When Perfection Fails (19 page)

Lenora sulked for the rest of the afternoon. She looked back at the list she had written last week and crossed off the victim. Jack Sellars. She vaguely remembered the name after Darnell stated it out loud. It was a bit ironic that she hadn't remembered his name. She recalled catching a glimpse of the man on the news when he was released. Now that she thought back, he hadn't revealed his face. Almost as if he didn't want the media attention.

At the time, Charmayne had laughed and stated, “See, he's fine. He's going on with his life, and we will do the same.” That they did.

That's what bothered Lenora. There was someone else who knew. Someone who used a time in both of their lives when everything was going well. Charmayne was a media darling up until after her father died. Then she seemed to have become the black sheep of the council, unwilling to budget on a project her father had created. Why did this all happen after Bishop Hudson's death?

Lenora knew somewhere this had to do with him. The bishop covered and protected Charmayne. On many occasions, Lenora had been encouraged to keep quiet by the bishop whenever she found Charmayne in one of her drunken stupors. He would always look at Lenora and thank her for being such a good friend. Behind that statement, he was basically saying to her, “I'm glad you keep her secrets safe.”

There was a knock on the bedroom door. Jonathan walked in. Lenora pushed herself up from where she had lay sprawled across their bed. Jonathan sat down and asked, “Are you all right?”

Lenora shifted her eyes upward, and then stared at him. “Of course not. Stop asking me that question like I'm about to have a nervous breakdown or something.”

“I just need to know you're okay. We did just have a health scare.”

“It's more than that. You think I need to get over Charmayne's death.”

Jonathan rubbed his head. “I know you're having a hard time with what happened. I know there are a lot of questions left open, but you need to allow yourself time to mourn, and then move on with your life. You have a wedding coming up. That young man that was just in our house is the groom.”

Lenora bit her lip. “I don't have anything against Darnell. I know he did the best he could in a short amount of time to find out some answers. I'm looking forward to going back to work. In fact, I plan to be there first thing in the morning.”

“Good. I think it's time you get back to the things that are important to you. It's what Charmayne would have wanted, don't you think?”

She lashed out before she could stop herself. “Charmayne was important to me. I know we had an interesting friendship and you never really liked her, but I'm not just going to let this go. She would have wanted some type of justice.”

Jonathan frowned. “You just heard from law enforcement. What type of justice do you hope can be found?”

She held her hands to her heart. “There has to be something I have missed that could help them.”

“Are you talking about the accident when you were younger? You can't do anything about that night now. The man's dead. Goodness, it was what . . . almost twenty-five years ago.”

Lenora fell back against the pillow. “I don't think anything going on now has to do with that accident. I believe this person involved went fishing for some skeletons to pull out of Charmayne's closet to use against her.”

She sat up. “You know the development project that has been on the news. That reporter came by the boutique asking about the project. Charmayne said herself it felt like everyone was against her. Jonathan, suppose someone was trying to set Charmayne up for some fall. This could be someone with a political agenda.”

Lenora placed her feet on the floor. With her hands on her hips, she started to pace. “In some ways, Bishop Hudson was untouchable, but people would strike out at Charmayne to get to her dad. Suppose this was the same thing going on here?”

Jonathan shrugged. “What you're saying is since the bishop was gone that someone saw an opportunity to pick apart Charmayne? Why? I mean, the woman could have her own enemies.”

“Yes, you're right. Mayor Carrington certainly has been bent on thwarting her reelection. I bet he's still encouraging you to run for the district seat, is that true?”

“Lenora, stop.” He stood. “This is crazy. Do you hear how you sound? You're trying to accuse people of being responsible for Charmayne's death. Look, we don't know what led her to sit in that car with the garage door closed, but you have to be careful here.”

“I'm just asking questions, Jonathan.”

He stood in front of her. “You're the first lady of Victory Gospel. You grew up at Greater Heights, and you are a well-known businesswoman in Charlotte. I'm begging you to let this go. Let the police continue their investigation and you concentrate on your upcoming responsibilities.”

Jonathan walked out of the room and swung the door closed behind him. The loud thud against the door frame jolted her. She wanted to run after him and tell him not to tell her what to do, or, for that fact, even how to feel. But the steam that had built up over the last hour dissipated as her body went limp. Lenora plopped down on the bed. In the back of her mind, she knew that Jonathan was right. She had a wedding coming up that she had planned for over a year. It was time to press on.

