Chapter 7
“I’ve been trying to reach you all day. Why haven’t you returned my calls?”
“I’ve been busy, David,” Samantha replied sharply. “In case you haven’t heard, I’m opening one of the largest churches in the world this Sunday.”
David sat down behind the desk in his home office. He was relieved to hear Samantha’s voice, despite the sharp tone in her response. The office was dark except for the glow from a laptop computer. A picture of Samantha beaming in front of the new glass cathedral filled the screen. The caption below read, “Pastor Cleaveland welcomes you to New Testament Cathedral.” The remains from his third brandy sat dripping condensation onto a leather blotter.
“I just wanted to hear your voice. How are you?”
“Never mind that,” she snapped. “Are you alone?”
David looked at the closed door. He could hear Scarlett rattling pans in the kitchen. “Yes. Scarlett is in the other room. Why? What’s wrong?”
“I got a call from Gideon Truman. He told me that Danny St. John is still alive. That’s what’s wrong.”
“Alive!” David exclaimed. “Are you sure? That’s fantastic! That means I didn’t kill him.”
“No, David, that is not fantastic, you fool. If he talks, you and I will stand trial for attempted murder.”
“But it was self-defense. He was blackmailing you. You thought he had a gun.”
“None of that matters. I can’t be involved in anything this sordid. The press will eat me alive. There’ll be a drawn-out court case, and even if I’m found innocent in the end, I will most definitely lose everything.”
“But . . . maybe he won’t talk. He is just as guilty as you,” David said pleadingly. The entire conversation had unfolded in his head long before the words were spoken. He knew and feared where it was leading. “Maybe we scared him enough that now he’ll just disappear,” was his feeble attempt at heading off the inevitable.
“It’s too late for that. I told you Gideon Truman is the one who told me. So obviously, he’s not too afraid to talk.”
David let out an exasperated sigh, and the full weight of his body sank into the desk chair. With a trembling hand, he reached for the drink on the desk and in one gulp downed the remains. The taste of melted ice cubes was followed by the smooth, earthy flavor of brandy.
“You need to give him the money. Give him more than what he asked for,” David said pleadingly.
“And what about Gideon?” was her matter-of-fact reply.
“Offer him money too. Every man has a price.”
“I won’t pay those sons of bitches a fucking nickel, and I’m disappointed that you would suggest it. This is obviously too much for you to handle, so I’ll deal with it myself.”
“Wait a minute, Samantha,” David said, jumping to his feet. “Don’t hang up. I’m just trying to come up with possible solutions.”
“There’s only one solution, and I think you know what it is.”
Samantha skillfully let her last statement hang in the air to allow the full weight of its implications to settle in.
“You can’t be saying what I think you’re saying,” David finally uttered.
“It’s the only solution.”
“But . . . are you talking about . . . murder?” he whispered.
“I’m talking about keeping us out of jail so we can continue to do God’s work.”
“I can’t do it, Samantha.”
“So you were lying to me when you said you would kill a thousand men for me and that you would do anything I told you. I guess you were also lying when you said you loved me.”
David’s hesitation came as no surprise to Samantha. She was used to the weak constitutions of men. She had mastered the art of manipulating fainthearted men to do her bidding after years of moving Hezekiah with the nimble hands of a master puppeteer.
Before they married, Hezekiah’s dream had been to be a missionary in Uganda. Samantha had dutifully agreed and had encouraged his dream, until their wedding day in the little church in Compton. From that point on she had employed every tactic she had learned from watching her mother mold and transform her father into the pastor of one of the largest churches in the city at that time. And just as they were for her mother, sexual coercion, guilt, flattery, and threats were the tools she employed to make Hezekiah into the man she needed him to be. In time, she convinced him to open the small church in the storefront on Imperial Highway, and New Testament Cathedral was born.
After years of practice there was nothing Samantha could not convince a man to do on her behalf. There was no mountain too high to climb and no pit too deep to fall into for the love and approval, or even the simple approving glance, of Samantha Cleaveland. Those who were gay, straight, black, white, and every hue in between were susceptible to her mesmerizing smile and smoldering sensuality.
