The Choir Director 2 (18 page)

I'd been sitting at my desk all morning waiting for Aaron to stroll by. Instead of my normal low-key secretary outfit, I'd worn something a little more eye-catching: a mint-colored scoop-neck dress that showed off the tops of my breasts without being too hoochie-mama desperate. It would definitely get a man's attention. Now, if I could only make sure it was the right man, I would be set.

“Hey, Des.” Pippie strolled into the reception area. He got a good look at what I was wearing and momentarily stopped in his tracks. To his credit, though, he resisted the urge to whistle at me, instead giving me a small nod. “You look nice today.” I have to give credit where credit was due. Pippie had made it very clear that he was interested in dating me, but he'd never once stepped out of line when I told him I just wanted to be friends. Despite his criminal past, he was a true Southern gentleman.

“Hey, Pippie, I haven't seen you since yesterday,” I said, smiling. I'd gotten so used to him being my welcoming committee every morning that his absence had been noticed.

“Yeah, I had some errands to handle for Bishop and then…” He grimaced.

“What?” I said, expecting something terrible.

“A friend of mine got a DUI, so I had to help get him out of jail.”

“Oh. Yeah, I heard about Ross's arrest.” I was expecting something terrible, not news I'd already heard from the church rumor mill.

“That's First Jamaica Ministries,” he said, shaking his head. “That's why it's better to be on the straight and narrow, 'cause folks around here will know your business—sometimes before you do.”

“I know that's right,” I said with a laugh. I was truly enjoying Pippie's company, and as usual, he didn't bother to hide the fact that he enjoyed mine too. Most guys would play it cool, but not him. With Pippie, what you saw was what you got. I found it really refreshing. If I didn't have things I'd already set out to accomplish, I could have definitely fallen for a guy who treated me like that.

“You eat lunch yet?” I asked, acting on impulse and deviating from my morning's plan.

“Nah. Why? You wanna go grab some lunch together?” He looked hopeful.

“No, I actually brought my lunch from home, but I have something for you.” I reached behind me into my lunch sack and pulled out a Tupperware container. I handed it over to him.

“What's this?” He seemed genuinely pleased by my gesture.

“Sock-it-to-me cake. I thought you could have it for dessert.”

“You made this?” He looked surprised. I nodded. “
And
you can cook. You gonna make some man really lucky one day.”

“Thank you,” I said, blushing. “I really like cooking for people. I guess that's my Southern roots, you know?”

“Amazing. Most women today ain't thinking about cooking for a man. They want to be taken out and wined and dined.”

“No, I like all of that,” I said, “but there is something about being able to satisfy a lot of different needs.”

“Amen to that, my sister,” Pippie joked. I knew his mind was in the gutter.

“Let me know if you like it. I still have half a cake at home.”

“Thanks, Des. I'm gonna tear this cake up. I'm already putting in my order for another piece.”

“You got it,” I said, genuinely pleased by how much he appreciated my small gesture.

“Well, I better get back to work.”

“See you later, Pippie.”

“Yeah, you can be sure of that,” he said then left happily with his slice of sock-it-to-me cake.

His little visit left me in a good mood, but the next person to approach me was a whole different story. He ducked out of one of the rooms nearby. It was pretty obvious he'd been listening to my conversation, waiting for Pippie to leave.

He straightened out the lapels on his suit then checked out his cuff links before arrogantly striding over to my desk. He was good looking for a man of his age, there was no doubt about that, but he took conceited to a whole other level.

“Have you lost your mind?” I snapped. “Bishop Wilson could walk in here at any moment.”

“So?” Jackson Young said arrogantly. “The hell with Bishop Wilson. I wish he would come out here.”

“You didn't say that when he had his hands around your throat,” I reminded him. As far as I could tell, he must have been conked on the head and lost his natural-born mind showing his face here.

“Hey, I told you that in confidence, not for you to ever bring it up again.” He pierced me with a stare that told me to back the hell up. I did, but it still wasn't going to do either one of us any good if Bishop walked in here right now.

