Eventually, we talk about the strange visitor to the library. Father Ramon identifies him as Hugo Escalante, an employee of a woman named Carmen Viramontes. “I knew her husband very well. Marcos. He came to church every Sunday and was a generous supporter of the parish.”
Generous supporter. That means he’s a rich guy who donates bunches of money.
“Marcos passed away two years ago.”
Don’t I feel like an a-hole.
“He always spoke of his wife with great love and affection.”
“You’ve never met her?” I ask.
“Marcos and his wife immigrated from Mexico years ago. Neither of them ever gained legal residency. Before he passed away, he confided in me that she suffered from a crippling fear that if she ever left the house, she would be caught and arrested.”
“That would explain why she hasn’t called the cops.” It makes sense. A woman whose residency is in question would probably have a greater chance of being deported than having her missing child found.
Ramon continues. “Carmen’s housekeeper, Leona, is her go-between to the outside world. Leona came to me after services on Sunday and asked to speak with me privately. She told me Elizabeth, Carmen’s daughter, had gone missing. Vanished without a trace.”
“A runaway?”
“They don’t think so. Elizabeth is a freshman at USC and, by all accounts, an A student. Her mother called the school, and it seems she stopped attending classes with no notice.”
“That doesn’t mean she didn’t run away,” I say.
“Carmen may not be a legal resident, but she’s a wealthy woman. Elizabeth has a bank account at her disposal. She hasn’t touched it since she disappeared.”
“How does Carmen make her money?”
Ramon answers my questions. They may seem random, but by now, he’s used to my zigzagging thought processes. “Marcos ran a very successful chain of electronics stores. Super Tech.”
As clear as day, the commercial I had seen a handful of times runs through my mind. A man in a plaid suit stands in an electronics store. He swings a long sword through giant price tags and yells, “Nobody slashes prices like Teddy!”
Teddy.
“I thought those stores were owned by someone named Teddy,” I say. “The cheesy guy in the ads.”
“That’s an actor. When Marcos came to the States, he didn’t have much money and spoke very poor English. When he opened his first store, he wanted to put a face behind the store that people would find likable. So he hired a white actor to pretend to be the owner.”
“And neither he nor his wife ever became a citizen?”
He nods. “It’s complicated. And at this point, she’s been here too long without a visa or green card to seek citizenship.”
It’s not uncommon for undocumented residents to operate small businesses. I don’t know how they do it, but they do. The fact that Marcos was able to not only open one business but a whole chain is impressive. I make a note to myself to look into that and figure out why I haven’t become more successful with my advantage of being a natural-born citizen.
It seems like a pretty obvious case of a runaway… except the money. I wonder why Elizabeth didn’t clean out the account when she ran away. I would have.
I did.
I agree to visit Carmen tomorrow and get more information about the case. I haven’t had a paying gig in two months, and I need the money—and a new lamp.
We chat for a bit longer before Ramon segues into the subject of my life. “Have you had any occurrences recently?”
I consider telling him about last night’s episode but decide against it. There's no reason to worry him. I casually try to cover and tell him everything’s perfectly all right now. “All fine here, thank you. How are you?”
He stares. I can read people pretty well, and I can tell he’s reading me and not buying my story. Ramon knows me better than I give him credit for, so he also knows I’m done talking about myself.
“There’s an upcoming exhibit at the Fowler Museum,” he says. “Ancient Aztec Art. I thought a visit wouldn’t hurt.”
In our research to find the name of this demon inside me, we’ve decided to move beyond the typical Judeo-Christian demons and investigate other religions and mythologies. After all, God and the devil are older than Judaism and more pervasive than the usual Euro-Middle Eastern history, so we might find Dudley’s real name mentioned in the texts or artwork of other civilizations.
I have to give Father Ramon credit—for a Catholic priest, he has an open mind about other religions. Sometimes.
“I’ll check it out,” I say.
“May I accompany you? Two sets of eyes are better than one.”
We decide on a weekend and set a date.
* * *
I enter the front door of our apartment to find Paige behind a small fort of bankers’ boxes. She pokes her head out from behind the cardboard fortress like a meerkat.
“Hi,” she says in a guilty tone that matches her expression.
I know immediately what’s happening. Without saying a word, I dump my keys on the table near Sir Hiss’s terrarium and join her on the floor near our couch. “Where did we leave off?”
Paige hands me an accordion file filled with documents. “You’re on T’s,” she says. “I’m still on C’s.”
I remove a handful of name-change forms for the County of Los Angeles.
“How was work?” Paige asks, making idle chitchat as she pores over the paper in her hand.
“I saw Father Ramon tonight.”
“Tonight?” She whips her head to the window, as if only now realizing it’s dark outside. “Does this mean you have a new case?”
I shrug, trying to be nonchalant. “I’m meeting someone tomorrow. We’ll see.”
Paige returns her attention to the files in her hand. “I ordered dinner. Chinese.” She glances up at me. She knows Chinese is my favorite, so this must be her way of apologizing for the evening ahead.
“Sounds perfect,” I say to let her know that I’m okay with tonight’s plan.
She smiles, and we dig into the work for the evening.
Paige grew up
