How Deep Is Your Hate?

By Trenessa Karen

How Deep Is Your Hate? is a murder mystery. It tells the story of Janelle Jameson, a young woman who is heir to The Jameson Group fortune. When tragedy strikes, Janelle sets out to exact revenge on the person she holds personally responsible for the tragic events that unfold in her life. Risking everything, Janelle pulls out all stops to ensure that the person she holds responsible pays dearly for the misery they have caused her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 13, 2007
• ISBN: 9781467831505

Trenessa Karen

How Deep Is Your Hate? is the first novel for Trenessa Karen. She was born in Baltimore, MD and raised in Hagerstown, MD. Trenessa has a Bachelor of Science degree in Criminal Justice with a minor in Psychology, a Master of Arts degree in Journalism and is currently working on her Doctoral degree in Strategic Leadership. She currently resides in Fayetteville, NC with her two children, Derek and Alexiana and her granddaughter, Da’Nosha (a.k.a. “Precious”).   Trenessa would love feedback from her readers. She can be contacted via email at [e-mail].

Book preview

Prologue

My name is Janelle Jameson. I am the only child of Quinn Jameson. All of my life, I have led a life of privilege, thanks to having a business savvy grandfather and an indulgent mother.

I am twenty-one years old and I am about to stand trial for the murder of my boyfriend. The police have reason to believe that I killed my biological father and planned the murder of my stepfather. It appears that I have a problem with the men in my life. Go figure.

Now, before you judge me, let me tell you my story. I believe that once you hear my side, you will see that I really didn’t have too many options. I mean when someone literally destroys your life, what choice do you have besides to make them pay? You see I only wanted revenge. Unfortunately, I was blinded by my desire to seek revenge at all costs. But then again, how much is too much for someone to pay when that person has destroyed your life? I guess the real question to ask is how deep is your hate?

One

OKAY, LET ME GIVE you a little bit of history. My grandfather, Edward Jameson, was born and raised in Mississippi. It was his life long dream to be rich. He learned how to gamble and hustle at a very early age and managed to make a pretty good living at the expense of others.

One day, at the age of eighteen, after finding himself on the other side of the law due to an illegal gambling operation, he decided to cut his losses, pull up stakes and get as far away from the state of Mississippi as he could. Because life was so hard for people of color during the 1940s, my grandfather took a bus traveling north. He decided to ride the bus until he saw something up north that caught his eye.

Well, luckily for her, Mary Johnson, my future grandmother, just happened to catch his eye. While looking out the backseat window of the bus, he saw her – a woman with the face of an angel walking along the platform of the bus station. Not bothering to find out what city let alone what state he was in, my grandfather gathered his bags and got off the bus.

Shyness is something that doesn’t run in our family so my grandfather, being his usual confident self, walked right up to the pretty lady and introduced himself. When he spoke, she smiled. His accent let her know that he was not from around there. When she looked at him with her dark brown eyes, he was smitten. Her skin was the color of caramel while his was the color of dark chocolate. In his mind he was already picturing the complexion of their future children. It was obvious, from all that I heard, that Mary also liked what she saw. And as they say, the rest is pretty much history.

Edward, as he later found out, had gotten off the bus in Baltimore, Maryland. After finding out that Mary’s father, Reverend Aaron Johnson, was a Methodist minister, Edward decided that legal employment was his best option if he had any hopes of impressing Mary’s parents.

And impress them was what Mary wanted him to do. Her parents, being the pastor and first lady of the local African-American United Methodist church, had high hopes for Mary and her sisters. Being involved with someone who was on the run from the law certainly did not fit in with their plans.

Edward, being a hustler from way back, cleaned up his act, stopped gambling and managed to obtain a job as a security guard in a bank. Now for a black man in the early 1950s, this was an impressive feat. He saved every single cent that he could and asked Reverend Johnson for his daughter’s hand in marriage. Mary, aged seventeen and Edward, aged nineteen, were married in April of 1952 at Mary’s father’s church, while Mary’s mother, Myrtle, visibly prayed before, during and after the ceremony.

My grandfather was a very likable fellow and one of the bank’s major customers, a white man named Mr. Charles Jennings Lattimore, took an instant liking to him. Before long, my grandfather left the bank and took a job working for Mr. Lattimore. It was never clear what his job with Mr. Lattimore entailed, but somewhere along the line, Mr. Lattimore, affectionately known as C.J., made my grandfather an offer that would change his life forever.

