




D.B.Gilles

COLDER THAN DEATH

To my sister, Kathy,

for all her support, love and encouragement over the years.


Love is colder than death.

Rainer Werner Fassbinder



Prologue

I wasnt sure if he was going to bury me alive or kill me first, but I knew that one way or another the grave I was digging was my own.

He made me dig at gunpoint. So I wouldnt scream, he put duct tape over my mouth, not that I would have been able to utter even a peep, my throat was so dry. He had me stop digging at what seemed like three feet deep and two feet across. Too narrow for a coffin, but just right for a body.

I cant remember how long it took because I was so petrified with fear that I lost all track of time. Had he said it took me four hours or thirty minutes, I would have believed him either way.

Give me the shovel, he said desperately, his breathing as heavy as my own.

I did, but no more than five seconds after I handed him the shovel, he raised it and swung it into my face. I fell into the hole, on my back. He hit me three more times in the head, twice over my left ear and once directly over my forehead. I tried to raise my arms to protect myself, but I was so weak from digging I couldnt. My head ached and my left eye had swollen to a point where vision was impossible. Out of my right eye, if I squinted, I could see, barely.

It was somewhere in the middle of the night. The only light was from the moon, which was slowly being shrouded by smoky, fast-moving clouds. I was able to see him raise the gun and point it at me. His hand was shaking.

I made a mistake with the girl, he muttered. Got lazy. Shouldve put her in the ground. I heard the cock of the hammer. Ground burial is always better. But digging a grave by hand is hard work.

He steadied the gun with both hands. I prepared to die. He pulled the trigger. Once. Twice. Three times.

I heard no gunfire, only the deadened click of a pistol that had jammed. He mumbled something to himself, slapped the gun barrel twice, then pulled the trigger three more times. Again, silence. He threw the gun down. Within seconds, despite the darkness, I saw the three-inch long blade.

He stepped into the grave, straddled me and stuck the blade into my chest two times fast. He looked at me quizzically, no doubt trying to make sure I was dead. Roughly, he grabbed my jaw with his right hand, stared closely at me again for a few seconds, then stepped out of the hole and feverishly began shoveling dirt over me.

Almost at the precise instant that the first shovelful of cold, stony dirt smashed into my face, it started to drizzle. Another clump of dirt landed half in my hair and half on my brow. Some of it trickled into my eyes, causing me to blink in a fluttery motion.

I tried to keep my eyes shut, but a particle of some kind had found its way into the corner of my left eye and the irritation was driving me crazy. I wanted to lift one of my hands and rub my eye, but I wanted him to think I was dead, so I shut my eyes hoping that the particle would somehow settle or be dislodged by the liquid in my eye, which is what happened after about thirty seconds. By then, I was starting to drift off into what I thought would be death.

I waited for my life to begin passing before my eyes. But one thought kept running through my head: the fact that I was lying in this grave because of a murder.

Id been head Funeral Director at Hendersons Funeral Home for seven years and, including my apprenticeship, which began eight years before that, Id dealt with every type of death imaginable from fatal illnesses to nasty falls to crashes involving vehicles ranging from lawn mowers to wheelchairs to garbage trucks.

But the one type of death Id had no experience with was murder. As far as murder goes, its something else. Death I understood. But no matter how much I tried, I could never place murder in its proper context. And although Id analyzed and thought it through from every angle, I never got to the point where I completely understood the taking of someone elses life.

Death is natural, a completion. Murder is perverse, an interruption.

The dirt being shoveled onto me was becoming heavier, but despite the pain of the knife wounds, the blows from the shovel and the indescribable exhaustion I felt, as I waited to be suffocated by the crud that was working its way up my nose and into my mouth, I had enough presence of mind to conclude that he didnt know I was still alive.

And as I wondered if anyone would find me in this unmarked grave, how it all began crashed unexpectedly into my mind.



Chapter 1

The coffins get dusty.

Two times a week I go downstairs to the Selection Room and give them a once-over. A little Fantastic and an old Fruit of the Loom t-shirt do the trick. Thats where I was on the Sunday morning the phone call came. We had no bodies on view. No one was scheduled to come in to make arrangements. I was alone. Usually, there was at least one person around to talk with, but not that day.

Lew Henderson, owner of the Home, was in the middle of a month-long vacation in Florida. It was something hed done every October since the death of his wife seven years before. Lew considered himself semi-retired after Karen died, but he came in every day to shoot the breeze, maybe go over the books, handle things if I needed time off, before heading to the golf course.

Clint Barnes, my assistant, was at ten oclock Mass at St. Anns Catholic Church in Croybridge, the next town over, where he and his wife, Cookie, lived. Sunday was Clints day off unless we were swamped with several funerals at once.

Nolan Fowler, our primary embalmer and restoration man, was at a weekend Seminar in Cincinnati sponsored by the National Embalmers Society. He was due back on Monday. And our cosmetologist, Elaine Whurley, only came in when we had bodies. Elaine was a fifty-eight-year-old beautician who for years had moonlighted for us and DiGregorios, the other Funeral Home in Dankworth.

Id worked my way through twelve of the sixteen coffins on display when the telephone across the hall in the Embalming Room rang. We dont keep a phone in the Selection Room. The process of choosing a coffin is of such a delicate nature a ringing phone might be a jarring disruption. And I always turn off my iPhone when Im giving a showing. I dropped the T-shirt onto the base of the coffin and trotted into the hallway.

I went straight to the cream-colored door with the word PRIVATE stenciled on it in two-inch thick chocolate brown letters, opened it and stepped into the clammy aroma of formaldehyde which hung in the air like the scent of new tires in a Sears Automotive Department. The telephone was on the wall. Taped beneath it was last years inspection certificate from the Ohio Board of Health.

Hendersons Funeral Home, I said. May I help you?

Whove I got? said the deep-set male voice which I recognized instantly as belonging to Perry Cobb, Chief of Police of Dankworth.You ghouls all sound alike.

Its Del, I said, thinking so much for his perception.

Nolan, Lew, Clint and I sounded nothing alike.

Lews rich baritone made him sound like an announcer on a classical music program, which was in contrast to my modulated, soft-spoken greeting which, I was once told, made me come off like a priest answering the phone in a rectory. When Nolan took a call he would blurt an inappropriately cheerful Hendersons! into the receiver as if it were happy hour at a bar. And Clints tentative voice had a disarmingly childlike quality.

I reached for the pen in my shirt pocket, held it up to the lined yellow notepad hooked onto the wall next to the phone and prepared to write down the name and address I assumed Perry would be giving me.

What do you need, Perry? I asked, my tone businesslike. I ignored the ghoul remark, just as I always disregarded his jibes. Hed been ragging on me ever since my mother and I moved to Dankworth after my father died when I was in high school. As my mother would say about someones poor behavior, It was his way, and Id accepted it. I had to. When Perry Cobb called it usually put money in my pocket.

Because Dankworth is only a township we dont have our own Coroner. We fall under the umbrella of the County, so when a body needs to be transported to the Coroners office for autopsy, Perry calls us or DiGregorios. We get a small fee for this: fifty dollars plus gas mileage.

Im at Elm Grove cemetery, he said. How soon can you get a hearse up here?

Twenty minutes. Whats going on?

Seems the grave robbers have struck again, he said, the last word slightly slurred, no doubt because of the chewing tobacco in his mouth.

Over the last six months somebody had been breaking into turn of the nineteenth century mausoleums and above-ground crypts at Elm Grove cemetery looking for jewelry and valuables on corpses. Cemetery management considered themselves lucky that whoever was doing it wasnt interested in body parts for satanic rituals or potions.

Whats that got to do with you needing a hearse?

We got a body. A female.

You have an exhumation, Perry?

Not quite. Theres been a murder.

I leaned back against one of the four portable embalming tables. The icy chill from the stainless steel ran through my slacks and reached the backs of my thighs, instantly sending a mild tingle up my spine.

Whered you find her? I asked.

I didnt. Vaughn did. Vaughn Larkin was night watchman of the cemetery and a good friend of mine.

When Vaughn was making his midnight rounds he heard a noise. Checked it out and found that the entrances to seven mausoleums were broken into. One had the corpse in it. Hurry your ass up here. I want to get her autopsied so maybe I can find out who the hell she is was. Were in Section Nine.

Ill leave right now.

Good. Oh, Del, do me a favor. Bring me some coffee. Milk and sugar. And a chocolate donut with those multi-colored sprinky things. Havent had my breakfast yet.

Perry was laughing as he hung up.



Chapter 2

I knew the request for a favor would be coming. He knew that I would have to do what he asked if I wanted him to continue throwing business my way.

There were only two Funeral Homes left in Dankworth and we were both hurting for business. More and more people were opting for cremation, which held low profits for Funeral Homes.

The drive to Elm Grove cemetery took twenty minutes. Had I not made the trip so many hundreds of times it mightve been pleasant, almost scenic. A nice Sunday drive to watch the leaves change in the Fall or buy fresh fruit and vegetables from roadside stands in the Summer. But after seventeen years it had only a numbing effect on me.

Dankworth isnt quite country or suburb. The town had long promoted itself with a simple motto:




Dankworth


Where The Country Meets The City


Although it sounded like a hokey public relations blurb, in a sense it was true. Roughly thirty-five miles outside of Youngstown, Dankworth was a sprawling mixture of open space, dense forest, farmland and a hodgepodge of Pre- and Post-War housing mixed in with nineteenth century barns, mills and stone houses. The closer you were to the center of town where the Home was located, houses had good-sized frontage and back yards with shade trees. The newer homes were mainly ranch with attached double garages while the older houses were converted barns, Cape Cod bungalows, traditional A-frames and Colonials.

Less than fifteen minutes out of downtown Dankworth there were horse breeders, dairy farms, small working farms, a wildlife preserve and commercial greenhouses. In warm weather farmers sold fruit, vegetables and cider along Aberdeen Road, the tree-lined two-lane highway that ran through Dankworth and connected it to the neighboring towns and villages.

Residents perceived the area as a good place to live, close to nature and far enough from the city to feel safe.

But whatever fantasy of a tranquil existence one might feel could be tarnished upon approaching the twelve foot high wrought iron gates of Elm Cross cemetery. Any momentary yearning to live around this bucolic setting was replaced with thoughts of the dead. And to most people, living too close to a cemetery, especially a cemetery where a loved one is buried, was too much to handle.


* * *

From the cemetery entrance it took another minute or so to drive through the winding lanes into Section Nine, which was located in the oldest part of Elm Grove.

Section Nine is especially gloomy, not so much because of the imposing mausoleums, above ground crypts and ornate statues of apogees of angels or soulful-looking religious figures, but because of the gnarled, twisted oaks that looked like creepy versions of the heads on Easter Island. Weeping willows loom overhead like giant witches shrouded in green, their drooping branches and brittle leaves creating an overbearing sadness as they cast eerie shadows over everything on the ground.

As I approached the crime scene I saw three police cruisers parked, one in front of the other, which meant that the entire three-man police force of Dankworth was here.

One of them I got along with just fine: Wendell Eckert. He was in his late Thirties, easy going, professional and far more capable and qualified to be Chief of Police than Perry. Perry got the job because his father had been Chief. Wendell been a cop in Cincinnati for eleven years and had been wounded in a car chase. His wife threatened to divorce him if he didnt leave big city law enforcement. The compromise was to live in a small town where Wendell could still be a police officer, but without the stress and danger of high-risk crime.

The remaining Dankworth cop, the one I had trouble with, was Greg Hoxey. He was standing by what I assumed was the mausoleum in which the body was found. Wendell I didnt see yet. Perry was leaning against a five-foot high obelisk talking with Mel Abernathy, Manager of the cemetery, Alton Held, Head Groundskeeper and Vaughn Larkin.

None of them even noticed my arrival except Vaughn, who winked at me. I nodded back to him and arched my eyebrows. He rolled his eyes and smirked. The gestures were a silent line of communication indicative of nearly seventeen years of friendship. He was eighty-seven and had started working at the cemetery as a gravedigger as a teenager. By the time he was thirty he was Head Groundskeeper, a post he maintained until he had to take mandatory retirement at seventy-five. Mel Abernathy kept him on as night watchman, primarily because Vaughn had come to view the cemetery as his own property and genuinely cared about its upkeep.

Vaughn was my friend, father figure and mentor since I came to Dankworth. Our initial bond was built around death. I had lost a father; he had lost a son in Vietnam. He never got a last look at his boy because his remains were never found. Vaughn still smarted over the irony that the son of a gravedigger didnt get a grave. It was another link. Although my father had a grave, I never got to see him after his death. He died in a plane crash. The coffin was closed. His remains cremated. Vaughn and I filled voids in each others lives. We considered each other family.

As I approached Mel, Alton, Perry and Vaughn, I picked up on part of what was being discussed.

I dont want this getting out in the wrong way, Mel bantered as he wiped the perspiration from his forehead, his slight lisp creeping in-between his words making him sound like Elmer Fudd. I cant have people thinking theyre going to be dug up if theyre buried in my cemetery.

Calm yourself down now, Mel, said Alton, his backwoods Louisiana accent making him sound like a Cajun crawfish trapper. He was fifty-two and had appeared out of nowhere to apply for a grave-digging job twenty-five years before. The position had been open for six weeks and, as always, was difficult to fill. Cemetery work was at the bottom end of the manual labor food chain, historically attracting drifters, drinkers and the chronically unemployable. Over the years Vaughn had learned to read an applicant quickly, making his decisions on gut instinct and the persons eyes.

Vaughn hired Alton on the spot.

How the hell is it not gonna get out, Mel? Perry said. A body was found in one of your mausoleums. What are we supposed to do, pretend it didnt happen?

Cant you play it down? Mel asked.

How do I play down a murder?

Yall got to look at it from our point of view, said Alton. This heres sacred ground. Yall cant have the folks believin its anything less. Right, Vaughn?

Vaughn nodded a solemn yes.

If its profits you guys are worried about, said Perry. This is the only cemetery within a thirty mile radius. Youre not ever gonna run out of customers.

Thats not the point, Mel stammered. Its bad enough that I have grave robbers running loose, but to have a body found in someone elses grave is such a violation!

Mels right, said Vaughn, his crisp voice belying his age. People are sensitive about their dead.

I know that, Vaughn, said Perry respectfully. Vaughn and Perrys father were friends. Around Vaughn, Perry always behaved like an altar boy talking with an Archbishop.

Thats why this has to be handled with the utmost of discretion, said Mel.

Alright, Perry said. Fine! But lets get the body out of here, then well figure out how to break the news.

Thank you, Mel said, then, as if he noticed me for the first time, said, Hello, Del.

I nodded to Mel. Alton pointed at me with his right index finger and thumb as if he were shooting a gun, which was his customary greeting. Then, with great pomposity, Perry stated, I want to get this over with quick. He rudely turned away from the others and came towards me. The only thing I hate more than a dead body is being in a graveyard.



Chapter 3

Before I had a chance to respond, Perry noticed the white Dunkin Donuts bag in my left hand. That for me?

I nodded and handed him the bag.

He flipped the plastic lid off the container and noisily took his first sip. His eyes peered at me over the rim of the paper cup, then he bit into the donut. Crumbs dribbled out of both sides of his mouth. Gregs at the mausoleum with the body. Hell help you load it into the hearse.

Before I had a chance to acknowledge his instructions he walked away from me and turned his attention back to Mel Abernathy who was huddling with Vaughn and Alton.

Greg was sucking on a string of green dental floss. When he saw me approaching he stared, expressionless, his mouth hanging open, his watery brown eyes looking empty, lost. He spit the floss onto the grass.

Greg looked more like a drug addict than a policeman. He was balding and the top of his head was scaly, his brown hair stringy. His face covered with pockmarks and pimples. His beard didnt help to improve things much either. There was hair on his face, but only in random splotches connected by wisps of unhealthy-looking follicles.

He came off as a fifteen-year-old boy trying to look older so he wouldnt get carded in a bar. Ironically, the only part of his face that was perfect and pleasant to look at was his teeth. They were as close to pearly white as Id ever seen.

Greg didnt like me because I knew that his mother had committed suicide. Greg had found the body and with Perry Cobbs blessing had by-passed the mandatory autopsy which would have determined the cause of death. Mrs. Hoxey had been an active member of Dankworths Catholic community. Greg felt that public knowledge of a suicide would have tainted the positive image his mother had maintained, so the cause of death was presented as a heart attack.

We dispensed with hellos. I said, All set? and his response was a curt Yeah, then we each grabbed an end of the body bag, lifted it and headed to the hearse.

Wheres Wendell? I asked.

Perrys got him scouring the other mausoleums that were broken into. Bastard sticks me with the shit work. He looked over my shoulder. Here he comes.

I turned and saw Wendell about twenty yards away coming towards Greg and me. He quickened his pace and was standing next to us within ten seconds.

Almost missed you, said Wendell, a warm smile gracing his handsome face. He had blonde hair and looked like a young Harrison Ford.

I was about to speak, but Greg blurted, Find anything?

No, said Wendell.

I knew itd be a waste of time. I hate it when Perry plays cop.

Perry plays cop every day, said Wendell more to me than to Greg.

Greg smirked. He hated working for Perry. It was a thankless job, more like Barney Fife to Andy Taylor, the difference being that Perry Cobb wasnt a kindly, laid back sort and Greg wasnt a lovable nerd. Perry treated Wendell with a measured respect, because of his experience on the Cincinnati police force, while with Greg he pulled rank at every turn.

Looks like a big city case, eh, Wendell, I said.

He nodded and raised his eyebrows. Brings back the good old days in Cincinnati.

Id like to get my teeth in this one, said Greg. But itll never happen. Itll be Perrys chance to be the big cheese. Just once Id like to have a shot. You had your chance in Cincinnati to prove yourself. Ive never had my day in the sun. Probably never will as long as Perrys around.

Suddenly Perrys voice boomed, What the hells the delay up there?

We turned. Perry was staring at us as if we were five-year-olds.

Lets get moving, said Greg, then we hoisted up the body bag and headed for the hearse. Wendell walked alongside.

You dont want this case, Greg, said Wendell. Itll never be solved. Too much time has passed.

Never by Perry, said Greg.

I saw the remains, said Wendell. That bodys been in that mausoleum for years. Talk about a cold case. Perry doesnt have the skills to solve a murder that happened this morning with three eyewitnesses and a fingerprint.

As we approached the hearse I noticed that Perry was still holding a small chunk of the donut Id brought him. Wendell opened the vehicles rear door, enabling us to slide the body bag inside.

To Wendell, Perry said, Find anything? and Wendell said No.

Perry paused for a few seconds, as if he were thinking something deep, then said, Greg? Wendell? Lets talk. He glanced at me. Be right with you.

As the three of them huddled, I noticed that Mel and Alton were in deep conversation and that Vaughn was off by himself. I went over to him.

Howd you manage to find the open mausoleum? I asked. Its so remote back here.

Only thing left of me thats not falling apart is my hearing. Heard a scream. Had a hunch it came from around that direction. My guess is that it was the knucklehead who stumbled onto the corpse. Actually, it was more of a shriek. By the time I got here the punks were gone.

It was more than one?

People who sneak into cemeteries at night tend not to be alone. He shot me a terse look and raised his thick eyebrows. Well, not everybody. I looked at him sheepishly. Years ago, on the night I met Vaughn, I had broken into Elm Grove cemetery, alone. I was about to respond to Vaughns remark when Perry called out.

Del? Lets go.

I waved to Vaughn and headed towards Perry who stood with Greg and Wendell on either side.

Ill be riding with you, Perry said.

I knew someone would be coming along because of a regulation that required an appropriate law enforcement representative to accompany the remains while in transit to the morgue. If it was Wendell the trip was mostly BSing and telling jokes. If it was Greg, there was attitude and long silences. If it was Perry, it would be him pontificating on the problems of the world.

Perry instructed Wendell to put up some yellow crime scene tape around the mausoleum. then he told Greg to meet him at the Coroners.

What for? Greg asked.

To drive me back, said Perry.

Why cant Del drive you back? he whined like a ten-year-old.

I wouldve asked the same question. In the past, I drove whoever came with me back to Dankworth.

Ill need to spend some time talking to the Coroner, said Perry curtly. That could take awhile. I dont want to hold up Del. I was surprised by his consideration. Ask Alton to drive my car back to the station house. Wendell, you bring Alton back out here.

Wendell nodded his head yes, tipping his index finger off of his forehead in mock salute. Greg said, Got it. As he turned away he mumbled softly, Asshole.

Perry slid into the passenger side of the hearse. I started the engine and was about to pose a question.

Dont ask me, he said as he proceeded to remove a container of Skol chewing tobacco from his shirt pocket and stash two fingers worth into his mouth.

Dont ask you what? I said.

If I have any idea who killed her.

I was going to ask if you thought that the grave robbers mightve had something to do with it?

No way.

He raised his left hand, then pointed his thumb towards the rear of the hearse. Whoever that is shes been dead for years. The assholes who broke into the mausoleum saw the body, shit a brick and took off. The other coffins in the other mausoleums were all yanked out of their crypts and pried open. Theres a family buried in the mausoleum where the girl was found. Six people. According to the inscriptions on the outside of the door the last one to die was buried ninety-eight years ago. Only one coffin had been touched.

Where was the body?

Stashed in a corner. I figure the jerks who broke in were using a flashlight and had started in on the first coffin, then they stumbled onto the body and bolted. He smirked.

How do you know its a female? I mean, when you say girl youre implying that she was young. How can you tell?

The clothes she had on say so. For one thing, she was wearing one of those funny Virgin Island T-shirts. You know. In large letters across the chest it says IM A VIRGIN, then in little tiny letters underneath it says Islander. Get it? Im a Virgin Islander? He laughed.

Plus, she wore a pair of cut-off jeans and sandals. A couple of cheap bracelets were on her wrists and two rings on her left hand and three on her right. Middle-aged women tend not to dress like that.

Interesting that she had all those rings on her fingers. The grave robbers didnt take them. Considering they were looking for jewels, wouldnt they have grabbed them?

Perry nodded his head. My feeling is that if youre the kind of creep whos gonna break into mausoleums and steal jewels, its one thing to take it from a body thats been in a casket for a hundred years, but its something else to rip off a corpse that shouldnt be there. He paused, looking straight ahead. What kind of fuckhead can go into a grave? How sick do you have to be to do that?

He scratched the tip of his nose with his left index finger. I noticed the wedding ring. He had never removed it despite the fact that his wife, Jeanne, divorced him at least ten years ago. The story he wanted people to believe was that because of his weight gain during the marriage, he couldnt pull the ring off. But I held to the notion that he still carried a vicious torch for Jeanne.

Can I make a suggestion about the killer, Perry?

Perry looked at me, his left eyebrow arched slightly, not so much out of irritation, but amusement. Shoot.

Whoever did it probably knew something about cemeteries.

How so?

He hid the body in an old mausoleum in the oldest Section of a really old cemetery. Better than half the graves in that particular Section and all the Sections around it are between ninety and a hundred-fifty years old. Some are even older. Nobody visits graves that old because paying respects is a generational thing.

Talk my language, Del.

Lets say youre a kid. Your grandfather dies. Maybe for a few years you go with your parents to visit his grave. But as you get older, you move out of your folks house you dont go to the cemetery to visit grandpas grave anymore. Over the years your parents die. You pay your respects to them. You have a child. He never knew your grandfather so hes not gonna be very motivated to visit his grave. But hell visit your grave, but chances are his kids wont have too much of an inclination to say a prayer over your fathers or grandfathers grave. Get the picture, Perry?

What youre saying is nobody gives a good Goddamn about you after youre dead forty, fifty years.

A better way of putting it is that theres no one alive to give a damn about you after youre in the ground forty or fifty years. Thats why the Old Section at the cemetery is such a perfect place to hide a body.

Where theres not a lot of traffic. Sonofabitch!

Other than the periodic great granddaughter of somebody, who for curiosity sake, decides to visit a grave or a family plot, the only ones who come around are the cemetery buffs.

Cemetery what?

Buffs. People who get a kick out of visiting old cemeteries and finding interesting headstones or the graves of famous people.

You gotta be yankin my chain, Perry sneered.

Nope. People do tracings of birth and death dates. The epitaph. Whatever. Ive seen people taking tracings at every cemetery Ive visited. They take a piece of wax paper, press it on the headstone and trace over it with a pencil. Other people take photographs. Some people go to cemeteries all over the country, or the world, doing tracings. Youd be surprised at some of the things that are carved into headstones, especially the older ones. Some of them are somber and spiritual, others are hokey and sentimental. Some are funny. I have one from a graveyard in New Mexico that says: Here Lies Les Moore. No Less, No More.

Youre a cemetery buff? And I thought I was screwed up for collecting old Mad magazines. He laughed.

Perry, its just a harmless way to pass the time for people with a morbid fascination with death.

I never wouldve thought of that in a million years, he said. Ill put cemetery buffs at the top of my list of suspects. Probably stands to reason that my next batch of suspects would have to be people who may not be cemetery buffs, but who know something about cemeteries.

How do you mean?

The only other people whod know anything about boneyards are cemetery employees and people who work at Funeral Homes. He grinned impishly. I could see the grotesque residue of freshly chewed tobacco in his mouth.

Are you saying Im a suspect?

You been working at Hendersons a long time. Id say you know a shitload about cemeteries. How the hell many people have you buried? I bet you know Elm Grove cemetery like the back of your hand.

If I killed the woman, why would I be volunteering all of this information?

Perry didnt miss a beat. Probably to throw me off. Suddenly a sound somewhere between a long belch and a chuckle resonated from the bottom of his throat. But you better believe every single person who works at Elm Grove cemetery or your Funeral Home or DiGregorios is on my suspect list.

If youre going to think along those lines, dont limit your suspect list to just the Funeral Homes here in Dankworth. There are dozens of Funeral Homes in the County who bury people at Elm Grove.

Im aware of that, Del, but my point is that you and DiGregorios are located in Dankworth, so Im pinpointing you guys first. He looked at his watch. How fast you going?

Fifty-five. The speed limit.

Seeing as how Im Police Chief in this fine town, speed it up.

He tipped his hat down over his eyes and as he proceeded to make himself comfortable, softly mumbled Wake me up when we get to the Coroners, Coffin Boy. He closed his eyes. Within thirty seconds he was snoring.



Chapter 4

Perry slept for the balance of the trip.

