Sins of the Mother (3 page)

The squeak of the room’s door made Jasmine’s eyes pop open. She jumped up. Her heart pumped faster. She prayed for the scene that played out in her mind to play out in her life.

Then . . . Reverend Bush walked in.

This man wasn’t her husband. And Jacqueline wasn’t with him. But there wasn’t another soul on earth whom Jasmine wanted to see more.

In two steps, she was in her father-in-law’s arms.

“Dad!” she sobbed into his shoulder.

“It’s all right, baby,” he said, his voice soft, soothing. “It’s going to be all right.”

She didn’t move for a moment, needing to stay inside the comfort of his arms, his words. When she pulled back, she asked, “Hosea called you?”

Reverend Bush nodded as he looked around the room. For the first time, he noticed Mae Frances, and he rushed to her side.

Jasmine pressed her lips together as she watched her father-in-law give comfort to the woman who was the reason they were here. Her shaking stopped when Reverend Bush returned to her. “Mae Frances said that Hosea is searching the mall.”

She nodded. “He said he’s going to find Jacquie.”

“He will,” he said. “We will,” he added.

She held his hand as he lowered himself into the chair next to her.

“So, what happened?” he asked.

She shook her head slightly, not wanting to go over this again. She would never survive if she had to continually dredge up the memory of coming out of that bathroom and instantly knowing that danger had made its way into their lives.

“If you don’t want to talk about it . . . ,” Reverend Bush said softly.

“It’s just that . . .” And before she could finish, the door squeaked again. Jasmine jumped up—again. Her heart pumped faster—again. She prayed—again.

In walked Hosea . . . and he was alone.

The pittance of hope that she held in her heart vanished.

Hosea hugged his father before he pulled Jasmine into his arms.

“Hosea, what are we going to do?” she cried as she held him.

Even though his voice trembled just like hers, he spoke encouraging words. “We’re going to pray. We’re going to keep looking. We’re going to find her.”

She tried to believe him, but before she could find that kind of faith, the female officer said, “Mr. and Mrs. Bush, we need you to come down to the station. At the precinct, we can get a lot more going.”

“But what about Jacquie?” Jasmine asked. “We can’t leave without her.”

“Officers will stay at the mall,” the woman explained. “We just want to get the information out to the public as soon as we can. We need to get to the precinct,” she reiterated.

This time, Jasmine nodded.

“I’ll take Zaya home,” Mae Frances said, her hands already on the stroller.

Jasmine whipped around. “Get away from my child!” Her scream silenced everyone. She ripped the stroller from Mae Frances’s grasp, the force of it awakening Zaya.

“Don’t you go anywhere near me or my children ever again,” Jasmine yelled as Zaya’s cries joined his mother’s.

“Jasmine!” Hosea and Reverend Bush called her at the same time.

While Reverend Bush picked up his wiggling grandson from the stroller, Hosea eased Jasmine aside.

“Calm down, sweetheart.”

Her mouth barely moved when she said, “I’ll be calm as long as you keep Mae Frances away from me. Away from all of us.”

Mae Frances’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle her sobs. But her cries were clear as she grabbed her purse and scurried from the room.

Curious eyes were on her, but Jasmine didn’t care. She didn’t care what her husband or her father-in-law or any of these strangers thought. Mae Frances was the cause of her pain, and she would never be a part of their lives again.

Jasmine took a deep breath and reached for her son. She needed Zaya near. Once she quieted him down, she turned back to her husband.

“Okay,” she started, composed once again, “let’s go. We have to find Jacquie.”

T
HIS WAS THE DEFINITION OF
insanity.

The detective jotted the same notes on the same pad, her responses to the same questions that he’d been asking over and over.

“Mrs. Bush, did you notice anyone in the mall?” “Mrs. Bush, was Jacqueline talking to anyone?” “Mrs. Bush, did you see anyone watching you and your children?”

“No! No! No!” was what she said, no matter how many times he asked her the same questions. Did he really think that, if she’d seen someone watching them, she’d have left Jacqueline alone with Mae Frances?

A short tap on the door interrupted the inquisition, and as the female officer who had been at the mall came in and whispered to the one who had been alone with Jasmine and Hosea for the last forty minutes, Jasmine pressed down the madness she felt rising inside. She wasn’t sure how much longer she would be able to sit still inside this cold concrete room answering questions that did nothing to help find Jacqueline.
She needed to be out there in the streets, in the hunt, searching.