Still, it upset her that it appeared the investigation was leaning toward the end of her friend's life as a suicide. Lenora thought back to when she heard the sounds of the car in the garage. She had picked up the rock and threw it at the garage window. What was her first thought? What did Charmayne say to her the last time she saw her?

Lenora pulled her feet closer to her body and tilted forward, then back. She rocked for a long time, trying to figure out what could have been Charmayne's game plan. In Lenora's mind, the truth had been overshadowed by a very big lie.

All morning Lenora had double-checked, and in some cases, triple-checked, the details for the upcoming weekend. She hung up the phone with the caterer a split second before she was sure the man on the other line would be ready to shoot a string of curse words her way.

Sarah sat across from her pretending to examine her nails. Lenora could feel the annoyance rising up from the woman's demeanor. “I appreciate you taking care of all this while I was sick. I know, I know. I'm anal. My apologies.”

Her consultant stretched her eyes. Sarah opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Lenora burst out laughing. “What, you mean I made you speechless? Look, honey, I have been laid out on my back for about a week. At some point, I could have sworn death's door was about to open.” Lenora leaned back. “I know that I strive for this false notion of perfection. I always have. It's a hard habit to break.”

Sarah's eyes watered as she smiled. “That's what your clients appreciate about you. You do everything to make sure that day is one they will never forget. It's why I was determined to work for you. Your reputation is stellar, and I can see why.”

Lenora waved her hand. “I know you still want to wring my neck. I do trust you. I just . . . I feel like I haven't been fully involved in the wedding planning for Candace, at least these last few critical weeks.”

Sarah shook her head. Her hair swung back and forth. “That's the way it seems to you, but I know Candace is very pleased with everything. You really are too hard on yourself. Where does this come from?”

Lenora shrugged. “I honestly don't know. I've always had this good girl syndrome.”

Sarah giggled. “Me too.”

Lost in a memory, Lenora remained silent for a few minutes. She finally spoke, her eyes not focused on anything in particular. “You know, Charmayne used to get on me ever since we were little girls. She would tell me ‘You're so boring, you have to have everything just right.'”

“Well, someone has to keep the order.”

Lenora focused on Sarah, and then shook her head. “You're right, but we can't expect everything to be perfect. Sometimes I have been so caught up in having control and making sure everything was perfect that I have succumbed to feeling like a failure when things fall apart.”

Sarah leaned forward. “You know, what you just said reminds me of something I read this morning in my devotions.” She pulled out her phone and began touching the screen. “Here it is. Today's verse was from 2 Corinthians, Chapter Twelve, and Verse Ten. It says, ‘Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ's sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong.”

 

Sarah looked at Lenora. “I can forward this to you if you'd like.”

“Sure! That's a good verse to meditate on today. Thank you again for everything, Sarah.”

Sarah gave her a salute. “Not a problem, boss.”

After the young woman left, Lenora couldn't seem to find the concentration she had earlier. She often played an online radio station in the background. Lenora reached over and flicked the screen to show the station. She saw Marvin Sapp's album cover. Lenora turned up the volume and listened to the chorus. “Be all glory and power, dominion and power, forever, and ever. Amen.”

She thought about the verse that Sarah just read. Lenora hadn't been taking any pleasure in her trials and loss of control. She'd carried the weight on her shoulders, feeling more oppressed by her circumstances. During her illness, her prayers and time spent with God had grown on a deeper level. There was nothing hurried as she got up and went about her day. It was like God had been waiting for her to slow down and share her burdens. There was nothing cliché about let go and let God.

If anything, she needed to remember this simple concept.

She was still steamed at Jonathan. Well, not necessarily at him, but what he said to her. When she had received blows in her life, Lenora did have a habit of feeling sorry for herself over what she conceived to be a failure.

She had to really evaluate the root of where this came from. Always an overachiever, she certainly did her best to do everything with excellence, but even her mother had often told her, “Lenora, you have to live so you are not missing out on what God has for you. It's usually not about you working to get credit or the pat on the back, but for God's glory.”

Lenora wondered what her momma would have said to her that night if she had known her daughter had become an accessory to what could have been someone's possible death. Lenora could have said something years ago, but she didn't. She had consciously made up for the terrible mishap by making sure she helped anyone in need. In a lot of ways, despite her complexities, Charmayne had done the same when she moved into the public service arena.

Lenora turned down the music and tapped on the keyboard to pull up some folders from an external hard drive. She kept meticulous records of all her weddings, mainly because she liked to go back and make sure she gave each bride the unique wedding they paid her to plan. It took her about fifteen minutes, but she found the folder she was searching for.

