Betrayed: A Rosato & DiNunzio Novel (Rosato & Associates Book 13) (8 page)

“I’m sorry, I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Scott folded his arms over his chubby belly.

“Look, I know that Iris worked here. She’s been working here for two months on the three-to-eleven shift, in the packing room. She should’ve been working tonight.”

“No, you have your facts wrong.” Scott shook his head, sticking out his lower lip. “I don’t know any Iris Juarez. Nobody works here by that name.”

Judy held her tongue, only because her aunt wanted to do the talking.

“Scott,” her aunt said, calmly, “I know she worked here. She started two months ago. I dropped her off here two weeks ago.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“I
know
she worked here. I picked her up here, too, the same day. That was when I met, or at least saw, Julio.”

Judy interjected, “Scott, we’re not from Immigration or the IRS or anything. We’re just personal friends of Iris’s, trying to figure out what happened to her. I don’t know if you heard but she was found dead in her car today, on Brandywine Way.”

“Oh no!” Scott’s eyes flared, his surprise genuine. “Oh, uh, jeez, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Me, too.” Aunt Barb sighed, whether from relief or fatigue, Judy couldn’t tell. “Okay, so now we know. She worked here.”

“Yes, she did.” Scott buckled his lower lip. “I didn’t know who you were, well, you know.”

“I know. The police think she had a heart attack. I’m just trying to get to the bottom of it, because she should have been at work tonight.”

Scott hesitated, rubbing his face. “Yes, to be honest, she should have been here, but she didn’t come in today.”

“So you didn’t see her today at all?”

“No, she was a no-show.” Scott shrugged his heavy shoulders sadly. “It’s not like her, but then again, you never know.”

“Did you call her when you realized she wasn’t here?”

“No, I never do. I figured she moved on. They move around a lot and usually don’t say where they’re going. One day, they just disappear.”

Judy remained silent. Nobody had to ask whom he meant by
they.

“That wouldn’t be like her, either, just to disappear without saying so.” Aunt Barb seemed to slump in her parka, and Judy could feel her leaning on her arm for support.

“No, it wouldn’t, but I didn’t change what I usually do.” Scott’s face fell into lines. “Iris really is, or was, a special person. My wife and I just had our second baby, and she brought in cookies for me to bring home.”

Aunt Barb smiled sadly. “That would be Iris to a T.”

“I didn’t know she had heart problems.”

“She didn’t, that I know of. That’s what I’m trying to figure out, that and why she was on Brandywine Way. You have any idea why she would be down there?”

“No, not at all. There’s nothing there.” Scott frowned, puzzled.

“She was friends with Daniella Gamboa, and I think Daniella used to work here, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, but she left.”

“Do you know why?”

“No idea. Like I say, they come and go. One day last week, she didn’t show up.”

Judy interjected, “Was Iris friendly with any of the other women in the packing room?”

Scott shook his head. “No, there’s so much moving around. They don’t even know each other’s names, and that’s the way they like it. The only exception is when the families come up together, like cousins will work together and they stick together. But I never saw Iris with any of them.”

Judy got another idea. “Did she have a locker or anything we could look through? Maybe it would contain something that would help us.”

“No,” Scott answered. “Like I say, there’s so many changes in the workforce, we don’t give them lockers. Only management has lockers. The employees keep their things in their cars or their fanny packs. They’re big on fanny packs.”

Judy made a mental note. “Scott, do you know who her doctor might have been?”

“No. I assumed she used the LCD. Most of them do.”

Judy remembered that Aunt Barb had said the same thing. “Did she ever say she didn’t feel well at work?”

“No, never. She never missed a day and she took all the extra shifts I could give her. She was a workhorse. They all are. They never complain. They’re the best workers you’d ever want, the Mexicans.”

Judy didn’t know whether to be offended, because his tone was so favorable.

Scott smiled crookedly. “You’re looking at me funny. You must not be from around here.”

“No,” Judy said, feeling her face flush. “I’m trying to wrap my head around the use of these undocumented workers. It’s an open secret.”