I spent the time wondering if my theory that whoever killed the girl had to know something about cemeteries was on the money or miles off base. The more I pondered the notion, the stronger I felt that I was right. Had Perry not turned things around and put me on the spot I would have volunteered more information that might have helped him in his investigation.

Like the fact that he was dead wrong about the idea that working at a cemetery or Funeral Home automatically gave someone special knowledge about cemeteries. That was nonsense. Take Nolan. Even though he had been an embalmer for nearly thirty-five years, I would have bet money that he was as ignorant of cemeteries as he was of piloting a plane.

Nolans work, like that of all embalmers, was done in the Embalming Room. He knew death and corpses and a dozen different ways to make a dead body look presentable, but his job-related exposure to cemeteries was nonexistent. Once he placed a freshly embalmed, made-up and dressed corpse into its coffin, as far as he was concerned, his work was completed.

As for Nolans spare time, if he hung around Elm Grove exploring old headstones, he never mentioned it to me and I never heard about it from Vaughn or any of the other cemetery workers and it would have been the kind of thing that Vaughn would have told me.

I would venture to guess that Wilt Ging, the embalmer and restoration man at DiGregorios, was just as ignorant of cemeteries as Nolan. Plus, he had a bum right leg, the end result of a bad fall ten years ago. Walking was difficult for him. The idea of him meandering around cemeteries doing tracings of hundred-year-old headstones was laughable.

This same ignorance applied to most cemetery employees as well. Because of all the funeral arrangements Id made over the years, I spent a considerable amount of time in the business office of Elm Grove cemetery. Id gotten to know the entire staff. Inside, besides Mel Abernathy, there were three other employees, two women and one man: Joanne Huxley, the bookkeeper, Patricia Lemaulrik, the secretary/clerk and George Yawler, the salesman.

I cant deny that Mel and George were as knowledgeable about the history and layout of Elm Grove as any cemetery buff, so conceivably they could be possible suspects. But Joanne and Patricia just came in to the cemetery office, did their work and went home. In and out, like browsers in a mall. They were just as naive about the workings of a cemetery as the average person on the street. It was almost as if they worked as clerks at a factory or small boutique.

As for the outdoor workers, Alton supervised a crew of four, three of whom had worked at Elm Grove for over ten years and the remaining guy for probably five years. I knew that each of them had a comprehensive awareness of the cemetery grounds and the patterns of visitors, more than anyone, even Mel or George. But despite the lowliness of their profession there was an inherent decency to these men. They might be drinkers and loners, but they werent murderers. And even if one of them were, he would be intelligent enough not to have hidden the body so near to where he worked.

As for myself and Lew, Tyler DiGregorio and his father, as well as all the Funeral Directors who worked out of Elm Grove, we all had probably walked every inch of cemetery simply because helping people pick out a grave site is a scaled down version of helping people buy a house. Some are picky and want to check out a dozen Sections. Others take the first space they see.


* * *

I was so lost in my thoughts that the drive to the Coroners flew by. I pulled into the rear entrance of the four-story, official-looking municipal building, then backed the hearse into what was, for all intent and purpose, a loading dock for bodies.

Were here, I said, nudging Perry softly in the ribs as I brought the hearse to a stop.

Perry grunted and spent about thirty seconds shaking himself awake and maneuvering himself out of the car. I went to the back of the hearse to open the door. As I was doing so, Greg Hoxey pulled up alongside of us. He got out of the cruiser and walked over to Perrys side of the hearse, ignoring me.

An Assistant Pathologist came out of the building holding a clipboard with some paper attached to it. Id dealt with him before. His name was Ray and he possessed a jolly demeanor that made him come off more like the entertainment director on a singles cruise ship.

Who do we have here? he asked cheerfully.

Unidentified at the moment, I said.

Oh, right. Body in the cemetery. He scribbled something on the form.

Perry pointed at Greg, saying, Hell give you a hand.

I held open the door. Greg and Ray removed the body bag and placed it on a gurney, then a release form was signed and the body was quickly whisked away into the building. Perry thanked me for picking up the body, then promised that once the identity of the dead girl was learned, if her family didnt have a preference, he would recommend us to handle the funeral arrangements.

That was what Id been waiting to hear. I thanked him, then before I left he said one last thing:

What you said about the killer hiding the body in the mausoleum? I appreciate that, Del.

I nodded. Just trying to help.

You get anymore bright ideas like that and you let me know, okay, man?

He winked at me, then yawned, revealing a brief flash of his ravaged teeth. He patted the top of the hearse, then headed into the building, sticking a wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth.

I was convinced that Perry loved his job as top law enforcement person in Dankworth. It was his identity. Just as being a Funeral Director was mine. It was the only thing we had in common. He had found his place to hide from the world and so had I.



Chapter 5

Five days passed and I hadnt heard a word about the dead girls identity. Business picked up. We had two funerals and three people came in for Pre-Needs. Thats when someone makes arrangements for themselves or a loved one in advance of their passing.

Then Perry Cobb paid me a visit.

I got some business for you, he said as I opened the door. Mausoleum girls been identified. Her family will be calling you.

Thanks, Perry. Come on in.

No time. Gotta meet with Gowen and Timerlane.

Richard Gowen and Bennet Timerlane were the County Sheriff and District Attorney respectively.

Theyre trying to dump the entire investigation on me. There was concern in his voice.

You mean you dont want it? I stepped outside.

Thought I did til I found out she was killed nine years ago. And from what Ive learned so far, she wont be a sympathetic victim. Your basic party girl. Liked to put the booze away. Dance on tables. You know the type. Black sheep of the family. No long-term employment. And whats worse, hardly anyone remembers anything about her. Gowen and Timerlane arent saying it, but they view this as unimportant. Like big city cops not spending more than a second investigating the murder of a junkie or a prostitute. But let the Mayor of Youngstown get bumped off and theyll call in Interpol.

So who was she?

Names Susan Parker. Actually, went by the name of Brandy. I did a check on the computer. Missing person report. We had her down as a probable runaway nine years ago. I vaguely remembered the name. Got the word from the Coroner yesterday afternoon. Ive been digging through her file, such as it is. My dad interviewed a few people back then. His notes say it was more likely that she took off, then met with foul play.

How old?

Shed be twenty-eight now. He extended his hand, which held a wrinkled nine-by-twelve manila envelope. Here. Has a picture of her.

I opened the file and saw a somewhat tattered, five-by-seven color photograph of a hard-looking, but essentially pretty girl with longish red hair, an upturned nose, mischievous grin and full pouty lips. She had a feisty, defiant expression on her face. I also noticed a scar about five inches long running from her right eye to her upper lip.

Notice anything special about that picture, Del?

I looked at it again for a few seconds, not quite sure what Perry was wanting me to spot.

Check out her T-shirt, genius. Its the Im a Virgin Islander thing she had on when we found her body. Remember?

So?

Unless she was in the habit of wearing that T-shirt a lot, doesnt it stand to reason that she mightve been killed not too long after this picture was taken?

Maybe. Is there a date on it?

Nope. And her family doesnt remember when it was taken or who took it. It was stashed in an old photo album. I asked if maybe the girl had a boyfriend back then who couldve taken the picture, but from the answer I got knew I was heading in the wrong direction. Her sister, the person I was talking to, lowered her head like she was embarrassed and real soft said, My sister had a lot of boyfriends which is important information because it lets me know what kind of girl she was.

Promiscuous women dont deserve to be murdered.

Dont go getting all liberal and moral on me, Del. Even if she were the biggest whore in town shed have rights. But being how she was, its gonna make finding out who killed her even harder. And for what its worth, I asked her sister if the dead girl knew any cemetery buffs. She said she didnt know much about her sisters personal life or her friends so I let it go.

From inside, the telephone rang. I better get that.

I said what I came to say. But listen, unless I can convince Gowen and Timerlane to take more responsibility for this solving this murder, I may be needing you.

The remark caught me off guard. For what?

The only thing I have to go on so far is what you said about the killer being a cemetery buff. Who knows what other info you have locked in that Coffin Boy head of yours?

Before I could say anything he turned away. I made a beeline for the Counseling Room where the nearest phone was located. I grabbed it on the fourth ring.

Hendersons Funeral Home. May I help you?

I need to arrange a funeral, said a low-pitched female voice. I reached for a pen. For my sister.

Could I have your name please?

Suzanne Worthington.

How soon can you come over and discuss the arrangements? I said as I wrote down the name.

There was a hesitancy. Almost childishly, she said, Do I have to come there? Cant we do whatever has to be done over the phone?

You dont have to do anything you dont want to, but there is the matter of choosing a coffin, deciding on a vault, picking the type of service you want that sort of thing. And if you dont already have a burial plot well have to decide on that, as well.

How do you mean?

Ground burial or above-ground in a crypt. Or cremation. Whichever, it means a drive to the cemetery. I paused purposely for a few seconds, then said, Unless, of course, you already have a gravesite.

I dont.

Then we really should talk in person. How soon can you be here?

There was silence followed by a deep sigh, then she said, I suppose I can come now.

Fine. But Ill need a little more information, starting with where to go to claim your sisters remains.

The County morgue, she said, barely above a whisper.

It was as I was jotting down the word morgue beneath Suzanne Worthingtons name that I first wondered if possibly her dead sister was the woman found in the mausoleum. Most of the bodies we handle are removed from a hospital or nursing home or the deceaseds own residence. Its not often that we claim a corpse at the Coroners, and only when an autopsy was required, which itself is a fairly rare occurrence in a small town. Could I have your sisters name?

Brandy Parker, she said softly. Actually her birth name was Susan. Brandy is the girl in the mausoleum. Im sure youve read about it.

Yes. Im sorry. I waited a moment, then pressed on. This was the money part of my business. The compassion and sympathy would come later. Did Brandy have life insurance?

No. Actually, I should say that I dont believe so. Its complicated. Ive been under the assumption that she was alive, that she had simply run away. Its only been since last night that I found out shes dead and I havent had time to look into anything like insurance. But if youre concerned about payment, Ill be handling it. Can I pay by credit card?

Of course.

By the way, she said. Who are you? I just realized I dont have the slightest idea to whom Im speaking.

Im Del Coltrane, the Funeral Director here. Do you know where were located, Ms. Worthington?

Yes. Mrs.

Then Ill expect you shortly. Park your car in the lot and come around to the rear entrance.

Alright.

I said good-bye. I immediately splashed on a dose of Royal Copenhagen. I always try to smell nice when I sit down to make funeral arrangements. It helps to cover the scent of formaldehyde that sometimes drifts from the Embalming Room throughout the Home despite the high-priced chemicals Nolan used to downplay the aroma.



Chapter 6

Suzanne Worthington arrived in a blue Cutlass, probably a year old. She pulled into an empty spot close to the side entrance of the Home. The drivers side of her car was in full view from my office. I had my eyes on the car door, primarily in order to get a quick fix on her before meeting her in person.

Id learned that by clocking a person for a few seconds before we sat down I could get a slight edge. The make and model of their car, their clothing, how they carried themselves. Were they listening to music as they pulled up and, if so, what type? In the case of women, if they were made up and had their hair carefully coifed and were dressed in such a way that suggested they took time in selecting the outfit, they would be harder to talk into pricey funerals. On the other hand, let a woman show up looking distressed, eyes bloodshot from crying, wearing little or no make-up, hair uncombed or covered with a haphazardly tied scarf and conveying an unashamed grief, I would have a great chance of negotiating an expensive funeral.

As I waited for the drivers door to open, suddenly a movement in the back seat caught my eye. It was as if someone had been lying down in the back and had hurriedly gotten up. Then, the left rear door swung open and the blur was on the edge of the seat, sliding out.

It was a teenage girl.

From the gawkiness of her figure I guessed her age to be fourteen. She wore kelly green Italian combat boots, black baggy shorts and a Metallica T-shirt, also black and shredded. Her red hair was pulled into a bun, only the bun wasnt taut or perfectly rounded. Instead, haphazard wisps of hair hung loosely, like threads from a disentangled spider web. She had on a pair of cheap aviator sunglasses and wore no make-up. Her lips, without gloss or lipstick, were a whitish pink. And her face was swollen, undoubtedly from crying. Overall, she had a sad, distressed aura about her.

I knew that she was in genuine grief. If Suzanne Worthington looked the same, I would most likely be negotiating a substantial deal. I breathed a sigh of relief and my hopes lifted, but my joy was temporary when I got my first glimpse of Suzanne. She moved with an almost offensive jauntiness and authority. There was definitely a bounce to her stride. People in mourning dont bounce. They lumber along in a zombielike gait. Just as the young girl with her exuded an inner sorrow, she radiated impatience and a lets-get-this-over-with-fast attitude.

She struck me as being somewhere in her late thirties to early forties with a burgeoning weight problem and the vestiges of a youthful beauty beginning to fade. She wore a loose-fitting, floral print sundress. She called out to the young girl who had gotten out of the back seat and had started walking towards the Home. Wait for me. Well go in together!

The girl shot Suzanne a dirty look, which she did not see, and waited for her. I assumed they were mother and daughter.

The instant they crossed out of my sight I walked briskly to the rear entrance. As I made my way I squirted a spray of Binaca into my mouth. By the time I got to the door, Suzanne was pressing the bell.

We exchanged greetings that were more businesslike than polite, me saying, Mrs. Worthington? and she saying a curt, Hello then introducing the girl as her daughter, Quilla. Seeing her puffy face and bloodshot hazel eyes close-up, I gave a comforting smile to the girl. She made momentary eye contact with me, then glanced down. Right this way, I said, opening the door.

They stepped inside, Quilla following her mother. It was a pleasant enough looking room with muted colors, a classic mahogany desk that had belonged to Lews father, two oxblood leather chairs, matching sofa and a couple of innocuous framed prints of sailboats on the off-white walls. We called it the Counseling Room because it was where we brought people to discuss funeral arrangements.

To give the room an aura of dignity we had a couple of fake Tiffany lamps and three-glass encased mahogany book-shelves filled with two different sets of long out of date encyclopedias and several books by three writers: Herman Melville, Ernest Hemingway and John Steinbeck. The books had been in the room since before Id been associated with the Home and I have no idea who chose them or why. I once asked Lew and he didnt know either. Theyd been there since he was a boy. Lew guessed that his father had probably obtained them from an estate sale.

Suzanne sat in one of the chairs across from the desk. Her daughter plopped on the sofa and immediately picked up one of the throw pillows and clutched it to her stomach. Because there was no insurance, I assumed it would be a quick meeting.

I began this meeting as I always do: How many nights of viewing would you like?

None.

Bullshit!

Mother and daughter glared at each other.

I mean, Suzanne continued, taking in the girls icy stare. I would like to have some kind of memorial service, but considering the condition of her body even if it werent in such a bad way I dont know if theres anyone who would even come to pay their respects.

One never knows about such things, I said. Word spreads. Old friends and acquaintances pop out of the woodwork. Co-workers. Youd be surprised.

I dont anticipate many people, she said curtly. So if my husband and daughter and I and a few friends will be the only ones it doesnt make sense to have the coffin there because it would have to be closed and the thought of knowing that my sister or whats left of her being in a coffin a few feet away from me I dont know, Mister Coltrane. This is so difficult. Im not good at death.

Lots of people would come to see her, blurted Suzannes daughter in a voice that was inappropriately loud and assertive. Aunt Brandy was very popular.

Suzanne glared at the girl, then tersely, almost with a tinge of intentional cruelty, said, The kind of men she was popular with arent the type who pay respects.

Who cares if she liked to have a good time? the girl stated firmly. She had people who miss her and care about her and would come to see her.

Suzanne looked at me, sort of half rolling her eyes, then with exasperation said, Even if there were people interested in coming, they wouldnt be seeing her. They would be looking at an ugly, depressing closed coffin.

But at least they would be near her, said the girl, lurching forward. They could touch the coffin and know shes inside and maybe it would make them feel better and 

What would be inside is nothing but bones with some strands of flesh, Quilla, and I dont think anyone in their right mind would want to go near it.

I would, the girl said defiantly.

I felt for the kid. Her pain almost oozed out of her. I saw this as an opportunity to make some money. Mrs. Worthington, we have closed coffin visitations quite often. Quilla smirked at her mother, then looked at me. I assure you, I continued. That, while it might be disconcerting now to know that your sisters remains are inside the coffin, once the reality of that fact sets in its not as bothersome as you might think.

Quilla continued to stare at me. In her eyes, bloodshot as they were from crying, I felt a twinkle that she was beginning to consider me an ally. Whats usually done is to place a photograph of the deceased directly over the coffin.

That would be excellent, Quilla said.

Seeing the face of the deceased somehow enables people to forget that the person is lying in the coffin, I glanced at Quilla who stared intensely at me, then added, Theres another delicate area. Its the matter of clothes.

Suzanne leaned back and said, If its going to be a closed coffin, why would clothing even be an issue?

It doesnt have to be, I said. But its incumbent on me to bring it up. People like to have their loved ones dresseddespite a bodys condition. Its your decision.

I see no point in it, said Suzanne.

I want Aunt Brandy to go out in style, Quilla said firmly. Ill pick out what shell wear.

Whatever, said Suzanne halfheartedly, giving up.

Quilla smiled confidently.

Ill come by later and pick them up, I said.

What Im really interested in most of all, Suzanne said in a deflated voice. Is getting this over with.

Getting it over with is why Funeral Homes exist, I said. We think of the process as helping people get through the first stages of grief and into the healing process.

Suzanne leaned back. There is no grief. She looked at her daughter for a semblance of understanding. My sister and I were not close when she was alive. When she disappeared I felt a brief sense of sadness, just like I felt the other times she ran away. I assumed that this time she decided not to come back. There was nothing to come back to. Our parents were dead. The only family she had was me.

And me! said Quilla pointedly.

As you can see, my daughter has this obsession with my sister. Its gotten worse over the years and 

Its not an obsession! Quilla yelled, jumping up from the couch. I loved Aunt Brandy and she loved me and Ive thought about her every day since she left and I always knew she didnt run away and that something bad happened to her, but you wouldnt believe me!

Quilla sat back down and started to cry. Suzanne, as if she were oblivious to the tears, continued speaking. There was a large gap in our ages. The truth is, I barely knew my sister and we didnt get along. She was twelve years younger than I. When youre a child, thats a tremendous gap. But the fact is, she is my sister and I want to do whats appropriate and I think that the best thing to do is to get everything over with as quickly as possible for all concerned. She reached for a tissue from the box I kept on my desk and gently dabbed at her eyes, then she turned towards Quilla. If a closed casket viewing is important to you, alright. Quillas eyes lit up. But only one night, said Suzanne tersely. Then, I want her remains cremated and buried. Fair enough?

Quilla nodded yes. Mother and daughters eyes locked for a brief moment as if some unspoken understanding had been satisfactorily reached.

The next point of business was the choosing of a grave. I explained the various options they could choose from, namely that the cremated remains could be placed in an urn which would then be sealed in a niche in the large mausoleum at Elm Grove, buried in the ground or simply returned to her to either be kept at home or be scattered.

My parents are buried at Elm Grove, said Suzanne. If my sister could be laid to rest by them, that would be fine.

That shouldnt be a problem, unless your parents are interred in a Section thats completely filled up. I said.

I dont recall where theyre buried. I dont get out to the cemetery that much.

I can find that out easily enough. All thats left to do now is pick out the exact grave site.

I know this may sound cold, she said looking uncomfortable. But Id rather not go to the cemetery. Can you pick something out or is there another way to do it?

Quilla stood up and faced Suzanne. Ill do it. Why should he pick out her final resting place? She gestured towards me. A perfect stranger. How do we know hell choose the right spot? He could stick her anywhere!

Quilla, stop!

Suzanne and Quillas eyes locked again.

Uh, Mrs. Worthington, I said. Frankly, Id be more comfortable if a family member was involved in selecting the site. They both looked at me. If Quilla wants to drive to the cemetery with me we could leave now.

Suzanne eyed her daughter suspiciously as Quilla examined me with a sense of curiosity. I got the impression that she wasnt used to adults giving her feelings much credence. Jesus, if you want to go with him, go, Suzanne snapped.

Quilla seemed genuinely surprised at her victory. But she didnt thank Suzanne for giving in. The only indication of gratitude was a softening of the nasty glare shed been directing at her mother.

The only words Quilla uttered were directed to me: Can I go to the john before we leave?



Chapter 7

Before the meeting ended, Suzanne and I took care of the few remaining details of her sisters funeral arrangements. She let Quilla pick out an urn for the ashes. I showed her the four styles I kept on hand starting with the cheapest a plastic receptacle that looked more like an ice cube basket that went for a hundred dollars, to the most expensive a stainless steel vase in an Egyptian design which went for a thousand. Quilla settled on the latter.

Suzanne wrote out a brief obituary which I would place in the newspaper. Quilla insisted on checking it over and adding one piece of information: that the cause of death was murder. They decided that viewing would be from seven-to-nine and that there would be no religious service the morning of the funeral. A Minister from Suzannes church would come to the cemetery, say a few words and lead the mourners in prayer. We discussed flowers and agreed that a floral spray of red roses would be draped atop the coffin. I would take Brandy Parkers remains to the crematorium, then the next day interment would take place at noon.

I walked Suzanne to her car after the meeting. Quilla tagged along, staying a few yards off to the side. Any problems, please dont hesitate to call. Thats what Im here for.

Suzanne nodded. To Quilla she said, How will you get home?

Ill drop her off. I moved closer to Suzanne. Shes in mourning. Her hostility is normal. Really.

This is how she is all the time, Suzanne said as she got into her car. Thank you for your help. She glanced coolly at Quilla and drove off.

I turned to Quilla. She was watching her mother head out of the parking lot. Bitch, she muttered softly.

All set? I asked, trying to project a pleasant tone.

Yeah. Are we gonna take the hearse?

Her question threw me. I hadnt planned on it. Usually I take my own car for trips like this.

I always wanted to ride in one. She tilted her head to the left a bit. Would it be okay?

Sure, I said, figuring that if it would make her happy, the drive to the cemetery might be more tolerable.


* * *

Having this odd-looking, opinionated, hostile teenager riding shotgun made me feel old, out of touch. She held her Blackberry in her right hand. I didnt have much contact with kids. About the only times Ive been around them was when one died in a car wreck or from suicide or over-dosing on drugs. And the only times Id actually talk to a teenager was when theyd be waiting on me in a store.

The idea of spending time with this girl was unsettling, mostly because I wasnt sure if it would be sixty-or-so minutes of awkward silence or meaningless chatter about pop culture which I knew little about. Neither of us said anything for about a minute. Although I didnt enjoy long silences I could handle them and I was glib enough to make conversation if I sensed that the quiet became too uncomfortable for whomever I was with. I was about to remark on Quillas desire to ride in the hearse when she spoke. You dont look like an undertaker.

What do undertakers look like? I asked.

Creepy. Bony faces. Either so skinny they look like corpses themselves or fat with big bulging eyes like that J. Edgar Hoover guy. But you look different. Like you should be an English teacher or a clerk in an old bookshop.

I guess thats a compliment. Thanks.

You always been an undertaker?

Yes. And for the record, undertaker isnt what we like to be called. We prefer Funeral Director or mortician.

I dont blame you. Undertakers a nasty word. What made you decide to become one?

It was a question Id been asked dozens of times. Id developed a stock answer because the real reason was too personal. It seemed like a good way to help people, was innocuous enough to satisfy most. I looked at Quilla and was about to deliver my stock answer to her question, but her face reflected such a sincere and genuine interest I felt compelled to tell her the truth. To give her background, I explained how my father had died and my mother and I moved to Dankworth to stay with my Aunt.

Lew Henderson was my Aunts friend. He gave me the job as a favor because we needed extra income. I tried to get conventional part-time jobs like most kids do, but there was nothing. Then Lew came through. And it was off the books, so we didnt have to worry about taxes.

I like illegal things. My friend Viper works off the books at his Uncles heating and cooling company.

What kind of name is Viper?

A nickname. He likes snakes. Or he used to when he was a kid. His real names Lester. But he hates it, so we call him Viper. Wasnt it creepy being around caskets and bodies?

I wasnt around them. I did odd jobs. Ran errands for the owner and the embalmer. At first I wasnt sure if I would feel comfortable being in a Funeral Home. And my mother had some concern that, what with my father having just died, I might have some psychological problems about working in a place that would be such a constant reminder to me of death. But, as I said, I never went near the bodies.

Howd you decide to be an under Funeral Director?

My father died in a plane crash. I never got to see him in the coffin for a last good-bye. The Funeral Home who handled the burial was incompetent. I found out later that my Dad died of smoke inhalation. He was burned, but not disfigured or unfit for viewing. If a good restoration person had taken care of him, I couldve seen him one final time.

Whats a restoration person?

The one who makes people whove been ravaged by illness or accidents look presentable in the coffin. So, to answer your question, after working at Hendersons for almost a year, and after coming to terms with how I never got to see him for a last look I decided that no one should have to be put in that position. I decided to become a restoration man.

Quilla moved away and looked at me with surprise. Is that what you do?

No. As I was working at Hendersons and learning the trade, I realized that I had a better skill. I was good with people. Lew, my boss, said that my talents would be wasted working on bodies, so he groomed me to deal with the public.

Cool! Im not good with people. Except my friends. Do you ever have sex in the coffins?

What? I was taken off guard and embarrassed, but I laughed at her audacity.

I always wondered that. I mean, have any of your girlfriends ever wanted to do it in a coffin?

You ask too many questions for your own good.

Know what else about you thats bizarre? Your name. I saw it on a sign when my mother and I came into your office. Dillard. I mean, Ive got friends with strange names, but Dillard? I never met anyone called that.

My father and grandfather were named Dillard. But the nickname all three of us wound up using was Del. Your name isnt all that normal either.

Its a made up name. When I was little I liked koala bears. Couldnt get enough of koala bears. Only I couldnt pronounce koala. Id say quilla bear. Aunt Brandy started calling me Quilla and then so did everybody.

Whats your real name?

Anita. Lame, right? Im gonna legally change it to Quilla in three years, when I hit eighteen. Thats what Aunt Brandy was gonna do. Her real name was Susan, but everybody called her Brandy because when she was a little girl she liked Brandy snaps, but she hated her real name because it was too close to my mothers. I mean, Suzanne and Susan. What kind of parents would name two daughters so similarly?

You must have really loved your Aunt, I said gently.

A wistful expression crossed Quillas face. She was just so cool.

If I heard your mother correctly, you were only six when Brandy disappeared. She nodded yes. You two must have crammed a lot together for you to remember her so fondly. Most kids who lose a loved one that young forget.

