Sinners & Saints

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  Rachel was so relieved to see that his face bore no judgment. In fact, he looked just as dumbfounded as she did.

  “You know I don’t steal. And I don’t even like overpriced jewelry like that piece of crap they say I took,” she said.

  “Of course I know that,” he replied. “I just don’t understand how the bracelet got in your bag.”

  “It was that lying old trick Jasmine. I was thinking about this in the cell, and there was a moment in the store when she bumped into me. I know that she planted that bracelet, trying to set me up! She is the one—”

  “Rachel—”

  “Don’t ‘Rachel’ me. I know she was behind this.”

  “But the security guard said he saw you.”

  “Well, he’s lying. I don’t know how or why. Maybe Jasmine paid him. I don’t know. But ain’t nobody saw nothing because I didn’t do anything.” Rachel was getting worked up all over again.

  He tried to pat her arm. “Okay, baby, just calm down.”

  She pulled away and pounded the table. “No, this has gone too far! I’ve been set up and I don’t deserve to be here.” She took a deep breath to calm herself down when she saw the deputy staring icily at her. “Look, I’ve been thinking. I need you to call Melinda for me.”

  “Who is Melinda?”

  “The reporter at KNBC just came out to interview me.”

  “Are you crazy? You want this on the news?” Lester asked incredulously.

  Rachel had thought about this option while she’d been in the cell. She didn’t personally know Melinda, but she knew her family, so she felt some level of trust. Besides, Rachel didn’t have much choice. “No, I don’t want this on the news. But I need her help. She can call that store and put that security guard on the spot or something. They’ll react faster if a media person calls versus you calling. He’s lying, and if she tells him she’s gonna put that hoity-toity store on blast, or even prove he’s lying and put it all on the eleven o’clock news, he’ll tell the truth.”

  “I doubt that very seriously.”

  “Well, Melinda can get him to show the videotape or something. I know a store like that has surveillance tape. It’ll show I didn’t steal anything!”

  “How can she make them show the tape?”

  “Those reporters have power.”

  Lester shook his head doubtfully. “No, why don’t we just let an attorney work all of this out. I already called one and—”

  “No, Lester! I’m not about to sit in this jail cell while they try to prove my innocence.”

  “We’re already working on getting you bailed out.”

  “Bail? I don’t need bail because I didn’t do anything!” she screamed.

  “Hey, keep your voice down,” the deputy called out.

  Lester gently patted her hands, then pulled back when the deputy shot him a warning look. “Sweetheart, I’m doing my best to get you out of here ASAP.”

  Rachel gritted her teeth. She was not about to debate this with her husband. He wasn’t the one stuck here. “Lester, call Melinda. Just call information and get the number to KNBC’s news department. Tell Melinda what’s going on and tell her I desperately need her help. Please, Lester. I’m going crazy in here.”

  Lester released a defeated sigh. “Okay, fine. I’ll call her right away. But I’m still going to have the attorney work on bail.”

  “Whatever.” She rubbed her temples. “We’ll probably need the bail money anyway, because I swear, I’m going to kill Jasmine.”

  Lester’s eyes widened. “Babe, even if Jasmine did do this, you can’t prove it, so let’s cool it with the threats.”

  Rachel glared at her husband. She thought about what she’d endured today. She thought about the humiliation she felt as they slapped handcuffs on her and carted her through the Beverly Center like a common thief. And she thought about the complete and utter disgust on Cecelia King’s face. No. Rachel didn’t care what Lester said. Jasmine was behind this. Rachel knew it and this was the last straw. There was no way in hell she’d rest until Jasmine had paid—and paid dearly—for this latest act.

  Chapter

  NINETEEN

  This was the day before the nominating session and she’d just put Rachel Adams right where she belonged—in jail. This was her crowning moment, just about guaranteed a win for Hosea … so why wasn’t Jasmine kicking up her heels?

  “Will anyone be joining you?” the restaurant hostess asked.

