Sins of the Mother (7 page)

“That letter—it’s a lie. I would never hurt my daughter,” she cried.

He leaned forward, his voice softer now. “Maybe you didn’t want to. Maybe it was an accident.”

Her head whipped from side to side. “No,” she yelled, her cries now mixing with those of Zaya, who had been startled awake.

“I could understand it, Mrs. Bush.” He stayed soft and gentle, as if he was her friend.

“No.” She fell back and down onto the chair.

“It’s happened before,” he said. “An accident, the mother panics. Then she gets her friends involved, and they make it look like someone took her child.”

She was crying as hard as her son.

“You know, if you have a temper, and you lost control—”

“I would never hurt my daughter,” she whimpered. “I would never—”

The door behind her swung open. “Jasmine!”

She jumped up and into Hosea’s arms.

“What’s going on?” As he held his wife, his eyes searched the detective for answers.

Detective Cohen leaned back in his chair as if nothing had happened. “We were just talking.”

Jasmine sobbed into Hosea’s chest. “He said . . . the e-mail . . . that I . . . killed . . .” She couldn’t say any more.

The officer leaned forward and offered Hosea the paper. “I was just sharing with your wife an e-mail we’d received.”

As Jasmine’s cries mixed with his son’s, Hosea scanned the note.

He stiffened as he read the words, and then he hurled the e-mail back at the detective. For seconds, it floated like a paper airplane, and the three watched until it landed at Cohen’s feet.

Hosea’s eyes didn’t leave the detective’s. “Jasmine, get your coat,” he whispered.

She was still gasping for breath as she tossed her coat over her arm. Behind her, Hosea quieted their son before he turned the stroller toward the door.

The detective said, “Mr. Bush, I would like to talk to you. I have some—”

Hosea was shaking his head before the officer could finish. “That’s not gonna happen,” he said. With a stare that was meant to intimidate, he growled, “The next time you want to talk to us, do it through our attorney.”

Jasmine held the door open, and the Bushes marched out of the room.

H
OSEA’S HANDS STILL SHOOK AS
he strapped Zaya into the car seat. His son had calmed, but not his wife. And neither had he.

Slipping into the driver’s side, he pointed the key toward the ignition, but then stopped. He had to take a deep breath, find a way to cool down before he took his family anywhere.

His family.

That thought made him glimpse into the rearview mirror. He half expected to smile, the way he always did when he glanced at his daughter. But the sight of her empty car seat behind him tugged hard at the strings that were barely holding his heart in one piece.

Quickly, he diverted his eyes. Swallowed hard. Tried to keep himself together.

“I can’t believe what that man did,” Jasmine gasped. “Who would do that, Hosea? Who would send that e-mail?”

He dropped the keys in his lap and took her hand. “I don’t know.” He spoke softly, trying to keep his own emotions hidden.
“I don’t know what that was about. I don’t even know if there was really an e-mail,” he said, remembering that it had been a Yahoo account, so there would be no way to trace it.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “Do you think they just made that up? Printed up something to trick me?”

He shrugged. “It’s been done before. But if that’s the way the police want to play it, I guess we’re gonna have to do this on our own.”

“How? We can’t find Jacquie by ourselves. The police have to help us.”

Again, he swallowed, pushing back the helplessness he felt rising within. He couldn’t lose it now—he was the head of the family, the protector.

His family.

This time, he kept his eyes away from the backseat as he unhooked his cell phone from its holster. He held the device to his ear, and not even two seconds passed before the phone was answered.

“Any news, son?” Reverend Bush asked without even saying hello.

Even though his father couldn’t see him, Hosea shook his head. “Nah, but we’ve run into some trouble.” With as few words as he could, he told his father about the confrontation. When he mentioned the e-mail, Jasmine sobbed, and he reached for her hand.

Reverend Bush said, “I received that e-mail, too.”

What!
Hosea screamed inside. But he only said, “Really?” thinking about his theory that the e-mail had been fake. If it had been sent to his father, then it was real.

