(2012) Colder Than Death

by DB Gilles

  “How do you mean?”

  “It was like three years ago and I was in the B Dalton at the Dankworth Mall and I just started browsing and I saw a few of Gretchen's books on the shelf so I picked one up for no reason and sort of skimmed the plot on the jacket and it sounded decent so I turned to the first page, but I didn't turn far enough and I was on the dedication page and the book was dedicated to my Aunt.”

  “To Brandy?”

  “Yeah. I really freaked. It said, ‘To Brandy Parker, Wherever you may be’.”

  “That could be just the thing Perry needs.”

  Quilla looked at me. “You're right.”

  I wanted to pursue the subject, but I couldn't because Suzanne, her husband and the elderly Marilyn Monroe look-alike were approaching from the Viewing Room.

  “I want to thank you for convincing me to have this tonight,” said Suzanne. “I was dreading it from the moment we talked, but it's definitely helped.”

  “Thank you,” I said, impressed that she had the class to say what she said. “But I think the person who really deserves your thanks is Quilla. She was the most convincing.”

  Wearily, Suzanne looked at her daughter. “Thank you.” Quilla uttered a self-satisfied “You're welcome,” but before the words were even out of her mouth old Marilyn coldly interjected “So what's the plan for tomorrow?”

  I looked closely at the woman who was heavily made up, wondering who the hell she was. She looked as if Nolan had applied a hearty dose of embalmer's wax which he used to add color to a corpse's face.

  Suzanne looked at me. I said, “The cremation will take place tomorrow morning. Interment is at noon.”

  Without even acknowledging me, the woman turned to Alan Worthington and curtly said, “Are you going, dear?”

  Alan shook his head no, saying, “I have a meeting.”

  “So do I,” said the woman coldly. “Suzanne, are you?”

  “Yes. Quilla and I will be going.”

  Quilla looked pleased at her mother's answer.

  “If you want me to be there for you I will,” said the woman. “But as I never knew your sister and since Alan hadn't even been part of your family at the time of her death, I... ”

  “It's alright, Helen,” said Suzanne with an insincere graciousness.

  “You're sure? I consider you the daughter I never had.”

  Alan Worthington put his arm around this unpleasant old crone and said, “It's the thought that counts, Mom.”

  Mom. It figured.

  “So then,” I said, looking at Suzanne and Quilla. “I'll meet you tomorrow noon at the front gate at the cemetery.”

  Suzanne nodded. Alan Worthington winked at me and extended his hand. I shook it unenthusiastically. “Thanks for everything, chief.” His mother said nothing to me as she slid her left forearm under Alan's right arm and headed for the door. Suzanne followed. Quilla waved at me and joined her mother.

  Perry waited until they had pulled out of the lot before appearing again. I expected him to be reeking of smugness over the fact that Tyler DeGregorio had shown up and I was anxiously waiting to inform him of Tyler's reason, but when Perry stepped into the foyer his expression was anything but smug. It radiated a sense of childlike eagerness. He looked like a little boy who had just discovered something with the potential for adventure, like a secret cave in the woods.

  “I counted thirty-seven people,” I said. “Any suspects?”

  “Just one.”

  “I hope you're not going to tell me it's Tyler.”

  “Fuck Tyler. He's already a suspect.”

  “Then who? Nobody I saw looked suspicious.”

  “That's 'cuz the guy I'm talking about didn't come in. Does the name Kyle Thistle mean anything to you?”

  “No.”

  Perry shook his head. “Probably before you came to town. Kyle Thistle murdered his wife twenty-four years ago. He got sent to the nuthouse for twelve years. It was the only murder case my father ever had.”

  “And Kyle Thistle was in the parking lot tonight?”

  Perry nodded yes. “Sitting in a three-year-old Volvo, smoking a cigarette, just as calm as can be. He was waiting for the person he came with to go in and pay respects. A woman. Didn't pay much attention to who she was when she went inside. Wasn't until I happened to look into the Volvo and see Kyle Thistle that my mind started working. I ran a check on the Volvo's license plates. Registration's in the name of Gretchen Thistle.”

  The name unsettled me. “Her first name is Gretchen?” My thoughts flashed immediately to Gretchen Yearwood.

  “Yeah. She was one of the last people to leave.”

  “Do you recall if he had any children?”

  Perry thought for a moment, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. Now that you mention it, there was a kid. A daughter.”

  It was obvious to me that Gretchen Thistle and Gretchen Yearwood were the same person.