I probably wouldve it if wasnt for her stuff.

Her stuff?

My mother was gonna throw all of Aunt Brandys things away, after about six months from the time she disappeared. But I begged my Mom to let me keep my Aunts private stuff in a big trunk that she had.

What kind of stuff?

Things she had in her jewelry box. Some books. A diary. I mean, not a diary like some wimpy chick from the Fifties would have. Aunt Brandy was too hip for that. She used regular spiral notebooks, nothing fancy. I mean, she didnt, like, treasure them. They still have smudges on it from coffee and food stains. She put her feelings and thoughts and junk like that in it. I started reading them and found out that I felt exactly like she did on almost everything. I got to know my Aunt from reading what she wrote more than from the time we spent together. And she had pictures from her trips. Shed just take off and disappear for a couple weeks. Thats why people assumed she ran away. Everybody knew she hated it here. And that she loved to travel. It sort of made sense that she would just pick up and leave. But 

Whats that but about?

I have this theory. When you love somebody truly, you have a sixth sense about why they do things. Its like, you know them so well you know how they think?

Without realizing it, I must have nodded my head in agreement because Quilla said, So you loved somebody like that too?

Someone a long time ago. In high school.

You and your high school sweetheart loved each other that way?

It was entirely one way.

You loved her and she thought you were doggie-do?

Wasnt that bad. She just didnt connect with me the way I connected with her. To this day, I havent felt that connection with anyone. To her I was just a summer fling.

I know the feeling. I was summer-flinged last year. What was her name?

Alyssa.

What happened to her?

She left town. Broke up with me and took off.

The conversation was starting to upset me. I didnt want to talk about Alyssa. I never talked about her anymore. I tried not to even let myself think about her. Despite the fact that I hadnt seen her in nearly fifteen years, I still missed her, thought about her.

You still feel the same way about her?

Could we talk about something else?

Im pushing your buttons, arent I?

Howd you guess?

I do that to people a lot. You mustve really had it bad for her.

First love. It was a long time ago. I paused for a moment. I believe we were talking about how your love for your Aunt made you realize something.

Oh, yeah. I knew she wouldnt have left without saying good-bye to me. Maybe not to anyone else. But she would have said something to my face. And she wouldnt have left her notebooks. They were important to her to take them with her or destroy them. She raised her right index finger to her left eye, then her right eye, wiping tears from both. And if she didnt say good-bye to me she wouldve had a good reason, probably because Id cry and whine, but she would definitely have sent me a letter once she got where she was going. I used to think that even if shed been kidnapped she would have found a way to let me know that she was alright, but 

Her voice trailed off. When she was alive I used to wish that Aunt Brandy was my mother. When she was gone, I wished that she was my friend. I miss her. I mean one day she was here and the next day  She snapped her fingers. Gone. Nothing. Six years old and I knew somebody killed her. For the last nine years Ive been waiting for her body to be discovered here or ten thousand miles away. I hoped theyd find her in another town so somebody competent would be in charge of solving the case instead of an A-hole like Perry Cobb.

I liked the fact that she disliked Perry, but I wondered why. I also felt a strange compulsion to defend him, if for no other reason than to give Quilla some hope.

Why so negative about Perry Cobb? I asked.

Because he hates me.

How can he hate you? How does he even know you?

I had some problems last year, she said sheepishly. With drinking. And drugs. A couple of friends and I stole a car. We got caught DWI. It was stupid. Cobb kept us in jail overnight. Since then, he gives us grief at every turn.

I hated defending Perry, but in this instance I had to. Do you blame him? You couldve hurt somebody. Maybe killed somebody. Maybe yourself.

I know. But he was mean to us. Made it seem like we were less than human. The only cop I ever met who was worth anything is Greg.

You know Greg Hoxey?

Hes my friend. Hes different from the other cops.

Whats different about Greg? I was curious as to how she happened to be on a first name basis with Greg.

He used to be like us in high school. Into heavy metal, hair down to his ass and liked to get wasted. Greg is cool.

Greg Hoxey cool? I said to myself. I was beginning to question her powers of observation.

Hes like this really excellent older brother who gives you money and wont tell your parents that youre sneaking out. I wish he was in charge of the investigation. Greg would try. Cobbs not gonna do squat.

Why do you say that?

Because he hates people like me and my Aunt was like me and Im like her and in Cobbs eyes were nothing but sluts who hang with crazed druggies.

How do you know he thinks that?

Are you really that naive? she sneered. Maybe youve been around so many dead bodies youre out of touch.

With what?

The real world.

She might be right, I said to myself.

Ill be honest with you, Quilla. Theres no love lost between Perry Cobb and me, so you wont see me defending him. But I think youre wrong about him not caring about finding the killer.

Why? she sneered.

Because he never had a murder case before and solving it will be a tremendous ego trip for him. Hell be doing everything in his power, pulling out all the stops because hes insecure enough to know that people will be watching him. As Chief of Police he has to be elected. No one has ever run against him because its a nowhere job in a nowhere town that pays next to nothing. But its all hes got. And if theres someone crazy enough to want to be Police Chief, maybe even Greg Hoxey, if Perry doesnt find your Aunts killer, it might be just the thing that prompts somebody to take Perry on.

Just because he wants to solve the case doesnt mean he has the brains to do it.

The police here have all the latest technology at their disposal.

Well see, she said sheepishly, then took a long, deep breath. Are we almost there? Im getting nervous about this. Ive only been in a cemetery twice. When my grandparents died.

Ten minutes.

She leaned her head against the window and stared out. She yawned. She seemed so alone in her grief. It was a feeling Id known well.

It was bad enough when my father died, but I felt an even deeper sense of anguish when I was eighteen and Alyssa went away. I felt as if she had died. Because wed broken up three weeks before she left Dankworth Id been pining for her, unable to sleep, driving past her parents house hoping to get a glimpse of her. I didnt even know shed gone until Chester Cobb phoned me to ask if Id seen her. Her mother had filed a missing person report and mentioned that Id been dating her.

But then three days after she was reported missing a note from Alyssa had come in the mail with a New York City postmark to her parents. She apologized for leaving without saying good-bye, said that she needed to be alone and that she would be in touch. A note, also postmarked New York City, came to me too.

Dear Del,

I had to get away. Take care of yourself.

Maybe some day youll see me again.

Alyssa

The most confusing thing about the note was that I got it. I wasnt her boyfriend anymore. Six months later I received a postcard from her postmarked in Chicago with another brief message. While I think of Alyssa often, I seldom think of the note and postcard. Though I kept them, and even valued them, as if they were love letters, I never look at them because an overwhelming feeling of confusion overtakes me. I still dont know why she sent them to me. In my more romantic notions, I pretend that she really did love me back. In my practical moods I convince myself that she sent them to me out of pity.

As Quilla gazed out the window in a numbed silence, I spent the remainder of the drive pondering something she had said. Specifically, would Perry be taking this murder seriously? I hadnt spoken to him about it since the day the body was found. Despite my guess that whoever was the killer knew something about cemeteries, I felt Perry would probably have nothing to go on until the victims identity was discovered. But now that he knew, I wasnt sure what steps he would take to start an investigation.

As I approached the main entrance to Elm Grove cemetery I decided that I would transfer the empathy I was feeling for Quilla into something constructive. First chance I had, which would probably be later in the day, I would approach Perry and ask him what, if anything, was being done about the Brandy Parker murder.



Chapter 8

As I drove through the cemetery gates, I focused my attention on the business at hand: finding the place of burial for Brandy Parker.

The first stop would be the Administration Office where I would have Mel or George punch up Suzanne Worthingtons parents names on the computer. Division, Section and Plot numbers would be instantly forthcoming. As to whether or not Brandy could be laid to rest near her parents, that would be a different matter. It depended on where they were buried.

Officially there are two Divisions in Elm Cross cemetery: the Modern Division and the Original, but unofficially there are three, the third being located in a small, barely discernable area of the Original. This was the first Elm Grove cemetery, roughly half the size of a football field, adjacent to a Methodist church, long since torn down, and where the first residents of Dankworth, most of whom were born in the middle of the eighteenth century, were laid to rest.

Even the most fanatical cemetery buff didnt know about this part of the grounds. It was hidden by a blending of shrubbery, rocks and long-dead oak trees. There was an entrance of sorts, but only someone who knew where to find it could gain access to this old bone yard.

Not that anyone would want to. Here there were no weathered, granite mausoleums or above ground crypts. Most of what was left of the tombstones and grave markers were completely devoid of information as to the identity of the people buried there. There was little, if any, symmetry to the positions of the graves. Most seemed too close together. Others were off by themselves, illogically situated without rhyme or reason. Here the grass and weeds, though maintained regularly, didnt have the manicured look of the rest of the cemetery. It was more like a deserted field that had been by-passed by a superhighway and the broken tombstones were more like rocks scattered about, tilting backwards or sideways or crumbled in heaps on the strawlike grass.

No one came to pay respects to these people anymore. And even if some long lost relative had shown up, odds are the burial site would never have been found. Mel had no records of the people here. Mel himself never even knew about the existence of the Division until he had been Manager of the cemetery for two years, and he didnt find out until Vaughn had fallen and broken his hip and, while recuperating at Dankworth General Hospital, asked to see Mel. When Mel came to Vaughns bedside not only did he tell him about the forgotten burial ground, but he informed him of the fact that he owned a plot there in which he wanted to be buried.

Vaughn also confided to Mel that only two others knew about this secret burial ground: Alton Held and me. I knew because I would be handling the burial. Alton was told because, as Vaughns replacement as Head Groundskeeper, he needed to know. Vaughn would be the last person to be buried in the secret area, primarily because there was no more room.

Space had also become a problem in the Original Division. No new gravesites were available. The only burials taking place in it were in family plots that had been purchased generations ago. Early in the twentieth century, when people tended to remain in the general vicinity of where they were raised, families of means bought plots, starting with four graves and expanding as necessary. Not only was it a practical decision, but also more economically sound than buying individual graves upon need.

The Modern Division is where the vast majority of burials take place. Unlike the oppressive mausoleums and crypts of the Original Division, it has the look and ambiance of the modern cemetery modern going back to the 1950s when many newly created cemeteries forbade ostentatious monuments and apogees. In modern cemeteries headstones must be flat and in the ground. Gone were the imposing granite testimonials to the dead, usually chosen by the living as some final recognition to the deceaseds wealth or status in life.

Vaughn felt that the larger and more elaborate and more expensive the headstone, the more guilt the survivors had for not adequately loving or honoring the deceased when he or she was alive. I believed that too.

*****

Quilla was still staring morosely out the window as we came to a stop in front of the Administration building. I explained to her that I would go inside and find out where her Grandparents were buried, then she and I would go to the graves to see if there was a site that met with her approval.

In the event that she would be uncomfortable being alone in the hearse, I asked her if she wanted to come with me. She yawned, said no and immediately began texting. I went inside. Mel had the information within a minute: New Division, Section 19, Plots 15 and 16. The information was a tad unsettling. My fathers grave was less than thirty yards away. The area was actually very pleasant, near one of the man-made ponds and under a cheery-looking pine tree that provided nice shade in the summer.

Mel punched a couple of buttons on the computer to show the Plot availability in the area. No problem. There were plenty of openings only a few feet away. Brandy Parker could be laid to rest near her parents. Had I come out to the cemetery alone I wouldnt have bothered to check out the site. Mel and I could have taken care of business at his desk. But I knew Quilla would want to inspect the area and select the gravesite herself. I returned to the hearse and told her there was space available. In the brief time it took to get there she was silent. So was I. We didnt stay long.

I pointed out the plot nearest to Quillas grandparents graves. She stared at it for several seconds, then glanced at the headstone on her grandparents graves. I thought she might take a moment to say a prayer, but she didnt. She just turned to me and said, Aunt Brandy didnt like her mother and father. I dont think shed want to be buried so close to them. Does it have to be right here? Can it be farther away?

It can be anywhere you want, I said. But didnt your mother say she wanted her buried with your grandparents?

Quilla shrugged. After the funeral, shell never come to the grave again. I will, so Ill decide where shell be buried. Can I walk around and find a spot that feels right?

I nodded yes. Take your time. She wandered off.

To give her privacy, I ambled over to my dads grave and stared at the marble stone, then at his name Dillard Coltrane, Jr. under which were the words Beloved Husband And Father along with his year of birth and death.

I didnt so much pray as reflect on the loss: he of his life, me of my father, my mother of her husband, us of our family. Despite the fact that hed been gone nearly twenty years, it still seemed like Id only seen him yesterday. He was young, 36, and even though he would now be 56 I couldnt picture him at that age. He would be eternally 36 in my mind.

Why is your name on that gravestone? said Quilla much too loudly for a cemetery. I turned. She was standing next to me, looking down at my fathers grave.

Its my father, I said.

If you have a kid are you gonna name him Dillard Coltrane the fourth?

I dont plan on having kids.

Why not? Youd be a good father.

How do you know? I said, a little surprised and touched at her observation.

I have good instincts. And Ive had two so-called fathers. Ones a world-class loser, the others a world class bastard. I have friends who mostly have idiots for fathers. But youre like the dads of the two or three kids I know with fathers who behave like fathers should. She bent down and touched my fathers headstone. This is nice here. Would you mind if my Aunt was buried near your father?

Of course not.

Good. She pointed to an empty swatch of grass three plots over. Doesnt look like anyones buried there. I glanced at where she was gesturing. There was an expanse of land allotted for ten plots. Then this is the place. She smiled. She seemed happy and pleased with herself.

All I have to do is check back in the office to see if the specific plot is unclaimed and its yours.

As we headed back to the hearse, I said, Youre the youngest person Ive known to pick out a grave site. Most kids your age couldnt handle it.

Im not like most kids my age, she said, defiantly.

Quite frankly, most adults cant handle it. Youre a pretty special kid.

She looked at me suspiciously. Im glad somebody thinks so. There was an almost frightening sarcasm in her tone.

When we got back to the hearse I started to open the door for her, but she stopped me saying, I hate gentlemen. She opened the door and jumped in.

I walked around to my side and slid in.

I want to see where my Aunts body was found.

I looked at her hesitantly. Are you sure?

Yes, she said emphatically.


* * *

It took about two minutes to drive to the mausoleum. We didnt talk. I glanced over at her once. She was shaking. I think I heard her teeth chattering. I brought the hearse to a stop directly in front of the sign indicating that we had come to Section 12. We got out and walked side by side, but as we got closer to the mausoleum where Brandy Parkers body was found, Quilla slowed her pace and walked behind me.

The mausoleum had been re-sealed, but the yellow police crime scene ribbons still cordoned off the area. Within seconds we were standing three feet in front of the entrance. Quilla looked at the gloomy, marble structure that stood roughly eight feet high and ten feet deep.

Looks like a cement beach cabana, she smirked, then ducked under the police ribbon and stepped slowly to the door. It was as if she were approaching her Aunts body in a coffin. She walked around the mausoleum, studying it closely, as if she were looking for something.

She placed her right hand, palm up, onto the door and lowered her head as if in some silent prayer or reverie and remained in that pose for about thirty seconds. I heard the sniffle again, but this time she didnt try to hide it. She pulled back her hand and looked at me.

How did the guy who killed my Aunt get into this thing? It looks totally break-in-proof.

Some of the old ones have loose stones. Remove one or two and its easy to slip inside. My guess is that whoever did made sure nobody else could get in unless they broke in through the door like the guys who stumbled onto her body.

What a horrible way to die, said Quilla, then without warning she ran straight back to the hearse, almost tripping over an in-the-ground headstone. As I walked back I watched her yank open the door and climb inside. She put her hands to her face to hide the tears.

I could hear the sobbing twenty yards away. I stayed back, pretending not to hear her. She struck me as someone who would be embarrassed to be seen crying so vehemently. To give her privacy I stood behind a four-foot high headstone with sheaves of wheat carved into it, symbolizing that the deceased had lived to a ripe old age.

As I listened to Quilla cry I remembered my conversation with Perry, specifically, how I had told him that the killer had to know something about cemeteries, especially this cemetery. I wondered if he had acted on that. But I also wondered if I was right. Maybe the killer came up with the idea of hiding the body in a mausoleum in a remote part of an old cemetery from watching a horror movie. Or maybe it was just a good guess or a dumb luck decision that worked for the past nine years.

But the more I thought about it, the more I felt in my gut that my initial assumption had to be right. A cemetery buff had killed Brandy Parker. Either that or someone who knew a cemetery buff and had picked up enough knowledge from being around him. Or her. Choosing this mausoleum in this part of the cemetery was no good guess, no random selection. It was a clever, calculated decision.

As Vaughn always said when he was convinced of something, I felt it in my bones.



Chapter 9

I gave Quilla about five minutes alone to work through her tears before I made my way back to the hearse. I slid in and said, You okay? and she muttered a soft, choked up Yeah, that told me she wasnt.

I turned the key in the ignition and drove back to Mels office. Again, I left Quilla in the car while I ran inside and had Mel work up the paperwork for the purchase, opening and closing of Brandy Parkers grave. Within five minutes I was back in the hearse and Quilla and I were heading to Dankworth. I decided that she probably needed silence and that there would be no conversation unless she started it.

She didnt say a word for about five minutes. All she did was fiddle with the knob on the glove compartment. I concentrated on driving, then suddenly, Quilla asked me a question that caught me totally off guard. Do you know any private detectives?

I hesitated for a moment. No. Why?

I want to hire one to find the guy who killed my Aunt.

I changed my mind. Understand something nobody cares who killed my Aunt except me. My mother could care less. When the call came about finding the body her only reaction was that it couldnt have come at a worse time. Know why? She and her husband were going on vacation this week.

I was curious that she didnt refer to Suzannes husband as her father. You mean your father?

My father lives in California. Hes a jerk. I hate him. Alan is my stepfather. Hes only half-a-jerk and I hate him too. I cant wait for them to leave. Ill be alone for fourteen days and have some peace and quiet. She bit her lower lip. My mother didnt even cry. And when Cobb called her she didnt even ask him about what hes gonna do to find out who did it. Thats why Ill be the only one who does anything about finding out who killed my aunt.

What will you do? I was fascinated by her tenacity and not for one second did I find her passion false.

I havent figured that out yet.

Look. I have a professional relationship with Perry. I can find out if hes doing anything.

I can find out too, she almost barked. I have a relationship with Greg.

Gregs not somebody Perry would tell crucial facts to.

And like hed tell things to you a mortician? she snapped.

Perry and I go way back. Ill set up a meeting between you two. You can tell him everything you know about your aunt, starting with the fact that you have her things and that she has notebooks.

Hell want to read them. I dont like the idea of him knowing her thoughts.

You cant think like that. Whatever piece of her that you possess, no matter how personal and intimate, if itll provide a clue to her killer, you have to turn it over.

She paused for a few more seconds. Why are you being so nice to me? I mean, its almost like you really give a damn. She arched her eyebrows. Or is this all part of the Funeral Director act?

Youre not the typical grieving person I deal with.

Theres something more going on, isnt there? You dont come off like some perv child molester whos acting like you feel sorry for me so you can get in my pants. Its just your motivation confuses me.

Im touched by your love for your Aunt. It makes me want to help you.

But why? I keep getting vibes from you that, like, this is somehow personal to you.

I averted her eyes. Her perception was alarming. At fifteen she had the ability to pinpoint truth or the lack thereof. It made me uncomfortable.

I understand loss, I said. And the importance of closure. I never got it with Alyssa.

I know all about closure. Ive been waiting for it nine years. I got it yesterday.

Not completely. You wont have full closure until you find out who killed your Aunt.

Quilla was silent for a moment. Do I have to wear a dress when I come to the Funeral Home tonight? And does it have to be black?

Wear what you think your aunt would have worn.

Quilla shot me a smile. Cool.

After dropping Quilla off, my next destination was the Coroners to pick up Brandy Parkers remains. I didnt tell Quilla where I was going.

From my iPhone I called the Home to let Clint and Nolan know that we had another body coming in. If it hadnt been such a hectic week I wouldve had Clint come with me to pick up the remains. He only accompanied me, or I him, on removals when the corpse was inordinately heavy and difficult for one person to manage alone.

Nolan took the call. The words werent even out of my mouth before he asked if it would be a full service.

No, I said. Closed coffin. Its the corpse found in the mausoleum. Theres not much.

I heard Nolan sigh in disappointment. Just like me, he gets restless when hes not busy. Even though hed been occupied the last few days, he was again at loose ends.


* * *

Ray, the same pathologist on duty when I dropped off Brandy Parkers remains, was there to release the body. Tough one, he said as he wheeled a gurney out of the lab along the corridor to the loading dock.

How do you mean?

Simple blow to the head. Couldve been done with anything. What with all the moisture inside that mausoleum, insects doing their thing and the desiccation of the body, especially around the wound, it was impossible to get a handle on the weapon or anything else. About the only thing that could be established is that she probably died fast. Perrys gonna have his hands full.

Rays comment haunted me for the entire drive back to the Home. I wanted Perry to solve this case, if for no other reason than Quillas peace of mind.

It was my nature not to get even remotely involved in situations where the stakes were high. It was part apathy, part not wanting to be bothered and partly being petrified of getting too close to people. I was very good at watching life go by. If it didnt touch me in any way I was thankful. Let it ram into everyone else. Had it been anyone other than Quilla, I wouldve steered far and wide from this mess, but there was something about her that sucked me into it with a ferocity that scared the hell out of me.

I beeped the horn as I pulled up to the rear entrance of the Home. Within thirty seconds Nolan appeared, a warm smile on his pink face. He was wearing a T-shirt black with the following words in Gothic lettering:




Take An Embalmer To Lunch


Nolan enjoyed going to industry conventions to learn of new advances and exchange embalming tricks. Three or four times a year he would take off for two or three days. A couple of years back hed gone to a Seminar in Chicago on the latest tricks on restoring mangled bodies and come back with four T-shirts. One for me, Lew, Clint and himself. Hed done it as a gag, but one morning I saw him walking along Dankworths main business district wearing it.

Id given him permission to wear the T-shirt only at the Home and only when the public wasnt around. Most people are fairly ignorant about what goes on behind the closed doors of a Funeral Home. Embalmers engender mystery. Many people are aware of their existence and that he, or she, does something to the bodies once theyve been brought to the Funeral Home, but theyre not sure what.

Other than friends and families, a good-sized number of embalmers go through life without revealing the truth of how they earn a living. Id say with great certainty that most people in Dankworth under forty who pass Nolan on the street, sit near him in church or stand behind him in line at the supermarket dont know that he embalmed the bulk of the bodies buried from Hendersons Funeral Home for the last thirty-plus years.

If they did, it might be extremely unsettling. Not because of any monstrous physical appearance. Nolan was actually quite nice-looking or could have been if he stopped wearing his hair long like an aging rock star. Plus he had a goofy-looking goatee that gave him an almost satanic aura. Not like the classical interpretation of the devil, but more like a cartoon caricature.


* * *

Nolan was cranky because his trocar wasnt working properly. The trocar, one of the most important tools for an embalmer, is a long, hollow needle attached to a tube that comes into play near the conclusion of the embalming process. What most people dont know is that embalming consists simply of draining blood from the veins and replacing it with fluid pumped in through the arteries. Between three to six gallons of a dyed and perfumed solution of formaldehyde, glycerin, borax, phenol, alcohol and water is injected into the body, primarily for disinfecting and preservative purposes.

The next step involves the trocar, which is jabbed into the abdomen and poked around the entrails and chest cavity, the contents of which are pumped out and replaced with cavity fluid. Once this is done, the hole in the stomach made by the trocar is sewn up, the bodys face is heavily creamed to protect the skin from burns which may be caused by leakage of the chemicals and the corpse is ready for restoration.

If a lip or lips, a nose or an ear is missing, the embalmer possesses a variety of restorative waxes with which to model replacements. Pores and skin texture are simulated by speckling with a little brush, and over this cosmetics are applied. If the mouth is swollen the embalmer cuts out tissue as needed from inside the lips. If too much is removed the surface contour is restored by padding with cotton. Swollen necks and cheeks are reduced by removing tissue through vertical incision made down each side of the neck. In instances of emaciation, a hypodermic syringe loaded with massage cream is injected into the hollowed and sunken areas.

Once the body has been properly restored, its washed, dressed and shaved if its a male. Cream-based cosmetics available in pink, flesh, suntan, brunette and blond are applied to the hands and face. Hair is shampooed, combed and, if necessary, set and the fingernails are manicured. Then the body is placed in the coffin and wheeled to the Viewing Room.

Id known Nolan since the first day I began working at Hendersons Funeral Home, and I liked him. He was kind to me, but I couldnt stand to hear him talk. His voice was the most grating sound Id ever heard. A tad high pitched with a slight scratchiness to it, almost as if he were talking through the speaker in a drive-thru restaurant. And he loved to talk.

He spent so much time alone with bodies that he cried out for human contact. Because I was always around, I was usually it. And before I came along, Lew was his primary target. Or Lews wife. Since Id hired Clint two-and-a-half years ago, he took on a large chunk of Nolans yakking as well. Id learned long ago that the best way to avoid spending too much time with Nolan was to act as if I were in a rush or very pre-occupied.

Good to have all this business, eh, Del? He opened the back door of the hearse and waited for me to join him. You just missed Clint. He took the silver hearse for a lube job.

We each grabbed an end of the body bag containing Brandy Parker and, as we made our way to the Embalming Room, Nolan tried to get at least five conversations going about different topics. Each time I interrupted him or pretended not to hear or feigned ignorance of the subject. After all these years I still felt guilty about not being friendlier with Nolan. In the beginning, though, it was much harder. Nolan was forty-three. I was a Senior in high school. I didnt view him as a father figure, but I viewed him as an older man and therefore felt I owed him enough respect to listen to his non-stop rambling.

He sent me a Christmas card every year, gave me a present, always something nice. He never missed my birthday. Always sent me postcards from his travels to trade conventions. When I was in the hospital having my appendix removed he came to visit me. Because I spent so much time avoiding him, I never got to learn much about him. And I never gave him the benefit of finding out much about me.

We shared no secrets. I knew more about Perry Cobbs personal life than Nolans. Id never been invited to his home. I knew that he was married once, when he was in his Twenties, and that his wife had walked out on him, and that he had never remarried. Lew told me that in all the years hed known Nolan since his wife left, hed never gotten serious with another woman. I got the implication from Lew that Nolans wife had broken his heart.

