Betrayed: A Rosato & DiNunzio Novel (Rosato & Associates Book 13) (11 page)

Judy doubted that Iris could’ve saved as much money as had been in the garage. “Did she have a bank account, or anything?”

“No,” her aunt answered, lowering her voice as they entered the church. “Generally, you need a passport or a Social Security number for a bank account. I don’t think she had either.”

“So she kept it in cash?” Judy passed through an anteroom with buttery yellow walls and a warm, orange-tiled floor, containing a carved wooden angel, and a blue-cloaked Virgin Mary standing next to the American flag.

“I really don’t know.”

“I know it’s none of my business, but did you ever give Iris money?”

“Sure, as gifts, when I could get her to take it. Why do you ask?”

Judy thought fast, lying even as she walked past a marble stand that held a bowl of holy water. “I’m thinking about her estate, now that she’s gone. I’m wondering if I should try to follow up with that.”

“I doubt that there’s much money in it, but that’s a good idea. Perhaps next week you could try to locate it. Iris’s friend Daniella might be able to help. Thanks so much for thinking of it.”

“You’re welcome,” Judy told her, feeling guilty for keeping the discovery of the money from her aunt, a material omission in front of a painted plaster bust of a smiling Pope Francis, resting on a windowsill. A bank of candles flickered in red glasses below a primitive wooden crucifix, and a bronze plaque on the wall read
Madre de Dios Church,
with the names of benefactors and supporters.

They walked through a large, tiled lobby where everyone milled about greeting each other, and nuns with blue aprons over their gray habits threaded their way through the crowd, with rosary beads hanging from their waists. One of the young nuns emerged from the crowd, took Judy’s hand, and shook it. “Welcome, ladies,” the nun said in accented English, her brown eyes friendly.

“Thank you,” Judy said, and the nun greeted her aunt, then they passed through modern glass doors into one of the loveliest churches Judy had ever seen. The vaulted ceiling was a full two stories tall, and the walls were of buttery yellow lined with stained-glass windows, but the altar caught her eye. It was white and large, spanning all the way to the ceiling, and its curved shape echoed the exterior of the church itself. A crucifix hung at its apex, and along its right and left sides were painted pictures of men and women farmers, which would have been equally at home in America or Mexico.

The church was packed, and Judy and her aunt slid into the last oak pew and sat down, which was when she realized that everybody else knelt and crossed themselves before they went into the pews. She watched fascinated as one family made double and triple crosses over their foreheads and mouths before they took their seats, and she tried not to feel like a total Spanish-Catholic rookie.

The congregation settled down as Father Keegan swept to the altar, took the oak lectern, and opened his palms, then began speaking in rapid Spanish. He was dressed in white robes with a green overlay, and looked to be middle-aged, with wire-rimmed glasses, graying hair, and a ready smile. Judy got the gist of what he was saying, which was to thank everybody for coming, tell them that God loves them, and that they should have faith in him.

Suddenly Father Keegan’s expression saddened. He continued speaking, but had spotted Aunt Barb and Judy, making eye contact with them. Father Keegan said the name Iris Juarez, and Judy’s aunt nodded, her eyes filming as she whispered to Judy, “He’s telling everybody that Iris died yesterday, of a heart attack. He’s asking everyone to pray for her soul.”

“Oh my,” Judy said under her breath, as murmuring, sniffling, and tears rippled through the congregation. She put her arm around her aunt, who bent her head as Father Keegan began to lead the congregation in prayer, evidently for Iris. The church echoed with the sibilant softness of the Spanish language, and Aunt Barb began to cry, resting her head on Judy’s shoulder.

Judy listened to Father Keegan conduct the Mass, then watched everyone line up to receive Holy Communion, but all the time she was wondering about the $10,000 in the garage. The Mass ended shortly thereafter, and the congregation rose to leave, and by the time she and her aunt stood up, Judy was already getting an idea. “Aunt Barb, why don’t we go see Father Keegan? I think it would be nice to thank him for remembering Iris in the service.”

“I was thinking the same thing, honey.” Her aunt smiled at her, and Judy felt another guilty pang for lying. They walked up the center aisle as the congregation filed past them, the parents falling into conversation and the children skipping ahead in groups. They reached the front of the church and waited their turn to speak with Father Keegan, who was standing beside the lectern talking with an older woman. When his conversation was over, the priest motioned them forward, broke into a sad smile, and extended a hand to Aunt Barb.