“Yeah,” Reverend Bush said. “I’ve gotten quite a few calls. It seems that whoever started it asked people to forward it. And apparently the folks who attend City of Lights don’t think before they press Send because it’s going all around the church.”
The reverend sighed. “I can’t believe Jasmine has to deal with this on top of—”

“I know,” Hosea said, peeking at his wife once again. He didn’t know what Jasmine would do once she found out that the e-mail was real—and circulating around the church and probably beyond. “Look, Pops,” he began, his voice lower now, “I don’t know what that was all about, but . . .” He stopped right there.

It was all the years that they’d been bonded as father and son that made Reverend Bush respond without Hosea needing to finish his thought. He said, “We need to get right on this. Where are you and Jasmine now?”

“We’re heading home.”

“No, come here first,” his father said. “Dale’s with me now; we were going over some ways to galvanize the community, but we need to talk about this.”

Hosea closed his eyes. He was relieved and glad that he didn’t have to say it. Glad that his father had brought up their lawyer, Dale, himself.

“We’re on our way.” He clicked off the phone, and when Jasmine’s eyebrows bunched into a frown, he answered her unasked question. “Pops wants us to drop by the church.” He put the key into the ignition but paused before starting the engine. “Dale Brody’s with him now, and Pops thinks it may be a good idea for us to talk to him.”

They stared at each other, and without a word Hosea knew Jasmine’s question: Did they really need a lawyer?

Then she asked, “No one is going to believe that e-mail, right?”

“Of course not,” he said, but he couldn’t look in her eyes when he told that lie. He breathed easier when Jasmine leaned back and closed her eyes. As he turned the key, then twisted the steering wheel and eased into traffic, he shook his head.
This was not the way all of this should be going down. They—the entire city—were supposed to be united behind finding Jacqueline. But instead, they were dealing with stupidity.

This is ridiculous!
That anyone would even believe Jasmine would harm Jacqueline—it was the most absurd accusation that could be made.

But Hosea had seen situations like this before—had watched innocent people accused and tried without any evidence.

As he drove, he prayed. And he thanked God that Dale Brody, one of the premier attorneys in the city, was not only their friend but their legal protector as well.

Because he had a feeling that he and Jasmine were going to need every bit of legal protection they could get.

J
ASMINE WALKED BECAUSE SHE COULDN’T
sit. She paced the width of the church office—back and forth, in front of the oversize mahogany desk where Reverend Bush sat. Hosea leaned against the desk’s edge, his arms crossed as he listened to the attorney.

“This is not unusual,” Dale Brody said again, as if repeating those words would make them feel better about what they were going through.

Forming a triangle with the tips of his fingers, Dale explained, “The detective’s questions are normal.”

“That doesn’t make a lot of sense, Dale,” Reverend Bush said. “How could they have taken that e-mail seriously?” He shook his head. “Come on. As soon as they saw that the sender was named Jane Doe, and that it came from one of those free accounts, they should have thrown it away.”

“Jane Doe?” Jasmine frowned.

The reverend nodded.

Hosea snapped, “You mean to tell me the e-mail that went
to the police was from a Jane Doe?” His eyes were wide as he looked at his father. “I didn’t even look at the name; I was so mad.” He turned to their attorney. “And that detective had the nerve to go after Jasmine with that?”

Those were her thoughts, too, but Jasmine said nothing, just kept walking. Back and forth. Just kept wondering how many other people in the church had received that e-mail and if any of them had noticed the name. Not that the name would matter. There weren’t too many members of City of Lights who liked her, and she would bet that most would even love to see her demise. If that e-mail was circulating, most would believe the worst about her.

“Frankly, Jasmine hasn’t been accused of anything,” Dale said.

“I need to find out who sent that e-mail,” Hosea growled.

Dale shrugged. “First of all, it’s from one of those untraceable accounts. And what does it matter? We need to see this through the detective’s eyes. Whether he received that e-mail or not, he was going to be looking at you two first. Any time a child is missing, the parents are the first suspects.”

“Suspects? That’s crazy,” Jasmine cried. “How could anyone believe that I would hurt my child?” She pressed her hand over the center of her chest, feeling like that was the only way to keep her heart inside.

“Darlin’, anyone who knows you knows that you didn’t have anything to do with this.”

“Tell that to whoever wrote that e-mail.” She looked at the attorney. “How can someone just spread a lie like that?”

