Betrayed (Rosato & DiNunzio, #2)(11)

Judy hugged her aunt close. “Maybe she wasn’t feeling well, so she left work and went home?”

Judy’s mother nodded, dry-eyed, taking her place behind the chair. “That’s probably what it was, Barb. You never know, she could have been nauseated. Nausea is a sign of heart attack. Jaw pain, too. Shoulder pain. Women often mistake warning signs. They think the problem is the flu, but it’s not. Did you know that?”

Judy knew her mother was talking only to fill the silence, so she didn’t answer, but kept rubbing her aunt’s back.

“No, no … this is too awful, it can’t be. It just can’t be. I just can’t believe … it’s her.”

“Ladies, excuse us.” Officer Hoffman rose quietly, and Officer Ramirez followed suit. “We’ll leave now and give you some privacy.”

“Officers, no, wait.” Aunt Barb lifted her face from her palms. Tears filled her eyes, her brow collapsed into deep furrows, and her downturned mouth made a mournful gash. “I want to go, I want to … see her. Where is she?”

“What?” Judy asked, aghast. She couldn’t imagine her aunt’s going to the scene and seeing the body.

Judy’s mother frowned. “Barb, no, you’re not thinking clearly. You’ve had a shock. Stay home, please. You have so much to do. Your friends from work have been calling. You have to call them back.”

Office Hoffman blinked. “Mrs. Moyer, there’s no need for you to go to the scene. A photo ID suffices for a personal ID, for our purposes.”

“I want to see her.” Aunt Barb took a long final sniffle, but her lips trembled, curling into a miserably wiggly line.

“Aunt Barb, this is too awful to do—”

“No, it’s not, I can do it.” Her aunt shook her head, stricken. “I know what death looks like. I saw my parents. I saw Steve, I was with him. I held his hand.” Aunt Barb pursed her lips, as if what she was about to say physically pained her. “Iris carried my name and number in her wallet. She thought I was there for her. Now I will be. I’m going. I’ll just get my purse, Officer.”

Judy sighed inwardly. Her aunt may have been the baby of the family, but when she wanted to do something, there was no stopping her. It was no accident that she could grow the notoriously tricky heirloom roses. “Aunt Barb, let me go with you then.”

“I’d love that, if you don’t mind.”





Chapter Six

Judy parked her tomato-red Volkswagen Beetle behind the police cruiser, on a long, straight stretch of Brandywine Way, a single-lane backroad through acres of shorn hayfields, which would have been pitch black except for the police activity. Uniformed police officers and men in ties and jackets stood in the street, talking in groups. Several police cruisers parked, with their red, white, and blue lights flashing silently from a light bar atop their roofs. Red flares marked a perimeter, sending smoke trailing into the air, where it vanished. In the center of the scene, its front bumper buried in a huge hay roll, sat an old brown Honda.

Judy looked over at her aunt, who had sobbed softly during most of the ride. “Aunt Barb?” she said, touching her arm. “We’re here.”

“Okay.” Her aunt dabbed her nose, then put her Kleenex away in the pocket of her parka. She had on a red knit cap and seemed lost in her maroon parka, which dwarfed her since she’d lost weight. Her skin looked pale even in the dim interior, lighted only by the flashing lights of the police cruiser in front of them. “Thanks for taking me. I just want to see her, for myself.”

“I understand.” Judy patted her aunt’s arm, stuffed in the thick parka.

“I know she’s gone, but I don’t know, in a way. It’s unreal to me, it’s abstract. Does that make any sense?”

“Sure,” Judy answered, meaning it. She knew-but-didn’t-know so many things in her life. She knew-but-didn’t-know that she wouldn’t marry Frank. She knew-but-didn’t-know that she wanted to be a partner. She knew-but-didn’t-know that she wanted to be closer to her mother. She knew-but-didn’t-know that Aunt Barb could die. “I think it’s good that we came.”

“Thanks.” Aunt Barb closed her eyes, and a tear rolled down her cheek, illuminated by the flashing lights. She wiped it away quickly. “Iris was my best friend. I didn’t want to say so before, in front of your mother. I was afraid that she—or my friends at work, whoever—would judge me.”

“I wouldn’t have,” Judy said softly.

“I know that, but shame on me. Iris has such a good heart. She always understood how I was feeling, even when Steve died. She was there.” Aunt Barb frowned, blinking wetly. “Please don’t take that the wrong way. You and your mom were there, too. But after the funeral, when everybody went home and the casseroles were eaten and the phone calls stopped, Iris was there.” Tears brimmed in Aunt Barb’s eyes, threatening to spill over again. “I told everybody at work that my garden healed me after Steve passed, but it was really her.” Aunt Barb’s lower lip puckered, her tears pooled in her eyes. “She’s my best friend. I never even said so, before now. I never even told her, and now it’s too late.”

Judy’s heart broke for her. “Aunt Barb, I’m sure she knew.”

“But still, I should have told her, or you or your mom and people at work. Why didn’t I?” Aunt Barb wiped her eyes, shaking her head. “Because I was ashamed? Was it class or race? Or money? What’s the difference? I’m a moral coward. We got along great. We talked about everything. We laughed and laughed.” Aunt Barb wiped her cheeks and eyes, then seemed to will her tears to subside. “I’ll find a way to make it up to her. I will bury her and I will mourn her.”