The two made love for the first time on the cool granite floor in the house in the Hollywood Hills.
It was Saturday night at 11:55. Samantha drove her white Bentley sports coupe on Western Avenue. Even at that hour the street was filled with people going to or leaving their favorite nightclub, late-night restaurant, or theater. The duffel bag containing the two million dollars sat on the passenger seat.
While waiting for the light at Sunset Boulevard and Western, she looked in the rearview mirror to ensure David Shackelford was following closely behind. He had the gun in his pocket and passion in his heart. Samantha prayed he would use them both just as she had planned.
As she continued driving, the gritty street gradually transitioned from run-down storefronts, hamburger joints, bars, and dollar discount stores to a tree-lined residential neighborhood of two-story houses with Spanish tiled roofs and circular driveways. Samantha turned left at the first entrance to the park. A canopy of trees covered the road and blocked the ambient light. Vintage streetlamps with glass globes provided the only illumination on the road.
When David veered onto the road, he turned off his headlights and slowed down to increase the distance between them. Samantha could see him only when he rolled under one of the few dim streetlamps lining the road. His car would disappear seconds after he passed each lamp.
There were no other cars on the dark road. Dense layers of trees lined each side as she drove deeper into the empty park. She could see traces of buildings in the dark as she ascended a hill, but couldn’t tell if they were houses or public restrooms. Suddenly the entrance to the parking lot appeared on her left. She made a cautious turn, and the incline increased dramatically. When she reached the top, Samantha saw the parking lot sprawled out under the beams of her headlights. It was empty. Samantha immediately noted that there was only one way into the parking lot and only one way out of the large space. It was walled on one side by the sheer face of a wooded hill, and on another a steep cliff dropped down to the main road below. She parked the car so that it was facing the cliff and turned off the ignition and the lights. She could see only a few feet on either side, in the front and the rear.
David drove a safe distance past the parking lot entrance on the main road below and parked. His heart was pounding hard against the gun in his breast pocket. His hands were moist from perspiration. The darkness seemed to close in on him like the walls of a coffin. His breathing became shallow as he braced himself to exit the car.
David placed his hand on the door handle, then paused. “You can do this, David,” he said out loud. “Samantha needs you. Don’t let her down.” The longer he waited, the shallower his breaths became and the more fiercely his heart pounded against the gun in his pocket. David reached over and frantically fumbled at the latch to the glove compartment. From it he pulled a half-empty bottle of distilled courage. He took one long gulp and then followed it with two more.
Samantha looked at her watch. It was now 12:08. “Come on,” she said softly, tapping the steering wheel. “Where are you?”
Seconds later she heard a gentle tap on the car window. She looked to her left and saw the torso and hands of a man wearing a dark coat and standing at the window. The figure motioned for her to roll down the window.
“Hello, Samantha,” the man said, bending down to the open window. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Danny St. John.”
Samantha looked him in the eye and said, “I should have guessed. So you’re the man that was sleeping with my husband.”
“Yes. I’m also the man who loved your husband. Is that the money?” he asked, pointing past her to the bag on the passenger seat. “May I have it please?”
Samantha tried to look around Danny for David, but his shoulders were too broad. Come on, David. Where are you? she thought as she slowly reached for the bag.
“They don’t come much lower than you, do they, Danny?” she said, stalling for more time. “Sleeping with a married man, then blackmailing his widow.”
Danny laughed out loud. “This coming from a woman who killed her husband. You’re in no position to judge me. Now, give me the money, and you’ll never hear from me again.”
Danny saw blackmail as his only way out. The only way he could move beyond her dangerous reach. If she’s evil enough to kill her husband, she’s certainly evil enough to kill me, he had reasoned in the grief-stricken days that followed Hezekiah’s death. Get the money and disappear. Leave the country. Move to a place where she will never find me. He’d concluded that leaving Los Angeles was the only way he would be free from the paralyzing fear that every stranger he saw on the street was potentially a deadly messenger sent to him by Samantha Cleaveland. He also needed so desperately to be away from every inch of the city that reminded him of Hezekiah.
The two looked intently at each other and simultaneously understood why Hezekiah had fallen in love with the other. They saw pure, raw passion burning in each other’s eyes. Two people who would stop at nothing to get what they wanted, whether it be love or money. In the dark of the night there was no need for pretense or defense. They spoke as if they were looking into a mirror.
“Was this your plan all along?” Samantha asked, looking in his eyes. “Was it always about the money?”
“This might be difficult for someone like you to understand, but it was never about money,” Danny said. “I loved Hezekiah. Did you ever love him?”
“At one time I did,” Samantha responded with a slight nod of concession.
“Then why did you kill him?”
Samantha paused but at that moment saw no need for caution. “It’s the law of the universe, Danny. In order to get something you want, you have to give up something you love.”
“Then I guess that law worked well for you.”
When Danny said the last word, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around quickly and found himself standing nose to nose with David.
Samantha shouted out loud, “He’s got a gun, David. Shoot him! Shoot him!”