  “And she got in the Volvo?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” I must have had an odd expression on my face because Perry said, “How come you're asking all these questions about her?”

  “I talked to her. She seemed like a nice person.”

  “She may very well be. It's her old man who's the psycho. Shit, I thought he was dead.”

  “Was he convicted of killing his wife?”

  “Not in the technical sense of the word. My dad was putting the case together, working with the County Sheriff, District Attorney. They even brought the FBI into it, then Kyle Thistle cracked up. He was declared mentally incompetent to stand trial, so they stashed him in the nuthouse. I haven’t given him a thought 'til tonight. Maybe the girl you were talking to was his daughter. Wonder why she came tonight?”

  “She's friends with Quilla. I guess that blows your theory that Kyle Thistle is a suspect.”

  “Not necessarily. He killed once, twenty-four years ago. Who's to say he didn't do it again nine years ago? He got released by then, so the time frame fits perfectly.”

  “But he didn't go inside to pay his respects. Your thesis is that the killer might show up to pay his respects.”

  “Right. So?”

  “So if Kyle Thistle is your man, why would he have sat in the car? Wouldn't he have gone in to check things out?”

  Perry seemed lost to the obviousness of my remark. He made a face and scratched his right cheek. “He could've been playing it safe. He sends his daughter in first, then she reports back.”

  “Reports back on what? His daughter is a friend of the kid. Was he certifiably insane?”

  “I'm kind of foggy on the details. I was just a kid then too. Why?”

  “If he was indeed out of his mind, he wouldn't have had the sense to hide a body in that remote mausoleum.”

  I wasn't sure why I was so adamantly trying to defend this man. Was I trying to make Perry look bad or was it because I was attracted to Kyle Thistle's daughter? Perry took in what I said, mulled it over for a few seconds, then said “Unless he was a cemetery buff.” He smirked as if he had come up with an obscure answer in a trivia contest. “The question is,” Perry continued. “Can you be crazy and still be a cemetery buff? And if the answer to that is yes, then Kyle Thistle is a definite suspect in this case. And the way I see it is that anybody who is a cemetery buff has to be out of their mind anyway.” Perry looked at his watch. “About me talking to Quilla. When and where?”

  “She wants to do it ASAP.”

  “How about tomorrow after the funeral?”

  “Might be too soon. She's gonna need a couple of days.”

  “I'm nine years behind on this case, Del. I have a lot of catching up. Two days are important.” Perry shrugged. “When she's ready, call me.”

  “By the way, she may have already given you something to go on. Kyle Thistle's daughter knew Brandy Parker.”

  “When did you find that out?”

  “A few minutes ago.”

  “I'm wondering if you've just solved the case. Not only will I be talking to Kyle
Thistle's daughter, but I think I'll be paying him a visit too.”

  “You're making a pretty big jump on this, Perry. I think you should talk to Quilla before you talk to anyone else. Find out what she has to say.”

  Perry spent about ten seconds considering my advice, then said, “I'm not agreeing with you, but it's late. Another day won't make a difference. Make sure you're available too.”

  “Perry, I don’t want to get involved in this.”

  “You already are. And you seem to get along with the little bitch. She rubs me the wrong way. I want you there to run interference. If I'm alone with her I could end up arresting her.”

  “She's a kid.”

  “She's fifteen going on forty. Be there! Got it?”

  “Okay,” I said with resignation.

  “Go lock up the crypt now, Coffin Boy. We don't want any walking dead to sneak out.”

  Chapter 13

  The only thing that remained to be done, next to the burial, was the cremation. Before Clint went home he and I removed the remains of Brandy Parker from the rental coffin and placed them in a casket-shaped cardboard box. Next to a simple pine box, it was our cheapest receptacle. By law a body had to be in a combustible container before being put in the cremation chamber.

  The next morning I drove to the crematorium in Linville nineteen miles away. The entire process would take roughly three hours which meant that I had time to kill. Usually, I went back to the Home, but that day I decided to pay a visit to Dankworth Mall, specifically to the B Dalton bookstore. I went straight to the Young Adult section, looking in particular for the book that Gretchen had dedicated to Brandy Parker.

  It was a paperback called The Cheerleader Wore Black. There were two others, each dedicated to someone else: The Beagle Next Door Ate My Cat and Goodbye Camp Grizzly Bear. I bought all three. The clerk said there was one more Gretchen Yearwood book in print, but that they were out of it.

  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 c
rucial 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.”