“You shouldn't be here. It's not smart.” I knew that Jackson was going to do whatever he wanted, but he wouldn't be able to say that I didn't warn him. After what happened with Ross, I now knew that the mild-mannered man of God was only one side of Bishop TK Wilson. “Worst-case scenario, you could cause me to lose this job. Then where would we be?”

“Relax. You're not going to lose this job. I heard you tell the little church thug that the bishop isn't here.” Jackson smiled, revealing a mouthful of perfect teeth. “I didn't come to see him anyway. I came to see you.”

I leaned in and hissed at him, “Are you not hearing me?”

“Loud and clear. But I need an update,” he said, lowering himself to a comfortable seated position on the edge of my desk.

“I'm doing my part. Things are going according to plan.” He raised his eyebrows, obviously not satisfied with my answer. “Look,” I said, “you got to get out of here before anybody comes by and recognizes you.” We were lucky no one had come by already. This church was a hotbed of activity with folks coming and going all day.

“Did you get the check?” he pressed.

“Yeah, I got it,” I said, hoping that would satisfy him enough to leave before this all blew up in my face.

“Good, now there's nothing standing in our way.” A sadistic grin began to form on his face.

“Jackson?” We both turned as First Lady Monique entered the reception area. I shot him a smug look as if to say, “I told you so.”

The first lady looked about as happy to see Jackson as I was. In fact, she looked downright uncomfortable. He, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying himself. First Lady Monique quickly looked past me toward her husband's office.

“He's not here yet,” I said, and her relief was palpable.

She took Jackson by the arm and led him to a corner. I pretended to be busy sorting through the papers on my desk, but I would have had to be blind and deaf to miss the exchange between her and Jackson.

“What are you doing here?” I heard her voice catch. She was obviously trying to play it cool, but there was no disguising her worry.

“I came to see you.” Jackson, ever the smooth player, acted as if being there after the conflict with Bishop Wilson was the most natural thing in the world. “You really left me no choice. You haven't answered my calls, and something's come up. We need to talk,” he said, his voice dripping with concern. Hell, this was better than any reality show or daytime soap opera I'd ever seen.

“You're right, we do need to talk but we can't talk here.” Monique lowered her voice to a whisper. She took out a piece of paper and handed it to Jackson. He read it, nodded, and was out the door, followed by the bishop's wife. I didn't know what was going on, but things had certainly gotten interesting.

Jackson stood up as I approached his table at Junior's, the famous cheesecake restaurant in downtown Brooklyn. Even though we had left the church at the same time, I'd taken longer to arrive because I parked my car ten blocks away, in case TK decided to use that OnStar tracking device again. He wouldn't think to look for me here, because it wasn't the kind of place I'd dine at in the middle of the day. It was one of those places I usually only went to for graduations or birthday celebrations.

Jackson opened his arms for a hug, and I fell into it without hesitation. I should have felt self-conscious in a room full of people, but the truth was, I really needed some support, and after my fight with TK, I knew I couldn't get it from him. As first lady of the church, I had to be very careful about who I talked to and what I shared; the slightest rumor could put my husband's reputation at risk, so very often I kept things to myself. Given what I'd learned about the recent murders, though, I needed to talk to someone. Jackson was the logical choice.

“Thanks for meeting here,” I said as I sat down. “I wanted to make sure that we weren't in Queens. Things are not good with me and TK, and seeing us together would only make it worse.”

“Of course,” he said. I appreciated the way he let the mention of TK's name pass without making a big deal of it. After all, TK had tried to strangle him, so the fact that Jackson was even still speaking to me said a lot about his character. “I took the liberty of ordering your lunch. You don't look like you've been eating,” he said.

“I haven't had much of an appetite,” I admitted.

“What's going on? I've been worried about you ever since…that day.”

“I've been relegated to the guest room.” I hated to admit out loud how bad things had gotten between us. Jackson was the first person I'd said anything to.

“The guest room? Are you serious?” He seemed shocked, but then again, most people would be. TK was a great preacher, and that was usually the only side they saw, but he was also a man with a lot of stubborn pride. Couple that with the fact that he no longer trusted me and the situation was much worse than even I could have predicted.

