Read Online Betrayed: A Rosato & DiNunzio Novel (Rosato & Associates Book 13) by Lisa Scottoline - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lisa Scottoline
Ads: Link
recognize: TOLONG TANGAN HALANGI PINTU! Do not block door! Judy placed a hand on her aunt’s back. “Go, please, I can’t take this smell.”
Aunt Barb opened the door. “This must be the packing room.”
Judy followed her into another massive cold room, filled with manure smell and mechanical noise. She blinked against the sudden brightness from fluorescent panels suspended from a grimy corrugated ceiling, illuminating twenty-odd women working at a long assembly line, packing mushrooms behind a wall of heavy machinery that had huge rolls of plastic wrap.
Her aunt hurried ahead, but Judy slowed to take it in, imagining poor Iris working here. None of the women looked up, their ears plugged against the refrigeration noise, breathing in the manure smell. They were white, Hispanic, and Asian, all dressed in dark blue smocks over hoodies and wool hats over hairnets, packing mushrooms into light blue containers, positioning them in the wrapping machines, stamping them, and placing them in large, unmarked cardboard boxes. The humans worked like robots, part of the assembly line itself, and the job horrified Judy as much as the growing room. She hurried ahead to keep up with Aunt Barb, past a time clock with yellow cards in trays, and reached a scuffed swinging door, pushed it open, and entered a short hallway leading to some sort of office.
“That was awful.” Judy took a deep breath, but the air was still smelly. She felt vaguely ashamed at herself, for beefing about the asbestos damages cases, but she knew that wouldn’t stop her.
“Finally, the office! Let me do the talking.” Aunt Barb flagged down an overweight man who looked to be in his mid-thirties, lumbering down the paneled hall toward them, a confused frown folding his fleshy face. His hair was a sparse brown, and he had on a light blue oxford shirt, loose tan work pants, and worn black sneakers.
“Ladies?” He waved back at them. “May I help you? The public isn’t allowed in the—”
“I’m sorry, but we’re looking for Julio,” Aunt Barb answered, as they reached the man. “He’s the boss, right? Or is Mike around?”
“They’re not here. I’m Scott Panuc, assistant operations manager. What can I do for you?”
“Scott, my name is Barb Moyer, this is my niece Judy, and I’m a friend of Iris Juarez, who works here—”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Scott folded his arms over his chubby belly.
“Look, I know that Iris worked here. She’s been working here for two months on the three-to-eleven shift, in the packing room. She should’ve been working tonight.”
“No, you have your facts wrong.” Scott shook his head, sticking out his lower lip. “I don’t know any Iris Juarez. Nobody works here by that name.”
Judy held her tongue, only because her aunt wanted to do the talking.
“Scott,” her aunt said, calmly, “I know she worked here. She started two months ago. I dropped her off here two weeks ago.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“I know she worked here. I picked her up here, too, the same day. That was when I met, or at least saw, Julio.”
Judy interjected, “Scott, we’re not from Immigration or the IRS or anything. We’re just personal friends of Iris’s, trying to figure out what happened to her. I don’t know if you heard but she was found dead in her car today, on Brandywine Way.”
“Oh no!” Scott’s eyes flared, his surprise genuine. “Oh, uh, jeez, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Me, too.” Aunt Barb sighed, whether from relief or fatigue, Judy couldn’t tell. “Okay, so now we know. She worked here.”
“Yes, she did.” Scott buckled his lower lip. “I didn’t know who you were, well, you know.”
“I know. The police think she had a heart attack. I’m just trying to get to the bottom of it, because she should have been at work tonight.”
Scott hesitated, rubbing his face. “Yes, to be
Aunt Barb opened the door. “This must be the packing room.”
Judy followed her into another massive cold room, filled with manure smell and mechanical noise. She blinked against the sudden brightness from fluorescent panels suspended from a grimy corrugated ceiling, illuminating twenty-odd women working at a long assembly line, packing mushrooms behind a wall of heavy machinery that had huge rolls of plastic wrap.
Her aunt hurried ahead, but Judy slowed to take it in, imagining poor Iris working here. None of the women looked up, their ears plugged against the refrigeration noise, breathing in the manure smell. They were white, Hispanic, and Asian, all dressed in dark blue smocks over hoodies and wool hats over hairnets, packing mushrooms into light blue containers, positioning them in the wrapping machines, stamping them, and placing them in large, unmarked cardboard boxes. The humans worked like robots, part of the assembly line itself, and the job horrified Judy as much as the growing room. She hurried ahead to keep up with Aunt Barb, past a time clock with yellow cards in trays, and reached a scuffed swinging door, pushed it open, and entered a short hallway leading to some sort of office.
“That was awful.” Judy took a deep breath, but the air was still smelly. She felt vaguely ashamed at herself, for beefing about the asbestos damages cases, but she knew that wouldn’t stop her.
“Finally, the office! Let me do the talking.” Aunt Barb flagged down an overweight man who looked to be in his mid-thirties, lumbering down the paneled hall toward them, a confused frown folding his fleshy face. His hair was a sparse brown, and he had on a light blue oxford shirt, loose tan work pants, and worn black sneakers.
“Ladies?” He waved back at them. “May I help you? The public isn’t allowed in the—”
“I’m sorry, but we’re looking for Julio,” Aunt Barb answered, as they reached the man. “He’s the boss, right? Or is Mike around?”
“They’re not here. I’m Scott Panuc, assistant operations manager. What can I do for you?”
“Scott, my name is Barb Moyer, this is my niece Judy, and I’m a friend of Iris Juarez, who works here—”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Scott folded his arms over his chubby belly.
“Look, I know that Iris worked here. She’s been working here for two months on the three-to-eleven shift, in the packing room. She should’ve been working tonight.”
“No, you have your facts wrong.” Scott shook his head, sticking out his lower lip. “I don’t know any Iris Juarez. Nobody works here by that name.”
Judy held her tongue, only because her aunt wanted to do the talking.
“Scott,” her aunt said, calmly, “I know she worked here. She started two months ago. I dropped her off here two weeks ago.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“I know she worked here. I picked her up here, too, the same day. That was when I met, or at least saw, Julio.”
Judy interjected, “Scott, we’re not from Immigration or the IRS or anything. We’re just personal friends of Iris’s, trying to figure out what happened to her. I don’t know if you heard but she was found dead in her car today, on Brandywine Way.”
“Oh no!” Scott’s eyes flared, his surprise genuine. “Oh, uh, jeez, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Me, too.” Aunt Barb sighed, whether from relief or fatigue, Judy couldn’t tell. “Okay, so now we know. She worked here.”
“Yes, she did.” Scott buckled his lower lip. “I didn’t know who you were, well, you know.”
“I know. The police think she had a heart attack. I’m just trying to get to the bottom of it, because she should have been at work tonight.”
Scott hesitated, rubbing his face. “Yes, to be
Similar Books
