Stunner

by Niki Danforth

“Well, I understand. When I was ten, I wanted to go to Disney World more than anything.” Juliana has a slightly dreamy look on her face. “But my mother said we couldn’t afford it. It broke my heart.”

  OK. Wait a minute. Now I’m back to thinking about Scranton Gang member Bobby Taylor and all those hang-up calls, which seemed to have stopped today, by the way. Didn’t the police say in one of the 1987 newspaper articles that the Scranton Gang tried to go south to Orlando, to Disney World? And didn’t Joe Taylor tell me the same thing about Teresa?

  I discreetly study Juliana’s face for any sign of Teresa in the bank surveillance photo published in the newspaper. She’s in her late thirties, and I subtract twenty-five years. She could have been thirteen in 1987.

  Spit it out, Ronnie. Pay attention to your suspicions on this. It’s really time to leave behind any delusions you’ve continued to entertain that Teresa might possibly be a friend or cousin of Juliana’s. The truth has been staring you in the face the whole time, and you’ve known it deep inside. It’s simple. My big brother has fallen head over heels for Teresa Gonzalez—the gun-toting Teresa Gonzalez of the Scranton Gang. Wow.

  My heart pounds. I guess it’s pretty obvious that this refined creature sitting before me and the teen Scranton bank robber I read about are one and the same. Still, I have nothing concrete to go on, yet. Again, I tell myself that I don’t want to upset Frank with what he’ll consider to be a wild theory on my part, especially since I don’t really have any proof. My brother does deserve some happiness after Joanie’s death.

  Asking Juliana, who’s pretty much a stranger, directly, “Hey, are you by any chance a formerly armed, law-breaking juvenile delinquent?” is also not an option right this minute. That would send her straight for the hills, and I’d never get to the truth. I’ll have to push ahead cautiously until I’m sure of the facts.

  ~~~~~

  I sink into my most comfortable upholstered chair with my tablet and view old 1990s commercials for Disney World on YouTube. Watching these ads from twenty years before, I imagine what it would have been like for Teresa Gonzalez to arrive in Orlando at that time. She may have been a convicted juvenile offender, but she was still a kid like any other. With Disney World at the top of her to-do list, she probably believed if she could just get there, she might change her life and make everything better. Am I a romantic, an optimist, or what?

  Did Teresa thumb her way down to Florida?—a scary proposition that would make every mother shudder. Did she turn up unannounced on the doorstep of Carmela Suarez, her friend from the group home? Or did she first go to Disney World? Did she even have any money to get around? I think about Teresa navigating a new town at the age of sixteen in the days before cell phones, the Internet, and easy access to information.

  I look at a school picture of Teresa that Will Benson got through his social worker contact in Pennsylvania. And even though her dark hair hides a lot of her face, from what I can see she looks like any other normal, pretty teenager at that time. Do I detect a resemblance to Juliana? Could be. Hard to say.

  I navigate the online Disney World job site and click onto Housekeeping. I read the application page and think about Teresa wandering around Disney World to find the employment office. I imagine her filling out a paper application in the waiting room. Was she nervous? Probably.

  I have to hand it to Teresa—or Juliana, if that’s who she is now. It definitely took a lot of guts to run away from the group home, hitchhike her way south, show up on a doorstep to ask someone who was probably simply an acquaintance for a place to crash, and then talk her way into a job at Disney. If she made her way from there into the life that my brother’s girlfriend has today, well, the more power to her.

  ~~~~~

  The dark-haired teenager sticks her thumb out from the side of the highway. A school-sized backpack, her only belonging, sits on the ground next to her feet. She nervously looks at the passing cars, biting a fingernail on her nonthumbing hand.

  A metallic blue van slows down, but she gets one look at the two men inside, grabs her backpack and takes off as fast as she can, away from the van. She stays near the highway and runs against the traffic.

  A greasy-haired guy leans out the van window laughing and yelling to her, “Catch you next time, bitch.” They drive away. He looks like Jimmy, who attacked me in the alley behind the Moosic Motel.