The photo was five years old and Charmayne's hair was long. Before she started chopping her hair off, Charmayne had worn weaves for years. In this photo, Charmayne had a jet-black, silky mane, a deep contrast to the princess wedding gown. Lenora still didn't know why Charmayne picked that dress. They went around and around. Charmayne wanted a fairy-tale wedding.

Her friend never walked down the aisle, which bothered Lenora more than it did Charmayne. Was her friend ever really happy?

The office phone halted her emotions and thoughts. Lenora cleared her throat and waited for the phone to ring again before she picked up the receiver.

“Lenora's Bridal Boutique.”

“Lenora. Is this Lenora Freeman?”

She sat up straight in the seat. Lenora definitely didn't recognize the man's voice. She snapped, “Who's this?”

“Mrs. Freeman, this is Henry Bowman. I'm Charmayne Hudson's lawyer.”

“Yes, what can I do for you?”

“I'm calling because I have been trying to contact you. Charmayne Hudson had some instructions upon her death. I have a package for you.”

Lenora stuttered. Her brain was trying to catch up with her mouth. “A package.”

“Yes, I felt like this wasn't something I could place in the mail. I was wondering if you could come by next week, possibly Monday, to pick up the package.”

“Sure, what time?”

The man paused so long, Lenora was about to ask if anyone was still on the line.

“How about 1:00 p.m.? Will that work?”

Lenora jotted the time on her desk calendar. She would have to remember to add the meeting to her phone. She asked, “Where is your office located?”

“2200 Parklane Plaza.”

“Thanks, I will see you on Monday.” Lenora heard the dial tone and hung up the phone. She stared at the phone as if it were a snake about to strike out and bite her. Almost an entire week had passed since Charmayne's funeral. What was in the package?

She said out loud, “Really, Charmayne. Even from the grave, you're still causing drama.”

It was Friday afternoon, and Serena had scoured over the Hudson Housing Development committee files until she was cross-eyed. She'd spent the last three days trying to cold-call committee members. It was like this project had the plague attached to it because no one wanted to cooperate and answer her questions. At least, it seemed that way to her.

The main players of the committee, Bishop Hudson and Charmayne Hudson, were obviously out of reach. That pained Serena because the two people who might have given her what she wanted were no longer here. Reverend Wright and Linda were the other members from Greater Heights. Linda, the secretary, had been kind and very helpful. Serena had come to the conclusion that either Reverend Wright's schedule was already filled or he was trying to avoid her.

Alex Carrington was appointed to the committee long before he was elected mayor of Charlotte. Other members were Reverend Donald Lawson of Springhill Baptist and Martha German, a longtime civil rights activist who had worked alongside Bishop Hudson in the 1960s. Over the past seven years, these seven people worked together on the proposal and the fund-raising circuit.

In a way there was no one to blame but herself if the mayor didn't want to speak to her. She had been a bit impulsive when she questioned Mayor Carrington on camera last Wednesday after Charmayne's funeral. Alan had sternly warned that her actions could backfire. She didn't really care. If anything, the shroud of secrecy around the once-popular project had convinced Serena something wasn't right.

She was going to find out. The money wasn't adding up, which meant they either had a bad financial secretary or someone had scooped some funds for themselves. Now the question was, did someone take the entire $350,000 or were there several individuals involved. From past stories of corruption, Serena knew there had to be several people involved, probably in areas she hadn't found yet.

The mayor seemed to be more of a guilty party based on his reactions to Serena's questions. Also, Mayor Carrington was the one who gave Charmayne the most grief about digging her heels in and fighting for the project. Serena moved the papers to the side and flipped open a folder she had personally assembled during election season. She had focused on Mayor Carrington, the womanizer, when he ran for mayor, but she had gathered quite a bit of information about the man's background.

Mayor Carrington was a self-made millionaire before he decided to run for office. The man owned one of the most reputable real estate firms in Charlotte. He was involved in the construction of several business developments over the past fifteen years. Alex was a shoo-in to have on the committee due to his keen business and real estate conquests.

Tapping the pen in her hand on the desk, Serena wondered out loud, “Exactly how did you make all of your money, Mr. Carrington?”

“Talking to yourself now, Serena? We don't want to have to commit you.”

Serena lifted her eyes and grinned at Wes. “You got jokes, young man.”

Wes shook his head. “Just concerned. You've been glued to this desk for a few days. That's not like you.”

