Joslyn (Women of Privilege Book 3)

by Bridget Bundy

  “I know Detective Parker asked you this already, but are you sure you don’t know her?” Detective Richardson says.

  “I don’t. I promise you I don’t.” I’m trying to be completely cooperative right now. No attitude at all.

  “Her name is Allison James,” Detective Sawyer says. “We’ve been trying to track her down for most of the afternoon.”

  “What about Davian?” I ask. “Is he…Is he alive?”

  “With that girl still on the run,” Detective Sawyer answers, “we don’t know. There is a warrant out for her arrest, and we have police watching her mother’s house and other relatives.”

  “What about Dreadlocks?”

  “We don’t have an identification for him yet,” she answers.

  “What does all this means?” I ask.

  “Really doesn’t mean anything,” Detective Sawyer says. “We got a name and nothing else right now.”

  “What about her mother, Detective Sawyer?” Jackie asks. “Did you question her? Has she seen her daughter?”

  “She saw her this morning. She hasn’t been back home since. We’ve got Allison’s phone number from her mother, and we have called her several times and left messages.”

  I nod, accepting the news. It’s not bad, thank goodness, but it’s not really good, either.

  “Mrs. Montgomery, we know about your run-in this afternoon you had with Ms. Davis,” Detective Richardson says. “With the news we gave you, we expect you to stay away from Allison’s mother.”

  “No problem,” I reply. “You don’t have to worry about me interfering.”

  Both detectives stare. They don’t believe me.

  “Seriously, I’m done,” I say with a lift of my hands.

  He points at me and says, “If you go over there to question her, I will arrest you.”

  “Detective Richardson, when I say I’m done, I’m done. Okay?”

  He nods and looks over to Detective Sawyer. Her face is all screwed up, lips lifted on one side, one eye brow lifted. She still doesn’t believe me.

  “I don’t even know where she lives. So, no worries.”

  “Okay,” Detective Sawyer says, only halfway convinced. “I have a question for you, Mrs. Montgomery,”

  “Ask me anything you want,” I respond.

  “Does your husband know Allison James?”

  I wonder if he does, but Harlan has never spoken about her in the past. He didn’t act like he knew her when they stopped to help us with the truck, either.

  “No, I don’t think so,” I answer.

  “Does your husband own a gun?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “I won’t allow guns in the house. Four kids and one of them is too smart for his own good.”

  “What about Davian?” Detective Richardson asks.

  “What about him?”

  “Is it possible that he knows her?”

  “Detective Richardson, I’m not around my son 24/7, but I don’t think he knows her. It didn’t seem like it when she showed up Monday morning. Maybe, she knows someone in the neighborhood.”

  “We’ve already checked the sign-in log for the past three months,” Detective Richardson says. “If the guards kept accurate records and checked identification, then she’s never come into this neighborhood. I was just wondering if he could have met her while he was in school or during after school activities.”

  “I don’t think so, but if he did, he didn’t tell me. How old is Allison James?”

  “She’s nineteen years old,” he answers, “but as you saw in her picture, she looks younger and could pass as a high school student.”

  “Does Davian have a drug problem?” Detective Sawyer asks straight-faced.

  I can get mad, but I won’t. She’s not outright insinuating my son is on drugs. So, I’ll let it go for what it is: a question that must be asked by the police. “No, he doesn’t. Why do you ask?”

  “Allison James has a major one,” Detective Richardson says. “She uses and sell. She’s been charged once, found guilty, but put on probation.”

  “Why would she come after us?” I ask. “We don’t know her. No one in my family abuses drugs.”

  “My professional opinion?” Detective Sawyer remarks.

  “Of course,” I reply. “Facts, as well.”

  “You live in a very wealthy neighborhood. They probably saw you and your husband when you left yesterday morning. You drive the top of the line SUV. You were probably an opportunity to them.”

  “If we were an opportunity, then why haven’t they asked for a ransom?”