“You know I wasn’t lying,” David responded with force. “I love you. I worship you. I would do anything for you, but—”
“If you really loved me, David, you would not allow them to do this to me. You’re weak and a liar. Just like Hezekiah.”
“Don’t compare me to him!” David shouted. “Don’t ever compare me to him. I’m more of a man than he ever was.”
Samantha stepped up the pressure. “No, you’re not. He wasn’t much of a man, and neither are you.” Her timing was perfect, as usual.
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it. I’m just—”
“Never mind, David. I should have never expected more from you. You’re wasting my time now. Go back to your wife and daughter and have a blessed life.”
“Don’t hang up, Samantha!” he shouted. “I’ll do it, damn it. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove how much I love you.”
At that moment the office door flung open and Scarlett seethed in the threshold. “Who are you talking to, David? Is that her?” she shouted.
David turned abruptly and placed his hand over the mouthpiece. “What are you screaming about?” he asked angrily. “I’m on the phone.”
“I heard everything you said. Are you talking to Samantha Cleaveland?”
David returned to the call. “I have to go. I will call you later.”
“Is that Scarlett?” Samantha asked cautiously.
“I have to go now,” he repeated.
“Don’t say anything about this to her, David.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t. I’ll talk to you later.”
“I heard you,” Scarlett said, approaching David. What will you do to prove how much you love her? What did she ask you to do?”
“That’s none of your business, Scarlett. You’re being ridiculous. I can’t talk to you when you’re this hysterical.”
“You’re in love with her. She’s out of your league, David. She’ll chew you up and spit you out, just like she does everyone in her life.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I suggest you get out and leave me alone.”
“I won’t leave you alone!” she shouted even louder. “You’re my husband, not hers! I’m warning you, David. She’s evil. She’ll destroy you if you get too close to her.”
“Shut up!” he shouted, raising his hand, as if to strike her. “Shut your fucking mouth! You lied to me all these years about Natalie. God only knows what else you’ve been lying about, so how can you judge anyone?”
“I’ve told you a thousand times I lied only to protect Natalie. It was a mistake. I should have told you the truth.”
“It’s too late for that now.”
Scarlett walked closer to David. She raised her hand and placed it gently on his cheek. “It’s not too late, David,” she said pleadingly. “It’s not too late to save our family.”
David violently pushed her hand away. “Family,” he replied mockingly. “We are not a family. Natalie is not my daughter, and she never was.”
“I never told you she was.”
“You also conveniently didn’t tell me she was the bastard child of Hezekiah Cleaveland. Always protecting your own ass, regardless of who gets hurt. And believe me, Scarlett, you hurt me deeply. But to be honest, I don’t think that really matters to you. What really matters to you is that you maintain that ridiculous victim routine you’ve crafted your whole fucking life. ‘Poor, poor me. Look at how poorly the world has treated me. Look at how Hezekiah abandoned me. Look at how cruelly Samantha treated me. Now look at how my no-good husband is treating me, even after I told him the truth. The world is so cruel.’ Well, I’ve got a news flash for you, Scarlett. I don’t care anymore,” he said sarcastically. “Boo the fucking hoo. My advice to you is that you should do whatever it takes for you to sleep at night, and you can fucking bet I’m going to do the same.”
With his final words spoken, David pushed her aside and exited the room.
“She’s going to destroy you, David!” Scarlett shouted to his retreating body. “She’s going to destroy you, just like she did Hezekiah. I’m not going to let her destroy my life again, David!”
“Ladies and gentlemen, my guest tonight is Pastor Samantha Cleaveland,” the host said with a British accent. “For the one or two of you out there who don’t know who she is, I’ll tell you. Pastor Cleaveland has the distinction of being one of the most popular pastors in the world and is the head of one of the largest congregations in the United States.”
Samantha sat across the acrylic desk from Jonathan Moran. His boyish looks were broadcast live to the home of millions each evening on CNN. Studio lights and the electric blue set made his cheeks look unnaturally rosy.
“Welcome, Pastor Cleaveland. Thank you so much for joining us this evening. I have to tell you I have been looking so forward to meeting you in person.”
Samantha wore a Versace floral two-piece lace suit with four crystal buttons, a notched collar, and long sleeves with scalloped cuffs. “Thank you, Jonathan. It’s a pleasure for me to be here.” Her black hair caught every ray of artificial light that pointed in her direction.