She leaned back in her seat. “Well, I've been forced to do my research on this one.” Serena narrowed her eyes. “Is it me or are you looking exceptionally handsome tonight, kiddo?”

Wes was wearing dark slacks and a bright white Polo shirt. Serena blinked. She didn't know if it was Wes's smile or his shirt that was blinding her.

“I guess that's a compliment from you, Serena. I'm actually heading to Darnell and Candace's rehearsal dinner after I pick up Angel.”

“Oh.” Serena found herself speechless for a moment. She'd forgotten Darnell would officially get hitched this weekend. She realized Wes was watching her. Serena looked away and rubbed her eyes. “So, have you and Angel set a date yet?”

Wes turned up the power on his megawatt smile. “We are planning to announce to friends tonight since we know we'll be asked. New Year's Eve is the date.”

“Wow! Biggest party day of the year. I like!”

Wes laughed out loud. “Yeah, I'm looking forward to it. We have a lot to do before then. We're hoping Lenora is cool with knowing she has about nine months of planning for us.”

“I'm sure Lenora is a pro at wedding planning and will make your day superspecial. I'm really happy for you, Wes.” Serena was surprised at her own sincerity. It was hopeful to see people could fall in love and still get married; something she'd pretty much thought was one of those fairy tales people got sucked into. Just because it wasn't in her cards didn't mean others couldn't keep the traditions going.

“Take care of yourself, Serena. It's Friday. You should be heading home.”

“Ha-ha. Yeah, you're right.” She watched as her young colleague strutted out of the newsroom. He was really happy.

Serena turned her attention back to the papers. He was right. It was Friday, and she was tired. She decided to check her e-mail, pack up some of the files, and head home. Maybe she would even soak in the tub. She was known to hit the club when she was younger, but lately, she was just another single woman enjoying the sanctity of her home.

There were tons of unread e-mail in her inbox due to the fact she hadn't checked since lunchtime. She did her usual quick scan. Only one e-mail stood out to her. The e-mail was from Linda. The Greater Heights secretary didn't strike her as the computer type, but in this age of smartphones, tablets, and social media, most folks of any age were glued to an electronic device. Serena clicked the e-mail.

She could tell Linda wasn't used to sending e-mails. In fact, the woman typed her message in the subject line instead of the body of the e-mail. Serena scrolled and read.

Ms. Manchester, I know you were looking for some photos or video from the meetings. I hope this helps.

Serena scrolled down to the message and saw the e-mail was a forward from Charmayne. The e-mail was dated April 4, 2008. The message was sent almost five years to the day.

There was a link to an online photo album. Serena clicked the link, not sure if it still worked or not. To her surprise the link opened to a group of albums. She peered closer and recognized some of the committee members like the bishop, Charmayne, and the not-yet-elected-at-the-time Mayor Carrington. Most of the photos were fund-raising events where the attendees dressed in black tie.

Forgetting that she was supposed to pack up and head home, Serena spent the next fifteen minutes scrolling through photos. She liked observing people. A photo, especially taken when a person wasn't aware, told a lot about that person's demeanor during that time.

Serena recognized Martha German, one of the committee members, who was dodging her calls. Martha was exactly as she pictured her: silver haired and stern looking. The woman reminded Serena of a former schoolteacher who had also worn her hair in a simple bun.

From her appearance, Serena couldn't imagine the woman doing anything wrong. Usually, the person you least suspected could be involved in the worst of crimes. Martha served as the main fund-raiser organizer/financial secretary for the committee. If anyone knew the real donation totals, Martha should know.

Serena glanced at the time in the lower right-hand corner of her computer. It was almost five o'clock. She wondered if anything was going on at Greater Heights. She had to chuckle at her own curiosity about church activities on a Friday night. Reverend Wright's secretary had been the most accessible person thus far. So, Serena called the church office.

She scrolled through her cell phone and dialed the Greater Heights phone number. The phone rang twice.

“Hello, Greater Heights Church. This is Linda, how may I help you?”

Serena smiled at her luck. Or maybe God was really looking after her. She tucked that thought away as she responded. “Linda, hello, it's Serena Manchester. I was hoping I could catch you.”

The woman was silent on the other end.

“Do you remember me?”

Linda cleared her throat and spoke softly, as if she didn't want anyone to hear her. “Yes, I remember you. I was getting ready to head home. I had to finish the programs for Sunday. Was there something else you needed? Did you get my e-mail?”

“Yes, I did. Thank you for the photos. I needed to see some more records. I was wondering if I could come by the church.”