  “No, just a table for one.” Jasmine’s eyes scanned the huge space. The din was at a fever pitch, the room filled primarily with women finding a way to pass the time as the men remained in all-day, closed-door sessions. With the restaurant packed with first ladies, this would have been the perfect time for Jasmine to work the room, to circulate among the pastors’ wives and remind them, once again, of all the wonderful programs she had planned for the Coalition—once she became the first lady. And they would all believe her—after all, hadn’t she and Hosea donated one million dollars out of their own pocket before a vote had even been cast?

  This would have also been the time to drop a little piece of gossip: By the way, did you know that Rachel Adams was arrested a few hours ago in Beverly Hills? You didn’t know? Oh, yes, the police dragged her away … for shoplifting!

  In her mind’s eye, Jasmine could see their shocked expressions, she could hear their gasps, as they all reacted to that juicy piece of scandalous news.

  But instead of sashaying her way through the maze of tables, Jasmine pointed toward the empty booth in the back corner and then followed the hostess with her head down, raising her eyes just a bit every few steps, just enough to return the greeting of anyone who called out to her.

  She slid into the booth, and breathed a long sigh of relief.

  “Please ask the waiter to bring me a cup of tea,” she told the hostess. “Any kind.”

  The woman nodded and left Jasmine alone to retrace the events of the last hours. It was only three o’clock, but the day had seemed so long it could have easily been three in the morning.

  With her elbows on the table, she closed her eyes and rested her face in her hands, thinking about how Cecelia had jumped out of the car as soon as the driver had rolled to a stop in front of the hotel. Cecelia didn’t even wait for one of the valets to open the door; she just slipped out, muttered something about seeing her later, and then rushed into the hotel as if Jasmine was tainted, too.

  That was the only part of the plan that hadn’t gone as she’d expected. She was supposed to get in the car and drive the stake deeper into Rachel’s heart by bonding with Cecelia even more as she shared sordid details of all the trash Rachel had done in the past.

  But Jasmine had said nothing; she’d hadn’t told Cecelia anything. The two women had sat quietly, as if they’d both been shocked into silence.

  Now Cecelia was gone; she and Jasmine hadn’t bonded any more. The only good thing out of this was that Rachel was still behind bars in Beverly Hills.

  “Jasmine Larson, why didn’t you call me?”

  For a moment, Jasmine was surprised that Mae Frances had found her. Then she remembered—this was Mae Frances. Her friend could find anything, do everything.

  Slowly, Jasmine opened her eyes and Mae Frances slipped into the booth, right as the waiter placed the teakettle and china set in front of her.

  “Are you ready to order?” he asked.

  Mae Frances swatted at him as if he was a fly. “Go away. We’ll let you know when we want something,” she huffed.

  When the waiter scooted away, Mae Frances leaned forward. “So?”

  Jasmine kept her voice low, a reminder to Mae Frances that they were in a public place with ears all around. “She was arrested.”

  Mae Frances’s lips slipped into a sly grin. “Did you just get back?”

  Jasmine nodded. “A little while ago. Cecelia and I left the mall and came straight here.”

  Mae Frances took her eyes off Jasmine and glanced around the room. “So why ar
en’t you up and working these ladies?” She spread her arms wide. “Every first lady in here needs to hear the story of Rachel’s humiliating arrest.”

  Jasmine took a sip and nodded. “I know,” she said. “And I’m gonna get around to telling them.” She sighed. “It’s just that …”

  Mae Frances frowned. “What?”

  “I don’t know. It didn’t feel as good as I expected. I mean, this child has been taking me through it this week and I just thought this would be the happiest moment of the convention. But then I started thinking. Suppose for some reason Rachel doesn’t get out tonight.”

  “That would be even better,” Mae Frances said with glee.

  Jasmine shook her head. “Not if it means being away from her children.” She shuddered as memories of that time, not long ago enough, replayed in her mind. All of those hours, all of those days, those three weeks that she’d spent without Jacqueline, not knowing where her four-year-old was or if her daughter would ever be found and returned to them.