C.J. had business connections all around the world and he made his living investing in companies and providing inside tracks to other people in his circle about perspective investment opportunities. In 1954, C.J. told my grandfather about a company that was in the process of designing a transistor radio. He offered my grandfather the chance to get in on the ground floor. Recognizing that this was the chance that he had been waiting for his entire life, my grandfather invested $100.00 in a company that later became Texas Instruments. Smart move.

Because of his business savvy, one year and many investments later, my grandfather was able to move my grandmother from her parents’ home into their own home, a twenty-room mansion that was the talk of the entire black community. The mansion was a majestic abode; a two-story brick home offset by white rotund columns in the front with a balcony overlooking the grounds and the road leading up to the mansion. The house had an Olympic-sized swimming pool, a magnificent rose garden and a black wrought iron gate that enclosed the entire property, making it impossible for anyone to gain entrance to the estate without being permitted access from someone within.

Once my grandfather finally realized his dreams of wealth, he was very eager to start a family. And so they did, one year to the day of moving into Jameson Manor, on April 4th, 1956, their first and only child, Quinn Jameson, my mother, was born.

Two

WHEN I WAS GROWING up, my mother would tell me countless stories about her life as a child growing up in Jameson Manor. She was very close to both of her parents and was doted on by them because she was their only child. Her parents spent a lot of money exposing her to the finer things in life, making sure that she was very cultured and worldly. She traveled and often told me stories about all the different types of food and cultures that she was able to experience, thanks to her parents.

Evidence of things that my mother acquired during her travels could be found situated throughout the manor. Artwork, jade, gold and marble statutes, as well as furniture from different periods of time, were telltale signs of her travels having affected her decorating ideas. She always commented to me that somehow the fact that her parents had money did away with the fact that they were black people living in America.

Growing up in the 60s and 70s was something that I would, personally, have loved to experience. The only things that I know about the Civil Rights Movement are those things that I have read about in history books or seen on TV. According to my mother, her father, Edward was a staunch supporter of the Movement and her parents had entertained the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Jessie Jackson on many occasions at Jameson Manor. Even though Maryland was not truly considered to be a southern state, there were some places in the state where blacks were mistreated and forced to deal with extreme forms of racism.

My mother, because of her family’s financial status, was afforded the best education money could buy in the state of Maryland. She attended a private academy, Richland Hills, located in Randallstown, Maryland, a suburb of Baltimore. The students at the school were mostly white, but my mother told me that there were a few black students whose parents could afford the outrageous tuition and held the social status and contacts necessary to gain acceptance for their children into the academy.

I don’t think my mother particularly cared for the school. I believe that she wanted to do anything that pleased her parents and she knew that getting a good education was a top priority for them. My mother was a classically trained pianist. She studied music from the time she entered Richland Hills in kindergarten until she graduated from the twelfth grade. She could play Beethoven and Mozart and sometimes performed mini concerts for my grandparents’ friends whenever they entertained.

Even though Richland Academy was one part of her family’s wealth that my mother didn’t enjoy, she definitely enjoyed everything else that went along with her family’s financial status. She often told me about teas, cotillions and debutante balls to which she was invited and that were held in her honor. She took private tennis lessons, horseback riding lessons, and swimming lessons. Her parents made sure that my mother was polished to a tee in an effort that one day she would marry well.

My grandfather decided early on that he had a flair for investing. After several years of successfully investing and realizing profits beyond his imagination, The Jameson Group was formed, under the tutelage of his good friend, C.J. Thankful for the opportunity that C.J. had provided way back when, my grandfather gave him a prominent seat on the board of directors.

The Jameson Group was established as an investment company that divided the profits between further investments and philanthropy efforts. Scholarships for the underprivileged, money for missionary efforts overseas, grant monies for humanitarian efforts and disaster relief were some of the type of things that Edward Jameson made sure that his monies supported. His dream was for The Jameson Group to be a legacy that he created that would endure for generations to come. It was my grandfather’s wish that my mother would one day take an interest in the company that bore the family name.