  Detective Sawyer shrugs her shoulders.

  “So, Detective Richardson,” I turn to him. “Do you still believe I’m responsible for my son’s kidnapping?”

  “I’m not so sure, but that doesn’t mean your name is clear. You are a person of interest now more so than a suspect.”

  “Well, in due time, you will learn what I already know is the truth. I had nothing to do with it.”

  We make eye contact. I show him confidence. He turns away from me and stands. I have a feeling he believes me.

  “We will keep you updated, Mrs. Montgomery,” Detective Sawyer says as she rises from her seat.

  “May I have your phone number, please? Both of you.”

  Detective Sawyer smiles and hands me her card, and Detective Richardson does the same. I thank them both for their effort. They’ve gotten a lot further than I did, and they probably didn’t come across as much trouble.

  “Thank you for letting me know what’s going on,” I cordially remark while standing. “And I apologize for being so difficult.”

  “Wow,” Detective Richardson replies with a chuckle. “I guess a shotgun can humble a person.”

  Why couldn’t he just keep his comments to himself? He had to ruin a stand-up moment for me. I shake my head and look over at Jackie. She shrugs her shoulders with a look of amusement.

  “We are going to keep an officer here overnight to man the phone, just in case,” Detective Sawyer remarks. “Remember, don’t forget to call if the kidnappers contact you.”

  “Believe me, I won’t,” I answer.

  Jackie and I walk the detectives to the front entrance. Once they’re gone, I remain glued with my back to the door. I listen to the silence of my sister’s house. It feels hollow. It’s not right at all. I’m in a home that’s not mine.

  “What’s wrong?” Jackie asks.

  “How will this end? Will it ever end?”

  “Only God knows.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The next morning, bright and early, I stop by my mom’s house. The kids are still in bed asleep. I go into their rooms and kiss their sweaty little foreheads. None of them wake up. It’s a relief actually. I stay a little longer beside Kale’s bed. Last time I spoke to him, he broke my heart, and now that I see him again, it’s all mended again. Funny how he doesn’t have to say a word, no matter what he’s done in the past, and I forgive him in an instance. My children are my weakness and my strength.

  After checking on them, I join my mom for breakfast. We have a mundane but necessary conversation with our eggs and bacon. To be honest, the conversation is perfection.

  Mom: How’s your breakfast?

  Me: Good. Thank you for making it.

  Mom: No problem. Eggs not too cold?

  Me: No, they’re warm.

  A long moment of silence.

  Mom: Supposed to be sunny and humid today.

  Me: Hope so. Tired of the rain. Can do without the humidity, though.

  Mom: Mm-hmm. Me too. More coffee?

  Me: Sure.

  It’s like my mom is trying to keep my mind off of what will break me down and make me an emotional mess. It especially works great for her. She doesn’t have to deal with tears.

  After breakfast, I thank her and head out to the hospital. I let her know that I’ll be back to see the kids when they’re awake around noon. I can spend time with them and answer any questions that’s on their mind. I�
��m sure they have plenty. I just need to be mentally prepared to explain my actions from yesterday. I’m sure they saw the footage, despite the fact my mom swears up and down they haven’t watched a bit of television. Guess I’ll find out when I see them later on.

  The press is at the hospital, still stalking the front entrance, and now some are keeping an eye on another door. I take the Emergency Room entrance, where there isn’t a reporter to be found, and I make my way to the ICU. The moment the nurse at the front desk sees me, he immediately redirects me to the third floor, where they’ve moved Harlan for however much longer he’ll stay, be it ten days or ten years. Makes my heart sinks to think in terms of years. I’m not even sure if Harlan would want that. He was moved out of the ICU because they needed every available bed. A multi-car accident happened yesterday in the early part of the afternoon on Interstate Highway 16 going west. Several people were severely hurt, and two were killed. I remember sitting in that traffic on my way to Meldrim, but I never did drive by or see the actual accident scene.

