When I Knew You (14 page)

How was I going to keep her safe, how were we going to survive all of this? And Abuela? Was she all right? Eliah knew her, did that mean she knew something about all of this?
 

My mother had hidden all of this from Abuela and even now Antonia made it clear she didn't trust her own mother. What if something happened to Abuela? What if she had been hurt and we were here eating pizza? I felt sick.

There was only one person I could think of to call, one person who couldn't be involved in all of this. It was too late to call, but in the morning I'd call Father Vincent. Maybe he could check on Abuela.

Chapter 17

La Quinta's free breakfast consisted of watery orange juice and a "make your own waffle station" next to an assortment of bagels and mini cereal boxes. Antonia seemed a little off to me. Breaking routines was tough on her, as if the scaffolding of her memory wasn't made of metal, but was thin as a spider silk, and the slightest movement ripped it to pieces. She played her tape and read through her notes, but I wondered how long she could hold on to understanding what we were doing. I almost suggested she listen to the tape she'd made as her lucid self, as Mom, but I didn't want to force her through the pain of those stinging words.
A sweet, dim, idiot.

Father Vincent agreed to drop by the house to check on Abuela with the help of the baseball-bat-wielding Fernando. "Just in case," he'd said with a grim laugh. He promised to call when he could verify that the coast was clear.

We headed to the headquarters of the credit union near the airport. It was a huge modern building that looked like an ocean liner had somehow landed in the desert, its prow reaching up for the pale El Paso sky. Built for thousands of government employees from the military bases like White Sands Missile Range and Ft. Bliss, it was one of the largest credit unions in the state and had even developed affordable housing loan programs and small business lending. My mother hated banks and loved the credit union. I'd had an account there since I was born.

When I asked for Harriet Nash, the receptionist tried to pawn us off on a teller. When Antonia showed Calderon's business card and insisted her attorney told her to speak with Mrs. Nash personally, the receptionist acquiesced.
 

Her gray hair was spiked in a modern cut, a match for her stylish red suit and the fierce intelligence in her eyes. The effect was somewhat moderated by her wide smile.
 

"So Gus sent you straight to the top?" she extended her hand to Antonia, then me.

"Our situation is a little complicated, Mrs. Nash," I said.

"No doubt, if Gus told you to talk to me. Let's head upstairs." She turned on her heel and we scurried to keep up. "And call me Harriet, please."

Her office was on the fifth floor and had a view of the mountains. There was a large mahogany desk, but she gestured to us to sit around a small round table with leather chairs the color of caramel.

 
"Usually I'd be on the second floor today," she said. "We have an appreciation brunch in the cafeteria on the 15
th
of the month. But since Gustav sent you, I figured I could use this to get out of waffle duty."
 

The walls of her office were covered with photos of ribbon cuttings, family groups, and a watercolor of a Catholic church.
 

"Is that the San Elizario mission?" I asked.

Nash nodded. "Father Vincent sent me that after we finished working on a project together. He said I had a missionary zeal." She smiled patiently. "Tell me what I can help you with."

Antonia pulled out her wallet and extracted a small white card along with her ID. "I have an account here, but Mr. Calderon said there's another account in my name. A hidden account."

Nash took the card and walked over to the computer on her desk. Her fingers flew over the keyboard. She scrolled for a moment, frowned, then picked up the phone while continuing to type on the keyboard.
 

"Someone tried to access your account yesterday," she said, arching an eyebrow.
 

"Probably Diane Perez," Antonia said. "She's my mother."

Nash stared at the screen and tapped a few more keys. "It's not your mother. It was a man, an Eliah Trevino. We told him he needed a power of attorney on your account."
 

Nash straightened up and hung up the phone. "Your account had been flagged ten years ago, even with a power of attorney he wouldn't have been able to access it short of a death certificate. Still, Becky is new. But fortunately, it looks like our training classes are working." Nash walked back to the table. "What exactly is going on Ms. Perez?"

