Betrayed (Rosato & DiNunzio, #2)(21)

“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?”