Page 107 of Reno

I looked at Tito. Just to be sure.

He pulled off his backpack, lowered it to his side, and grinned. Then, he gave a nod.

“Tito’s got something for you,” I said. “And, for your mother. And, your father. And, Sam.”

Confused, she shifted her eyes to Tito. “What’s going on?”

He unzipped his backpack, pulled out four manila folders, and handed them to her. Each was marked with each respective family member’s name.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Open it,” I said.

She handed her mother the remaining three envelopes and opened hers. As she pulled the documents from the folder, Baker poked his head inside the door.

“Sam! Get out here!” Baker shouted. “We’re going to the racetrack!”

“Nobody’s going anywhere,” Gina said. “I’m sorry.”

While a dozen anxious faces watched, Carma held the document up and studied it. After scanning the contents typed in each of the small boxes, she looked at Tito. “Is this real?”

“Certified copy from the State of California.”

She pulled out a perforated sheet of blue and white paper. Her eyes went wide. “And this?”

“From the Social Security Office,” he replied. “It’s as real as it gets.”

Carma looked at me. “What does this mean?”

I glanced at Gina and then met Carma’s curious gaze. I leaned forward and gave her a kiss.

Nearly overcome with joy, I took a step back. “It means we need to unpack these boxes,” I said with a smile. “But only after we go get your father. This nightmare? It’s over.”

43

Carma

Wearing my new black midi fit and flare dress and a pair of equally new four-inch heels, I stepped to the edge of the desk. “Good afternoon, I’d like to speak to Detective Marc Watson.”

“Is he expecting you?” the desk sergeant asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“May I tell him who’s here to see him?”

“Yes, you may,” I replied. “I’m Carmelita Rosarita Garcia Lorca.”

He blinked a few times and then called Watson. “There’s a Carmelita something-or-other here to see you.”

“Rosarita Garcia Lorca,” I said.

The desk sergeant nodded. “He’ll be just a minute.”

Watson opened the door, made eye contact with Reno and then looked at me. He straightened his posture. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes, Sir,” I said. “My father came up missing two weeks ago. A friend of a friend of a friend was here on a misdemeanor charge, and said he saw my father in the jail. I’d like to know what charges you have against him.”

“His name?”