The woman beamed as she lowered herself into the rocking chair across from the sofa where Jasmine sat. “You sure you don’t want nothin’ to eat? I can whip us up somethin’ in a couple of hours. I bet you ain’t never had roasted pig. Nah, you’re from the city. You need to have a good meal, southern-style,” the woman said. “You sure you don’t want nothin’?”
“I’m sure, thank you.” Jasmine kept the smile on her face and the horror from her voice. Her plan was to talk to this woman, see if she suspected Pastor Wyatt of anything, and then get the heck out of Hogeye Creek. She had no plans to wait a couple of hours for anything—let alone a roasted pig.
Mrs. Evans continued as if she hadn’t heard Jasmine. “If I’d known I had company coming, I would’ve had it all prepared.”
Jasmine rested her glass on the table and glanced at her watch. It was already nearing three, and her plane was scheduled to take off from Atlanta at seven. It was doubtful that she’d be able to make that flight, but there were two departing later. She had to get started now.
“Mrs. Evans, I wish I could stay for dinner,” Jasmine began, shifting her legs on the sofa so that her skin wouldn’t stick permanently to the plastic slipcover. “But I really have to leave tonight.”
“That’s too bad, sugah. How you gonna write an article for that Essence magazine about Hogeye Creek and our church with this little visit?”
That was the lie she’d told the woman the moment they stepped out of church. That was when Mrs. Evans invited her to her home to come and “rest a spell.”
Mrs. Evans continued, “Now, Kyla…that’s what you said your name was, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Where’s your camera, Kyla?” When Jasmine frowned, Mrs. Evans said, “How you gonna take pictures for the magazine if you don’t have a camera?”
“Oh, we’ll be back for that,” Jasmine said. “All I’m supposed to do today is make sure there’s a good story here.”
“We got plenty of stories for you.” The chair creaked as Mrs. Evans settled back and rocked to her own rhythm. “Uh-huh, you came to the right place.” She nodded. “But when’re you gonna talk to Pastor Hubbard?”
“Well, we didn’t want to bother him until—”
“Sugah, you’re not bothering him.” She pushed herself up. “Let me give him a call. He’ll be over here quicker than—”
The telephone was already in the woman’s hand when Jasmine yelled, “No!”
Mrs. Evans eyebrow’s rose.
“I mean…we’re not even sure that we’re going to do the story yet. And if we bring the pastor in…let’s just keep it here. I’ll let you know when I need to speak to Pastor Hubbard.”
Mrs. Evans lowered herself back into the rocking chair. “Okay,” she said slowly. But now her eyes were small, as if she wasn’t so sure about the woman she’d invited into her home.
Jasmine said, “We’ll be back next week, but the thing is, we want to center the article on someone really important, someone real, someone who everyone in town looks up to.” Jasmine took a sip of her lemonade. “And remember, this is Essence, so we want to feature a woman…a very important woman.”
Mrs. Evans cleared her throat. “That would be me.” Her smile was back.
Jasmine pulled a small pad from her purse, trying to make this look legit. “Now, even though this is going to be about you, I’d like to find out a few things about Church of the Solid Rock. Let’s see, Pastor Hubbard…”
Mrs. Evans leaned forward. “His full name is Billy Ray,” she spoke slowly, making sure Jasmine wrote his name correctly. “Billy…Ray…Hubbard.”
Jasmine scribbled his name. “So Pastor Hubbard has been the pastor for a bit over a year, is that right?”
“Yes!” Mrs. Evans nodded. “You sure are a good reporter.”
“Remember, I work for Essence.” Jasmine held her pen in the air, and Mrs. Evans beamed. Jasmine continued, “And the previous pastor was Eugene—”
“Wyatt,” Mrs. Evans said, before Jasmine could finish. Now that she was sure Jasmine was for real, the town crier was back. “Yes, Pastor Wyatt led Church of the Solid Rock for ten years. But he’s up in New York now, bless that man.”
“So Pastor Wyatt decided to leave?”