  “This is not the same thing,” Mae Frances said, as if she read Jasmine’s thoughts. “Not at all. Rachel’s children are safe.”

  “I know. It’s just that after what I went through, I don’t think any mother should have to spend an hour without her children against her will.”

  Mae Frances waved her hand as if Jasmine’s words didn’t make any sense. “Those bebe kids will be with their father. And as bad as they are, Rachel should be thanking us for giving her a night or two or three away from them.” When Jasmine said nothing and only took another sip of her tea, her friend added, “Don’t go getting soft now, Jasmine Larson. You want Preacher Man to win this election, don’t you?”

  Yes, of course she wanted Hosea to have this position … she needed him to have it.

  “That’s all that counts,” Mae Frances said before Jasmine answered. “Rachel being arrested for shoplifting was our knockout punch. Now we have to make sure that everyone at this convention knows about it.” Mae Frances picked up her cell, punched in some letters, and then put the phone back on the table. “Earl will know what to do.”

  Ah, Pastor Griffith. Didn’t they owe him enough?

  “He told me to stay out of this, you know. He might not be happy with what I did today.”

  “Are you kidding me? Earl knew all about it. We’d come up with this plan before we left New York, when we got that first dossier and found out that Rachel had been arrested before. Earl is going to play that fact up—once a jailbird, always a jailbird.”

  Jasmine shook her head. Mae Frances may have been a couple of decades older than her, and she may have been behind on all this new technology, but when it came to scheming and strategizing, there was no one in the country who did it better.

  “Ladies.”

  Jasmine looked up and into the green eyes of Pastor Griffith. No one did it better than Mae Frances—except for, perhaps, Pastor Griffith.

  “Is the men’s session out already?” Jasmine asked as she leaned to the side, hoping to see her husband not far behind. That’s what she needed right now—to see her husband and then go hug her children.

  “No,” Pastor Griffith said as he slid into the booth next to Mae Frances. “We’re still in session. I just got the text, though I figured it had gone down already when I saw Lester and his treasurer rush out of the hall like they were being chased. But I stayed in there and waited to get Mae Frances’s text.” His eyes moved between the two women. “We have to capitalize on this all the way. Did you discuss everything that Mae Frances told you to say with Cecelia?”

  Jasmine looked at Mae Frances before she said to the pastor, “You knew that much about this setup?”

  He smirked. “Mrs. Bush, you underestimate me. This shoplifting idea was mine. I told Mae Frances about it in New York.”

  She nodded; her friend had just told her that.

  He said, “Maybe you’re not getting it yet. Maybe you don’t know how much work … and money I’ve put into your husband’s campaign.”

  His words made Jasmine pause. For the first time, she asked herself why. Why was Pastor Griffith all up in this as if he was the one being elected? What was he going to get out of doing all of this for Hosea?

  Up to this point, Jasmine thought Pastor Griffith’s enthusiasm was a North and South thing—after six decades, finally the Coalition would have someone from the North as president. But now that she thought about all that Pastor Griffith had done, especially working out the million dollars. Now, this … there had to be more to his obsession.

  “So, what about Cecelia?” he asked again.

  Jasmine shook her head slightly. “We … we didn’t talk in the car … she didn’t want to.” When Pastor Griffith frowned, Jasmine added, “But she was right there for the whole thing. She was standing next to Rachel when the guard pulled the bracelet from her bag and when she was handcuffed. She saw everything.”

  Her words made the pastor smile. “Good,” Pastor Griffith said, sitting back as if he was beyond satisfied. “But we need more now. We need to make sure that everyone knows what happened.”

  The three sat in the booth, silent now, the two across from Jasmine pondering ways to make sure that everyone in the convention knew about the arrest. And Jasmine sat, reflecting, too, but her thoughts were different. Her eyes and her mind were on Pastor Griffith.

  “I got it,” Pastor Griffith said. “I’ll rush back in the session, pretending that the emergency call I just got was about Rachel. I’ll stand up, tell them that that’s why Lester Adams had to leave in such a hurry and I’ll make a plea for us to have a special offering to raise money for Rachel’s bond so that we can get her out of jail.”