For that reason alone I felt an odd kinship with Nolan. The woman he loved had walked out on him. And my first love had pretty much walked out on me.

Glancing at Nolan, I could see he was anxious to get to work so I started for the door and mumbled a Good-bye.

Nolan said, See ya, Del, then, as I closed the door, I heard him unzip the body bag and immediately start talking to what was left of Brandy Parker.



Chapter 10

While Nolan did his part in the burial of Brandy Parker, I continued to do mine, which consisted of a handful of tasks that could be taken care of over the phone. Getting the obituary to the newspaper. Contacting the crematorium. Ordering flowers. Because the coffin wouldnt be leaving the Home for a church service and as I would be bringing the remains directly to the crematorium, pallbearers wouldnt be an issue. And there was also the issue of whether or not the body would be wearing any clothes.

Despite the fact that it would be a closed casket ceremony I had an obligation to ask Suzanne Worthington what her wishes were regarding the clothing issue. As with most aspects of the funeral and burial process, the typical person doesnt consider certain areas until the situation arises.

The dressing of the corpse is always a touchy issue. Should a man be dressed in his underwear or not? Just a T-shirt or only his shorts or both? Socks and shoes or barefoot? Should a female wear a bra? Pantyhose? One would think that with closed casket viewings any clothing at all would be a moot point. Why bother dressing a corpse when no one would be seeing it? The same question could be asked about the logic of putting shoes on a corpse in an open coffin. Why? The body isnt going anywhere. But considering the decomposed state of Brandy Parkers remains, it would be natural to question the wisdom of dressing the corpse in conventional clothes. I decided to suggest a traditional burial shroud. I called the Worthington home. A man answered. I introduced myself and asked for Suzanne.

The man blurted an abrupt, Hold on, and roughly set down the receiver on a hard surface. What seemed like close to a minute later, Suzanne picked up. She had the same pre-occupied, disinterested attitude she displayed in our earlier meeting. I presented her with the choices. She opted for the shroud, but before committing to it said, Id better discuss this with my daughter. Let me call you back.

Less than two minutes passed. It was Suzanne with the news that Quilla would chose the clothes that Brandy Parker would wear. We also discussed the matter of the photograph of Brandy which would be placed atop her coffin. They had a framed 9x12 color picture of her. I said I would stop by in an hour to pick it and the clothes up. When I got to their house, a basement-less, oversized ranch that looked larger than it really was because of an attached garage, I found that neither Quilla nor Suzanne were home.

Alan Worthington answered the door, a Blackberry to his right ear. As he talked he raised his left hand, palm up, which I took to mean that I should wait. I expected him to step back a few feet and continue talking, but he stood there in front me, as if I werent even there, separated only by the screen door.

He looked to be in his early Forties and had a thick black mustache that made him look like a Seventies porn star. He was about five feet five, a good eight inches shorter than I. He wore an expensive, but still noticeable hairpiece. I didnt like his eyes. They seemed to be always moving, darting back and forth like a neurotic rat in a maze. After a minute or so he turned to me. You here for the clothes and picture? His voice had the same abrasive impatience hed had on the phone earlier.

Yes.

Wait here.

He disappeared into the house for about thirty seconds, returning with a plastic bag from a grocery store.

Here, he said, handing the bag to me as if it contained garbage. Im supposed to tell you to hold it on the side so the stuff doesnt get wrinkled as if it matters, right? He rolled his eyes. The kid put a pair of shoes in there too. Why I dont know. Its not like Brandys going out dancing. He laughed cruelly.

The fact is, I said firmly, in a tone carefully measured to make him feel stupid. Most people put shoes on their loved ones. And most people also insist that underwear and socks are placed on the body.

He glared at me with a genuine sense of disgust.

Thats sick, he said. When I die I want to be cremated and I want my ashes put in a bottle of Dom Perignon and dropped into the Caribbean. Look, between you and me, if you want to give these shoes to some charity, fine. Were done, right, chief?

Yeah.

As I headed back to my car I understood why Quilla couldnt stand this guy. I wasnt looking forward to seeing him later that night when, he, Suzanne and Quilla would arrive for the viewing. A part of me hoped he wouldnt come.

Someone representing the Home has to be present when bodies are on view. Lew and I alternated. Sometimes Clint filled in.

We werent crazy about having Nolan greeting people at the door. All you had to do was have a kindly expression on your face which Nolan possessed naturally and be ready to direct people towards the Viewing Room in which the body of the person they were coming to see was laid out. The problem was that Nolan wanted to talk to people, oftentimes people in mourning or deep distress. If he engaged in minor chitchat it mightve been acceptable, but Nolan would occasionally forget himself and reveal that he had done the work on the body.

*****

Because Brandy Parker would be the third body on view and since Lew was out of town, Clint would have to be on hand to help with the greeting. The Viewing was scheduled from 7:00-to-9:00 p.m. At my suggestion, the family arrives first, anywhere from fifteen to twenty minutes earlier, to have the first look at their loved one in private and to check over the appearance of the body. Sometimes theres an inappropriate amount of make-up on a female. The plain Jane in life shouldnt look like a Vegas showgirl in repose. Sometimes the hairstyle is all wrong, curls instead of straight hair, bangs instead of a bun. Sometimes the lips have been arranged in an uncharacteristic smirk or snarl.

By coming early the family can point out errors and Nolan can correct them.

I looked at my watch 6:35. No one from the immediate family had arrived. I stepped outside the front entrance onto the veranda and looked at the parking lot. Nothing. Not even the other two bodies on view had callers yet. I glanced towards the entrance to the lot. No cars were visible. The warm October evening seemed more like June. I decided to stay outside until someone came. I gave the building a quick once-over. It could use a paint job and work on the roof. I would wait until Spring.

Our Home is small by traditional standards and quite normal-looking. Rather than a Victorian or Gothic design, ours is more Colonial, painted white with a cheery yellow trim, with abundant windows. Ive been kidded it looks more like an International House of Pancakes than a Funeral Home. DiGregorios, on the other hand, is straight out of The House On Haunted Hill with arches and gables and turrets. Built with a dirty, reddish brown brick that hadnt aged well and hadnt been cleaned since Id come to Dankworth, the structure was a sad, depressing reminder of death.

For Quillas sake I hoped she and her parents would pull in then and there. This part of the service is always the most painful for the family because its the first look they have at the deceased and they must acknowledge for the first time that their loved one is gone.

Even a closed casket is unsettling because of the knowledge that someone you love is inside. In some ways its more distressing because the survivors never get a last look at the deceased. Ive always felt that this last look is crucial to the grieving process because the reality of death is the single truth that has to be faced.

Life is over. The person is gone and never coming back.

I was about to go back inside when I saw Clints station wagon pull into the lot. He was late. I expected him at 6:15. He waved at me then pulled around to the back. Within thirty seconds he was jogging towards me. He was 24 and a nice guy, personable, good with the bereaved and capable of squeezing a few extra dollars out of someone making arrangements. He had two drawbacks: pathological lateness and the woman to whom he was married.

Sorry Im late, he blurted, out of breath.

Id heard those words dozens of times. I gave him a non-threatening stare, as if he were a six-month old puppy who had just peed on the couch. No ones here yet anyway.

Cookie and I had a fight, he said. A big one.

The usual subject?

He nodded yes.

Cookie was alone on a night Clint was supposed to be off.

For the entire time Clint had been working for me, she was alone most evenings and weekends. Her weekdays were occupied working as a substitute teacher for barely more than minimum wage at a Catholic elementary school forty-six miles away, a hellish commute that also drove her crazy, especially in winter. Part of Clints responsibility as our apprentice was to be at the Home most of the time so I could try to add some normalcy to my own life.

She gave me an ultimatum, said Clint. I either get some guaranteed decent hours or shes divorcing me.

We went through this last year, Clint. Thats how you got Sundays off.

I know. I know. But its not enough, Del. Shes not a social person. Cookie has a hard time making friends. We have this intense, co-dependant thing going on. Shes not good at finding ways to keep busy and theres only so much TV to watch and so much to read and she hates housework. Shes starting to listen to Christian music and shes joined a Bible study group at church. Sometimes she answers the phone with Praise Jesus instead of Hello. I dont know what to do. Is there some way I can have one night a week off? If I told Cookie that we could have, say, Tuesday evenings to ourselves it would be enough to calm her down for awhile.

I was about to tell him that Id need time to think about it when I heard the sound of a car pulling in the lot. It was a police cruiser. I could see Perry Cobb at the wheel. He punched the accelerator as if he were a seventeen-year-old out with his fathers rebuilt 57 Chevy and headed for a parking spot a few feet from where Clint and I stood.

Tell you what, Clint, Ill think about it.

Del, I love working here with you and being a Funeral Directors all I ever wanted since I was twelve years old. But I love Cookie too. He seemed on the verge of tears.

This is a business filled with broken marriages and bachelors, I said. The statistics are against you. Like cops. Listen, I need to talk to Perry. Why dont you go inside?

Clint nodded and went into the front entrance of the Home just as Perry was getting out of his vehicle. He slammed the car door and strutted towards me.

What are you doing here, Perry?

Im taking a guess that the killer might show up. I want to check out everybody who comes in.

I nodded, then for Quillas benefit more than from my own curiosity, I said, Have any leads?

The trail gets cold the second the killer walks away from the body. Girls been dead nine years. I got the Sheriffs office to send me a criminalist and fingerprint person to dust the mausoleum and what was left of Brandy Parkers clothes for prints and whatnot. Nothing. Apartment she lived in was rented three months after she disappeared and everything she owned went to Goodwill.

Who authorized that?

Her sister. Im in the process of trying to track down her friends, people she hung out with, co-workers, neighbors, the usual. So far, not much. Broad who was her best friend back then is dead too. Relocated to Nevada. Vegas. Became a blackjack dealer. Got hit by a limo after walking out of the casino where she worked. Perry shook his head. Trying to track down a couple of people she worked with, but I dont expect much. She was only nineteen when she disappeared. Had a couple of two-bit jobs. Waitress in a coffee shop. Barmaid. She lied about her age to get it. Owner of the coffee shop remembered who she was. One detail. She never picked up her last paycheck. As for the bar she worked at, its changed ownership three times. Same with her neighbors. It was a dump where mostly college age kids rented. No leases. Month-to-month. Everybody who was there when she was most likely has moved on. I have Wendell checking further.

What about some of the men she was involved with?

Best Ive been able to piece together is that she wasnt involved with anyone so to speak. Im hoping it wasnt a one night stand that got out of hand.

Why?

Kind of hard to track down some quickie in a back seat from close to ten years ago, he sneered. Two of the bars she hung out in have changed ownership. One burned down. Another shut down. He spit, aiming towards the grass, but hitting the pavement.

Youve found out an enormous amount of information for such a short period of time. Im impressed.

Doesnt matter, he said grimly. Part of me thinks I wont find out much more than I have already. Nobody knows anything about this woman. Not even her sister. It might be a different story if I could find someone who knew the answers to some hard questions about who Brandy Parker was.

Did you talk to her niece? Quilla Worthington. I understand that you know her.

Perry sneered. Little bitch hangs with a bad crowd. If these kids cant find grass or cocaine, theyll settle for getting high on Robitussin.

The cold medication?

These assholes call it Robo. They like that heavy metal crap. Dress in black. Wear leather. Put rings in their noses and ears and lips. One girl has a spike in her tongue. I have Greg on special assignment to keep an eye on them.

Special assignment? I said, feeling queasy in my stomach and more than a little sorry for Quilla. She liked Greg Hoxey, thought he was her friend. I wondered how she would feel upon learning that Greg was scamming them.

Greg has made friends with them. They love his ass. You saying the niece knows something?

She was very close to her Aunt. If anybody could help you find out more about who Brandy Parker was, Quilla could. And I happen to know that shed be willing to cooperate.

Oh yeah? he said sarcastically. How do you know that? And how do you know all this crap about her?

She rode out to the cemetery with me to pick out the grave site. We talked. The one thing uppermost in her mind is finding the person who killed her Aunt.

Talking to her cant hurt, I guess. He looked at me as if he were giving me an evaluation. Thats twice now.

Twice what?

Only positive things Ive had to work came from you. That cemetery buff stuff and now this info about the niece. I never wouldve even considered finding out if the kid knew anything. Christ, she was just a little shit when her Aunt disappeared. She taking the death hard?

I nodded yes. She seems to be the only one.

Meaning?

I didnt see much grief coming from her mother.

Should I consider the mother a suspect?

Perry let the question slip out so matter-of-factly, that I was speechless. Youre asking me? I thought to myself. I wasnt used to receiving compliments from Perry Cobb. I felt like the child of an alcoholic getting a pat on the head from daddy on a sober day.

Look, Perry, I dont know anything about solving crimes and having feelings about who should or shouldnt be a suspect. Based on years of doing business with grieving individuals, all I can tell you about Suzanne Worthington is that her behavior was typical of at least a third of those Ive dealt with. Some are devastated and can barely get through the arrangements process. Others are so calm and collected youd think that instead of picking a coffin theyre selecting drapes. Suzanne made no bones about her feelings for her sister. Shed dealt with her being gone years ago. Finding the body was anti-climactic. Thats not to say she wont fall apart when she realizes her sisters remains are in that locked coffin or that she wont lose it at the burial. But if you want my gut feeling: Suzanne Worthington didnt kill anybody.

Perry bit down lightly on his upper lip. I wonder why she didnt tell me to talk to her daughter.

She probably doesnt have any idea how much the kid knows. This is a mother and daughter who dont communicate going on. Besides, Suzanne wants to get this over with. Shes not the kind who likes intrusions.

Who does? said Perry and almost at the precise instant he uttered the words a car pulled into the lot. The headlights swathed Perry and myself, blinding us for a few seconds. By the time I could see the car, a BMW, it had pulled alongside Perrys cruiser.

Three doors opened almost simultaneously and I watched Suzanne get out of the front passenger side, her husband slide out of the drivers side and Quilla step from the right side of the back. As if she couldnt stand to be near them, Quilla darted ahead of her mother and stepfather. I checked my watch. 6:50. I couldnt take my eyes off of what Quilla was wearing.

A black dress. Down to mid-calf. Low cut. As she got closer I saw her shoes. Red high heels, spikes, actually, about four inches. As she got closer I could make out the fishnet stockings. Her hair was up in a sophisticated sweep and she wore make-up. Heavy. Too much mascara around the eyes that made her look older and a little glamorous. Earlier in the day she looked younger than her fifteen years and not very attractive.

But now she looked exquisite.

More like she were going out on a date, rather than to a Funeral Home to visit the dead body of the person she had loved more than anyone else in the world.



Chapter 11

As Quilla came up to me I heard her mothers voice in the background. Quilla would you please wait so we can all go in together. Quilla kept moving. She strolled past Perry until she came to a stop in front of me.

Hi, Del, she said with an inflection that made me think she was genuinely glad to see me.

Hi, I said with equal enthusiasm. It was good to see her. She glared at Perry. He stared at her and said, Im sorry about your Aunt, with a heartfelt sincerity.

Thanks, she said with more sarcasm than gratitude. I knew she didnt believe him. Find out who killed her yet?

Perry was taken aback by the question, which was delivered with the straightforward intensity of a prosecutor going in for the kill on a hostile witness. He cleared his throat and Crossed his arms over his chest, his body language blatantly displaying his internal anger.

No. But Im working on it. His eyes darted in my direction and stared for an instant as if to say, See what I mean about this one?

Suzanne and her husband were now standing behind Quilla, Alan Worthington nodded to Perry and winked at me. Sorry were late, Suzanne said perfunctorily.

Alan Worthington glanced at the empty parking lot and smirked, saying in a too loud voice, Told you it wouldnt matter. Nobodys coming.

Quilla glared angrily at him. So did Suzanne, who sniped, The important thing is that were here. She looked at me and said, Could we go inside?

I nodded yes and gestured for everyone to walk ahead of me. Suzanne and her husband went first, Quilla followed them.

After you, I said to Perry.

Not yet. Gonna pull my car behind the building. Dont want to turn anyone away because they see little old me.

He half-heartedly waved good-bye and headed back to his car. I turned and caught up with Quilla who was dragging a few yards behind her parents. I spoke quickly.

Hes serious about solving the case. I told him to talk to you. I expected her eyes to light up, but instead they were filled with suspicion. Hes already done a lot of work, but youre the only real lead.

Why me?

Hes been tracking down people from your Aunts life. So far, hes been hitting brick walls. No one but you has any solid information about her. When he talks to you, you have to tell him everything and arrange for him to look at your Aunts things.

Quilla was about to say something when her mother called out, Quilla, come here. I want us to go in as a family.

Quilla muttered, Oh yeah, right! A family.

You better go, I said. This is gonna be difficult. Your mother may need you. And you may need her.

Im scared, Del. How awful is this gonna be?

Quilla, please! shouted Suzanne.

As awful as it gets, I said.

Quilla took a deep breath, then joined her mother and stepfather who were at the front entrance. Clint was with them, a benign smile fixed on his face. I followed Quilla, stepped past all of them and opened the door.

Viewing Room Four, I said. With me leading the way, we moved on. When we dont anticipate a large turnout Ive found this space to be ideal. Not too big. Not too small.

The room was thirty feet deep and twenty feet wide. It was created for situations just like this. People with little or no family and friends in the community. Survivors interested in getting through everything fast. A few chairs for the immediate family and a dozen or so more for visitors.

I stopped a few feet from the entrance to Viewing Room Four, then said, Ill leave you here. My associate and I will be at the doors to greet the visitors. The smoking lounge is downstairs. Restrooms are up here. If you need anything, Im close by.

Suzanne smiled half-heartedly while Quilla gazed at me with a sad expression that suggested she didnt want me to leave. Alan Worthington, to his credit, acknowledged my remark with a slight nod of his head. I stepped aside and let them go into the room. I walked to the front entrance and joined Clint.

Front or side? I asked Clint. It was how we decided which door we would man.

I dont care, said Clint.

Ill take the side, I said, primarily because it was closer to my office. If the turnout was as small as I expected it would be easier for me to slip away and sit down. Standing for two hours was another drawback to the job.

Maybe by the time I go home tonight you could have an answer for me about getting Tuesday nights off? said Clint with an almost childish tone.

Well see, I said, then I walked to the side entrance.

Within two minutes someone was opening the door. I hoped for Quillas sake that the person had come to pay respects to Brandy Parker. I straightened up and prepared to greet whoever it was, but when I saw his face I did a double take.

It was Tyler DeGregorio.

The man who had married Perry Cobbs ex-wife and who was the person he hated most in the world. But more importantly, like me, Tyler was also knowledgeable enough about the layout of Elm Grove cemetery to hide a body in the least-visited corner of the graveyard.

Undoubtedly, Perry had seen Tyler come in and was already biting at the bit to find a reason to arrest him. My first instinct was to warn Tyler that he was certainly going to be a prime suspect, but then something began gnawing at me. What the hell was Tyler DiGregorio doing paying his respects to Brandy Parker?

I knew he didnt have a relationship with Suzanne Worthington. If he had, she wouldve buried her sister through his Funeral Home. Seeing him standing in the foyer of my Home was unsettling. And I knew that if I had this odd feeling, Perry would be going out of his mind with glee.

What the hell are you doing here?

I need to talk to you, he said with an unusual edge.

I noticed an odd intensity in his face, especially in his eyes. His boyish peaches and cream complexion looked pallid. This wasnt Tyler. For as long as Id known him hed been in a state of perpetual relaxation. Nothing fazed him. He possessed an almost saintly calm.

Lets go outside. He reached for the doorknob.

No. Perrys watching.

Watching what?

The people wholl be coming in here tonight. He thinks that whoever killed the girl in the mausoleum might show up. Youre the first visitor.

Im not here to visit. I dont even know these people. Im here to see you.

Too late. Perry saw you walk in. Thats another, no pun intended, nail in your coffin.

What the hell are you talking about, Del?

Youre already a suspect.

Suspect in what?!? he said, looking even more confused. His forehead was moist with sweat.

So am I.

He paused for a moment. Why me? Why you?

What do you know about the murder of Brandy Parker?

Not a lot, said Tyler. Body was found in a mausoleum. They didnt know who she was for a few days. Now they know. I only pay detailed attention to the deaths of people who are buried through my Home.

They found the body in the Old Section. Hes playing with the notion that the killer knew his way around cemeteries.

Which we do, so were suspects. And now he sees me here and because he watched too many episodes of CSI, I must be the killer. He shook his head. What does he think? That hell put me in jail and get Jeanne back?

He really wants to solve this thing.

Tyler grimaced. Perrys lazy. Unless he finds out who did it fast hell forget about it. Thats Perrys tragic flaw. No stick-to-itiveness. Thats why Jeanne divorced him. She couldnt stand how he gave up on everything so fast. He shook his head slowly. He really thinks you or I could be capable of murder?

Deep down he knows we arent, but hes suspicious enough in general to keep it brewing in the back of his mind.

Gives him another opportunity to break our balls. He sent me a welfare case last week. I had to spring for the cremation.

What did you want to talk to me about, Tyler?

Its my Dad. Hes we think its time.

Tyler Jesus, Im sorry. I  His father, Alphonse DiGregorio had been diagnosed with lung cancer last year.

He could go tonight or tomorrow. I discussed this with my mother and my brother and, well, wed like you to handle the funeral.

Me? I was truly shocked.

You. Hendersons. I know its a weird request, but my father always talked about how when he took over the business from my grandfather the worst experience of his life was when Grandpa died. He actually embalmed his own father. This is Dads idea. Will you help us, Del?

Of course, man. I reached out and touched Tylers right shoulder. Through his shirt I could feel that he was hot, sweating. So the entire service will be here?

Yes. Id like you to coordinate everything from calling Mel at the cemetery to having Nolan do the embalming. We have a family plot. I just cant do it, Del. Strange, huh? Ive buried hundreds of people, but when death smacks me in the face, Im a basket case just like everyone else. Plus Ill be having my hands full with my mother.

Consider everything done.

I appreciate it, Del. On the way over here I thought about how it must have been for you when your Dad died. How old were you, fifteen? I nodded yes. God. You were a kid. Im thirty-two and just the thought of not having him around makes me think Ill fall apart.

Somehow we all get through the deaths of our parents. To myself I said, but some get through it better than others.

He looked at his watch. I better go. He reached for the door and opened it. Thanks, Del. I cant tell you how grateful I am.

Tyler and I shook hands, then he stepped out the door. Not counting the Worthingtons BMW, the only car in the lot was his. For a moment I thought of Quilla and her expectation of visitors to pay respects to her Aunt. It was still early though. There was plenty of time for people to show up.

As Tyler walked to his car I glanced around, wondering where Perry was hiding and what he was making of Tylers visit. I wanted to find him and tell him why Tyler had come to the Home and to erase his name as a suspect, but I couldnt leave my post. Besides, I sensed that at the end of the viewing Perry would pay me a visit.

I went back inside and heard voices coming from the front entrance. I stuck my head around the corner only to find Alan Worthington standing with Clint, gesturing wildly. Clint seemed to be trying to calm him down. As we often get family members who overreact to certain things, handling them becomes another part of the job and, in Clints case, another part of his training in learning to deal with the living and breathing part of the funeral business. But in the case of Alan Worthington, I knew Clint would be no match for a steamroller like him, so I interceded.

Is there anything wrong? I asked.

Clint started to speak, but Worthington cut him off.

Look, ace, he said, ignoring Clint as if he were no longer there. I know were going through the ruse that somebodys actually going to stop in here tonight and I can go along with it for awhile. I know for a fact that a couple of people will make duty calls, but theyll be in and out fast. Its approaching seven-fifteen and not a soul has shown and its getting real uncomfortable in there for the three of us staring at that fucking coffin. What do you say that instead of stringing this out until nine oclock, you go to the kid and make up some kind of rule that says if nobody shows by, say, eight or eight-fifteen, you close up?

I wanted to punch him in the mouth. I cant do that. The arrangements call for a seven-to-nine p.m. viewing. Many people often come later. This was a lie. Most people come in the middle. If youre uncomfortable in the Viewing Room perhaps youll feel more at ease in the smoking lounge.

Look, pal, Im paying for this and Im telling you to cut it short.

Cut what short? said Quillas voice. She was standing directly behind Clint.

Worthington looked at me, then at her, then snapped, Nothing. Im going back to your mother.

He sneered at me, snubbed Clint and went back to the Viewing Room. Quilla looked at me. Despite the fact that I heard weeping from the Viewing Room, Quillas eyes didnt look as if shed been crying, but the expression of sadness on her face was more than enough to indicate her grief.

Could I talk to you in private? she asked, tilting her head at Clint. I dont mean to be rude.

No problem, said Clint with a smile.

Quilla and I walked back to my post at the side door. How you doing? I asked.

She shrugged. I wish I could see her. I know I cant.

Hows your mother holding up?

She cried. I couldnt believe it. Do people usually come early to these things or later?

Various times.

Like a party. Nobody wants to be first. I probably wouldnt want to be first if this was somebody else.

Suddenly the door behind me opened. Quilla and I turned to see who was coming in. An elderly couple appeared, the woman holding on to the mans left arm. I looked at them with my practiced grin and said, May I help you?

Woodley, said the man.

Room One, I said. Straight ahead and to your left.

They both nodded and made their way to the room containing the remains of Fred Woodley, one of the victims of the bus accident.

How soon can I talk to Cobb? Quilla asked.

Probably whenever you want.

What about now? Hes here. Im here.

Its your Aunts viewing. What if youre talking to Perry and people come to pay their respects?

Nobodys gonna come, she said bitterly. My mother was right. People are such shits.

Again, the sound of the side door opening made both of us turn towards it. Quilla got a look before I did. What she saw made her face light up. Approximately twelve kids, all roughly Quillas age, began filing in. I stepped aside and watched this odd group of miscreants, an equal mix of boys and girls, all wearing variations of the same uniform of torn black jeans with assorted styles of combat boots or Doc Martins or red canvas tennis shoes plus loose-fitting sweatshirts or tight T-shirts sporting the names of different heavy metal and alternative groups.

Each kid gave me a suspicious, cursory glance before approaching Quilla. I wondered if this was the first time any of them had been inside a Funeral Home.

They formed a circle around her. A few began to speak, but did so in whispers and hushed tones. A couple of them kept glancing back at me. As she led her friends towards the Viewing Room I was relieved for Quillas sake that someone had come.

I was to experience that relief for the bulk of the evening. Twenty-five more people paid their respects. I didnt know who most of them were. There were half a dozen more teenage kids and a couple of teachers I remembered from my days at Dankworth High.

