Chapter Sixteen
“Here’s my question,” Judy began to say, as she stuffed a sheet into the washing machine. Frank had gone upstairs to bed, and she was standing with Mary in the hallway that passed for a laundry room, because the washer-dryer could be covered by a louvered door. “Why can’t my boyfriend be as awesome as my girlfriend?”
“It’s the boy part.” Mary smiled, looking adorable in a Penn sweatshirt, jeans, and ponytail. She had on the tortoiseshell glasses she wore when she wasn’t at work, but she was even cuter in glasses than contacts, every inch The Girl Most Likely.
“No, I mean it.” Judy slammed the washer door closed, for emphasis. “You’re so awesome to show up on my doorstep, just when I’m feeling the worst ever. I can’t thank you enough for that.”
“Honey, you don’t have to thank me.”
“No, you’re amazing. You don’t even have to be asked, you just know what I need.” Judy cranked the big dial on top of the washing machine to HEAVY LOAD, because even a single sheet overwhelmed the tiny washer-dryer. Or maybe she was feeling sorry for herself and suddenly everything seemed like a Heavy Load.
“You sounded bummed on the phone, and we need to catch up. I’ve been so crazy lately, with the wedding and all. And it’s nothing to come over, I’m only uptown.”
“No, it’s everything. Your coming over here, it’s why you’re the best friend ever in the history of friends. You know what I need even before I do.”
Mary chuckled. “All right already, so what’s your point about Frank? You have to cut him a break. He’s not at his best right now.”
“Oh please. He’s not on Percocet all the time, and he wouldn’t be on Percocet this time if he made better decisions.” Judy uncapped the new Wisk jug and poured a blue stream into the little opening in the machine.
“Aren’t you going to measure the detergent?”
“No, I live dangerously.”
“I always measure.”
“I know, and that’s why I have a sucky boyfriend and you have a great boyfriend. Sorry, I mean fiancé.” Judy set the heavy Wisk jug on the washer with a thump. “Jeez, this thing is a lethal instrument.”
“You were saying…” Mary cued her as usual, and Judy wondered where she’d be without her best friend to keep her on conversational track.
“I was saying, you don’t have to be responsible about everything. Maybe I’m putting in too much detergent, but so what? That you can take a chance with. But playing basketball with a broken hand isn’t the kind of thing that smart people take chances with. Agree?”
“Yes.”
“So what’s his deal? Is he stupid?” Judy waited to hear the washing cycle start, and when it did, she shut the louvered door. “Now let’s go find the dog. She hides when it’s bath time.”
“Of course he’s not stupid. He runs his own company.”
“Exactly, so why can’t he figure this out? Penny! Penny!” Judy padded into the living room in her stocking feet. “It’s not rocket science.”
Mary followed her, with a confused frown. “What can’t he figure out, again?”
“That I need help.” Judy glanced around, but her dog was nowhere in sight. Their small living room looked sweet—two floor-to-ceiling windows facing south, a funky purple velvet sectional with a flea-market Victorian coffee table, and all four walls covered with her bright, abstract oil paintings—except that Frank had left his sweat socks and running sneakers on the ottoman, an open bag of hard pretzels and a Coors can on the end table without a coaster, and the remote control on the floor beside the couch. “See? Look around. Would you leave the place like this?”
“He was going to the ER. He was in pain.”
“He lifted his beer, didn’t he? I always have to get after him to clean up. And where’s the dog? Penny, Penny! Come!”
“Is she upstairs?”
“No, I bet the coat closet. Meanwhile, he was supposed to take the dog to be dipped, but he forgot, so now I have to wash her myself again, because I just did all the sheets.” Judy headed for the entrance hall. “Anyway, if he can’t figure it out himself, why can’t he just watch you? Why can’t he just do what you do? Why can’t he just copy you? Or copy me? If he did for me what I do for him, we’d get along great!”
“He’s a fun-loving, happy guy. He’s the kind of guy that takes you out to dinner on the spur of the moment.”
“So does that mean he’s not an adult? Can’t you be a fun-loving adult? We are!” Judy opened the door to the coat closet, flicked on the light, and found Penny trembling under the coats, a chubby golden retriever trying to make herself invisible. “Penny, come out. I mean, honestly! He’s a sucky boyfriend!”
“He’s not sucky. You love him, don’t you?”
“Yes, but the problem is that he’s sucky, sometimes. Penny, please come out!” Judy went inside the closet, grabbed the dog by the collar, and slid her out on the floor. The dog’s toenails scraped the hardwood, and her eyes went as round as brown marbles, so Judy stroked her back. “It’s okay, honey, you need a bath. You don’t want fleas, do you?”
