“Good evening, my very special friends,” she called out, gently waving her diamond-wrapped wrists as she continued her descent. “Welcome to my home. Thank you, everyone, for coming. How lovely you all look tonight.”
At the foot of the stairs she was greeted with air kisses from everyone who had assembled at the base. As she worked her way through the crowd and into the living room, she received a flurry of comments.
“You look fabulous, Pastor Cleaveland.”
“Thank you so much for inviting us.”
“The cathedral is magnificent.”
“We are honored to be in your lovely home.”
“Hezekiah would be so proud.”
“Darling, who are you wearing?” several guests asked.
“Dior,” was her modest reply each time.
Victoria greeted her with an air kiss from one foot away. “Bitch, you look fierce,” she whispered into Samantha’s ear. “You should have killed that bastard years ago if this is how fabulous you look as a widow.”
“Thank you, darling,” Samantha replied, with every available tooth showing for the curious eyes around her. “Who are you wearing?”
“Versace, darling. That old queen might be dead, but he can still make me look like a diva.”
The two women exchanged a muted party laugh.
“You sure got a house full of rich motherfuckers here tonight,” Victoria said through a clenched smile, without moving her lips.
“And you better believe I’m going to squeeze every dollar I can out of every one of them,” Samantha said, leaning in close.
“Mr. Governor,” Samantha said, touching his arm as he walked past. “Have you met my dearest friend in the world, Victoria Johnson, the wife of Pastor Sylvester Johnson?”
“Yes, I’m very familiar with Mrs. Johnson and her husband. I don’t see him here. I hope he’s all right. He owes me a golf game. The last time we played, he cleaned up the course with me.”
“He’s just fine, Governor. He’s in Augusta this weekend. He hated missing this evening, but it couldn’t be avoided,” Victoria replied.
“Can I get you a drink, Mrs. Johnson?” the governor said as Samantha was pulled into an adjoining conversation.
“I thought you’d never ask, Governor,” Victoria said suggestively, taking his arm. “Are you alone tonight? I haven’t seen your wife.”
It was a glorious evening. The rich and beautiful were assembled under Samantha’s roof, and their wallets were within her grasp. Every flower was in a perfect state of bloom. Every champagne glass was in the right hand, and every morsel of food was prepared to perfection.
At 8:05 p.m. Cynthia made her way up the stairs and into the bathroom where Scarlett was waiting nervously.
“Where have you been?” Scarlett asked urgently. “It feels like I’ve been in here forever.”
“I had to wait until she came downstairs. I couldn’t risk running into her in the hallway. Now, listen closely. We only have a few minutes until she gives a toast at the top of the staircase in the foyer. Here’s the gun.” Cynthia handed Scarlett the revolver. “It’s very easy to use. Just take a deep breath, steady yourself, aim, and pull the trigger. Can you do that?”
“Yes.”
“There’s a flight of stairs halfway down this hall on the left that leads back down into the room just off the living room. Stand at the top of those stairs when you shoot.”
“Yes, I saw them,” Scarlett said intently.
“Samantha will be standing a few yards away from you at the top of the foyer staircase. Everyone will be below, in the foyer, so they won’t be able to see you. This is the important part. As soon as you shoot her, go down the stairs to the living room and then come to the foyer and stand with everyone else. I’ll be waiting for you at the entrance between the living room and foyer.”
“What do I do with the gun?”
“Sit the gun on the second landing of the stairs as you’re coming down. I’ve arranged for someone to pick it up and dispose of it for us.”
“Who?” Scarlett asked in a panic.
“I told you not to worry about that. They can be trusted. Now, as soon as you hear her speaking from the steps, come out of the bathroom, get into position, and do it. Do not wait. Understand?”
“Yes, I understand. Cynthia, are you sure this will work? Are you sure we can get away with it?”
“I’m positive. Nothing will go wrong. Trust me.”
With a champagne flute in one hand, Samantha made her way through the crowd, giving everyone no more than three minutes of face time.