Perry Cobb came in around 7:45 with Greg Hoxey who arrived out of uniform in an expensive-looking, dark blue suit, white shirt and no tie. Perry said, Gonna mill around and went into the Viewing Room. Greg barely nodded at me. I nodded back. He was sucking on the ever-present green floss. I hoped he would have the courtesy to remove it when he went in to see his friend Quilla.

The rest were adults, mostly in their mid-Thirties to late-Forties, mostly couples. I assumed they were all friends or co-workers of Suzanne Worthington or her husband.

About an hour into the viewing one of the young boys who had come in and greeted Quilla approached me. He was tall, well over six feet, and gawky, razor thin, dressed in a nicely pressed black shirt, ripped blue jeans and motorcycle boots. His hair was short, not much longer than a crew cut, and he wore a heart-shaped ring in his right ear and what looked like a wedding band in his nose.

Mr. Coltrane? he said softly, shyly.

Yes?

Are you the guy who embalms bodies?

The question almost knocked me off balance. I know how to embalm, but we have someone else who does most of it. Why do you ask?

Only because I know, like, five people who got buried from here and I thought it was kind of, you know, cool to meet the guy who embalmed them. He smiled. There was a measure of innocence about him.

If it was longer than eight years ago I may have been the one, but I seldom do it anymore.

If I told you their names would you remember?

Probably not, I said awkwardly.

I figured it wouldnt hurt to ask, ya know? he said. Quilla said I should talk to you.

About that?

No. Your line of work. Im gonna be graduating from high school next year and Ive been trying to find something to do. So far the only thing that interests me is being a Funeral Director. I was wondering if I could come by and talk to you about it some time?

Sure. Why dont you give me a call over the next few days and well make an appointment. Whats your name?

Viper. Viper Petrovitch. He extended his right hand. I shook it, thinking So this is Quillas best friend. Okay, Viper. See you soon.

When I come, would it be possible for me to get a tour of the place? Id like to see where you keep the coffins and where the embalming gets done and things like that.

Well see, I said.

Cool, he said, then trotted back to the Viewing Room.

About 8:15 a woman came in. I guessed her to be in her mid-twenties. At first glance one would say she was plain. Other than some subtle lip gloss and rouge, her face had no color. And her light brown hair hung from her head as if she were an odd cross between Buster Brown and Moe of The Three Stooges. Her eyes, a dazzling blue  Paul Newman eyes  were the focal point of her face, despite the fact that in the ten seconds or so that I observed them, they were downcast like those of an extremely shy five-year-old. She wore dark, loose-fitting clothes and earthen colors, as if she were hiding several extra pounds, but she didnt look overweight.

Overall she struck me as a woman who was trying to not look as good as she could. There was a lot of playing down here. I guessed that she was the type of woman who had never paid to have a pedicure or a manicure.

I nodded politely as she moved towards and past me. Brandy Parker, she said softly.

Straight and to the right, I said.

She bowed her head as if she were a nun passing a religious statue and started towards the Viewing Room. Shed gone about five feet when she tripped, almost losing her balance, but catching herself just in time. She looked back at me and with an embarrassed smile and said, Im so clumsy, then kept going. I found the smile as appealing as her eyes. I imagined her after a complete beauty makeover and some wardrobe tips. She could be a knockout.

I tried to guess her profession. She could be a librarian, therapist for handicapped children or a college professor of some obscure Literature course like Eighteenth Century Irish Poets. Guessing peoples professions was a quirky little pastime I indulged in to help pass the time during viewing hours. People were always surprised to discover what I did for a living because I didnt fit into the stereotype of the dower mortician. So I found it equally fascinating to try and guess someones livelihood by their overall demeanor, clothing and initial impression. One thing I learned after playing this game for so long was that I was seldom right. The careers of most people, like most peoples true personalities, were hard to gauge.

By 8:30 the majority of the people who had come were gone. Most had stayed about fifteen minutes. Long enough to say a few words to the family and a quick prayer over the coffin. Perry and Greg left at 8:15, but I suspected Perry was still outside, watching from his car or the bushes. Out of sheer boredom I wandered by the Viewing Room and noticed that there were four visitors remaining. Two of Quillas friends Viper and a girl who sat by themselves staring silently at the closed coffin. Sitting between Suzanne and her husband was a plump, attractive silver-haired woman in her Seventies who looked like Marilyn Monroe might have looked had she lived. The fourth was the blue-eyed woman with the nice smile who sat with Quilla, engrossed in what looked like an intense conversation.

Because of the overall quiet in the room I was able to hear Quilla say something to the woman. I couldnt make out all of the words, but I caught enough to learn her name. at the cemetery, Gretchen.

Gretchen, I said to myself.

Suddenly, Quilla looked up in my direction. She said something to Gretchen, who turned around and also looked at me. Again she smiled. I smiled back, then returned to my post at the door. About five minutes later Gretchen came out of the Viewing Room alone. I watched as she walked towards me. I looked down at the place on the carpeting where she had tripped before. She was heading right towards it. I wanted to warn her, but I didnt want to embarrass her. I decided to point at the floor and hope she got the idea.

I raised my right hand and gestured downward. She saw it, looked down and realized what I was warning her about. She rolled her eyes, stepped around the dangerous area and approached me. Thank you.

Ill have to get that fixed.

My cell conked out. I need to make a call. Do you have a phone I could use?

Sure. In my office.

Thanks.

Not at all. This way.

As we walked to the office Gretchen said, Quilla mentioned that youve been very supportive to her since she got the bad news.

She seemed to need it.

She speaks very highly of you, which isnt something she often does of adults. By the way, Im Gretchen Yearwood.

Del Coltrane. Nice to meet you. Here we are. I opened the door to my office and turned on the light. Take as much time as you need. Ill wait outside.

I dont need privacy, she said as she stepped inside. She went to the phone and dialed a number. She pressed a couple of buttons, listened to a message for about twenty seconds, then hung up. All done.

I noticed her eyes go from looking directly at me to something over my shoulder. She blinked nervously a couple of times. I turned around to see what had gotten her attention. It was the photographs I had on the wall. There were a dozen or so pictures of the headstones of famous peoples graves. In some of the photos I was posing next to the grave with a stupid smile on my face.

Its a morbid hobby of mine.

Hobby?

I like to explore old cemeteries. Find unusual headstones. Celebrity graves. She stared at me tentatively. I know. Its weird.

Not weird. Different. She moved closer to the wall and examined the photos. Billy the Kid, Aaron Burr, Al Capone, John Dillinger, Jack London. Joe McCarthy. Scott Joplin. She turned to me. You just jump in your car and drive to cemeteries looking for famous graves?

Not quite. I go to trade conventions a couple times a year. Its usually a different city. Put a bunch of morticians together and the talk comes to what well-known person is buried in or near a town. Ill rent a car. Ive taken vacations and checked out local cemeteries. I dont tell a lot of people about it.

There are worse things you could be interested in. She glanced at her watch and said, Im enjoying our conversation, but I think I better get back to Quilla.

Right.

Gretchen walked me to the front entrance. She made a joke about tripping on the carpet, then said, Thanks again for letting me use the phone.

As I watched her walk away I knew that I wanted to get to know her better. The nature of my business isnt the most ideal for meeting women in circumstances conducive to dating. Dozens of times Ive had a gorgeous woman show up to make funeral arrangements herself or accompany a parent or sibling. It would be tasteless to make a move. And I would always be positioned in a womans mind as the man who buried dad or uncle Bill or aunt Sally. Because I couldnt rely on my line of work to meet women, I had to utilize the conventional ways like bars, fix-ups, on-line dating or chance encounters, which I was horrible at because Im not good at chitchat in normal situations. Im only good with words when Im selling.

Id gotten to the point where I had unofficially given up on ever finding someone. My life was too screwed up. She would either have to be enormously understanding or just as damaged as I. Whichever it was, Gretchen Yearwood was the first woman in years who had caught my fancy.

And I was more than a little curious as to how she had gotten so close with Quilla.



Chapter 12

At exactly 9:00 p.m. Quilla and her two teenaged friends emerged from the Viewing Room. Right behind them was Gretchen. They all headed towards the door. The two kids mumbled something to Quilla, then they said soft good-byes to Gretchen. The girl left without looking at me, but Viper turned and waved good-bye mouthing the word Later.

Quilla and Gretchen talked quietly for a few seconds, hugged, then Quilla walked her to the door, holding it open for her. Quilla closed the door, noticed me and came over.

Do you know who she is?

Gretchen Yearwood. We met before.

I know, but do you know who she is? There was a smugness in her tone, as if I was supposed to be impressed that she knew Gretchen Yearwood.

Her name doesnt ring a bell.

She writes Young Adult novels. For teenagers. And shes sort of famous. With teenage girls. Go to a bookstore and she has four books in her own rack. She smiled with great pride. Gretchens kind of a recluse. I never even wouldve known she lived around here if it wasnt for the book dedication.

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 Gretchens 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 didnt 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. Youre right.

I wanted to pursue the subject, but I couldnt 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 its 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 Youre welcome, but before the words were even out of her mouth old Marilyn coldly interjected So whats 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 embalmers wax which he used to add color to a corpses 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 mothers 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 hadnt even been part of your family at the time of her death, I 

Its alright, Helen, said Suzanne with an insincere graciousness.

Youre sure? I consider you the daughter I never had.

Alan Worthington put his arm around this unpleasant old crone and said, Its the thought that counts, Mom.

Mom. It figured.

So then, I said, looking at Suzanne and Quilla. Ill 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 Alans 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 Tylers 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 youre not going to tell me its Tyler.

Fuck Tyler. Hes already a suspect.

Then who? Nobody I saw looked suspicious.

Thats cuz the guy Im talking about didnt 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. Didnt pay much attention to who she was when she went inside. Wasnt until I happened to look into the Volvo and see Kyle Thistle that my mind started working. I ran a check on the Volvos license plates. Registrations 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 youre asking all these questions about her?

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

She may very well be. Its her old man whos 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 havent given him a thought til tonight. Maybe the girl you were talking to was his daughter. Wonder why she came tonight?

Shes friends with Quilla. I guess that blows your theory that Kyle Thistle is a suspect.

Not necessarily. He killed once, twenty-four years ago. Whos to say he didnt do it again nine years ago? He got released by then, so the time frame fits perfectly.

But he didnt 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? Wouldnt 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 couldve 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?

Im kind of foggy on the details. I was just a kid then too. Why?

If he was indeed out of his mind, he wouldnt have had the sense to hide a body in that remote mausoleum.

I wasnt 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 Thistles 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. Shes gonna need a couple of days.

Im nine years behind on this case, Del. I have a lot of catching up. Two days are important. Perry shrugged. When shes ready, call me.

By the way, she may have already given you something to go on. Kyle Thistles daughter knew Brandy Parker.

When did you find that out?

A few minutes ago.

Im wondering if youve just solved the case. Not only will I be talking to Kyle Thistles daughter, but I think Ill be paying him a visit too.

Youre 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, Im not agreeing with you, but its late. Another day wont make a difference. Make sure youre available too.

Perry, I dont 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 Im alone with her I could end up arresting her.

Shes a kid.

Shes fifteen going on forty. Be there! Got it?

Okay, I said with resignation.

Go lock up the crypt now, Coffin Boy. We dont 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 childs 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 couldnt 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 drivers side window. Quilla, wearing the exact same outfit she had on the night before, was outside the drivers side of the Volvo.

At first I couldnt 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 Id 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 mothers car.

Hell meet you whenever you want?

Lets do it as soon as we leave the cemetery.

Wont there be a reception after the funeral?

Quilla rolled her eyes. Are you shitting me? My mothers going back to work after this is over.

Where will you be going?

If I cant talk to Cobb, probably to Vipers.

Isnt he in school?

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

Ill call him after the service.

As we reached her mothers 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 wont be anyone else, said Suzanne firmly. Lets 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 Id 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 Parkers murder, her short life and a few prayers and that was it. He looked at me as if to say, Its 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. Ill 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. Im staying til the end.

Suzanne, looking too tired to argue, uttered a simple, Quilla, please dont put me through that. This is painful enough. Lets just go.

Im staying! she said adamantly.

Im feeling sick, said Suzanne. I cant watch that thing being put into the ground and I dont want to wait around for you.

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

Its up to your mother, I said to Quilla, then to Suzanne I said, Its 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.

Its such a joke that that fag Mutrax was here, said Quilla. Aunt Brandy didnt 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, Thats it, and she said, Lets go, softly.


* * *

We slid into the hearse and motored slowly out of the cemetery. Wed 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, shes probably the only link to your Aunt. They were good friends, right?

I guess.

You guess? She dedicated a book to your Aunt. Isnt 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 thatll 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 wouldnt you want to? If she knows something she  I couldnt figure out why Quilla was being so vague.

Like I said, Gretchens 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 thats like.

Whats the bad thing that happened to her? I asked, even though I was sure she was referring to Gretchens 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 didnt 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. Its a short book.

That was a sneaky thing to do.

Quilla, for some reason I get the feeling that youre angry at me for bringing up Gretchen. You asked me to help you nudge Perry Cobb. Thats all Im trying to do. Im sorry Gretchen Yearwood is a private person, but is her privacy more important than getting information that might lead to finding your Aunts 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 Parkers 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 itll be better if you and I talk to Gretchen before Cobb?

I didnt see the purpose of it, but part of me looked forward to the idea of seeing Gretchen again. Then lets call her right this minute.

Quilla pulled out her Blackberry. Im getting her Voicemail. Shit. She hasnt 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 wed like to talk to her first.

Hi, Gretch. Its Quilla. Listen, all kinds of things are happening. That dork, Perry Cobb, will probably be contacting you about Aunt Brandy. Hes investigating the case. So dont 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. Im with him now if you get this in the next few minutes. Bye.

She seems like a nice person.

Shes the best. Can I ask you a question?

Sure.

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

No. I wouldnt have known where to look.

I guess that means youre not relentless. I am. Once I set my mind to something Im 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 Id found the dedication and that I wanted to find out an authors 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 didnt care about rules, that I might get the authors real name. Which I did. Her real last name is Thistle, but she uses her mothers 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 theyre 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. Hes 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 its something that never gets brought up because he doesnt remember. Hes very mellow. Most of the time its like hes stoned. And because she was so young when it happened, she doesnt 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 didnt come home. Her father calls the police around midnight saying that his wifes not there and that being out late isnt like her and all that kind of stuff. Next thing you know is that a weeks gone by and the cops are interviewing neighbors, and whoever, and it turns out that Gretchens mom and dad used to quarrel a lot and people heard him threaten her and junk and, well, suddenly hes under arrest and in jail and saying hes innocent and the biggest mystery of all is that there wasnt any body.

No body? The remark stunned me. Perry didnt mention anything about there not being a body.

It was never found. Everybody said that Gretchs father did something gruesome like chopping it up and stuff. Thats 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 fathers gone, stuck in some state institution, and shes all alone except for her aunt and it was her moms sister and she hated Mister Thistle so she bad-mouthed him all during the time he was in the mental ward. Thats 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. Thats 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 cant 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 dont know where Alyssa is. Thats 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 doesnt.

Doesnt what?

She doesnt know what happened to her mother.

I thought her mother was murdered.

Gently, Quilla said, Gretchen doesnt 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. Thats 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. Shes convinced that her father didnt do it. Thats 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 hed hit her mom and stuff. Gretchen decided that her mom ran off with a lover.

If thats the case, how does she justify her mother leaving her behind with an abusive drunk?

She thinks her mom had a plan. That she was going to come back for her, but when all the hubbub started with her father being accused of murder and with there not being a body, Gretchen thinks her mom concluded that if people thought she was dead she could disappear easier.

Under that scenario her mother just abandons Gretchen, leaving her with a father in an institution and no mother. Not a very loving gesture.

Gretchen explains that away by saying all the evidence indicates that her mom wasnt a very good mother. Actually, thats not the right way to put it. Gretchen thinks her mom wasnt ready for motherhood. But the aunt who raised her was. So Gretchen thinks that since she was still a baby her mother figured she wouldnt be too attached to her and that shed grow up loving her Aunt as if she were her mother. But what Gretchens real mother didnt count on was having a daughter like Gretchen.

Meaning what?

Meaning that she wouldnt sit still without wanting to know what happened to her. She hired private investigators. Thats where I got the idea to hire one.

Obviously her private investigators didnt find her mother.

Right, Quilla said softly. If I tell you something, will you promise absolutely never to tell Gretchen?

Absolutely.

She pauses a moment, then said, I think Gretchens theory is all wrong. I think that somebody kidnapped her and killed her. Just like my aunt.

Since when did you think your aunt was kidnapped?

Always. When Gretchen first told me her theory about her mothers disappearance, I didnt believe it. I just pretended to. I was only thirteen. Gimme a break! What did I know? She was older. Everything she said sort of made sense, so I went along with it. But since they found aunt Brandys body Ive been racking my brain to come up with possible theories and I know some of them are dumb, but the newest one I came up with has to do with Gretchens belief that her mothers still alive. Del, this might be crazy, but the more I think about it I keep wondering if whoever killed my Aunt killed Gretchens mother.

Her statement bothered me. I wondered what she would say if she knew that the night before Perry had suggested the same thing, naming Kyle Thistle as the killer.

Am I stupid to be thinking that, Del?

No. Two women disappear. Its a fair assumption.

Since they found my aunts body Ive been thinking a horrible thought.

What?

That She looked out the passenger side window. That maybe Gretchens mothers body is lying in some other mausoleum in Elm Grove cemetery. She looked at me. Am I demented to think that? I mean, its not like they disappeared three weeks apart. I figured it out. My Aunt disappeared nine years ago. Gretchens mother vanished twenty-four years ago. Fifteen years apart. Thats not really a pattern. If the killers the same guy, why would he wait fifteen years to kill again? What destroys my theory is that there werent other killings. If somebodys been kidnapping and murdering women over the last twenty-four years, he certainly wouldnt let fifteen years slip between each victim, right?

Suddenly, I felt sick to my stomach. There isnt a fifteen-year gap. Alyssa disappeared fifteen years ago. There is a pattern, I said weakly. There is

She looked confused for a moment, then a sense of awareness overcame her face. But you got the note from here and the postcard and 

Whoever killed her couldve sent them.

Del She looked terrified.

First, Gretchens mother. Twenty-four years ago. Then nine years later, Alyssa. Then seven years later, your aunt. If this is an accurate time line, whoever did it may have done it again in the last couple of years. Or maybe there are more missing women that we dont know are missing.

Did you ever wonder before if Alyssa was dead before today before now?

Not with any conviction. I wondered if something had happened to her, if shed been hit by a car in some strange town or if she had amnesiathings like that. But then the note came and it never occurred to me that she wasnt alive. Then the postcard came and that solidified it. There was no reason to think any other way.

But the words came out of you so easily now.

What words?

That Alyssas disappearance fits into the pattern. If all these years youve been thinking that shes alive someplace out there, how could you suddenly think that she mightve been killed fifteen years ago?

One thing always bothered me. There was no reason for her to send me a note, let alone a postcard. To her, I was history. Shed talked about getting out of Dankworth from the day I met her. I had this deep high school crush on her, so it was easy to hold on to the fact that the note meant that there was still hope that shed come back to me. The postcard enhanced my hope. Until a minute ago when you mentioned Gretchens mothers body being hidden in a mausoleum back at Elm Cross it makes sense that Alyssa could be there too. Or somewhere. Shes dead. And whoever killed her murdered your Aunt and Gretchens mother and God knows how many more. Well have to tell all of this to Perry. Im gonna call him right now.

The daytime dispatcher, Lucy Devane, took the call and informed me that Perry was checking out a three-car accident in the parking lot of Dankworth General Hospital. I told her to have him call me the second he was free and that Quilla and I were ready to meet with him.

I threw up when we got the word that Aunt Brandy was found in the mausoleum. I always thought that the kidnapper took her away and held her prisoner or made her be his slave or that she got sold into a harem for one of those middle eastern sheik guys. She paused for a few seconds. She seemed to be thinking. Del, what you said about Alyssa and Mrs. Thistle both being in mausoleums at the cemetery: if thats possible maybe we could check every one and 

You just cant break into a mausoleum. Just like you cant exhume a body without getting a court order. A grave is considered hallowed ground. The only time a body is allowed to be disinterred is when a crime is suspected.

But isnt this connected to a crime? And isnt it fair to assume that if the killer hid one body in a mausoleum hed hide all his victims in one?

There are dozens of mausoleums in that cemetery, Quilla. To open each one would take a huge amount of legal paperwork. Families have to be contacted. Permission given. Not to mention the manpower. Mausoleums are sealed. Relatives would fight it tooth and nail. It could turn into a nightmare.

Do you think that whoever killed my aunt put her in that particular mausoleum for a reason?

Sure. It was a great hiding place. If the idiots who broke into it hadnt done so, she never wouldve been found.

But did the killer have a specific reason for hiding her in that mausoleum in that part of the cemetery?

Most likely because its so remote.

But could there be another reason. Im trying to think like a good detective would, Im trying not to leave a single stone unturned.

What Quilla was saying prompted me to tell her about my cemetery buff theory. She listened quietly, then said, Are they the ones who take a piece of wax paper and rub it against an old headstone?

Yeah.

I didnt know people who did that had a name. She looked pained and upset.

They dont officially. I call them cemetery buffs.

I knew a cemetery buff, she said softly.

Who?

She paused for a few seconds. Aunt Brandy. I stared at her solemnly, more than a little anxious.

This is getting creepier and creepier, said Quilla, nodding her head yes, looking confused and frightened.



Chapter 14

Youre sure? I asked.

Dont you think Id remember something like that? She looked as if her feelings were hurt. Geez, Del. She turned away and I was about to apologize when my iPhone rang.

Hello? Sorry, Tyler Ill take care of everything, like we discussed We need to talk, go over the arrangements Right Dont worry about a thing. Ill get on it immediately Bye. I turned to Quilla and said, Todays no good to talk to Perry. Or to Gretchen. A friend of mines father died. I have to handle the funeral. Perry will have to wait until tomorrow.

Ill meet with him alone.

Thats not a good idea. Youll say something thatll tick him off, hell kick you out and nothing will be accomplished. Besides, he wont talk to you without me there.

This is bullshit.

I have to pick up a body. Ill take you home.

Ill come with you.

Are you crazy?

We should go over what were gonna talk to Cobb about whenever we talk to him.

Not now. As of this instant, my mind is on arranging this funeral. Nothing else.

Quilla was about to say something when my Blackberry rang. Hello?

This is Gretchen Yearwood. I received a message from Quilla Worthington to call Del Coltrane at this number.

The call caught me off guard. I think I smiled. A part of me felt happy to hear her voice. But even though I had a crush on her, the joy I would have felt upon hearing her voice was tainted by the realization that Alyssa might be lying dead in a mausoleum at Elm Grove. I felt torn. Id spoken to Gretchen at the Funeral Home for maybe five minutes the night before and, less than half an hour ago at the cemetery, wed just nodded at each other, but I felt such an attraction. She was a stranger, yet I knew intimate details about the loss in her life, I felt a deep kinship with her that was difficult to comprehend. But with Alyssa I had a history. Despite all the years, I felt a tinge of disloyalty.

This is Del. Hi.

Quilla had an urgency in her voice that Im not used to. Is she okay?

Shes fine. Its just that she and I were talking about her Aunts disappearance and your name came up and

My name? she said, surprised.

Quilla grabbed the phone. Let me do this. Youre too slow. Hi, Gretch Im okay Yes! I know this might sound crazy, but Del and I need to talk to you about your relationship with Aunt BrandyWell, mainly because we want to talk to you before Perry Cobb talks to you Because he found out you knew Aunt Brandy Kind of indirectly through meIf we could talk to you itll all make sense Now? Quilla looked at me. She can do it now.

I cant do it now.

Nows bad for DelUh-huhHold on, Gretchen. She cupped the phone. She has to take her dad to the eye doctor and then she has a meeting. The only time she can do it is right now. Her eyes pleaded with me. Cant the funeral arrangements wait a few minutes? It wont take that long. Cmon, Del If we cant meet with Cobb for a day or two, lets at least get Gretchen out of the way. The man who died is gone. It wont matter to him.

But it matters to his family.

Did anyone murder him? She pounded her right hand on the dashboard. Is anyone in his family going out of their mind with grief.

What are you getting at?

Ive waited more than half my life to hunt down the guy who killed my Aunt. And if Gretchen has something useful to say, I dont think its too much to ask for you to wait a few more minutes before you start burying somebody else.

She glared at me. The passion in her eyes did me in.

Alright, I said with resignation.

She brought the Blackberry to her mouth and said, Well be right over.


* * *

Within ten minutes I was pulling into the driveway of Gretchens house, a well-kept Cape Cod with an addition on the back. Quilla was animated as she got out of the car, trotted to the front door and rang the doorbell. A moment later a hand reached out and open the screen door. I assumed Gretchen would be standing there to greet us. But it wasnt Gretchens hand. It was a mans. Then I saw his face. He smiled as if he were a grandfather welcoming his grandchild.

I knew that it was Kyle Thistle. As I stepped into the house I knew he couldnt have killed Alyssa. He was in the institution. But I couldnt help wondering if I was looking at the man who killed Gretchens mother and Brandy Parker.

Perry said that Kyle Thistle was in his mid-60s, but he looked closer to eighty. Oily gray hair turning white in spots, thinning in random splotches, a dulled look in his brown eyes and an inappropriate smile that I suspected was a permanent fixture. He had a confused, lost look about him that made him seem almost childlike. I wondered if he had always been like this or if it was the result of spending a dozen years in a state-run mental institution.

Quilla hugged him as if he were family. He patted her on top of her head. She loved it. Her need for paternal tenderness tugged at my heart.

This is Del Coltrane, she said as we stepped into the living room. Del, this is Mister Thistle.

He extended his hand and warmly said Kyle. I took his hand, amazed at how small and delicate it was.

Gretchen suddenly appeared, coming up to us from a hallway that separated the living room from the dining room. She was wearing the same clothes she had on at the funeral. She didnt look especially happy to see me. If anything, the passive expression on her face led me to believe that seeing me was no big deal for her. She nodded at me and hugged Quilla, saying, Didnt think Id be seeing you again today. Then she turned to her father. Well be in the kitchen.

Kyle ambled slowly to a recliner with a paisley design in the living room.