“He’s not sucky all the time.”
“No, but is that the standard? Penny, come on, sweetie, let’s go.” Judy coaxed the dog to the stairwell, where she balked, but the only bathtub was upstairs. “Mary, believe me when I tell you, a guy who’s sucky sometimes might as well be sucky all the time.”
“Why? That doesn’t follow.”
“Yes it does. Think about it.” Judy tried to budge the dog, but Penny crouched on all fours, her hackles shaking and her fluffy head hanging. “Bottom line, I can’t rely on him. I have to take care of him. And when I need anything, he’s not there because he’s not used to me asking.”
“You didn’t train him.”
“Exactly what I’ve been thinking!” Judy tugged at the dog. “Anthony would never pull this crap. He’s responsible.”
“I can’t take credit, his mother trained him. He never poops on the rug anymore.”
Judy gave up on moving Penny. “I’m gonna have to carry her upstairs. I hate that. She weighs a ton.”
“I’ll take the front, and you take the butt.”
“You don’t mind? You’ve already qualified for sainthood.”
“No, I haven’t. A saint would take the butt.”
“Thanks.” Judy picked up the dog’s hind, and Mary came around to the head and shoulders.
“Hi, Penny. So, you’re upset.”
“Me or the dog?” Judy started climbing with Mary behind her, so that Penny traveled backwards up the stairs.
“Maybe this isn’t the best plan. It’s literally ass-backwards.”
“Welcome to my world.”
“You seem so bummed, honey. Are you saying you want to break up with him?”
“I don’t know, but we can’t talk about it anymore anyway.” Judy worried that Frank might hear them as they got closer to the second floor, so she flared her eyes meaningfully at Mary, who understood instantly, since all women understood Meaningful Eye Flarings.
“So talk to me about Aunt Barb. You’re worried about her.”
“I am, but it’s not only that.” Judy struggled to not drop the soft, heavy dog, as she squirmed. “So much happened this weekend, I don’t know where to start. Her best friend died, and it seems really hinky. Plus I found ten grand in cash money hidden in her garage.”
“What?” Mary asked, incredulous, and Judy told her the whole story, from meeting Iris, to hearing about her death from the police, to visiting the scene on Brandywine Road, then Mike’s Exotics, Iris’s apartment, and finally the church and the mission, with Daniella’s disappearance. There was so much to tell that the story lasted the entire time they washed, toweled off, and blow-dried the shaking dog, then put in a new load of laundry, and finally left to go pick up Frank’s truck. They took Judy’s car, with Penny asleep in the backseat, in some form of doggie shock.
“You know what I think?” Judy asked, as she steered through the dark city streets to the hospital garage. It was drizzling, and droplets dotted her windshield, but there was no traffic. Sunday nights in Philadelphia, everyone was home, depressed about work the next day. “I think something fishy is going on, considering everything as a whole.”
“What do you mean?”
“We have Iris found dead, out of nowhere, and her best friend leaves to go back to Mexico, and there’s secret money stashed in my aunt’s garage. Considering the totality of the circumstances, as the lawyers say, it raises a lot of questions.”
“Like what?”
“Like where did she get the money? Why did she hide it from my aunt? Why did her best friend leave, even before her funeral? Who was that call from that she got? And is any of it connected to the hidden money?” Judy felt good to be talking things over with Mary the way she always did. It wasn’t about men all the time, just most of the time. “I don’t think she was murdered, there were no signs of violence. I saw the body, I know.” Judy shuddered at the memory. “If there had been signs of a violent death, or a weapon, I would say the broken nails were a defensive wound.”
“But there wasn’t.”
“I know. Right. I can’t wait to see what the coroner turns up, but what if she was murdered, and the money had something to do with it?” Judy steered into the darkness, switching on the windshield wipers. “We’ve handled murder cases before, and if this happened in Philly, we’d put two and two together. Secret money, a sudden disappearance, and a mysterious death? What more does it take?”
“It’s not a mysterious death. Don’t get carried away.”
“But we love to get carried away, and there are legit questions.”
Mary snorted. “So what are you thinking? Who would kill Iris, and why?”
“I’m not sure. A few things are possible. I liked Iris and—”
“Stop. Assume you don’t know Iris. Because you don’t.”
“I do, kind of.” Judy flashed on Iris’s shy smile, in the rose garden. “I’ve been hearing about her for a while. Plus Aunt Barb adores her and she’s an excellent judge of character.”