“I don’t mean to gush,” the host continued, “and I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you are an exquisite woman. I, like most other people in this country, have seen you on television, and I thought you were stunning, but my heavens, you are even more beautiful in person. I hope that doesn’t offend you.”
“Not at all,” Samantha said, flashing only a portion of her signature smile. “On the contrary, I’m flattered.”
“Good. Now that that’s out of the way, and you’ve reduced me to a jabbering schoolboy,” he said with a shy smile, “let’s talk about what’s going on in your life. I know you most likely would prefer not to talk about it, but I feel like we must. You lost your husband, Pastor Hezekiah T. Cleaveland, in one of the most horrific and astonishing ways anyone could possibly imagine. I guess there’s no delicate way to put it, but he was killed right in front of you, in the pulpit of your church, New Testament Cathedral, in Los Angeles. I can’t even begin to fathom what that must have been like for you.”
Samantha indulged the tiresome host and responded, “I don’t mind talking about it, Jonathan. It seems the more I talk about it, the quicker I’ve been able to heal. Sometimes I can’t believe it actually happened. One moment he was standing in front of me, full of life, and the next, he was lying in my arms, breathing his last breath. I still have a hard time accepting the fact that he’s actually gone. It all happened so quickly.”
“Do you have any idea who did this?”
“The police have very few leads. They’ve warned me that the more time that passes, the more unlikely it is that they will be able to identify his killer.”
“That must make you furious. I mean, that this—I hesitate to even call him a person—that this animal is still out there and could possibly never be apprehended.”
“It did at first, and that’s the natural response when a loved one is taken from you unnecessarily. I’ll admit I initially wanted him to be arrested and to suffer the same fate he inflicted upon my husband. But the more I prayed about it and the more I was able to let go of my anger and turn it over to God, the better I began to feel. The Bible tells us that God will never put more on us than we can bear, and after this test I truly believe that.”
“Now, you, in a very short time after his death, were installed as the pastor of your church. Some of my colleagues in the media have been very harsh and have criticized you for not waiting an appropriate amount of time after his death. Some have called you, and I’m quoting here, ‘power hungry.’ How do you respond to those who have said that you’re just not ready and this was simply a desperate move on your part to hang on to the religious empire you and your husband built?”
“I would say that everyone is entitled to their opinion,” Samantha said, unfazed. “But at the end of the day that is all it is, an opinion. If they knew the facts, I don’t think they would say those things.”
“Then, please tell us the facts. What possessed you to step into the position of pastor only two short months after your husband’s death?”
“The simple answer is that I was asked by the board of trustees to take over the position. Whether it’s true or not, they felt I was the best person to continue the work of our ministry in the absence of Hezekiah. Believe me, I wanted nothing more than to go to my room and lie under the covers for the rest of my life after it happened, but God had a different plan for me. So when they approached me with their decision, I was shocked and, I must admit, a bit terrified.”
“Why terrified? Weren’t you always deeply involved in the day-to-day operations of the church, and you’re an ordained minister, correct?”
“That is correct. I am an ordained minister, and I hold a doctorate in theology from Brighton Theological Institute. I also have an MBA.”
“I don’t think anyone has ever questioned your qualifications. I’ve heard you speak on several occasions, and each time I was so moved, you left me on the verge of tears. It’s more the timing of the appointment.”
“What most people don’t realize is that Hezekiah and I built New Testament Cathedral together.”
“Really? I, for one, didn’t know that.”
“Yes. Hezekiah was a charismatic and bigger-than-life man. He had an uncanny mastery of the scriptures, and I truly believe he had a special connection to God. But the day-to-day operations of the church, the television ministry, and all the national and international components of the work were primarily my responsibility. Even many people who are intimately involved with us had no idea of the depth and breadth of my involvement in the church, and to be honest, I preferred it that way.”
Jonathan looked at his guest with a doubting eye as she spoke, but the cameras chose not to share his skepticism with the nation.
“I enjoyed being the ‘wind beneath his wings,’ as the song says. He was my husband, and he was called by God to be the head of our household and the church. I was very content living in his shadow.”
