The Sweet Taste of Bitterness

By Pensacola Helene

At the scene of the crime, Katinas dresser drawers had been dumped, closets ransacked, her desk had been rambled through and someone had even gone through her private safe. What was the perpetrator looking for? Who would want to take Katinas life?Princeton saw the long, ten inch, knife and knewKatina had fought for her life. There were pieces of glass all over the room, broken bookends and she had a black mask in her hands when they found her body in the bushes below her balcony. Princeton knew his wifes last vision was that of her attacker.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 17, 2005
• ISBN: 9781463480912

Pensacola Helene

Pensacola Helene, an Omaha, Nebraska native, has been intrigued with writing from her early adolescent years, possessing a seemingly unlimited imagination and knack for words. The Sweet Taste of Bitterness is her third novel in a mystery and suspense trilogy. It has always been her life long dream to be the author of a best-selling novel and the opportunity has finally presented itself. She is currently working on her fourth novel, No Greater Love Than This. Pensacola Helene lives in Colton’s Point, Maryland with her husband Robert.

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© 2005 Pensacola Helene. All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 06/10/05

ISBN: 1-4208-2494-5 (sc)

ISBN: 9781463480912 (ebk)

Edited by Oshawn J. Jefferson, Takeisha C. Jefferson and LaDarria K. Miles.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Other Books by Author

The Present

Epilogue

About the Author

Acknowledgements

I thank the Living God from whom all blessings flow. I thank you for never giving up on my dreams, even when I did. I thank you for believing in me when I could not believe in myself. Now I know what it means when your word says, "Delight yourself in the Lord, And he will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the Lord, Trust also in Him, and He will do it." Psalm 37:4 PRAISE THE LIVING GOD!

To those who are reading the books, thank you for supporting your local author.

And a special tribute to my Uncle Bobby….we don’t communicate as much as we used to, but that doesn’t change the influence you had on my life. I really used to think I was the only one you shared your secrets with. I thank you for reading this book in the rough rough draft and telling me to go for it. It is my prayer, that whatever you are praying and asking God for, that you remember miracles still happen…. I love you.

A shout out to my son who is serving his country, at this very moment, over in a foreign land. I am proud of the man you have become. You will always be my favorite son.

To my family and friends who’ve been through the whole journey with me. May God continue to bless you in great ways.

Always to my husband and mother, who are my most loyal fans. I love you both in ways that words cannot express. May we continue to pray together and stay together.

Other Books by Author

Sudden Summer Breeze

Part 1 of Trilogy

Mistaken Innocence

Part 2 of the Sudden Summer Breeze Trilogy

No Greater Love Than This

Coming Soon

"For I see that you are full of bitterness and captive to sin."

Acts 8:23

The Present

*

Kathleen Draper lay on the table as the masseur rubbed down her lovely body. She felt relaxed and trouble-free under the expert hands. A manicure and pedicure were next; then she would have her hair done. A fanatic when it came to her looks, Kathleen knew the creamy smooth caramel skin, the firm breast, the flat stomach, taunt buttocks, long, shapely legs and the thick mass of healthy ebony hair were no accident. She worked for it, with exercise, massages, the right food and the right amount of rest. She had worked for it all, except for the smooth skin and the long legs, they were a gift from God. In fact they were her greatest assets and had served her well over the years. Though she was 42 years old, she could easily pass for 32, sometimes younger, depending on the day and what she was wearing. Her looks were definitely flawless. She didn’t have one wrinkle or a single ounce of fat and was extremely proud of the way she’d taken care of herself over the years. She did low impact aerobics three times a week, walked two days, had massages every other day, took her vitamins, ate her proper amount of fish, vegetables and grains and in return she remained the raving beauty she had always been. The compliments were endless, her producers were happy, the cameramen appreciated her photogenic looks and her co-workers begged for her beauty secrets. Kathleen Draper had made the Days of Wine and Roses the number one soap opera in the country.