“Would she if she knew that Iris was keeping some mighty big secrets from her? Hiding money in her house?”
“A good point.” Judy stopped at a streetlight, its redness fragmented by the raindrops on the windshield. “So we’ll put out of our mind that we think Iris is a nice person.”
“Exactly, and if so, the most likely possibility is that she either stole the money or was mixed up with something unlawful that generated cash.”
“Why do you say it’s from something unlawful?”
“Because you said she was in the country three years, and she probably made minimum wage at her jobs, if that. You can’t save that much money that quickly, so she had to come by it another way.”
“Hmm.” Judy thought about it. “And she would’ve hidden it because she has no other place to put it. She can’t get a bank account because she doesn’t have a Social Security number, and she can’t leave it at her apartment because of the risk of theft. Her roommate told us there’s a lot of theft in the undocumented community, so did the cops.”
“Of course, because nobody can use a bank. My mother was the same way, when she came over from Italy. She always felt like an outsider. She didn’t trust the banks, she wouldn’t even use a credit card. She kept the money under the mattress.”
“People really do that?”
“Italians do, big-time. Also, our sleep number is ten grand.”
Judy smiled.
“She still hides money in coffee cans and her sewing kits. Plus five bucks in her bra.”
Judy laughed. “But your mom came in legally. There’s no analogy.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s an immigrant mentality, and these are the new immigrants, and if they’re illegal, they’re essentially fugitives. They don’t trust anybody or anything, they can’t call the police. They live in a lawless world. That’s why they come and go without a word, like the guy at Mike’s told you. They don’t play by the same rules.”
“What’s your point?”
“So, it’s not that strange that Daniella would leave, or Iris would hide money, or she couldn’t confide in your aunt. She doesn’t trust anybody, she can’t.”
“So the question is, what was she up to? My aunt didn’t give her that much, and I don’t think she works for anyone else, except Mike’s.”
“Maybe she stole it from the office or petty cash, something like that?”
“I doubt that. I saw Mike’s and it doesn’t look like the kind of business that has ten grand lying around.”
“Okay, what about selling the stuff your aunt gave her?”
“Like an eBay freak? It wouldn’t amount to ten grand.”
“Prostitution?”
“Yuck, out of the question.” Judy shook her head. “Trust me. She had crucifix earrings.”
“Ever hear of Mary Magdalene?” Mary chuckled.
“Stop.”
“What about something having to do with her immigration status? Could she have been helping people across the border for money?”
“Human trafficking? Are you kidding?” Judy scoffed, braking at a stop light. “She was a cute little lady, a baker and a gardener.”
“Oh, in that case forget it. No criminals bake.”
Judy smiled.
“Okay, then what about selling drugs?”
“She didn’t seem like that type, either.”
“Not all drug dealers seem like the type, and if she goes back and forth to Mexico, you never know.”
Judy braked at the next light, traveling up Lombard. “It’s hard to imagine her selling drugs, given how religious she was, and what her roommates and Father Keegan had said about her.”
“Means nothing. You need to buy into the premise that she’s two-faced, leads a secret life, all that. If you ask me, she was up to no good, then died of a heart attack. I think that’s what happened.”
“They seemed surprised she wasn’t at work, too.”
“So she keeps secrets from them, too.” Mary leaned over, putting a hand on Judy’s arm. “Anyway you’re missing the point. Do you know what really worries me?”
“What?” Judy glanced over to new gravity in Mary’s voice.
“What if someone comes looking for the cash at your aunt’s house? If Iris is in cahoots with anybody, they’ll know it’s there. And even if she’s not, you’re telling me it’s a tight community, and it’s possible that someone else knows about the cash and also knows that Iris is dead. So they might come and try to steal it.”
“Oh no.” Judy gripped the steering wheel in alarm. “I didn’t think of that.”
“Where’s the money now?”
“I had packed it up, but I was too worried my mom would find it, so put it back in the garage, in Iris’s chest.” Judy was kicking herself. “I wasn’t sure what to do with it. Was that dumb?”
“No, that’s what I would’ve done. It wasn’t yours to take.”
“But I don’t think we should leave it there, especially with my aunt going into the hospital and leaving the house unattended.” Judy’s mouth went dry. “They could get broken into.”
“It’s possible.”
“What should I do? Call and tell them?”
“No, not over the phone.”
“Go get it?” Judy checked the dashboard clock, which read 7:35. “And do what with it? Tell my aunt, the day before her operation? How much more can she take?”
“Hit the gas, and we’ll figure it out on the way.”