“I need to be assured the valet service has everything under control,” she said to one of three personal assistants in her bedroom suite. “Send for the man in charge and tell him I want a detailed description of the operations. I don’t want any mistakes.”
Samantha dictated every detail of the evening from the suite. The cooks were summoned three times for last-minute menu adjustments. The sound engineer had to make an appearance to allay her fears of a technical glitch during her speech. The head waiter spent an hour describing the finely choreographed routine of the platoon of servers.
“I need to go over the guest list again,” she said to another assistant.
“Yes, Pastor,” the highly efficient young woman said, rushing to Samantha’s side with an iPad in one hand and an iPhone in the other.
“Bill and Camille confirmed yesterday. Their plane arrives at three o’clock, and a driver will pick them up and bring them directly here. They’ve requested their usual room.”
“Have Camille’s favorite flowers in the room.”
“Already taken care of, Pastor.”
“Janet, Jennifer, and Chaka will be doing their sound checks this afternoon,” the assistant reported, proceeding efficiently. “Cars will be picking up the senator and her husband, the Richards, Diamond and Jerry Getty, Ms. Winfrey, Barry, and Anderson Vanderbilt at their hotels at exactly seven o’clock. The governor will arrive at seven thirty. His wife will arrive separately at seven forty-five. His security team has been fully briefed and arrived on the premises this morning. The mayor and his wife will arrive at seven. He has asked if he can say a few words at the party.”
“Tell him no.”
“Yes, Pastor,” she responded without question. “The delegation from Dubai arrived at the Beverly Hilton yesterday. They’ve requested ten private minutes with you this evening.”
“Tell them yes. Make sure the library is set up for it.”
“Yes, Pastor.”
“The prince and princess of Thailand’s private jet arrived as scheduled at LAX last evening. They have also requested a private audience.”
The assistant rattled off the list of three hundred guests and provided Samantha with the details of their individual care and handling. Samantha reacted with her usual dismissive tone as the names of the world’s richest and most famous inhabitants were read.
Throughout the day, Samantha left numerous messages on Jasmine’s cell phone.
“I’ve respected your wishes and did not send the car to pick you up,” was one such message. “Now I hope you will respect mine. Tonight is very important to me, and I expect you to be here. Everyone is going to be looking for you, so please do not disappoint me.”
There was no response.
“Are you all right, honey? I’m worried about you,” was another message. “Please don’t believe any of the lies I’m sure those two are telling you. Danny hated your father for not leaving me, and now he only wants to get even. He will do anything to destroy me.”
“Jasmine, honey, your gown just arrived,” was another of Samantha’s messages between party preparations. “It’s lovely, darling. You are going to look like a movie star. I picked out a few pieces for you that Tiffany sent over this morning. I think you’ll like them. Call me please.”
Gideon, Danny, and Jasmine each awoke that morning within minutes of each other. Gideon emerged from the master suite, Danny from one of the guest bedrooms, and Jasmine from another. They converged in the kitchen, where the only sounds were the gurgling of the coffeemaker and the clanging of mugs being removed from the rack.
“How did you sleep last night, Jasmine?” Danny finally asked, placing a steaming mug of coffee in front of her at the table. “I checked on you a few times, and you looked very peaceful.”
“I kept dreaming about Daddy,” she said groggily after a long sip of coffee. “He was standing in a stream, with water flowing around his ankles. It was sunny, and butterflies were everywhere. I was sitting on the bank, watching him. Then, suddenly, the water began to rise up to his waist, and it started moving faster and faster. The butterflies began to circle around his head, and the water began to carry him away.
“He kept calling my name and reaching out for me so that I could pull him out, but by then he was moving too fast down the stream. I ran as fast as I could and tried to grab his hand, but he . . . he just floated away, with the butterflies fluttering around him the entire way down the stream. He was looking directly at me the whole time and calling my name. . . .” Jasmine’s voice trailed off as she said those final words.