David immediately pushed Danny into the side of the car. The two men wrestled to the ground and rolled on the pavement, with arms and legs flailing in every direction. Samantha unlocked the car door, jumped out and screamed over the jumble of flesh and cloth, “Shoot him, David. He tried to kill me. Shoot him now!”
Suddenly a shot rang out, and the bodies went limp on the pavement. Samantha could see the gun in one of the hands lying flat on the ground. She rushed to the heap and snatched the gun away, took three steps backward, all while aiming the gun with both hands at the still pile of flesh. A chest was heaving, but she couldn’t tell if it was David or Danny.
“David,” she said, still pointing the warm gun at the heap. “David, are you okay?”
Suddenly the bodies moved, and David struggled from beneath Danny.
“Get up, David,” Samantha said, directing the gun to the lone figure on the ground. “Is he dead?”
“I think so,” David panted. “He’s not breathing.”
“Good.”
David stopped breathing and looked at Samantha. “What are you talking about? I just killed a man.”
“It was self-defense. If you hadn’t been here, he would have killed me.”
David reached into his pocket for his cell phone and began to dial nine-one-one.
Samantha grabbed his arm and said, “What are you doing?”
“I’m calling the police,” he yelled. “We just killed a man. I’m calling the police.”
“David, honey, wait a minute,” she said. “Let me at least check to see if he’s dead. He may still be alive.”
Samantha walked cautiously to Danny’s still body. She knelt down and first checked his coat pockets and then the pockets of his pants. She stood up and faced David and said, “He doesn’t have a gun.”
“What?” David screamed.
“You just killed an unarmed man.”
“Oh shit!” David said. “Oh shit! Oh God, Samantha, you said he had a gun,” he
said, holding his hands against the sides of his head. “You said he was going to kill you.”
“It looked like he had a gun in his pocket. I thought he had a gun,” Samantha said curtly.
David began to pace back and forth in the parking lot, with his arms waving in front of Danny’s lifeless body. “What have I done?” he said. “Look what you made me do!”
Samantha threw the gun into her open car window and grabbed David by his shoulders. “David, stop,” she said, trying to calm the frantic man. “Listen to me, David. We have to leave. No one knows we were here. We need to just leave now and never speak of this to anyone. Do you understand me?” she asked firmly.
“Leave?” he muttered. “Just leave him there? Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Everything will be fine. I want you to go home to Scarlett and not say a word about this to anyone. Ever! Do you understand me?” she said, shaking his shoulders. “Someone will find him in the morning. They’ll never be able to link any of this to either you or me as long as we both agree that it never happened. Okay? Do you agree?”
“I . . . I agree,” David sputtered. “Are you sure no one will find out?”
“I’m sure. Now, go to your car and wait for me at the bottom of the hill. I’ll follow you as far as Wilshire Boulevard. Then I want you to drive straight home and put this out of you mind. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” he said, shaking.
“And make sure you are at church tomorrow,” Samantha continued. “I want to see you there with Scarlett on one side and Natalie on the other. We have to act like this never happened. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he said, shaking harder.
“Good. Everything is going to be fine, David. I’ll call you in the morning to check on you.”
David took one look at Danny lying face down on the pavement and ran sporadically to the edge of the parking lot, looking over his shoulder at Samantha and Danny. When he reached the edge, he took one step over the ledge and slipped in the loose dirt. His heavy body tumbled headfirst and rolled until he hit the road below with a thud. He scrambled across the dark road, covered in dirt and spitting dust. Once inside his car he reached into the glove compartment again and retrieved the almost empty bottle and guzzled the remainder of its contents.
Samantha did nothing as she watched the shadow of David’s hulking body tumble down the hill. When she heard the thud of his body hitting the pavement below, she moved quickly to Danny and removed his watch. She recognized the dial of the Rolex immediately and said, “I assume Hezekiah gave this to you, so technically it belongs to me.” She then removed his wallet and said, “Good-bye, Danny St. John. I’m glad we finally met.”
In the car Samantha unzipped the leather duffel bag, revealing the jumble of cash. She placed the gun, the watch, and the wallet inside the bag and shoved it to the floor of the car.
Once on the road, Samantha followed David down the hill until they each vanished into the night as silently as they had come.
Samantha opened the door to her closet. It was three o’clock on Sunday morning. Etta was asleep in the maids’ quarters. The house resembled a mausoleum with its dark, cavernous halls and lifeless rooms. Little green lights blinked on security devices throughout the house, and red beams guarded the most valued treasures.
When she opened the door, lights around a floor-to-ceiling mirror that stretched the length of the wall in the closet turned on automatically and flooded the elaborate windowless room with what appeared to be natural sunlight. A crystal chandelier hanging over a Louis XV table that held an arrangement of tulips, roses, and white snapdragons marked the center of the room, which was almost as large as the master bedroom.
