“I’m Maria Elena,” said one of the women, in slightly accented English. She was sitting in a beach chair, holding a phone and wearing a white sweatshirt and jeans, but it was too dark to see her facial features. She sounded young, and her long, glossy curls shone in the light from the window.
“Maria Elena, would you mind if we went inside and talked a minute, about Iris?”
“She’s not home.”
“I know, I’m a friend of hers, and—”
“Oh, wait, I know who you are!” Maria Elena’s tone warmed up. “You’re the lady with the roses. Iris told me about you.”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“What about Iris?”
Aunt Barb hesitated. “I’m afraid I have bad news. I’m very sorry, but I’m here to tell you that she has … passed. She was found tonight in her car, on Brandywine Way.”
Maria Elena gasped, and everyone burst into shocked Spanish chatter, and Judy caught the words morte and accidente.
Her aunt said, “No, not a car accident. They think she had a heart attack.”
“No.” Maria Elena moaned, and another wave of chatter went through the crowd, which grew somber, and an older man made the sign of the cross on his chest.
“Do you think we can go inside? There’s just some things I want to talk to you about.”
“Sure, of course.” Maria Elena rose, made her way through the crowd, and led them to the front door and inside the building. They walked down a long, dimly lighted hall, and at the end was a door, which Maria Elena unlocked and pushed open, flicking on a stark overhead light. “Come in, please.”
“Thank you,” Aunt Barb responded, and they entered a neat, if small, living room that was modestly furnished with an old brown couch, a red plaid chair, and a wooden rocker set around a battered coffee table. A tiny galley kitchen was on the right part of the room, but there was no dining-room table, and two closed doors off the room presumably led to the bedrooms.
“I can’t believe this happened, are you sure it’s true?” Maria Elena frowned sadly, pocketing her keys. In the bright light, Judy could see that her warm brown eyes had filmed, dampening her mascaraed lashes. She was pretty, with a small nose and heart-shaped lips, slick with gloss.
“Yes, it’s true,” her aunt answered. “I’m so sorry. The police came to me because she has my name as her emergency contact.”
“So she’s really … dead?” Maria Elena sank onto the plaid chair, linking her fingers between her knees, absorbing the shock. Her nails were polished red with white chevrons at the squared-off tips, reminding Judy again of Iris’s broken fingernail.
“Yes, it’s true. I identified her.”
“That’s terrible.” Maria Elena shook her head, numbly, and wiped her eyes. “This makes me so sad. That hurts my heart.”
“I’m so sorry. And her family at home, it’s all gone?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know Daniella Gamboa?”
“I meet her once or twice.”
“Do you have her cell phone or address?”
“No.” Maria Elena sniffed, brushing a tear away before it started to spill down her cheek. “Iris is so quiet, like, to herself, but she is so sweet, she has such a sweet heart. She’s older, you know, she act like my mother. She is always baking cookies and cakes, to get us to eat, and she is so religious, all the time she want us to go to church with her. She says we drink too much beer. She tells us, like, all the time.” Maria Elena wagged her finger, with a mock-comic frown. “‘Ladies should not drink too much, never out of the bottle.’ She wants us to make a jurmamentos.”
Judy interjected, “What does that mean?”
“Is a special thing, like, you go to church with her and make a promise to God that we don’t drink for, like, two weeks.” Maria Elena chuckled. “She wants us to, anyway, but we don’t do it.”
“How long have you lived together?” Aunt Barb asked, but she was beginning to sound tired again.
“About six months. She take us both in, her other roommates go home. Me and Hermenia, she’s out with her boyfriend. Iris meets us at the mission and she takes us in. She get us jobs.”
Judy interjected again, “What’s the mission?”
“You know, the church mission, they give out clothes and toys for free.”
Her aunt asked, “Do you know why she didn’t go to work today? When she left my house this afternoon, that’s where she said she was going.”
Maria Elena shook her head, blinking away her new tears. “No, I don’t know. I work the morning shift today and she’s gone when I got home.”
Aunt Barb asked, “Do you work at Mike’s, too?”
