“Since last week. She attends school at USC and lives here. She’s a freshman, but I let her have her freedom. If she’s gone overnight, she’ll send a text just to let me know she’s safe.”
“When was the last time you saw or heard from her?”
“Wednesday morning before she left for school.”
I ask about Elizabeth’s phone, thinking we could track its location. Carmen has already tried, but it’s been turned off. I ask about Elizabeth’s car. Carmen says they found it in a school parking lot. We run through all the For Dummies ways to track down a person, and it sounds like Carmen’s done everything she can to find her daughter—except call the police.
“Tell me about her friends and boyfriends.”
Carmen exchanges a glance with Leona. “She had a boyfriend, but I don’t even know his name. He never came to the house. I didn’t think it was serious, but a week before she disappeared, I overheard her talking with him on the phone. She was telling him it was over. It sounded like an argument. I asked her about it later that night, but she didn’t want to talk to me about it. When it comes to sex, you know how mothers and daughters can be.”
“Yes. Yes I do.” No. No I do not.
“Since that argument and since she disappeared, I worry that…”
She stops herself—the first break in her composure. I don’t press, hoping for more genuine emotions to break through. Instead, Carmen collects herself. “I worry that he might have something to do with this.”
I’m disappointed by the lack of an outburst. “Do you know where he is or how I can find him?”
Carmen shakes her head.
Turning to Leona, I ask, “Did you ever meet him? Do you know anything about him?”
She is momentarily caught off guard. “No. I’m sorry.”
Back to Carmen, I ask, “Is he a student?”
“I think. But I don’t know if he goes to USC.”
I ask about Elizabeth’s friends, and Carmen is forthcoming about everyone she knows. I get a list of friends’ names and numbers, though she claims to have called most of them and says they are all worried and no one has information.
We keep talking, and I ask another round of questions that seem to go nowhere. Carmen is starting to open up, and her answers finally feel off script. I ask, “Can I see her room?”
Leona rises and leads the way, and I walk beside Carmen up the stairs to the second floor. The fact that there are no personal decorations downstairs doesn’t register until we make it to the top. I realize I saw no family photos, souvenirs from vacations, clothes, or bags lying around. Downstairs is only for show.
Upstairs is a different matter. Family portraits line the wall—images of Elizabeth growing up and professional photographs of Carmen, including some that suggest she used to be a model or an actress. There are portraits of a man I can only assume is—was—her husband.
There are no candid shots. These are posed portraits, assembled to show a family. Curiously, they don’t show the entire family together. Everyone is there, just in different pictures. Even my dysfunctional family posed for a group photo once in a while.
One picture strikes me—a man standing in front of a store called Super Tech. It’s not Teddy. “Is this your husband?”
Carmen nods. “Marcos. The day he opened the first store.” I can tell by Carmen’s tone that we’re back on script.
I toss some underhanded softballs to see if any useful information can be culled from casual conversation. “Still open?”
“No. This was taken in 1993. We had to expand years later and closed down the first store.”
I point at the photo. “That must have been a proud day.”
“Yes. When Marcos arrived in America, he had only a hundred dollars. He worked and saved up many years to open that store. He was a hardworking man, and it was important to him to prove he could live the American dream.”
Carmen wipes a tear from her cheek and waits for me to finish admiring the photo. Instead, I think about her delivery. I’ve only taken one acting class, but I can tell she’s totally indicating.
At this moment, I can’t figure out what bothers me about the whole thing. Unhappy marriage? Business in debt? Loan sharks? My only suspect, Leona?
I shake it off, and we continue on to Elizabeth’s room. I immediately see her mother’s influence in the decor, though this is the most brightly colored room in the house. Shades of blue and red adorn most every inch of the room. There are fewer pictures of Elizabeth here than in the hall but plenty of pictures of friends. The ones of Elizabeth are from the past few years, as suggested by the red sweater with USC on the chest.
My phone comes out, and I take photos while Carmen and Leona watch patiently. I capture snapshots of the occasional knickknack that catches my attention. Mostly, I take pictures of pictures.
Near the bed are two items of note, a crucifix on the wall and a statue of the Virgin Mary on the bedside table. I’m careful not to get too close to them.
I can’t help but notice how much Elizabeth’s room reminds me of my room when I was younger. A collage of photos above her vanity shows her with friends, just like the one I had. A crucifix hangs above her bed. I had the same thing. Instead of USC cardinal-and-gold pennants, I had blue-and-white pennants. My mother wanted me to be a Nittany Lion, and I was supposed to go to Penn State after high school… before the whole demon thing happened.
I find what I’m looking for when I locate Elizabeth’s laptop sitting on her bed. It strikes me as curious that a freshman at USC would leave