She was one of the first black women to ever have a starring role in a daytime soap and the show had been on the air now for several years. Kathleen had been there from the beginning, when it started in 1972. Hers had been one of the first inter-racial marriages and after the initial amount of worldwide controversy, and nearly losing the show, they gained a loyal audience. Wine and Roses’ ratings dropped drastically at the time, but after a few months of out-rage and protest, they crept back up with alarming popularity and had taken the number one spot on many occasion. Number two or three wasn’t bad either. Her leading man was Peter Kimball and they were labeled one of the super couples of daytime TV because of their interesting story lines.

Over the years their characters, Roland and Roslynn Washington, had climbed over racial barriers, built an empire, faced death, had three children, lost parents, been kidnapped, blackmailed and now someone had allegedly killed one of their sons. The suspected person was the character, Contessa St. John, who would later be revealed as Roland’s long lost daughter by his first wife. Kathleen liked the new story line. It had a lot of action and was taking them on location to Paris in a few weeks. Monique Bordeaux was an excellent addition to the cast. Kathleen thought she was a good performer for a rookie. She was impressed with the way the girl knew her lines, had perfect timing and could do all her scenes in very few takes. However, Kathleen didn’t like the young Miss. Bordeaux, the girl had an attitude problem and it seemed as if Kathleen was the target.

Before Christmas break, J. D., the producer of the show, gave a Christmas party for the cast and crew and Monique showed up with J.D.’s son, John. It dawned on her that Monique was the new bride. Kathleen was out of the country for the wedding and had never met the young woman. She understood Monique’s attitude now. The girl thought she had some clout, just because she was a Huewett. Kathleen was not concerned. She had some clout of her own, always had and always would. She knew the Huewett’s well, especially one particular Huewett and he was one of the reasons she was the leading lady of Wine and Roses. Kathleen’s position was secure and she was sure of it. The young Miss Bordeaux-Huewett wanted her spot in the limelight, but she wasn’t going to get it at Kathleen’s expense and she’d better think twice before she messed with her. When the masseuse finished, she wrapped herself in a fluffy white robe and padded into her private salon. An hour later she was sitting in a huge bubble bath, reeking with spices and oils, pampering herself, as was her frequent custom. Kathleen had come a long way from her meager beginnings.

A long time ago she was just Lula Mae Cook, a poor country girl, born in a small town outside of Montgomery. Her father was a farmer, her mother a midwife and Kathleen’s fondest memories were the times she went to the movies. She always wanted to be some kind of star and couldn’t wait to get the hell out of Alabama to pursue her dreams, but she married Gipson. He had refused to leave and when his brother was killed in 1962, Kathleen thought they would live there forever.

Gipson became a militant civil rights activist and it seemed to consume their lives. No matter what he did, he couldn’t bring his brother back. After Martin Luther King Jr. was shot, Gipson became fed up with everything, decided to shake the Southern dust off his feet and they left Alabama. It was the happiest day of her life. They moved to Texas for a short while and when an inside connection contacted her about a part in a new soap she flew to New York to audition for the role of Roslyn.

By that time, Gipson had put together a jazz group and doors started opening for the both of them. When he started traveling around the country, Kathleen convinced her husband to move to the East Coast, especially after she signed a one-year contract with Wine and Roses. Kathleen loved her career and had sacrificed many things to ensure her success.

It had cost her a great deal, but she had vowed never to wear another raggedy dress, or shoes with holes in them, or walk on cold cement floors or live in another one-room shack. She remembered too many days she’d go to school without lunch or lunch money, and then come home to a bread and potato dinner. Kathleen didn’t want to see poor again and that’s why she did whatever was necessary to make certain she never traveled that road again.

People often said she was cold and snobbish…maybe at times she was. She spent most of her life grabbing and hoarding things for herself, just to survive, and now she didn’t have to. She had earned it. If at times, she didn’t feel like speaking, or she acted a little snobbish…it was her prerogative and occasionally she loved to play the role of a rich bitch.