Gideon came over to her, placed his arm around her shoulder, and kissed the top of her head.
“I’m so sorry, Jasmine,” he said. “I can’t begin to imagine how difficult this has been for you.”
“I can,” Danny said, reaching across the table and cupping her hand. “Remember, I loved him too.”
“I know you did, Danny,” she said, looking in his eyes. “That’s the only good thing that has come out of this. At least I know he had love in his life before he died. I just feel so horrible. I wasn’t there when he needed me. I was too busy partying. He needed me, and I wasn’t there.”
“You were a kid, Jasmine, and you still are. It wasn’t your responsibility to save your father,” Gideon said gently.
“I know, but I can’t help but wonder if there was something I could have done.”
“Did you ever tell him you loved him?” Gideon asked.
“All the time,” Jasmine said as a tear fell from her eye. “Every time I saw him. He would kiss me on the forehead and say, ‘I love you, princess’ and I’d say, ‘I love you, Daddy.’”
“What more could anyone ask for than to know that they were loved? If we’re honest with ourselves, deep down, that’s all anyone really wants in life. And he was loved by you and Danny. He was a very lucky man, and I think he knew that.”
The three sat at the table in silence and nursed the mugs of coffee.
“I looked out the window earlier,” Gideon said, breaking the silence. “There are no reporters out there. Have you thought about what you’re going to do next? At some point you are going to have to speak to your mother.”
Jasmine released a long sigh. “She’s been calling me nonstop. She wants me there tonight, at the party.”
“I read about that,” Gideon said, retrieving the morning paper from the counter. “It’s here on the front page of the Style section.”
The headline jumped from the pages as Gideon sat the paper in front of her.
STAR-STUDDED BLACK-TIE EVENT MARKS OPENING OF GLASS CATHEDRAL.
“Are you planning on going?” Danny asked cautiously.
“I can’t. I’m afraid of what I might do when I see her,” was her painful reply.
“At some point you know you are going to have to see her face-to-face. Maybe with all those people around it will be less painful,” Danny said.
“Maybe,” she said hesitantly. “I can’t go alone, though. Will you come with me?”
Danny laughed until he saw the serious expression on her face. “You’re joking, right? I can’t go to your house. She’ll have me arrested.”
“I guess,” she said grudgingly. She then turned to Gideon. “Come with me, Gideon. I can’t face her alone. You’re the press. No one will question you being there, and even if they do, you’ll be with me.”
Gideon was cautious about appearing too eager to accept the invitation. His reporter’s skin tingled at the idea of being in the room with a killer, surrounded by some of the most wealthy people in the world. At the same time he was concerned about Jasmine’s well-being. He had seen how fragile she was over the past few days, and he was worried that she might do something she would later regret.
“Please, Gideon,” she said, interrupting his internal thought process. “I can’t stay here forever, and I can’t face her without someone I trust with me. I know it’s too dangerous for Danny. I think she actually would have him arrested, if she didn
’t have her security kill him first. She’s less likely to do anything to you because you’re almost as famous as she is.”
“She’s right, Gideon,” Danny said, chiming in.
“What are you planning on doing when you get there?” Gideon asked.
“I don’t know. I just want to make sure she gets exactly what she deserves,” Jasmine responded as she carefully avoided eye contact with either of the men. “I won’t know until I actually see her standing in front of me.”
Jasmine remembered where her mother had placed the gun that day. It was in the back of the top desk drawer in her office. The sight of her mother placing the gun there was seared in her brain. That would be the first place she would go when she returned home.
First, I’ll get the gun, she thought as Gideon and Danny hovered nearby. Then I’ll decide what I’m going to do to her.
Cynthia Pryce sat at her dining room table with the awakening city at her back. Her morning coffee grew tepid as she read the Style section of the Los Angeles Chronicle.