At 8:10 p.m. she walked over to Hattie Williams, who was still sitting by the fireplace. She placed her glass on the table next to Hattie, bent down, and said, “Mother Williams, I’m so glad you came. You look lovely.”
“Thank you, Samantha,” was Hattie’s brief reply.
“I’m about to invite everyone into the foyer for a toast. I’m going to acknowledge you as a founding member.”
“That’s not necessary,” Hattie said coldly.
“I thought it appropriate since you are about to leave the board of trustees.”
“What do you mean? I’m not leaving the board.”
“Yes, you are, dear,” Samantha said, looking her directly in the eye. “Now that Hezekiah is no longer with us, there’s no reason for you to continue as a trustee. We need someone younger and with more business experience. I’m recommending that you be removed immediately. For your health. Are you able to stand long enough to join us for the toast?”
“No, Pastor, my knees won’t allow me to stand for that long tonight,” Hattie said calmly. “I’m going to stay here. I’ll be able to hear you just fine from here.”
“Very well, then, Mother.” Samantha stood and turned her back to Hattie. She raised her hand, a signal to stop the music.
“May I have everyone’s attention please,” she said over the multiple conversations. “Would you all be kind enough to join me in the foyer for a toast?”
Samantha retrieved her glass of champagne from the table next to Hattie and proceeded to the foyer, with the crowd following close behind.
When everyone was assembled, she walked to the top of the stairs and looked down on the sea of diamonds, bow ties, and face-lifts.
“Tonight is the culmination of five years of work to build one of the most beautiful churches in the world.”
The crowd applauded.
“None of this could have been accomplished without the love, support, and prayers of everyone in this room. You all made it a reality, and for this I thank you. The evening is a mix of joy and sorrow for me. Tomorrow we will hold the first morning service in the new cathedral.”
Again the audience applauded.
“The joy comes from knowing that twenty-five thousand people will be assembled to hear the word of God preached and millions more will be watching around the world on television. My sorrow comes from knowing that my dear departed husband will not be standing by my side in the pulpit. I know his spirit is with me, though, and he’s looking down from heaven right now and seeing that something he had dreamed of for years has come to fruition.”
Samantha raised her glass above her head and said, “Would you all please raise your glasses with me in a toast to my husband, the late, great Pastor Hezekiah Cleaveland.”
Crystal glasses were hoisted throughout the foyer. “To Pastor Hezekiah Cleaveland!” came the loud chorus as Samantha took a sip from her champagne glass.
Scarlett stood in position, with the gun aimed directly at the back of Samantha’s head. She closed her eyes and, with a trembling hand, slowly applied pressure to the trigger.
Suddenly a bang echoed through the room. Samantha froze in place and looked down on the crowd with bulging eyes. She released the crystal flute sending it crashing into pieces down the marble stairs. The crowd was filled with stunned and confused faces. Samantha stumbled forward onto the first step, then the second. She grabbed her chest and began to despera
tely gasp for air. On the third step, she collapsed onto the stairs and, as if in slow motion, tumbled head over foot the entire length of the staircase, until she crashed on the marble floor at the feet of her well-heeled guests. She landed in a jumbled pile of organza, satin, and diamonds. Her eyes were wide open and pointing directly at her prized Picasso.
The first loud shriek was then heard. It was followed by screams from every corner of the room. Scarlett ran immediately down the hallway stairs. She dropped the gun on the first landing and continued down to the main floor, racing into a small room off the living room. As she turned the corner, she found herself standing face-to-face with Etta Washington.
Scarlett froze like a deer caught in headlights as their eyes met.
“Don’t stop, Mrs. Shackelford,” Etta whispered urgently. “Go through the living room there and get to the foyer. You don’t have much time. I’ll take care of the gun.”
Scarlett thanked Etta with her eyes and darted through the door and into the living room. She ran so fast through the room, she didn’t notice Hattie Williams watching her from the chair near the fireplace.