Underneath it all, Kathleen was a real softie and did a lot of things for her co-workers that endeared her to them for life. Time had really mellowed her out, especially since her daughter, Valencia, committed suicide several years ago. Kathleen hadn’t been the best mother in the world and always knew her daughter wanted more of her time, more than she had to give. She and Gip had never wanted children of their own and she knew a long time ago she had no maternal instincts. It was the only part of her womanly nature that was missing and Valencia had suffered for it.

It was a horrible thought, but Kathleen had always regretted not having had an abortion, but it wasn’t that easy to do back in the sixties. Kathleen realized the girl needed a mother, and she was simply not there for the girl. Kathleen had not let the girl get close to her, but she wasn’t the kind of person to get close to too many people any way. Gipson was probably the only person she’d ever really shown any real warmth to and the one person who knew her better than anyone…including her lover.

Her lover was a man she’d known for years, even before she’d married Gipson. P.R. Huewett. P. R. was a mean, vindictive hypocrite, but he’d been good to Kathleen. She owed him a lot and in many ways he owned her, because a part of her felt enslaved to the gratitude she felt toward him. It was nothing but insanity to be with a man like him, but over and over she allowed him to send her to heights of passion she’d never known with anyone else, not even her husband.

P. R. spoiled her shamelessly, lavishing her with expensive and exotic gifts. He treated her like the queen of Egypt, and she felt second to none. Even though P.R. was married to the lovely, blonde, blue-eyed Claudette P. Huewett, it was what he shared with Kathleen that set his heart on fire. They never seemed to get enough of each other and she was addicted to what he did to her body. They had always been discreet over the years and no one had ever suspected they were having an affair. Kathleen was happy about that, because she really loved her husband in her own way and if Gipson ever knew, especially since the man was white…she would be a dead woman.

*

Gipson Huntington finished packing up his saxophones and flutes, before sitting down with some of the fellas. He ordered a rum and coke, with a twist of lemon, and pulled out one of his long, thin Havana cigars. Slim, the bass-player, leaned over to Gipson, who was also known as Bones and said, Man, you still packing yo own equipment? That’s what you pay them roadies fo. How much we owe you for doing that? Gipson laughed as usual when they teased him about packing up his instruments, but he didn’t care. There had been too many accidents and his woodwinds meant too much to him. He’d had them for years and they were like a part of his body when he was on stage. They were still in excellent condition and he wanted to keep them that way.

He slapped hands with his old buddy and they chatted happily about the night’s gig. Gipson had been around the world and back. He still enjoyed what he was doing. Every since he was a child he loved jazz and had always favored the saxophone. He’d grown up on Charlie Parker, Coleman Hawkins, John Haley, Zoot Sims and Stan Getz. He’d gotten the chance to hear Billie Holiday sing before she died in 1959, and saw Louie Armstrong, blowing his trumpet, as his cheeks turned into two giant brown balloons. Since Gipson’s group, The Bone Connection, started playing in the early sixties, they’d played the clubs and festivals with jazz greats, Ornette Coleman, Dizzy Gillespie…some of the cream of the crop. He’d even started to dabble in some of the contemporary jazz along with Miles Davis and Herbie Hancock. The Bone Connection started recording albums with Columbia Records back in 1963, but only sold a few thousand albums. In the last ten years they’d sold millions and their popularity had them traveling around America and internationally.

In a few weeks they were going to Japan. Gipson loved his life as a musician, loved to entertain, but it had his drawbacks. He didn’t see Kathleen as often as he would like to and it had played havoc on their marriage over the years. However, they had survived for almost twenty-eight years now. When his wife was on hiatus and he was available, they made a point to take vacations together. They also managed to squeeze most holidays, some birthdays, anniversaries and sometimes a whole weekend out of their busy schedules. Gipson loved Kathleen and had never strayed too far from home.

