(2012) Colder Than Death (12 page)

I went to my car in the Mall parking lot and read
The Cheerleader Wore Black
. It was only one hundred and fifteen pages and it took me a little over an hour. The plot concerned a rebellious teenage girl who was hideously scarred after a car accident and how she regains her self-esteem as she discovers new areas of self worth. I tried to figure out why Gretchen dedicated the book to Brandy Parker.

I felt that if I wanted an answer I would have to ask Quilla. Or Gretchen herself.

I skimmed the other two books, hoping to learn something about the author, specifically, what it must be like to be the child of a man who murdered her mother. One dealt with a child's search for the woman who gave her up for adoption, the other with being the child of a single parent. I was beginning to feel more like a detective than a Funeral Director and I was actually anticipating telling Perry about the book. I would give it to him to read. Maybe he could get something from it in the way of clues that I couldn't see.

I returned to the crematorium, picked up the cremains which had been deposited into the urn that Quilla had selected two days before, placed it in the front seat next to me and headed to Elm Grove cemetery.

As planned, Quilla and her mother were waiting at the entrance gate. There were two other cars, a late model Chevy Malibu belonging to Ralph Mutrax, Minister at the Dankworth Presbyterian Church and a Volvo. Suzanne was sitting in her car, talking to Ralph who leaned against the driver's side window. Quilla, wearing the exact same outfit she had on the night before, was outside the driver's side of the Volvo.

At first I couldn't make out the driver, but as I pulled alongside I realized it was Gretchen. Seeing her in the daylight made me realize that she was far more attractive than I'd thought. As I got out of my car Quilla trotted over to me.

“Did you talk to Perry Cobb?” she asked as she walked with me towards her mother's car.

“He'll meet you whenever you want?”

“Let’s do it as soon as we leave the cemetery.”

“Won't there be a reception after the funeral?”

Quilla rolled her eyes. “Are you shitting me? My mother's going back to work after this is over.”

“Where will you be going?”

“If I can't talk to Cobb, probably to Viper's.”

“Isn't he in school?”

“He gets out early today for therapy. Is meeting with Cobb today possible?”

“I'll call him after the service.”

As we reached her mother's car Quilla pulled away from me and returned to Gretchen. I looked at Suzanne and said, “We can wait in case anyone else is coming.”

“There won't be anyone else,” said Suzanne firmly. “Let’s get this over with.”

I nodded okay. “Follow me,” I said, then got back in my car and led the tiny procession to the gravesite.

Ground burial for cremated remains is rare and ironic, considering that a hole is dug as per usual by a backhoe, but only an urn is put in the earth. The ceremony was as brief as any I'd ever seen. The urn was placed atop the green tarpaulin that covered the hole, then Ralph Mutrax said a few words about the tragedy of Brandy Parker's murder, her short life and a few prayers and that was it. He looked at me as if to say, “It's all yours,” then I spoke.

I always remained behind to oversee the burial. But this service, like the death of Brandy Parker, was unusual. So my remarks were brief.

“The service is complete. I’ll stay behind to supervise the interment.” Gretchen gave Quilla a long, affectionate hug, nodded to Suzanne, then turned and walked towards her car. I looked towards Suzanne and Quilla. “Mrs. Worthington, you and Quilla can go now.”

Suzanne nodded and had gone less than three feet when Quilla spoke in a firm voice. “I'm staying 'til the end.”

Suzanne, looking too tired to argue, uttered a simple, “Quilla, please don't put me through that. This is painful enough. Let's just go.”

“I'm
staying
!” she said adamantly.

“I’m feeling sick,” said Suzanne. “I can't watch that thing being put into the ground and I don't want to wait around for you.”

“I'll go back with Del,” said Quilla. Her right hand brushed against my left arm. “Can I go back with you?”

“It's up to your mother,” I said to Quilla, then to Suzanne I said, “It's not a problem. Really.”

Suzanne glanced with resignation at Quilla, looked at me and said, “Thank you.”

Ralph Mutrax walked with her to her car. Gretchen pulled away first, then Suzanne, then Ralph.