“Not anymore. I work in a restaurant and I clean houses.” Maria Elena wrinkled her pretty nose. “I don’t want to do the mushrooms anymore, even though they pay good. That smell, I can’t take it. It gets on your clothes and your hair.” Maria Elena turned to Judy. “You know what I’m saying, you can’t get the stink out. It’s like on you, like, all the time. I won’t have no boyfriends if I smell like that. That’s why Iris use the perfume, so much.”
Her aunt asked, “Maria Elena, was Iris sick lately? Did she mention anything about her chest hurting or not feeling well?”
“No.”
“Do you know who Iris uses for a doctor? Does she have a doctor?”
“I guess she goes to LCD, but I don’t know.”
“Do you know any reason why she’d be on Brandywine Way? Do you know where that is?”
“I know where it is. I don’t know, like, why she was there.” Maria Elena tossed her head, and her curls bounced.
“Did you text her today?”
“No.”
“Do you mind if I go in her room? I just want to look around and see if there’s anything to explain why she missed work today.” Aunt Barb emitted a small sigh. “I should get some clothes to bury her in.”
“Oh right.” Maria Elena rose. “Come on.”
“Thanks,” Aunt Barb said, and they crossed the living room to the kitchen side, where Maria Elena opened the door onto a room that was barely big enough for a single bed, neatly made with a blue comforter, and a beat-up, fake-wood chest of drawers. A pair of old pink flip-flops sat beside the bed on the floor, ready and waiting for a woman who would never come home.
“She has the smallest room, that’s why she doesn’t share.” Maria Elena tried to press the door open all the way, but it banged into the wall. “We share. Also it works out better because she doesn’t stay out late, like us.”
They entered the tiny room, barely able to fit the three of them, with Judy feeling strange, having just come from seeing Iris’s lifeless body on the stretcher. A large crucifix hung on white walls, and the dresser held an old-fashioned runner of white cotton, on which rested a few bottles of nail polish, perfume, a ceramic statue of the Virgin Mary, a plastic white crucifix, a multicolored clay plate that held gold-toned hoops and necklaces, and a yellow shaker of athlete’s foot powder.
“Where’s the closet?” Aunt Barb asked, turning on her heel, but Maria Elena shook her head.
“She don’t have one.”
“Where does she put her dresses?”
“In the drawers. She only has two dresses, that she wears to church.”
“But that can’t be. I gave her dresses, and sweaters and shirts, too. Jewelry.” Aunt Barb frowned, puzzled, looking around. “I don’t see any of the stuff I gave her here. There were shoes and rain boots, too.”
Maria Elena shook her head. “I don’t know, maybe she give them to the mission. She’s always after me to give my things to the mission, too. When I meet her at the mission, the first day, she isn’t there to get, she is there to give. She always says, ‘Maria Elena, God wants you to take care of people,’ but I tell her, ‘Iris, it’s not like I have so much.’ She wants us to give our money to the mission, too!” Maria Elena’s eyes flared open, incredulous. “I tell her, ‘mami, you can give your money away, but me, no. God don’t want me b
roke.’”
“Oh my, what a wonderful spirit she had.” Aunt Barb rested a hand on the dresser, seeming to steady herself. “Judy, can you look through these drawers and find a nice dress for her?”
“Sure.” Judy went to the dresser and opened the top drawer, which contained folded underwear, bras, and a Bible. “Do we need underwear?”
“No, funeral homes usually have that.”
“Good.” Judy opened the second drawer, of neatly folded T-shirts that looked as if they had been ironed, which for some reason caught her in the throat. “I don’t think there’s anything useful in here.”
“I help.” Maria Elena squeezed past Judy, went to the dresser, and opened the third drawer. “I know the dress she like the most.”
“Thanks.” Judy looked into the third drawer, which held pressed jeans, sweatpants, and two folded shift-type dresses, both a flowered pattern, with a light blue sweater, also carefully folded.
“This one.” Maria Elena picked up a dress with pink flowers, her eyes glistening anew.
“Thank you.” Judy accepted the clothes and took a look at her aunt’s heartbroken expression, which told her it was time to go home.
