When Perfection Fails (17 page)

Lenora was officially sick of being sick and tired. It wasn't so bad over the weekend with Jonathan and the boys around her, but today everyone was gone. Even though she didn't work on Mondays, Lenora yearned to return to the bridal boutique after five days of being a prisoner in her bedroom. This morning for the first time in about a week, her eyes opened at her usual six o'clock wake-up time. She had promised Jonathan she would continue to rest. It was the least she could do. Everyone had rallied around her.

Jonathan had dressed and left to tend to church duties earlier. With no place to hurry to, she made a decision to not touch her phone. Like some addict, she found herself picking up the phone, staring at the dial button. There was so much to do and so much lost time.

Lenora knew that over the last few days, she had probably driven Sarah, the caterer, and other vendors crazy with her henpecking. She threw her phone and organizer across the bed. Then she nestled her head against her pillow and tried going back to sleep, but her thoughts seemed to heckle her more today. Lenora wrapped her arms around her head in frustration and yelled out, “God, I can't deal with this.” She climbed out of the bed determined to tarry by the side of the bed on her knees. As she prayed, guilt pressed down on Lenora, almost suffocating her. Thoughts of failure tried to crush her desire to talk to God.

She wasn't on her A-game. Candace's rehearsal dinner was coming up on Friday. Was everything really in place for the wedding on Saturday? What really happened to Charmayne? Did Lenora miss the signs?

A voice whispered,
“Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble
.
”

Lenora paused, hearing her own breath. The planning for Candace and Darnell's wedding was done, and it was all in God's hands. Why was she beating herself up with guilt? She had done the best she could despite obstacles over the last few weeks.

She started the prayer again, and this time, she thanked the Lord for healing her. She certainly felt close to death. Then she prayed in earnest for protection over her husband and her sons. Lenora lifted up Ms. Eliza's name and thanked God for her mother-in-law's kindness. She started to rise from her knees, but then she was overcome with a deep wave of warmth.

She had cried tears for Charmayne, but the tears that she shed now were different. Like a faucet, the tears flowed. Her body heaved as she poured her heart out. The last time she cried like this was at her mom's funeral.

Lenora had been feeling sorry for herself as memories of Charmayne drifted in and out of her mind the past few days. With those thoughts came great confusion and anxiety. Lenora wasn't sure what to think of how Charmayne died, but she drew on a deep comfort in knowing her friend was safe in the arms of the Father.

“Oh, Father God, I do miss my friend. As complicated as our friendship could be, she was my sister. I loved and protected her always. I did, even when I didn't think she deserved it.” Lenora rocked back and forth, humming. Eventually the tears dried, and she crawled back under the covers, her body emotionally spent.

She looked up at the ceiling. Keith had returned to UNC late Sunday afternoon. Michael was in school. Before going to the church, Jonathan had dropped Eliza off at the nursing home to do her monthly missionary work. The house was quiet and peaceful.

Almost too quiet.

Every day she'd been home, Lenora had managed to fall asleep during the daylight hours. Taking a nap was so rare for her, and the long periods of sleep were disconcerting. She felt lazy and unproductive, but she sensed her body needed to rest. Even now as her questions to the Lord and thoughts lingered, she could feel the soft persuasive fingers of sleep coaxing her body to relax.

The phone jolted Lenora from her overwhelming urge to fall back to sleep. She reached for her cell phone, but it wasn't where she thought she had put it. Lenora lifted her head and grunted. She forgot. The phone was at the other end of the bed. She shoved the covers off and scrambled toward the phone. She frowned at the caller ID. It read CMPD. Lenora answered the phone. As she said, “Hello,” her mouth felt cottony.

At first she didn't recognize the man's voice. “Who's this?”

“Lenora, this is Detective Jackson. I hope I'm not disturbing you. I know you weren't feeling well earlier in the week.”

She breathed a sigh of relief, not sure why her heart was pounding in her chest. “Darnell, I'm doing much better. Stress, I guess, from everything. Do you have something for me?” Lenora thought she heard a beep from call waiting. She tuned into the detective's news. Whoever was calling could leave a voice mail.

“Yes, if you don't mind, I thought it would be best if I came to your home. This information may be best shared in person.”

“Oh. Do I need to ask the pastor to come home?”

She heard Darnell hesitate. “If you think you need the support, I encourage you to ask your husband to be there with you.”

“Okay. I will see you soon, Darnell.”