“It's such a joke that that fag Mutrax was here,” said Quilla. “Aunt Brandy didn't believe in all that religious mumbo jumbo.”

The burial was swift. Alton sent two of his four-man crew. The tarpaulin was removed and the urn was lowered into the grave much like a bucket being sent down a well. The backhoe then pushed the dirt that had been piled under the tarpaulin into the hole, leveling it out as best as was possible. In a week or so, once the ground had settled, the grass that had been pried up in inch thick clumps ten inches square, would be layered back on top of the dirt. Within a few months they too would settle in and within a year it would be smooth and level with the horizon.

Quilla had watched the entire scene with a stone-faced seriousness. No tears or emotion. When the last shovelful of dirt had been smoothed over I said, “That's it,” and she said, “Let's go,” softly.

******

We slid into the hearse and motored slowly out of the cemetery. We'd driven less than a mile when Quilla said, “Call him.”

“Fine.” I reached for my Blackberry. “By the way, I told him that Gretchen knew your Aunt.”

“
Why
?” she said coolly.

Her reaction surprised me. “Next to you, she's probably the only link to your Aunt. They were good friends, right?”

“I guess.”

“You
guess
? She dedicated a book to your Aunt. Isn't it fair to assume that they were good friends?”

“They only knew each other a short time before Aunt Brandy disappeared.”

“Which means that Gretchen knew her at a crucial time.”

“So?”

“Well, maybe she remembers something or someone that'll help Perry in his investigation.”

“Do I have to involve Gretchen?” Her tone was snippy, much like the way in which she responded to her mother.

“Why wouldn't you want to? If she knows something she... ” I couldn't figure out why Quilla was being so vague.

“Like I said, Gretchen's a private person. Why do you think she uses a pen name on her books?”

“You tell me.”

Quilla hesitated. “Something bad happened to her when she was a kid. People stared at her. Made fun of her. I know what that's like.”

“What's the bad thing that happened to her?” I asked, even though I was sure she was referring to Gretchen's father killing her mother. I wanted to find out just how much Quilla knew about Kyle Thistle, as well as how much she would be willing to reveal to me.

“Why are you asking these questions about Gretchen?”

“I find it ironic that she and your Aunt knew each other and that you stumbled onto the dedication in
The Cheerleader Wore Black.”

“How did you know the title?” she snapped, glaring harshly at me. “I didn't tell you.”

“I read it.” I felt that honesty was important to her

“What?” She spun around and faced me. “I only told you about it last night. How did you have time to find, let alone read the book?”

“I went to the Mall this morning. Stopped in the bookstore. It's a short book.”

“That was a sneaky thing to do.”

“Quilla, for some reason I get the feeling that you're angry at me for bringing up Gretchen. You asked me to help you nudge Perry Cobb. That's all I'm trying to do. I'm sorry Gretchen Yearwood is a private person, but is her privacy more important than getting information that might lead to finding your Aunt's killer?”

“No,” she snapped. She was silent for about ten seconds. “When Gretchen was little her father was accused of murdering her mother. She based the main character in
The Cheerleader Wore Black
on my Aunt. Aunt Brandy was in an accident and her face got cut up.”

I remembered the scar on Brandy Parker's face in the picture Perry had shown to me.

“She was waiting to have plastic surgery when she... was murdered.” Quilla paused for a moment. “I think it'll be better if you and I talk to Gretchen before Cobb?”

I didn't see the purpose of it, but part of me looked forward to the idea of seeing Gretchen again. “Then let's call her right this minute.”

Quilla pulled out her Blackberry. “I'm getting her Voicemail. Shit. She hasn't gotten home from the cemetery yet. What should I say, Del?”

“Tell her that Perry Cobb will be calling her with regard to her friendship with your Aunt, but that we'd like to talk to her first.”

“Hi, Gretch. It's Quilla. Listen, all kinds of things are happening. That dork, Perry Cobb, will probably be contacting you about Aunt Brandy. He's investigating the case. So don't freak out if he just shows up at your door. But more importantly, me and Del Coltrane, the Funeral Director guy, need to talk to you too. Call me.”

“Give her my number too. 509-5309.”

