Her Good Name

by Josi S. Kilpack

  He pulled it away sharply, and the other detective stepped up behind her chair. She imagined he had a gun pointed at her head and forced herself to clasp her hands back on the disgusting tabletop. There were coffee stains and who knew what else stuck to the surface. Her lap was a safer place for her hands. Digging deep inside herself, she prayed for the Lord to help her do this. She had to get beyond the panic; she had to come across as reasonable.

  “Look,” she said. “I don’t know what’s happening here. But I was in Idaho Falls in April. I was working for Almo Insurance. My last day was on April sixteenth. I just went back this last Thursday for some part-time work. I haven’t been to California for years, I’ve never had anything to do with drugs, and I picked up my niece and nephews because they are my family and I missed them. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I’ll apologize to my sister. But please, something is wrong here. I tried to file a fraud report last week because some credit has been used in my name. The officer said I had to have a fraud report from a credit company first. Whoever charged all this stuff must have been arrested too—the warrant is for her, not me. She’s the one you need to talk to.”

  Detective Ross looked at her as if she were telling him the sky was falling. She wished it was. Surely that would be easier to explain than this.

  “Don’t you see?” Chrissy said, leaning forward, trying to make him understand. “This isn’t me. There is someone else pretending to be me.”

  “And let me guess,” he said, leaning toward her so that their faces were only a few inches apart. His eyes narrowed. “This other Chressaidia is the one who kidnapped your niece and nephews today?”

  Inside her head Chrissy screamed at the top of her lungs.

  The door opened, and they both turned to look as a young woman came in and handed the detective another sheet of paper. Chrissy’s stomach dropped. Please don’t let it be something else.

  The detective scanned the information as the woman left the room and Chrissy watched his eyes.

  “Hmmm,” he said in a tone that gave her no reason to let her guard down. “You say you tried to file a fraud report last week?”

  “Yes,” Chrissy said. Had they found something that proved her story? “The officer wouldn’t let me do it, though. He said I had to get proof from a creditor but none of them will give me proof without a police report.”

  The detective leaned back. “That’s really weird, since Chressaidia Josefina Salazar recently filed a fraud report in San Diego County.”

  “What?” Chrissy breathed.

  “However, she had proof that allowed an investigation to begin.”

  The room spun for almost a second and Chrissy used every bit of strength she had to look this man in the eye. She felt emotion rising in her face but had lost the ability to hold it back. “Please,” she said, her voice choking. “Please help me. Someone has stolen my identity, and they are slowly ruining my life. I don’t know what to do, but maybe you do.”

  His eyes showed the smallest amount of softening, and she sniffed and raised her hands to wipe at her eyes, looking away from him.

  “If you came into the police station, there would be a number associated with it. What day did you come in?”

  “Um, a week ago today,” Chrissy said, shuffling through her memory to find the date. “I spoke to an officer, and he said all he could do was file a complaint until I had proof.”

  “A complaint is a police report. You only needed the creditor proof for us to start the actual investigation.”

  Chrissy was confused. “You mean, the number I had all this time was what I needed to get the information from the people that say I owe them money?” She was going to lose her mind!

  The detective stood up. “Hold on a few minutes, okay?”

  Chrissy nodded numbly and tried to make sense of everything. The idea that she’d had the number she needed all along was almost too much to bear.

  It was fifteen minutes before Detective Ross came back to the room. His expression was different, softer, but Chrissy still watched him warily.

  “I have good news and bad news,” he said as he sat down, some papers in his hand. She hoped he would let her choose which news to hear first, but he didn’t.

  “The good news is that I spoke to your sister and she’s not filing charges.”

  Chrissy had all but forgotten about that issue.

  “I also called to confirm the warrant and there is no mandatory extradition attached, so I don’t have to send you to California if I don’t want to, and I’ve found enough information to make me suspicious about you being the same woman California is looking for anyway.”

