Sweetwater Sinners The Sequel to Holy Hustler

By PL Wilson

From saints to sinners...
It's been twelve months since Sweetwater Powerhouse of God Pastor Ethan Goodlove was able to get his sinning congregation under control. But now that the Good Reverend has fallen ill, all hell is breaking loose.
There's the hot-to-trot Theola, who is doing things a First Lady should never, ever do. Then, Rev. Goodlove's oldest son, Damien, is scheming to make sure his pending divorce is his next big come-up. But Damien's estranged wife, Michelle, isn't going out without a fight. She already tried to kill once, this time she's determined to get it right. Just when it seems things couldn't get any worse, Damien's ex, Jazzlyn pops up and she's ready to go toe-to-toe with Michelle to reclaim "the one that got away."
Like father, like sons...
Add to that, Rev. Goodlove's other two sons Reginald and Barry, and there is no shortage of drama in the church! Now, the good Reverend must try to fight through his illness to keep his sons from following in his less-than-holy footsteps. Can anyone save these sinners before it’s too late?

• Language: English
• Publisher: PL Wilson
• Release date: Jul 11, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466048652

PL Wilson

PL Wilson is the pen name for Pat Tucker. By day, she works as a radio news director in Houston, TX. By night, she is a talented writer with a knack for telling page-turning stories. A former television news reporter, she draws on her background to craft stories readers will love. With more than 15 years of media experience, the award-winning broadcast journalist has worked as a reporter for ABC, NBC and Fox affiliate TV stations and Radio stations in California and Texas. She also co-hosts the literary talk show, From Cover to Cover. Pat has wowed editors with her ability to turn out five to ten thousand words a day. But it's not just quantity that has Pat at the top of her game. The quality of her stories is what keeps the readers coming back. A much sought-after ghost writer, Pat gets her greatest joy in creating her own stories. She is the author of six novels and has participated in three anthologies, including Zane’s New York Times Bestseller, Caramel Flava. A graduate of San Jose State University, Pat is a member of the National and Houston Association of Black Journalists and Sigma Gamma Rho Sorority, Inc. She is married with two children.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Hallelujah, Pastor! Hallelujah! Voices rang out inside the massive sanctuary, bouncing off its vaulted ceilings and custom designed pews.

I said: Ain’t nobody gonna love ya like the Lord . . . and that’s the only kind of love you need. You see . . . he’s a good and mighty God, uh-huh! Pastor Goodlove threw his head back and pumped his fist into the air to give his booming words even more life.

Amen, Pastor . . . preach, preach! Parishioners responded zealously.

Oh, I saaaid . . . my God is a mighty, mighty God!

Pastor Goodlove shook his hips, bent his legs at the knees and moved his body like a man possessed. With his arms flailing, he hopped on one leg. Despite his size, Pastor Goodlove moved like a trained dancer. Members and visitors alike had come week after week for his spirit filled sermons. And he rarely disappointed. He had a way of bringing God’s word to life like no other.

One of the church mothers, Mama Sadie, who only months earlier had tried to have Pastor removed from the helm of his very own church, screamed before throwing her petite body to the floor. She wailed as her body bounced up and down like a fish out of water. Most of Sweetwater PG’s members were accustomed to Mama Sadie’s visits from the Holy Ghost near the end of Pastor Goodlove’s weekly sermon, but to visitors, often, it was quite a sight to see.

Aaamen, Pastor! Amen, she cried, clutching her silk scarf between her frail fingers.

Is anybody in here? Pastor Goodlove used one hand to cup his ear. He leaned toward his congregation. I said: Heeeello, somebody!

They roared back at him.

Preach, Pastor. Preach!

He sprinted from one end of the pulpit to the other, I saaaid: I know a really, mighty God, he hollered. Pastor Goodlove hobbled and shuffled a few feet toward the front pew.

He’s a mighty, mighty, good God, he sang and broke into a sanctified dance. The organ player started up again.