“Barb, I’m so sorry about Iris,” Father Keegan said, shaking her hand. “What a terrible shock, for all of us. You saw for yourself the reaction of the congregation. The community is praying for her soul. You have my deepest sympathies.”

“Thank you, so much, Father Keegan.” Aunt Barb’s lips trembled, suppressing her emotion. “I thought the world of her, you know that, and you know she loved you and this church. She talked about you, and how much you’ve done for the community.

“This is my niece Judy Carrier.”

Judy shook the priest’s hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

“And you, too.” Father Keegan smiled, and up close his eyes were a lively blue and his skin actually was freckled.

Father Keegan turned again to her aunt. “Iris was one of our most devoted parishioners, and I was so shocked to hear what happened. It’s a loss for all of us.”

“It certainly is. I will be responsible for seeing that she receives a proper burial.”

“That’s very kind of you. Let me know when you receive her remains from the coroner, and we will have a Mass for her.”

“Thank you.”

Judy interjected, “Father Keegan, may I ask, how did you find out about her passing?”

“I got a telephone call last night from Detective Boone. He’s in charge of the matter.”

Judy took the lead. “He is, and we had a question or two about her death, like why she didn’t go to work that day. We asked at Mike’s Exotics, and they said she just didn’t show up. Can you shed any light on that?”

Father Keegan shook his head. “No, and that’s what I told the detective. It did seem unusual to me. It wouldn’t be like Iris.”

Judy continued, “We’re not sure why she was on Brandywine Way in the first place. Do you have any ideas about that?”

“I can’t help you there, either.” Father Keegan shook his head.

“Could she have been visiting someone, a friend perhaps? Daniella? We spoke with her roommates, but they don’t know.”

“Not that I know of. Iris had Daniella, but not many close friends.” Father Keegan’s gaze shifted to Judy’s aunt. “Mrs. Moyer, I think you were her closest friend.”

Aunt Barb swallowed visibly.

Judy glossed over the painful moment, taking over the conversation. “Do you have the names and addresses of any of her cousins in Mexico? We were wondering about what to do with any monies remaining in her estate.”

Father Keegan cocked his head. “I don’t know any of them, unfortunately. I doubt that she had much money, a will, or anything of that sort.”

“Father Keegan, was Daniella here today?”

“No, she wasn’t, but she isn’t as devoted as Iris.”

“Do you know where we can find her? We don’t even know if she knows that Iris has passed.”

“I’m sure she does. Word travels fast in this community. Daniella would be at the mission. She works there, too.”

“Is that nearby?” Judy asked, thinking ahead.

Chapter Fourteen

“Damn, we should’ve gotten the address.” Judy drove back and forth on the same two-lane road, trying to find the mission, but they kept getting lost. “Then I could have plugged it into the GPS.”

“Father Keegan said it was next to the firehouse,” Aunt Barb said, her face to the window. “There’s the firehouse straight ahead, and the only thing next to it is that strip mall.”

Judy stopped at a traffic light, eyeing the run-down strip mall of three crappy storefronts, one of which had a handmade going-out-of-business sign. “Can you have a mission in a storefront?”

“Pull in. Let’s see.” Aunt Barb clucked. “You know, I’ve been down this road a bunch of times, but I’ve never seen a mission. It’s as if all of this existed around me, but I never noticed it before.”

“I know what you mean.” Judy was thinking about how much her Aunt Barb hadn’t noticed about Iris. The hidden cash made her feel uneasy, and it seemed to mirror what her aunt was saying about the neighborhood; there were things in plain sight that they should have seen, but they’d missed.

“The light’s green,” her aunt said, pulling Judy out of her reverie. She cruised forward, crossed the intersection, and turned into the crappy strip mall, which held a tiny parking lot in front of the stores. She spotted a battered Hyundai leaving the strip mall from the back.

“Maybe it’s behind the stores. Again, no sign.”

“Evidently, everybody who needs it knows where it is.”

“Right.” Judy steered around the back, entered a littered back lot, and hit the brakes quickly, surprised to find small children running around, playing on old upholstered couches, used card tables, scattered mattresses. “Yikes, good thing I was going slow.”

