And Then There Was One by Patricia Gussin Page B

was curious. She’d never known anyone who’d been in jail. “What did he do?”
    Tina looked away, but said, “A long time ago, he did some things. I was just a baby.”
    Then Tina turned to Agent Camry. “Why did you FBI people take him? He didn’t do anything wrong. He’s a Christian just like me and my mom. Why are you people all so mean?”
    “Tina, I can’t talk about that,” Agent Camry said. Jackie didn’t think she sounded mean, but she could understand why Tina would be upset.
    Jackie couldn’t help wonder what bad things Tina’s dad had done. And that made her think about bad things happening to Alex and Sammie. She’d heard that expert man on television say that if they didn’t find kids in the first two days, something bad had happenedand they might
never
find them. What if Sam and Alex never came home? Would her parents still love
her?
    Jackie had always been sure that that her parents loved her and her sisters very much. But she knew that, if they had to make a list of who they loved the most, that Alex, always so sweet and obedient, would come first. That would only be fair. Sammie would come in last because she was so bratty. That left Jackie in the middle. Fine with her. She’d never been jealous of Alex, and she did not feel sorry for Sammie. Now everything in her world had changed. She wasn’t so sure anymore. She did know one thing: it was all because of her that Sammie and Alex had been taken. She should have just gone with them to the stupid museum movie. But if she had, would the bad person have taken her, too?
    Connie Watkins had arrived while the Monroes were taping their plea for the safe return of Sammie and Alex at the television station. Waiting to be recognized at the bureau reception desk, she’d shivered in her tank top and adjusted her floral print stretch pants, wishing she’d grabbed a sweater. Why was it that federal buildings always cranked up the air-conditioning to near freezing? Shy by nature, easily intimidated by authority figures, Connie, in awe of her own boldness, had marched up to the imposing desk, her twelve-year-old daughter, Tina, in tow. “I want to see my husband,” she’d announced.
    A man in a suit had been engrossed in reading a file. When he looked up, Connie’s voice faltered, her course in assertiveness training failing her. “You arrested him an hour ago at my sister’s house on Outer Drive. Neighbors saw you take him out in handcuffs.”
    “Make them send my dad back home,” Tina said, obstinate, challenging. “He didn’t do anything wrong.” She stood, shoulders slumped, so frail she looked like a waif with straight black hair, parted in the center, her pale skin in stark contrast.
    “Whoa, ladies.” The man looked back and forth at mother and daughter, standing shoulder to shoulder. Both five foot two; both in tank tops with matching flip-flops; the older in maroon; the younger in canary yellow. “I don’t even know who you’re talking about. Name?”
    “Norman Watkins,” said Connie. “I’m his wife, and this is our daughter, Tina.”
    Connie observed the deskman’s eyebrows rise. He was very young. An agent? A male secretary? Did it matter? Then she noted his name tag. Agent, somebody, a long Polish or Slavic name she couldn’t pronounce.
    Without a word the agent picked up the phone and buzzed a number. “Tell Streeter that the Watkins woman’s here. With her daughter.”
    “Turns out you’re saving the taxpayers gas money,” he said. “They were going to bring you in. And here you are —”
    “I’m here to see my husband.” Connie tried to sound polite, which she was by nature. But she was so scared for Norman. She had to get him out of here. She knew how the cops treated ex-cons. She’d tried to help some of Norman’s buddies when they’d gotten out of the joint. She’d seen how they’d been slapped around. Cops were all alike. Didn’t matter if it was Florida or Michigan or local or the FBI. At least