Her Good Name

by Josi S. Kilpack

  When he got out of bed, he looked at the clock. Chrissy would be in San Diego by now. Where did she sleep? he wondered. Is she okay? He could only hope she’d go directly to the police when she got there and not try to do anything on her own.

  What does she have to lose? he repeated as he headed for the shower. If he’d done the right thing, if pulling away and not pursuing a relationship with her was the right course, then why did he feel so horrible about it? Thank goodness he was going into the office and had plenty of work to do. If he were sentenced to only his own thoughts he’d lose his mind.

  Mallory and Blake were already up, something that surprised him since this was the second week of summer vacation. Mallory was stirring her bowl of cereal that seemed to have gone soggy long ago.

  “Mal?” Micah asked, wondering at her mood. “You okay?”

  He noticed a look pass between his children, then Blake went back to his breakfast. Micah waited for someone to say something. Neither of them did.

  “Mal?” he asked again, moving closer to the table.

  Mallory pressed her lips together, as if that would keep her from saying anything.

  Blake looked up, watched his sister for a moment, then turned his eyes to his dad. “She’s feeling guilty.”

  “For what?” Micah asked.

  Mallory kept stirring.

  Micah pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. “What are you feeling guilty for?” He licked his lips that had suddenly gone dry—he did not feel up to whatever was coming next. It was moments like this that made his inadequacies as a parent rise to the surface.

  “’Cause you won’t help Chrissy because of her,” Blake said.

  Mallory rounded her shoulders, seeming to shrink a little.

  Micah raised his eyebrows. “Is that what you think?”

  She wouldn’t look at him, so he reached out and directed her chin up until she met his eyes. “Is that what you think?” he asked again in a tone that was soft and hopefully trustworthy.

  “She doesn’t like her,” Blake said.

  Micah shot him a look.

  “Well, she doesn’t.”

  “You’re not helping—finish your breakfast.” He turned back to his daughter. “Do you feel guilty about not liking her?”

  Mallory just shrugged, but Micah thought he understood. “Mal, you haven’t done anything wrong. And I would help Chrissy if there was a reason I should, but there isn’t. She’s doing what she thinks is best, and I’m doing what I think is best.”

  “What do you think is best?” Mallory asked in a quiet, little-girl voice.

  Micah paused, then smiled. “Staying here with you guys and praying that everything goes well with Chrissy.”

  Blake cut in. “But don’t you think you should have gone with her or something? I mean, the people she’s after are the same people who messed up your stuff, right? So wouldn’t it be good to be there, too, helping her, making sure she’s okay?”

  “I don’t know,” Micah said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “But I do know that you guys are out of school, I’ve got a loan that’s closing on Thursday, and that although Chrissy’s and my situations are connected, we don’t know how and my stuff isn’t active anymore.”

  “Oh,” Blake said, almost seeming disappointed.

  “And it’s not my fault you’re not helping her?” Mallory asked.

  “Actually,” Micah said. “I’ve been helping her all along and she was very grateful for that. I think I did the right thing, and now she’s doing what she feels is right.”

  “I don’t hate her,” Mallory said.

  Micah smiled and stood up from the table. “I’m glad to hear that, Mal. She’s a very nice lady.” Even if she is nuts to be doing this on her own. Despite his reassurances to the contrary, he hated that he wasn’t helping her somehow, that she was doing this alone. He hoped she wouldn’t do anything stupid.

  “None of this is your fault, okay?”

  Mallory smiled. “Okay—but if you need to help her, you can, I won’t be mad.”

  Micah laughed, stood up, and kissed her on the top of the head. “I’ll keep that in mind.” If only there was something he could do.

  Chapter 62

  Imperial Beach, California

  Hi,” Chrissy said, putting her purse on the counter of The Box Stop and smiling at the woman behind the register. Three walls of PO Boxes surrounded her but she tried not to look for the number listed on the statement. She also tried not to look nervous.

  “Can I help you?” the woman asked in a bored tone. She was white, though it was hard to tell from her over-tanned and weathered skin. She smelled like stale cigarettes and had rolled up the sleeves of her T-shirt, presumably to show off her flabby upper arms that swung back and forth when she moved. Sometimes Chrissy believed people bought magic mirrors that spared them from reality. She wondered where she could buy one, even as she hoped she would never let herself go enough to need one.

  Chrissy had already taken out her driver’s license and now laid it on the counter. “I opened a PO Box here a few months ago, and I’m having trouble with UPS. They want a physical address from me, but I’m never home and can’t have them leave boxes on my doorstep, ya know? So I need a copy of my original application to prove to them that I do have a legitimate physical address, but that they can send packages here and—”

  “I can fill out a shipping verification for you,” the woman said, grabbing a slick-looking paper from a stack without looking and putting it on the counter. “This will be what they need to send packages directly to us. So long as they get the package here between seven am and six pm we can hold it for you.”

  Shoot. Chrissy dug deep to find another reason. “That’s what I thought,” Chrissy said. “And I told them that, but they keep insisting that they need the original application. Something about comparing signatures and stuff like that. I’ve been working on this for weeks, so if I can just get a copy of the original application I can finally be done with the address confirmation.”