Parishioners stomped and danced right along with Pastor Goodlove. Cardboard fans flapped, heads bounced and hands clapped.

You don’t know real love until you’re loved by my God. He pointed at his chest. I said: Heeello, somebody! Pastor Goodlove screamed, this time much louder than before.

Mama Sadie began panting as she tried to catch her breath. The rest of the holy rollers were by her side as usual. Some were marking her forehead with blessed oil, others prayed over her, and yet another stood guard, making sure onlookers didn’t come too close.

Sweetwater PG’s holy rollers were a group of church mothers who were self-appointed, morality judges. They determined which behavior God might deem worthy, which needed his immediate scrutiny, and they made sure very little passed without their close inspection.

It had been an incredibly turbulent year at Sweetwater Powerhouse of God, one of Houston’s largest mega churches. But Pastor Goodlove had simply told his congregation theirs had been a magnificent journey through the storm. He himself had made it through a very public sexual harassment scandal of a homosexual nature. After months of leading the evening news and being front-page headlines in the Houston Chronicle, the young man and a few others accusers quietly settled their lawsuits against Pastor Ethan Ezekiel Goodlove III. None of them had been heard from since.

Since then, Pastor Goodlove’s eldest of three sons, was caught cheating on his wife, Michelle. She was later diagnosed with HIV. Pastor’s middle son, Reginald, had embezzled money from the church and all but vanished. And the youngest son, Barry, was being stalked by a deranged woman who was determined to stop his impending high society wedding.

It had been a very trying year for Sweetwater PG indeed, but more than a year later, things were finally getting back on track and moving forward.

Just as Pastor broke into his famous strut, wrapping up yet another tantalizing sermon, the band and choir started up with a fierce roar.

Pastor Goodlove was a six-foot–five, thick, and solid man. His skin was the color of cocoa, and shimmered beneath a thin film of sweat. Pastor had worked himself into a frenzy and his clothes were saturated by the end of his sermon. But his parishioners had grown accustomed to his weekly performance and expected nothing less from their leader.

Before Pastor Goodlove brought his sermon to a complete close, the five-thousand-plus members of Sweetwater PG dug deep into their pockets, purses, and wallets. They knew it was time to give and they gave cheerfully, freely, and abundantly.

The entire band was in full throttle now. Pastor danced up and down the aisle. His moves were electrifying as he switched between hopping on one leg and pumping his fists as he strutted to the beat. The energy in the church was exhilarating and unparalleled. It was like electricity sizzled in the air during Pastor Goodlove’s Sunday morning messages. People often came to be rejuvenated for the entire week ahead.

Once he turned and sprinted back up to the pulpit, Pastor Goodlove released a gut-wrenching scream, threw his head back again and pumped his fists into the air once again.

I uh, saaaid . . . Suddenly Pastor Goodlove grabbed and clutched toward his chest, his eyes grew wide, and he collapsed, tumbling down to the floor with a loud thud.

After a few seconds of uncharacteristic silence from the pulpit, the music finally paused. Pastor’s young and vivacious wife, Theola, let out a piercing scream that brought the holy celebration to a screeching halt. Within minutes, the church was in a chaotic uproar. People started pushing and rushing toward the front, trying to see exactly what was going on. Others were screaming and some instantly fell to their knees to pray.

OHMYGOD! Somebody please dial 9-1-1! Theola screamed as she struggled to bend down over her husband’s body. But her skintight pencil skirt made it near impossible. Once she was finally on the ground, she kept putting her ear to his chest, and then his lips in an attempt to determine whether he was still breathing.

She didn’t dare shed a tear, but Theola was afraid. She figured there was no sense in messing up her makeup, so she turned toward the crowd and yelled, Is there a doctor in here? She put her ear back to his chest. "OHMYGOD! Dadd— ah, I mean, Pastor needs help!

Chapter 2

Michelle Goodlove, under the plea agreement you entered with the Harris County District Attorney’s Office you are prepared to enter a guilty plea, correct? the judge asked.

