A Sin and a Shame by Victoria Christopher Murray Page A

the dark, he recognized her. “Reverend Bush.” She stepped inside. “How are you?”
    “Just fine,” he said, and his frown deepened. “What can I do for you?”
    “Actually, I’m here to give this to Malik. He left important papers behind again.”
    The way the reverend’s lips turned slowly upward and ended somewhere between a grin and a smirk, let Jasmine know that he didn’t believe her. “Malik’s not here,” he said in a you-know-this-already tone.
    She frowned. “He’s not? He told his secretary he had a meeting with you.”
    Reverend Bush shrugged. “Not tonight. He was here last night, remember?”
    “Wow.” She lowered her eyes. “I don’t know…” She paused. “Oh, well.” She turned toward the door. “Thank you, Reverend.” She smiled inside when she saw his frown return. Like he expected more from her. Like maybe now, he believed her story. “Have a good evening,” she said and moved as if she was anxious to get away.
    When she placed her hand on the door knob, he said, “Wait.”
    She almost laughed. It wasn’t even going to take the flat tire to get his attention.
    “How did you get here?” he asked. “Do you need to call a cab?”
    Those were not the words she wanted to hear, but still, she was encouraged. “No, I have a rental. I had to run some errands for Malik.”
    He peeked into the parking lot. “Okay, I’ll stay here while you walk to the car.”
    “Thank you, Reverend,” Jasmine said, turning away from him. “Have a good night.”
    She could feel his eyes on her and even in the night’s winter air, she slowed her walk, added more swivel to her step. She’d thought he’d walk her to the car, discover the flat tire with her. But whichever way it went down, they’d spend the rest of the night together.
    As she approached the car, she slowed even more, careful to put surprise in her body language. “Oh, no,” she whispered, and leaned next to the car. She stayed, kneeling, even though her knees began to ache. Behind her, she heard the reverend’s footsteps on the concrete.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “I have a flat tire,” she cried out.
    Reverend Bush peered at the flattened rubber. “Looks that way.”
    “I must have run over something.”
    Even in the dark, she could see him squint. “I can’t imagine what would cause a gash like that.”
    “Guess I should call the rental company,” Jasmine said. “Or some kind of auto club.” She paused and looked up at him. “Or something.”
    He glanced at the tire once again. “Okay, come on back inside.” He took her hand, pulled her up. When she stood, he was so close—his lips just inches from hers.
    She saw it again—the glimmer in his eyes.
    Seconds ticked past before, with a turn and a cough, Reverend Bush moved away. But there was triumph in her smile and victory in her step as she marched behind him.
    In her head, she reviewed the next phase—how she’d make the call, then they’d sit and sip coffee. They’d wait. And talk. And in the end, he’d know the best parts of her. She was almost skipping when they walked into his office.
    “May I use your phone?” she asked, slipping her coat from her shoulders. She smoothed her plum-colored suit over her waist.
    “Hold on.” He motioned for her to take a seat as he picked up the telephone. “Brother Hill, can you come into my office?”
    In the silence that followed from the moment Reverend Bush hung up until Brother Hill stepped into their space, the reverend’s words still hadn’t connected. Nothing registered until Brother Hill appeared. His smile switched to a smirk when he looked at her.
    “Brother Hill, Sister Jasmine has a flat tire. Can you help her change it?”
    “No problem.”
    Their exchange moved faster than she had time to think. Brother Hill asked, “Is your car in the lot?”
    She nodded. When he gestured for her to follow him, she did.
    Think, Jasmine, think.
    The deacon paused at the door and took a coat from the rack. “Of