The Last Sunday (15 page)

Cherrywood covered much of the walls of the main cabin below deck. A big-screen television was positioned on a wall next to a state-of-the-art sound system. Overstuffed tan chairs and couches had been placed seemingly in no particular order around the large space. A wet bar complete with stools and taps was in one corner of the cabin.

It was 199 feet of floating elegance, complete with six staterooms, a formal dining room, a six-person sauna, a Jacuzzi on deck, and a wine cellar, and had a range of 5,380 nautical miles.

Samantha and David sat looking out a bank of tinted windows at the endless Pacific Ocean, while the three-man crew labored above deck, unseen and unheard. They each held a glass of champagne.

“You can't screw it up this time, David,” Samantha said calmly without looking in his direction. “There's too much at stake.”

David did not speak. He took a gulp of champagne and stared blankly at the horizon. The gentle rocking of the boat intensified the churning in his stomach.

“Danny St. John has been living with Gideon Truman for the past four weeks. You'll find them at his home in Hollywood Hills.”

“How do you know that?” David asked, looking in her direction.

“I know everything about Danny and Gideon. I have a man in Switzerland that will tell you the number of hairs on anyone's head in the world for the right price.”

“What else do you know about them?” David regretted asking the question as soon as the words left his mouth.

“I know that Danny has a hundred twenty-seven dollars in his bank account. I know that he's estranged from his mother. That he has a cat named Parker, and that he's a social worker at a nonprofit agency that works with the homeless. What else would you like to know?” she asked confidently.

“How about Gideon?”

“He has a net worth of twenty million dollars. His only living relative is his grandmother in Texas. He's never been in a long-term relationship. Before he met Danny, he occasionally hired male prostitutes, who would visit him in hotels downtown. I also know the alarm system on his home has been temporarily disabled.”

“Disabled?” David said in disbelief.

“That's correct.”

“I don't believe you.”

“You would be surprised how responsive the manager of his security company was to an anonymous offer of ten thousand dollars to accidentally allow his service to lapse for one week,” she said with a disdainful smile. “It's a shame what some people will do for money these days.”

David looked away in disgust.

“It has to be done this week, David. I want it done before the cathedral opening this Sunday. I don't want this hanging over my head that morning. I need to be able to focus on my sermon and nothing else.”

David was silent.

“Do you understand me, David?” she asked. “You have to do it this week.”

David had resigned himself to the promise he had made during the throes of passion they had shared. Her intoxicating scent in the cabin caused his senses to reel. He was weak in her presence. He was weak in her absence. Just the thought of her made his legs wobble. But the thought of killing a man caused his nerves to fray. Now the thought of killing two men had left him in a state of unbridled panic.

“Isn't there any other way you can shut them up? Did you try offering Gideon money?”

“Weren't you listening when I said he's worth twenty million dollars? Plus, now that he's fucking Danny St. John, he won't be able to listen to reason. Look what Danny did to Hezekiah, for God's sake. He was willing to walk away from a multimillion-dollar ministry and, even more amazing, away from me,” she said without a hint of modesty. “I'm sure Gideon is no match for him.”

“He can't be that great.”

“You didn't look in his eyes. For a moment I thought I was looking in a mirror,” she said admiringly. “He's stunning. I understood as soon as I looked at him why Hezekiah fell in love with him.”

As she spoke, David felt his head sway with the rhythmic motion of the boat. With each wave the cabin seemed to spin to the left and to the right, then to and fro. He sensed the beginnings of a debilitating panic attack. David fumbled in his coat pocket for the vile of pills that had grounded him so many times before. But they were not there.

“What are you looking for?” Samantha asked as she saw him grope his pants and jacket pockets.

“My pills,” he said guardedly. “I need my pills.”

“What kind of pills?” David had her full attention now.

“Diazepam.”

“Why do you need Valium?”

“Panic attacks, all right!” he snapped. “I've had them my entire life.”

David had had his first anxiety attack when he was eight years old. He had innocently placed his hand his chest and for the first time had felt the gentle beating of his heart. He instinctively knew that it was the source of his life and that if the beating stopped, he would die. For the next hour his mind had been awash with frightening thoughts of what he could do to make sure his heart continued to beat. But at eight years old, he could not find the answer. The more he thought, the faster his heart would beat. And the faster his heart beat, the less he was able to control the frightening images that flooded his mind.

Then, finally, the sight of his young body lying lifeless there on the living room floor sent him running for the comfort of his mother's arms. She calmed his fears and wiped away his tears as only a mother could. Since then, whenever David found himself in situations that presented him with pressure he was unable to handle, his head would begin to spin, his heart would race, and sweat would pour from his brow. Diazepam, Prozac, Zoloft, Paxil, and Cymbalta were now called on to replace the comforting arms of his mother.

“Here. Drink this,” Samantha said, waving a half-full brandy snifter in his face.

David's trembling hand took the glass, and he quickly downed the quivering brown liquid.

“You can't fall apart on me now, David,” Samantha said, closely studying him. “I need you to get ahold of yourself.”

“I'll be fine,” David said, panting. “Just give me a minute and I'll be fine.”

David stood before the bank of windows and took three deep breaths through his nose, the way his psychiatrist had instructed him. “I'm better now,” he said self-consciously. “They usually pass pretty quickly.”

Samantha stared at the man standing at her window, surrounded by the deep blue sea. She expertly recalculated the level of care, flattery, and physical attention she would need to apply to ensure that he would do her bidding.

“David, darling, are you okay now?” she asked gently.

“I told you, I'm fine.”

“Good. I need you to keep a level head. At least until Sunday. Are you going to be able to do this for me?” she asked, turning her back to him. “If not, then I'll have to . . .”