  The woman’s expression didn’t change. “Well, I’m not supposed to—”

  “And I know there’s a fee.” Chrissy pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and put it next to her license on the countertop. The woman looked at her and Chrissy held her eyes, smiling in a way she hoped made her look incredibly honest. “I guess that’s what I get for not keeping better track of the copy I got when I filled it out, right?”

  The woman looked from Chrissy to the money and back again. Chrissy held her breath. Please, please, please, she thought. I just need a few more dishonest people so that I can get my life back. She knew she needed to go to the police—and that had been her original goal—but during her fourteen-hour drive, every time a police car came into view her heart leapt to her throat. What if she got pulled over? There was still a warrant out for the other Chressaidia. Was she not supposed to leave the state like Micah said? Would they put Chrissy in jail again? By the time she arrived in San Diego, she’d decided to wait to go to the police until she had as much proof as possible that the Chressaidia they had on record was not her.

  “I think it’s a forty-dollar fee,” the woman said.

  Chrissy felt herself relax and tried not to wince as she pulled out another twenty-dollar bill. She remembered Micah offering her money, and her chest burned. She’d known he’d done it to ease his conscience and she had found it horribly insulting, even if she could have used a few extra dollars. She did not want to feel indebted to him.

  The woman smiled, revealing horrendous teeth that made Chrissy grateful for dental insurance. After putting the forty dollars in her pocket, the woman headed for the back office. A minute later she returned and handed Chrissy a piece of paper, still warm from the copy machine.

  Chrissy scanned the information as she walked away, then she turned back. “Oh, and I forgot my key.” She smiled sweetly. “Could you get my mail for me, too?”

  “We’re not supposed to do tha
t,” the woman said, pointing to a sign that said “Attendant cannot retrieve mail if you forget your key.”

  “However,” the woman continued. “For a forgot-my-key fee I can make an exception.”

  Chapter 63

  Idaho Falls, Idaho

  Around 11:00 Micah was doing a final check on the Jeffsen refinance when his cell phone rang. He picked it up from where it lay on his desk. The number was unfamiliar.

  “This is Micah,” he said, still scanning the computer screen.

  “Micah Heet?” the nasally voice said.

  “Yes,” he said absently, looking closely at the property assessment to make sure it was the most recent version. There had been some discrepancies in the original plat so the land had been resurveyed last week.

  “This is Marsha from Personal Protect. Can ya’ll please verify your account name and access code? The contact code is J as in John, T as in Tom, 34781.”

  Micah straightened in his chair, then reached for his planner. “Just a minute,” he said, flipping to the very back of his planner where the contact code—a sequence they would use when contacting him—and a name and access code were written. There was no heading or company name, just the information that only he would know how to find and what it pertained to.

  “Can you repeat that?” he asked.

  She repeated the contact code, which matched the one given to him by Personal Protect when he enrolled. She then asked him three security questions that he answered correctly. Only then did he read off the letters of the account name, HMEIECTAH—his first and last name scrambled—and the access number, 945593217, a completely random number he’d made up based on no personal dates of importance.

  Micah had subscribed to Personal Protect back in March, after everything had happened. For a yearly fee, they monitored his credit report and would notify him whenever someone ran a credit check. This was the first time he’d heard from them.

  “Perfect,” Marsha said. “I’m calling you because there has been a credit check run against your name and Social Security number. I’m just calling to verify that you were aware of it.”

  “I’m not aware of it,” Micah said, grabbing a pen. “What’s the name of the company running the check?”

  “Dover Haciendas,” Marsha said. “They are a rental agency out of southern California. You’re absolutely certain they would have no reason to run a credit check? You haven’t co-signed a lease or made vacation plans to that area?”

  “None,” Micah said. Southern California, he repeated in his mind. “Can I get their contact information?”

  “I can give you that information,” the woman said. “I’ll also issue a non-verification to the company so credit is not extended. Here’s their number . . .”

  When Micah hung up a minute later, he stared at the address and phone number, unsure what to do with it, but realizing he had a lead. Was he going to ignore it? And, even if he did ignore it, would he withhold it from Chrissy when it might be connected to her situation as well?

  He picked up the phone again, dialed the number he’d just written down, and easily slipped into the introduction he’d perfected when he was fighting the credit card companies. “Yes, hello. My name is Micah Heet, and I understand you ran a credit check in my name. I have recently been the victim of identity theft, and I did not file an application with you, but I need information on who did. I can fax you my criminal fraud report if that would be of assistance in resolving this.”

  Ten minutes and two faxes later, he hung up the phone and stared at the page of notes in front of him. He thought back to the conversation he’d had with his children that morning. They were both worried about Chrissy, but he’d assured them there was no reason for him to be involved. But things were different now.

  He had a choice to make, and he could only hope he’d make the right one for everybody.

  Chapter 64

  Imperial Beach, California

  I’ve double-checked everything,” Eduardo said.