But my mother had different plans. She graduated from Richland Hills and, to the shock and most likely dismay of my grandparents, my mother announced that she was planning on attending college to become a teacher. My grandparents had had their eye on the perfect suitor for their daughter and considered the nuptials an ideal way to merge old money with new. Her announcement definitely put a damper on their plans for my mother’s future.

Knowing my mother like I do, she made her announcement to her parents with sheer determination. She was determined to be her own woman and to make it on her own, showing her parents that she could stand on her own two feet and be somebody aside from their great wealth. Because they loved her so, neither of her parents could deny their only child anything that she wanted even though they both wanted to draw the line when my mother announced that she had applied and been accepted to Morgan State.

Her parents felt that she would do better at a private university, preferably one where the Jamesons could make a substantial financial contribution and have Quinn catered to in the manner to which they felt their daughter deserved. But my mother was not having any of this. Once again to her parents shock and this time, utter dismay, Quinn moved into a college campus dormitory and began classes at Morgan State in the fall of 1974. She majored in English with a minor in music.

In March of 1978, during my mother’s next to the last semester at Morgan, her life was drastically altered by two events that occurred almost simultaneously. While hanging out in one of the dorm rooms of a friend, my mother was called to the payphone located in the dorm’s hallway. Edna, the maid at Jameson Manor, called to tell my mother that she needed to come home immediately. My mother kept asking Edna what was wrong, but the only thing that Edna would say is that my mother needed to come home immediately and that a car, driven by Roland, the family’s driver, would arrive shortly to pick her up and bring her to the estate.

Upon entering the manor, my mother saw Uncle C.J. who had remained a close friend of the family, and her parents’ attorney, Mr. Davidson, consoling Edna. Later on, when recounting the story to me, my mother told me that she knew that something horrible had happened. She didn’t remember which one of the distinguished gentlemen broke the news, but the next thing she remembered was waking up in her bedroom and seeing Edna and Dr. Daniels, the family physician, sitting on the edge of her bed.

Dr. Daniels told her that she had fainted. It was then that Dr. Daniels told her for what she was sure had to be the second time, which would explain why she had fainted, that both of her parents had been killed when their private plane crashed off of the Pacific Coast. He told her that the Coast Guard was in the process of gathering debris, but for now, both of her parents were missing and presumed dead. According to my mother, her parents had been traveling on one of their famous business trips, promising to be gone only a few days. Because my mother had been unable to accompany them, they had both wanted to get back to her as soon as possible.

My mother, realizing that she had just sustained an enormous shock, could think of another reason for her fainting spell. Earlier that morning, a Washington, D.C. area physician had just confirmed that she was six weeks pregnant with me. My mother had planned to keep her pregnancy a secret from her parents until she came home for spring break. Now her parents would never know her secret and never meet me or I them.

Three

WITH NO REMAINS OF her parents, my mother, with the help of Uncle C.J., Mr. Davidson and Edna, held a memorial service. Within a matter of days, my mother was pushed into several roles at once. She had to handle her father’s business affairs, see to the daily running of the house and the staff and respond to the overwhelming number of messages of condolence that were sent her way. My grandparents had friends and acquaintances all over the world.

As expected, with no other family, my mother became the sole heir of an enormous fortune. My grandfather made his money by buying stocks and bonds and, to my mother’s surprise, dabbling in overseas business investment ventures to include oil. My grandfather invested well and was frugal except for the lavish spending that he insisted that my grandmother and mother engage in for themselves so Mr. Davidson assured her that she was set for life.

My mother, who all her life had been surrounded by servants, never truly felt comfortable having so many people do things for her that she felt she could do on her own. After seeking advice from Uncle C.J., my mother dismissed most of the staff with very large sums of severance pay.

She in turn assured her favorites among the household staff, Edna the maid and cook, and Roland the groundskeeper and chauffeur, that their positions were secure and advised them that she would be moving out of the dorm and back into the house immediately. Instead of living on campus, she would be making the commute back and forth to complete her degree.

With no where else to turn, my mother confided in Edna, who had been with the family since my grandparents first moved into Jameson Manor, about her vicarious situation with regard to her pregnancy. Edna was so thrilled at the thought of being able to take care of a baby that she began waiting on my mother hand and foot right from the start.