“The Internet’s not governed.” He shrugged. “It’s used all the time to spread lies and hate. Look at what happened to Obama before he was elected. People were circulating amazing lies about him, and that stuff is still going on. So I guess if it could happen to the president, it can certainly happen to you.”

Jasmine glanced over at the open office door, peeked out to where she’d positioned Zaya’s stroller right outside. Behind the stroller, she saw Mrs. Whittingham standing guard over her baby. Satisfied that her son was safe, she slumped into the chair in front of Reverend Bush’s desk.

Dale continued, “But here’s the thing—once they look at you and Hosea, once they look at your family, everything will point to Jacqueline’s having a happy home life.”

“It’s ridiculous that they’re looking at Hosea and me at all,” Jasmine whispered. “That man treated me like I was guilty.”

“Standard stuff.”

“He even asked me if I had a temper.”

“A typical interview.”

“Didn’t feel typical to me,” Jasmine snapped.

“Look, I’m just trying to explain it,” Dale said. “The fact is that in sixty percent of these cases, the parents
are
responsible for the child’s disappearance or murder.”

Jasmine shook her head. “Jacquie is not dead,” she said, her tone absolute.

Three pairs of eyes stared back at her. Three pairs of eyes that were filled with doubt. But she didn’t care what they thought. She was Jacqueline’s mother, and these men didn’t know what she knew.

She explained, “I gave birth to her.” Looking straight at Hosea, she added, “I know. I can feel it here.” She pressed her hand against that place where she’d carried her daughter. How could she explain that a little piece of Jacqueline was still there? She said, “She’s alive.”

Reverend Bush looked away—for a moment. Dale looked down—for a moment.

Only Hosea kept his eyes on her; he walked to where she sat, crouched down, took her hand, then asked Dale, “So what do we do now?”

“We play offense.” The attorney paused. “You’re not going to like this,” he added, moving his glance from Jasmine to Hosea to Reverend Bush, “but it’s the only way to get the police back to where they need to be—focusing on finding Jacquie.” He said, “Take a polygraph. Both of you.”

The Bushes spoke at the same time.

Hosea said, “Okay.”

Jasmine said, “No!” With wide eyes, she looked at her husband. “No! I haven’t done anything.
We
didn’t do anything. This is crazy! They just need to be out there looking for Jacquie.”

“That’s exactly why we have to do this.” Hosea spoke with a calm that wasn’t evident on his face. “We don’t need to waste any more time.”

“
This
is a waste of time,” Jasmine said, her voice louder now, her hands flailing in the air. “We are locked up in this church talking about polygraphs, and no one is out there looking for our daughter,” she cried.

“That’s not true, Jasmine,” Dale interjected. “You better believe the police are still searching; they haven’t stopped. It’s just that they’re going to ask you to take a polygraph anyway, so we might as well do it now.”

Dale snapped his briefcase shut as if the subject was closed. “Let me go down to the station, talk to the folks in charge, and I’ll get back to you.”

He shook Reverend Bush’s hand before he turned to Hosea and Jasmine. He said, “This is really for the best.”

She wasn’t even sure where the tears were coming from; she had to be on empty by now. But before Dale was out the door, tears were making tracks down her cheeks.

Gently, Hosea pulled her into his arms, and Jasmine cried and asked over and over, “Why? Why?”

Reverend Bush stood and left his son and daughter-in-law alone.

T
HE MINUTES TICKED ON
. The hours rolled by.

Then Sunday came.

Jasmine was relieved when Hosea didn’t jump out of bed at six declaring that it was time to go to church. Not that she expected that. After that hateful e-mail, her hope was that he—and she—would never go back there again.

But on this Sunday morning, Hosea lay on his back, just like she did, staring at the ceiling. She knew his thoughts were the same as hers: Where was their daughter?

Jasmine wanted to stay home, not only today but every day. Stay with Hosea by her side. With Zaya asleep between them. With the police camped out in the living room, waiting for that call about Jacqueline. Waiting for her hope and faith to be proven true.

Then Sunday went.

And though the phone had rung constantly throughout the day and night—calls from Malik and Deborah and other members of City of Lights who wanted to be the first to tell
Hosea about the e-mail that they’d received. There was no call from the man Jasmine saw in her dark dreams. No call from the one who had taken Jacqueline away.