Tote Bags and Toe Tags by Dorothy Howell Page B

couldn’t imagine how I’d possibly live the rest of my life knowing Mom had been right about something. It would completely shatter our relationship as I’d always known it.
    Not a great feeling.
    So when I got in my Honda and pulled out of the parking garage, I headed straight for Juanita’s house. I needed to put this Juanita-might-be-dead thing to rest quickly.
    I’d never been to Juanita’s place. In all the years she’d worked for my mom, Juanita had always been at our house, day in and day out, working early or late, holidays and special occasions, whenever Mom needed her. The only constant was her day off, which was Sunday. Juanita had another day off during the week but it changed, depending on Mom’s schedule.
    My GPS took me up the 110, then onto the 5 toward Eagle Rock, which was sandwiched between Glendale and Pasadena. It was home to Occidental College. The town had been around for decades, changing with the times, like a lot of places in Southern California. There was a wide variety of neighborhoods and houses, and everything from working-class people to young professionals and artsy types lived there.
    I decided to give Ty a quick call as I transitioned to the 2. Even if he’d slept in today, he’d be up by now. I punched in his speed-dial number and was surprised when he answered on the second ring.
    â€œHow are you feeling?” I asked.
    â€œGreat,” he said.
    â€œReally?” I asked.
    He hesitated a minute. “Still a little sore.”
    â€œAre you at the office?” I asked.
    â€œNo,” he replied. “I’m taking care of some things.”
    Amber had left something undone? That was weird.
    â€œWhat kind of things?” I asked.
    â€œSeeing my mom.”
    I liked Ty’s family, the few of them I’d met, that is. His Grandma Ada was a real hoot.
    â€œI’ll bring you something special for dinner tonight,” I said.
    â€œWe can go out,” Ty offered, which, I’m sure, was in no way a reflection on my nonexistent culinary skills.
    â€œYou need to rest,” I told him.
    Ty was quiet for a few minutes, then said, “That’s really nice of you, Haley.”
    â€œSee you soon,” I said, then hung up.
    I took the exit for Colorado Boulevard, the main street that ran through Eagle Rock. It still looked as it must have appeared back in the day when Pat Boone topped the charts, with lots of small shops, restaurants, and mom-and-pop businesses.
    The GPS directed me onto Eagle Rock Boulevard for a couple of blocks, then through a few more turns, and finally onto the street where Juanita lived. I crept along, getting a look at the area. Stucco houses, fenced yards, mature landscaping. The neighborhood was older but in good shape. Kids rode bicycles and played in the yards. Not a lot of adults were out, but that wasn’t unusual for a hot summer afternoon.
    I pulled in at the curb and parked in front of Juanita’s house. The place was neat and clean, surrounded by a chain-link fence. It had a settled look to it, as if she and her family had lived there for years. I knew Juanita had a husband. She had two grown daughters, one here in Eagle Rock and another who’d recently moved out of state; I didn’t have contact info for either of them.
    I got out of my Honda and went through the gate. The front windows were closed and the blinds were down. I stepped up onto the porch and I rang the bell. No answer. I rang again, then knocked. Still no response.
    I glanced around, saw nobody looking, and opened the mailbox hanging by the front door. A handful of envelopes were inside, mostly bills, and the usual junk mail. I noted two different postmarks on them.
    I left the porch and followed the narrow concrete strips that led from the street to the detached garage at the back of the house. I gazed through the glass panel in the big rollup door and saw Juanita’s Chevy parked inside.
    While I was