Death Gone A-Rye by Winnie Archer

Author:Winnie Archer [Archer, Winnie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2021-01-25T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

After my visit to Chavez Elementary School, I went home, made a batch of popovers, and sat at the kitchen table with my laptop open. Agatha lay stretched out on the floor by my feet.

I’d decided my next step was to figure out who the political donor was that Nessa Renchrik had met with the morning she died. I tore a popover in half and slathered it with plum jam from a local farm. Bread, coupled with something sweet, had a way of soothing the soul.

It only took a few minutes to track down the Renchriks’ home number. I was only slightly surprised they had one. Nessa had been a public figure, so it made sense she’d have a landline with a number separate from her cell and her husband’s business. I dialed, it rang once, and a boy picked up with a tentative, “Hello?”

“Oh, hi,” I said, surprised at hearing a real voice. I’d half-expected to get an answering machine. I immediately regrouped, placing the young voice with a name. “Is this Tate?”

“Yeah. Who’s this?”

“My name is Ivy. I spoke to your dad a few days ago at your house.”

“Oh.”

“I was there with my friends. You came to the door as your dad was leaving?”

“Oh yeah.”

He wasn’t a chatterbox, that was clear. He’d probably been ingrained with the idea that you don’t talk to strangers. “Your dad, he was going to work when we left, I think?”

“Maybe. To one of his properties.”

“Right, right. Something about Sylvia, I think.” I was fishing, and part of me felt guilty for trying to get information from a child, but I had no choice.

“Syl—?”

There was a scuffle and a female voice came on the line. “Who’s this?”

I recognized the voice right away. “Rachel?”

“I said, who is this?”

“Ivy Culpepper. I met you the other day at your house? I was talking to your dad with my friend—”

“The hot guy. I remember.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Right.”

“My dad’s not here.”

“I’m sure he’s dealing with a lot right now.”

Silence.

I tried again. “I just have a quick question for you. Do you know Sylvia Cabrera?”

Again, silence.

“Rachel?”

Crickets.

I tried again. “Did she work for your mom?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I just learned that she was deported. I, um, I didn’t know if you knew that.”

Rachel gasped. I could picture her putting one hand over her mouth. “Deported? You mean sent back to Mexico?”

“Colombia, actually. And yeah. Sent back.”

“That can’t be right.”

“I spoke to her husband. It’s right.”

“But my mom and dad, they would have told us.”

Her reaction raised a red flag. Why would her parents have told her about Sylvia? “Did you know her pretty well?”

“She babysat Tate sometimes when Carmen was off duty, and she was kind of like our cook. Plus, she worked for my parents’ company.”

“I thought she was your mom’s assistant.”

“Yeah. Household assistant.”

So a glorified gofer? I slathered more plum jam on my popover and took a little bite before answering. “I mean I know she worked for the business. I just didn’t know she worked at your home, too.

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