Sins of the Mother Read online

  The images scattered through her mind: Jacqueline in front of the store, Jacqueline blowing her a kiss, Jacqueline gone—and hysteria rose within her. All she wanted to do was scream, cry, pass out, and stay unconscious until her baby came home. But she had to stay strong to find her child.

  “I went to the bathroom to change Zaya,” she began, giving Hosea more details now than when she’d called him twenty minutes before. “I left Jacquie with”—the name stuck in her throat—“Mae Frances. But when I came back—” Jasmine stopped. That was enough; he knew the rest.

  “All right.” Hosea jumped up from the bench. “What’s being done to find my daughter?” he demanded of the guards.

  “Everyone in security is on it, Mr. Bush.” This time, it was the white guard who spoke. “What we want to do now is take Mrs. Bush and Mrs. Van Dorn upstairs to our offices. To get a formal statement. But I want to assure you that lost children are always found.”

  Hosea nodded. “What about tapes?” he asked. “The mall is filled with cameras, right? We’ll be able to see if she just wandered off.”

  The guards nodded together. “The parking lots are covered, and we have a few throughout the mall. The stores are being contacted now, so that we can get their tapes.”

  “Okay.” Hosea squared his shoulders and reached for Jasmine’s hand. Helping her up from the bench, he said, “Go to the security office. Give them everything they need.”

  Again, she shook her head. “But suppose Jacquie comes back here?” she asked through fresh tears.

  Hosea turned to the guards. “Can one of you stay?” It was a question that sounded more like a demand.

  “Yeah, I can, but it doesn’t matter. We have guards throughout the whole mall. We’ll find her.”

  Hosea added, “Okay, then can you call for someone to escort my wife to the office.” Before they responded, he explained, “I want to walk through the mall myself with one of you.”

  For the first time since this began, Jasmine felt hope. Her husband was here, taking charge. He was such a man of God. Surely he was praying. And surely God heard his prayers doubly.

  Hosea directed, “Nama, go with Jasmine.”

  Jasmine opened her mouth to protest, but then she pressed her trembling lips together and willed herself not to say anything about cavorting with the enemy. She needed to help Hosea stay focused.

  He lifted Zaya from her arms. The tears that came to her eyes were old and new as she watched her husband gently kiss their son’s forehead before he handed the little boy back to her. As a third guard joined them, Hosea hugged Jasmine.

  In his arms, she didn’t notice the Christmas crowd, didn’t hear the Christmas music. Just imagined that in a few minutes, Hosea would come rushing into the security office carrying Jacqueline with him.

  Then he pulled away and urged, “Go ahead. I’ll be back soon.”

  She nodded and followed the security officer, keeping her eyes away from Mae Frances, who was several paces behind.

  She held on to good thoughts: she and Zaya waiting—Hosea bursting through the door holding Jacqueline—the four Bushes reunited, never to think about these horrible minutes again.

  Just before she stepped into the elevator, Jasmine looked over her shoulder to the place where she’d stood with Hosea just a minute ago. The last place where she’d seen her daughter.

  He was gone.

  Panic surged through her veins. But then she took a calming breath. Hosea was safe; he could take care of himself. And he would find Jacqueline.

  As the elevator doors closed, she began her mantra again. This time, it was a duet. Because as she said, “Please, God. Please, God. Please, God,” behind her, Mae Frances joined her in that same song.

  Three

  JASMINE GLANCED AT HER WATCH—an hour and seven minutes. That’s how long it had been since she’d seen her daughter.

  “You don’t have any pictures?” the guard asked in a tone that let her know he was having a hard time believing that.

  “I already told you,” she sighed, feeling nothing but exhaustion, “I didn’t carry my wallet because I was coming to the mall.”

  “That’s when people carry their wallets,” he said.

  She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation. What did this have to do with finding her daughter? “Look,” she began, trying not to let her hysteria rise, “I carry as little as possible when I’m in a crowd. Just my license, a credit card, and a few dollars. That’s it. Nothing else. No pictures.”

  The man nodded—now he understood, but his tone was still filled with frustration. “What about your cell? Everyone has pictures of their kids on their phone.”

  “I have a BlackBerry,” she said, as if that was explanation enough.

  “What? BlackBerrys don’t have cameras?”

  “Not the one I have,” Jasmine said, her hands flailing in the air. “Look, what does any of this have to do with finding my daughter?”

  “A picture will help, ma’am. We have to give something to the officers.”

  “I have a picture.”

  For the fifteen minutes Jasmine and Mae Frances had been in the Renaissance Mall security office, Jasmine had ignored Mae Frances. It was easy to do in the chaos that filled the small space. Besides her and Mae Frances, the office was packed with three other security guards and now two New York City police officers—a man and a woman—who had been dispatched to the mall. Everyone was talking—on walkie-talkies, on cell phones, to one another.

  Mae Frances took cautious steps toward Jasmine. “I have pictures,” she said to the guard. Then more steps. “I took pictures before . . . I think . . . I don’t know how to use this phone.” Her glance moved from the guard to Jasmine. “That’s what I was doing when you were in the bathroom. The phone rang and it was your name, and I was trying to figure it out!”

  Her explanation sounded like a plea for forgiveness, but Jasmine rolled her eyes and turned away. She heard Mae Frances’s gasp, then a sob, but there was no care in her heart. There was nothing Mae Frances would ever be able to do. No way she could ever explain how she had let Jacqueline wander away.

  Jasmine closed her eyes and began her mantra again. And she took herself back to that good place: Hosea and Jacqueline walking into the room—and this time, her daughter would be carrying a puppy.

  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.

&nbs
p; “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.”

  Four

  THIS 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!

  Five

  WITH ZAYA 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.