  Then another vehicle pulls up. The girl cautiously walks up to peek in, and the driver swings the door open. “Come on. You can’t stand out here by yourself. It’s dangerous.” The voice is kind and familiar.

  The girl looks in and I can see, too. It’s Tommy, my son, smiling and beckoning the girl to safety. She climbs inside.

  Then, out of nowhere, the blue van races up from behind and rear-ends Tommy’s car, pushing him and his passenger off the road.

  I bolt upright in bed. Another one of my bizarre dreams. They are definitely on the upswing since menopause hit five years before.

  I look at my clock. Ugh. Three-forty-five a.m. My head drops back on my pillow. My eyes stay wide open. What a drag.

  Next thing I know, I’m online booking a flight to Orlando. I need to find out more. Kind of nuts, I guess.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Strolling past the iconic Cinderella Castle in the Magic Kingdom, I think back fifteen years to bringing Tommy, Brooke, and Jessica to Disney World. Tommy, fourteen at the time, was almost too old to be excited about going on this trip, or so he thought. But Disney World seduced him just as much as it did nine-year-old Brooke and six-year-old Jess.

  As I walk by a cluster of little girls showering Snow White with adoration, I envision a sixteen-year-old Teresa standing here, watching them. Did she imagine herself portraying Snow White, or better yet, Cinderella, also surrounded by adoring little girls? Her cousin, Joe Taylor, did say she was great with kids in her pre-Scranton Gang days. What exactly were Teresa’s dreams once she landed at Disney World?

  I look around and shake my head. What am I doing following this phantom girl all the way to Florida? Even my niece, who unknowingly started me down this road, would think I’m nuts.

  Hey, professional P.I. Will Benson didn’t think I was so crazy when I called him from the airport early this morning to share my suspicion that Juliana Wentworth and Teresa Gonzalez are one and the same. He did agree with me that I should gather proof before speaking with my brother.

  I hop on the monorail for a ten-thirty meeting with an assistant manager at Disney’s Contemporary Resort hotel. This happens to be where the kids and I stayed when we were here. We liked it because it’s conveniently close to the Cinderella Castle, the gateway to the theme park.

  Anyway, even though Will wasn’t happy to learn that I was on my way to Orlando, he did get in touch with a former private eye pal down here who’s now senior management in Disney World security. Will’s buddy says this assistant manager, a Linda Alvarez, started out in housekeeping twenty-some years previously and worked her way up. He also told Will that everybody says she’s friendly and always knew a lot of her fellow employees. The security guy made a call so that I could meet her. Maybe she’ll remember Teresa.

  I walk into Chef Mickey’s, one of the hotel restaurants, and the hostess directs me to an attractive woman in a navy pantsuit with a brunette bob who gives me a small wave. We introduce ourselves and order coffee as Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, Goofy, Minnie Mouse, and Pluto meander around the restaurant chatting it up with the guests.

  Linda Alvarez is the epitome of low-keyed corporate confidence. She’s sociable and professional, phrasing her words precisely. I’ve always been interested in the paths women take to succeed in life, so I ask her a few questions about herself and working in this fantasy world for children. Linda gives me the broad strokes—her start in housekeeping twenty-two years before and her hard work and steady progression through the ranks to her current position at this hotel.

  I glance behind her as another sleek monorail whisks by. “Linda…” I shift my gaze
back to her. “I’m trying to find someone who may have a connection to my family. She came to Orlando some twenty-plus-years ago, and she also got a job in housekeeping here at Disney World.”

  “OK.” She looks at me for a long beat. “Any more details?” She chuckles. “Disney World was much smaller then, but a lot of us were still working in housekeeping at the numerous hotels at the time.”

  “She wanted to be close to the Cinderella Castle in the Magic Kingdom Theme Park,” I say. “And Disney’s Contemporary Resort is the closest hotel, so I figured I’d start here.” I pull out the school picture and slide it across the table to Linda. “Her name was Teresa Gonzalez, but she may have changed it.”

  “Why would she do that?” Linda asks.

  “Because she ran away and probably didn’t want to be found.” I add, “Plus she was underage and needed a job.”

