“Yeah,” Hosea continued, “I couldn’t figure it out. I told her it was for business, but she seemed really shook up. What’s up with that?”
“I don’t know. You know how Mae Frances is. It’s probably just because I didn’t tell her I was leaving,” Jasmine said, before she fell onto the bed. She never had to worry about Mae Frances saying a word to Hosea. Her friend wouldn’t give her up for anything, so Jasmine didn’t have to worry about Hosea finding out about what she’d done to Rachel.
But Jasmine did miss her friend. Mae Frances knew everybody and everything. And right now, Jasmine could use some of her friend’s knowledge.
“I’ll call Mae Frances and settle her down,” Jasmine said, not sure if she was lying or not. She wanted to call her friend, but she didn’t want to hear what Mae Frances had to say.
“Do that. I love you, darlin’.”
“I love you, too, babe,” she said, then clicked off her cell. She tossed the phone onto the bed beside her, then glanced around the bedroom section of the suite. She couldn’t believe she was back here at the Omni, one of her favorite places to stay in Chicago. But not even the luxury of this four-star, all-suites, Oprah-favorite hotel could take the edge off the fear that was simmering inside of her.
This had begun as just a little ploy to get back the American Baptist Coalition position that rightfully belonged to her . . . and Hosea, of course. But now, she felt like she was in the middle of some James Bond saga. What bothered Rachel the most was not knowing how those thugs had found out that she was in Chicago. But what had Jasmine on edge was thugs were involved in this at all! Her instincts told Jasmine to get on a plane and head back to New York. Let Rachel handle this, and if the thugs came for Jasmine, at least she’d have the protection of Hosea and Mae Frances.
But there was something inside Jasmine that just would not let her quit. A feeling inside that told her there was so much more to this story and she might be onto something big.
She glanced at her phone, once again wanting to call Mae Frances, but knowing that she couldn’t. Mae Frances would probably get on a plane and try to drag her back to New York. But how could she leave Rachel out there like that, when she could very well be part of the reason Rachel was in this mess?
Jasmine was grateful for the knock on the door; at least now she and Rachel would be able to take some action instead of sitting around thinking about this.
She opened the door, and Rachel stepped inside quickly, glancing back over her shoulder as if she was being chased.
“So, are you settled in?” Jasmine asked as if this was just another ordinary day.
“Yeah.” Rachel walked around the front room of the suite, checking the wide open space for anything that was hidden. “I called Lester and told him the story that we’d come up with.” Stopping and looking at Jasmine, she added, “He wanted to know when I was coming home. I do have small children, you know.”
Jasmine’s eyebrows arched. “As if I don’t.”
“Oh, yeah,” Rachel said. “I keep forgetting that ’cause you’re so much older than me.”
Jasmine folded her arms.
“I don’t mean anything by that. I’m just sayin’ I forget sometimes.” Rachel lowered herself onto the couch. “So, what exactly are we going to do? And really, why are we going to do it?”
“Why?”
“Yeah, why.” Rachel ran her hands up and down her arms as if she were cold. “ ’Cause I’ve been thinking. Why are we doing this? Why don’t we just go home and pretend like none of this ever happened?”
“So you really think going home will make this all go away?”
“I don’t know,” Rachel said as she stood up once again. As she paced, she added, “Going home can’t be any worse than staying here.”
“I’m not sure about that,” Jasmine said, her eyes following Rachel as she moved. “Suppose you leave and suppose the thugs follow you. And suppose they follow you home, to your husband . . . and your children.”
Rachel stopped walking and it looked as if she’d stopped breathing. “My children?”
Rachel’s tears were instant and Jasmine regretted her words. “I’m not saying that will happen,” she said quickly. “I’m just trying to get you to see all sides. And there is a side that could affect your children.”
Rachel covered her mouth.
Jasmine added, “That’s why we’ve got to stay here, for just a few more days. We’ll find out what we can and maybe we’ll have enough answers so that we can go to the police and get them to stop looking for you.”