  When I step out of the elevator on the third floor, I follow the room numbers as they get lower. Harlan is in room 3. I’m told he’s in there alone, but more than likely another patient will be in there by the afternoon. I really don’t want my husband sharing a room with anyone else. Perhaps, I can make an appeal to Dr. Bryant.

  As I’m about to go inside, I hear my name being called. I spot Oliver coming up the hallway with a cup of coffee. He looks really tired, broad shoulders slumping, dark face long and frowning. He didn’t get a good rest last night. I can understand. I didn’t, either.

  “Morning,” I say with a wave.

  “You just getting here?” He’s giving me the evil eye.

  “Yeah, everything alright?”

  “Where were you yesterday? Other than almost getting yourself killed and running the streets.”

  The incident is still very disconcerting to me. I uncomfortably reply, “I was out trying to find Davian.”

  “Is that what you call what you were doing? Why didn’t you stop by to see Harlan?”

  “I came by yesterday morning when you wasn’t here,” I firmly answer.

  “For how long? A second?”

  “Oliver,” I say as calmly as I can. “I’m not going to stand here and explain myself to you.”

  “Yes, you are.” He gets closer. His tall, wide body frame towers over me.

  “Back off,” I firmly state. His threatening demeanor doesn’t mean a thing to me, and I’m not going to let him bully me.

  “Detective Richardson said that you’re a suspect in the kidnapping of my grandson and in the attempted murder of my son.”

  “Oliver, you know better,” I plainly state. “I wouldn’t hurt my family.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “You know what! That’s fine. You don’t have to, but it doesn’t change the truth.”

  “For three days, you’ve been acting like you don’t give a shit. Sarah and I are the ones that have been staying with Harlan most of the time. Where have you been? You’re not here with us. You’re not even at home waiting for the kidnappers to call.”

  “Where have I been? Really, Oliver? Let’s talk about your absentee record and compare it to mine. When was the last time you been by the house? Six months ago? If I’m correct, it’s been longer than. And what about phone calls? Have you made any to Harlan or to the grandkids? I don’t believe you have. As a matter of fact, I know you haven’t in damn near a year. As for me, my record speaks for itself. I have always been there for my family. Always! And you better believe, I will continue to be there until the day I die. So, to put your effort into a better perspective, your whole whopping three days has really amounted to nothing and a pile of shit! Don’t you ever question my loyalty to this family!”

  He looks down at me like I’m a laughing stock and too puny to intimidate him. But I’m not backing down.

  “When Harlan wakes up,” Oliver coldly remarks, “and he will, I’m going to tell him everything you did. And we’ll see what’ll happen then.”

  “Yeah, we sure will.” Lame threat. Don’t care.

  “Wish I could make the hospital stop you from seeing him.”

  “You want to give it a try and see what happens?” I fold my arms over my chest and lean on one leg. “I dare you.”

  “You daring me, huh? You think I won’t do it.”

  “I’m his wife, Oliver. I’m THE next of kin. I trump you every day of the week. So, yeah, I’m daring you.”

  He doesn’t have a comeback, and he knows I got him beat. His glare becomes harsher, searing with hate, but it doesn’t faze me. My confidence is bursting out of my ears, knowing there hasn’t been a single pissed off look on this planet so far that has killed me. And his is no different.

  “I’m going to see my husband now. Move.”

  Oliver slowly steps out of the way, clearing my path.

  “You got some nerve,” I comment while walking into Harlan’s room.

  So glad to be away from him. All that bark and nothing to back it up, like his weight and stature is going to make me back down. It’s going to get him cussed out every single time, and I don’t even like to cuss. I abhor it. The words leave a sour taste on my tongue and lips, but when I’m pushed way, way too far, especially by family, my attitude changes. I become a whole new person, foul-mouthed to the tenth degree.

  I flop down in the chair beside Harlan’s bed, blowing out in frustration and exhaustion. Now, as I watch my husband, I’m beginning to feel bad about what I said to his dad. Harlan would not approve. He would have wanted me to take a gentle, high road, but instead, I fell head first over the cliff into the abyss of Hell. I don’t consider myself a mean person, and I hate acting like a fool towards family.

