Betrayed (Rosato & DiNunzio, #2)(27)

“How dare you speak to me that way!” Her mother’s eyes widened in outrage, but Judy could see a flicker of pain cross her forehead and realized that she had just answered her own question. It was because Aunt Barb was her sister that her mother wanted to be the one who was closer to her. But Judy had no way to take the words back or to change their truth. Still her mother didn’t need it thrown in her face, and Judy felt a wave of shame.

“Mom, I’m sorry—” she said, her cheeks aflame, but her mother had already turned away, hurrying from the kitchen.





Chapter Thirteen

Sunday morning, Judy and her Aunt Barb found themselves completely out of place in the crowd heading from the parking lot to the church. Judy was the only blonde, and they were taller than everyone by a foot, so they stood out like walking lighthouses. Besides that, everyone seemed to know each other, greeting each other with hugs and kisses, and there were kids of all ages holding hands, jumping up and down, laughing and talking, filling the air with Spanish and English, making a collectively happy bubble of families flowing toward the tall, arched doors of the church.

“It’s such a pretty church, isn’t it?” Aunt Barb said pleasantly, as they approached.

“It sure is.” Judy tucked her aunt’s arm under hers, a spontaneous burst of affection. Her aunt had come downstairs this morning determined to go, even though Judy could see that her eyes were puffy, undoubtedly from crying. It had been a tense breakfast, with Judy’s mother characteristically reserved toward her, just short of the silent treatment. If Aunt Barb had noticed, she kept it to herself, and her mother had surprised no one by deciding that she wouldn’t go to church with them, but instead would pack the go-bag.

“The church is relatively new and looks it, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does,” Judy said, as they reached the sidewalk that led to the doors. The church was a lovely structure, and its tan stucco exterior, arched windows, and rounded bell tower topped with red tiles, suggested its Spanish design.

“Have you ever been to a Catholic church?”

“No.” Judy wished Mary were here, her guide to all things Catholic. “Will the service be in Spanish?”

“Yes, and this is the one we always went to,” her aunt answered, as they filed in behind the line. “Father Keegan performs it, and your mother would be happy to know he’s Irish, complete with freckles. He always jokes that they keep him here as a token, but he’s not white, he’s pink.”

Judy smiled, but flashed on the $10,000 cash. Her aunt would have mentioned it if she had known about its existence, and Judy didn’t want to tell her about it yet, because she didn’t want to upset her before her operation. “By the way, remember when you were talking about how you used to give Iris clothes and things?”

“Sure, yes.”

“Do you think she ever sold them?”

“No, of course not.”

“Why not?” Judy inched up as the line toward the entrance shifted forward. “Do you know what her financial situation was like?”

“Not really. I paid her well, and she never complained about money. I knew she could live well enough to take care of herself, and she was careful about her money.”

“How so?”

“Whenever we ran an errand, like to the garden center, she never bought anything for herself. Same thing when we went for chemo. I would treat her in the coffee shop. She never spent money.”

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.