Once they were alone again, the officer, whose name tag identified him as Detective Cohen, asked, “Now, Mr. and Mrs. Bush, do you know of anyone who would want to hurt Jacqueline?”

This time, Jasmine jumped out of her seat. “Of course not,” she shouted, her impatience and hysteria winning. She pounded her hand on the rectangular table.

It was only Hosea’s gentle squeeze of her arm that made her slowly return to her seat. But that didn’t calm her. “No matter how many times you ask us the same questions or come up with new ones that are even more ridiculous, the answer’s going to be the same. All you’re doing is wasting time. We should be out there,” she pointed to the closed door, “looking for my daughter.”

The detective nodded, as if he had much experience with distraught mothers. “I assure you, Mrs. Bush, there is not an officer in this country who doesn’t take the disappearance of a child seriously. We’re doing all that we can. There are dozens of men assigned to this case already,” he explained. “They’re back at the mall, out on the streets, getting statements. It’s just that we have to get all the information we can from you so that we can move forward.”

When Hosea said, “We understand,” Jasmine rolled her eyes. She wanted to tell her husband that she didn’t understand a damn thing, but she pressed her lips together.

“Can you think of anything else, Mrs. Bush?” the detective asked in the same cool tone.

“No. Please. I’ve told you everything I know. You really need to be talking to Mae Frances. She’s the one who was with Jacqueline.”

“We’re talking to her, too,” he said, still cool, still collected,
as if what she and Hosea were going through was normal. “Your friend is next door with one of the other officers.”

“So what do you want with me?” Jasmine asked, folding her arms, intent on not answering any more questions.

Another tap on the door. Another interruption that made Jasmine want to scream—until Reverend Bush walked in with Detective Foxx, a police officer who was also a friend and a member of their church.

Detective Foxx shook hands with Hosea and then hugged Jasmine. “I just want you to know,” he began, “that we’re out there, full force.”

“Thank you,” Hosea said. “We’ve been talking to Detective Cohen,” he glanced at the officer, “and he’s been very helpful.”

No, he hasn’t!
was what Jasmine was thinking. But then her eyes widened as she looked once again at her father-in-law. “Where’s Zaya?” she screamed, and she pushed past her husband to get to the door.

“Calm down,” Reverend Bush said, holding up his hands. “He’s right outside with Sarai and Daniel,” he said, referring to his assistant and his armor bearer. “Right outside this door.”

“He’s not with Mae Frances?”

Reverend Bush shot a quick glance to Hosea before he said, “No. Zaya’s been with me the whole time, but I didn’t want to bring him in here.”

Jasmine nodded, but still she walked to the door and peeked outside. Sarai Whittingham sat in a chair across from the office, rocking Zaya in her arms, and Brother Daniel Hill stood next to her, her guard. Though for years, those two had considered Jasmine a gold-digging, trifling tramp because they thought she’d tricked Hosea into marrying her, Jasmine marveled for a small moment on how she now trusted them more than she trusted Mae Frances. She was sure that Zaya
was safe, but she kept the door ajar as she turned back to the officer.

To Detective Cohen, she said, “I can’t answer any more questions. I have to get my baby,” she said, not knowing if she was referring to Jacqueline or Zaya.

“We’re finished here,” the officer told them. “I’ll let you know if we have any more questions. We do need you to know that we’re setting this up as a kidnapping case.”

Jasmine’s hand rose to her mouth. Of course that’s what it was. But hearing that word aloud brought a pain to her heart that she’d never felt before.

“Now, it’s still possible that she’s just lost,” Detective Foxx picked up, “hiding somewhere in the mall, but if that’s not the case, we want to be on it early,” he explained. “We’re setting up a station at your apartment. I’m going to be there with another detective. We’ll be waiting for a call.”

Ransom.
Jasmine didn’t think it was possible to sink any further into the abyss, but she was falling, falling.

“Anything!” she cried. Tugging on Hosea’s arm, she added, “We have to give them anything they want.”

Detective Foxx said, “Jasmine, let’s not get ahead—”

“But if we don’t pay—”

“If anyone has Jacquie and they call, we’re going to get them.” Detective Foxx nodded. “Don’t worry about that.”

