No Sin in Paradise

by Dijorn Moss

  “I didn’t think you’d come,” I say.

  “I must’ve thought about getting on that plane a million times, but I didn’t.” Victory takes her sandals off and holds them in her free hand.

  “Are you going to spare me the suspense?”

  “I don’t know. I guess since things went well in Sacramento, I thought that it might be better to leave it be. You know how they say some people come into your life for seasons. Maybe that was our season.”

  “But?”

  “I hate what-ifs. I really do. I hate what-ifs about as much as I hate an open-ended ending to a love story. I want a clear conclusion, and I hate leaving a handsome man on an island all by himself.”

  I too hate what-ifs and believe in seeing things through to the end. I build my reputation off of several principles, and that was one of them. I don’t know if the rules that govern my career can also apply to my dating life, but then again, I don’t know any other way to do things.

  We walk along the shore and don’t talk for a while. We just look out at luxury cruise liners and speedboats as they cut through the calm waters.

  “Adele says that you went over to the island where Pastor Cole was murdered.”

  “Yeah, I went by.”

  “Brutal. A famous pastor like that gets murdered at a church conference, of all places. We are definitely in the end times.”

  We have been in the end times for a while now, the devil has been running rampant, and if there is anything I can do for the betterment of the kingdom, then here I am, Lord, send me.

  “Are you okay?” Victory asks.

  No, I am not okay. I would’ve been okay if I hadn’t watched the news the other night. I wish I would’ve come home from hanging out with Sammy and found Victory in Adele’s living room and all I have to worry about is if Victory is having a good time. But, no, I find myself in the midst of this murder case. “Yes, I’m okay; it’s just that I got to go by and see this girl as a favor for a friend, but I don’t want to leave you alone.”

  “Well, I can come along. I haven’t had a chance to see the island.”

  “Actually, this is a delicate matter, and only I can handle it directly. You know, pastoral stuff. But I promise I’ll be back before you even know I’m gone.”

  Victory looks perplexed as to why she couldn’t tag along, but she didn’t say anything. I guess she didn’t want to give the sense of being jealous.

  “Well, no problem. Adele says that she wants to give me a tour of the island. I would like to get her perspective of this place.”

  Adele is a lifesaver in this instance. I take Victory by her hands and kiss them. “We’ll meet up for dinner, and I promise, no more distractions.”

  “Nic, one thing about me that you might not know. You don’t have to constantly make promises to me. Only promise the things that you can deliver on. Deal?”

  Why did I do that? Why did I promise something to Victory? I make a point never to promise something that I can’t deliver, and given this present set of circumstances, I can’t even promise that I will make it to dinner on time.

  “Deal,” I say.

  “Hurry back, because we have a lot of catching up to do,” Victory says.

  She leaves me with her dress blowing in the wind as she walks toward Adele’s house. I pray that I’m not away from her long.

  I arrive at Elisha Davis’s house unsure of what to say to her. It shows how small the world is when on an island with a population of less than 2,000, there is the love child of a slain pastor. I have been on this island for two weeks, and I have seen most of the Ten Commandments broken with very little regard to God’s authority. I guess this is as good of a place as any for a child out of wedlock to hide.

  Her home is small by most modern homes’ standards, but a small home in the middle of paradise trumps a two-story home in the heart of the city any day. I’m not sure how I am going to play this situation out. I’m thinking about letting the flow of the conversation dictate the course. The doorbell does not work, so I knock on the door. After some rumblings, the door finally opens.

  “Hello,” Elisha says in a thick Caribbean accent.

  “Hello, Elisha Davis, my name is Minister Nic Dungy, and I’m here on behalf of Pastor Cole’s last request.”

  Elisha remains stoic. I mean, the news did have an impact, but not much. Maybe I’m expecting a little more from a girl who just lost her father. Regardless of how strained the relationship was between the two, Pastor Cole was still her father. Elisha took another moment to size me up. I can tell that she isn’t sure if I’m someone that she can trust.

  “Come on in,” Elisha says and opens the door.

  If no one told me that Elisha is Pastor Cole’s daughter, I wouldn’t have guessed. There is a case that could be made for the full lips and nose that resembles Cole’s, but even her complexion is a shade darker than the coffee skin of Cole.

  I enter the home, and Elisha makes a beeline to the kitchen. The living room is full of family portraits. Pastor Cole is missing from all of them, of course. It’s safe to assume that Elisha must’ve had her name changed to her mother’s last name.

  It’s a full-time job covering up the past. Who knows what else Pastor Cole kept from the public’s eye? I wonder what was Pastor Cole hiding that cost him his life.

  These pictures can’t answer those questions for me. I suspect that if there are any pictures of Elisha with Cole, those pictures are hidden from plain sight. There are a list of accomplishments that stop with Elisha graduating from Florida A&M. Her accomplishments tell a story that Pastor Cole’s influence and money had a hand in telling.

  “Here you go,” Elisha comes back into the living room with a glass of lemonade.

  “Thank you.” I’m not much of a lemonade drinker. I prefer ice tea, but it is rare to meet a girl like Elisha who still has manners. We sit down on a couch.

