“Afraid of what?” Kay asked with a level of compassion that even surprised her.
Danny thought for a moment. “Afraid that I would never find someone to love me.”
A tear fell from Danny’s eye as he spoke.
“I had been alone up until that point. I was afraid I would never find someone that wanted to know who I really was. Not just a body or a paycheck, but a person who loves, who has fears, who makes mistakes. Someone who was interested and cared enough to know that I like my coffee with two sugars and a drop of cream. That I love to watch Woody Allen movies on Sunday afternoons, curled up on the couch. Someone who cared that I have panic attacks. That Picasso is my favorite artist or that I’ve never been to Las Vegas. And after learning all the insignificant and silly and even the horrible things about me, he loved me even more in spite of what he’d learned. Hezekiah was that person. He took the time to discover things about me that I didn’t even know myself. And with all he knew, he still loved me.”
Danny tried to stop talking, but he couldn’t. He needed someone to understand. More importantly, he needed Kay to understand.
“He was the head of a multimillion-dollar ministry, and I never set foot in his church until the day of his funeral. I wasn’t a part of that part of his world, and when he was with me, neither was he. He wasn’t Pastor Hezekiah T. Cleaveland with me. He was simply Hez. That’s what I used to call him.”
“Did you ever meet his wife?”
Danny shifted slightly on the couch. “No, and I never wanted to meet her. I, of course, knew about her, and toward the end he told her about me, but I begged him to never tell her who I was.”
“Why?”
Danny looked mournfully out the window at the traffic below. “To be honest with you, Kay, I was afraid of what she might do.”
Kay looked surprised and said, “Afraid she might hurt you?”
There was silence. Danny shifted again. His body tensed, and the hand holding the cup of tea trembled slightly.
“Danny,” Kay said into the silence. “What do you mean? Did she threaten you in any way?”
Danny looked her in the eye and said, “I wasn’t afraid for myself. I was afraid of what she might do to him, and I think I was . . .”
Kay sat upright on the couch. She placed the now cool cup of tea on the table. “Danny, you’re not saying you think she had something to do with his death?” she asked in disbelief.
Danny did not respond.
“Danny, that’s crazy. You’re talking about Samantha Cleaveland. She’s . . . she’s Samantha Cleaveland, for Christ’s sake. How could you think that? The woman is a saint, a beautiful and strong God-fearing woman. Look how well she’s managed with such grace and dignity after his death. People love her.”
Danny shook his head gently. “You don’t know what she’s capable of. Hezekiah would tell me things about her that even frightened him.”
“Danny, this can’t be true. I watch her every Sunday morning. She’s like a role model to me. I love Samantha Cleaveland. Everybody loves Samantha Cleaveland.”
“I know, Kay. But beneath that exterior there’s an evil woman who would do anything to maintain and further her position in life. She built New Testament into what it is today, not Hezekiah. He admitted that to me. She pushed him into television. She persuaded him to build the new cathedral. He didn’t want it. She forced him to buy that mansion in Bel Air and hire the drivers and security guards. He didn’t want any of that stuff. He told me he hated that house.”
“I don’t believe any of this. You must be mistaken,” Kay said defensively. She looked at Danny and saw the disappointment on his face. She could see the hurt her last statement had caused.
“I didn’t mean it that way, honey,” she said, reaching for his hand. “I simply meant maybe Hezekiah stretched the truth to ease his own conscience. This whole affair—I mean relationship—must have been very difficult for him.”
“It was,” Danny said. “On the day he was killed, he had planned to announce that he was stepping down as pastor.”
Kay gasped and clutched her hand to her gaping mouth. “No,” she said in disbelief.
“Yes, and Samantha was the only person, other than me, who knew. I never believed she would ever let that happen. If he’d stepped down because of a homosexual affair, she would have lost everything. The credibility of the Cleaveland dynasty would have been in shambles, and everything she’d built would have crumbled around her two-thousand-dollar Gucci shoes. Even the great Samantha Cleaveland wouldn’t have been able to salvage it.”