  Chrissy didn’t know how to react. This was hope; hope was a good thing—but she wasn’t sure she could believe it. “What’s the bad news?”

  “We still have to process you,” Detective Ross said, hurrying to continue as the idea hit her in the chest like a two-by-four. “But it’s for your own protection. We’ll take your prints and your photo and compare those to the ones on the warrant. They can help eliminate you from being the woman they want, but you will be officially charged.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Chrissy said as her emotions rose up again. “If you believe me, then I shouldn’t be charged at all.”

  “That’s not how the justice system works,” Detective Ross said. “We have two women calling themselves Chressaidia Salazar; what I think doesn’t mean anything. The system will have to figure it out and that means you have to be put into it.”

  “But that means I’ll have a criminal record,” Chrissy said. “I’ll go to jail.”

  “I’ve already called a bondsman,” Ross said. “And I’m going to help you any way I can. We’ll also do all we can to clear up the charges once things are figured out, but that’s the best we can do.”

  Chrissy hung her head and wiped at her eyes again. Finally she nodded and lifted her head, unable to come up with any other solution except the one he’d offered. She’d tried to do so much on her own and was out of options. “Okay,” she said. “What do I have to do?”

  Chapter 46

  Idaho Falls, Idaho

  Wednesday, May 28

  Chrissy blinked her eyes open Wednesday morning and stared at the ceiling dappled with broken sunlight. The light moved with the swaying of the overgrown lilac tree outside her window. She watched the patterns move and shift, grateful to be home, but still feeling overwhelmed and insignificant.

  She’d had to stay at the police station overnight and although everyone had been very nice to her, even giving her a private cell, it had still been a jail cell. The next morning she had gone before a judge with a public defender by her side, told her story, and was ordered to come back in two weeks for a court date. Her attorney had given her his card while Chrissy waited for Amanda to pick her up. It had all been so surreal and despite Amanda wanting to somehow take care of her, Chrissy had to get to work. She’d been glad to spend the day alone in the file room with something to do. When she’d returned home she’d had a bowl of cereal and gone straight to bed. Now it was a new day—Wednesday—and she felt as despondent as ever, despite the sunlight streaming through her window.

  “It’s a beautiful day,” she said to the sunshine—right before she pulled the pillow out from behind her head and put it over her face, screaming as loud as she could. She’d barely slept. The last thing she wanted was to face her life again. At least at night she had an excuse to do nothing. It had been nearly 4:00 a.m. when she last looked at the clock. She’d hoped to sleep at least until eight since she hadn’t gotten any sleep in jail the night before. Jail! It was such a nightmare.

  She traded in the pillow for her bedspread, pulling it over her face.

  Twenty minutes passed as she tried to make a plan for the day.

  Thirty minutes passed while she tried to fantasize that it really was all a bad dream.

  Forty minutes passed without her succeeding at either attempt to get control of her thoughts.

  Sh
e stayed under the covers, but was beginning to wonder why it had always seemed like such an escape. Having her head covered with the bedspread didn’t protect her from her problems and her back was beginning to hurt from being in bed so long. Finally, in one movement, she threw the bedspread back and sat up.

  When Amanda had dropped Chrissy off yesterday, her friend had turned to her and said, “You’ll be okay. You’re the strongest woman I know.” The words mocked her today. She didn’t feel strong, and she had little hope that she would be okay. Amanda must not know many people.

  Chrissy grunted as she swung her feet over the bed and went about pulling the covers up.

  “Eight, nine, ten, eleven,” she counted to herself as she put her pillows in place. A magazine had once said eleven pillows was the magic number for a perfect bed arrangement. So Chrissy had kept her eyes open for shades of green and purple that would match the quilt she’d made last summer. Once she had them all, she realized the magazine was right. Eleven pillows made the bed look like something right out of Better Homes and Gardens.