  “So you knew my father?”

  “No, I didn’t. I met him a couple of times, but that was it.” I took a sip of the lemonade and set it down on the coffee table in front of me. Not bad, a little too tart, but for someone who used to drink Jack Daniels for breakfast, I can manage.

  “You must have a high opinion of him to be here on his behalf.”

  “Not really,” I say without any hesitation.

  “Neither did I; at least you’re honest. So why are you here?”

  I have forgotten that there is an envelope inside my jacket pocket. I reach in and hand it over to Elisha. Elisha doesn’t waste any time opening it. She scans the letter and the check that is attached. I expect to see a smile on her face; instead, she looks perplexed. Elisha’s perplexity morphs into anger without warning.

  “Is this a joke?” Elisha turns the check around and shows me a payment made out to her for $1 million.

  I swallow wrong, and the tartness of the lemonade makes me pay for it. I cough several times before I regain my faculties. “Excuse me?”

  “This is only half of what I was promised. Where is the rest?”

  I’m floored at this point, because I made it a rule not to enter a room uninformed, and I must be the smartest person in the room. I allowed Pastor Bryant to let me walk into a room where I am short on both, and now I need to try to grasp the gravity of the situation.

  “Let’s relax and calm down. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for this.”

  “Unless you have another check on you for $1 million, there is nothing to explain. All I need you to do is go and get me my money.” Elisha cocks her head to the side.

  The island hospitality has left, and I’m still spinning my wheels. I took another sip of my lemonade before I set it down again and squared up with Elisha.

  “It’s good to see that you are taking your father’s death real hard.”

  “Do you see any father-of-the-year trophies around here? His money and his time were all that was ever worth anything to me.”

  “Okay, let’s be honest here. What do you expect to accomplish? Y
ou expose your father and maybe write a tell-all book, but that’s it. Your fifteen minutes are up.” I point to the check. “That story is certainly not worth two million. You may be able to get a half of million. but that’s it. That’s enough money for a clean slate. Take it.”

  I don’t know why I am going to bat for Pastor Bryant, seeing that he is trying to rip off a young girl. At this point, I want to put my hands around his throat for playing me.

  “Obviously, you don’t know what’s going on, so why don’t you go back to Reverend Slick Daddy and tell him either he pays me what I’m owed or I’ll talk.”

  What could Elisha have that is more incriminating than the fact that Pastor Cole had a child out of wedlock? My guess, Elisha has something on Pastor Bryant. Why else would Bryant pay so much money to cover up another man’s secret?

  “Your father was murdered. Aren’t you scared for your own safety?”

  Elisha just gives me a smirk. “No, not at all. People know not to try anything on me.”

  “And why not?” I ask.

  “Don’t worry about all that. I’m not worried; I can take care of myself.”

  A quick chill shoots through my body. Elisha delivers that line with the upmost confidence. She has someone protecting her, but that someone was not protecting her father. Why is a common question that keeps coming up for me, and I don’t have any answers.

  “What about your mother?” I ask.

  The mention of Elisha’s mother causes her to pause and reflect. It’s clear that she doesn’t share the same sentiment toward her mother as she does for her father.

  “This isn’t about my mother.”

  “If your mother is around, I’m sure she would advise that this money is more than enough.”

  “My mother died six years ago, so at this moment, I no longer have a parent to advise me on anything. So from this moment forth, I choose what’s enough and this . . .” Elisha holds up the check, “this is not enough.”

  For years, Elisha has had to have her wants and desires put on the back burner; not any more. Her father got what he wanted; a hidden secret that remained hidden, but what Elisha wants is to live comfortably.

  “Now, you have your orders. Be a good boy and go back to Reverend Slick and tell him he better double the amount or else I talk.”

  I didn’t have a smart retort. I head toward the door with my hat in hand. I just got schooled by a girl who is in her midtwenties at best. I decide to take what’s left of my pride and go. A burning question is still on my mind. “You said his money and his time. How often did he ever visit you?”

  “He would only visit once a year. He could only stay for an hour, but for that one hour, I didn’t feel like a messed-up kid.”

  I know exactly what she means as I walk out of the door. If it weren’t for my messed-up father, I wouldn’t have been a messed-up kid who becomes a confused adult that thinks he can save someone other than himself.

  Later on that night I went to dinner with Sammy, Adele, and Victory at my favorite restaurant on the island. Auroras is a restaurant by the beach. Most of the tables are outside so the patrons can enjoy their meals under the stars. I wouldn’t want to be here during hurricane season, but tonight is a perfect night. There is a gentle breeze, and the night sky is full of stars.

  I keep replaying my visit with Elisha in my head. There is something off about the situation. Even though her relationship to her father was estranged, Pastor Cole was still Elisha’s father. For her not to be concerned over his apparent murder is unsettling, to say the least. Furthermore, she seems unmoved or unconcerned over her own safety.

  “Earth to Minister Dungy.” Victory’s words snapped me out of my trance and back to the spirited conversation that is happening around me.

  “I’m sorry. I was lost in my own thoughts.”