  “That’s perfect!” Mae Frances said.

  “I’ll paint a picture,” he said. “A whole story about how they found the bracelet, and the police coming and Cecelia being right there when they handcuffed Rachel and dragged her away.”

  Mae Frances beamed at him as if she was proud. Jasmine just continued staring and thinking.

  “The only thing,” Pastor Griffith said to Jasmine, “is I don’t want you here; I don’t want you in the hotel. I don’t want anyone to be able to call your room or to see you anywhere in the hotel—at least not for the next few hours.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I want Cecelia hounded by these people. I want people calling her, I want people knocking on their door, I want people texting her. I want the Kings so overwhelmed that they will never again have anything to do with the Adams family! So, I don’t want you anywhere to be found to answer questions.”

  “That’s not going to work. Hosea is going to call me as soon as he hears about this. He knows I was with Cecelia and Rachel.”

  “I’ll tell Hosea that since your children are hanging out at all the kids’ events today, you knew they were safe and you wanted to get Mae Frances away from this craziness. Don’t worry, Hosea will probably call you, but I’ll take care of your husband. I’ve got him under control.”

  Jasmine and Mae Frances spoke at the same time. “What does that mean?”

  He looked at Jasmine, then turned to face Mae Frances. “Don’t get testy, ladies. I simply mean that I have the situation—the whole situation—under control.”

  “That’s not what you said,” Jasmine stated.

  “Well, that’s what I meant.” The pastor stared at Jasmine as if he dared her to challenge him any more.

  The women glanced at each other, but when Pastor Griffith picked his wallet from his pocket and tossed five one-hundred-dollar bills to Mae Frances, she seemed to forget his ominous words.

  But the money didn’t distract Jasmine. “What’s that for?” she asked.

  “You two go out.”

  “Where?” The questions all came from Jasmine; Mae Frances no longer had any concerns. She’d already scooped that money up as if it was a million dollars. “And for how long?” Jasmine kept the questions coming.

  “Just a couple of hours. Go back to the mall, fin
ish up your shopping. Go out to eat; all this work has got to have made you hungry.” He had tucked his wallet away, but he opened it up again and passed five bills to Jasmine.

  She stared at the money, then shook her head. “I’m fine.” Looking him straight in the eyes, she said, “I don’t need your money.”

  He chuckled. “Sweetheart, this is not about needs, it’s all about wants. And because you and I want the same thing—for your husband to be the president of the Coalition—you need to take this money, and let me do my thing.”

  She stared at the five hundred dollars for a little while longer; and again, she wanted to ask him, what was in it for him? But after a few moments, her fingers slowly curled around the money.

  He smiled.

  Mae Frances laughed and said, “Let’s go, Jasmine Larson.”

  It took her a moment to gather herself, but with a final glance at Pastor Griffith, Jasmine lifted her bags and followed Mae Frances out of the restaurant.

  Chapter

  TWENTY

  The eight hours had felt like an eternity. But Rachel was just grateful to be out of that hellhole. Her idea to call Melinda had been right on the money. Melinda had marched over to the Beverly Center, flashed her ID, and asked that security guard to retell his story on camera. Naturally, he’d spouted some mess about the company’s privacy policy, but when Melinda had demanded to see the surveillance tape, and it showed Rachel just standing around looking irritated and not blatantly stealing as he’d claimed, he’d stuttered, backtracked, and said maybe he’d been mistaken. Rachel had hoped the tape would’ve shown Jasmine setting her up, but Melinda said it only showed Jasmine’s back to the camera and there was no way to prove she’d done anything.

  That had been frustrating, but at least the flustered guard had decided he didn’t want to go on camera lying about her. He never admitted to anything, but the manager had told Melinda they didn’t want the “negative press,” so they wouldn’t be pressing charges.

  Rachel had decided she, however, would be filing charges. Or a lawsuit. Or something for false arrest, false imprisonment, lying on a customer, anything she could make stick.