Clothes she had acquired over the years of her marriage were arranged by designer and occasion. Each of her favorite designers had their own individually lit nook. Sections were dedicated to couture gowns, black dresses, white dresses, business wear, formal, semi-formal, and every other conceivable occasion. Dozens of hats made especially for her face were displayed on pouting porcelain heads. A ladder on wheels leaned against shelves filled with cashmere sweaters and silk scarves stacked neatly according to color. A full set of Louis Vuitton luggage had been placed neatly in a section created especially for luggage. The mansion’s central control room assured that the closet remained at a constant sixty degrees, the perfect temperature for storing her most valued collection.
The centerpiece was the hundreds of shoes displayed on shelves behind sliding glass doors. The shoes were arranged by color. Each pair had been chosen to complement a new ensemble added to the collection, or for its ability to carry Samantha as if she had wings on her feet.
Samantha stood in the threshold and admired the items that were so dear to her heart. Garments and shoes that had not been worn in years and would probably never be worn again were as admired as those she had just worn the day before. Some held sentimental value, while others were kept for their sheer beauty and exquisite craftsmanship.
Samantha normally took two hours early on Sunday morning to ready herself for church. But this was going to be another special Sunday. She needed more time to assemble the perfect image for her first Sunday as the permanent pastor of New Testament Cathedral. Samantha wanted to look her most radiant, while conveying an air of humility, with a backdrop of power. Her heels had to be just the right height. Her jewelry had to sparkle but not shine.
She had to select a look that would titillate the husbands but would not incense the wives.
Samantha grudgingly decided that because Hezekiah had been dead only a few weeks, she had to, for at least one more Sunday, wear black. After a lengthy search of the black dress section, Samantha selected three outfits from the racks and displayed them on hooks as if they were warriors preparing for battle. One was a simple two-piece suit with a loose-fitting skirt and a jacket with mid-length sleeves. The second was also a suit, but with a skirt that hugged the lines of her well-shaped lower half. As she studied the lineup, the third was clearly emerging as her favorite. She had purchased it the week earlier, on a shopping spree on Rodeo Drive. It was a Givenchy that caressed the contours of her body and offered a seductive peek at the V in her ample cleavage.
She tried on each of the outfits multiple times over the next hour, putting each one through a series of tests, posing and strutting, sitting and waving in front of the mirrored wall. Samantha kneeled in front of the large mirror, walked at a quick pace across the length of the dressing-room floor, and executed a series of abrupt twists and turns, mimicking the theatrics and gestures of her debut sermon.
She decided on the Givenchy suit at the conclusion of the high fashion aerobic session. Its color, shape, and easy movement suited her purposes well. The shoes she selected were not the pair purchased for the suit. Instead, she chose a pair with a slightly higher heel. The accessories were the easy part; the dress would tolerate only diamonds, a single-strand bracelet, and six-carat studs for her ears.
Samantha stood in front of the mirror to examine her final choice and was pleased. For a brief second the image of Danny’s lifeless body flashed before her. “Give Hezekiah a kiss for me,” she said out loud while surveying her figure from every angle.
It was now 7:45 on Sunday morning at New Testament Cathedral. The death of Hezekiah could still be felt in the air and seen on the faces of members as they filed down the aisles and into the pews. The entire length of the three steps that led up to the pulpit was covered from top to bottom with flowers left by thousands each Sunday. At the end of each Sunday the maintenance crew would remove the flowers, and the next Sunday there would be even more.
The pipe organ churned an upbeat hymn in an effort to elevate the mood as members took their seat. An eight-foot portrait of a smiling Hezekiah T. Cleaveland, draped with black cloth, hanging above the choir stand immediately reminded worshippers that a murder had taken place only a few Sundays earlier.
Cameras captured, for the two jumbo screens, the parade o
f colorful hats, mothers settling small children into the pews, and men escorting their wives down the aisles. The continuing saga of grief was felt not only in the sanctuary. People across America watched and cried along with them from the comfort and safety of their homes.
“Where are you, David?” Samantha asked, clutching her cell phone to her ear in the window of her office.
“I’m here, parking the car.”
“Are Scarlett and Natalie with you?”
“Yeah, I dropped them at the entrance. She’s getting our seats before it gets too crowded.”
“Perfect. Did you say anything to her last night?”
“What was I going to say? Honey, guess what Samantha and I did last night?”
“Good, and make sure you keep it that way. Did she ask why you were out so late?”
“No. She was just surprised and relieved I came home. Stop asking me all these fucking questions,” he snapped. “I told you I wasn’t going to say anything, and I didn’t. When am I going to see you? I want to hold you in my arms. I need to make love to you again. I love you, Samantha.”
“Soon. Just be patient,” Samantha said calmly. “David?” she continued.
“What?”
“You and I are in this together. Do not cross me, because as you now know, I can be a very dangerous woman.”
When the clock struck eight, the side doors to the left and right of the pulpit swung open and the choir entered from both sides into the stand.
“We are on our way. We’re on our journey home,” the choir sang as they marched. “We are on our way. We’re on our journey home.”
When Sunday Comes Again Page 23