When he was a young musician and overwhelmed by all the screaming females, he found himself in bed with some adoring fan. Most of the time he didn’t even know their name. Fortunately it got old…real quick and he tired quickly of the naked bodies and strange faces. For years now, he’d been faithful to Kathleen and she was the only woman he wanted these days. He looked forward to their little rendezvous’ together. He enjoyed their midnight conversations. She’d been telling him about some new actress on the show and had been bugging him for days about watching it. Usually he did, if his schedule permitted and if he wasn’t catching up on some sleep.

Earlier that afternoon, he promised Kathleen he’d watch it the following morning. Gip looked at his watch, and it was almost two o’clock. If he was going to get up by eleven o’clock, he’d better get some shut-eye. He bid his good nights and strutted out of the plush nightclub. When he reached the hotel he realized he was hungry. He placed an order, threw his jacket over a nearby chair and kicked his shoes over into a corner. Gipson worked hard for his money, but it was worth it and had many, many rewards…like room service in the wee hours of the morning. The generous tip put a big smile on the young man’s face. Gipson was like that, generous to a fault, always thinking of the other person, lending that extra hand, going the next mile and had the gentle nature of a lamb.

People came to him for advice, comfort, encouragement and he always took the time out to listen, even if he had more pressing matters. He cared about people, always had; except for the person who’d killed his brother. There was a time he wanted to blame all white people for his brother’s death, but there was only one person who was responsible, Ralph Jenkins. It still hurt to think about Samuel. Gipson felt that if he ever laid eyes on the white bastard, even today, he would still kill him! Outside of Ralph Jenkins, there had been one other person he could not bring himself to love. No matter how hard he’d tried he couldn’t stop seeing Ralph Jenkins in Valencia’s face.

The man had raped his wife and Valencia was the result of the heinous crime. For years…she reminded him over and over of what Ralph Jenkins had done to his family. He almost left Kathleen after he had found out she was carrying the man’s child…the man who’d also killed his only brother. He avoided her the whole nine months, never coming home, hardly ever calling and when he did see her, he had nothing to say. Her swollen belly was a cold slap in the face and he could hardly stand to look at her. For a long while he blamed her, but Kathleen begged him to understand it was not her fault. She had not asked to be raped.

One night when he was about to make his escape from their house, she stopped him at the door, got down on her knees, and pleaded for him to stay. It broke his heart to see his wife grovel for his understanding and he realized she was simply a victim too. They both were. So he swallowed a bit of his pride and told her, in no uncertain terms to expect him to love her child. It wasn’t the child’s fault, she hadn’t asked to be born and Kathleen hadn’t asked to be raped, but Gipson couldn’t bring himself to feel anything for the girl. Every time he looked at her he saw Ralph Jenkins mocking him or remembered his brother hanging from the large oak tree.

Valencia was dead now, and had been for almost seven years. Gipson had felt no sadness behind her suicide. It was a sad exit and he wouldn’t wish that kind of death on anyone, but he didn’t miss her. He never treated the girl bad, but he hadn’t treated her good either. He had simply been indifferent towards her, and merely went through the necessary motions in regard to their living conditions. Kathleen constantly pressed him to be civil and he went along with the parental facade, but the girl never touched his heart. It was the least he could do for his brother.

Gipson felt, in her own way, as selfish and self-serving as his wife could be at times, Kathleen had felt something for the girl. There weren’t too many things that his wife regretted, bad or good, but Valencia’s death may have been the first. She’d actually cried for days, but he wasn’t able to share her grief.

Gipson gobbled down the ham sandwich and drank the warm milk before diving into bed. In no time flat he was fast asleep. Just as he was sleeping soundly, the front desk called him. It was ten-thirty. He mumbled a few cuss words as he forced himself out of bed and into the shower. It was just what he needed to come alive. He padded into the living room, with a white towel wrapped around his body and turned on the set. The first scene was already in progress. It was Kathleen’s character talking to someone whose back was to the camera. Roslynn was accusing the woman of killing her son.