"I don't know," Antonia and I both answered at the same time.

"It's something that happened before my accident," Antonia continued. "Something I was trying to protect."

"Well, we almost lost it yesterday." She rose from her desk. "But all is well. Let's check the safe deposit box."

"Safe deposit box?" I asked.
 

Nash nodded. "That's what the other account is. The hidden one. It's a safe deposit box. Paid in full for twenty years. According to the record, no one has tried to access it before yesterday."
 

We walked over to the door, and my mind was racing. How did he know?

"We actually see this kind of thing a lot," Nash said, leading us to the elevators. "Elder abuse —or in your case, not so elder, but vulnerable. We have had people try to con their way into depleting a person's account."

"That's terrible," Antonia said.

"We've turned several of these criminal low life over to the police. So we're more aggressive about it than most financial institutions. We protect our members." Nash peered at Antonia. "Is this Trevino a relative?"

Antonia looked over to me for an answer.

"No, he's just..." I was at a loss. "He was someone I knew. A friend, but now..." My mouth felt dry and I realized I knew nothing real about Eliah, not the Eliah I had seen at the fire, the Eliah that rampaged through the church.

Nash kept talking as she tapped the elevator button. "Most of the time these men are relatives, but other times they're just con men working a city. Fortunately, there are only three people who can access the second account: you, Ms. Perez, and Gustav Calderon." The elevator arrived, and we walked in. She hit the button for the third floor. "Of course if there's a death certificate, then ownership conveys to Katarina."

 
We headed out of the elevator and went down the hallway to the vault. After an efficient introduction to the clerk, Nash left. We signed the necessary documents and the clerk brought us the metal box, leaving us alone in a small room outside the vault. Antonia and I sat at a table with the long metal box between us. She reached for the box, but her hands were shaking and she dropped the small key she'd been given to unlock it. I took the key and opened it. There was another manila envelope, this time one thicker than the others.
 

I opened the envelope and a stack of articles spilled out along with another smaller envelope. The articles were copies from old style newspapers with headlines that read "Another Moonlight Murder Victim Found" and "Moonlight Murderer Still at Large." Among the articles were three separate photos. Two were black and white photos, the other was a color photo, all three head and shoulders shots of young men. One man had dark hair, thick and wavy and his smile was as bright as the laughing face of the man in the locket, his eyes light colored, although I couldn't tell the shade. He wore a working man's shirt, plaid with a pointed.
 

The second black and white photo was of a young man in a t-shirt, his head dark with close-cropped hair, his eyes were narrow, and also light colored. The two had a similar build and facial structure. They could have been related, maybe.

The third photo looked like it was taken by a professional, and the young man was wearing a tie. He had a smile that didn't extend to his blue eyes, and his hair was a dirty blonde. I flipped the photos over, but nothing was written on the back.

Antonia opened the small envelope. There were two business cards. One was for Calderon and the other was for William Alacon, a private investigator with an address in Las Cruces, New Mexico, just an hour away. There was a post-it note with a Rocking B brand drawn on it and a handwritten note on a sheet ripped haphazardly from a notepad, its ragged edge at the top uneven.
 

Antonia, there is still DNA evidence on file. The trail ends in Texarkana, and Det. Mora still has it open. Call me when you get these photos, do NOT contact the DA. If it's connected to Bonita, the DA is compromised. Robert might be able to help. See you on the 10
th
.

It was signed W.

"I don't get it," I said, exasperated. "A murder in Texarkana? Bonita and the DA? I don't understand what any of this means."

Antonia leafed through the articles and shuffled the photos. "There's one more envelope to go, right? Maybe there are answers there." She turned the business cards over in her hands over and over, then picked up the post it note with the brand.
 

"All of this, it feels familiar... I wish I could remember."

"I know," I said. "Let's go to UTEP. Maybe that graduate student can help us tie it all together."

 
"No. You don't understand." Antonia put the cards back in the small envelope with the post-it and the note and handed it back to me.
 