  Chressaidia looked up from the stack of paperwork she’d been studying. They’d abandoned the beach house after clearing the office of everything but Frederico’s body, and found this rental that would let them move in right away. She’d used the name of one of the IDs she’d found in Frederico’s file and the apartment had instantly become their new headquarters. Since then, she’d spent nearly every minute poring over Frederico’s files, overwhelmed by how much she knew nothing about, trying to shore up her planning and put everything in place. “When can we move the guns?”

  “Thursday at noon,” Eduardo answered.

  She wished it were sooner. “When will we pack the truck?”

  “Wednesday night, after dark. Everything is ready.”

  “Nothing can go wrong,” Chressaidia ordered, but there were still so many variables. Eduardo didn’t yet have the truck in his possession; Frederico’s body was still at the old office. And yet, she’d planned well. She’d worked hard for this. “We have no room for mistakes.”

  “I know,” Eduardo said. “It’s only a few more days. Everything will be fine.”

  There was a pounding at the door and they both turned to look at it. Who could be here? Chressaidia met Eduardo’s eyes. He nodded while she went to the back bedroom, closing the door enough so she was not seen, but could still hear the exchange. They’d only filed the application in a man’s name and said no one else would be living with him.

  Eduardo opened the front door.

  “Hello,” he said as if the person on the other side of the door was someone he knew.

  “There’s a problem with your application,” a man said. “You’ve got a choice—either leave the deposit with me and get out of here, or I call the police and tell them anything they want to know.”

  Chapter 65

  Chressaidia pulled into The Box Stop parking lot and hurried inside. She’d been so busy with other things that it had been five days since she’d checked the box. She’d soon be abandoning it forever, but she had some cards in the name of Angelina Rodriquez that should be arriving any day, and she needed the funds now that the real Chressaidia’s finances were tapped out. She hurried inside, barely looking at the employee behind the counter.

  She fished her key out of her purse and turned it in the lock, pulling the metal door open, fully expecting the box to be stuffed full. Instead, she stared into emptiness. Nothing? How was that possible?

  After a few seconds she went to the counter. “Has there been a problem with the mail?” she asked the woman who was doing something on the computer.

  “Nope,” the woman said without looking up.

  “I have no mail.”

  The woman shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, lady.”

  “Well, check the back, look around. I have some very important things coming.”

  “The mail’s already gone out today,” the woman said with impatience. “Come back tomorrow after nine.”

  “Maybe someone put a forward on my box,” Chressaidia said, her heart racing. Who would have done that? Frederico? “Surely you can check that.”

  The woman sighed and finally got off her chair. She went to a small card file and opened it up. “What’s the box number?”

  “Four-eight-three.”

  The woman’s eyes jumped to Chressaidia’s face, then went back to the file. Something was wrong in that look.

  “Um, nope, no forward,” the woman said. Her demeanor was now light and friendly, with none of her earlier annoyance showing through, though she looked nervous.

  Chressaidia stared at her, trying to understand the change. The woman shifted from one foot to another. “Why are you lying to me?” she asked simply. The other woman swallowed but said nothing. “Give me that box,” she said, pointing to the card file.

  “I can’t do that,” the woman said. “It’s confidential.”

  Chressaidia reached into her purse and wrapped her fingers around the pistol. She continued to stare at the woman, letting her eyes bore
into her when the door chime sounded. The sound of voices immediately followed, and she turned her head to see a woman and two young girls walk inside. Another car pulled into the parking lot and she had no choice but to release the gun. She looked back at the employee and leaned forward so as not to be overheard. “I’ll be back, and you will have answers for me.”

  Chapter 66

  Chrissy looked at the map again, then leaned forward to double-check the numbers on the side of the building. This was it—the address on both the police report and the PO Box application. Her heart hammered in her chest. What now? Should she just walk up to the door and ring the bell? What would she say? She glanced at the stack of mail on the passenger seat and felt her stomach flip. She’d planned to open the mail immediately but was now working up to it. Seeing her name on those strange envelopes had made everything so real.

  Her palms were sweating when she climbed out of her car, papers in hand. The smell of salt water and wet sand from the nearby beach was strong and not necessarily pleasant. She knew most people loved the smell of the sea, but it must be something they grew into. As she walked up the flower-adorned walkway, she surveyed the area. It was a nice complex, right on the beach, well tended. It had the seaside look of rusted railings and chipping stucco, but she knew those were typical maintenance issues associated with the sea air rather than signs of neglect. A Hispanic man was standing in the middle of a flower bed, cutting off the dying blossoms with a pair of clippers attached to an extended rod that kept him from having to bend over.

  “Hola, Señor,” she said, smiling as she approached him.

  He looked up at her. “Hola,” he said, then went back to his work.

  “I’m looking for . . . a friend who lives here. She’s in unit two-thirty-two.” She didn’t know what she’d do if she found her, but she had to try.

  He looked up at her again. “Latina?”

  “Sí, sí,” she said, and repeated her request in Spanish.

  He started to shrug but Chrissy pushed on. “Chressaidia Salazar.”