Gretchen led us into a spacious, comfortable kitchen that looked like it could be the set for a TV cooking program.

Sit down, said Gretchen, gesturing towards the large, round oak table. A burnished orange bowl with three Granny Smith apples in it was in the middle of the table.

I sat. So did Quilla. Gretchen leaned against the sink.

Whats this all about? she said firmly, as if she were an attorney waiting to present an argument.

Ill try to simplify, I said, clearing my throat.

I prefer details, she said.

Alright. Since Brandy Parkers body was found Quillas been hell bent on finding the killer. Shes also made it clear that she doesnt have much faith in the abilities of the man investigating the case.

Perry Cobb, Gretchen said. I remember his father.

I suggested that Quilla give Perry the benefit of the doubt and that, since Im acquainted with him, I would talk to him on her behalf, which Ive done. Seems that his investigation couldnt find anybody who was still around town who knew or remembered Brandy.

He never talked to me, said Gretchen.

Thats one of the reasons why were here, I said. Hell be contacting you.

Ill be happy to talk to him, said Gretchen. But I dont know how much help Ill be. My friendship with Brandy lasted only a few months.

Howd you meet her?

In the hospital, she began. About four months before shedisappeared. I base that on the fact that three months after I met her I left for college, which was in September.

The last time anyone saw Aunt Brandy was on October twelfth, said Quilla. And the only reason I remember that is because I was in this dumb play at school and she came to see me and she sent me an opening night telegram wishing me good luck and telling me to break a leg and stuff. I still have it. Quillas eyes filled with tears.

Gretchen reached over and touched Quillas hand. Brandy and I shared the same room. Shed been in a car accident.

A drunk plowed into her car. Broadside.

Why were you in the hospital? I asked innocently.

Gretchen matter-of-factly said, I tried to kill myself.


* * *

I felt stupid and embarrassed for asking the question. There really wasnt any reason for me to know. I could feel my face turn red and I shuffled awkwardly in my seat, trying to think of an appropriate response. Before I could say anything Gretchen spoke.

Im very up front about what I did. It makes most people uncomfortable. Please dont be. It was nine years ago. Id received some difficult news about my mother. I had hired probably the most prominent detective in Youngstown and he managed to track down my mother to a fishing village off the coast of Maine. He led me to believe that it was indeed she and we were actually making plans to go there and attempt to make contact. I was a sophomore in college and I worked two part-time jobs year-round to save the money to pay for the detective and after all was said and donethe woman turned out not to be my mother. It was more than I could bear. I swallowed three bottles of Advil. I really shouldve died.

She shrugged her shoulders.

Getting back to Brandy, she continued. She was incredibly lucky to be alive. The only real damage, other than a broken wrist and several deep gashes on her legs and torso, was a scar on her right cheek that went from an inch or so from her eye to the rim of her upper lip.

I have some pictures before and after she had plastic surgery, said Quilla. Aunt Brandy hated that scar. It was supposed to go away eventually. She used to cover it up with tons of make-up.

All she did was cry the first couple of days in the hospital. She was convinced that she would spend the rest of her life looking like a hideous female Frankenstein monster.

Did you hang together? I asked.

Not in the conventional sense, she said. We didnt start going to bars or shopping together or cruising around looking for guys, if thats what you mean. We were different people who never wouldve met if it hadnt been for the simple fact that we were assigned to the same hospital room. Brandy lived only to have fun and I didnt know what the word meant. I wasserious. And rigid. And very boring. But meeting each other under the circumstances that we did had a profound effect on both of us. You see, Del, because of her facial scar, Brandy had to readjust her lifestyle.

Which until then consisted of going out and raising hell, said Quilla.

But she had resigned herself to staying in until the scar healed, said Gretchen. I stayed in all the time, afraid of my own shadow. So we spent time together. Talking. Mainly, talking. She was everything I wasnt. Sexy. Vibrant. Cool. Full of life. And I was everything she wasnt. Bookish. Contemplative. Overly analytical. Brandy was fearless. I was petrified of the world. I dont know how much you know about me, Del, but when I was a child my father was accused of murdering my mother.

I said nothing to indicate that I knew. My only reaction was to shake my head slowly back and forth, the expression on my face one of compassion.

The world I lived in not only accused my father of something horrible, Gretchen continued. But it put him into a mental institution for twelve of the most formative years of my life. The world was a dangerous place to me. Ironically, Brandy made me realize that it wasnt. On paper, I was supposedly smarter than Brandy. I had the straight As and I won the full scholarship. She barely made it through high school and she was working as a waitress. But she understood the value of being alive. She couldnt wait to start living. She wanted to travel the world. Her problem was that she was unfocused. She had a narrow view of lifes possibilities. She was street smart. Had a tremendous personality. But, as I said, undirected. She had no game plan. But she knew that she wanted to experience life to the hilt.

Gretchen looked at the floor for several seconds. When she looked back at me she was crying.

Brandy and I lost touch when I went back to college, said Gretchen. We e-mailed each other a few times, then she stopped responding. I called her a bunch of times and left messages, but she never called back. When I came home for Christmas I went to her apartment, but it had been rented to someone else. I tried to find her, but she was gone. I assumed she had begun to travel that world she wanted to see so badly.

How did you happen to dedicate the book to her?

You know quite a lot, dont you, she said, shaking her head. I wasnt sure if it irritated or impressed her. I began writing Young Adult novels as therapy for myself. All my stories were about teenage girls in crisis. In my own case it was with issues of loss. I was also fat when I was a kid. And having a father in an institution didnt help my image with the kids at school. And when I wrote The Cheerleader Wore Black it really was Brandys story, so it seemed natural that I dedicate it to her. I always had this wild notion that one day she would pick up the book and see her name and get in touch. She looked with great affection at Quilla. Instead, this wonderful child called me.

They smiled at each other. The affection and respect they shared was enviable and touching.

Can you think of any other information about Brandy that could be of help?

Gretchen shook her head. I dont think so. The ironic thing iswasI didnt even know that shed been considered a runaway.

Nobody did, said Quilla. Nobody gave a damn. And if Perry Cobb wasnt such a boob he wouldve talked to you as soon as Aunt Brandys body was identified.

In fairness to Perry, I said. How could he have known that your Aunt and Gretchen knew each other?

Youre not defending him, are you? said Quilla indignantly.

No, but think about this: you only found out about their friendship by accident when you stumbled on the book dedication. So how could Perry have known?

Quilla smirked as if to say, If you say so.

What I dont understand, said Gretchen. Is how Brandy being found and my mothers disappearance became connected?

It started with Perry Cobbs observation of your visit to the Funeral Home. It linked you with your father. He was in your car.

What does my father have to do with any of this? asked Gretchen sharply. She glanced at Quilla.

When Perry saw him he became a suspect.

Of what?

Of killing Brandy, said Quilla gently.

Gretchen rolled her eyes and looked at Quilla. When Brandy disappeared my father was working nights as a hotel clerk in downtown Youngstown. He didnt have a car or a drivers license. It expired while he was away and when he came out he was afraid to learn to drive again. He was afraid of almost everything and everyone andthis is so stupid. Lets get something straight. My father did not have anything to do with the disappearance of my mother. I know all about the rumors and theories, but I know all the facts too. If Perry Cobb plans on dredging up the old nonsense about my Dad killing my Mom Im going to 

He probably will, but if your father was working in Youngstown nine years ago and unable to drive, Id say that pretty much rules him out. I leaned forward and touched her left hand. I know this has to be enormously unsettling for you. I spoke softly, utilizing my best skills as a salesman, which, in the end, is what all Funeral Directors are.

To say the least, she snapped. Is there anything else? You said this was one of the things you wanted to talk to me about. Whats the other thing?

I paused for a few seconds. I would have to be extremely delicate. Quilla and I had a conversation today. We may have stumbled onto a pattern that might not only help find Brandys killer, but could give some answers to what happened to your mother 

My mother?

And even more incredibly, said Quilla. Theres someone in Dels past who mightve met the same fate as aunt Brandy and your mom.

What? Nervously, Gretchen looked back and forth at Quilla and myself.

We think, I said. That the person who killed Brandy had something to do with your mothers disappearance.

Gretchen tightened up. Her voice cracked. Brandy disappeared something like twelve or thirteen years after my mother.

Fifteen, blurted Quilla.

Quilla got me to thinking about a girlfriend of mine who went away fifteen years ago.

Went away? barked Gretchen. I hardly think that someone who went away is comparable to someone who vanished off the face of the earth like Brandy or my mother!

I explained the nature of my relationship with Alyssa, how she broke up with me and the letter and postcard.

She sounds like someone who was sensitive enough to your feelings to drop you a note saying good-bye. Trust me on this: when someone vanishes they dont send you a postcard. What does your girlfriend have to do with my mother and Brandy?

We may be completely off base, I said. And I want to emphasize that this is a theory about what possibly could be a pattern of murder. The word hung in the air for about ten seconds before I continued. We think its possible that twenty-four years ago someone murdered your mother, fifteen years ago the same person murdered my girlfriend and nine years ago the same guy murdered Brandy.

I dont know how much you know about what happened between my mother and father twenty-four years ago, she stated. I was only two when my mother left, but Ive devoted my life to finding her. Im convinced of three things: my father did not kill her, she was not kidnapped and she is not dead. No. Let me rephrase that last part. She may have passed away in the twenty-four years since she left, but she did not die at the time of her disappearance. Based on the information Ive obtained through my own research and the work of private investigators, there is good reason to believe that she was alive and well for the first fifteen years from the time she went away. There are several trails. All drying up for one reason or another.

Are you still looking for her with the hope that shes still living? I asked.

Of course, said Gretchen. But I would also find comfort and closure if I were to find out that she is no longer alive. Quilla certainly is aware of the pain of not knowing the whereabouts of someone you love, and from what you say about your girlfriend, I assume you do too. She sighed. Looks like we three have quite a little bond.

If Quilla and I are right, that bond may be even stronger, I said.

Quilla placed her hand on Gretchens forearm. Gretchen smiled at her, looked at me and firmly said, Youll never convince me my mother was murdered unless I see her body.

I know this will sound gruesome, Gretchen, but considering where Brandys remains were found, Quilla and I came up with the possibility that  I stopped myself. What I was about to say would be jolting for her. that your mother and my girlfriend could be in random mausoleums at Elm Cross cemetery, just like Brandy Parker.

Gretchen gasped. Gruesome isnt the word. She paused for a moment. What makes you think something this horrible happened?

Its all part of a theory, Quilla said.

Sounds pretty farfetched. I cant take it seriously. There was a dismissive finality in her tone. She looked at her watch. Are we about finished? I have to take my father to his ophthalmologist and I should leave now.

Id say were done, I said, standing up, feeling we needed another twenty minutes of discussion on the topic, but knowing that Gretchen was incapable of it. I have to get moving too.

The three of us walked awkwardly and silently out to the car until Gretchen spoke. Holy shit, we almost forgot, Del! Gretchen and I turned to Quilla. She looked at Gretchen. Near the end Aunt Brandy got interested in cemeteries, remember?

Gretchen paused for a moment, then smiled and nodded her head. Vaguely. It was kind of touching. One of the nurses was involved with that whats it called?

Making tracings of headstones, I said.

Yes. In Brandys new frame of mind she became open to new things, however odd. The nurses enthusiasm for taking tracings turned Brandy on to it. I think they went out and did it together a few times. Thats about all I remember.

Before Quilla got in the car she hugged Gretchen. As she ran around to the drivers side, I smiled stupidly at Gretchen and she back at me. What was there to say? How do you make small talk after a discussion like wed just had? As we pulled out of the driveway Gretchen waved. I wasnt sure if the gesture was for Quilla or both of us. Wed gone less than twenty yards when Quilla said, Isnt she neat?

Yeah. Shes very nice.

She must like you.

Why do you say that? I couldnt wait for her answer.

She told you about her father and the murder and him being in the institution. She mustve felt safe with you.

Is that good?

Gretchens very particular about who she gets close to. The clincher was when she told you about how she tried to kill herself. Bizarre, huh? You dont think people as together as Gretchen would ever try suicide.

I didnt respond. I thought of the numerous inexplicable suicides Id buried. So where should I drop you?

Nowhere. Im coming with you.

No youre not. Im about to pick up a body.

Itd be interesting to see how a body gets picked up.

Havent you had a enough death in your life for awhile?

Cmon. I wont get in the way or ask stupid questions.

Number one, its illegal for an unlicensed person to be in a vehicle thats transporting a body.

I wont tell if you wont.

And number two, this is no ordinary funeral. Its going to be a lot of work.

Why? Who died? Like, the Mayor of Dankworth?

The owner of Dankworths other Funeral Home.

She rolled her eyes. Thats weird. Arent you, like, competitors?

His son asked me to do it. Look, Im sorry to be so abrupt, but I have to get on this right away. Where would you like me to drop you off?

Nowhere. Im staying with you.

I have to work.

Please.

This is going to be a very stressful twenty-four hours for me. Organizing some funerals is like planning a big wedding.

Quilla slammed her left hand on the seat. I dont want to be alone. Okay?

Ill take you to Spiders house.

His name is Viper. Hell still be in therapy.

What about some of your other friends?

Theyre all in school.

Then Ill take you home. Wait til they get out.

She again slammed her right hand on the dashboard and burst into tears. I dont want to be by myself!

Why dont you just go to school?

On the day my aunt is buried?

I was suddenly glad I didnt have children.

Can I just hang with you until Viper gets out of his therapy session?

No. Thats it. Now, tell me where you want to go.

Nowhere! she said. Let me out here. Stop the car.

Quilla

Stop the car!

Alright. Fine. I stopped the car. Without saying a word, she opened the door, got out and slammed it. She walked a few yards and leaned against an oak tree, staring downward.

I waited a few seconds, then drove off slowly, looking at Quilla in my rear view mirror. Id gone maybe twenty yards when I saw her look in my direction, then slide down the tree and onto the ground into a sitting position. I felt sorry for her and even though having her in the car with me with Alphonses body would be highly inappropriate, I felt that her being alone would be worse. I backed up the car, stopped in front of her, leaned over and opened the door. Get in.

She smiled, stood up and ran into the car.

Promise me you wont tell anyone that I let you in a car with a body.

No problem. Like, the only person I know who would be interested is Viper. By the way, did he talk to you about being a make-up man on bodies?

Yes. I mean, no. He didnt say anything about being a restoration man thats what its called. He said he was interested in being a Funeral Director.

Hes just confused. He thought he wanted to be a hair stylist or a make-up consultant, but lately hes been thinking about working on bodies.

Then he shouldnt talk to me. He should talk to the person who does that for me.

Should Viper call that guy instead of you?

No. Ill have to check with Nolan first.

She suddenly got a serious look on her face, then said, This Nolan personis he the one who took care of my aunt?

Yes.

What a job touching dead bodies.

I nodded noncommittally, but to myself said, You dont know the half of it.

As we headed to DiGregorios my thoughts turned to the irony of me handling Alphonses funeral. It was another of the many firsts in the career of a Funeral Director. The first corpse you embalm. The first child you bury. The first pretty girl. The first relative. The first friend. But there is one first that you remember above all others. Or more accurately, you cant forget: the first murdered body you come in contact with.

The horror of how life can turn out for some infects you with a sober realization that there are people in the world to be feared.



Chapter 15

Here we are, I said as I pulled into the lot of DiGregorios Funeral Home and headed round to the back where the body would be waiting. Ill be back in a few minutes.

Thanks for letting me come along.

I nodded to her and went to get Alphonse DiGregorio. The corpse was ready for me to remove. It was covered only by a white sheet, resting on a gurney in a holding area by the service entrance at the back of the building. This was where all bodies came in. Most bodies left by way of DiGregorios front entrance on their way to their final resting place. The only bodies that went out this way were the direct disposals: people who were going to be cremated without ceremony, without benefit of family friends.

Wilt Ging, the chief embalmer and restoration man for DiGregorios, was with Alphonses body. He looked deep in despair, lost in his own sad thoughts, his brown eyes the left one peering slightly off towards the wall floating in a watery residue of broken veins and impending cataracts. His nose was the nose of a drinker, pockmarked and swollen, looking more like a fatty red tumor waiting to explode. If this were the first time you were meeting Wilt you would assume that he had been crying for hours, maybe days, and that Alphonses death was a profound personal loss.

In reality, Wilt always looked as if he was in mourning and in the midst of an overbearing gloom. In all the years Id known him, I never saw him smile or heard him laugh. Even the way he walked smacked of sadness. He was an inch or so over six feet, but he had a bent, hunched gait that made him seem much smaller and older than his fifty-four years. He trudged along like a beaten down, old gorilla lost in the jungle, his thick arms, too long for his body, hanging limply at his side.

Wilt was a functioning alcoholic who hid his disappointment in beer. Tyler said he drank a case a day, but that he never missed a day of work, never screwed up while working on a body, always did his drinking in the privacy of his home and never disgraced DiGregorios. As Alphonse himself was a steady drinker, he was forgiving and under-standing and Wilt respected him for it. Wilt was also friendly with Nolan, each bailing the other out when either was under the weather or out of town or overwhelmed with bodies. They came and went into each others Embalming Rooms borrowing chemicals and supplies as naturally as two neighbors using tools from each others garages.

How you doing, Wilt? I asked.

He nodded in bewilderment. You got the impression that he was always surprised that someone would actually say hello to him.

Im glad youll be taking care of him, he mumbled softly. It wouldve been hard, Del. I wouldve done it if the boys asked me. Tyler did the right thing.

I know. Is he upstairs?

Wilt nodded yes, adding They all are.

I knew that by all he meant Mrs. DiGregorio, Tyler, Gordon and their wives.

Let me say a quick hello and Ill be back in a minute for the body, okay?

Ill be here with Alphonse, he said and I headed upstairs to the main residence where three generations of DiGregorios had lived while presiding over their Home.

The door was closed, but I knocked, then opened it, much like I had done as an adolescent when Tyler and I had first become friends, and stepped inside. Mrs. DiGregorio was on the couch, surrounded by her two daughters-in-law Jeanne and Helen. She was barely five feet tall and a hundred pounds, but looked even smaller, almost childlike. Tyler and Gordon stood off in a corner. Gordon noticed me first and acknowledged my arrival with an insincere grin and overly enthusiastic wave. He whispered something to Tyler who turned in my direction. I walked over to them. Tyler hugged me. Gordon shook my hand and patted me on the back, saying, Youre looking good, Del and I really like your shirt as if he was about to try and sell me a car. I smelled gin on his breath and cigarette smoke on his clothes.

Thanks, Gordon.

Come say hi to my mother, said Tyler, pulling me towards Mrs. DiGregorio and away from Gordon for which I was grateful. Mom, Dels here. I bent over, kissed her on the cheek and said how sorry I was. She was a pathologically shy, old fashioned, deeply religious Italian wife and doting mother to her sons. Her shyness prevented us from ever having a meaningful or truly personal conversation, but shed always made me feel comfortable and welcome. Almost from the day I met her she never failed to ask me the same question whenever she laid eyes on me: Hows your mother?

Today was no exception. Hows your mother, Del?

Good.

Do you think shell ever come back to Dankworth?

Other than to visit me, I dont think so. My mother had remarried eight years ago and moved with her husband, Ken, to Albuquerque.

Are you calling her regularly?

Every Sunday and sometimes during the week.

Thats important to a mother, she said, then without skipping a beat she said, You take good care of Alphonse. These last few weeks, the cancer took away his looks. Make him look good in the coffin. Alphonse always liked to look good. His hair needs a trim and his color is bad.

Dont you worry, Mrs. DiGregorio, I said reassuringly.

Tyler and I spent a few minutes going over the funeral arrangements. Though my Home would be providing all the services, they would provide the coffin. They chose a top of the line mahogany that retailed at nearly eight thousand dollars. As for the burial, it would take place in the family plot in Elm Grove cemetery. We would handle the embalming, preparation and visitation. Tyler had an expensive gray suit, white dress shirt, necktie, tie pin, T-shirt, underpants, shoes and socks waiting for me, all folded neatly as if prepared by a professional laundry. He walked me downstairs to Wilt, saying only Ive counseled so many people through this phase but I cant say anything to myself to make me feel better.

Well, since I am the Funeral Director of record, Im available to talk.

He shrugged, then went back upstairs.

Wilt was standing over Alphonses body. He helped me guide the gurney outside. Theyre going against Alphonses wishes. This whole elaborate funeral. He wanted to be laid out in a simple pine box and buried in the ground with nothing covering him, not even a plain old sheet. He wanted to be one with nature from the start.

Why arent they doing what he wanted?

His wife. Shes stuck in that old guinea tradition.

As I opened the rear door I glanced forward and noticed that Quilla wasnt in the front seat. Wilt and I slid the body inside and I shut the door.

Alphonse was the executor of my will, Del. Now that hes gone, Ill have to change it. Im thinking of asking Nolan to do it. One way or another though, I want you to know what I want with my remains. Do you mind?

Of course not.

Once Im dead, pick me up from where my bodys found and take me straight to the crematorium. Direct disposal.

Whatever you want, Wilt.

I appreciate it. He nodded, then looked into the car at Alphonses covered corpse.

Youd think that after all the death Ive seen, Id become immune to it. He shook his head back and forth. Its much better being on the business end than what I do.

Good thing youve got Nolan there.

I nodded in agreement because I knew what he meant. Nolan was like a machine when it came to his work. He could embalm anyone without the least bit of emotion. He knew Alphonse DiGregorio, not as well as I and definitely not as well as Wilt, but they were competitors for over thirty years. I knew that once he began to work on the body he would have the emotional distance as if Alphonse had been someone hed never met in his life.

Wilt and I shook hands and he walked back to the Home. I got in the station wagon only to discover Quilla crouched down in the seat.

What the hell are you doing?

I didnt want to get you in trouble. You said theres a law against having a passenger in the car with a body.

Thanks for being so considerate.

I started the ignition and we drove out of the lot.

So where do we go now? she asked almost playfully.

Now I take the body to get it ready for viewing.

Thats what that Nolan guy does, right?

Yes.

Can I watch?

No. Thats illegal. Im taking you home now.

Are we gonna go through this again? I cant handle being alone yet.

Why do you want to hang out with me anyway? I thought kids hated adults.

I do. But not you.

Why not? I was touched and curious.

Cuz youre the only one besides me and Gretch who cares about finding out who killed my Aunt. I figured maybe we could do some more talking about possible crime scenarios.

Look, like I said before, until I get the funeral arrangements made for the gentleman in the back of this car, I cant concentrate on anything else. But because youve come this far and Im tired of hearing you whine, Ill let you stick around.

Thanks.


* * *

Nolan was waiting. He sat on the back steps that led to the rear entrance to the Home. Id called him and told him I was on my way. I backed the station wagon up to the loading dock where Nolan was now standing.

Ill wait here, said Quilla as she slid down onto the seat, stretching out like she had done at DiGregorios. I closed my door and met Nolan as he approached the car with a gurney. Just as we had done hundreds of times before, Nolan and I removed the body from the station wagon.

Ole Alphonse, he said as we headed into the Home. If theres one person in this town I never thought Id be working on, its him.

Do an extra special good job on him.

Goes without saying, Del, said Nolan, nodding affirmatively. I have a soft spot for Alphonse. He got me into the trade.

I didnt know that. I thought you always worked for Lew.

He shook his head back and forth almost childishly. Lew gave me my first job, but Alphonse put the idea in my head about going to embalming school. I owe my career to him. Actually, he tried to lead me into your end of the trade, but Funeral Directing was never interesting for me.

We arrived at the embalming room. Nolan pushed open the door which we kept locked during viewing hours primarily so people who were here to pay respects wouldnt accidentally walk inside if they got lost. The Home was large enough and had enough winding hallways to confuse someone and walking into an embalming room, especially if one is in the grieving process, could be unsettling.

Only thing I ever held against ole Alphonse was the fact that he introduced me to my ex-wife. Nolan smiled sheepishly and shook his head. I dont mean that the way it sounds. It wasnt like he planned on introducing me to her. It just happened. Patricias Uncle had died that morning and they came to make arrangements. Alphonse insisted I sit there. He introduced me as his Assistant. While the Aunt and Alphonse went to the Selection Room to pick out a coffin, I stayed in the office with Patricia. Thats how it started.

As we slid Alphonses body off the gurney and onto the embalming table it dawned on me that I had never heard Nolan bring up his wife. It was almost as if he were telling a story about how another guy met his spouse.

Youve never talked to me about your wife before.

Never had a reason to, said Nolan as he began to organize the tools he would use for the embalming. She was long gone by the time I met you.

Its kind of ironic hearing you bring up a wife. I have a hard time thinking of you as being married.

He smirked. I never think of me as being married either. Didnt even last two years. Actually, it lasted exactly one year and six months to the day, almost to the minute. Things like that happen to me.

Like what?

Remembering dumb details, like the exact dates of things. I remember things that most people forget. Like I know what I ate for breakfast on my eleventh birthday. Rice Crispies with fresh strawberries with three heeping spoonfuls of sugar. My mother yelled at me. Told me my teeth would fall out because I ate so much sugar. She was right. He grinned exaggeratedly, baring his teeth, clicking them. Lost them all. Had false teeth before I was thirty. I remember insignificant things about other peoples lives. I remember how Clints breath smelled the day I met him. Like hed been gargling with Listerine for an hour. He wore a light brown tie with a spot on the lower right hand corner. Hell, Del, I remember the exact time of day you first set foot in here, what you were wearing and the first words you said to me. He laughed and said, Is it weird being around dead people all day long?

I said that?

Yep. And I told you that dead people are more interesting than most living people.

I remember you saying that.

And I told you that to survive in this game you need to know which side youre on. Doing what I do or being the people person. You were like ole Alphonse. He liked to schmooze with the bereaved. That was rewarding for him. He always seemed to get a lot out of helping people. Thats how you are too. He shrugged his shoulders as he reached for a gallon container of what I knew was his personal blend of embalming fluid. To be honest, being around sad, crying people is the hard part as far as Im concerned.

Its funny, said Nolan as he put on his white apron which reminded me of something a butcher would wear. Im wondering what my life wouldve been like if Id never met Alphonse. Thirty odd years ago I was thinking about being either a truck driver or a mailman. He chuckled. There goes that memory of mine. I remember taking the civil service test. Got a ninety-two on it.

I was about to ask him when the body would be ready for viewing when there was a soft knock on the embalming room door. Nolan and I looked curiously at each other. I walked to the door and opened it a couple of inches. Standing there was Clint and beside him was Quilla.