David could feel her slipping away. “I told you I would do anything for you,” he said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “I don't want to, but if this is what it will take for us to be together, then I'll do it.”

Samantha turned to him. They were now only a breath's length away from each other. “I'm afraid, David. You won't let me down, will you?” she asked, gently brushing his cheek. “I need you to be strong for me.”

David slowly wilted under her touch. The cabin began to whirl, and his heart raced again. Not from panic this time, but from lust. The warmth of her breath caused him to shudder. He could feel her touch pierce his body down to the soles of his feet. No need for Xanax or his mother's arms when Samantha was near him. The overwhelming complexities of life and the reality of murder became insignificant trivia, easily swept from his mind when she was within his reach.

 

 

“Thank you for agreeing to speak with me, Mrs. Shackelford,” Gideon said politely. “I know this has been a difficult time for everyone at New Testament Cathedral, especially for the members of the board of trustees.”

“I'm sorry I don't have much time,” Scarlett said, directing Gideon into her living room. “I have to pick up my daughter in an hour.”

“Oh, you have a daughter? Is that her there?” Gideon pointed to a photograph of a little girl, with pink barrettes dangling from pigtails, sitting on the fireplace mantelpiece. “She's adorable. What's her name?”

“Natalie,” Scarlett replied guardedly. “Please sit down. So what is this about? Why do you need to speak with me?”

Gideon took a second look at the picture on the mantel. There was something familiar about the cute little girl in the photograph.

“As I mentioned on the phone, I'm doing a story on the life of Hezekiah Cleaveland. I've had the opportunity to speak with Samantha, Hattie Williams, and a few other members, but I don't think my story would be complete if I didn't interview all the members of the board of trustees.”

Scarlett did not respond.

Gideon sat in the comfortable chair she had directed him to. From his vantage point he could see the little girl in the photo staring down at him just to Scarlett's left. “Would you mind if I recorded our conversation?” he asked, pulling a small recorder from his breast pocket. “My handwriting is so bad, I sometimes can't read my own notes.”

Scarlett looked suspiciously at the little device. She made a mental note to watch her tone and to show no emotion. “Not at all.”

“How long have you been a member of New Testament Cathedral?”

“I joined a few years after it was founded. It's been about eight years now.”

“At that time it was still a small church. Why did you choose it as your church home?”

“I was actually an employee at first. I was Pastor Cleaveland's assistant for a year before I joined the church.”

“Really? I didn't know that. What was it like working for the Cleavelands?”

“I didn't work for the Cleavelands,” Scarlett replied, bristling. “I said I was Pastor Cleaveland's assistant.”

“I see. Well, what was it like working for Hezekiah?”

“He was a good boss. Very compassionate. Very professional. I didn't have any complaints.”

Gideon knew instinctively there was more to the story, and proceeded with caution. “What were your duties at that time?”

“I was primarily his scheduling secretary. I managed his calendar and made all his travel arrangements for speaking engagements outside of the city, and I handled some personal things, like doctor's appointments, car maintenance, small things like that.”

“Why did you quit?”

Scarlett hesitated. She had not anticipated this line of questions. “I'm not clear what this has to do with Hezekiah.”

Her slightly defensive tone did not go unnoticed by Gideon. “Understanding your role at the church and with Pastor Cleaveland helps me establish a context. I hope I haven't offended you in any way.” Gideon watched closely for her verbal and nonverbal responses.

“I'm not offended at all,” she said as she crossed her legs on the couch. “I left when I married and became pregnant with my daughter.”

“I see. So that was five or six years ago. Is that when you married David?”

“No, David is my second husband. He's not Natalie's father,” she responded and looked nervously at her watch. “Her father and I divorced when she was two years old.”

“I'm sorry. How did you become a member of the board of trustees?”

“Hezekiah asked me personally.”

“And why do you think that is?”

“I'm not sure. I suppose he trusted me.”

As she spoke, Gideon looked at the photo of the little girl again, and now it was clear. She looked remarkably like Hezekiah. “She really is a lovely little girl. Was your first husband related to Hezekiah?”

“No,” Scarlett replied with a puzzled look. “Why do you ask?”

“I'm sorry, but I couldn't help but notice the resemblance between your daughter and Hezekiah.” Her nervousness served as the answer to his questions. “She has his eyes and nose.”

Scarlett turned and looked at the picture over her shoulder to avoid eye contact. She did not respond.

“Do you have any other children?”

“No, she's an only child.” Scarlett looked at her watch again.

“What was your relationship like with Samantha Cleaveland?”

“I didn't have much contact with her. She had her own assistant.”

“If I can be frank with you, Scarlett . . . May I call you Scarlett?”

She responded with an affirmative nod of her head.

“Thank you. As I was saying, I've spoken to several people, and some have told me in confidence how difficult Samantha can be. That the woman the public sees is actually nothing like the Samantha Cleaveland they know behind the scenes.”

Scarlett did not respond but simply looked down at the recorder that sat on the coffee table between them.

“This can be off the record if you would prefer,” Gideon said, pressing the STOP button on the recorder. “I would really appreciate anything you can tell me to help me get a true picture of Hezekiah and Samantha. I can assure you that I will attribute nothing to you that you do not approve in advance.”

Scarlett stood and walked to the sliding-glass door behind the couch. She crossed her arms and looked out into the yard.

“Samantha Cleaveland is a horrible woman,” she finally said.

Gideon remained silent.

“The only things that are important to her are money and power. I don't know what's going to happen to the ministry now that she is pastor. I'm sure it will keep growing, but at what cost?”