  “We were talking about Pastor Cole and his ministry and who might’ve killed him,” Victory says.

  A pretty morbid conversation to have over fish, but then again, I can imagine a murder occurring on a neighboring island is rare and how that would be the talk of the town.

  “What about it?”

  “We were just saying that the devil hates success in the Kingdom and with a worldwide ministry, who knows how many greedy people were after him,” Adele says.

  “Did he really have an international ministry?” I ask.

  The group gives me a quizzical look. I know the question seems absurd, but it’s not.

  “Yes, he had churches in Africa, Afghanistan, and Europe,” Sammy says.

  “Do you know what a satellite church is? They set up a big flat-screen TV in a room and Pastor Cole preaches to them, and they collect an offering. What I find funny, well, not really funny but interesting, is of all the testimonies of people with fancy cars, big homes, and obese bank accounts, none of them have come from one of these satellite churches. It’s a lot easier to preach prosperity in a land that’s fueled by greed.”

  “Who says people in Africa need a Rolls-Royce?” Sammy Moses says. “People use their faith for different things. Some people use their faith to build, while others use their faith to endure.”

  “But I think the point that is getting lost is the fact that the Gospel is being preached. Who cares if it’s being done through a flat-screen television set up in a hut in Nairobi?” Victory asks.

  “Maybe that’s because there are a lot of homes in Nairobi that don’t have a television, let alone a flat screen,” I say.

  “Doc, you’re arguing semantics. The bottom line is that Pastor Cole was about building the Kingdom.”

  “Oh, Pastor Cole was about building. Building a bigger building,” I say.

  “And how many buildings have you built through your ministry? Don’t criticize a man for doing something, unless you endeavor to do better,” Adele says.

  That stings to not have an answer to Adele’s question. My friends shook their heads at my cynicism. I must’ve gotten too comfortable because usually I do a better job of concealing my sentiments. At the same time, I can’t always be cloak-and-dagger.

  “I’m just saying that sometimes people don’t need a new car. They just need to know that there is a better life available. Everything else is a distraction from the true meaning of the Gospel,” I say.

  “And in that regard, I don’t think there’s that much of a difference between you and Cole,” Victory says. “In the end, we’re different parts in the same body.”

  Victory receives a round of applause from everyone at the table. She may have a point, and, in truth, I can go on for hours and debate with her, but my attention has been directed to the man on the other side of the restaurant whose attention is set dead square on us. I know that he can’t possibly be listening to our conversation, given that the restaurant is somewhat busy. And there’s no way he could pick up on our conversation from where he’s standing. From where I’m sitting, I see that the man has dreads that go all the way down his back. His black skin makes his bloodshot eyes stand out.

  I am always alert and aware of my surroundings; that is both my gift and my curse. There are some things I don’t want to notice, like this gentleman with the dreads in his mustard-colored two-piece suit. I’m uneasy, and I know that I’m not being paranoid. Victory snaps her fingers to get my attention again.

  “Are we boring you?” she asks.

  “No, I’m just reflecting on what Pastor Cole could’ve been involved in that would’ve caused someone to murder him.”

  “Lord, we came here to eat, not play Angela Lansbury,” Adele says.

  “Well, I know one thing that will be a mystery we will be debating over for years. Not too many stones will be turned over for a preacher. This generation doesn’t believe in anything it can’t create,” Sammy says.

  “Yeah, the world has become a much-scarier place now. I don’t know what to tell these young folks other than to believe in Jesus and walk with Him,” Adele says.

  “I know when I do volunteer work at the local schools,
I can’t even relate to these kids and what they’re going through. I don’t know what to say to them but to follow God,” Victory says.

  “But most people don’t know what it means to follow God. To be Christlike, they can’t see the rewards. With all due respect, that’s why I vehemently oppose pastors like Cole. We can’t expect for anyone to grow healthy spiritually if we’re too caught up in the materialistic rewards,” I say.

  “I know this much, there weren’t any school shootings in my day. Of course, we used to say a prayer at the beginning of the day too,” Sammy says.

  I check out the room, and the unnerving individual has not only gotten up from his table, he is making his way toward us.

  “Excuse me, but I couldn’t help but to notice your conversation, and I was wondering if I could join you?” that man asks.

  “You noticed our conversation from where you were sitting?” I ask.

  My question causes my new mysterious friend to cut me with his eyes. I don’t flinch; instead, I just sit back with a mean look of my own. He chuckles and tries to downplay my question.

  “No, you can’t,” Adele says with certain sharpness. “You’re not welcomed here.”

  It appears Adele knows this gentleman and has the same reservations I have with him. So far, Adele is winning in the meanest-look contest.

  “Now go on back to where you came from Demetrius. We don’t want the likes of you over here bothering us.”

  “Adele, don’t be rude now,” Sammy says before he turns to Demetrius. “Go-ahead and have a seat. I apologize for my friend.”

  “I don’t need nobody apologizing for me, you hear? I don’t want to be in the presence of a man like him.” Adele points at Demetrius, and now I am curious as to who this individual is and why Adele has such a disdain for him.