By the time she reached the foyer, the room was in full panic mode. People were running out the front door to their limousines. Women were crying hysterically, and seven security guards had surrounded Samantha’s body, their guns fully cocked and pointing into the frantic crowd.
Trembling, Scarlett clutched Cynthia’s hand. “I did it. It’s over,” she whispered, crying into her shoulder. “It’s over. She can’t hurt me or my baby anymore.”
Cynthia placed her hand over Scarlett’s quivering mouth and quickly walked her back into the living room. Hattie sat calmly by the fireplace, watching the two women as they huddled, whispering, in the corner. She clutched her purse in her lap. When they finally noticed Hattie, Cynthia sat Scarlett in a chair and quickly walked the length of the room to her.
“Are you all right, Mother?” Cynthia asked, kneeling in front of her. “I’m afraid something terrible has happened. Samantha has been killed.”
“I know, baby. I saw the whole thing.”
Cynthia looked puzzled. “But how . . . how could you have seen it from here?” she asked suspiciously.
“I see more than you could ever imagine. Now, go back to Scarlett, Mrs. Pryce. She needs you now more than I do,” was Hattie’s simple reply.
Gideon spotted Jasmine standing near the front door in the foyer. She was staring blankly across the room at the lifeless body of her mother at the foot of the stairs. He quickly made his way to her, hurdling over a woman who had fainted in the melee and around men shielding their crying companions in their arms. Two security guns followed him as he dashed across the room.
“Jasmine,” he said, clutching her and gathering her into in his arms. “My God, honey, please tell me you didn’t do this.”
She collapsed, crying hysterically, into his arms, unable to speak. As she pressed her body against his, he felt the heavy weight of metal against his hip. He reached into her jacket pocket and traced the outline of the gun.
“Oh, Jasmine, no!” he cried.
Suddenly he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Truman, we have to get her out of here quickly.”
When Gideon turned around, he found himself standing eye to eye with a security guard whose gun was raised at face level.
“Please follow me,” the guard said.
Gideon bundled Jasmine under his arm and pressed the gun between them with his body. They followed the guard out the front door to the steps.
“I’ll take her to my home,” Gideon said to the man. “She’ll be safe there.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, sir. She will have to come with me. A secure location was set up two blocks away in the event of an emergency such as this.”
“No!” Jasmine screamed, clutching Gideon’s body. “I’m going to Gideon’s. Gideon, please take me with you. I don’t want to be anywhere near this place.”
“Miss Cleaveland, you’ll be much safer if you come with me,” the security guard said authoritatively.
“No!” she screamed again. “Let’s go, Gideon. I want to leave now.”
“Sir, my car is right over there,” Gideon said, pointing to his vehicle. “You can send someone to my home and station them outside. My address is five-forty-three Hollow Point Road. Now, please call the gate and tell them to let us out. Thank you.”
With that Gideon whisked Jasmine to his car, carefully securing the gun between their bodies. He quickly helped her into the passenger seat and sped toward the gate. The iron bars slide open as he approached. Gideon swerved the car onto the road and sped down the dark hill.
“Give me the gun,” he said, firmly extending his hand.
Jasmine did not move or respond.
“Give me the gun!” he yelled.
Jasmine removed the gun from her jacket pocket with a trembling hand and placed it in his open palm. Gideon rolled down his window and hurled the warm gun into the dense trees and foliage of the canyon thousands of feet below, where it would never be seen again.
Chapter 14
The police car blocked the gate at New Testament Cathedral on Sunday morning. Thousands of mourners stood weeping at the eight-foot fences and along the streets surrounding the campus. A carpet of flowers covered the sidewalks, and reporters scrambled for sound bites among the crowds.
“The world is in shock this morning over the death of Pastor Samantha Cleaveland,” announced a news anchor on one of the major networks. “Police have not released the cause of death, but witnesses at the star-studded party she hosted at her estate in Bel Air are saying she was shot.”