“Well, now see,” Mrs. Evans leaned forward and lowered her voice even though the two were alone, “the story is that Pastor Wyatt left to become a big-time pastor in New York, but I think that wife of his pushed him.” She leaned back, shook her head. “Enid. Even as a little girl, she was the uppity one, thinking she was better than all the other kids and too good for Hogeye Creek.” Mrs. Evans folded her arms. Sniffed and made a face like she smelled something bad. “Yup, it was that woman. All of us knew that Pastor Wyatt never wanted to leave. Hogeye Creek was where he was born. This is where his mama and daddy are buried.” Then she bowed her head like she was about to say a prayer. “And his brother, too.”
That made Jasmine scoot to the edge of the sofa; the plastic ridges scraped against the back of her leg, but she ignored the pricking. Keeping her reporter’s face on, she said, “Yes, Pastor Wyatt’s brother. He was killed in an accident, right?”
“Uh-huh. Poor thing, that Earvin. He had such a hard life. Got all caught up in those drugs. He was sellin’ them and some say he was usin’ them, too.” She sucked her teeth and shook her head. “I think God took him away so he would stop all that stuff. Everybody was talking about how he’d paid his dues and he was coming to God, but I know the truth. That boy was still caught up, and God reached right down in that car and took him away so that he would leave that stuff alone. ’Cause you know, there ain’t no drugs in heaven!”
“So it was a car accident?” Jasmine asked, even though she already knew. But with the revelation that Earvin had been involved with drugs, now Jasmine had the motivation for murder.
“Yes, a couple of weeks before Pastor and the first lady were supposed to be moving up to New York.” Mrs. Evans shook her head. “It really is something the way the Lord works. A few years ago, those boys lost their parents in a car accident over on Highway Eighty. And then, Eugene lost his only sibling the same way.” In her voice, Jasmine could tell that Mrs. Evans still had a hard time believing that truth.
“Are you sure Pastor Wyatt was in the car with his brother?”
Mrs. Evans frowned as if she didn’t understand the question. “Yeah, they were in there together. The police found both of them.”
Jasmine’s theory fizzled like a pricked balloon. Pastor Wyatt couldn’t have rigged the car.
Mrs. Evans continued, “Both of the boys were unconscious when the ambulance got there. Those emergency workers were telling everybody that they didn’t think either one of them was going to live.” Mrs. Evans shuddered at the memory. “When we got to the hospital, we found out that one had lived and the other died.”
Jasmine frowned. “One lived? You didn’t know which one?”
Mrs. Evans shook her head. “We were all in the waiting room, but we didn’t know.” Her eyes were glassy as she remembered. “But we just knew…we knew that God wouldn’t take our pastor…and He didn’t.” She sighed. “I’ll never forget when Enid arrived and went back in the ER. We were holding our breath until she came back and told us our pastor was alive. God forgive us, but we all cheered and laughed and hugged each other. Not that we wanted anything to happen to Earvin…” She waved her hand in the air. “But…you know.”
“Did Enid have to…identify her brother-in-law, too?” Just the thought of that made Jasmine feel sorry for the woman, but only for a moment. She didn’t like her enough to expend more than a few seconds of sympathy.
Mrs. Evans nodded. “The doctors weren’t sure because the car was a mangled mess, and, although one wallet was found, it was thrown from the car. So neither one of them were identified until Enid got there.”
Mrs. Evans continued, “The doctors waited for Enid, but I could have done it,” she boasted.
Jasmine smiled.
Of course. Was there anything Mrs. Evans wasn’t capable of?
“Yes,” the woman continued, “I learned a long time ago when I used to babysit those boys how to tell them apart.”
“Tell them apart?” Jasmine frowned.
Mrs. Evans nodded. “Yup, you know, not everyone can tell twins apart. But I could.”
Twins!
The woman continued, “Earvin had the cutest dimple—just one, right here.” The woman pointed to her cheek.
Jasmine’s mind was spinning with this revelation.
