Sinners & Saints Read online

  From that point, it was a done deal. Three candidates who’d been in the running dropped out—very quietly, but quickly. Only a single pastor, Reverend Penn, remained. William Penn, a sixty-seven-year-old small-time pastor, was the leader of New Hope Baptist in Springfield Gardens, Queens. New Hope was Pastor Penn’s seventh church, and interestingly, he’d had as many wives, changing spouses every time he was moved to a new congregation for one reason (or scandal) or another.

  But while the Northern board had been able to convince the other pastors to step away, no one had been able to persuade Reverend Penn to do the same.

  “This is my rightful position,” the reverend had complained when he found out that Hosea was now in the running. “I’ve been trying to be president for the last twenty-three years!” He’d whined and stomped his foot like a child, but no one listened—no one except for his thirty-eight-years-younger wife, a synthetic-hair-weave-wearing leggy blonde who’d left her porn career behind when she married the pastor.

  When Jasmine had first heard that Reverend Penn refused to drop out, she’d had Mae Frances pull a dossier on the Penns. But then she’d met the pitiful couple and told Mae Frances to forget it. If justice didn’t prevail, if Hosea couldn’t beat this false prophet and his trick of a wife, then he didn’t deserve this position.

  “So, the votes are in.”

  The voice of Pastor Griffith dragged Jasmine away from the memories of the past weeks. She smiled at the pastor, and did her best to have only pure thoughts about the sexiest preacher that she’d ever seen. Pastor Griffith (yes, Earl Griffith; yes, a connection of Mae Frances’s) may have been a man of the cloth from Chicago, but if he’d ever decided to walk away and onto the stage, any movie producer would gladly scoop him right up. Even though he was in his sixties, he had the suaveness of that back-in-the-day actor Billy Dee Williams, and the swagger of President Barack Obama. Jasmine was in love—or she would have been, had she not been married and loved Hosea so much.

  As if he felt her stare, Pastor Griffith glanced over at Jasmine and granted her a small smile.

  She sighed like a teenager.

  “You okay, darlin’?”

  Jasmine had to shake her head a little, to take her eyes off of Pastor Griffith. “What?” she said, turning to her husband. “Oh. Yeah. I’m fine.” This time, she squeezed Hosea’s hand, but turned her eyes back to Pastor Griffith.

  It wasn’t just his amazing looks that made Jasmine admire the man. It was the way he did business. As the Northern director, Pastor Griffith was in charge. So, he had changed the election date to give the membership time to read about, and get to know, Hosea. And then, he’d told her and Hosea that there wasn’t a single thing to worry about.

  “It’s gonna go down the way I want it to go down,” he’d said in his deep, melodic, Barry White voice.

  Hosea hadn’t been pleased, always wanting to do everything by the good book. But Jasmine had melted. Pastor Griffith’s words, the way he handled things, were as pleasing as the sound of his voice.

  Now Pastor Griffith cleared his throat, adjusted the microphone, and said, “By a vote of ninety-three to seven percent, Pastor Hosea Bush will represent the Northern region in the national election for president of the American Baptist Coalition.”

  The applause was strong and loud; there was hope in the cheers as so many saw Hosea Bush as their first real chance of victory in more than sixty years.

  Hosea stood and hugged Jasmine. But while there was nothing but smiles all around as the entire City of Lights assembly congratulated Hosea, Jasmine’s face was pinched with a scowl.

  Ninety-three to seven? Who had the nerve to vote against Hosea?

  “Well, congratulations, Pastor Bush.”

  Reverend Penn’s scratchy voice infiltrated their celebration. “It was a hard-fought fight,” the reverend said.

  No, it wasn’t. The only reason Jasmine kept that thought inside was because Pastor Griffith had stepped down from the podium to offer his own congratulations—and she needed him to know that she was a proper—the perfect—first lady.

  “Thank you, Reverend Penn.” Hosea responded with a slight bow, gracious, as always. “I hope that I’ll have your support when we get to Los Angeles.”

  “Of course, of course,” Reverend Penn said. Though his words were positive, his tone told them all that he wasn’t going to do a damn thing.