She was wandering around upstairs, said Clint. Claims she was looking for you.

I decided that I want to meet Nolan.

Everything alright, Del? asked Clint.

Fine. Ill handle it.

Clint looked at me awkwardly, shrugged his shoulders and walked to the stairs that led to the main floor.

Youre sure you want to do this? Quilla nodded yes, then uttered a confident, Yeah.

Hold on, I said, closing the door. I turned to Nolan. How can I put this? The body we just had the girl in the mausoleum? Her niece wants to meet you.

Why? said Nolan, looking quite baffled.

Its complicated. Too complicated to explain now. Shes been very attached to her Aunt, actually to her Aunts memory. She and I have become friends since the body was IDd. Because youre the last person to see the remainsto touch themin her mind, you had a closeness to her Aunt that no one else had. Its a spiritual thing. Thats what she says. So she wants to meet you.

Nolan seemed confused. Should I do it? Doesnt make a difference to me, but is it a good thing for her? A healthy thing?

I think it might help to give her a sense of closure.

Nolan shrugged his shoulders, then said, What am I supposed to say?

I dont know. I dont think she knows what shell say to you. Cmon, lets go outside.

Nolan nodded and started towards me, removing the white apron in the process. He cleared his throat, looked at me, raised his eyebrows as if to say, Lets get this over with, gestured for me to open the door and said, After you.

I didnt want Quilla to get even the slightest glimpse into the embalming room, so I opened the door only wide enough for Nolan and myself to step into the hall. When Nolan was out I shut the door. Quilla focused on Nolan from the instant he came through the door. Her green eyes beamed with an aliveness I hadnt seen in the short time I knew her. Instead of looking at Nolan as the last human being to touch what was left of the physical remains of her beloved Aunt, it struck me that Quilla gazed upon him with a sense of wonder, almost as if she were staring at the person who had saved Brandy Parkers life, not prepared her body for burial.

Quilla, this is Mister Fowler, I said.

In a surprisingly sweet tone, Nolan said, Im sorry to make your acquaintance under such sad circumstances. And your name is? He extended his right hand.

Quilla. She shook Nolans hand. As she did so she gazed mysteriously at Nolans hand saying, Did you touch my Aunts body?

Nolan glanced quickly at me, then back at Quilla. Yes.

With both hands?

Yes.

With your bare hands?

I wear gloves.

Could I hold your other hand?

Again, Nolan shot me a fast glance, then looked back at Quilla. I, uh, guess so. He extended his left hand. Quilla took it into her own left hand, then she closed her eyes, almost as if she were in a trance.

Again, Nolan looked at me, arching his eyebrows and looking bemused. I shrugged my shoulders, equally perplexed. I watched Quilla hold Nolans hands. She seemed to be alternately squeezing and tugging at his fingers, as if she were trying to pull some kind of vibe or life from them. Quilla opened her eyes after about fifteen seconds. She was trying to hold back tears.

I can feel her presence, she said happily, smiling broadly. Then she abruptly released Nolans hands and grabbed him around the waist, hugging him.

Nolan again looked at me, his eyes bulging, mouth open. He raised his arms from his sides, unsure of what he was supposed to do, not that I blame him. Quillas sudden outburst of physicality would have thrown me too. As she continued to hold him Nolan held his arms aloft, not sure if he should hug her back or of what she would do next. After another fifteen or twenty seconds, Quilla let go of him and stepped back, now noticeably crying, but smiling with equal passion. Despite all the time she was in that mausoleum, could you still see how pretty my Aunt was?

Without missing a beat, Nolan said, Its amazing you ask that because when I got my first look at your dear Aunt I was taken by how beautiful she was.

Really? squealed Quilla as if she were five years old.

After all the years there was a certain amount of disturbance to the bodywhich is natural, but it was easy to tell that she must have been a stunning young woman.

I was touched by Nolans decision to shield Quilla from the truth about her Aunts remains. After nine years in the unprotected environment of a twelve-foot square mausoleum they were largely skeletal, with little flesh remaining.

Nolan looked at his watch, then said, Meanwhile, young lady, Id better be getting back to my work.

Thank you, Mister Fowler, she said firmly.

Youre welcome. He stepped back and was about to return to the embalming room when Quilla said to me, Is Nolan the person Viper will be talking to?

As a matter of fact, yes. I said. Nolan stopped and looked at me, another look of bemused curiosity on his face. But I havent brought the subject up yet to him.

What subject? asked Nolan.

Quilla has a friend whos interested in getting into the trade, I said. Could he stop by and talk to you?

I dont know, said Nolan uncomfortably. Im not sure how much help Id be. He flashed me a quick look, his eyes asking me, Should I do this?

I arched my eyebrows and tilted my head a bit, as if to say, Its your call, man.

Youd be a great help, said Quilla. He doesnt know anything about what you do except what hes seen in dumb horror movies. She looked at Nolan with great expectancy.

Well, have him give me a call and Ill sit him down.

Cool-cool, said Quilla.

Whatd you say his name was?

Viper. I mean Lester. Lester Petrovich.

Nolan eased up, almost relaxed. I know a Petrovich. Harry Petrovich. Owns Petrovich Heating and Cooling. He installed central heating and air conditioning in my house.

Thats Vipers uncle. Viper works part-time for him.

Nolan smiled. Small world.

I reached into my pocket and gave Quilla my business card. Give this to Viper. It has our number on it. As Quilla took the card Nolan used the opportunity to wave good-bye and move the few steps to the embalming room.

Bye Nolan, said Quilla, smiling at him warmly.

Bye-bye, he said and disappeared into his work space.

I looked at Quilla. Did meeting Nolan accomplish what you wanted?

I didnt know what I wanted to accomplish. I just knew that I wanted to touch the last person who touched Aunt Brandy. She smiled. I guess Ill go now.

Ill drop you somewhere.

No. I want to walk. I feel like being alone now. Besides, Vipers therapist isnt that far from here.

I walked her upstairs and out the rear entrance to the Home. She brought up the meeting with Perry. Again, I told her I would try to set something up as soon as possible and that Id call her. We said good-bye. I went back to the embalming room to ask Nolan a question. He was in the process of getting ready to wash Alphonses body.

That was nice of you to be so gentle with her, I said.

Give people what they want to hear, he said matter-of-factly, shrugging his shoulders. The kid was hurting. What wouldve been the point of telling her that what was left of her Aunt bore no resemblance to anything human? I nodded in agreement.

About her friend who wants to talk to me? Harry Petrovichs nephew? If he calls should I tell him how things really are or should I sugarcoat what I do?

Play it by ear. If you sense hes serious, give him the truth. Tell him what its like to take a maimed or disease-ridden body and attempt to make it look presentable for the viewing public.

I hear ya, said Nolan, nodding his head affirmatively.

Guess Ill leave you to work on Alphonse, I said, heading to the door. As I opened it Nolan had turned on the water and sprinkled a goodly amount onto the head of the body. In a few seconds he would apply a dab of Pert Plus shampoo to the full head of silver hair on Alphonses head.

I stepped into the hall.

As I headed up to my office I heard Nolan say, You always had great hair, Alphonse.

I went upstairs for a quick meeting on logistics with Clint. We still had two bodies on view, both scheduled for burial the next morning, one at 9:30 for interment at Elm Cross, the other at 11:30 for interment at a cemetery in Youngstown. As I would be occupied with the arrangements for Alphonse, I assigned Clint the Youngstown burial, primarily because it was further away and would demand more traveling time. Because I anticipated a massive turnout for Alphonse, by having the other two bodies gone we wouldnt have to worry about even more people showing up to pay respects and there would be ample parking space.

After Clint and I finished my first inclination was to call Perry and fill him in on the theory Quilla and I had come up with about Alyssa and Virginia Thistle, but I decided to wait until we could talk face to face.

Instead, I called Mel Abernathy at Elm Grove cemetery to tell him to open a grave for Alphonse DiGregorio.



Chapter 16

Nolan did an amazing job on Alphonse, making him look not only much healthier than he really was, but younger, almost vibrant. It was the best work Id seen him do in years. On a personal basis and in a professional sense, it was Nolans night to shine. Receiving compliments on his work from me was one thing, but Wilt Ging and at least a dozen friends of Alphonse who were Funeral Directors and embalmers showered their praise upon him.

The attention Nolan got from the handful of industry professionals who could truly appreciate his work was almost embarrassing. I actually think that had these men had their own private viewing they would have broken into applause for Nolan and slapped him on the back with congratulations.

The first night of viewing was in the grand tradition of old fashioned funerals. Scores of people came to pay respects to the family. By the end of the night, one hundred forty-five people had signed the guest book. The only awkward moment came when Perry Cobb arrived.

There were roughly sixty people in the viewing room when Perry arrived. Clint and I were at the door to greet him. He wore an out of style brown suit that was too small for him, a cheap, K-Mart off-brand pink shirt with buttons almost bursting to contain his belly and a plain, narrow green tie too loud for the occasion and scrunched into a bad Windsor knot with the lengths of it unbalanced.

Perry said Greetings, to me and punched Clint in the arm, adding, Hows the little woman?

Fine, said Clint politely. Like most of us, he had learned to play the game with Perry.

Any developments in the case? asked Clint.

Perry gave him a dirty look. Yeah. Ive got fifteen suspects, three in custody and Im gonna beat a confession out of one later on tonight. He shook his head and cleared his throat. Theres nothing! He turned to me. So whats the deal on meeting with the kid?

I was thinking maybe tomorrow morning.

I can do it at eleven.

Ill check with her. For a second I thought about telling him Quillas and my theory, but again it didnt seem like the right time or place. I was biting at the bit to let him know what we had come up with, but it could wait.

One thing interesting came up, said Perry. I went to dig up the files on Kyle Thistle. Guess what? There arent any. We had a pipe break ten years ago. Flooded a huge section of our storage room where we kept stuff on the old or closed cases. All thats left is a waterlogged manila folder. He scratched the tip of his nose. I cant get a break on this case.

I thought to myself that if Alyssa, Virginia Thistle and Brandy Parker were all killed by the same man, Kyle Thistle could be eliminated. But I knew that if Alyssa was alive and well and married with three kids somewhere, Kyle was a slim possibility. Without saying good-bye or uttering another word to Clint or myself, Perry walked away and headed straight to the Viewing Room.

Despite the crowd, most people had cleared out by 8:50. By five past nine the only ones left were Clint and myself. I was restless and wired. But my workday was done, so I could finally relax. I asked Clint if he wanted to go out and grab something to eat as we often did. He passed. Cookie was waiting.

On other nights I would call Tyler or he me to join me, but tonight was obviously out of the question. So with Clint and Tyler unavailable, as I locked the front doors I had resigned myself to staying home, making a sandwich and watching TV. For a moment I thought about calling Gretchen, but the time didnt seem right yet in my gut. Besides, it was a little late. I was loosening my tie as I turned off the lights in the Viewing Room when my cell phone rang.

As always, I hoped it was business.

Good evening, Hendersons. May I help you.?

Its Quilla.

Oh.

Oh? You say oh like were strangers.

Ive known you for three days.

But theyve been an intense three days. We know things about each other, Del. Ive had relationships that lasted five months that werent as intensive as us.

I was going to call you. Can you meet with Perry tomorrow morning at eleven?

Finally! Ive been thinking and thinking and Ive come up with another idea for him to pursue. Listen up: what if the killer has a relative buried in the general vicinity of the mausoleum where they found my Aunt? He visits the grave every so often. He knows the areas remote. He needs a safe place to hide a body so he takes a chance on the mausoleum.

Not bad.

Cobb needs to check every headstone near it.

Makes sense.

I didnt come up with the idea until about an hour ago. I was thinking of going out to Elm Cross cemetery and checking out the graves. Only problem is I dont drive. I was wondering if maybe tomorrow morning we could take a ride and look. Maybe before our meeting with Perry. I mean, if it wasnt so late and so dark, Id say lets do it now.

Her last sentence pushed a button in me.

If I hadnt been in the mood to get out and unwind I never would have said what I did, but it was relatively early and Quilla was interesting company, so before I had too much time to think I said, Its not that late.

She hesitated for several seconds, then said, Doesnt the cemetery close at six or something?

Yes. But that doesnt mean I cant get in.

But its dark. I mean its past nine oclock. Wed be going into a cemetery at night.

If it makes you uncomfortable, well go tomorrow.

Yeah. Thats probably better.

But tomorrows not as good for me as now. Tell you what, if youre uncomfortable Ill take a ride out to the cemetery myself and check things out tonight.

Id kind of like to be there. I mean, if youre checking gravestones by yourself you could miss something.

So youre saying you want to go? Then it dawned on me that it was a week night and that going out so late might not set well with Quillas mother. Unless its too late.

With sarcasm dripping through the phone, she said, Like my mothers gonna be worried that Im out on a school night?

Look, I can pick you up in ten minutes. If you want to go, make up your mind right now.

A few seconds passed, then she said, Ill be on the corner of my street. Make it fifteen.


* * *

I changed into a pair of jeans and took off within five minutes. Quilla was waiting. She started talking the moment she got into the car.

What kind of person takes a job as night watchman at a cemetery?

Vaughn was Head Groundskeeper for something like forty years. When he retired he stayed on as the overnight security guy. Its more than just keeping on eye on things for him. Hes worked there his whole life. He took a personal interest in it. Sometimes he calls it his garden of bones.

How old is this guy? she asked.

Going on eighty-eight.

Why is a thirty-three-year-old man so chummy with a guy fifty-five years older?

After my dad died Vaughn became a father figure for me.

We were about ten minutes away from Elm Grove when I dialed the number of the phone in the small shed behind the cemetery office where the groundskeepers had their lockers. I knew Vaughn would be there, listening to the radio or reading. Periodically throughout the night, at no set times, he would get in his Jeep and cruise through the grounds, looking for unwanted visitors. If he found any it was almost always teenage kids looking for a place to drink or have sex.

Vaughn Larkin.

Its Del. Ill be at the front gate in ten minutes.

Whats wrong? You aint called me here in five years.

I need to get in. Bring a flashlight.

Vaughn didnt ask questions. He knew me well enough to know I had a reason.

He had the gates open by the time Quilla and I arrived. I pulled inside and rolled down the window. Vaughn bent down and looked inside. I need to check where they found the body in the mausoleum..

No problem, said Vaughn. He was surprised to see Quilla in the car. Whos that with you? he muttered softly. I introduced them. Quilla managed a weak Hello and Vaughn nodded his head. He returned to his Jeep. We followed him.

There should be a notebook and couple of pens in the glove compartment, I said.

Quilla clicked it open and looked inside. She removed a black Pentel, a red Bic pen and a stenographers notebook.

You write in the notebook. Tear out a few sheets for me. Put down the family name on each headstone. When we meet Perry well go over them and see if any strike a chord.

She nodded as she neatly removed the pages from the notebook. Vaughn slowed down and came to a stop. I did the same, pulling to a stop a dozen yards behind him.

Give me a second with Vaughn before we start, I said. Quilla nodded yes, then I went to the Jeep. Before I said a word he handed me a regulation Police issue flashlight. You want to give me an inkling of what this is all about?

I explained Quillas theory and our plan to check the names.

Worth a shot, he said. Most people buried there came from Belgium, Germany and Switzerland. Had a huge migration in the late nineteenth century. Id help you, but my sciatica starts acting up in October. Gotta keep these old bones of mine in a sitting position. Swing by before you leave.

I nodded. Vaughn took off. Quilla had gotten out of the car and was leaning against the rear fender, holding the notebook and pages Id asked her to tear out.

You take this, I said as I handed her Vaughns flashlight. And Ill take that. I took the loose pages. She kept the Pentel and gave me the red pen, then I opened the trunk and got another flashlight for myself.

Ready? I asked. We were about ten feet apart.

How should we do this?

One at a time. You take this row and Ill do that one. Write down the year they died and the names?

The first name I wrote down was Frungel. They were a husband and wife. The male died in 1889. The wife in 1892.

Why did Vaughn become your father figure?

After we buried my father, I developed a morbid fascination with visiting my dads grave. I was spending too much time here. My Dad was cremated. I didnt see any reason why he should be out here in the middle of nowhere alone when he could be home. I came to get him. Vaughn caught me. I thought he was gonna call the cops, but instead he said he just talked to me.

Leaving a loved one behinds something I have strong feelings about, he said. I know someone who got left. It was a sad, terrible thing. When I was thirteen I had this little girlfriend. Her name was Christine Framingham. She was the same age as me. He paused for a few seconds, then said, Let me see your eyes.

Quickly, he shone the flashlight beam about five inches from my eyes and kept it there for a few seconds.

You have honest eyes, he said. Lets go. I want to show you a grave.

A grave?

Not just any grave. Its a grave that somebody tried to dig up a long time ago. Somebody like you. Lets go.

I didnt know what to think. I was petrified. I didnt know if he was some old pervert or if he was gonna call the cops or my mother, so I said, Look, its late and can I just go home?

Ill give you a choice, lad. I can call the Chief of Police, a man by the name of Chester Cobb and he can book you for attempted grave-robbing or you can come with me.

Alright. Okay.

Glad youre seeing it my way. Lets go. He started walking. I followed. Now, understand that this happened over sixty years ago. Christine got scarlet fever and died. She was my first experience with death and I took it real hard. My father knew how close me and Christine were, so when he was trying to console me he told me that even if I couldnt be with Christine anymore I could still visit her for as long as I wanted. Of course, he was talking about visiting her grave. We arrived at Vaughns pick-up truck.

Jump in, he said.

As he walked around to the drivers side I thought about making a run for it, but I remembered that he still had my ID card, so I got in the truck.

Understand something else, he continued as he started the engine and drove off. I didnt know much about paying respects back then. My folks and I came to town without knowing a soul, so it wasnt like we had a bunch of relatives buried here. Until Chrissie passed on Id never even been in a cemetery. The second my old man said Id be able to visit her for as long as I wanted, a peacefulness came over me. Kinda like the feeling you get when you know the worst of something is over. But lets get back to you. When you started digging into your fathers grave, I bet you were just thinking of this ache inside, right? I nodded yes. Some hateful kind of pain that you thought would only go away if whats left of your father is home safe with you, right?

Yes.

The thought of your father bein alone out here gets to you. I know the feeling. He made a right turn. We seemed to be going further into the cemetery. I had no idea where we were. He slammed on the brakes. I was jolted forward. Here we are. He slid smoothly out of the truck and started walking without waiting for me.

Come on! he yelled. I ran to catch up to him. You like flowers?

I guess.

Then youre in for a nice surprise. Ideally, it should be seen in nicer weather Spring or Summer and in the daytime to be fully appreciated, but youll get the idea.

Vaughn had the flashlight on, but it was pointed towards the ground directly in front of us. As we trudged past the gravestones and foreboding mausoleums, the light bounced helter-skelter on the ground, landing on the top of one old headstone for an instant, then beaming onto a stretch of grass, then back onto another headstone with the figure of a praying angel on top. We walked about another twenty yards or so until we came to a stretch of shrubbery about three feet long and seven or eight feet high.

Gets a little tricky now, said Vaughn. Just do what I tell you. Here. He handed me the flashlight. Go. Ill be right behind you.

Okay.

In a few seconds Id reached a huge weeping willow tree, then as I passed it I raised the flashlight and, as if it were a camera, panned the area in front of me. Thats when I saw it. Christine Framinghams grave. But it wasnt so much a gravesite, as a flower garden.

I moved closer, following the flashlight beam and realized it was actually more like a shrine.

I looked at the inscription on the headstone:




Here Lies


Christine Framingham


Born April 6,1920


Died December 2,1933


Our beloved daughter taken from


this Earth into Gods loving hands


But what made the grave stand out were the flowers on it and surrounding it. It was Fall and they werent in full bloom, but I could see that there were hundreds of them and they were engulfed by a white picket fence that stood about a foot high. And it didnt only surround Christines grave. It went around what amounted to the area of four graves, but it was obvious that only one person was buried there. Because it was so dark I couldnt make out what kinds of flowers were there, but I could tell that they were planted with care because there was a pattern.

It was really like a tiny garden that somebody might have in their back yard, only it wasnt in a back yard, it was in a cemetery. I had a pretty good idea of who was responsible for it.

Whattya think? asked Vaughn.

I dont know what to say. You dont expect to see something like this in a cemetery.

Damn right. And you wont find nothing like it anywhere else in this bone yard either. Probably wont find one in any other cemetery anywhere.

Why is her grave so big? I mean, shes taking the space of four graves.

Family plot, said Vaughn.

I dont see any markers for the rest of the family.

They arent buried here. Not even in this cemetery.

With what struck me as great sadness, he looked down at Christines headstone. Shes all by herself. And shes been all by herself since about two years after she died when her family moved away. Only one shes got is me. Shes been alone in the ground for a long time and if I wouldnt have been coming here and tending to her grave, she wouldnt have had a single soul pay respects in all these years.

How come you planted all these flowers? I asked. I thought people brought flowers to a grave.

There was a time when coming to visit a loved ones grave was a regular family ritual. Two or three times a year. Usually on a Sunday. Its different now. In Chrissies case, she didnt have anybody to visit her after her family left. Until I was old enough to think for myself and have opinions and feelings on things, she never had so much as a dandelion put on her grave. But then I got into the habit of bringin flowers to her, like on the anniversary of her death and Memorial Day and her birthday. Id ride my bicycle all the way out here when I was a boy, then when I got my first automobile Id drive out, then when I started working here after I got out of the Navy, I could tend to her on a more regular basis. He looked at me. That what youre gonna do with your fathers ashes? Tend to them? Put em on a shelf in your room? Dig a hole in the back yard and put em in there? Plant posies around it? Huh?

I dont know.

I bet you dont. Didnt bother to think about that part of your plan. He looked at the grave, lost in his thoughts, then turned back to me. Until they made me retire a year ago, I was Head Groundskeeper here, working days, supervising burials. Now Im the night watchman. Come the dark its just me and all the permanent residents. I like it here. Always did. Even as a young man. You wondering what makes a man willingly take a job at a cemetery?

Its crossed my mind.

You probably think Im crazy or some rummy who cant find anything else. Not so. I had my reason.

Christine?

Her family abandoned her. Bastards just left her alone. She was only thirteen. How could they leave her?

Thats how I feel about my father being here.

Figured as much. For some reason I took it upon myself to look after her grave and make sure she wouldnt be forgotten like most of these poor souls planted here. And she hasnt been. He looked at the grave. Of course, once I bite the dust, thats it. Wont be nobody to visit her. Im gonna be buried next to her. Right here.

He aimed the flashlight beam to the immediate right of Christines plot.

Its all taken care of. Thats why I put in this little flower garden. Theyre perennials. All they need is a little sunshine and water. Of course, when Im in the ground there wont be anyone to tend to my grave or Chrissies, so it wont look as nice as it does now, but thats life.

How come youre gonna be buried next to her? I asked. What about your wife?

Shes long gone and long dead. We got divorced in a time when couples stuck it out no matter how miserable they were. Not that we were miserable. She couldnt take my working here. She couldnt stand the fact that I was handling coffins day in and day out, setting up gravestones, being around sad, grieving people. About a year after our boy was born she gave me an ultimatum: find a new job or she was taking our son and leaving. And thats what she did. Emily.

Emily?

That was her name. And little Vaughn. Died in the jungle in Nam. Never found his body. Cant say I blamed her for leaving. Takes a certain kind of person to be in a profession like this. Sometimes you look at people and they seem to be leading such pathetic lives. You wonder how it happened. How did the girl who was pretty and innocent when she was a teenager grow into the middle-aged drunk? How did the football hero become the slimy used car salesman who picks his teeth in public with a matchbook? Or me? How did little Vaughn Larkin who wanted to be an engineer on a train wind up doing night security in a cemetery when other men my age are home drinkin hot milk thinking about their grandchildrens visit on Sunday? There are people who wonder about me. And Ive been stared at down through the years. He suddenly pointed the flashlight beam in my face.

You ever been stared at, son?

Since I moved to Dankworth. At school. Word got around that my father died in a plane crash and people look.

You like it?

I hate it.

Too bad. If you think people are staring at you now, think how bad it would be if word got out that you dug up your fathers grave and stole his ashes.

Word wouldnt get out.

Some secrets are hard to keep. Sometimes the truth has a way of leaking out. You believe in destiny, son?

I dont think about it that much.

I believe theres a reason for all the stuff that happens to us good or bad whether its little Chrissie dyin so young and me spending my life taking care of her grave or my own boy not ever being found during the War or even me coming upon you in this old cemetery tonight. Maybe my true destiny was to stop you. Maybe my stopping you tonight will change your life push you in a direction you never thought about. Either way, tonights one of the most important nights of your life. And maybe our meeting each other in this sad way will mean something to me too.

How? Youre an old older man. Isnt it too late for you to have a destiny?

Maybe. Maybe not. Ive said things tonight I never said. Told secrets.

Why?

Never had a reason before.

Yeah. This is probably a first. Somebody coming into the cemetery and trying to exhume a body.

Nah. Happens more often than youd think. I dont mean on a weekly or monthly or even a yearly basis. But in all my years here, Id say nine, ten times some grief-stricken soul or some hate-filled swine snuck in and started digging. All a person has to do is have the stomach to open a coffin. Most people dont, so they stop after a couple of feet.

But its not the same for ashes. Its not like Id be digging up my fathers body.

True. But you would be invading the sanctity of your fathers memory. What happened here tonight is something well have to take to our graves. Dont think about it. Bury it deep inside. In the deepest, darkest spot in your soul. And if youre ever gonna tell it to someone, make sure its someone who will benefit from hearing it. Otherwise therell be a curse on it.

What kind of curse?

Tell a secret made in a cemetery and youre cursed for life. Sos the person you tell it to.

*****

I looked at Quilla. And thats what happened.

Creepy! said Quilla. She paused for a moment. Vaughn seems like a cool guy. Im glad hes the one who found Aunt Brandys body? He would have respect for her, wouldnt he?

Yeah.

Wait a minute, said Quilla, a concerned look suddenly engulfing her face. The curse. Now Im cursed. Vaughn said if you tell someone a secret made in a cemetery the persons cursed for life. You told me and now Ill be cursed!

There is no curse.

But Vaughn told you that

He was trying to scare me. And it worked. He knew I might have a big mouth and talk about what happened. He didnt want to risk me telling even one person. So he took a chance and hoped that he would shut me up. That wouldnt work with you. You need the truth.