“Well, Reverend Wright did say to help you. I guess that's all right. When can you come?”

“I can be there in about thirty minutes.”

Despite the five o'clock traffic on I-77, Serena arrived at Greater Heights in the time she'd estimated. There were certainly some activities going on at Greater Heights. She parked her car in the parking lot, clicked her alarm, and headed up the church steps. Once inside, instead of going straight to Linda's office, Serena made it to the office that held the records. Down the hall, she could hear what sounded like the choir rehearsing. She looked behind her and slowly turned the knob.
Dang!
It was locked. She would have to do this differently.

Serena rounded the corner and popped her head into Linda's office. The woman had her eyes closed, with headphones on her head. She wasn't sure what the woman was listening to, but she walked in and watched as Linda raised her arms to the sky and sang, “No weapon formed against me shall prosper, it won't work.”

Then Linda shouted, “Thank you, Jesus.”

Serena rapped her knuckles on the wood desk. “That must be a really good song.”

Linda's eyes popped open in surprise. Then her face curved into a smile. “Ms. Manchester. Girl, I love this song and Fred Hammond. That man knows how to make a sister throw up her hands and praise the Lord for all that He has done. Even after a bad day.”

For a brief second, Serena felt a slight hint of guilt. She hated to come by and disturb Linda after a bad day. Before she lost her nerve, Serena reached for the folder in her purse. “I acquired these records and was wondering if there is some mistake.” She laid the financial spreadsheets in front of Linda.

Linda looked at the spreadsheets and frowned. “Did I give these to you on Monday?”

Serena lied. “They were mixed up with the minutes. The minutes were very helpful, but I found these to be a bit confusing.”

Linda lifted her eyes and cocked her head like a puppy waiting to see if his master would play. “How so?” she asked.

Serena pointed to the documents Lance had given her. “The numbers are just very different from what Charmayne's office sent me. I'm not sure which one is correct. Can you help?”

Linda sputtered. “I'm not sure why you have two different copies. And I don't know if I can help. I was mainly at the meetings to record minutes.” She chuckled. “I've never been good at math, and I doubt anyone wanted to trust me with the finances.”

“So who took care of documenting the finances?”

“In the beginning it was Charmayne.”

Serena raised her eyebrows. “Charmayne was the financial secretary?”

“Yes, that's how it started. Of course, she eventually let it go, and Martha took over taking care of the finances. She still does. She's very smart and meticulous despite her age. Plus, the bishop trusted her.”

“You know, I've been trying to get in touch with Martha. Do you have any idea when is the best time to contact her?”

“No, I'm afraid I don't know. I lost touch with most of the committee members after I stopped being the secretary. The bishop wanted to get representation from each of the major churches here in the district. Martha is the representative from Victory Gospel. So, she will probably be at the wedding tomorrow.”

Serena cocked her head to the side. “Are you talking about Darnell and Candace?”

“Yes, have you been invited?” Linda asked.

Serena shook her head, though she was still looking for a way to crash the wedding.

“That's a shame. I'm looking forward to attending. Dorothy has been telling me how excited she was about the wedding. I get to come as her guest.”

“Oh, lucky you.”
They didn't have to leave me off the guest list.
Serena was sure a lot of guests were not connected to either the bride or groom.

Serena closed the folder and decided she would find a way to catch up with Martha German soon. “Thanks for your help, Linda. I know you want to get home.”

Serena was about to leave, but Linda called out. “Oh wait, I wanted to show you a photo since you seemed interested in him.”

Serena turned back around. “Photo?”

Linda shuffled back behind her desk. “Remember you said you wanted to know about the consultant. I just happened to find this photo when I was searching for the albums. I think I know why Bishop Hudson wanted to get rid of him.”

Serena walked over to Linda's desk.

Linda was grinning as she turned the monitor around for Serena to view.

It took Serena a moment to comprehend, but when she did, her bottom lip could've hit the desk. If she hadn't seen the man's, face up close she wouldn't have recognized him. He looked like a totally different person.

The man she knew as Lance Ryan was standing next to Charmayne with a big grin on his face. Lance was tanned as usual, and his hair was a lot longer. He also wore thick glasses and had to be at least one hundred pounds heavier than he was currently. No wonder the bishop got rid of him. Lance was an intimidating man now. What kind of demeanor did he have as this heavyset guy? Since this photo was taken, the man had obviously taken great pains to transform his body. Why?

Serena leaned in closer. “Is it me or is his arm slung around Charmayne's waist?”