Michelle’s hazel eyes pooled with warm tears. Her slim five-foot-eight frame trembled as she stood next to her attorney. Michelle wrung her dry hands and tightly clutched the satin handkerchief her mother had given her before they entered the courtroom. It was supposed to bring her luck. It hadn’t worked. The D.A. didn’t drop the charges like she’d hoped, but at least she wouldn’t have to go before a jury.

Michelle didn’t want to face a jury trial for attempting to poison her husband, Deacon Damien Goodlove. It had been a year since the police came into the church and pulled her out, kicking and screaming. Her attorney had delayed the case for as long as he could, and they finally agreed to a plea bargain. But still, Michelle wasn’t the least bit sorry. She felt that Damien deserved exactly what he had received.

She discovered he had given her HIV after running around with any short skirt he could find. Then, she lost her job and was virtually blacklisted. The arsenic she laced his food and drinks with had been her way of getting revenge, but he survived. And it didn’t take long for the investigation into his attempted murder to lead directly to her.

Michelle turned to her right and saw a sea of support when she looked at her mother, Vernice, and a couple of her girlfriends. Michelle’s daughters, Terry and Dana, stood between her grandmother and grandfather. They were all silent as the judge spoke to Michelle. Her father, Al, nodded in her direction and offered a weak smile.

Mrs. Goodlove? The judge waited.

Yes, Your Honor? She turned to face the judge. A frown creased her forehead, and her stomach quivered with a mixture of fear and disgust. There was no reason for her to even be here. It was Damien who had done wrong and forced her hand. She didn’t deserve this! Hadn’t she lost enough? Her job, her reputation, life as she knew it—it was all enough to make her angry every time she thought about it. She swallowed hard and tried to calm herself by counting to ten in her head.

Need I repeat myself? The judge peered over the reading glasses that sat on the very tip of his long, narrow, pimpled nose. His spongy face reminded Michelle of cottage cheese as he looked down at her. She saw no mercy in his dark beady eyes.

No. No, Your Honor. The answer is yes. Yes, I’m prepared to enter a guilty plea. Michelle looked at her attorney then back at the judge.

Okay then. As part of your guilty plea, you swear that no one has coerced you into entering this plea. You are pleading guilty by your own will, and you were not promised anything in return for your guilty plea. You also understand that under the sentencing guidelines, I can sentence you to anything from probation to one hundred and twenty days in jail, correct?

Michelle felt herself getting more heated as the judge spoke. He stared as he waited on her answer.

Yes, Your Honor. Michelle narrowed her eyes, her nostrils flaring.

The judge flipped several pages in a folder, which lay opened on his desk.

Okay . . . let’s see. Michelle Goodlove, you have been found guilty of the offense of criminal assault. As a first time offender, you are hereby sentenced to two years of probation. As part of the plea agreement, you will serve fifteen-hundred hours of community service. And you will pay a fine of five-thousand dollars. The judge looked at the prosecutor. Mr. Brown, you wanted to add something?

Yes, Your Honor. Mrs. Goodlove’s attorney, Mr. Stewart, and I have agreed that Mrs. Goodlove will do her community service at the Jester State Prison in Fort Bend County, the prosecutor replied.

Tears that filled Michelle’s eyes suddenly came gushing down her cheeks. She could no longer control them or herself. She leaned over to her attorney.

You said no jail time, she whispered through gritted teeth. She was on fire.

This isn’t jail time, he whispered back as he glanced at the judge and offered up a weak smile.

The judge looked up. Mrs. Goodlove, is there a problem? He asked with a warning look on his face.

Michelle swallowed hard, her small nostrils flared even harder as she looked at her attorney then back at the judge. She balled her fists at her sides, and she could feel herself burning up. She was pissed, and thought for a second about backing out of the deal. Maybe she should fight this thing, take it to a jury, see if she could get sympathy from those who may have walked in her shoes.

Mr. Stewart, the judge began. Please advise your client to speak when she’s spoken to. I asked if there is a problem!