She took a breath and wondered how anyone could tell her not to worry.

Reverend Bush said, “In the meantime, I’ve set up a press conference. They’re waiting for us outside.”

“Pops,” Hosea said, hugging his father, “thanks for that.”

“Whatever we have to do.” Reverend Bush looked straight at Jasmine. “We are going to find my granddaughter.”

Jasmine held back as many tears as she could. She had to
face the cameras—it was the only way she could talk to her daughter.

Hosea turned to Detective Cohen and thanked him.

But Jasmine didn’t have a single kind word for the man who’d wasted so much time. She grabbed her purse and stomped out of the room. Her mission: to get her son and then do everything in her power to find her daughter. Now!

W
ITH
Z
AYA GRIPPED IN HER
arms and Hosea by her side, Jasmine was set to go.

Taking rapid steps, the five adults marched down the long hallway toward the front doors of the 25th Precinct.

Over his shoulder, Hosea asked, “Pops, you’re going to do this with us, right?”

Reverend Bush hesitated for a moment. “I’m not sure. I was thinking that maybe it should be just you and Jasmine. Jacquie’s parents.”

Hosea paused, making them all stop. “No, I think it would be better . . . it should be all of us.” He looked at Brother Hill and Mrs. Whittingham, too. “If someone has Jacqueline . . .” He stopped as tears glazed his eyes. “If someone has Jacquie,” he continued, “he needs to see that she has a family—so many who love her.” Reverend Bush nodded, and Hosea added, “Brother Hill, Mrs. Whittingham, I want you there, too.”

“Of course,” they spoke softly, but Mrs. Whittingham looked straight at Jasmine.

In all the years that Jasmine had known the woman, this was the first time she had seen something other than contempt in her eyes. It was compassion, Jasmine was sure.

Mrs. Whittingham stepped closer to Jasmine, wrapped one arm around her shoulders, and said, “I know you want to hold your baby, but I’m here if your arms get tired . . . if you need me . . . for anything.”

Her words, her expression, were so warm that Jasmine wanted to cry again. Why was it only tragedy that brought people together this way?

With the lineup decided, they all turned toward the front doors. Jasmine could see the awaiting faces of the press, lingering on the steps in the sub-twenty-degree temperatures. No matter the cold, they were hungry, Jasmine knew, for the details of a missing-child story. This was always a heartbreaking event, one that made great news.

How many times had she seen this scene play out on television? How many times had she cried with the parents as she sat in the haven of her home with Jacqueline tucked safely in bed? How many times had she thanked God that nothing like this would ever happen to them because they were under His grace and His mercy and His favor?

“Wait a minute.” Reverend Bush stopped them right before they stepped through the precinct’s doors. “Where’s Mae Frances?”

“No!”

Hosea said, “Jasmine, we all need to stand together through this. We need one another.”

“No!” she exclaimed again. “Aren’t you listening to me? Don’t you get it? This is all her fault!”

“Jasmine?”

Five pairs of eyes turned to face the voice. Mae Frances
stood just feet away, her mink wrapped around her, her hands trembling. It was clear that she’d heard every word.

“Jasmine, sweetheart.” Mae Frances took two steps and paused. “I love you.”

As if her son was in danger, Jasmine clutched Zaya closer to her chest, and with eyes as cold as her words, she said, “Just so we’re clear—
you’re
the reason Jacquie’s gone . . . and I hate you.”

Mae Frances shook her head from side to side. “Please, you can’t blame me for this. I love her, too. She’s my granddaughter.”

“No, she’s not.” Her hate gave her courage to jump right into Mae Frances’s face. “You’re not related to us. You’re just an old woman we pitied.”

“Jasmine!” Hosea grabbed her arm, but that didn’t stop her.

“We should have left you alone, left you to rot in that old apartment by yourself. Left you”—Jasmine sobbed—“the way you left Jacquie.”

“That’s enough,” Hosea said, jumping in front of Jasmine as if he could block her words with his body. “Jasmine, please.”

“I don’t want her here,” she cried.

“Okay,” Reverend Bush said. He gave a slight nod to Brother Hill, and without words, his friend gently placed his hand on the edge of Mae Frances’s elbow and, with little effort, led her back down the hall. Another nod, and Mrs. Whittingham followed Brother Hill and Mae Frances, leaving Reverend Bush alone with his son and daughter-in-law.