“Where are we gonna look for answers?” Rachel cried. “It’s not like we know anyone in Chicago.”
“Actually, we do. We know Yvette.”
Rachel frowned. “Yvette? What can she possibly tell us? She’s just a publicist.”
“She’s from Chicago, she knew Pastor Griffith, and she might have heard something by now. Like you said, she’s a publicist and those people always have their ears to the ground. They know everything that’s going on around them.”
“Are we gonna tell her what’s going on?”
Jasmine shrugged as she grabbed her jacket. “I’m not sure. Let’s see what she says and then we can decide if we should bring her in to help us.”
Even as Jasmine moved toward the door, Rachel stood stiffly in her place. “Jasmine, are you trying to set me up?”
She released a long sigh. “No, Rachel. If I wanted you to go to jail or get in any kind of trouble for this, I would already be on a plane to New York.” When Rachel’s lips twisted in doubt, Jasmine added, “Look. We’re gonna have to trust each other and work together from this point on or nothing will get accomplished.”
Still Rachel did not move. “Let me ask you something.”
“What?”
“Why do you want to help me? You don’t even like me.”
“Well, that’s true.” In an instant, so much went through Jasmine’s mind: the fights that she’d had with Rachel as they fought for the presidency of the ABC and the battles they’d had ever since the Oprah fiasco. But what was stuck at the front of Jasmine’s thoughts was the letter that she’d sent Rachel and the guilt that was attached to that. She knew that somehow that letter had something to do with this. She’d sent the letter and now Rachel was in trouble that was beyond what Jasmine had intended.
But of course, Jasmine said none of these things. She said, “I want to help because I know you didn’t kill Pastor Griffith. And I’d like to think that if this was turned around, you’d do the same thing for me.”
It took a moment, but Rachel finally swung her purse over her shoulder and marched out of the room. With a shake of her head, Jasmine followed her.
The GPS unit led the two straight to Yvette’s condo and Jasmine was surprised and pleased to find out that their publicist lived just a few blocks away from Pastor Griffith. It was already after ten, so the last thing she wanted was to be roaming around Chicago late at night.
This close proximity might give Yvette an edge that she didn’t even know that she had. Jasmine had never asked Yvette, but maybe she and Pastor Griffith crossed paths beyond the ABC, maybe she even attended Pastor Griffith’s church, maybe they’d been to social functions together.
“So tell me,” Rachel began as they stepped into the high-rise building. “What exactly are we going to say to Yvette? What exactly is the plan?”
Inside, Jasmine screamed. This was Rachel’s drama, yet she was the one doing all the mental work. What Jasmine wanted to say to Rachel was, “Why don’t you come up with a plan for once?” But since she knew that Rachel was hanging on by an unraveling emotional string, and Jasmine was trying to be a kinder, gentler friend, she only said to Rachel, “I don’t know exactly. It’ll depend on how receptive Yvette is; just follow my lead.”
Rachel nodded as she followed Jasmine into the building and stepped through the glass doors.
A huge cherrywood desk sat in the middle of the lobby and the woman behind it greeted
them with a smile. The woman put down the book she’d been reading as Jasmine and Rachel moved past her as if they knew where they were going.
“Uh . . . good evening, ladies, how may I help you?” the woman called out to them.
“Oh, we’re fine,” Jasmine said, not stopping. “We know where we’re going.”
But before Jasmine and Rachel could even make it to the elevator, the woman was at their side.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t just go up. All guests have to sign in and then I have to call the resident.”
“Oh,” Jasmine said lightly as she waved her hand. “That’s okay. Yvette is expecting us.”
The woman never lost her smile as she said, “I’m sorry. But those are the rules. And,” she leaned closer to Jasmine as she lowered her voice, “you wouldn’t want me to lose my job, would you?”
Inside, Jasmine sighed. Her goal had been to get to Yvette’s apartment undetected by anyone. What had just happened to Rachel had her paranoid and Jasmine wanted as few people in Chicago as possible to see her face and know her name.