Mrs. Evans said, “They were the dearest little boys, but there was something about that Earvin. Always in trouble, but he knew how to squirm out of it. It was that face; he’d use his dimple to melt everyone.” Her smile started to fade. “He was my favorite. Eugene was a little too serious for me. I could’ve told you he was going to grow up to be a preacher.”
That was something that Jasmine couldn’t imagine. She could hardly see Pastor Wyatt as a pastor now…with his bad-boy swagger and his smile that melted…her thoughts stopped.
She was trembling when she said, “Mrs. Evans, you said Earvin had a dimple. What about Eugene?”
She shook her head. “Nope the only one with a dimple was Earvin. That’s how I was able to tell them apart. Now, don’t get me wrong.” Mrs. Evans held up her hand. “Eugene is a handsome man. But there was always something about his brother.”
A tornado of images swirled through her mind. Memories of Pastor Wyatt smiling at her, with that deep dimple in his left cheek. Then, images of the newspaper article and the picture of Pastor Wyatt when he was addressing the congregation for the final time—wearing bandages on his face.
To hide the dimple.
Jasmine got it—what she’d come for and so much more. Her hands were still shaking when she reached for her glass and drank the last bit of the lemonade. “Mrs. Evans, may I trouble you for more?”
The woman rocked herself forward. “Of course, sugah.”
The moment Mrs. Evans stepped out of Jasmine’s sight, she grabbed her purse and dashed to the front, banging the screen door behind her. She was already in her car when she heard Mrs. Evans scream out from her porch.
But she didn’t give a word of explanation. Didn’t turn around. All she left Mrs. Evans with was a trail of dust from the speeding wheels of her Jaguar.
FORTY
THERE WAS NOTHING BUT EXHAUSTION in Jasmine’s sigh when she closed the front door behind her. She’d forgotten how awful it was to fly on Sundays, but the blessing was that she’d gotten the last seat on the last flight. And now, she was home, albeit way past midnight.
But although fatigue made her bones ache, joy made her heart sing. What she’d discovered was far better than anything she could have hoped. Even though she’d had hours to ponder her discovery, it was still hard to believe—Earvin Wyatt had taken over the life of his twin brother. The drug dealer had become the pastor. And not a soul knew, except Enid, of course. Of that, Jasmine was sure. If Mrs. Evans could tell the brothers apart, surely the wife could. And there had been others who’d been able to tell Eugene from Earvin. That’s why Earvin had worn the bandage covering the left side of his face for so long.
Now all I have to do is figure out how to use this, Jasmine thought as she dragged into the interior of her darkened apartment.
First, she tiptoed in to check on Jacqueline. After tucking her blanket over her, she treaded just as softly into her own bedroom. But the moment she stepped inside, the room became bright with light.
It took a second for her eyes to adjust, and then she smiled at her husband, resting in their bed on his back, his hands now hooked behind his head.
“Hey, babe,” she said before she kissed him softly on his lips. “I was trying not to wake you.”
His eyes followed her as she bounced from the bed and walked into her closet. “Jasmine?”
“Yeah.”
“Where were you?”
It was a simple question that took her breath away. Why would he ask her that? What did he know? “What?” she asked, staying inside, stalling for time.
“Can you come out here, please?”
He wanted to look into her eyes—she knew that. He wanted to see if she was telling the truth.
“Okay,” she said, as chipper as she could. “Let me change.”
Her mind raced as fast as her heart. What or who had given her away?
It was only when she couldn’t hide any longer that she inhaled deeply, found her game face, and strolled back into their bedroom. The confusion that was etched on her face was real when he asked again where she’d been.
“I was with Mae Frances.”
He had not budged from the way he was when she’d first walked in—only now, his eyes moved rapidly, searching her face for clues.
“Then why did Mae Frances leave a message on our phone for you?”
“What?” She shook her head, truly puzzled.
He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed. But his eyes didn’t leave her face. “She left a message—something about she couldn’t wait to hear about your trip because she had some good news for you.” His eyes didn’t move from her. “She said for you to call as soon as you got in.”