“I’ll say.”

“I guess this is it.” Judy eyed a rusty white Dumpster that read
SOCIETY OF ST. VINCENT DE PAUL.
The back of the building was a dingy gray stucco cluttered with electric meters and heating units next to an unmarked glass door, which stood open, propped up by a cinderblock.

“Hey, that’s my ottoman!” Aunt Barb exclaimed, opening the door.

“What do you mean?” Judy cut the ignition, took her purse, and got out of the car.

“That flowery ottoman, next to the maroon couch.” Aunt Barb pointed, climbing out of the passenger seat.

“I don’t remember that ottoman.”

“You wouldn’t. It’s from the old house, and I kept it in the garage because it didn’t go with the new furniture. I always thought I’d get it reupholstered but I never got around to it. I gave it to Iris when we cleaned out the garage. She said it was pretty, and I thought she could use it.”

“When did you clean out the garage?” Judy’s ears pricked up, wondering when Iris had put the money in her storage chest.

“About a week ago. I was feeling better and I wanted to clear the decks before my mastectomy.”

“Was it your idea to clean the garage?”

“Yes, and I totally forgot about the ottoman when we went to Iris’s apartment. She didn’t have the room for it, so she must’ve brought it here.” Aunt Barb shook her head when they reached the ottoman. “An ottoman is a rich-people thing, when you think about it. It requires room. Space. I’m not rich by any means, but I have room for an ottoman. I assumed she did, too.” Aunt Barb sighed. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ve been so insensitive, living in my own little world.”

“That’s not true. You didn’t know.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to know, or maybe I should have known. Isn’t that the height of insensitivity? That you just didn’t know, because you couldn’t imagine that people lived a different life from the one you do?” Aunt Barb kept shaking her head. “Isn’t that the very definition of insensitivity? Of selfishness?”

“Not at all. You were being generous, and you can’t find a negative in that.” Judy guided her aunt toward the open door. “Aunt Barb, when I was in the garage last night, I noticed that there were two plastic chests, the same type but different colors. Was one of those Iris’s?”

“Yes, I gave it to her. The purple one, for Iris. Get it?”

Judy had missed that. “What’s it for?”

“I got her my favorite gardening tools, a trowel, a spade, and the best fork for weeding. There’s only one that works really well.” Her aunt’s face fell. “Poor Iris. I don’t think I could bring myself to see that chest now.”

“You ever go in the chest?”

“No, why would I? I have my own tools.”

Judy felt reassured. “Do you want me to take it away?”

“No, not at all. I want it to stay just the way it is. I still have your uncle’s jackets in the closet.”

“That’s okay, whatever you want.” Judy squeezed her arm, and they entered the building, their eyes adjusting to the cramped, dimly lighted room. Women speaking Spanish looked over briefly, then returned to going through cardboard boxes of used toys, books, and children’s shoes. Kids played underneath metal rolling racks stuffed with clothes, and Judy recognized one of the little girls from church.

“Judy, look over there.” Aunt Barb gestured at one of the racks. “I see two of the dresses I gave her, hanging up, and some of the shoes, too. So this must be where she brought it. She gave it to the mission, like Maria Elena said. How nice is she? I mean, was.”

Judy saw grief cross her aunt’s face. “She was nice, but I wonder why she didn’t tell you.”

“I bet she thought it would hurt my feelings.”

“That’s probably why,” Judy said, wondering what other reasons Iris could have had for keeping secrets, as well as how she got the money and why she stowed it in her aunt’s garage.

“There’s the counter.” Aunt Barb led the way toward an ancient cash register on a plywood counter. Behind it, shoes, rain boots, and work boots sat stacked on old wooden shelves, next to a random array that included an old bicycle, floor lamps without shades, and a push lawnmower that was missing a blade. They lingered at the counter, then one of the women came over from the far side of the room, with a smile. She was in her thirties, but heavily pregnant, and her belly strained both her sweatshirt and jeans.

“Hello, ladies,” she said in English, with only the hint of an accent. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Yes,” Aunt Barb answered. “My name is Barb Moyer, and this is my niece Judy. We were friends of Iris Juarez’s.”

“Oh no.” The woman’s face creased with sadness, and she extended a small hand. “I’m Maria. I’m so sorry about Iris. We all loved her.”