Kay sat in disbelief. She couldn’t stop her left leg from shaking. Her foot bounced nervously on the faded throw rug in front of the couch. “This is incredible,” she said, her voice trembling. “I can’t believe what you’re telling me. You actually believe she killed him.”
“Of course she didn’t pull the trigger, but I believe she was behind his murder. Have you seen the footage of the service that Sunday morning?”
“Everyone in the country has seen it. Gideon Truman played it almost nonstop on CNN for two weeks.”
“Didn’t anything about it look strange to you?” Danny asked.
“The whole scene looked strange. Who would have ever imagined that he would have been killed on live television on a Sunday morning in front of his entire church?”
“More than that, what about the obvious outrageousness of the entire melee? I mean her performance after he was shot. When she rushed to the pulpit and cradled his head to her chest. It all looked rehearsed to me. Every move she made appeared choreographed. I could swear she was trying not to get his blood on her white suit.”
“Danny, you’re being cruel. She doesn’t deserve that. The woman had to witness the man she loved being shot in the head.”
“All I’m saying is she knew she was about to be humiliated in front of the entire world and, more importantly, she was about to lose everything. That is the perfect motive for murder. The police haven’t been able to find any suspects. They can’t find anyone with a motive. They’re not looking at her, because she’s too smart for them. She’s fooled the police, just like she’s fooled everyone else in the world. She doesn’t fool me. Even though I have never met her, I feel like I know her better than anyone. Hezekiah told me everything.”
“Have you talked to anyone else about this?”
“No. You’re the first person I’ve spoken to.” Danny paused for a moment. He suddenly remembered the conversation he had had with Gideon Truman. “I take that back,” he said, as if a light had been turned on in his head. “I forgot that I’ve spoken to Gideon Truman.”
Another gasp escaped from Kay’s lips. “The Gideon Truman? From CNN? You talked to Gideon Truman?”
“He came to my job and asked a bunch of questions. Someone gave him copies of e-mails between Hezekiah and me.” Danny shuddered as the words escaped.
“That means someone out there knows you exist,” Kay said.
“I never thought of that.”
“Maybe you should talk to the police.”
“And tell them what? That I was Hezekiah’s lover and I believe his wife had him assassinated? They would believe I killed him before they believed she did it.”
“Oh my God, Danny, this is horrible. I’m afraid for you. Your life may be in danger. You suspect someone killed Hezekiah because he was about to come out of the closet. Who’s to say the killer doesn’t know about you too? You’ve got to talk to someone. Maybe you should speak to Gideon Truman.”
Danny remembered how kind Gideon had been to him in the grungy little conference room at his job. He remembered how gentle Gideon was when he wept on his shoulder and the comforting words he’d whispered. I know Hezekiah loved you.
“What good would that do? He can’t protect me.”
“He can help the police find the killer. He’s been investigating Hezekiah’s murder from the beginning,” Kay said urgently. “He’s dedicated more time to the story than any other network. You
have information that might help him find the killer. If you are in danger, then that clearly helps you.”
Danny considered her words. He hadn’t feared for his life before, and he still didn’t. The thought of the killer, possibly Samantha, knowing his identity did not frighten him. His world had been so empty without Hezekiah in the past few weeks, he couldn’t think of many reasons to cling to life, anyway.
Kay could sense his hesitation and said, “If your safety is not motivation enough to talk to Gideon, then think about Hezekiah. Don’t you want the killer to be caught? And if it is as you suspect, then the world needs to know the real Samantha Cleaveland.”
Chapter 10
The grounds of New Testament Cathedral glistened in the afternoon sun. Plush grass flowed like a tranquil river over the ten-acre compound. Gurgling fountains and the coo of pigeons provided a soothing soundtrack for a tense conversation between the four coconspirators.