  “And you can count on my support, too.” The reverend’s wife swung her waist-long fake hair so hard over her shoulder that both Reverend Bush and Pastor Griffith, who were standing behind her, ducked. “We definitely want one of our own to win finally,” she purred, with her lips and her chest poked out.

  His wife sounded way more sincere than her husband, and Jasmine wondered if she would have been as affable in defeat. But then all good thoughts of the woman evaporated when Mrs. Penn licked her full, ruby-red-colored lips. With her eyes planted on Hosea, she said, “I’ll do whatever I can to help you win, Pastor Bush. Whatever!”

  Jasmine could almost feel Hosea hold his breath when she jumped in front of the ex–porn star. But he didn’t have a thing to worry about. She wasn’t going to act like a crazy fool—not in the Langston Hughes Auditorium. Not in front of all the people who were going to work to get her husband elected.

  Jasmine simply reached for the woman’s hand. “Thank you. Hosea and I are both looking forward to working with you.” A smile was on Jasmine’s face, but she held the woman’s hand even after she stopped talking. Squeezed it a little, then stepped back. Her eyes stayed glued to Mrs. Penn. Don’t mess with me, Jasmine told the woman telepathically.

  From one man-stealer to another, the message was received. Mrs. Penn stumbled back, turned away, and scurried out of the room like she was being chased.

  Hmph! Jasmine grinned; it was good to know that she still had it.

  “Well,” Pastor Griffith said, “I guess we all need to get home and do some packing.”

  “Yes, definitely,” the senior Bush said. “We just have a week to get ready for Los Angeles.”

  And a week after that, I’ll be first lady to every African American Christian in America. And Hosea will be president, too.

  The victorious group edged up the aisle. But as everyone talked about their plans, Jasmine had no time to participate in the petty chatter. Her thoughts were on Mae Frances.

  It was so unlike her friend to miss an occasion like this. And Hosea had been disappointed when Mae Frances had called that morning and told him that she wasn’t feeling well. But that had been the lie that Jasmine and Mae Frances had conjured up. The truth was that her friend had stayed home because she had much work to do. Pastor Griffith had assured them that Hosea had this election—there was no need for any last-minute manipulations. So, Mae Frances had stayed home to move forward to phase two.

  “Babe, I’m gonna go check on Mae Frances,” Jasmine said, once they all stood outside.

  “Oh. But Pops wants to take us out to dinner for a celebration.”

  “Yeah, I figured we’d head over to Sylvia’s,” Hosea’s father added.

  “I’m sorry, but I really want to make sure she’s okay,” Jasmine said, her face pinched with concern for their friend. “Being that she’s home alone and everything.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Go on.” Hosea kissed her. “I’ll bring a plate home for you.”

  “That would be great,” Jasmine said, already rushing to a cab that’d stopped in front of the group.

  She blew Hosea a kiss before she gave the driver Mae Frances’s address. Then she leaned back and closed her eyes. Okay, they’d gotten to first base. Really, second and third base, too. Now Jasmine wanted to know how they were going to hit that grand-slam home run.

  Jasmine couldn’t wait to see her friend. She couldn’t wait to find out what the plan was to make sure that Hosea won the national election.

  She couldn’t wait to hear how they were going to bring Pastor Lester Adams down!

  Chapter
r />   FOUR

  Rachel, what in the world are you doing in there?” Lester’s voice startled her and Rachel jumped like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

  “Nothing,” she said, quickly minimizing the screen on her computer.

  “Uh-uh,” Lester replied, walking over to Rachel. She was sitting behind the large mahogany desk in his home office. She’d risen early, hoping to get what she needed before Lester and the kids woke up.

  “What, I can’t use my husband’s computer?” Rachel innocently asked.

  “Not when you have a sixteen-hundred-dollar MacBook Pro and the latest edition of the iPad—both of which you just had to have,” he said, leaning in to peer at the screen.

  “Yes, but I needed to print something,” she lied. Rachel wasn’t above lying to her husband. But she really had tried to do better over the years. But this … this was an exception.