  Once done with the bed, she straightened her bedroom, then stared at her scriptures on the bedside table. It was only 7:30; she had plenty of time to read her scriptures, but there was a reluctance to turn to them since she knew there were no instructions on how to clear your name should you be falsely accused. It was tempting to think that nothing within those pages had any relevance to what she was facing. Amanda had said Chrissy had beaten the odds over and over again, and she was right. Chrissy had overcome having not one, but two deadbeat parents, withstood a lifetime of prejudice and discrimination, and still developed a strong testimony of the gospel. She’d survived a few broken hearts, made a life, and loved the people in it with her whole heart.

  But I feel so lost right now.

  As soon as the thought passed through her mind, she was reminded that there was One who knew her, knew everything about her, and she hadn’t even given Him a chance to help—other than the begging, pleading prayers that only made her more angry when they weren’t answered. She kept reminding herself that there was truth here. And Detective Ross was helping her prove herself now.

  She picked up her scriptures, moving her thumb over her name imprinted on the cover. Amanda’s parents had given her these scriptures on her baptism day. She’d treasured them ever since. With her legs crossed on her bed, she put on her glasses from the bedside table and opened to 1 Nephi 3:7, when Nephi tells his father that he knows the Lord gives no commandments without preparing a way for His children to accomplish those things. It was likely the most oft-quoted scripture from the Book of Mormon and it had always held great power for Chrissy. Many times she’d drawn strength from the fact that she’d been sent to Earth with a purpose and a plan, which meant every trial she encountered was part of that plan. And with the Lord, she could figure it out and be stronger for it.

  Right?

  She closed her eyes and tried to push past the despair. She had always been an optimist—looking for the good in any situation. Even though she didn’t feel it, she had to find a way to believe that way again. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. There is a plan, she told herself. There is a reason. So how did all this factor in? What part of the plan was this?

  And then the anger came through again. She’d heard once that wishing for understanding in life was the booby prize. Did it matter if she understood? Would she go crazy before she ever got what she was after? There were plenty of other things in life she didn’t understand, why should this be any different?

  What she needed was momentum, accomplishment, and the satisfaction of knowing she’d done everything she could do to make the result of this nightmare as positive as it could be. If she sat back and simply waited for understanding, nothing would happen.

  She read the scripture again, then listed in her mind all the things in her favor—including her arrest last night. Like Detective Ross had said, she was in the system now, her picture and fingerprints would soon be on the national database. She was making progress, and that’s where her focus needed to be.

  With that in mind, she knelt down, offered her morning prayer, and proceeded to get ready for work.

  Chapter 47

  Livvy nibbled on her fingernail Wednesday afternoon, trying not to think about what she’d done, trying to convince herself it had been the right thing. I didn’t press charges, she reminded herself, but she still felt sick to her stomach. She didn’t understand why things had happened the way they did, but it wasn’t her fault that Chrissy got arrested, was it?

  The kids were outside playing with Doug’s mangy dog while she watched TV, waiting for Doug to come home and give her reasons to stop thinking at all. That was the only good part of this—Doug had been proud of her. He’d said she was finally standing on her own two feet. It felt good.

  The phone rang, and she looked at it, hoping it wasn’t Doug’s family. They weren’t happy with his decision to bring his new girlfriend and her three children into his house full-time. Doug swore they’d come around, and Livvy hoped so, especially now that a reconciliation between her and Chrissy was impossible. It made her feel strangely vulnerable to have no family around, but those thoughts led her to feeling ungrateful. She had Doug after all.

  Oh, and the kids too.

  The phone rang again, snapping Livvy out of her introspection. She ran to it and answered on the fourth ring.

  “Hello, this is Livvy.” Twice now someone had thought she was Anna, Doug’s former girlfriend, so she made it a point to introduce herself right away.

  “Uh, yes—I’m looking for Silvaria Salazar Menendez. The listed phone number gave this as a forwarding—”

  “Yes, I’m Livvy.”