Cynthia Pryce walked between Reverend Kenneth Davis and Catherine Birdsong; her husband, Percy, kept pace in the rear. The four walked along the cobblestone paths, pausing intermittently to say “Hello” or “Welcome to New Testament Cathedral” to groups of passing tourists.
They had assembled at the request of Kenneth. Meeting out in the open seemed like the safest way to talk without being overheard. An innocent scene: four leaders of the church taking a leisurely afternoon stroll along the sloping knolls. All the pathways led to a fifty-foot cross carved from white marble. The cross served as the centerpiece of the garden. It rose up from a circular mound of exotic orchids, perennials, and shrubbery. The flower bed was encircled by iron benches, for contemplation, that Samantha had commissioned from an artist in Paris.
“We’ve got to do something,” Kenneth said as he waved to a couple in the distance. “She’s not suited to be pastor. Her heart isn’t in the right place. Samantha is going to destroy this ministry if we don’t replace her.”
“I agree,” Cynthia said, looking straight ahead.
“First, she humiliated Catherine in front of the entire staff, and then forced her to resign,” Kenneth continued. “Benny Winters called me in a panic this morning, saying she’s demanding changes to the new cathedral design that could run into the millions. I’m afraid to think of what she’ll do next. Replace me? Force you and Percy out of the church?”
“There’s nothing that can be done, Kenneth,” Catherine said. “Everyone loves her. Our television ratings have almost doubled since she took over. Contributions have been pouring in like never before. Did you see how much we took in last week? It was more than we usually get in a month.”
“This isn’t about money, Catherine,” Cynthia interjected. “It’s about God’s will, and I agree with Kenneth. Her heart is not in the right place. I don’t believe for a minute that she’s interested in bringing souls to Christ. She’s about the almighty dollar, and I’m not afraid to say it.”
“Cynthia, please,” Percy said from behind.
“Well, someone had to say it, Percy, and you all know it’s true. The only thing that’s important to her is maintaining her embarrassingly lavish lifestyle. I can’t believe that any of you think that it’s God’s will or that you would sit idly by and allow her to fleece all the saints that support this ministry. The thought of all those lovely people sending in their hard-earned money to buy her another piece of art just breaks my heart. Every night since she’s been pastor, I’ve prayed that God will forgive us for being negligent stewards over the blessings he has given this ministry.”
Percy walked behind with his head held down. He’d never seen Cynthia pray in the fifteen years they had been married.
“But what can be done?” Kenneth asked.
Cynthia spoke before anyone could respond. “There are five votes on the board of trustees. Yours, Kenneth, and Percy’s, Scarlett’s, Hattie Williams’s, and Samantha’s. I know Scarlett can be persuaded to vote her out. I’m not sure about Hattie. But even without her, that’s three to two.”
“It’s not a question of votes, Cynthia,” Percy finally said. “It’s a matter of how a move like that would be received by the congregation. If she’s replaced, we run the risk of a mass exodus of members and supporters. We could be left with half the congregation.”
Cynthia stopped dead in her tracks and turned swiftly to face her husband. Percy froze in his steps, and everyone stopped with her. The four formed a circle in the middle of the pathway.
“I don’t think that is true, darling,” she said icily, looking her husband directly in the eye. “You are mistakenly assuming this is a personality-driven ministry. I don’t believe it is. I have faith in God and in our members that they will be loyal to the message and not the messenger, and so should you,” she said pointedly.
Percy did not respond but instead met her gaze with equal contempt.
“You’re all forgetting one important piece of this,” Catherine said, breaking the petrifying silence. “Who could replace her?”
Again there was quiet, until Kenneth said, “Well, I think that is obvious. Percy, you were always the heir apparent.”
Percy looked down at the pavement and faintly said, “I don’t think . . .”
“Slow down, Kenneth,” Cynthia interjected before Percy could finish his response. “I think it’s premature to have that conversation. Percy and I have never thought in those terms. It would mean a significant adjustment in our lives. We would need to pray about it before he could even consider becoming pastor. What’s important at this stage is that we all agree that Samantha cannot be made permanent pastor of New Testament Cathedral.”