Chris Stewart, who towered over Michelle, looked down at his client, although she was standing. He spoke to Michelle without uttering a word. But Michelle’s mind had already wandered off. A hot wave of humiliation washed over her. Here she was, a college educated, middleclass woman, with the proper pedigree. While she blamed her estranged husband Damien for the mess she was in, she had paid good money for this attorney who had come highly recommended. He almost guaranteed that Michelle would never step foot inside a jail. Now what kind of shit were they trying to pull? She should’ve known they’d find a way to disgrace her, despite the promise, and not to mention the price tag she had paid for this rent a cop of a lawyer.

No problem, Michelle mumbled as she shoved the thoughts from her mind.

She glared at her attorney and took a step from him. She turned her nose up in disgust as she listened to the judge ramble on about what would happen if she violated her probation.

Regardless of the judge’s threats, all Michelle could think about was how the hell would she, of all people, survive behind prison walls. She couldn’t help but think she should’ve killed the bastard since she was going to jail anyway.

Chapter 3

The cold grip of fear hugged his heart, and he wanted desperately to cry. But Damien Goodlove couldn’t remember the last time he had actually shed a tear. But standing there, watching his father’s comatose body was enough to make him weak. The Gee-man, he and his brother’s nickname for Pastor, had fallen to the floor and slipped into a coma. As Damien gazed down at his father’s still body with tubes connecting it to a machine, he sniffled a few times. As a matter of fact, fresh tears were already pooled at the corner of his eyes, but still, he fought the urge. He had to be strong. The more Damien thought about it, the more the situation scared him. And it was as if he was facing this all alone. Barry was caught up in drama with his fiancé. And how convenient that Reginald still had not been heard from. Damien wished he could get his hands on Reginald himself. He wanted his middle brother to come clean and come back home.

Despite his own world of problems, Damien just had never given much thought to being without the old man. Looking at the tubes connected to his father, he started to think that life was too short to stay caught up in drama and misery. He had been through so much over the past year—caught cheating with Jazzlyn, not living up his duties as a deacon, and fighting with his estranged wife, Michelle.

But he was going to change, he had to. At that very moment, he decided he’d stop fighting with Michelle and grant her the divorce she had been wanting. He avoided signing the papers just to get on her nerves, but it was time to let her go.

Damien rose from the chair, stretched his lean, muscular body, and looked around the room. It was like a hospital gift shop in there. Flowers, cards, balloons and banners were draped all over the place. Damien knew he didn’t have much time left with his father because constant streams of visitors waited for their turn.

The visitation program was a compromise between the hospital staff and Theola. She wanted no one but immediate family to have access to him, but some of the church mothers and assistant pastors came to Damien, and with his help, they were able to overrule Theola.

Damien knew his stepmother, if you could call her that, didn’t want to be sitting in a hospital room, watching over her husband’s lifeless body for hours on end. So, he came up with the agreement, which called for the assistant pastors to take turns and allow members to visit with Pastor Goodlove for up to ten minutes each. That would free Theola up to do God knows what, but it was best for everyone involved, Damien decided.

As he walked out of the hospital, Damien used his cell phone to call the divorce lawyer his father had paid for. This was Damien’s third time calling since he decided to give Michelle the divorce, but each time he was told his lawyer was unavailable.

Mr. Goodlove, Mr. Bodsworth is still in court. I’ll give him your messages when he checks in, the receptionist said.

As he waited for his car from the parking attendant, he plucked a copy of the Houston Defender Newspaper from the metal newsstand and scanned the front page. Of all the interesting headlines, it was a story in the right corner that caught his attention.

Class Action lawsuit to be settled, Damien read aloud. Wait a fucking minute, he spat, wrinkling his nose as he read. His eyes couldn’t move fast enough across the words. Five local people are to share thirty-five million dollars after settling a lawsuit in which they were wrongly diagnosed last year with HIV, the virus that causes AIDS.

Damien’s heart nearly stopped beating. He shook his head. This could not be happening, he thought. He reread the article, and shook his head again.