“Really?” Her mind was already swirling with lies.
He said, “So if you were with Mae Frances, why did she leave that message?” She opened her mouth, but before she could get a word out, he said, “Please don’t lie to me, Jasmine.”
Again, she formed her lips to deny, deny, deny, but then she paused. She was at an emotional intersection—the corner of truth or dare.
Should she tell the truth? And relieve herself of the burden she’d been carrying? It would be such a release to share the secret she’d been saddled with for these weeks and end all the lies now.
But did she dare? The way Hosea had reacted the last two times he’d found out her secrets—when he’d found out about their daughter’s paternity and when he’d found out that she’d been married before—had left an indelible mark on her memory. He’d walked away from her—both times, leaving her for weeks with great doubts that he would ever return.
He had come home, but what she knew for sure was that if he ever left again, he would never come back. And she loved him too much to lose him.
In seconds, her decision was made, and truth lost.
“Hosea, you know how Mae Frances…she just talks and talks. She probably just meant that she hoped my flight home was good. And maybe she got some of those test results from her mother.”
His eyes were filled with doubt. “That’s not the way she sounded.”
“And because of the way she sounded, you’re accusing me of something?” She exhaled a deep sigh and grabbed the phone. “If you want to know why she called, ask her.”
“I already called her.”
Jasmine’s heart quickened; he knew something, and he was trying to trick her. Had he somehow trapped Mae Frances into telling the truth? No, she couldn’t imagine that. Her friend was better at ducking and lying and dodging than she was. Mae Frances would never give her up.
Jasmine slammed down the phone. “So if you already spoke to Mae Frances—”
“I didn’t speak to her,” he responded, much calmer than she was. “I called to see what was up, but I got her voice mail.”
“You really think I wasn’t with her?” She shook her head. “I am so tired of this, Hosea.”
“Tired of what, Jasmine?”
“Tired of your not believing me. Every time something happens, you think I’m lying.”
“Can you blame me?”
If she had been telling the truth, she would have been stone mad at his words. But her proficiency at this helped her to stay calm. Calculate every word she spoke, every emotion she showed, every move she made.
She said, “This is ridiculous. You’re the one who’s always talking about truth and trust. Well, I’ve told you the truth; when are you going to start trusting me?” She crossed her
arms and stood there, indignation plastered all over her face.
He stared back, and with the way his eyes pierced into her, she wondered if God was telling on her—telling Hosea the real truth.
Lord, if you let me get out of this…
It was Hosea who broke first. “I’m sorry,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was trying to squeeze exhaustion out of him. “Maybe it’s everything that’s going on with Pops and now the upcoming board meeting—I guess I’m suspicious of everything.”
Inside, she sighed with relief, but on the outside, she didn’t let go of her righteous anger. “Hosea,” she began stiffly, “I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes, and I’m really trying to change.” The sincerity of that truth came through in her tone. “But that doesn’t seem to matter to you.”
“It does matter, but you can’t fault me for having doubts.”
“Well, if you’re going to doubt everything I say, everything I do, maybe I just need to go back to who I used to be.” She stomped toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
She whipped toward him. “I don’t know,” she said, her anger building. “All I know is that I came home from a long trip, exhausted, and all I wanted was to see you. But then you come at me with this crap and I—” She stopped when the heat of tears came to her eyes. This wasn’t part of her act. She really did want to cry. Cry at the way lies rolled so easily off her tongue. Cry at the way she was blaming her husband so skillfully when he had no guilt in this. Cry at the fact that although she wanted to change, there was always something dragging her back.
Slowly, Hosea walked toward her, and when he laid her head on his shoulder, she let the tears fall. Then he leaned back and, with his thumbs, wiped away the emotional water that dampened her cheeks.
“It’s taking me longer than I thought to completely trust you again.”
The honesty of his words stung, and she responded with her own truth, “I understand.”
“But if we keep working on this, I promise, we’ll end up where we’re supposed to be.”
Lady Jasmine Page 22