She ended the call. What did Darnell have to tell her? Lenora assumed it had to be about Charmayne. There was nothing she wanted more than to destroy the growing rumor mill surrounding Charmayne's death.

That reporter Serena Manchester didn't help matters. The WYNN reporter had managed to turn people's attention to the Hudson Housing Development project, giving the impression Charmayne had done something illegal. There was a wrong that occurred years ago, but it certainly wasn't what the public thought.

Lenora picked up the cell phone to call Jonathan, but stopped because she noticed the phone's battery was dangerously low. She smiled. She was proud of herself for choosing not to work this morning. What was the point of keeping the boutique closed on Mondays if she wasn't going to fully take advantage of the day off?

She crossed to the other side of the bedroom and plugged the phone in the charger. Then Lenora headed to the shower. Since she was home, she decided to dress in a comfortable pair of pajamas. Why did she have to get sick to appreciate the art of rest and lounging?

A crash from downstairs sent her clutching her pajama top. She stood very still, almost forgetting to breathe.
Was that the door downstairs?
No one else was home but her. She checked the clock. It wasn't quite lunchtime yet, and Eliza said she wouldn't be back until late afternoon.

She hurried over to the bed, shoved her feet into her slippers, and left the bedroom. Outside her bedroom, she leaned over the staircase railing. She listened for the noise, but after a few minutes she decided maybe she had just been hearing things. She shrugged and decided to head downstairs for lunch.

As Lenora descended the stairs, she hung on to the banister. She continued to try to convince herself that the quiet house and her sluggishness were encouraging her paranoia. Once she reached the bottom floor, she peeked into the living room. Somebody had left the television playing. The volume wasn't turned up loud, so whatever she heard before couldn't have been coming from the television. Lenora walked in and grabbed the remote off the coffee table. She switched off the television.

When she walked back into the foyer, she headed toward the front door. Lenora peered through the peephole. No one was there, but then again, it wasn't like anyone had knocked or rung the doorbell. She was not a squeamish person and didn't mind being alone, so why was she acting this way? Her stomach growled, reminding her she had more important matters, like getting some nourishment in her body.

Lenora turned from the front door and walked back toward the kitchen. As she entered the kitchen, she realized this was first time in a few days she was in her own kitchen, fixing food for herself. As she pulled items out of the fridge, she quickly assembled a ham and cheese sandwich, not sure when Detective Jackson would arrive. She chewed and gulped down a glass of orange juice. She sliced a bit more cheese and placed it in her mouth, enjoying the sharp, tangy taste.

A noise right outside the kitchen caused her to stop chewing. Someone was in the garage. That's when she noticed the door leading to the garage. The doorknob appeared to be turning. Sometimes after it rained, the door would stick. Someone was ramming against the door.

Lenora grabbed the butter knife from the counter. Charmayne's face flashed in her mind. She looked at the butter knife in her hand and thought,
What is this going to do?

She glanced over at the cordless phone across the room. Should she grab the phone and make a run for it?

There was no time. The door burst open.

Lenora screamed and dropped the knife.

Serena trailed closely behind Reverend Owen Wright as he walked through the sanctuary of Greater Heights Church. She recalled her conversation with Dorothy, the seamstress from Lenora's Bridal Boutique, and decided the church would be a great place to continue to dig into the Hudsons' history. Bishop William Hudson founded this church, and it was the place where he held very important meetings. While his daughter wasn't in the ministry, Charmayne was regarded as a symbol of pride for many people in the congregation and community.

Ever since the funeral, Serena had spent time reviewing interviews shot before and after the funeral. The people in the congregation really knew Charmayne since many had watched her grow up under her father's reign at Greater Heights, and then branch out to make her path in politics.

It was Monday, and Serena certainly wasn't getting any cooperation from Detective Jackson. He was just as closed lipped as he was over a week ago about Charmayne Hudson's murder.

She knew Lenora Freeman was still tucked away, recovering from the sudden illness that caused her to collapse after the funeral. When she could, Serena had every intention of making a beeline back toward the woman. In the meantime, the one person she didn't get on camera after the funeral was the current pastor of Greater Heights Church.

The tall, thin man seemed to not care for her presence. Serena had read as much as she could on Reverend Wright. He had been an associate pastor for many years under Bishop Hudson. Serena couldn't imagine how the man had coped filling the huge shoes of his predecessor. As Reverend Wright stopped to pull more programs out of the church pew, she tried to engage him again with her question. “Okay, if you don't want to share about the Hudson Housing Development, certainly you can share a few words about Charmayne. This was her church home, and you were her pastor, even if only for a short time.”