  God. Now, I have to fix this rift between me and Oliver. When the time is right and when both of us have some good sense about us, I’ll apologize. I’ll tell him the truth or have Detective Sawyer or Detective Richardson tell him. Until then, Oliver will just have to stew and be mad at me. But I won’t stay mad at him. Harlan will find that completely unacceptable, no matter what his father has done, because forgiveness is key and a mantra to my husband. In Harlan’s great opinion, that’s how we heal.

  I take my husband’s hand, caress it within both of mine, and I turn my attention completely to him. My man looks a little different, for the good. His face isn’t swollen. His lips aren’t chapped, thanks to Sarah. He’s beginning to look normal again.

  I decide to tell him about the past two days. Going to see the Briggs family and then Lucy Davis, and how each time ended badly. I admit to being in the news, running from one house and about to die at another. Nothing has come of my efforts. Then I go on to explain how the police has gotten farther than I have, and how I hate being helpless in all this, depending on others to get Davian back home. It feels good to talk about the problems I had, even though he doesn’t hear me.

  When I run out of words, I sit and watch him. Harlan does not opens his eyes. His hand is limp in mine. He just lies there, covered up to his chest, head resting in the soft indention of the pillow, breathing evenly.

  “Wake up, baby,” I whisper. “Come back to us. We need you. I need you.”

  If only my words were a magic spell, he’d have his eyes wide open right now. Our reunion will begin. My heart will soar.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Joslyn.”

  I lift my head, all of a sudden realizing I fell asleep. Terrence is standing on the other side of the bed with a big grin on his face.

  “How long have I been out?” I ask, straightening my clothes and hair.

  “I have no idea. So, how have you been, Mrs. Holmes?”

  “Whatever.” I wave him off.

  “Should have taken my advice,” he says amusingly.

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Detective Richardson spoke to me about an hour ago. He said that they knew the woman that took Dave. You plan on visiting her parents
next?”

  “No. I’ve learned my lesson.”

  “Glad to hear it,” he says. With a whole lot less sarcasm and more concern, he continues, “Lucy Davis didn’t hurt you too bad, did she?”

  “No, I got a scar on my arm and had a splinter in my hand. Nothing major.”

  “Good.” Terrence stares at Harlan for a moment. “Has he changed at all?”

  “He hasn’t. What if he stays like that? What if I have to make the hard decision?”

  “Don’t even think about it. Don’t even speak it into existence, Sis. If that time comes, put your mind on it then. No time sooner.” Terrence’s phone starts chirping before I can reply. He takes it out of the holder on his belt and looks at the screen. “Man, this girl is always texting me.”

  My mind goes back to when Terrence and I was in the car yesterday after we visited the Briggs family. He told me his girlfriend’s name was Allison. Maybe, I’m mistaken. And the detectives said that a woman by the same name took Davian. Maybe, I’m wrong about that, too. But I know I’m not on either count. Is it the same person? It has to be a coincidence. I stand up, looking at Terrence, watching him as he texts on his phone.

  “Terrence,” I say, going over to him, “what did you say your girlfriend’s name was?”

  “Allison,” he answers, still texting.

  “Give me your phone.” I’m breaking out into a cold sweat.

  He moves it behind his back. “No, you took it from me and wouldn’t give it back the last time.”

  The tears are hot in my eyes just thinking he brought some crazy woman into this family, and she’s trying to hurt us.

  “Joslyn, what’s wrong? You alright?”

  “What’s her last name, Terrence?” I demand shakily.

  “Who?”

  “YOUR GIRLFRIEND’S LAST NAME!”

  “Cole. Her name is Allison Cole.”

  I breathe once again, closing my eyes. The tears break, rolling down my cheeks.

  “Joslyn, talk to me. What’s wrong?”