And that their questions about Iris’s death would have to be answered another day.
Chapter Eleven
They hit the road in silence, with Judy following GPS directions home, and her aunt turned away, to the window. They wound through the dark outskirts of Kennett Square, passing check-cashing agencies, a tacqueria, and a Mexican restaurant until they reached the town proper, with its charming brick houses, mullioned windows, and gas streetlights. A quiet sniffle came from the passenger seat, and Judy patted her aunt’s arm.
“I love you, Aunt Barb. I’m sorry about Iris.”
“Thanks,” her aunt said, without turning her head from the window.
“She sounds like she really was an amazing person, giving everything away.”
“I know, I had no idea. I always wondered what she did with the money she earned, because I know she didn’t have anybody to send money home to.” Aunt Barb sniffled again. “I guess she kept what she needed to live on and gave the rest to the mission. What a wonderful person.”
“I’ll say.”
“Thanks for indulging me, too. I don’t know why I’m running us ragged tonight. I guess it was so I didn’t have to think about the fact that she was…” Aunt Barb’s voice trailed off, and in the sudden silence, the GPS said:
“Prepare to make a left turn in one hundred feet.”
Judy switched into the left lane, ready to make the turn, and it occurred to her that life should come with a GPS, to tell you to prepare for the twists and turns on the way, big ones or little ones, like that a beloved aunt would have cancer, or your boyfriend would forget to drop the dog off to get flea-dipped, or that seventy-five asbestos cases would come from New York to suck the life from your practice. The trip through the growing room at the mushroom farm made the damages cases look like a first-world problem, but problems were problems.
“It doesn’t make sense, but death never makes sense.” Aunt Barb rummaged in her parka pocket and produced her balled-up Kleenex. “In a way, it was just like Steve. Even though I knew he was going to die, I still couldn’t believe it when it happened. Just like her, he was so vital and healthy, he did everything right.”
“I remember.” Judy had loved her uncle, an accountant. A reserved and careful man, he’d taught her chess, not only the game itself but the exotic names of the various openings, like the Sicilian Defense and the Queen’s Gambit, as well as chess notation, which was like some mysterious language that only they spoke, Ne4 Nge7. Judy always got special attention from her uncle and aunt, because she was their only niece and they’d never had children of their own.
“I’m feeling him tonight, too. Maybe that’s why I went crazy, running hither and yon. It’s funny, when you get older, one death kicks up all the other deaths.”
“I bet that’s right.” Judy noted that her aunt hadn’t mentioned the possibility of her own death, though it had to be uppermost in her mind.
Aunt Barb blew her nose. “I guess we can’t really know what Iris was doing today. It seems strange that she didn’t tell me, though. She never lied to me before.”
“She didn’t lie to you exactly, did she? You just assumed she was going to work, but she didn’t go to work.”
“That’s true, but still.”
“Like the clothes and shoes you gave her. You didn’t know she was giving them to the mission, you just assumed she kept them.”
“Yes, that’s true, too.” Aunt Barb nodded. “So what do you think she was doing then, on Brandywine Way?”
“We don’t know enough about her life, to say. Maybe somebody told her they had some stuff for the mission so she went to pick it up before work, that’s possible.” Judy heard herself say it. “The detective will let us know, but I’m thinking that the police probably took her cell phone. That’s how they found the wallet and came to your house.”
“Oh, right.”
“And like the cop said, fingernails break all the time, and because it was a nice day, she decided to drive with the window open. All of that is completely possible.”
“I suppose so, but I want to see what the police come up with, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Judy didn’t mention the autopsy, but she didn’t need to.
“You know the most ironic thing is that Iris was so worried about me with my cancer. She wanted me to go to church with her tomorrow morning, to say a prayer before the mastectomy.”
“That’s very sweet,” Judy said, meaning it. The GPS was about to tell her to turn left, but she turned it off.
“I’m going to go myself and say a prayer for her, and I suppose I should talk to the priest and arrange for her burial.”
“You’re going to the Spanish church?”
“Yes.”
Judy turned left. “I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know, but I want to.”