It just can’t be, he said. He rushed back inside the hospital and grabbed a copy of the Houston Chronicle. The story wasn’t on the front page there, but he found it in the paper’s City and State section, and once again, his mind began to spin.

Behind the wheel of his SUV now, his mind couldn’t help but go over his last few conversations with Michelle. Could this be the reason she had suddenly started hassling him about the divorce again? Damien felt the need to call someone. He needed proof before he drove himself nuts for nothing.

By the time he arrived at the church’s office, he couldn’t help feeling like Michelle may have been one of the patients he had read about in both newspapers. He himself had continuously tested negative after she tearfully accused him of infecting her with the virus that causes the deadly disease.

Since then, Damien had tried to change his ways. He had even tried to convince Michelle to take him back so that they could once again be a family. But she had insisted it was over.

She said she wanted a divorce, and for months, they had fought like crazy over material things. But despite all of that, he had been willing to give it another try. And Damien thought she was, too, after she stopped bugging him about signing the divorce papers. Thinking back now, he did find it odd that after a while, those fights stopped even though they hadn’t resolved a thing. Then, just a few months ago, she started back up with the demands for divorce. And this time, she was near ruthless, even saying she didn’t want anything. She just wanted out.

Damien smiled at the thought of finally figuring out why she was once again suddenly so desperate to make their separation legal and permanent. She was coming into some money and didn’t want to share. And to think, he was about to call his lawyer and sign the damn divorce papers. For the first time since he tried to reach his lawyer, he was glad Sam had been too busy to take his calls.

Damien looked upward and said, Thank you, God, for showing me that article.

His right hand started itching. He knew that meant he was coming into some money soon. God is good, he thought as he marveled at how he had come so close to making a multi-million dollar mistake.

Chapter 4

Theola Goodlove was more sexually frustrated than she had ever benn in her life. Even when her husband was up and well, his libido was no match for her insatiable sexual appetite. And now that he was hospitalized, she hated to think about what she might have to do. She had already grown bored with the array of toys she used on a regular basis. Trying to clear her mind, rolled over in the massive bed and pulled the down comforter over her head. She was not ready to get up, and she was definitely not looking forward to another day in that friggin’ hospital. Despite the fact that she rose before the alarm clock sounded, she didn’t feel much like going to church either.

It had been exactly one week to the day since her husband collapsed while wrapping up his sermon. And since then, she had never felt so much scrutiny. It was as if she was being tugged in every direction. Sweetwater’s holy rollers kept sending lists of substitute pastors they wanted to see in charge. Her daughter in-law, Michelle Goodlove, had all but vanished, or at least was doing her own thing. And that meant there was no one there to supervise the ladies’ auxiliary. In addition, Barry, Pastor’s youngest son, was no longer working with the youth program. The congregation didn’t know if he was still planning to marry his fiancé. Theola didn’t think going forth with the wedding was a bad idea, but she could only hope no one expected she would step in to help with that fiasco since Pastor was down. She felt like everything was falling apart and feared she was bound to lose what little of her mind she had left. That’s when an idea struck her.

She bolted upright in bed and reached for the phone that sat on her nightstand. Beneath it, she found the brochure that was mixed into her mail. Theola had no idea why she hadn’t thought of it before. Of course she needed to go somewhere and clear her mind. Of course she needed to be surrounded by people who didn’t judge her every move.

By the time Theola strutted into Sweetwater PG, she looked like brand new money. She sported a pair of spiked heeled sandals and fishnet stockings under a tight-fitting wrap dress that hugged her like it was sewn directly onto her curvy frame.

One of the guest pastors was in the pulpit, boring the congregation to death, but she didn’t care. For appearances sake, she just needed to show her face long enough to at least appear appropriate. A few heads turned and noses tilted upward the moment she breezed in and took her rightful spot in the front pew.

When the man finished discussing a scripture, the parishioners rose and prepared for offering. Theola looked around the sanctuary searching desperately for Michelle, but she didn’t