The Last Sunday (24 page)

 

 

It was now Saturday morning, the day before the inaugural morning service. A month of frantic preparations coordinated by a squadron of celebrity party planners, publicists, and security experts was approaching a climactic ending on the campus of New Testament Cathedral and at the Cleaveland estate.

The elaborate lighting installed in the sanctuary was designed to enhance the natural light that would pour through the five hundred thousand rectangular panes of glass. Samantha had commissioned the twenty hand-blown chandeliers that now dangled from the ceiling. The waterfalls flanking the pulpit sent dramatic sheets of water cascading into reservoirs that doubled as the baptismal pools.

Fresh perennials had been spread over the entire campus and looked like red, yellow, magenta, and lavender snow, and the French light fixtures that lined the pathways had been polished to resemble brand-new pennies. The cobblestone walkways appeared to have never been trod on by leather soles. Nothing could be considered perfect and complete until Samantha deemed it to be so. It was showtime, and New Testament Cathedral was ready for its close-up.

The only way to get on the guest list for the party that was to be held that evening at the estate was to be placed on it by Samantha herself and then to purchase a ticket that required a minimum one-hundred-thousand-dollar donation to the ministry. The list had been full for months. The guests had all written their six-figure checks months in advance for fear of being bumped by someone with deeper pockets or a sexier name than their own. It was no secret to anyone who could afford to attend the party that the more money you gave, the closer you were allowed to stand to Samantha Cleaveland, and those who had the wherewithal eagerly paid the price of admission to her inner circle.

Samantha had sequestered herself in her bedroom suite Saturday morning and had no intention of coming out until she made her grand entrance at the party that evening. Stylists, secretaries, personal assistants, and her make-up artist were allowed in the inner sanctum upon demand.

The master suite was a series of six rooms, each more elaborate than the other. Samantha held court in the entrance, which was the size of a living room in a normal home.

“I need to see my dress,” was one of her commands. “Please bring it in. And send for the designer and seamstress, in case I need it altered again.”

“I need to be assured the valet service has everything under control,” she said to one of three personal assistants in her bedroom suite. “Send for the man in charge and tell him I want a detailed description of the operations. I don't want any mistakes.”

Samantha dictated every detail of the evening from the suite. The cooks were summoned three times for last-minute menu adjustments. The sound engineer had to make an appearance to allay her fears of a technical glitch during her speech. The head waiter spent an hour describing the finely choreographed routine of the platoon of servers.

“I need to go over the guest list again,” she said to another assistant.

“Yes, Pastor,” the highly efficient young woman said, rushing to Samantha's side with an iPad in one hand and an iPhone in the other.

“Bill and Camille confirmed yesterday. Their plane arrives at three o'clock, and a driver will pick them up and bring them directly here. They've requested their usual room.”

“Have Camille's favorite flowers in the room.”

“Already taken care of, Pastor.”

“Janet, Jennifer, and Chaka will be doing their sound checks this afternoon,” the assistant reported, proceeding efficiently. “Cars will be picking up the senator and her husband, the Richards, Diamond and Jerry Getty, Ms. Winfrey, Barry, and Anderson Vanderbilt at their hotels at exactly seven o'clock. The governor will arrive at seven thirty. His wife will arrive separately at seven forty-five. His security team has been fully briefed and arrived on the premises this morning. The mayor and his wife will arrive at seven. He has asked if he can say a few words at the party.”

“Tell him no.”

“Yes, Pastor,” she responded without question. “The delegation from Dubai arrived at the Beverly Hilton yesterday. They've requested ten private minutes with you this evening.”

“Tell them yes. Make sure the library is set up for it.”

“Yes, Pastor.”

“The prince and princess of Thailand's private jet arrived as scheduled at LAX last evening. They have also requested a private audience.”

The assistant rattled off the list of three hundred guests and provided Samantha with the details of their individual care and handling. Samantha reacted with her usual dismissive tone as the names of the world's richest and most famous inhabitants were read.

Throughout the day, Samantha left numerous messages on Jasmine's cell phone.

“I've respected your wishes and did not send the car to pick you up,” was one such message. “Now I hope you will respect mine. Tonight is very important to me, and I expect you to be here. Everyone is going to be looking for you, so please do not disappoint me.”

There was no response.

“Are you all right, honey? I'm worried about you,” was another message. “Please don't believe any of the lies I'm sure those two are telling you. Danny hated your father for not leaving me, and now he only wants to get even. He will do anything to destroy me.”

“Jasmine, honey, your gown just arrived,” was another of Samantha's messages between party preparations. “It's lovely, darling. You are going to look like a movie star. I picked out a few pieces for you that Tiffany sent over this morning. I think you'll like them. Call me please.”

 

 

Gideon, Danny, and Jasmine each awoke that morning within minutes of each other. Gideon emerged from the master suite, Danny from one of the guest bedrooms, and Jasmine from another. They converged in the kitchen, where the only sounds were the gurgling of the coffeemaker and the clanging of mugs being removed from the rack.

“How did you sleep last night, Jasmine?” Danny finally asked, placing a steaming mug of coffee in front of her at the table. “I checked on you a few times, and you looked very peaceful.”