The camera cut to a visibly shaken woman who had been interviewed the evening before. “She was giving a lovely toast to her husband when all of a sudden I heard a loud pop. She started to gasp for air and grab her chest. The next thing I knew, she was rolling down the steps and landed right at my feet.” The woman dabbed her eye with a silk handkerchief. “It was just horrible.”
The camera cut back to the anchor. “The evening was to mark the opening of her new church in Los Angeles. But today the sanctuary doors are locked, and the members of New Testament Cathedral are in mourning.”
Cynthia Pryce watched the news from her bed. Percy sat at the foot, staring at the screen in disbelief.
“Are you okay, honey?” Cynthia asked, placing her hand on his shoulder.
He did not respond.
“I suppose this means you’ll have to step in as pastor until the trustees decide what to do.”
Percy turned to her sharply. “How can you even be thinking about that right now? Are you that unfeeling? Did you really hate her that much that you can’t even pretend to be upset by this?”
“You know exactly how I felt about her,” she replied coldly.
“You hated her.” He looked directly in her eyes. “Did you hate her enough to kill her?”
Cynthia sat back dismissively. “What are you talking about? I was standing next to you when it happened.”
“You know exactly what I mean. Were you in any way involved in her death?”
“They kept us there until three in the morning,” Cynthia said, standing abruptly from the bed. “I’m too tired to have this conversation with you.”
Percy grabbed her arm and yanked her back to the bed. “Answer me, Cynthia. Did you have anything to do with this?”
“No!” she yelled, jerking her arm free. “You know I could have, but I didn’t. We should thank whoever did it, though. She got exactly what she deserved.”
“You disgust me,” Percy said, standing. “I don’t know who you are anymore, Cynthia. Jealousy has turned you into a heartless woman, and I can’t stand it anymore.”
Percy stood and walked out of the room. Cynthia followed close behind him.
“It’s over now, Percy. Don’t you see? Now we can have everything we’ve ever wanted. They’ll have to install you as pastor.”
“You mean, everything
you have ever wanted,” he said, walking through the hall into the living room. “I’ve never wanted to be pastor, and even if they did ask me, I would turn it down.”
Cynthia froze when she heard those words. By now Percy was in the kitchen, filling a coffee decanter with water from the sink. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she blurted, bursting into the room. “Do you know what I had to do to make you pastor?”
Percy slammed the decanter to the floor, sending glass and water splashing in every direction. “I know you tried to destroy Hezekiah with those e-mails. I know you fucked Lance Savage in the backseat of my fucking Mercedes to get him to run the story. What else did you do?” he asked, sprinting across the kitchen and grabbing her shoulders violently. “Tell me! Did you kill her?”
“No!” she shrieked. “I told you I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“You’re lying.” Percy raised his hand and slapped her hard on the cheek. Cynthia’s body slammed against the marble island and fell to the floor. “You’re lying, you horrible bitch! You killed her! I know you did!” Percy shouted as he continued to level a series of powerful slaps at her while she tried in vain to shield her face.
Percy raised his hand one last time and froze. He watched as she scampered for safety under the island. He looked up at his hand and saw trickles of her blood running down his wrist. Percy stood still and looked down on her bloody face. “If you did it, then you did it for nothing. I will never be pastor, and you will never be first lady.”
“You’re no better, you fucking murderer!” she screamed as he walked out of the kitchen. “You killed Lance Savage, but you didn’t have the brains to handle Samantha. I did it all for you! I swear, Percy, if you don’t accept the pastorship, I’ll tell the police everything!” she howled. “I’ll tell them you killed Lance Savage! I mean it!”
Her final words were pounding in his head when he slammed the bedroom door. The horrible reality of his life battered his body even harder than the blows he had delivered moments earlier. Percy frantically paced the length and width of the room like a caged animal desperate to escape. Moments passed, and his pace gradually slowed as he found it more and more difficult to propel his body through the room.
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