“Thanks.” Her aunt looked over with a smile, her wan face barely illuminated. “And then there’s only one more thing I want to do before Monday morning, for Iris.”
“What’s that?”
“I want to plant a rosebush for her. I have a cutting that came in the mail from the nursery, and we were going to put it in together on Sunday.”
“I’ll help you do that, too,” Judy said, touched. Her aunt was always thoughtful, her actions straight from the heart. Judy would never forget that when it was time to outfit her dorm room at college, she and her mother had gone shopping for all of the practical items: a small refrigerator, a microwave, a mesh hamper, and a pair of flip-flops to prevent athlete’s foot in the showers. But Aunt Barb had taken Judy antiquing, and together they’d found a beautiful old quilt, hand-stitched in a flower-garden pattern, that made the dorm room homey. That very quilt was still at the foot of her bed, to this day.
“Thanks, honey.”
“It would be my pleasure, Aunt Barb.” Judy turned onto her aunt’s street, cruised past the houses, and turned into the driveway and cut the ignition. The dashboard clock read 10:48, so she knew her mother would be waiting up, probably tapping her foot.
“God, I’m tired.”
“Why don’t you go up to bed, and I’ll deal with my mother? It’ll take a law degree to survive the cross-examination we’re about to get.”
Aunt Barb chuckled and picked up her purse. “I’ll be right in. I have to get the cutting from the garage and bring it in the house. It would probably be fine, but it’s supposed to be cold tonight and I don’t want to lose it.”
“I’ll get it. Tell me where it is.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Believe me, I’m getting the easier job. You deal with my mother, I’ll deal with the plant.” Judy yanked the key from the ignition, and grabbed her purse. “Meanwhile, I don’t even know what a cutting looks like. Is it big?”
> “No, not at all. It’s just a cane. It should still be in the box from the nursery, I didn’t take it out.”
“What’s a cane?”
“A cane is the term for the stem on a rosebush.”
“Of course it is.”
Her aunt snorted, opening the car door. “Like a lawyer has the right to complain about obscure terminology.”
“Okay, a fair point.” Judy got out of the car, chirped it closed, and cleared her head with a lungful of fresh, cool air. She glanced at the house and saw through the window that the living room was empty. “She must be upstairs already. You want me to come in and be your lawyer?”
“Ha! I can handle my own sister.” Her aunt took out her keys, unlocked the door, and handed the set to Judy. “Take this, you need them to unlock the garage. It’s the little key with the red surround. Can you lock it when you’re finished?”
“Sure. You lock the garage, in this neighborhood?”
“It was Iris’s idea, after I got the electric mower. She heard people were stealing equipment, so I figured it was better to be safe than sorry.”
“Right, so what am I looking for? A cardboard box near some gardening equipment?”
“Exactly, I think I put it on the far wall, next to the tools. You’ll see that I have the blue carryall and Iris has the purple. I think it’s in between them. I wanted it as far from the door as possible, to avoid the draft. The light switch will be on your right side when you go in.”
“Got it. Good luck with Mom.”
“Pssh. Child’s play.”
“Ha!” Judy let her aunt inside the house, then turned and continued down the driveway, the gravel crunching under her clogs. Weariness washed over her, and she slid her phone from her purse and checked the screen to see if Frank had called, but he hadn’t, which was par for the course. She was always the one doing the calling, making sure he was on track to come home, to meet her, or to run errands. If they got married and had a baby, it would be redundant.
A motion-detector light went on when she reached the garage, and she found the red key, unlocked the handle, and pulled the old metal door upward, rattling in its tracks. Her aunt’s yellow Mini Cooper sat parked in the darkness, and Judy went to the right doorjamb, fumbled for the switch, and turned it on. A bright fluorescent panel in the ceiling came to life, but she didn’t see a cardboard box. She walked beside the car to the far wall, where there was a red gardening cart with two wheels, with a rake, shovel, and a spade with a long handle. Suddenly, the fluorescent light flickered and phased off, plunging her in darkness.
Betrayed: A Rosato & DiNunzio Novel (Rosato & Associates Book 13) Page 7