Scott nodded. “Oh, absolutely, but I don’t think we’re that different from a lot of other places in the country. I’d love to hire Americans, but they don’t want to pick mushrooms. It’s filthy, smelly work. We advertise on craigslist, Monster, everywhere, but nobody applies. We pay minimum wage, too, so it’s not like we’re exploiting anybody.” Scott opened his palms, in uneasy appeal. “Listen, you have to be realistic. We need the labor, and the Mexicans are happy to have the work.”

“Let me ask you one last question.” Judy was still trying to understand. “We were at the scene tonight, where Iris was found, and the police said they’ll follow up with you about her. Will you confirm that she worked here, or will you try to keep it quiet, like you did with us?”

“No, we cooperate with the East Grove police. They get it.”

“Don’t they report you for hiring undocumented workers? Do you ever get raided?”

“We don’t get raided because nobody files a complaint, and the local police tend not to give us too much trouble.” Scott glanced over at a clock on the wall. “Well, I better get back to the floor. Can I show you ladies out?”

“Yes, thanks.” Judy put an arm around her aunt, who looked suddenly thoughtful.

“Come with me.” Scott motioned toward a brown metal door near the office area. “And please, accept my condolences. Iris was a very special lady, and we’ll say a prayer for her tonight.”

“Yes, thanks,” Aunt Barb said quietly. “Good night.”

“After you, Aunt Barb.” Judy opened the door to let her aunt out, and they walked together toward the car.

“I think we need to text your mother again. We’ll tell her we decided to go out for an ice-cream sundae.”

“What? Aren’t you tired yet?” Judy chuckled, in surprise.

“Hell, no.” Her aunt pulled down her knit cap and shoved her hands deep into her pockets. “I’m just getting started.”

Chapter Ten

Judy pulled up, cut the ignition, and looked around. The apartment complex where Iris lived was too run-down to be well-lighted, and the only light came from a street lamp, which dimly illuminated a large, square parking lot that seemed to be the focal point of the apartments, a connected series of two-story buildings wrapped in a U shape around the lot. Old cars filled the parking spaces, some with missing hubcaps and others with dented doors, and the lights from the apartments showed people leaning on the cars and sitting on their front steps or on plastic beach chairs, visible only in silhouette, laughing, talking, or smoking, the red tips of their cigarettes glowing in the dark.

“Judy, you ready to go?”

Judy looked over. “Sure, but what are we trying to accomplish, again?”

“I told you, you’re not going to talk me out of this. I have one day of freedom left. Even if the police follow up, there’s things they might miss. They didn’t know Iris the way I know her. And I’m sure the roommates will be much happier talking to me than the local constabulary.”

“On it.” Judy pulled the key out of the ignition, and they both got out of the car and walked to the driveway of the apartment complex, where she took her aunt’s arm.

“I can walk, you know.” Aunt Barb’s gaze slid slyly to Judy under her knit cap. “My legs are fine, it’s my breasts that are the problem.”

“Yes, but if I hold your breasts, people will talk.”

Aunt Barb laughed. “Look around you, they already are.”

Judy looked at stoops and beach chairs, where heads were turning. The residents had grown quiet as the two women made their way down the center of the square parking area, and a short man nearest them flicked his cigarette into the air, where it arced like a falling star.

“It’s because we’re
gringas,
” Aunt Barb said, lowering her voice. “By the way, like my accent?”

“Nice. How good is your Spanish?”

“Let’s put it this way, your mom is the linguist, not me. But I understand it better than I can speak it.”

“Which apartment did you say it was again?”

“This one, right here.” Her aunt turned right between two parked cars and walked until they reached a path of cracked concrete that served as an interior sidewalk.

“Aunt Barb, do you realize they might not know about Iris’s death?”

“I know. I’ll do the talking, okay?”

“Fine with me. You’re on a roll.” Judy squeezed her arm, and they turned onto a crumbling concrete path that led to the front door of one of the buildings. Everyone on the step or the beach chairs fell silent, and in the lights from inside the first-floor apartments, Judy could see that they were younger than she had realized, maybe in their twenties and thirties, a group of men and women, all of them Hispanic, in an array of T-shirts, sweatshirts, and jeans.

Her aunt stopped short in the middle of the path. “Hello, my name is Barb Moyer and this is my niece Judy. I’m a friend of Iris’s and I’m here to see her roommates Maria Elena or Hermenia.”

“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.”