Still, she followed the woman back to the desk. As she glanced down to sign the guest book, Jasmine noticed the book the woman had been reading.
Jasmine only had an instant to decide how to handle this, then she asked, “Are you enjoying the book?”
The woman smiled. “Oh, yes. Pastor Bush is one of my favorite TV evangelists.”
“He’s one of mine, too.” Then, coyly, she added, “He’s my husband.”
Jasmine didn’t think it was possible for the woman’s smile to spread any wider. “You’re kidding?” She turned to Rachel. “She’s kidding, right?”
Both Jasmine and Rachel shook their heads.
“Oh, my God . . . I love him!”
Jasmine laughed. “So do I.”
The middle-aged woman blushed like she was a teenager. “I didn’t mean it like that.” She lowered her eyes and turned the book over to Hosea’s picture on the back. “But honey, if I was twenty years younger.” She giggled, then stood up straight. “It is so nice to meet you, Mrs. Bush,” she said, shaking her hand. “Please tell Pastor Bush that Sherry from Chicago said hello.”
“I’ll tell him,” Jasmine said, “but . . . ummm . . .”
“Yeah, yeah. Let me call up to Miss . . .” She paused and glanced down at the sheet that Jasmine and Rachel had just signed. “Miss Holloway’s apartment.”
As the woman dialed the number, Jasmine studied the lobby. From the gold brocade couches to the crystal chandeliers, it was obvious to Jasmine that this was an upscale building, though not as luxurious as Pastor Griffith’s. But still, it was clear that Yvette was living well.
“Yes,” the woman said. “They’re here now.” She frowned a little before she handed Jasmine the phone. “She wants to speak to you.”
“Hey, Yvette,” Jasmine said in a tone that sounded like she was just stopping by to say hello.
“Jasmine?”
“Yeah, Rachel and I are in the lobby.”
“What are you guys doing here?”
Jasmine twisted her body around so that Sherry couldn’t hear her words. “We have to talk to you about something. It won’t take too long.”
There was a long pause before Yvette said, “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“It won’t take long,” Jasmine repeated. More silence that made Jasmine add, “I promise.”
Yvette’s long sigh filled the telephone. “All right.”
Jasmine handed the phone back to Sherry, then waited as the woman spoke to Yvette.
Rachel whispered, “She wasn’t happy to hear from us, huh?”
Jasmine shook her head.
“Do you think she’s still mad at you for messing up the Oprah interview?”
Jasmine heard the dig, but didn’t respond. Instead, her mind was on Yvette—her words and her tone. Jasmine had been in the middle of enough deception to recognize duplicity when she heard it.
“All right, you can go up now,” Sherry said, pointing to the elevators behind her. “It was so nice meeting you.”
Inside the elevators, Jasmine was silent as she thought, as she wondered. In front of Yvette’s door, she paused for just a moment before she knocked. When Yvette swung open the door and Jasmine took one step inside her apartment, the reason for Yvette’s tone was right in front of their faces.
“Come on in,” Yvette said as she motioned with her hands. “I’m sorry if I seemed a little shocked. It’s just that I was.” She paused. “What are you doing here? And so late?”
But though Jasmine heard her words, her attention was beyond Yvette. Her eyes were on the woman who sat at a small dinette table on the other side of the living room.
“Ladies,” Cecelia King said as she stood up from the table where two empty plates had been set as if Yvette and Cecelia had just shared a meal.
“Cecelia,” Jasmine responded.
Rachel stepped ahead of Jasmine, her eyes focused on Cecelia. “What are you . . . ?” But before Rachel finished her question, Jasmine touched her arm, stopping her, then they both turned toward Yvette.
Yvette said, “So, like I said, I’m really surprised to see the two of you here.” Her glance moved between Jasmine and Rachel. “What are you doing in Chicago?”
There was so much that Jasmine had planned to tell and so many questions she’d wanted to ask. But Cecelia King, the woman who’d tried to take her and Rachel down, stood right in front of them. So Jasmine began to weave a new tale. “A friend of mine has a start-up magazine,” Jasmine said, “and she wanted to interview me and Rachel for the Coalition.”
