Betrayed (Rosato & DiNunzio, #2)(30)
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.”
“Thank you, and I’m sorry for your loss.” Aunt Barb released her hand. “We’re looking for Daniella. Father Keegan sent us.”
Maria blinked. “Daniella isn’t here.”
“Oh, I got the impression she worked here on Sundays.”
“She does, usually. Sometimes with Iris.”
“But Daniella didn’t come in today?”
“No, they called me this morning to come in for her, so I came in. Sunday is a busy day for us, after Mass. We have to open.”
“Why didn’t she come in? Is she sick?”
“No.”
“Do you know where Daniella is, where she lives? We’d like to go talk with her.”
Maria hesitated, and Judy became aware that the women had stopped talking in the background, evidently eavesdropping as they looked through the clothes and shoes. “She went home.”
“Where? Kennett Square?”
“No, home to Mexico.”
“Really?” Aunt Barb frowned, puzzled.
Judy hid her surprise that Daniella would leave the country, on the same weekend her friend turned up dead. “When did she leave?”
“I don’t know.”
“When was the last time she worked here?”
“Friday, I think.” Maria scratched her cheek, her manner suddenly hesitant.
Aunt Barb rested a hand on the counter, seemingly tired again, so Judy took over.
“Maria, who told you to come in today? Who called you?”
“Lupe.”
“Who’s she?”
“She’s, like, the boss.”
“What did she say?”
Maria pursed her lips. “She said I had to come to work because Daniella went home.”
“Did she say when Daniella went home?”
“No.”
“Did she say why?”
“No.”
“How did she know?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything more than she told me.” Maria averted her dark eyes.
“What’s Lupe’s phone number?”
“I don’t know.”
“What’s Lupe’s last name?”
“Why?” Maria edged backwards, resting a hand on her pregnant belly.
“Maria, we’re just friends of Iris’s, and there’s no hidden agenda here. It would really help us if we could talk to Lupe. If she called you on your cell phone, you could just look at the phone to get her number.”
Maria shook her head. “I … don’t feel good telling you her number.”
“I understand.” Judy didn’t want to give up. “Maria, how about you tell us Lupe’s last name then? We’re just trying to talk to her about Iris’s death. They were friends, and somebody should tell Daniella that Iris died, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“Please?” Judy smiled in a way that she hoped looked reassuring. Suddenly her phone began ringing in her back pocket. “We’ll keep the information to ourselves, I promise. How about you tell me her last name and I’ll get the number myself?”