Edna and Roland had come to work at Jameson Manor right after the mansion was built. Edna began working for my grandparents when she was only twenty years old. She was a favored employee who devoted much of her time to ensuring that her employers were well taken care of. Because she had no family of her own, Edna lived at the mansion at the request of my grandmother. Even though she worked as the family’s maid, cook and sometimes nanny, Edna was very much considered a part of the family. She and Roland were given lavish gifts for Christmas and their birthdays and were often invited to participate in family events, such as celebratory dinners and trips. Even though they both spent some time working while accompanying the family on vacations, they were given time to enjoy the vacation as well.

Once everything began to settle down after the death of my grandparents, my mother began seeing Dr. Daniels on a routine basis so that she could receive proper prenatal care. Between juggling her studies and getting things ready for my impending arrival, my mother told me that the time just flew by. The next thing she knew, she was the proud mother of me. I was born on November 17, 1978 and my mother graduated from Morgan State in December of that same year.

My mother wanted me to have as normal a childhood as possible so she rejected the notion of hiring an outside nanny for me. With Edna willing to do everything for me anyway, my mother was virtually free to pursue her dream of teaching. But because she didn’t want to leave me for so many hours during the day, she sought employment on a part-time basis. Much to her surprise, Morgan State offered her a research assistant position in their English Literature Department. Because they only needed her for 2 classes that semester, my mother jumped at the opportunity. Not only would she be able to pursue her dream, she would not have to be away from me for too long during the day.

Even though we still lived at Jameson Manor and had servants ready to wait on us hand and foot, my mother did everything that she could to make sure that we led as normal a life as possible. We went to church together, went shopping, watched television and played board games. Even though we had servants, I was expected to pick up after myself and do certain things on my own. Edna and Roland were treated more like family than servants.

My mother was truly my best friend. As I grew older, she encouraged me to hang out with girls and boys in my own age group but to be honest my favorite companion was my mother. I could talk to her about anything. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she loved me and even though she said that I should hang out with friends, she often confided in me that she did enjoy all of the time that we spent just hanging out together. Being an only child really worked in my favor. I never felt as though I had to share my mother with anyone. People often commented on our close relationship. In my eyes, my mother was just about as perfect as one could be. I idolized her and wanted to grow up to be just like her.

My mother’s bedroom was a very happy place for me as a child. The room was done in all different shades of pinks and rose. She loved jade and there were statutes and vases all over the house that had inlaid jade from all over the world. Her bedroom and her private office had matching jade vases and table lamps and her bathroom had gold and jade fixtures. The color scheme of her bedroom had a warming effect and lifted my spirits every time I entered.

I was always welcome in her room and her door was always left open for me. My mother and I spent a lot of time together in her bedroom. Most of the time, we would lay across her huge bed, looking up at the skylight in the ceiling while making plans for the future. Oh and did we have plans. We were going to travel all over the world, shop and one day, run The Jameson Group together.

Her bedroom had windows galore that ran from the ceiling to the floor. Going to a different window rewarded the viewer with a different view of the garden which was spectacular all year round. The landscaping was done in such a way that something was in bloom no matter what the season. The trees ranged from dogwood to weeping willows and the flowers ranged from roses to tulips. No matter what day of the month, color could be seen exploding from within the garden.

Sometimes, when my mother wasn’t home and I began to miss her, I would just go in her room and sit at her huge dressing table and look at myself in the mirror. Her perfume, Charles of the Ritz, would linger in the air for hours after she had gone for the day. This provided a sense of comfort for me.

But when I really wanted to pass the time until she came back home, I would try different hairstyles and different colors of lipstick. My mother didn’t wear a lot of make-up but she had lipstick in all different shades of red, all arranged by color shade and number on the table. Whenever I would play with the lipsticks, she would know almost immediately when any of the other colors were out of place.

She was very organized and it showed in everything. Her closet, which covered one entire wall of her room and was almost as big as one of the guest rooms at the end of the hall, held gowns and suits from all the latest designers and she had them all arranged by color.

If she was planning to wear something black, she would go to that section of her closet and her choices were endless. As a child, I used to put on her high heeled shoes and practice walking around in them. I couldn’t wait to grow up so I could wear some of her fabulous clothes. The doors to the closet were beveled glass, allowing views from all angles when one stood in front to admire themselves.