Yvette’s eyes thinned as she crossed her arms. “You set up an interview without me?”
“It was for a friend.”
“What’s her name? What’s the name of the magazine?”
“I told you. It’s small. She’s just launching. I’m doing her a favor.”
Now, Jasmine turned back to Cecelia and changed the focus of the inquisition. “So, you two are friends, huh?”
“I’ve known Yvette for a long time,” Cecelia said. “We almost hired her to work for the Coalition when my husband was the president.”
Jasmine nodded. “So how long are you going to be in Chicago, Cecelia?”
Cecelia raised an eyebrow and without parting her lips, told Jasmine it was none of her business.
So Jasmine turned and directed her questions to Yvette. “This little meeting doesn’t have anything to do with the Coalition, does it?”
Yvette frowned. “Why would you think that?”
“Because she tried to steal the election from my husband,” Rachel piped in.
“If you must know,” Cecelia spoke up, “I’m here because my husband and I are pitching a show to Oprah for her new network.”
Yvette added, “And that is confidential, so I’d appreciate it if neither one of you said anything to anyone about this. But,” she paused, before she turned the tables back, “I’m still trying to figure out why you came by here since you didn’t tell me you were coming back to Chicago.”
“We just came by to say hello,” Jasmine said and beside her, Rachel nodded. “And see if you had heard anything about Pastor Griffith.”
Cecelia was the first one to speak. “No. Still nothing. Such a tragedy. But I have heard that police are looking to question someone regarding his disappearance.”
A brief silence filled the room before Yvette stepped up. “You said you wanted to talk to me about something?”
Jasmine kept her glare on Cecelia, so Rachel responded. “We wanted to ask if there was any chance that we could get back on Oprah.”
Yvette shook her head as she folded her arms. “I wouldn’t go back to Oprah’s people with the two of you, not when I have big projects on the line.” She glanced at Cecelia. “I’m sorry, but there’s no chance of that.”
Jasmine and Rachel shrugged at the same time. “Okay,” they said in unison as if they were both fine with her answer.
Jas
mine added, “So that’s all we wanted.”
Again moving in sync, Jasmine and Rachel turned toward the door.
“So that’s all?” Yvette asked.
They nodded.
“Plus,” Jasmine added, “it looks like you were busy.”
“Yeah, you know, with pitching your show,” Rachel said.
“Well.” Yvette glanced at Cecelia and when Cecelia nodded, Yvette went on, “You can join us.”
Jasmine and Rachel exchanged their own glances. “No, thank you,” they said together.
“It might be nice for us all to sit down and talk,” Cecelia said.
The frown was on Rachel’s face and in her voice when she said, “We don’t have anything to talk to you about.”
“We’ll talk to you soon,” Jasmine said to Yvette as she and Rachel walked out the door.
The two didn’t speak a word as they marched down the hallway, into the elevator, and out the building. It was not until they were sitting in the rental car that they turned to each other.
“What the hell was that?” Rachel asked.
“I know, right?”
“I’m glad we stayed in Chicago just for that,” Rachel said as she started the car. “I’m gonna call Lester and have Yvette fired. How can she be consorting with the enemy like that?”
Jasmine leaned back in her seat and stared at Rachel. “Consorting?”
“Yeah.” Rachel grinned. “Consorting! I keep trying to tell you that I ain’t no country hick. I know a little somethin’ somethin’.”
“I see.”
But then, Rachel’s grin went away. “Well, that was a bust. We didn’t find out a thing.”
“At least, nothing that has to do with Pastor Griffith,” Jasmine said. “But we did find out that we might not want to trust Yvette too much.”
“Yvette? I’m not worried about her sorry behind. She wasn’t a good publicist anyway. I’m worried about Cecelia and that whole story about why she’s in Chicago. I don’t believe Oprah would give her a show. Talking about what? How to be a snake?”
Friends & Foes Page 14