Reverend Wright turned to her. The pastor had most of his wavy hair, which was graying around the temples. He was almost rail thin, as if she could touch him with her finger and he would tip over like a chess piece. She estimated he had to be in his late forties. While he was tall, Reverend Wright was in no way as commanding in size as the great Bishop Hudson. She hated to do comparisons, but she was really curious about this quiet man's perspective.

The man finally spoke as if in deep pain, “We will miss Charmayne dearly. To answer your other question, I don't know what's going to happen to the Hudson Housing Development project. It was really the bishop's dream. It wasn't Charmayne's dream.”

Serena inquired, “So she was merely fighting for it because it was something her father wanted?”

The pastor sat down on the pew. Serena followed suit and waited for the pastor to compose himself. She recognized a deep sense of admiration and sorrow toward his recently deceased member. Serena inquired, “Were you close to Charmayne?”

Reverend Wright eyed her as if he resented the question. He looked down at his pants and picked a piece of lint from his leg. He responded with his head lowered. “She was like a younger sister to me. We grew up here in this church. She always teased me and said she knew I would be in that pulpit one day. I would tease her back and say I always knew she would try to be the leader of something. Charmayne was the boss, even as a kid. She was similar to her father in that aspect.”

Reverend Wright chuckled at a past memory that he didn't share with Serena. She waited for him to continue.

“You may find this hard to believe, but Charmayne, like quite a few of us, felt a sense of relief when her father passed away. He was a hard man to be around.”

Serena quipped, “He was a man of God. A great civil rights leader. I can imagine he was intimidating.”

The pastor lifted his head. “He was passionate about helping the people, but he wasn't always so kind to the people closest to him.”

Serena looked away as her own memories came to mind. She didn't want to be disrespectful to the minister or the house of God. A long time ago, back as a girl in South Carolina, Serena had spent much time in a church built very much like this one except it was much smaller. Everyone knew one another. She had family members who were so religious and spirit-filled, they seemed to live at church. Those same persons often forgot that religion behind closed doors. That was another time, and Serena was no longer bound to that life.

It occurred to Serena that Bishop Hudson and Charmayne were used to getting their way. That meant they had to have created enemies along the way. She looked over at the pastor who had grown quiet, probably reflecting on his memories.

She hated to interrupt him, but she came to the church that morning for a very specific matter. “Reverend Wright, is it possible there are people who would've wanted the Hudson Housing Development not to succeed?” She observed the pastor turning from reflective to protective.

He straightened his back and folded his arms. “Why are you so interested in this subject matter? You know you have a lot of people upset. Your story made it sound like people who are well-respected in this community were doing illegal things.”

Serena leaned forward. “Look, I just want to know why a sharp and ambitious woman like Charmayne Hudson would allegedly commit suicide. No one wants to say that because it's so shocking, but it's how she died. Don't you think it's odd that no one wants to touch this project, and the main people who kept it alive are gone now?”

The pastor slapped his hands on his legs and pointed his long finger near her face. “That project was doomed to fail from the very beginning.”

Serena stood. “Why? This congregation worked hard for many years to raise money. Why would so many people be involved and it was a doomed project as you say?”

He threw up his hands. “I just told you or tried to tell you. Bishop Hudson got what he wanted. If he wanted this to be the main project for the church, it's what we did, no questions asked.”

“So he threw his power around?”

“I don't want to speak ill of the dead, and even more important, I wouldn't be here without the man. I don't know what was going on in Charmayne's mind, but she did have a tendency to be impulsive.”

“But you don't think she would have been
this
impulsive.”

“I don't know what to believe. What I do know is the mind is a powerful force. Only Charmayne knew what was going on in her own mind.”

Serena took a deep breath. “I have a few more questions, and then I will leave. Who else worked on this project? I would still like to talk to everyone involved.”

Reverend Wright shook his head. “What do you hope to discover? Must you drag a good name in the mud, all for a story?”

Serena was taken aback by Reverend Wright's statement. Because she needed what she came for she took a moment to calm her angst. Of course she wanted to fully investigate the finances involved, but Reverend Wright didn't need to know that. She knew he would shut her down and not want to talk to her at all if he was aware of that.

After her broadcast the other night, Alan warned her to move forward carefully. Her news producer wasn't too pleased with her questioning the mayor the way she did, but Serena didn't regret the reaction she got from the mayor.

Now she just needed to have more concrete evidence before her next move.