Because of her father’s reputation in the community, my mother was often invited to speak at various functions, engage in ribbon-cutting ceremonies, donate money or attend certain engagements in his memory. My mother loved these outings because she said that in some way going to these events allowed her to be closer to her father, therefore keeping his memory alive.

Whenever possible, my mother visited the offices of The Jameson Group. She was instantly made Chairwoman of the Board and principal stockholder upon her parents’ deaths. Because Uncle C.J. agreed to stay on the board and watch out for the interests of the business, my mother felt very comfortable delegating a lot of the day to day operations to him.

She took every opportunity that she had to do research on the business and kept abreast of all of the major decisions so that she could be sure that things were running as they should. After initially going into the office and getting reacquainted with the employees, my mother assured them that business would continue to run as it had when her father was alive.

The Jameson Group had many different divisions. My grandfather wanted the company to be as diverse as possible thus ensuring that money would continue to be made from all the different ventures. A portion of the profits from each division was actually poured back into the company, thus ensuring that my grandfather’s vision for continued success would be realized. Each division had a research group, a marketing group, various executives and staff that were all overseen by the board of directors of the parent corporation, The Jameson Group.

As I grew older, my mother was able to enroll in graduate school to obtain her master’s degree in education. She went on to obtain her doctorate degree. While my mother was pursing her education, I began kindergarten at Richland Hills, following in her footsteps. Some of the same instructors that my mother complained about when she was in attendance were still teaching there over 20 years later.

Even with all of her schoolwork and functions, my mother always had time for me. She looked over all of my homework and asked about each and every class that I attended during the day. We had dinner every night and there were times, as I got older, that she allowed me to accompany her to some of the functions that she attended in my grandfather’s name. She said that it was important for me to know just what a wonderful man he truly was.

On the weekends, when she stopped by the offices of The Jameson Group, I would often attend with her. The building itself was a glass, ten-story building located in downtown Baltimore. The furnishings throughout the building were lavish to include cherry wood furniture in every office, marble accented hallways and the bathrooms were vivid displays of gold and glass at every angle. No expense was spared with regard to The Jameson Group.

The suite that had once belonged to my grandfather now had my mother’s name stenciled on the door. A large oil painting portrait of my grandparents hung in the office behind the desk. An even larger oil painting of my grandfather hung in the boardroom and served as the central piece of ornamentation in the whole room. All of the other artwork and fixtures in the room were chosen to fit in with the color scheme and framing of my grandfather’s portrait.

As I child, I would sit in my mother’s office and gaze at that portrait. Two spotlights were placed on the wall at the bottom of the portrait on opposite ends. These lights cast a continuous light on my grandfather further adding to my thoughts that he was truly larger than life. I would stare directly into the face of the man who had defied all odds as a black man in America and exceeded his dreams of vast wealth.

Not only did my grandfather become a wealthy man, at the time of his death he was actually one of the wealthiest men in America. As I got older, the realization that I was actually related to the genius behind this multi-billion dollar company would sometimes become overwhelming. The fact that his legacy lived on through my mother and I was sometimes more than I could bear to think about. The Jameson Group was constantly making headlines due to the continued philanthropy efforts that my mother and Uncle C.J. ensured occurred on a rather routine basis.

As a child, I loved attending evening functions with my mother. I served as her mini escort, as she so often referred to me. I got to get all dressed up in what I called my grown-up clothes, and Edna would take pictures of me and my mother as we descended the staircase. My mother would allow me to wear a little bit of colored lip gloss and would fuss over my hair. It was long like hers, but I was only allowed to wear it out on special occasions like these.

No matter what color dress my mother wore, she always made sure that my dress was the exact same color. I loved sitting at the table with all of the other adults, to include Uncle C.J. He and I would laugh and joke as we enjoyed watching the men fall all over themselves trying to attract my mother’s attention.

Even though she was nice and cordial, my mother always made some excuse for why she wasn’t interested in going out with anyone. She kept telling me that she loved being single and was way too busy with me, her teaching and the business to devote any time to anyone or anything new. To be quite honest, I didn’t want her to date. I truly enjoyed having my mother all to myself.

I loved growing up at Jameson Manor. I loved being an only child and having the full attention of my mother and the staff, especially Edna. She explained to me that she never had any children of her own so there fore she didn’t have any grandchildren. She said that I could call her Grandma Edna if I wanted. I thought this was kind of neat since I didn’t have any grandparents and I used that term of endearment for her throughout my childhood.