The camera zoomed in on the woman Roslyn was calling Contessa and Gipson nearly jumped off the sofa. Oh…my God! He knew the blonde beauty that was playing Contessa St. John and it chilled him to the bones. What was she doing on Wine and Roses? Oh God, she was with his wife!!

*

Benjamin Milton mulled over some papers at his desk. Fatigue was riding his coattail and the new homicide case had him up most nights…sleepless nights. Lieutenant Brothers called him at three o’clock in the morning on the 6th of January and told him a man had been shot to death in his Chicago Heights home. When Ben walked upon the gruesome scene, a Charles Matheson had been shot in the head and his brains were scattered all over the desk in the once immaculate office. His pregnant wife had to be rushed to the hospital after discovering her husband, face down, in a pool of blood. Ben shook his head at the memory. Matheson was the third black man who’d been shot in the last four-weeks, all politicians and all of them had just been elected to office in the last year. These deaths were no coincidence. These were no accidents. Someone had deliberately wanted these men out of the way. The star suspects were a white hate group called The Leftside. What troubled Ben was the recent knowledge that the Huewett’s were believed to be connected to the organization. On the night of Matheson’s murder, the suspects left their calling card in the front yard, a large burning cross. Ben turned his mouth in disgust as he felt an old familiar stir in the pit of his stomach.

These were senseless deaths and it was no doubt in his mind some racist group had murdered these men…..all because of the color of their skin. His boss had given him the job of investigating the Huewetts, all of them, including John and Monique. He didn’t want the job, but his superiors convinced him he was the only one who was close enough to get inside. He knew these people and it bothered Ben, because they were investigating murder. He was afraid of what he might find out. He hated skeletons in the closet, but almost everyone had at least one and he hoped to God this one wasn’t the Huewett’s. It would change everything in his life, because he cared a great deal about John and Monique. They had been good friends to him and Ben had shared some wonderful times with both of them. John was the first white man he’d ever dared to trust and it was his attempt to bridge the racial gap inside his own heart. So he took the risk and so far he hadn’t regretted it. He knew the wrong knowledge could send his thinking patterns back to the southern sixties and he didn’t know if he’d ever come this way again.

Ben lit a cigarette as he looked at the pile of files on his desk. There was one on every member of the Huewett family, basic stuff, but it was all he had. He took a long drag, and then opened the file on Patrick R. Huewett. Pretty typical, law school graduate, owner of Huewett and Huewett, member of St. Jude Catholic Church, donated to the Cancer Society, Negro College Fund and married to Claudette. He gave to the Negro College Fund!? What a hypocrite! Ben scratched his head, there was nothing about Patrick’s past prior to 1965 and he wasn’t a Huewett; his wife was. He’d taken his wife’s maiden name. What man would give up his last name; unless he had something to hide? Ben thought about the call he was waiting on, which was the only reason he was still at the office and hoped it would give him the answer he was looking for.

He leaned back in his chair and yawned, looking at the folders stacked on his desk. They seemed endless and he was already tired of reading. He’d only just begun and he decided to make good use of his time. Ben put Patrick’s folder aside and noticed Monique’s folder next. He felt a tinge of guilt, but it was his job and he had no choice. Was it possible to know someone for years and yet not know them at all? Yes. He’d discovered that a million times in the cases he’d taken on over the years. I didn’t have any idea he was a rapist. I didn’t know she was prostituting… I had no idea he was selling dope. Ben had heard it all. People knew how to keep secrets from each other and some of them had it down to an art. Ben opened Monique’s file; he might as well keep reading until Detective Hopkins called. Monique Huewett: white female, citizen of the United States for 25 years…25 years? Monique didn’t come to the States until she was 18. At least that’s what she’d told John. According to this, she was born in New Orleans to a Versailles and Paulette Deauville. Ben rubbed his hand over his face. He’d barely scratched the surface and already he’d discovered more secrets than he cared to know about. This was common information and anyone could get access to it. He was almost certain John had her investigated years ago and he vaguely remembered him saying something about Monique not telling the whole truth about who she was, but that he didn’t care. John said that no one else needed to know, especially his parents. John’s parents told him a long time ago they didn’t care who he married, as long as she loved him and as long as the girl wasn’t a sleazeball. Monique was nobody’s sleazeball, but Ben was still curious about why she’d lied, even if John wasn’t. Anything could be vital to the case, including Monique’s background. He made a quick call to a friend of his in Phoenix, Arizona, gave him some information on the Deauville’s and asked him to get back to him ASAP. He’d just put the receiver down when his private line buzzed. It was Hopkins.