Jonathan couldn’t stand being part of the obvious deception and decided to quickly change the direction of the conversation. Samantha’s glow had slowly begun to dim for him.
“Now, this is a very exciting week for you. You recently completed the construction of your new cathedral, and this Sunday you’ll hold the first worship service there.”
“That’s correct,” Samantha said, sensing the almost imperceptible decline in his juvenile infatuation. She proceeded with her usual charm, but now it was tempered by caution and humility.
“This was Hezekiah’s dream.” As she spoke, images of the cathedral, the beautiful couple waving from the pulpit, and Samantha veiled in black at his funeral flashed on a giant screen between them. “His vision was to build a church that could accommodate the entire New Testament Cathedral family. Now we can all be together at one time, like a family should, and feast together on the word of God. This could have never been built without the love and dedication of my husband and the love and generosity of millions of our supporters around the world.”
“Could you tell us how your daughter is doing? This must have been devastating for her.”
“That was the most painful part of this entire ordeal. My daughter means the world to me, and the sun rose and set in her father’s eyes. She was definitely Daddy’s little girl. She is doing much better. She’s back in school, and we’re surrounding her with love, support, and prayers.”
“Tell us a little bit about you, Pastor Cleaveland. I think many of our viewers know what you are, but they don’t know who you are, if that makes any sense to you. What is it in you that has kept you going all these years in a field that I’m sure has many difficult moments?”
“There’s not much to tell, Jonathan. I’m your average PK who was raised in the church. The church has been a part of my entire life. My father was a pastor, and his father was a pastor. From the moment I laid eyes on Hezekiah, I could see the spirit of God around him, and I knew immediately that he was going to be my husband. From then on, we dedicated our entire lives to the ministry, and now, without him, I promised God and myself that I would continue and not give up the fight.”
“That’s all well and good, but what is it that motivates you? I mean, what makes you get up in the morning and think, I’m going to dedicate my life to others, put myself second and other people’s needs first?’”
“I love people, Jonathan, and I made a promise to myself to make sure that everyone I encounter feels the love of God through me. Our hands are God’s hands. Our voice is God’s voice. I deeply believe that everyone is put on this earth for a reason, and I want to see everyone live life to the fullest and absolutely reach their potential. That’s the fundamental message of God, and that is the foundation of this ministry.”
“What do you say to the critics who accuse you of spending millions of dollars to build a shrine to yourself?” he asked bluntly.
“If they only knew the sacrifices I’ve made in my life, they would never make such accusations,” she scoffed. “I have never benefited financially from this ministry. The donations that come in go directly into spreading the love of God to a world so desperately in need of it. I have dedicated my life to helping others and have even sacrificed loved ones to keep this ministry alive and to grow it into what it is today.”
Samantha could see the glow of admiration slowly resurfacing in the host’s countenance. It was undeniable that Jonathan was back in the Samantha fan club after her last passionate sermonette. Probably has a hard-on under the desk, she thought as he reached across the acrylic divide and caressed her hand.
“Well, Pastor Cleaveland, you are an amazing woman, and I feel like a better person just being in your presence. Thank you so much for taking the time to speak with us during what I am sure is a busy week for you.”
“It’s been my pleasure,” Samantha responded, covering his clammy hand with hers. “Thank you so much for having me.”
White boxes of vegetarian chow mein, hot and sour soup, fried prawns, and barbecued pork sat in the center of the dining room table, along with wooden chopsticks, little packets of soy sauce, and two tightly wrapped cellophane bundles of fortune cookies, hot mustard, and cheap paper napkins. Cynthia and Percy sat silently eating, only occasionally asking the other, “Could you please pass the chow mein?” or “Is there any more shrimp?”
Cynthia hadn’t cooked a meal in their kitchen in over two months. All her energy had been consumed by plotting to remove Samantha from her lofty throne. Plan after plan had been intricately devised, including blackmail, anonymous death threats, lobbying each member of the board of trustees to change their vote, and a smear campaign designed to tarnish the Cleavelands’ reputation to the point that not even Samantha could recover.