Reverend Samantha Cleaveland, pastor of New Testament Cathedral in Los Angeles, will host a star-studded gala at her Bel Air estate this evening. The event is to celebrate the completion of the new twenty-five-thousand-seat mega church.
The guest list includes many of the top names in entertainment, politics, business, and religion. For the past three days invitees have been arriving from around the world to celebrate this momentous occasion with Pastor Cleaveland and the members of her congregation.
Cynthia was uncharacteristically calm as she read the article. In the past, whenever she ready Samantha’s name in the newspaper or saw her face on television, her anger would get the best of her and cause her hands to shake and her eyes to twitch. Not this morning. She read quietly and with a steady hand as she turned the page.
The church has been rocked by a series of tragic deaths that began with the assassination of the founding pastor, Hezekiah Cleaveland. The church also lost Reverend Willie Mitchell, who committed suicide the day after Cleaveland was killed. Most recently the church’s attorney, David Shackelford, was killed in the home of noted CNN reporter Gideon Truman.
“The tragic deaths of my husband and these two anointed men of God has brought the members of our church closer to each other and closer to God,” Pastor Cleaveland said.
“I will not be deterred. These events have only served to make me stronger,” she said.
Percy entered the room and saw Cynthia reading the paper at the table. As he approached, he quickly gauged her mood.
“Good morning, darling,” he said, gently kissing her forehead. “What’s in the news today?”
“The usual,” she said, sipping her coffee. “War, mayhem, murder, and Samantha,” she added calmly. “There’s an entire article about the party tonight.”
“We don’t have to go if you don’t feel up to it,” Percy said carefully. “We can spend a quiet evening at home. They won’t even know we’re not there.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, looking up at him. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Besides, you’re the assistant pastor. What would it look like if you didn’t show up?”
“I don’t care about that. I care about you.”
“Don’t worry about me, darling. I’ll be fine.”
Percy gave her another kiss and said, “I’ll understand if you change your mind. I have to go to the church and give the lieutenant governor a private tour of the facility. He wasn’t important enough for Samantha, so they assigned him to me. I won’t be gone long.”
“Take your time. I’ll be fine,” she replied casually.
After Percy left the penthouse, Cynthia went to the bedroom and took her plastic-covered gown from the closet. It was an off-the-shoulder, formfitting red velvet dress by Elie Saab that cost Percy a large portion of his most recent paycheck. Dazzling red Venetian crystals outlined the plunging neckline. Cynthia draped her body with the dress and surveyed herself from head to toe in the mirror on the closet door.
“Gorgeous,” she said out loud and hung the dress on a hook in front of the mirror. She removed a beaded red clutch from a Louis Vuitton box on a closet shelf and placed it on the bed. She then reached for another box in the closet, on the top shelf, tucked behind a row of her colorful Sunday hats. The box was metal, and the handle clanked as she placed it next to the purse on the bed. She opened the box and removed an object that was wrapped in one of her silk scarves.
Cynthia slowly unraveled the scarf, and the Smith & Wesson 422 fell onto the bed, next to the clutch. Cynthia stood and stared at the gun, as if waiting for it to levitate and come to her hand. The flat, satiny steel finish deflected the light in the room, causing the gun to almost fade into the gray duvet.
“Cynthia!” Percy called suddenly as he approached the bedroom.
She quickly grabbed the revolver and placed it in the beaded clutch.
“I though you left. Why are you back?” she said when he entered the bedroom.
“I forgot my Bible,” he said, rushing to the nightstand. “I was reading last night and left it in here. Is that what you’re wearing tonight?” he said, pointing at the gown. “Do you think the neckline is a little . . . revealing?”
Cynthia ignored his question and took him by the arm. “You don’t want to keep the lieutenant governor waiting, darling,” she said, guiding him back to the door.
“Are you okay? You seem . . . preoccupied.”
“I’m fine, darling. Just thinking about how lovely the party will be this evening.”