"I wish every day I could remember. I want to remember everything, not just this. I want to remember the day you were born. I want to remember working in an office. I want to remember how to make my favorite dinner because I can't even remember what it is, but there are days where I miss it." She gazed at the ceiling, her shoulders slumping. "I still have a hunger for it and I don't even know what it is."

"Green chile enchiladas," I said, stuffing the articles back in the larger envelope, and the whole thing in my backpack. "With that white cheese. And chicken. Green chicken enchiladas."

Antonia looked doubtful. "Is that what it is? I thought it was something more exotic."

"You used Hatch green chilis. You roasted them yourself. That's what made it special." I swung my bag over my shoulder. "My eyes would water when I walked in the kitchen. But you said it was your favorite."

"Maybe that is it." A slow smile spread on her face as she gathered her purse and rose. "Maybe when this is over we can make it together. And a guacamole salad."

"Sure," I said as we headed for the door of the safe deposit room. I decided not to tell her I have been allergic to avocados since I was twelve.
 

As we walked we basked in the light that poured in from the windows of the multistory atrium near the elevator bay. Long open walkways led from one section of the building to another meeting in the middle. It was a beautiful view from the third floor.

A shrill ring filled the air. It came from my cell phone in my bag, and I dug through it quickly. I felt Antonia squeeze my arm sharply, just as I found the phone and silenced it.
 

"It's okay, I got ..." The words died in my throat when I looked at her. She had gone pale and was staring down toward the lobby two floors below.

Eliah rose from a dark blue chair in the sun filled area off to one side of the lobby, smiling broadly at us both. He straightened to his full height and all I could think of was how fast someone that tall could run. A hell of a lot faster than either of us.

"You go," Antonia said, pushing me away. "I'll stall him."

"Not a chance," I said, grabbing her arm again and rushing for the elevator bay.
 

Down below, a young man holding a tablet came out from behind the lobby reception desk towards Eliah, but Eliah side-stepped him and rushed towards the elevators on the first floor.
 

Our elevator arrived and we ran in. I hit the top floor button. My phone buzzed in my bag again. My hands were shaking as the floors clicked away.
 

Antonia leaned on the wall. She looked angry. I touched her shoulder. "Antonia, you can't do that again. You can't say you're going to leave. We have to stay together. We have to stay together."

She was silent but nodded. The elevator opened on the top floor, but I held her arm, keeping her from exiting. We stayed in the elevator and I hit the button for the second floor. The door slid shut.

 
"We'll get out on the second-floor cafeteria. Where there's a cafeteria, there's a service elevator." I exhaled, trying to slow my breathing. "Hopefully he went up to the top floor to find us, or he's waiting in the lobby. But I doubt he'll be at the appreciation waffle brunch."

The crowd was thick and chatty on the second floor, mostly older men and women, with a smattering of young people here and there. The young people were staff, I figured, based on their business casual attire.
 

Antonia spotted the kitchen and we hurried to the door. We were just through the threshold when I heard a crash and shouting behind us. We ran, weaving between a handful of cooks and waiters. There was a stairwell next to the service elevator and I slammed through the door. We could hear more crashes and rapid fire cussing in Spanish. We practically flew down the stairs.

The stairwell let out to the far side of the lobby. A security guard was running toward us, his radio blaring out numbers in quick succession. He passed us and headed into the stairwell.
 

A dozen options flooded through my brain—we could hide in an office, duck into the bathroom, go back upstairs, get help from a security guard—but all I could think of was getting away. I looked around, there was no sign of Eliah. I grabbed Antonia's arm and we ran out of the lobby just as more guards were gathering near the doors. We slipped out in time and headed for the truck.

We sat in the cab of the truck, panting as we caught our breath. "I don't think he knows what we're driving," I said, peering in the rearview mirror. I couldn't see past the glare on the glass doors of the lobby. It seemed perfectly quiet.