“I kept dreaming about Daddy,” she said groggily after a long sip of coffee. “He was standing in a stream, with water flowing around his ankles. It was sunny, and butterflies were everywhere. I was sitting on the bank, watching him. Then, suddenly, the water began to rise up to his waist, and it started moving faster and faster. The butterflies began to circle around his head, and the water began to carry him away.

“He kept calling my name and reaching out for me so that I could pull him out, but by then he was moving too fast down the stream. I ran as fast as I could and tried to grab his hand, but he . . . he just floated away, with the butterflies fluttering around him the entire way down the stream. He was looking directly at me the whole time and calling my name. . . .” Jasmine's voice trailed off as she said those final words.

Gideon came over to her, placed his arm around her shoulder, and kissed the top of her head.

“I'm so sorry, Jasmine,” he said. “I can't begin to imagine how difficult this has been for you.”

“I can,” Danny said, reaching across the table and cupping her hand. “Remember, I loved him too.”

“I know you did, Danny,” she said, looking in his eyes. “That's the only good thing that has come out of this. At least I know he had love in his life before he died. I just feel so horrible. I wasn't there when he needed me. I was too busy partying. He needed me, and I wasn't there.”

“You were a kid, Jasmine, and you still are. It wasn't your responsibility to save your father,” Gideon said gently.

“I know, but I can't help but wonder if there was something I could have done.”

“Did you ever tell him you loved him?” Gideon asked.

“All the time,” Jasmine said as a tear fell from her eye. “Every time I saw him. He would kiss me on the forehead and say, ‘I love you, princess' and I'd say, ‘I love you, Daddy.'”

“What more could anyone ask for than to know that they were loved? If we're honest with ourselves, deep down, that's all anyone really wants in life. And he was loved by you and Danny. He was a very lucky man, and I think he knew that.”

The three sat at the table in silence and nursed the mugs of coffee.

“I looked out the window earlier,” Gideon said, breaking the silence. “There are no reporters out there. Have you thought about what you're going to do next? At some point you are going to have to speak to your mother.”

Jasmine released a long sigh. “She's been calling me nonstop. She wants me there tonight, at the party.”

“I read about that,” Gideon said, retrieving the morning paper from the counter. “It's here on the front page of the Style section.”

The headline jumped from the pages as Gideon sat the paper in front of her.

“Are you planning on going?” Danny asked cautiously.

“I can't. I'm afraid of what I might do when I see her,” was her painful reply.

“At some point you know you are going to have to see her face-to-face. Maybe with all those people around it will be less painful,” Danny said.

“Maybe,” she said hesitantly. “I can't go alone, though. Will you come with me?”

Danny laughed until he saw the serious expression on her face. “You're joking, right? I can't go to your house. She'll have me arrested.”

“I guess,” she said grudgingly. She then turned to Gideon. “Come with me, Gideon. I can't face her alone. You're the press. No one will question you being there, and even if they do, you'll be with me.”

Gideon was cautious about appearing too eager to accept the invitation. His reporter's skin tingled at the idea of being in the room with a killer, surrounded by some of the most wealthy people in the world. At the same time he was concerned about Jasmine's well-being. He had seen how fragile she was over the past few days, and he was worried that she might do something she would later regret.

“Please, Gideon,” she said, interrupting his internal thought process. “I can't stay here forever, and I can't face her without someone I trust with me. I know it's too dangerous for Danny. I think she actually would have him arrested, if she didn't have her security kill him first. She's less likely to do anything to you because you're almost as famous as she is.”

“She's right, Gideon,” Danny said, chiming in.

“What are you planning on doing when you get there?” Gideon asked.

“I don't know. I just want to make sure she gets exactly what she deserves,” Jasmine responded as she carefully avoided eye contact with either of the men. “I won't know until I actually see her standing in front of me.”

Jasmine remembered where her mother had placed the gun that day. It was in the back of the top desk drawer in her office. The sight of her mother placing the gun there was seared in her brain. That would be the first place she would go when she returned home.

First, I'll get the gun,
she thought as Gideon and Danny hovered nearby.
Then I'll decide what I'm going to do to her.

 

 

Cynthia Pryce sat at her dining room table with the awakening city at her back. Her morning coffee grew tepid as she read the Style section of the
Los Angeles Chronicle.

Cynthia was uncharacteristically calm as she read the article. In the past, whenever she ready Samantha's name in the newspaper or saw her face on television, her anger would get the best of her and cause her hands to shake and her eyes to twitch. Not this morning. She read quietly and with a steady hand as she turned the page.

Percy entered the room and saw Cynthia reading the paper at the table. As he approached, he quickly gauged her mood.

“Good morning, darling,” he said, gently kissing her forehead. “What's in the news today?”

“The usual,” she said, sipping her coffee. “War, mayhem, murder, and Samantha,” she added calmly. “There's an entire article about the party tonight.”

“We don't have to go if you don't feel up to it,” Percy said carefully. “We can spend a quiet evening at home. They won't even know we're not there.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” she said, looking up at him. “I wouldn't miss it for the world. Besides, you're the assistant pastor. What would it look like if you didn't show up?”