Each plan had required countless days to work out the fine details and only moments for Cynthia to discard for being either too risky, too easy for Samantha to recover from, or too likely to backfire in her own face. Now, sitting at the table across from Percy, Cynthia had no viable scheme for removing Samantha from the helm of New Testament Cathedral.
She shifted strands of noodles from one side of her plate to the other with her splintered disposable chopsticks, sipped Pellegrino, dabbed her lips with a paper napkin, and occasionally took a bite of the tasteless Americanized Chinese takeout.
“How was your day?” Percy finally asked to break the deafening divide.
There was no response.
“Cynthia, honey, how was your day?” he repeated.
“It was fine,” came her simple, yet polite, reply.
“What did you do?”
Cynthia laid her chopsticks on the table and resigned herself to the fact that she had to have polite dinner conversation with her unambitious husband.
“I had a hair appointment this morning. After that I went shopping and bought a few things. Then lunch with my sister. Came home, ordered Chinese, and now I’m here with you. Is that enough detail for you?”
“I don’t want to argue, Cynthia. I was only trying to be polite.”
“I know, darling,” she replied apologetically. “I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind. How was your day?”
Percy reached across the table and gently touched her arm. “No need to apologize. Things are crazy this week at church. I’ve already given five VIP tours of the grounds. I’ve lost track of how many interviews I’ve done. Today Samantha and I had lunch with the mayor, and tomorrow the governor is flying down for a personal tour. I think you may be wrong about Samantha, honey. So far I think she’s doing a very good job. Did you see her on Jonathan Moran’s show? She had him eating out of the palm of her hand.”
Percy babbled on, oblivious to the steam that was rising just across the table from him. Cynthia tried her best to control her anger.
“Samantha has her flaws. Don’t we all? But one thing you have to admit is that she knows how to raise money. Because of all the coverage she’s been getting, donations this week alone have broken every record. We got a check for half a million dollars today from a venture capitalist in Silicon Valley, and another from Texas for a quarter of a million. Both of them said they saw her on Moran’s show and felt compelled by God to send her money. That woman could get water from a rock if she was thirsty enough.”
This last spewing of praise was enough to make Cynthia jump to her feet. “Shut up!” she shouted. “You fool, please shut up!” As she yelled the words, Cynthia swept her arm across the table, sending boxes of tepid food, utensils, plates, and glasses slamming against the dining room window. “Would you please stop ranting about how great that woman is? You’re making a complete fool of yourself. She’s making fools of everyone around her, and I will not allow her to make a fool of you as well. Stop kissing her ass. Can’t you for once stand up for yourself and be a man?”
“And just what do you suggest that I do?” Percy asked calmly. “She’s our pastor, and we have to support her.”
“She’s your pastor. That woman is not my pastor. You should be pastor, and I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that happens.”
“Damn it, Cynthia,” he said, pounding his fist on the table. “You’ve been saying that for months now, and I’m sick of it. How do you propose to make that happen? It’s over. She’s the pastor, and that’s final.”
“It’s not final. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had Hezekiah killed just so she could become pastor. Did you ever think of that?” she asked smugly. “She probably paid someone to kill him. I wouldn’t put anything past her.”
“Now you’re just being ridiculous.”
“Am I? Think about it, Percy. Who is the only person in the world who stood to gain anything from his death? Her! And who would have lost the most if that story about him being gay had ever come out? Her! And do you think it was a coincidence that he just happened to get killed the day before the story was scheduled to run? I don’t! If you hadn’t accidentally killed that reporter, I can almost guarantee you that she would have.”
As Cynthia spoke, the words came to her like an epiphany. Words born from anger, frustration, and hate somehow had a surprising air of truth to her. Percy did not allow his face to show it, but the words held a grain of possibility for him as well.
“That’s just crazy,” he said, trying to convince her and also himself. “Samantha would never do anything like that. She loved Hezekiah.”
“You know as well as I do, Percy, that Samantha loves only three things. Herself, money, and the spotlight.”
Again, the words smacked of the truth. Percy found it more and more difficult to deny their veracity.
Chow mein noodles slid down the window, leaving slimy trails, as they spoke. The fried shrimp and barbecued pork lay on the carpet like spent shells on a scorched battlefield. The city lights in the distance slowly began to blink on one by one as the evening sun set on the horizon.