As I got older, I dropped the Grandma part of the phrase. Edna, who never seemed to get any older, told me that she came to work at Jameson Manor when my grandfather had the place built for his bride. She told me that she knew right away that my grandfather was a man with a vision. Little did she, or anyone else for that matter, realize just how big his vision would become.

Roland, the groundskeeper, reminded me of Uncle Remus with his long white beard and his white hair. I don’t really know how old Roland is but his beard and hair have been white since I can remember. He was always smiling and took time with me when I was younger. He introduced me to all of the different flowers and trees that decorated the grounds.

Roland also served as the butler on evenings when my grandparents used to entertain guests inside the home. On certain occasions, Roland also served as the driver for the Jamesons. Like Edna, Roland lived on the property. He had a little house that was built specifically for the groundskeeper, behind the greenhouse.

It was a modest home, but Roland felt as though he was given his own little mansion. He had never lived anywhere all by himself, having grown up in a home with fourteen brothers and sisters. Little things like not having to wait in line to use the bathroom were things that he valued and loved the most about his home on the property.

Even though they thought they were hiding it, my mother and I knew that Roland and Edna were an item. Whenever he could, Roland would find his way from his house or from the gardens into the kitchen to spend time with Edna. And her shyness about the situation did not fool anyone. It was obvious to everyone that Edna loved all of the attention that Roland lavished on her.

Sometimes I would sneak into the kitchen and stand off to the side out of sight and just watch Roland and Edna watch each other. I knew that they loved each other and often wondered if they would ever get married. I wondered if they did get married would Roland move into the house with Edna or would she move into Roland’s house. Either way, I didn’t want either of them to ever leave us. They were part of the family.

Right after I started kindergarten, I came home one day and found Edna in the kitchen, making me some chocolate chip cookies. Our kitchen, with a view of the spacious gardens, was always a bright and sunny room. The walls were painted a pale yellow and the fixtures were all stainless steel. Fresh flowers from the garden were placed strategically all over the house to include the kitchen table.

It was obvious to anyone that Edna really loved her kitchen as she affectionately referred to it. Edna often remarked that she had all of the state of the art appliances that one would think that she was preparing gourmet meals on a regular basis. In reality, my mother and I often ordered pizza or some other type of take out. Many times, Edna and Roland would join us.

On this particular day, I came in, pulled a chair up to the cut away island in the middle of the floor, climbed into the chair and asked Edna if we could talk. Sure, honey. What do you want to talk about? she asked, bending down to put a cookie tray in the oven. She had already placed some cookies on a plate to cool so I just helped myself to one. This was a common practice most afternoons. I told you that I had it good at Jameson Manor.

Grandma Edna, do I have a daddy?

Slamming the over door shut, Edna’s head jerked around and she looked at me strangely. She grabbed the end of her apron and began twisting the corner of it through her fingers. Edna was a short, round woman with gray hair that she kept pulled back in a bun. She only took her hair down at night right before getting ready for bed. She was dressed in a flowered print housedress with an apron around her waist to avoid getting any of the cookie ingredients on her clothing. Even though I was only five years old, I knew that I was making Edna nervous. I didn’t know why she was nervous, but I knew that she was nervous.

Honey, why don’t you go upstairs and wash your hands so we can eat the cookies when they’re done.

Okay, I said. When I come back down, are you going to tell me about my daddy?

Janelle, honey, have you talked to your mommy about this? Edna asked nervously.

No. I’m only asking because we were talking about a Daddy and Daughter Day Out at school and I just wanted to know who my daddy was so I could take him to school with me on that day.

Well, when your mommy comes home, you should speak to her about your school outing. Maybe she can go with you.

Grandma Edna, you’re so silly, I said to her as I laughed. My mommy is not my daddy. It’s called Daddy and Daughter Day Out, not Mommy and Daughter Day Out. Grandma Edna, I can’t take my mommy. The other kids will laugh at me, I told her.

Oh, honey. Go on upstairs and wash your hands. The cookies will be ready by the time you come back.

I ran upstairs and washed my hands. Even though I climbed the stairs two at time going up and coming back down, because there were so many steps, it took me a long time. When I came back down to the kitchen,