  “Which is why we have a wireless printer,” Lester said.

  “The Internet is down for some reason. And I can’t print anything from the Mac.”

  “Well, you’ve been in here for over an hour and that means you’re up to something.”

  Rachel jumped up in front of her husband and seductively ran her hand up his shirt. “Why must you always think the worst of me?” she purred.

  He smiled, removed her hand, gently pushed her aside, and leaned back over to the computer. “Because I know my wife.” He wiggled the mouse until the screen popped back up. “‘Prominent Pastor Wins Nomination,’” he read, before looking up at Rachel. “Why are you reading the article about Pastor Bush’s win again?”

  “Can’t I read the online newspaper?” She tried to move back in front of him. “Now, if you don’t mind …”

  “Awww, Rachel,” Lester moaned as he opened up another website that she’d minimized. His eyes scanned the screen. “‘Dirt Diggers. We find dirt on anyone.’ Really, Rachel?”

  Rachel stood next to him, her arms folded defiantly, her lips pursed.

  “Do you want to explain to me why you’re on a shady private investigative website?”

  “No.”

  “Rachel …”

  Rachel huffed as she pushed him aside and plopped back down in her high-back leather chair. “Because, Lester, I’m trying to help you out. Do you see all of this stuff that jack-legged preacher has accomplished?” she said, pointing to the computer screen. “A TV show, a megachurch, and you know his daddy is probably paying off everybody and their mama to make sure his son wins the position.”

  “First of all, stop calling him jack-legged. Pastor Bush is an upstanding man of God.”

  She turned up her lips.

  “Secondly,” Lester continued, “he just won the regional nomination. We still have the national election, an election we will win fair and square if we win it.”

  If? He was already going in with a negative attitude. “Nothing’s fair in religious politics,” Rachel spat.

  “Thirdly,” Lester added, ignoring Rachel’s rant, “if it is God’s will for me to have this position, then it’s mine.”

  “Faith without works is dead,” Rachel reminded him.

  Lester smiled. “Don’t go bending Bible verses to fit your agenda.”

  Rachel sighed in frustration. “Lester, I’ve been reading up on this Pastor Bush. He could give you a serious run for your money and I’m trying to make sure we don’t have any problems next week at the national election.”

  “By digging up dirt?”

  “Whatever works.” Rachel shrugged.

  “Really, Rachel, what kind of dirt do you think you will find on Reverend Bush that hasn’t been found? Everyone knows about him shooting the man that kidnapped his daughter, and I would’ve done the same thing.”

  “Oh, I’m not digging up dirt on Reverend Bush,” Rachel said nonchalantly. “I already tried that and came up with nothing.”

  “Then why are you on that website?” Lester asked.

  Rachel grinned mischievously. “I’m digging up dirt on his wife.”

  “Jasmine Bush?” Lester asked incredulously. “What does she have to do with anything?”

  Rachel spun around in her chair. “Oh, my God. That chick is a walking public-relations disaster.” She excitedly tapped some keys and another website popped up. “Look at this Media Takeout story. They call her the scandalous first lady. And I talked with someone in Los Angeles who said she stole her best friend’s husband, or something like that. I haven’t been able to confirm the details, but I will.”

  Lester narrowed his eyes at his wife. “Should you really be casting stones about someone’s past?”

  Rachel glared at him. She couldn’t believe he’d gone there. Yes, she’d had some drama in her life. She’d tried to sabotage Bobby’s marriage by doing some pretty scandalous things herself, and to some extent she had been successful, but she was a child then. Nineteen. Anything that happened in life before twenty didn’t count. And yes, she had lots of family drama—from a brother who had battled drugs and another brother who had had a huge down-low scandal. But David was clean, and Jonathan had made peace with his sexuality, so none of that should even be an issue. At least Rachel hoped it wasn’t.

  Lester must’ve known he was about to make her mad because he quickly softened his tone. “Babe, I’m only saying that we all make mistakes. And if Jasmine does have all of this stuff in her past, then it’s not our job to go digging for it.”