Cynthia continued. “You at least have to admit that even if she did love him, which I seriously doubt, she has always craved the spotlight. You know she resented being in his shadow. That’s why she’s treated everyone around her like dirt. Over the years you’ve had to have noticed how she found it harder and harder to contain her contempt. It was inevitable that one day her anger would reach a boiling point and someone would be hurt. And I think that someone was Hezekiah.”
Percy found it impossible to counter the argument in the face of Cynthia’s surprising clarity. It couldn’t be proved, but there was almost an undeniable logic to her reasoning. Samantha was the only person who gained from his death. Samantha would have suffered the most if he were exposed as a homosexual, and Hezekiah had confided to him that he was thinking about leaving the church. I wonder if he told Samantha? he thought as Cynthia continued with her stream of logic.
While she spoke, Percy recalled the conversation he had had with Hezekiah shortly before he died.
“What’s going on with you, Hezekiah?” Percy had asked as the two men stood naked under the steaming shower after a workout at the gym.
“What do you mean? I’ve never been in better shape.”
“We’ve worked together for years now,” Percy had said, pressing. “Not only are you my pastor, but you’re also my friend, and I’d like to think you feel the same. I know when something is troubling you. Why did you tell the board of trustees to start thinking about your replacement? What’s going on?”
“I can’t talk about it right now, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to continue as pastor for much longer.”
Percy stood naked and shocked before the pastor. “Are you sick?”
Hezekiah turned his back to Percy and continued to soap his body. He was not prepared to have the conversation. “No, it’s nothing like that. I’m fine. I’ll be honest with you, Percy. I’m struggling with a moral dilemma that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to resolve.”
“Hezekiah, nothing could be that bad. Maybe you should talk about it with someone. Have you considered seeing a therapist? I know several ministers who are seeing a guy in Anaheim who’s supposed to be excellent.”
Hezekiah had never confided in a therapist, although he had made the recommendation to many members whose problems required more time than he was willing or able to give. “I don’t think he could help me with this,” Hezekiah said with a resolute expression on his face. “Everything is more complicated than you could ever imagine.”
“No problem you could have is too complicated for God. Let me get you the therapist’s number. Give him a call. Whatever is going on might not be as bad as you think.”
“Okay, Percy. I’ll call him. But if I do leave, I want you to take over as pastor. You’re a good man, and you’re the only person I would trust with New Testament.”
“Don’t even think in those terms yet, Hezekiah. You know I’m honored, but I pray it doesn’t come to that.”
The two men had then showered in silence to the sound of water echoing through the tiled room.
“Percy, are you listening to me?” Cynthia said, interrupting his recollection of that day in the shower with Hezekiah. “You have to admit what I’m saying is true.”
Percy stood from the table and began to pick up the dinner from the floor. He methodically plopped sticky noodles and shrimp covered in lint onto a plate he retrieved from near the window.
“You’re not responding, because you know what I’m saying is true,” she asserted. “Why haven’t the police been able to find any leads? It’s because they’re looking in the wrong place. She’s fooled them, like she’s fooled everyone else.”
Another strand of logic assaulted his ears.
“She didn’t pull the trigger, but I know she had something to do with it. And what about Reverend Willie Mitchell? Have you even thought his suicide may have some connection to all of this? It can’t be a coincidence that he killed himself right after Hezekiah was assassinated. You know he would have done anything for Samantha. Even kill someone.”
“Reverend Mitchell was in the sanctuary when Hezekiah was killed.” Percy was relieved to find a hole in her logic. “There’s no way he could have done it.”
“I’m not saying he did it. But he certainly knew enough of the type of people who would have done it.”
It was true. Willie Mitchell loved Samantha and would do her bidding, if only for the honor of being in her presence and inhaling the air that had once been in her lungs. His hate for Hezekiah was matched only by his love for Samantha.
“The police haven’t even thought to link Reverend Mitchell’s death with Hezekiah’s,” Cynthia said. She was relentless. “And you more than anyone has to know that if Lance Savage had lived and that story had run, the board of trustees would have sent Samantha packing. You unwittingly did her a favor by killing him.”