  Linda studies the picture, and a slow smile plays around the corners of her mouth. “I’d already been cleaning guestrooms for about a year when Terry started. And you’re right. She worked in this hotel. We both worked here.”

  A waitress refills our coffee, and I ask, “Terry? Teresa?”

  “She was Terry Jones, not Teresa Gonzalez.” Linda smiles.

  “She changed her last name, too? She must have had phony papers.” I shake my head. “And really wanted a fresh start.”

  “Sounds like it.” Linda hands back the photograph. “How old was she at the time?”

  “Probably sixteen,” I answer. “How’d it go for her here?”

  “I remember she was a tough kid, but she kept her head low and worked really hard. She had a great attitude—”

  “Disney World was her dream come true,” I say. “That’s what I heard, anyway.”

  “So that may explain why this kid was so happy changing beds for two years,” Linda answers.

  “Where did Teresa—I mean, Terry, live?” I ask.

  “She knew another girl who worked here, and I think she lived with that girl’s family, at least in the beginning.” Linda pauses, thinking back. “Carmela, Carmela Suarez in laundry services. Her family had an apartment in Orlando.”

  I nod in agreement. “I believe Carmela Suarez was Terry’s contact down here—”

  “You already seem to know a lot about this mystery person Teresa,” she interrupts, “…who may have a connection to your family.” Her amused expression tells me she’s not exactly buying my story. I sigh and glance again behind Linda as another monorail whisks by. Damn, I’ve got to learn to hold back more of what I know as I talk to people.

  Linda smiles. “Hey, take it easy. Dave in security says his friend in New Jersey vouches for you.” Her voice is kind. “You must have a good reason.” I look into her eyes with gratitude.

  “Carmela still works at Disney World, by the way,” she says. “Just like me.”

  “Hope she’s not washing sheets and towels twenty years later,” I quip.

  “No.” Linda laughs. “These days Carmela is a Disney’s PhotoPass photographer. She often hangs out around the Cinderella Castle taking pictures of guests in the park.”

  “What about Terry Jones? Anything else you can tell me about her?” I ask. “What was she like?”

  “What I remember about Terry is that she learned as much as she could from everybody around her,” Linda says. “It was as if she was on a self-improvement mission.”

  I’m not really surprised. “What do you mean?” I probe.

  “You know, trying to better the way she spoke, her manners, her grooming. Plus, she was really good with people,” Linda adds. “She was a quick study and reliable. It paid off for her.”

  “How so?” I finish my second cup of coffee.

  “First, she auditioned to portray one of the Disney Character Look-alikes—”

  “You mean one of the fairy tale characters around the Cinderella Castle?” I think back to earlier, watching Snow White surrounded by a gaggle of girls.

  “Yes. I don’t remember which character, but she did that for a while. I guess a couple of years.”

  “After that, she must have been about twenty,” I interject.

  “I guess that would make sense. Then a spot opened up at the front desk of this hotel. Terry applied and got the job,” Linda says. “I remember she worked at the desk for four or five years and did great at it.”

  I do some quick math and realize Teresa/Terry could have been working the front desk while I visited here with my kids and their friends. “So, Terry did that job until she was around twenty-five?”

  Linda shrugs. “I don’t really know much about Terry’s life then, because I was in night school studying the hospitality business and working in reservations by day. So at that point I didn’t see as much of her as I did during our years together in housekeeping.”

  I try to pay for our coffee, but Linda intercepts the bill and quickly signs for it. “I do remember a man once showed up at the front desk and started hassling her. He was bad news. Somebody from home, I think,” she says. “Come to think of it, she showed up one day with several large bruises on her arm.”

  “You think he pushed her and she fell?” I ask.

  “I remember they looked like hand imprints as if someone might have grabbed her,” Linda says. “We were having lemonade, sitting outside in the sun during a break. She took off her jacket, and I saw the marks on her arm. You could see she had forgotten about them for a moment, but then she quickly put her jacket back on to cover them up.

  “Did he get her fired?” I ask.

  “No. I don’t know how Terry got rid of him, but, as I said, she was tough. She figured out a way,” Linda tells me. “After that I kind of lost track of her.”

