was only a cover for the fear that was steadily rising from her core. She had committed the perfect murder and had driven her unwitting accomplice, the Reverend Willie Mitchell, to suicide, thereby eliminating any link between her and Hezekiah’s assassination. Everything was perfect until that little shit, Danny, got greedy, she thought. I’ve got to keep them at bay at least until after Sunday. I’ll take care of them myself once and for all after that.
Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by her assistant’s voice on the intercom. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Pastor . . . ,” she said.
“Didn’t I tell you I don’t want to be disturbed?” Samantha yelled from the window.
“Yes, Pastor Cleaveland,” came the apologetic reply. “But I thought you would want to take this call. It’s the White House. The president would like to speak to you.”
Samantha darted to the desk, snatched up the receiver, and snapped, “Put him through.”
“Samantha dear, how are you holding up? Every time I turn on the television, I see your beautiful face. I wish my spin doctors were as good as yours.”
“Hello, Mr. President. How nice of you to call. It’s been a busy week, but everything seems to be falling into place.”
“With you in charge I never had any doubt. How is Jasmine? We heard she completed the rehab program a few weeks ago. I hope she’s doing better.”
“Thank you, Mr. President. She’s doing much better now. With the help of God, I’m praying all that is behind us now.”
“Look, my dear, I’m afraid Carol and I won’t be able to make the opening this Sunday, after all, and I wanted to let you know myself. This damn fiscal crisis is making my life a living hell, and I have to stay close to Washington these days. I hope you understand.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that, but of course, I understand.”
“I promise Carol and I will come out as soon as things settle down here, and we’ll spend some quality time together.”
“I would enjoy that, and of course, I expect you to stay at the estate. Whenever you have time, just have your people call and we’ll make all the necessary arrangements.”
“I would love that. Even if Carol isn’t able to make it, I . . .” The commander in chief’s voice shifted to a whisper. “I would love to see you again. I’ve thought about you a lot since our last time together.”
“I’ve thought about you as well,” Samantha replied coyly. “I always enjoy spending time with you . . . with or without Carol.”
“Good. Then it’s settled,” he said, returning to his presidential tone. “I’ll get the folks here working on it right now. Please give my love to Jasmine, and best of luck on Sunday. We’ll be praying for you and watching it all live here at the White House.”
“Thank you, Mr. President, and please send Carol my love.”
Samantha hung up the phone and returned to the window. The call vanished from her mind in the time it took to walk back to the crystal pane.
The gawkers were still milling around, the helicopters were still whirling overhead, and the cameras were still rolling. “You’re not going to ruin this for me, Danny St. John,” she said out loud. “I’ll spit on your grave before I let that happen.”
“This just in. The man killed in the home of newscaster Gideon Truman has been identified as Los Angeles attorney David Shackelford,” said the anchor on the evening news. “We’re going to take you live to our field reporter Kevin Spencer, who is at the scene now.”
A picture of Gideon’s home flashed on the television screen. “Kevin, what else have we learned about David Shackelford and the circumstances surrounding his death?” inquired the anchor.
“Well, as you just said, the police have confirmed the identity of the victim as being David Shackelford of Los Angeles,” said the reporter, who was standing on the sidewalk in front of Gideon’s house. “Mr. Shackelford was forty-five years old and a partner with the law firm of Shwartz, Nichols, and Pincus in Century City. Shackelford is survived by his wife and a five-year-old daughter. We’ve tried to reach Mrs. Shackelford at her home, but no one is answering the telephone or the door. We spoke earlier with a representative from Shackelford’s law firm, and he had this to say.”
The screen cut to a distinguished man with gray temples who was standing at a reception counter, in front of a bronze sign that read SHWARTZ, NICHOLS, AND PINCUS, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. “We are shocked and saddened by the news of our colleague’s death. At this time we have no details concerning the circumstances under which he was killed, and are cooperating with the police as they investigate the cause of his death.”
“Have you spoken with his wife?” asked the reporter, standing next to him.
“Unfortunately, all our efforts to reach Mrs. Shackelford have been unsuccessful. We will, of course, continue to reach out to her and her daughter and do all that we can to assist her through this difficult time.”
Kevin Spencer appeared on the screen again, in front of Gideon’s home. “We understand from the police that Mr. Truman is currently in the home, along with possibly two others, whose identity we do not know at this time. All attempts to speak with Mr. Truman have been unsuccessful. Just to recap, the body of Attorney David Shackelford was found in the home of CNN reporter Gideon Truman in the early morning hours. Neighbors reported hearing a gunshot and called the police. The police are not providing a lot of information at this time, but they have told us that it appears to be a home invasion that went horribly, horribly wrong and resulted in the death of one man. There is an ironic twist to this story. Mr. Shackelford was a member of New Testament Cathedral here in Los Angeles, which has been in the news a lot this past month. They are celebrating the opening of a new twenty-five-thousand-seat church this Sunday. Truly a sad way to mark what should have been a joyous occasion for Pastor Samantha Cleaveland and the members of that congregation. I’m Kevin Spencer. Back to you in the studio.”
“Kevin,” said the studio anchor, “before you go, do we have any idea what Mr. Shackelford was doing in the house at that hour?”
“The police aren’t saying much. The only thin
g we know is all signs point to a home invasion.”
Scarlett sat alone in her dark bedroom as the news about the death of her husband played on the wall directly in front of her bed. She had screamed uncontrollably for almost thirty minutes after the police arrived that morning to inform her that David had been killed. She could provide them with no clues as to why her husband would break into Gideon Truman’s home other than to say, “I know it had something to do with her.”
“Her who, ma’am?” had been the question from the female constable.
“Samantha Cleaveland. She killed him.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Shackelford, but what reason would Samantha Cleaveland have for killing your husband?”
“I don’t know, but I know she did it.”
“Ma’am,” came the officer’s gentle reply, “Pastor Cleaveland was not in the home at the time of your husband’s death. Also, he brought the gun into the house, and the only prints on the gun were his and those of one of the intended victims. I’m afraid all the evidence leads us to conclude that your husband broke into the home with the intent of killing Gideon Truman.”
“I don’t care what the evidence points to!” Scarlett screamed hysterically. “She did it. She killed my husband!”
The officer gently touched Scarlett’s shoulder in an attempt to calm her down, but Scarlett was inconsolable.
“Mrs. Shackelford, I know this is difficult, but I’m going to have to ask you to come with me to identify the body. Is there someone you can call to come with you? A family member, friend, or a neighbor?”
“No, I don’t have anyone. I told him something terrible was going to happen,” Scarlett said, rambling. “But he wouldn’t listen. He just wouldn’t listen to me.”
It was now after six o’clock in the evening. Scarlett had not left the house the entire day, other than for the brief moments she had spent at the morgue, standing over the lifeless body of her husband. He’d been wearing the same clothes he had on the day before. He hadn’t come home that evening, and now she knew why. He was in the process of being murdered by Samantha. Scarlett had leaned over his body, stretched out on the cold silver slab, and had gently kissed his cheek. She’d whispered, “I won’t let her get away with this. I promise you, darling. I won’t let her get away with it.” Her tear-drenched hand had covered his as the police officer gently pulled her away and escorted her, quivering, from the room.
The Last Sunday Page 21