“You can call Del Coltrane at 509-5309. I'm with him now if you get this in the next few minutes. Bye.”

“She seems like a nice person.”

“She’s the best. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Your old girlfriend, Alyssa. Did you ever try to find her?”

“No. I wouldn't have known where to look.”

“I guess that means you're not relentless. I am. Once I set my mind to something I'm like a rabid pit bull. Like when I set out to find Gretchen.”

“How did you do that?”

“First thing I did was write a letter to the publisher, but they sent me a letter back saying that the author used a pen name, so I figured I was screwed. Then one day I was watching some talk show and they had this guy on who was an expert in finding people. He had this 800 number and he said it was okay to call him and bounce off your situation. So I called and I told him how I'd found the dedication and that I wanted to find out an author's real name. He was nice and said that I could write to the Library of Congress and that if I was pushy enough and I reached some employee who was either in a good mood or hated their job and didn't care about rules, that I might get the author's real name. Which I did. Her real last name is Thistle, but she uses her mother's maiden name professionally. When I found her and told her who I was she hugged me. Being around her is like being with my Aunt, even though they're different personalities. Sometimes when I get sentimental I say to myself that the only good thing to come from Aunt Brandy disappearing was that I got to meet Gretchen.” She looked at me. “What happened to her mother and father was really awful. How could anyone think that Mister Thistle would do something like that?”

“Do you know him well?”

“Not really. He’s not all there. All he does is sit in his chair smoking cigarettes and listening to right wing talk radio.”

“Does he ever talk about what happened?”

“To me? No way. From what Gretchen says it's something that never gets brought up because he doesn't remember. He's very mellow. Most of the time it's like he's stoned. And because she was so young when it happened, she doesn't remember much. She was raised by her Aunt and all she knows is what her Aunt told her and what she read in the paper when she was older. It was pretty cut and dry. One day her mother didn't come home. Her father calls the police around midnight saying that his wife's not there and that being out late isn't like her and all that kind of stuff. Next thing you know is that a week's gone by and the cops are interviewing neighbors, and whoever, and it turns out that Gretchen's mom and dad used to quarrel a lot and people heard him threaten her and junk and, well, suddenly he's under arrest and in jail and saying he's innocent and the biggest mystery of all is that there wasn't any body.”

“No body?” The remark stunned me. Perry didn't mention anything about there not being a body.

“It was never found.” Everybody said that Gretch's father did something gruesome like chopping it up and stuff. That's why it was so hard on Gretchen later on. Here she was, this little kid, and suddenly her mother is gone. Never heard from again. And the next thing she knows is that her father's gone, stuck in some state institution, and she's all alone except for her aunt and it was her mom's sister and she hated Mister Thistle so she bad-mouthed him all during the time he was in the mental ward. That's part of the reason why Gretchen was moved to write the book based on my Aunt.”

“How so?”

“It was like it was happening again for her.”

“
What
was happening again?”

“Somebody she cared about vanished. That's one of the reasons Gretchen and I got close. We realized we had this bond of not knowing what happened to the person we each loved most in the whole world. You can't imagine what the feeling of not knowing is like.”

Yes I can
, I said to myself, thinking of Alyssa.

“What am I saying? Of
course
you can imagine what not knowing is like. You still don't know where Alyssa is. That's what Gretchen and I were talking about at the Funeral Home. She said to me that now, at long last, I knew what happened. She doesn't.”

“Doesn't what?”

“She doesn't know what happened to her mother.”

“I thought her mother was murdered.”

Gently, Quilla said, “Gretchen doesn't believe her mother is dead.”

Again, I was shocked. “What
does
she think?”

“That her Mom ran off with someone.”

“A lover?”

Quilla nodded yes. “Gretchen was like me. Once she was old enough to put two and two together she did all kinds of research. Almost like she was an investigative reporter. That's what she wanted to be when she was a kid. She took these Journalism classes, and read books on it and junk, and she knew how to find information and ask questions. She's convinced that her father didn't do it. That's why she lets him live with her. Her theory is that her parents had a shaky marriage. See, they had to get married. Her dad liked to get drunk and he'd hit her mom and stuff. Gretchen decided that her mom ran off with a lover.”