“Yeah, he tried to kick me out at first. I had to fight like hell to even get a spot in the guest room.” I could feel tears forming in my eyes.

“But we were only practicing.”

“I know that, you know that, but my husband disagrees.” I wiped my eyes with a napkin, refusing to break down. I had bigger things to discuss with Jackson, and I needed my wits about me. “But that's not why I wanted to talk to you today,” I told him.

He leaned back in his chair. “So what are we doing here, Monique?” he asked with a confident look on his face. I didn't think he'd have that look on his face for long once I told him what had happened.

“Vinnie Taylor is dead,” I said.

He took a sip of his water. “Who?”

Was he serious? “Vinnie Taylor, the guy you said you were going to talk to.”

Still no reaction from him.

I leaned closer and spoke quietly. “Tia's rapist.”

“Oh, him,” he said casually.

“Yes, him, Jackson. Tia told us she hit him on the head with the lamp, but now I find out he's dead. Shot, and Tia has a gun.”

“Guess he got what he deserved,” Jackson said, still unfazed by the news. His behavior was starting to make me nervous.

“Jackson, I need to know what happened when you went in to see him that night. Was he still alive after Tia hit him?”

We paused our conversation for a minute while the waitress set our plates on the table. I couldn't even think about touching the sandwich Jackson had ordered me, but he dug in, enjoying a few bites before he answered my question.

“I never went inside,” he said.

“What? But when I left with Tia you said—”

“I was going to, but when I got inside the building, I didn't know which apartment it was.”

“So you just left?” I asked, totally confused. That night, he had been so adamant about going to confront the guy. Now he was admitting that he made barely the minimum effort. Not that I necessarily expected him to be a hero or something, but his lack of effort, added to his lack of concern about the guy's murder, didn't fit with my initial impression of his character.

“Yes. I never went in. So, why exactly does that bother you so much? The guy was a rapist and who knows what else. He probably had lots of enemies who could have done this to him. I say good riddance to bad trash.”

“There's more,” I told him.

“Like what?”

“There's another dead guy in Brooklyn.”

He gave me a patronizing smile. “Monique, this is New York. There are dead guys in all five boroughs every single day.”

“The guy in Brooklyn knew Vinnie Taylor. Both of them were killed with the same type of gun,” I said, my breath catching in my throat as I revealed the most frightening piece of evidence: “And they both had the letter
R
on their foreheads.”

“The letter
R
?” he asked.

“
R
for ‘rapist,'” I whispered.

He let out a low whistle. For the first time, he showed some concern. “Whoa, that doesn't sound good. Have you asked Tia about this?”

“No. I haven't even called her. I think I'm afraid of what she might say,” I said, my body trembling as I admitted that awful truth.

He thought about it for a second and then said, “Look, you have no way of knowing if she has anything to do with this. It could be one hell of a coincidence…Maybe there were other victims and someone else delivered their justice.”

I looked up at him with tears in my eyes, wanting so badly for his version to be correct. I did not want to believe Tia was capable of murder.

“Look, regardless of who pulled the trigger, here's the bottom line,” he continued. “Those guys committed a heinous crime. Could you really blame a victim if she did go rogue?”

I shook my head adamantly. “God should be the one to take care of those men, not her.”

He looked doubtful. “Is that what you would do if you were in her position? Sit idly by and do nothing except hope they get their punishment in the next life?”

As a preacher's wife, I would have liked to think I could “turn the other cheek,” but when I imagined myself in Tia's position, I had to admit something to myself: I would never be able to live up to that standard.

“There wouldn't be a rock big enough for them to hide under if they did to me what they did to her.”

Jackson was staring at me with a look of pure admiration.

“And if you were my woman, I would be right there with you, squeezing the trigger. I would not wait for the cops to exact justice for you.”

“What am I going to do?” I asked.

“Well, just have faith that the same God that looks after you will also be there for Tia.”

“That sounds like something TK would say…if he was talking to me.”

“Monique,” he said, reaching out to hold my hand, “he doesn't deserve you.”