Whatcha got for me, man?

Ben, you were right about Mr. Patrick Huewett. He does have something to hide. His name used to be Ralph Patrick Jenkins and he used to be the grand wizard of a white supremacist group in Montgomery, Alabama. Boy, does this man have a record… Hopkins rattled on as Ben listened in disbelief and jotted notes in Patrick’s file. After hanging up, Ben sat quietly at his desk as an old ache crept into his heart. The world was smaller than he thought.

I’ll be damned! he said out loud in the empty office. He knew who Ralph Jenkins was, and had heard the name a thousand times before. Jenkins did some awful things to blacks back in the sixties and one thing Ben remembered crystal clear was the day he’d hung Samuel Huntington to a tree. Sam was Ben’s older brother, George’s, best friend. George never got over the lost.

*

Monique watched Kathleen’s scene. The woman was good; very good and Monique envied her for it. She also envied the fact that she was so loved and adored by her fans and her fellow co-workers. And she realized it would take a bulldozer to knock the woman off her pedestal and possibly years before Monique could replace her as the diva of Wine and Roses. Monique rolled her eyes before heading back to her dressing room.

Presently, she had other pressing matters to attend to, like giving Patrick her answer, which was still no. He’d been pressuring her, nonstop, about joining The Left-Side and she’d been avoiding him for weeks. But now that he was in her home, and sleeping in her guest room, she had to deal with him. None of her arguments had worked. Even John had given in and was starting to beg her to join for the sake of the children. She would do anything for her children, except this. Her refusal to participate was personal and the thought of joining such an organization made her physically ill. Instead of becoming a member she would rather expose the whole group of them and lately she had been tempted to make an anonymous call to the Feds. She had heard a lot of gruesome things about the group, especially since John decided to tell her the whole truth and it made something in her blood boil. She couldn’t get Valencia’s Uncle Samuel out of her mind.

Looking at her watch, she realized it was almost lunchtime and she’d invited Kathleen to her dressing room for a light snack. It had taken forever for Kathleen to warm up towards her. The woman was definitely the snob of the century. Her mind drifted back to John as she set the small table in the dressing room. He’d been so depressed lately about Ben giving him the cold shoulder. Monique tried to reassure him it was because of the new case he was working on, but John didn’t believe her. Monique talked to Ben herself a few days before and he told her he was swamped with work. She saw the stack of folders on his desk and knew he was telling the truth. He promised he would give John a call the first chance he got. Monique did notice, however, a chill in Ben’s voice and had asked him was something wrong. He said no, but Monique didn’t believe him either and agreed that John might be right about something being wrong. The coming weekend she was going to Chicago to find out what was going on. She smiled as Kathleen entered the room. It had taken a lot of persuasion, because Kathleen very seldom socialized with anyone, but Monique kept insisting that she needed her expert help on some acting tips.

Mrs. Draper… Hi! Kathleen half smiled, staying true to her snobbish self. She was still wearing the clothes she’d had on for the last scene.

Hello, Monique.

I have some salad and yogurt. I know what a health nut you are. Monique went to the small refrigerator to retrieve two tiny Limoges cups of yogurt, two large bowls of fresh salad and a couple bottles of Perrier. I really appreciate you taking the time to help me Ms. Draper, Monique