Betrayed (Rosato & DiNunzio, #2)(6)

Chapter Three

Judy looked over, and a middle-aged Hispanic woman with fluffy black hair in a pixie cut came out of the house. She was cute, roundish, and only about five feet tall, but gave the impression of being strong and sturdy as she crossed the lawn on short legs. She had on a faded Eagles T-shirt and jeans and carried a brown tote bag on her shoulder.

Aunt Barb motioned her over. “Iris, come meet my niece!”

Judy turned to her aunt, pleasantly surprised. “So that’s the Iris I’ve heard so much about? Your gardening buddy?”

“Yes.” Aunt Barb gestured to Judy when Iris reached the table. “Iris, this is Judy, and Judy, Iris Juarez.”

“Hi, Iris, it’s great to finally meet you!” Judy extended a hand, and Iris shook it, her grip strong and her nails manicured red, with tiny rhinestones on the tip.

“Please to meet you, too,” Iris said, with a thick Spanish accent. She smiled easily, but almost shyly. Her smallish eyes were a rich, earthy brown with deep crow’s-feet, and her skin had a dark brownish hue. Thin gold crucifixes dangled from her ears.

Aunt Barb gestured to a chair. “Iris, sit down, please. Join us a second. You have time before work, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Iris pulled out the remaining wrought-iron chair and sat down, perched on the edge. She placed a silver cell phone, one of the older models, on the table.

Aunt Barb picked up an empty glass. “Would you like some iced tea?”

“No.” Iris shook her head, and Judy noticed her mother and aunt exchange chilly glances. Granted, Iris wasn’t what Judy had expected, but she seemed like a perfectly nice woman.

Judy asked her, “Iris, where are you from?”

“Kennett Square.”

“No, I mean, before that. You’re from Mexico originally, right?”

“Yes. Guerrero.”

“Where is that?” Judy had been to Mexico, but her Spanish wasn’t as good as her Latin, which was excellent, if useless.

“Down.” Iris waved her hand toward the ground.

Judy got the gist. “Oh, south. Do you have family there?”

“No, no.” Iris winced, and Judy sensed she’d said the wrong thing.

Her aunt interjected, “Iris’s husband died six years ago, as did her sons. In a car accident.”

“Oh no, I’m so sorry.” Judy swallowed hard, and her mother reached silently for the iced tea and poured herself a glass.

Her aunt forced a smile. “Judy, Iris grew corn, back in Mexico. She kept the farm going, all by herself, one of the few women in the village. She can grow anything, anywhere. She’s a master in this garden, I tell you, a master. I’ve taken classes from horticulturalists who don’t have her touch.” Aunt Barb nodded toward the rosebushes. “She should get the credit for Reine Victoria, not me.”

“Really?” Judy said, happy to have the subject changed.

Iris was already shaking her head. “No, Barb show me.”

“Iris, that’s not true.” Aunt Barb turned to Judy, newly animated, and Judy could tell that her aunt wanted her to get to know Iris, especially since Judy’s mother was giving the woman the silent treatment.

Judy smiled at Iris. “So what brought you here? Why did you leave Mexico?”

“I need work. The police, they take my farm.”

“Why did they do that?”

“I don’t know.” Iris frowned, shaking her head. Her soft shoulders slumped. “The police, not good. I hab no choice, I go.”

Aunt Barb interjected, “Iris is the strongest woman I know. She inspires me every day, especially now.” Aunt Barb faced Iris, touching her arm. “Iris, tell Judy what you went through to get here. It was impossible, truly.”

“Oh no.” Iris waved her off again, shyly. “Is too long a story.”

“No, tell me.” Judy smiled. “How did you get here from Mexico?”

“I run,” Iris answered.

Judy thought she misunderstood. “You ran? Like, running, in a race?”

“Yes.” Iris pumped her arms, as if she were running.

“For how long?”

“Three night.”

“For how long, each night?”

“All.” Iris chuckled, showing a glimpse of a gold tooth in front.

“You ran all night, for three nights?” Judy asked, incredulous. The woman had to be fifty-five years old, and she hardly had an athletic build.

“In dessert,” Iris added, and Judy understood that she meant desert.

“What desert?”

“Sonora.” Iris looked at Aunt Barb. “Sonora, is call?”

“Yes, the Sonoran desert in Arizona.” Aunt Barb turned to Judy. “She ran all night for three nights, from seven o’clock at night until seven the next morning. The desert is cold at night. There were ten other people, only two were women, none as old as she was. During the day, they hid inside bushes, despite snakes, rats, and a hundred-and-twenty-degree temperatures, in July.”

“Really?” Judy asked, aghast. Meanwhile, she realized why her mother was so angry. Iris must have entered the country illegally, and her mother didn’t approve. Judy didn’t like the idea either, but she felt rapt by Iris’s story. She asked her, “Iris, why the Sonoran desert? How did you get there?”