“I think we’ve established that we agree she should be removed,” Kenneth said. “But it seems like a moot point since we don’t know where Scarlett and Hattie stand on this. Someone should speak with them. It’s obviously a very sensitive subject, so it has to be handled with the utmost tact.”
“I agree,” Cynthia said. “It obviously can’t be Percy. Catherine, you are technically an employee of the board of trustees, so I think it would be inappropriate for you to have that conversation with them.”
“That’s fine with me,” Catherine said, relieved.
“So, Kenneth, that leaves either you or me,” Cynthia said, dismissing the others in the little circle. “What do you think?”
Kenneth looked off into the distance. “Because Samantha is a woman, it might be interpreted as chauvinistic if I was the one suggesting to them that she be replaced.”
“I never thought of it in those terms,” Cynthia said believably. “Then I’ll speak with them.”
From the window of her fifth-floor office, Samantha looked down on the assembled group. So they finally got up the courage to meet, she thought. How dare they do it on my property and out in the open? She could see that Cynthia was at the center of the conversation. I suppose she thinks that spineless husband of hers is man enough to replace me.
Samantha walked back to her desk and calmly sat down. Poor, silly woman, she thought. She really doesn’t know what I’m capable of.
Hattie Williams pulled the damp white sheet from the bulging wicker laundry basket at her feet. She wore her favorite short-sleeve sundress covered with yellow sunflowers and a white apron with a red trim border that she had stitched on by hand. She stood in her backyard, under the clothesline that was suspended between two metal poles. It was the same clothesline that her husband had installed at her insistence fifty years ago.
“We don’t need a clothesline,” her husband, Howard, had said. “I just bought you that brand new Maytag washer and dryer.”
“Don’t argue with me, Howard. Ever since I’ve been using that dryer, my sheets and pillowcases ain’t been nearly as white as I like them. The washing machine is fine, but I ain’t got no use for that dryer. The sun makes clothes white, and it kills germs. The sun was good enough for my grandmama and my mama, and it’s good enough for me. So go downtown to Mr. Kroger’s hardware store and get the rope and some poles. I want my clothesl
ine.”
Howard knew even back then that once Hattie had made her mind up about something, there was nothing he could do to change it.
“And don’t get no cheap rope,” she said as Howard gathered his keys and headed to the door. “I want that line to last, so get some good sturdy rope.”
Last it had. The ropes that extended from the now rusting poles had not been changed in the fifty years since Howard strung them up on that Saturday morning in 1961. Hattie found the edges of the sheet and extended it above her head. She fastened the first corner to the cord with a wooden clothespin. Arms still raised above her head, she applied the next pin to the center of the sheet and finally the third at the end. The sheet billowed gently in the breeze. Hattie took a step back and looked at the white fabric with pride. Good enough for my mama, she thought.
It was a perfect day for drying laundry. The sun had reached its high point. The air was still, except for the occasional breeze that danced between the pillowcases and towels. As Hattie reached down into the basket for the next sheet, she felt a familiar twinge in her stomach. The twinge that heralded the coming of understanding. The feeling foretold of images to come. Hattie stood upright and waited patiently for the vision to begin. She stared blankly into the white sheet that she had just hung as the images slowly began to appear.
The sun had descended from the heavens and rested in the upper right corner of the sheet. The golden rays flowed down onto what she immediately recognized as the sanctuary of New Testament Cathedral. The room was full of saints. She could see rows and rows of colorful felt, straw, and satin Sunday hats. The crowd seemed to be energized by the rays of the sun.
She could hear chords of heavenly music coming from the pipe organ. Everyone was singing in unison, “Walk in the light. Beautiful light. Come where the dewdrops of mercy shine bright. Oh, shine all around us by day and by night. Jesus is, Jesus is the light of the world.”
When Sunday Comes Again Page 13