  “So you don’t think the people of the American Baptist Coalition deserve to know their potential first lady is a backstabbing, stripping, scheming skeezer?”

  “You don’t even know her, so how can you say that?”

  “Whatever, Lester.” Rachel turned back around to her computer. This was exactly why she didn’t want him to know what she’d been in his office doing. He was so freakin’ holier-than-thou sometimes, it made her sick. “You act like you don’t want the position. You probably just want to stay here in Houston, stuffing all these people into this little bitty church.”

  “Zion Hill is hardly little,” Lester said. “We have over three thousand members.”

  She spun around in her chair and pleaded with him. “But we could be so much bigger if you were president of the ABC. I mean, we could get our own TV show, kind of like a husband-and-wife team.”

  “You’re not a minister.”

  She grinned widely. “That’s the beauty of it all. I think our appeal would be that I’m a first lady who’s keeping it real. You know, one that women could actually relate to.” Rachel didn’t bother telling Lester that she’d already run that idea by her friend Elise, who was a TV producer in Atlanta. Elise had thought the idea was great and couldn’t wait to get started putting together a pilot. Then, on top of that, Elise was poised to be the next president of the National Association of Black Journalists, so she could open all kinds of doors for Rachel.

  But Lester had to win the election first, which was just part of the reason why Rachel had to make sure he did. However, it was obvious that argument wouldn’t get her very far, so she switched gears. “I’m just saying, think of all the good we could do for the community if you won.”

  “Oh, so now this is about the community?”

  Rachel threw up her hands. Sometimes her husband’s weak ways drove her mad. That’s how Mary, that harlot who had caused them all that marital drama, had been able to manipulate her way into their lives. Because for all his strengths, Lester’s biggest weakness was his fighting spirit.

  “Rachel, I know what you’re saying, but I’m asking you to just let it go. If it’s for us, it’s for us.”

  When Rachel had met Lester back in high school, he had been a pimply-faced, passive nerd. She wouldn’t give him the time of day because as nice as he was, all the boys used to bully him, harass him, and do things like take his lunch money. Rachel couldn’t stand a weak man. Lester was a long way from those high school days, but right now, that’s what he reminded her of. He was willing to just sit back and let Hosea Bu
sh take the ABC presidency from him. But she wasn’t about to let that happen.

  Rachel nodded, without saying another word. She was through talking. The election was in less than a week. They were heading to Los Angeles in two days and that left her little time to find what she needed to find.

  Rachel shut off the computer, ignoring Lester’s stare as she stood.

  “Excuse me,” she said, trying to go around him.

  He gently grabbed her arm. “Are you mad at me?”

  Rachel let out a small sigh. She was mad but she had to tell herself to suck it up. She knew that her husband was not a weak man anymore; he proved it all the time by the way he ran their church. If he was weak, they wouldn’t even be in the church because when he’d announced that he’d been called to preach, she gave him an ultimatum—her or the pulpit. Lester had politely given her her walking papers. So he knew how to stand up for himself when he had to do it. It’s just that he was a by-the-book man. His straightlaced nature actually balanced her over-the-top theatrics—most of the time, anyway. Knowing that, she decided this wasn’t something she’d ever have his blessing on.

  “No, sweetheart, I understand.” She leaned in and pecked him on the cheek. “I’m heading out. I need to pick up a few things for our trip.”

  “Okay. I’m just gonna stay here and work.” He caressed her face. “I love you and I appreciate you trying to work this out, but it’ll work itself out.”

  She nodded without responding. No need to prolong this dead-end conversation. She hadn’t lied; she was going to pick up some things for the trip. Right after she stopped at Starbucks, logged back on to her laptop, and did some more digging. She had a gut feeling that there was more dirt to be found on Mrs. Jasmine Larson Bush and Rachel was determined to find it.

  Chapter

  FIVE

  As the Boeing jet descended from thirty to twenty to ten thousand feet, the state of Jasmine’s birth came into view. Her eyes took in the terrain below, flooding her with memories, mostly nightmares of her past—her lying, cheating, stripping, man-stealing days.