Stooped over a pile of noodles on the floor, Percy froze when he heard those words. “Don’t be cruel, Cynthia,” he said, standing and facing her. “I told you it was an accident. I didn’t mean to kill him, and I certainly didn’t do it for Samantha.”
“I know it was,” she said gently. “And I know you didn’t do it for her. I’m just saying that there are way too many coincidences, and Samantha seems to be the sole beneficiary of them all. Every road leads to her doorstep, and I think it’s about time someone put up a few roadblocks to stop her before she hurts anyone else.”
Percy placed the plate of soiled food on the table and slowly walked to the window. Night had fallen during the course of their exchange, and the city was now a bed of sparkling lights laid out before him.
From his silence, Cynthia knew she had broken through his barrier of denial. She knew he could not deny the soundness of her deductions. She allowed him the necessary moments to join in her conclusions before she spoke.
Percy stared off into the distance. Could she be right? he thought. Did Samantha kill Hezekiah? Why did Reverend Mitchell kill himself? Did Samantha drive him to suicide?
The questions seemed unending. But he grudgingly conceded that Cynthia was correct. All roads did seem to lead directly to Samantha.
“You know I’m right, don’t you, Percy?” she finally said calmly.
“I don’t know any such thing,” Percy said with his back to her, to hide the doubt on his face. “Even if you are, there’s absolutely no way to prove it. There’s nothing that can be done.”
“We could talk to the police,” Cynthia said patiently.
Percy turned sharply. “We can’t talk to the police. Remember I killed a man, Cynthia. I can’t risk getting myself wrapped up in this. One slip of the tongue and I could spend the rest of my life in jail.”
“That’s true,” she conceded. “Then what can we do? We can’t just let her get away with it. There has to be justice.”
“Don’t bother pretending to take the high road, Cynthia,” he said curtly. “This has nothing to do with justice for you. It’s all about making me pastor and you first lady.”
“Okay, I won’t deny it, and I’m not ashamed of it, either. I still believe you will make a much better pastor than her. If justice is served in the process, all the better.”
Percy began to pace in front of the window. He nervously rubbed his forehead as the full weight of Cynthia’s accusations settled on his chest.
Cynthia watched him intently as he avoided her gaze. “Regardless of the motivation, the question remains the same,” she asserted. “What are we going to do about it?”
“There’s nothing that can be done. Our hands are tied,” he said, facing her. “If what you said is true, and I’m not saying I think it is, but if it’s true, then she will most likely get away with murder.”
“Your hands may be tied, but mine aren’t.”
“What do you mean by that?” he asked nervously.
“I mean that I have nothing to hide. I didn’t kill anyone. I’ve done nothing wrong. I can do whatever I feel is necessary to deal with her.”
“You’re in no position to take the moral high ground,” he said snidely. “Lance Savage told me how you had sex with him in a car just to get him to run the story.”
The words had the same effect as a punch in her face. She staggered slightly from their impact. So much had already been exposed that she dismissed the need to deny the allegations. “Yes, I slept with him, and I’d sleep with him again,” she said defiantly. “Don’t you see, baby? I did it for you.”
“You did it for yourself,” he scoffed. “You were willing to sell your body to be first lady.”
His words didn’t sting anymore. “I was willing to sell my body to make you pastor,” she said.
“Well, whatever the reason, it certainly backfired. Didn’t it?”
“Only a slight setback.”
“You think three dead men is ‘only a slight setback’?”
“Yes. Collateral damage. I’m not happy about it, but it was obviously God’s will.”
“I find it hard to believe God had anything to do with this.”
“Now you are being ridiculous. ‘All things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.’ Don’t you see it, baby? You’ve been called by God to be the pastor of New Testament Cathedral.”
Percy was weak from her steady barrage of logic, pleading, and now scripture. He couldn’t find the strength to resist her anymore. “What are you planning on doing about it?”
She removed the space between them and held the weary man in her arms. “Don’t worry about that, Percy. The less you know about what I’m going to do, the better it will be for you.”
Percy melted in her arms. He clutched her for his life amid the Chinese debris, the strewn plates, and the toppled water glasses.
“Leave her to me, Percy. I’ve decided to put an end to this whole horrible situation. Trust me, baby. I won’t allow her to destroy anyone else’s life.”