Every time Scarlett thought of David lying on the silver slab, she doubled over from the pain in her stomach. The only thing that kept her from floating away in despair was the little pills, which reduced the grief to a low and persistent throbbing through her entire body.
Natalie was now on a flight to Detroit to spend a month with her godmother. Scarlett couldn’t find the words or the strength to tell her about the state of the man she called Daddy. She couldn’t find the strength to accept it herself.
Next week you can fall apart, she thought over and over again. After this is all over.
For now, she had unfinished business that had to be attended to if her world was ever to be tolerable again. She had accepted that she would never be fully alive again. The thought of happiness lay slowly rotting with David in the sterile room downtown. But there was one thing she could do to ease the torment. There was only one act that would, at the very least, give her the strength to take her next breath. And tonight was as good a time as any to do it.
Her dress was already laid out on the bed. It was an aqua Dolce & Gabbana floral lace gown that traced her figure to perfection. Each elegant twist and turn of her torso would be highlighted by the formfitting fabric, which flared at the knee, leaving a trail around the heels of her T-strap Fendi sandals. The dress cost more than she had ever paid for a garment, but David had insisted months earlier that she look her most radiant at the party at the Cleaveland estate.
Scarlett sat on the bed, next to the dress, and rested her hand on the delicate lace. I have to do this for . . . , she thought. For Hezekiah and for David.
She picked up the telephone and dialed.
“Do you have it?” she asked Cynthia.
“I do,” came Cynthia’s response. “What time are you arriving?”
“Seven thirty.”
“Are you sure you’ll be able to go through with it?”
“I . . . I’m . . .”
“You don’t sound sure. Honey, it’s the only way,” Cynthia said. “Someone has to do it. We don’t have a choice.”
“I’m just afraid I won’t be able to do it when the time comes,” Scarlett said. “I want to do it. I know it has to be done. I just don’t know if I’ll have the nerve once it’s time.”
Cynthia took a deep breath to contain the panic that was rising in her chest.
“Scarlett, just remember what she’s done to you. Think about how she killed Hezekiah. I know you lov
ed him, and she took him away from you. Think about poor David, lying dead, cold, and lifeless in that morgue. You’ll never be able to hear his voice again, thanks to her. You and Natalie are alone in the world with no one to love you, and it’s all because of her.”
Cynthia took another breath. Don’t overdo it, she thought. I don’t want to push her too far over the edge.
“If we don’t do this,” Cynthia continued, “who is she going to kill next? Scarlett, just think of the lives you’ll be saving. We’re doing God’s work.”
“I know you’re right. I want her dead more than anything in the world right now. Nothing gives me more pleasure than the idea that she will get exactly what she deserves, but I don’t know if I’m the person to do it.”
“What about your poor little beautiful daughter, Natalie?” Cynthia said, desperately playing her last card. “Samantha took both her fathers away. That woman has not only destroyed your life, but she has also destroyed Natalie’s. Did you ever think she might try to kill Natalie next? I personally think she would do anything to make sure that story never got out.”
An image of Natalie lying on that cold slab flashed into Scarlett’s mind. The picture served to buoy her resolve.
“I’ll be there with you the whole—” Cynthia continued, not realizing there was no further need for convincing.
“You are right,” Scarlett interrupted. “It has to be done.”
“Good girl,” Cynthia said. “I believe in you. Everything will go just fine. There’s nothing to worry about. By this time tomorrow the world will be a better place, because Samantha Cleaveland won’t be in it.”
Cynthia breathed a sigh of relief and continued. “When it’s done, come straight to me, and I’ll cover for you. Just act distraught, and I’ll run interference to give you time to compose yourself without raising any suspicions. I’ll show you the perfect spot to do it from. No one will see you, and you’ll be able to blend easily back in with the rest of the guests after it’s done. I’ll be waiting for you when you arrive. There’s a bathroom on the second floor, at the end of the hall. Meet me there at exactly eight o’clock, and I’ll give it to you.”
The Last Sunday Page 23