  I’m dying to show Linda the picture of Juliana at the cocktail party, but then my story about why I’m here would totally fall apart. I’d have to explain too much, and she might caution Carmela Suarez not to talk to me.

  I thank Linda for her help as we walk out of the restaurant. In the lobby, she pulls out her cell phone, speed-dials a number and asks if Carmela Suarez is working today and where. She clicks off.

  “Just as I thought. Carmela’s taking pictures near Cinderella’s Castle. She’ll be easy to find, and I’ll call and tell her to expect you. Maybe she can fill in some blanks about what’s happened to Terry.”

  We say goodbye, and Linda leaves. I stand a moment and watch two young women working behind the front desk of the hotel. They’re dressed stylishly and professionally, and they’re beautifully groomed, with understated make-up. One has her hair pulled back sleekly, and the other has a great shoulder-length haircut. Most importantly, they handle themselves well with the guests at the front desk.

  I imagine Teresa Gonzalez, now Terry Jones, in their shoes more than fifteen years ago. In the span of four years, from age sixteen to twenty, she’d already substantially pulled herself up in life from the group home in Scranton as a juvenile offender. What a turnaround. Kind of like her cousin, Joe Taylor.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I stroll around the plaza in front of the castle and spot a stocky, jowly brunette in blue shorts, white shirt, and a khaki photographer’s vest, snapping pictures of a family sitting on the castle steps. She finishes, and I call out, “Ms. Suarez.” She walks over to me with her camera, looking worried.

  “Hi, I’m Ronnie Lake. Linda Alvarez at the Contemporary Resort told me I’d find you here.” I reach out my hand to shake.

  She does so hesitantly. “I’m Carmela Suarez.” Her face still shows concern. “Linda says you want to know about Terry Jones.”

  Well, OK, let’s not waste any time with friendly get-to-know-yous. “Right,” I say and come to the point. “I understand you two came down from Scranton twenty-plus years ago and that she stayed with your family in Orlando for a while. I’m hoping you might know where she is these days and can help me find her.”

  Carmela’s body language is closed and tense. “Before I talk about Terry, who are you?” she asks. She’s not ho
stile, just concerned. “I mean besides your name.”

  “I live in New Jersey, and there may be a connection between Terry and my family,” I say, trying on purpose this time to keep things vague. Plus, I’d rather not concoct some farfetched story if I can avoid it.

  I make sure my tone is friendly. “It sounds as though she turned her life around when she worked here at Disney—”

  “I hope you did not go into detail with Ms. Alvarez about Scranton, you know, Terry and me,” Carmela interrupts. “I’ve worked here almost twenty-four years, and I have a perfect record—”

  “Hold it—”

  “We both wanted a fresh start—”

  I put my hands up to signal her to stop. “I didn’t tell Ms. Alvarez anything about your history back in Scranton. That’s in the past, and it seems you’ve been a good employee at Disney. Terry, too, when she was here.” I smile. “Do you have time to talk for a few minutes?”

  Carmela exhales. “I can take a ten-minute break.” Her body relaxes noticeably. “First, Ms. Lake, Terry and I weren’t friends or anything up in Scranton. We didn’t do this run-away-to-Disney thing together. I left a month before she did when I aged out of the system there.”

  “Please call me Ronnie,” I insist.

  She sits on the castle steps and motions for me to do the same. “Terry heard me talking about my aunt in Orlando when we were still stuck in that group home. I moved down here the minute I turned eighteen, just wanting to stay out of trouble. All of a sudden she shows up one day at my aunt’s apartment with a black eye and a fat lip.”

  “Oh my god,” I say. “What happened to her?”

  “The last ride she hitched, the guy who drove her into Orlando…well, it turned out it wasn’t a free ride.” Carmela shakes her head. “She resisted, and he beat her up, but she got away. Next thing, she’s at our front door asking if she can crash with us until she gets on her feet.”

  Carmela looks at me with exasperation written all over her face. “Terry was just a kid, and she had no money. If she got picked up by the police, I was worried my name would come up, and that would cause trouble for my aunt. We took her in.”