  “Silvaria Salazar Menen—”

  “Yes, that’s me.” How many times did she need to say this?

  The man on the other end of the line let out a breath. “Oh, good. Um . . . my name is Jon Nasagi and I’m a psychologist at the University Hospital in San Diego. Do you have a sister by the name of Chressaidia Josefina Salazar?”

  Nathan came running inside, and he let the dog in as well. Livvy pulled up against the wall. She hated that dog—one more thing she hoped would get better in time.

  “Yes,” Livvy said, her stomach tight again. Was this something about last night? She didn’t want to talk about it to anyone. But why would they be calling from San Diego?

  The man continued. “I’m not looking for your sister, but I am looking for her family, perhaps someone we can talk to about her son. I got your information from her insurance company.”

  “Her son?” Livvy asked, pressing herself even closer to the wall as Nathan ran past her and the dog followed. She covered up the receiver. “Nathan, get that dog out of here. Vamos.”

  “Yes, her son. Didn’t you know she had a son?”

  “Chrissy doesn’t have a son.” She yelped as the dog ran to her and started licking her hand. She turned away sharply, holding the receiver with both hands. Abuelita had hated animals in the house, and Livvy and Chrissy both inherited her dislike. They were dirty and smelly—especially this one.

  “Nathan!” she yelled, trying to push the dog away with her foot.

  “Nathan?” the man on the phone said. “Is that what she wanted to name him?”

  “You’ve got the wrong person. Chrissy doesn’t have any kids,” she said again, watching the dog carefully. Nathan finally headed for the door, but he didn’t shut it all the way, which meant that the dumb dog could run in at any time.

  “No, she does,” the man said, his voice sounding excited. “She gave birth four weeks ago, but she abandoned the child at the hospital. When did you last see your sister?”

  Livvy tried to reach the door with her foot so she could kick it shut, but the phone cord was too short. “I saw my sister a couple weeks ago.”

  “In Idaho?”

  “Of course,” Livvy said. Where else would she be? Nathan and Carlos were squealing, chasing the dog around the
patchy back lawn. “But like I said, you’ve got the wrong Chrissy anyway. She didn’t have a baby a month ago.” Chrissy had never even had sex—another thing Livvy didn’t understand.

  “She did have a baby, and we need to find placement for him.”

  “She didn’t,” Livvy said, then she tensed as the kids headed toward the back door again. “Look, I’ve got to go, but you’ve got the wrong Chressaidia,” she said. She hung up and lunged for the door, managing to slam it shut just seconds before the dog’s scratching, dirty paws could hit the floor.

  Chapter 48

  Chrissy knocked, and as soon as Micah opened the door she walked past him. It was hot today, and her car didn’t have air-conditioning. Her eyeliner was melting. She’d worked at Almo until 4:00, but on her lunch break she made a few phone calls and took advantage of having a computer and fax machine so close by. Finally she had some success.

  “How are you doing?” Micah asked with concern.

  Chrissy waved it away. He knew she’d been arrested—Amanda had called him—but Chrissy was way past that and didn’t want to risk getting hung up on it again. “I’m fine,” she said. “In fact, I’m great!”

  Micah lifted his eyebrows. “Really? You ought to get arrested more often.”

  Chrissy smiled. “It does have a way of putting things in perspective, and apparently it solidifies one’s motivations—I highly recommend it.”

  Micah chuckled.

  “So I got some statements,” she said, holding the faxed papers out to him and beaming with her triumph. She’d done something! “You wouldn’t believe what I had to do to get them.”

  “Sell your firstborn?” Micah asked, taking the papers and giving her a half-smile. “It seems that was the going rate when I was trying to do it.”

  “Worse—since I don’t have a firstborn,” Chrissy said, trying not to let the fact sting. “I had to send over my birth certificate, most recent bank statement, a letter from the bank regarding my claim, my Social Security card, my father’s proof of citizenship, and a copy of my most recent police report.”