Youre wrong there. A curse wouldve been enough to keep me quiet. Im a big believer in all that supernatural stuff. I mean, like, I believe in witches and vampires and ghosts and curses are right up there too.

I laughed. I enjoyed this kid.

Ill never look at a cemetery the same way again, she said.

*****

We spent another ten minutes writing down the remaining names, then got back in the car and drove over to say good-bye to Vaughn. Quilla waited in the car.

Was it productive? he asked.

Hard to tell. I didnt recognize most of the names. At least not the names of people I know living around here today. Or even since Ive been here.

Vaughn nodded. You know if Perrys making any headway?

I shrugged. Probably not. Theres so little to go on.

Too bad his Dads not handling the case. Chester mightve done something. Perry means well, but he doesnt have his old mans instincts.

I nodded in agreement, then looked at my watch. It was nearing ll:00. Despite Quillas insinuation that her mother would be unconcerned about her being out so late, I felt that I should get her back home. When are you coming to pay your respects to Alphonse, Vaughn?

Alton and I are swinging by tomorrow afternoon.

Ill see you then.

I got back in the car. Quilla was counting the names wed written down. Fifty-six names, she said. Most of them dead for over a hundred years. She signed deeply. I could tell she was depressed. I knew that she had hoped we would somehow find a name that immediately linked us to her Aunts killer and that she wanted to walk into Perrys office loaded with as much information as possible.

There are entire families buried in some of these graves, she said. Entire generations. There probably isnt anyone left to visit the graves of these people.

Now or nine years ago?

Both. If there was anybody alive whos related to these people hed have to be an old man now.

Not necessarily, I said. Some of the names I wrote down passed away in the 1920s. They could have heirs still around. One of them could still pay respects. Well give Perry the list. You never know what he can do with them.

The only thing hell do is stare at them. This was a wasted trip. The only good thing about it was hearing your story about Vaughn and your fathers grave.

We drove the rest of the way mainly in silence. Quilla was bummed out because she felt the trip had been a bust and I was feeling down because telling her the story of how I got my fathers ashes seemed to open a fresh nerve. Before I dropped her off we worked out the logistics for our meeting with Perry tomorrow. Because Quilla would be bringing along a bunch of Brandy Parkers possessions, I arranged to pick her up at her house at 10:45.



Chapter 17

Quilla was waiting on her front steps, a cardboard box large enough to hold a case of wine was next to her. She waved at me as I came to a stop then grabbed the box and lugged it to the back door. I leaned over and opened it, then she put the box, which had no top to cover the contents, on the seat. I could easily see what was inside. In the five seconds it took Quilla to close the back door, open the front door and get inside I managed to see a few yellow tablets, several overflowing photo albums and a couple of smaller containers that resembled jewelry boxes.

I like people who are on time, she said as he strapped on her seat belt.

Im a Virgo. A Virgo is never late.

She smiled excitedly. Im a Virgo too! What day?

August thirtieth.

Im August twenty-ninth! No wonder we get along.

I smiled. It was nice to see her happy. Does your mother know about the meeting?

You kidding? Number one: I didnt even tell her. Number two: even if I did all shed do is give me grief about it.

Can I assume she doesnt know youre cutting school?

You can assume anything you like. I get good grades. I might look like a fuck-up, but Im a card carrying member of the National Honor Society. She cleared her throat. Im glad youre gonna be with me. Whattya think will happen?

Hell probably ask you questions. If he doesnt ask you the right questions, youll have to guide the conversation. Volunteer information. Tell him everything. He can get only so much from her memorabilia.

She sighed and in a glum tone said, I just wish Greg Hoxey was involved.

Forget about Hoxey, I blurted, a little too loud, a little too much hostility in my voice. I knew I had to be careful with what I said about Greg. Understand something: a lot hinges on your conversation with Perry. Youre either gonna help him and pump him up or youre gonna turn him off. Be nice. Be friendly. Behave in any other way and youll lose him and hell stick the case in an unsolved file and never look at it again.

She spent about thirty seconds absorbing what Id said, then without looking at me, in a subdued tone said, Ill do whatever it takes to keep him working on the case. I went through everything I had of Aunt Brandys last night. I brought the things that might be the most help.

Like what?

Pictures, photo albums, a calendar, scrapbooks, her journals. Theres not as much as I thought. I re-read what she wrote. It isnt very interesting. I mean, its interesting for me because it helps me to understand who she was, but I dont think itll be very helpful to Cobb.

You never know.

Quilla tucked her feet under her legs and spun around, leaning against the passenger door. Something about you has been bothering me.

I glanced at her, wondering what was coming.

You told me why you became a Funeral Director, she said. But I dont understand why you continue to be one.

Its the only thing I know how to do.

She rolled her eyes. You could do a lot of things. I mean, deep down Funeral Directors are like salesmen or counselors, right? I nodded yes. I dont want to dump on your profession, but how you can surround yourself with so much death and sadness. Doesnt it get to you?

Sometimes, but its the kind of job that desensitizes a person. See enough death and youre immune to it.

She tilted her head and smirked. Why would you want to be immune to death?

What I mean isIm immune to having feelings about death. I have to shut down and turn everything off.

But, Del, thats not a normal human reaction. If somebody dies its normal to feel bad. And I dont think its normal to want to be around dead bodies and grieving people and coffins and graves and

Its all part of the job.

Maybe for somebody else, but not you. Its a bad environment for you to be in.

Thats a little presumptuous, dont you think? I wasnt sure why, but Quilla was starting to irritate me.

Ever since you told me the story of how you tried to get your fathers ashes, Ive been playing it over and over in my head and I think about how youve held onto the memory of Alyssa and how youve never been married and how you dont have a girlfriend and based on everything Ive learned about you, I keep thinking that, yeah, its understandable how he got into this weird business and, yeah, hes nice-looking and smart and sensitive and he understands me which is a really hard thing to do and hes intelligent enough to know that Gretchen is a woman worth pursuing and when I put all the pieces together I look at you and I say that theres one thing missing. She looked at me tenderly. You dont seem very happy.

You sound like a psychiatrist.

Good. Its one of the careers Im thinking of pursuing.

Theres only one problem with your profile of me. Youre leaving out one key factor. She stared at me, eyebrow arched, waiting. Did it ever occur to you that I might like my job? I help people get through the worst times of their lives. I make it bearable. I get a lot out of that.

She hesitated for a moment. If thats the case, then I feel sorry for you.

Why? Im making a contribution! Anddo you have any idea how many people hate their jobs?

Yeah. I hear my mother and stepfather whining all the time about how horrible their jobs are. But they arent like you. Most people arent like you. Tears started to form in her eyes. Youre like Gretchen. Different. Special. You could be making a better contribution somewhere else. She shook her head slowly. Its such a waste.

I was about to respond, but we had arrived at the Dankworth Police Station. I parked in front. As we walked to the front door Quilla punched me lightly on my right arm and said, Dont mind me. I can be a real ball breaker sometimes.

*****

Perry wasnt there. The only ones around were Greg Hoxey and Lucy Delaine, the dispatcher.

Lucy was slender, almost petite, but dressed like a fat woman, favoring loose-fitting shifts from K-Mart with patterns that were either outrageously loud or depressingly bland.

Is himself in his office?

She shook her head. Perrys not back yet. He called in a few seconds ago. Hell be here in no time flat.

What are you doing here? said Greg to Quilla, totally ignoring me.

Quilla smiled when she saw Greg. He smiled back. To meet with Perry, she said sweetly, trustingly. Her demeanor suggested that she might have a crush on him.

What about?

My Aunts murder case. Im here to talk about leads and to find out how Perrys investigation is coming.

Greg looked at me dismissively. Why are you here?

Perry wanted me, I said abruptly.

Does Perry have you on the case, Greg? Quilla asked with such sincerity that it angered me to know that Greg wasnt really on her side.

Nah. Hes doing it alone. He rolled his eyes.

We have information thatll blow this thing wide open.

I cringed as the words came out of her mouth. Greg arched his left eyebrow and said, What kind of information?

Quilla was about to speak when I said, Maybe you should wait to tell Perry first. She and Greg looked at me. She with confusion, he with disapproval. After all, he is the Chief and it might not be smart to supercede him. Isnt that right, Greg? You know how Perry is about controlling things.

Greg glared at me.

Whats the difference? said Quilla. Its not like Perry wont tell Greg what weve found out.

We havent found out anything, I said. All we have is a theory.

Greg, does Perry tell you about theories? said Quilla.

All the time, said Greg. You can tell me what you know, Quil.

Quil? I thought to myself. He calls her Quil? But most of the crimes here in Dankworth are small time, I said. This is a murder case. Not only that, its the first murder case Perrys ever had.

Perry tells me everything, said Greg, his voice firm.

Maybe so, but in this instance, I think Perry wont be too happy knowing you know something before he does. Quilla, our meetings with Perry. Thats who well talk to.

Suddenly Lucy blurted, Greg, just got a call I think you should take.

Greg nodded. The telephone on Gregs desk rang. He picked up the receiver and said, Dankworth Police If you have a cat stuck in a tree you shouldnt call the Police. Call the Fire Department 

Quilla turned to me and between gritted teeth whispered, Why are you giving Greg such a hard time?

I glanced at Greg. He had turned away from us and was still on the phone. You cant tick Perry off. Hes a control freak. Perry can help you. Greg cant. Look, based on what we figured out in the car, I have a stake in this. I dont want to jeopardize it because you think Hoxeys your buddy.

He is.

I said nothing. I wanted to tell her then and there that Greg was Perrys plant, but it wasnt the right time. I wanted to meet with Perry, give him the information we came up with and hope that it would motivate him find out who the killer is, if it wasnt too late.

The door to the police station opened and Perry sauntered in. He didnt apologize for being late, saying only, Lets go into my office.

Feeling protective of Quilla, I put my hand on her right shoulder and guided her behind Perry. As we walked, Greg, who was still on the phone and had cupped the receiver, said, Perry, you want me in on this?

There was enormous hope in his question. It was as if he wanted Perry to say a firm Absolutely, but Perry just shook his head and brusquely said, No.

You sure, Perry?

Perry looked at his watch, then said, Lucys almost due for her break. Youll have to man the phones. He gestured to Quilla and me. Cmon.

Quilla looked at Greg, clearly feeling embarrassed for him because of Perrys comment. She smiled sympathetically at him. He gave her a wink. Because I was growing fond of Quilla, it killed me that she seemed to be so taken with Greg. Sooner or later she would find out that he was spying on her and her friends on Perrys behalf and she would resent him and she would have another male authority figure in her life to despise.

As I stepped into Perrys office he said, Close the door, Del.

I did, then I sat down in one of the two wooden chairs across from Perrys plain, metal desk. Quilla walked over to the only window in the small, cluttered office and leaned against the sill. Perry plopped his large hulk into a worn, but comfortable-looking leather chair.

Perry looked at Quilla. Arent you gonna sit?

I think better on my feet, she snapped.

Youre not here to think, said Perry. Youre here to tell me everything you know about Brandy Parker.

Before I tell you about her, we have something else to say, something better, something so important that itll give you tons of information to go on.

Whats she talking about, Del?

Brandy Parker may not be the only murder victim.

Perry didnt move. You dont say.

Quilla and I were talking and a piece of information came up about the wife of Kyle Thistle. Evidently the body was never found.

So?

How can you be sure she was murdered?

Perry leaned forward. Because my father was convinced of it. Its the only case he ever liked to talk about. There were two popular theories as to why the body was never found. Kyle Thistle either cut it into little pieces and scattered them in public trash cans all over the county, or he weighted down the corpse and sunk it to the bottom of Dankworth Lake.

Was the bottom of the lake ever checked? asked Quilla.

They dragged it three different times. Nothing.

So its not proven that its there, she added.

Back then the lake had lots of fish. Hungry fish.

And how did they know that the body was cut up?

They didnt. That was a theory that came about because of a witness who saw Kyle Thistle dropping a black plastic bag into a public can.

Whats so bad about that? said Quilla.

People who live in their own homes dont drive into town and dump garbage in public cans.

But theres no concrete proof that what Kyle Thistle was dropping into the garbage were parts of his wifes body.

Right, said Perry.

And was it proven a hundred percent that the guy the witness saw was Kyle Thistle? said Quilla.

He adjusted himself in his chair. What the hell is this leading to?

Okay, I said. Kyle Thistles wife disappeared twenty-four years ago. Brandy Parker disappeared nine years ago. And you may not even be aware of the person Im about to mention, Perry, but  I caught myself. For an instant I couldnt believe that I was about to speak of Alyssa as if she were dead. Uhanother girl disappeared fifteen years ago. Alyssa Kirkland.

Perry wrinkled up his face. Doesnt ring a bell. But I wasnt on the force fifteen years ago. I was in college. Was there a missing person report filed?

I dont know.

Who was she?

His girlfriend, blurted Quilla. We suspect she might be another victim of the guy who killed my Aunt and Virginia Thistle. We think there might be a pattern.

You think? Perry smirked. Wheres the pattern?

Isnt it obvious? said Quilla. Every eight or nine years a woman disappears and is never heard from again.

I considered telling Perry about the letter and postcard I received from Alyssa, but decided not to mention it just yet for fear of him latching onto it and trying to use it to diffuse the theory.

This opens up all kinds of possibilities, said Quilla. We think its possible that Dels girlfriend and Gretchens mother might be like my Aunt hidden in old mausoleums at the cemetery. Whos to say that whoever the killer is didnt hide all his victims there? In fact, if were right about the pattern, there might even be another woman in the last year or two whose family thinks she ran away from home when shes really dead. For all we know there could even be a bigger pattern. Maybe the killer murdered a woman every five years or three or every year. Theres no telling how many women could be lying in mausoleums at Elm Cross cemetery.

Her enthusiasm was bordering on overkill. I was afraid she would turn Perry off. Quilla, maybe we should concentrate on the three victims for now, I said.

Maybe we should concentrate on one victim, said Perry. Brandy Parker. Im not interested in a case that was over a quarter of a century ago or a case I never even heard of.

Perry, I dont want to tell you how to do your job

Then dont.

I have a gut feeling about this. Please hear me out.

If this gut feeling starts to get boring, I stop listening. Go ahead.

Alright. I guess it would help to know if you have records of missing person or runaways.

This year alone weve had forty-one, Perry said.

That many in a town the size of Dankworth? I said, incredulously. There were roughly twenty-five thousand people who lived here.

Youd be surprised, Perry said. He leaned forward and pushed a couple keys on the computer on his desk. A list of names appeared on the screen. We have husbands who go on a weekend drunk. Wives who have affairs and run off. Lonely women who live with their bossy parents and get tired of it, so they run away with a trucker. Of course, its mainly teenagers. Kids from thirteen to nineteen are always disappearing for a weekend, a week, some for six months. He looked at Quilla. Any of your crowd ever take off?

Looking embarrassed, she nodded yes, then said, But only the ones with assholes for parents.

Perry looked at the screen, then at Quilla. In fact, I have two missing person complaints on you! He shifted his glare to me.

You can call them missing person complaints, she snapped. But my mother overreacted when I stayed away one weekend after my stepfather hit me. The other time I had a fight with her about sex. I stayed at my friends house. So if most of your missing person complaints are for kids who stay away a day or two, they dont count. How many real calls do you get about kids who leave and never come back?

Hard to say, said Perry. Thats whats so damn frustrating about runaways. If a kids parents are considerate theyll call and say their son or daughter came home. If the parents dont call us we call them in a couple days and most of em are back. Some get arrested in other cities or they get bored or lonely and they show up on mommys doorstep. Then theres the ones who never return.

He lowered his voice, and displaying a rare sense of consideration, said, Like your Aunt. We had her down as a missing person/probable runaway. There wasnt much we could do. Nine years ago we didnt have the kind of technology we have now. And we didnt have the manpower to do any serious searching for your Aunt. Once we found out that your Aunt was the woman in the mausoleum, I pulled out her file. Nine years ago a call was made to the FBI regional office. There wasnt a lot they I we could do. Even the most sophisticated law enforcement operations cant do much with a missing person case. Theres so little to go on.

Perry was behaving so decently to Quilla it took me aback. I kept waiting for him to ruin the moment with some ill-timed barb. But he continued to be kind in his words.

Once I learned the identity of your Aunt, he said. I studied her file. I have no details. Not one specific fact. And if you dont give me something, I want to tell you up front that I cant see this case ever being solved.

All the more reason to consider our theory about the disappearance of Dels girlfriend and Mrs. Thistle, Quilla said.

Perry shook his head. As far as Im concerned, the investigation my father conducted twenty-four years ago solved that matter.

But without a body how can you be sure? she protested.

Lots of cases are tried and convictions gotten without a body, said Perry. As for Dels girlfriend, this is all news to me. Whatd you say her name was, Del?

Alyssa Kirkland.

Perry punched a few keys on the computer. And she disappeared fifteen years back?

Perry punched a few more keys. Something appeared on the screen and he read it out loud. Missing person report placed by her mother. Presumed runaway. Perry wrinkled his forehead. I dont remember any Alyssa Kirkland from high school.

She didnt go to Dankworth. Her family moved here when we were Seniors. She was a freshman in college that Fall. I didnt even meet her until the following summer when she came home for vacation. Thats when we were together.

Then one day she just disappeared?

Yes. I didnt know she was gone. Wed stopped seeing each other. There was no contact. Then I got a note from her in which she apologized for leaving so abruptly and I just assumed she took off. Her parents got a note too.

Perry frowned. He suddenly looked angry. Then why the hell did her parents file a missing person report if she sent notes to them and you?

Her mother didnt think it was like Alyssa to just take off.

Is that how you felt?

No. She hated Dankworth. Didnt get along with her father. Couldnt stand the college she went to. All the while we went out she talked about getting out of Dankworth.

Perry frowned again. Then why did her leaving come as a surprise to you?

It didnt. I mean it did but not really 

What the hell are trying to say, Del? So far, youre painting a picture of a girl who wasnt especially happy living in our fair town, wasnt looking forward to going back to college, didnt have a happy home life, and had just ended her summer romance. Why would she stick around? She said to hell with everything and everyone and took off. He looked at Quilla. Does that make sense to you or am I missing something?

Quilla was speechless. I think she was so surprised that Perry had asked for her opinion, she couldnt talk. I, uh, she stammered. But youre leaving one thing out. Something Del said on the way over here. Alyssa broke up with Del. He hadnt spoken to her in three weeks. In her mind, the relationship was over. She looked at me. But like you said, Del: why would she send you a good-bye note, apologizing for leaving so suddenly? She didnt owe you an apology. She didnt owe you anything. If I dumped a guy theres no way Id send him a fucking postcard. Quilla bit her lower lip and seemed to be thinking, formulating the words she wanted to use, making sure she got the phrasing right. What if the killer didnt know that Del and Alyssa broke up?

Perry was expressionless. I wondered where Quilla was going with this.

And because the killer thinks Del and Alyssa are still a couple, said Quilla. He sends Del a note, figuring that the brief message will make Del not be suspicious.

But Del was suspicious, said Perry.

Not at first, said Quilla. As she spoke, she turned her head back and forth between Perry and myself. Even though theyd broken up, Del was still in love with her, so he probably wasnt thinking straight. The chick who dumps him suddenly sends him a note? It gives him hope. And theres nothing like hope when youve been dumped by someone you still love. I think Del was so blinded by hope that he couldnt let himself believe that something bad had happened to Alyssa. A note and then a postcard a few months later and he was in limbo.

Postcard? said Perry.

I got a postcard six months later. So did her parents.

So why would he think Alyssa was missing or some kind of crime victim? said Quilla.

Perry looked at me. But now, after all these years, youve decided she was murdered?

I took a second to answer. Yes.

And all because of this theory about the same guy killing her Aunt and Thistles wife?

Its the most logical explanation Ive heard so far to explain the disappearances.

Three women vanish in the course of twenty-four years, said Perry. Twenty-four years! You call that a pattern?

Quilla and I looked at each other. In her eyes I could see her saying, See, I told you so.

If a woman disappeared every year or every two years or even every five years for twenty-four years, then I could see a pattern, said Perry. But not three disappearances spread out over two-and-a-half decades.

We dont know that there werent more, I said. How do you know that some of those missing people who never came back werent murdered by whoever killed her Aunt? Perry said nothing. And how do you know that the killer only took women from Dankworth? If every police department around here gets as many missing person reports as you, there could be dozens of names of girls who never were heard from again.

Perry pointed at his computer. Any serious missing person report gets bumped onto the network. I might be able to give this more credence if there were more to the pattern than the three women over twenty-four years.

Whattya mean? said Quilla.

What were the ages of the three women? he asked.

Quillas Aunt was nineteen, I said. Alyssa was nineteen. And Im not sure how old Virginia Thistle was. I turned to Quilla. Do you know how old Gretchens mother was when she disappeared?

Quilla hesitated, her face flushed. Begrudgingly she said, I dont know.

Lets check, said Perry. He punched in a couple of keys on his computer. We keep the closed cases in one file, active in another. I can understand how you might come up with ideas on who mightve killed your Aunt. But rather than waste time trying to tie her death to an obscure case thats officially been closed for nearly a quarter of a century, youd be better off concentrating on remembering who your Aunt associated with before she

disappeared. Here we are. Virginia Thistle was thirty-two years old at the time of her murder. Two nineteen-year-olds and a thirty-two-year-old doesnt sound like much of a pattern to me. He leaned back. Lets let the Thistle case rest in peace and concentrate on Brandy Parker.

What about the Alyssa Kirkland case? said Quilla.

There is no Alyssa Kirkland case, said Perry.

Cant you start an investigation now? said Quilla.

On whose complaint? he said.

Mine, I snapped.

An ex-boyfriend this long after the fact, filing a complaint? said Perry. With nothing except a remote hunch.

Youre a policeman, said Quilla. Are you telling me that if a person tells you that someone mightve been a crime victim youre not going to at least check into it?

If its within reason, sure. Based on whats in the Alyssa Kirkland file, nothing happened. He looked at me. Del, Im sorry to hear about this long lost love of yours, but you cant expect to come in here fifteen years after she gave you your walking papers and want me to suddenly believe shes a murder victim. He glanced at his watch. I dont want to hear anymore about things that happened so long ago. Its gonna be hard enough for me to solve a murder that took place nine years ago. He turned to Quilla. The way I understand it, the purpose of this meeting was for you to tell me everything you know or remember about your Aunt. Thats what I want to talk about. Nothing else. He leaned back in his chair and looked at the cardboard box setting on the floor next to Quillas chair. Whats in there?

Some personal things from my Aunt you should check.

Lets take a look, Perry said.

With a frown Quilla picked up the box and set it on Perrys desk. She removed the items one at a time, setting them on the desk. Four photo albums overflowing with pictures, a calendar of the year Brandy Parker disappeared, five notebooks and a cigar box filled with knickknacks.

Theres a lot of information here, said Quilla. She picked up the notebooks. These have her thoughts and feelings about things. Itll take you a while to read them.

Ill go over every line, believe me, Perry said. But what can you tell me about your Aunt that only you know?

Quilla paused for a few moments, clearly unsure of where to begin. Wellits likeI

Tell him what you told me, I said.

She looked at me, confused.

About your Aunt and cemeteries, I said.

She turned to Perry. My Aunt was a cemetery buff.

Perry looked at me, then back at Quilla. You know that for sure?

I remember her talking about it. I didnt understand what she meant because I was little and didnt really understand cemeteries. She only started doing it near the time before she near the end.

Perry considered Quillas remark for a moment, then said, This is good. Okay. What else?

You gotta understand that I was so young when I knew my Aunt I didnt understand sex. So when she would say things to me about guys, I didnt really know what she was talking about. But, after I started to read the stuff she wrote in her notebooks I was able to put things together. I think my Aunt really got screwed over by boys her age. I think she started to go out with older guys. Father figures. See, my grandfather, my Aunts and my mothers father, was a real dork. When he died, nobody really cared. Not even my grandmother. And from what Ive been able to piece together, he and Aunt Brandy didnt get along. IIf I had to take a guess, whoever killed her mightve been some older guy who she thought would treat her nice.

An older guy who mightve also been a cemetery buff? Is that possible? said Perry.

I shrugged. Why not?

Perry scribbled something down on a piece of paper, then said, Do you think its possible that this older man you think she mightve been seeing is the one who introduced her to being interested in cemeteries?

Theres no way I could know that. Until Del mentioned the words cemetery buff I never even knew such a thing had a name.

Anything else I should know? said Perry.

Quilla thought for a few seconds. No.

Lets see if I get any info from your Aunts things, then well talk again.

Alright, said Quilla.

Del, said Perry. I need to talk to you for a second. Quilla, why dont you wait out front with Greg?

Why should I be left out?

I need to ask Del about another matter.

Clearly not believing Perry, Quilla blurted a suspicious, Okay, glared at me and walked out.

I looked at Perry as he began removing the possessions of Brandy Parker from the box.

Who came up with this crap about three murders? he said, lifting out a thick photo album. Her or you?

Both of us.

I get the feeling you think that little shits a good kid.

She is. Shes troubled, but shes okay. Shes honest and sincere.

This idea about Kyle Thistles wife and your girlfriend is so off the wall Im not even gonna consider it. He pulled out Brandy Parkers notebook. But what I will consider is what the kid said about her Aunt being a cemetery buff. I dont know what it is about that, but ever since you mentioned it the day we found the body Ive been haunted by it. Ive felt that somewhere in it was the clue I need. And now that she says her Aunt was one, it places the victim in the cemetery.

She couldve been killed somewhere else and brought to the mausoleum.

Or she couldve been doing whatever cemetery buffs do, checking out a tombstone and the killer couldve snuck behind her, killed her and hid her in the mausoleum. So I have to ask myself if the killer was a cemetery buff or not. And if he was was he there with her, you know, like, on a date or something? Or was he just a stranger who popped into a cemetery to look at old tombstones and who saw Brandy Parker and maybe he knew who she was from her wild nights in bars and maybe he thought she was sexy because she was wearing that tight Im A Virgin Islander T-shirtand lets face it, she was a babe. Only problem with this line of thought is what you said about the graves where she was hidden.

Whattya mean?

Nobody goes there to visit.

That reminds me, I said. We made a list of all the names on the headstones near the mausoleum. I reached into my shirt pocket and removed the pieces of paper on which wed written down the names and handed them to Perry. We figured that maybe one of the names on the headstones might be the ancestor of the killer.

And? said Perry as he picked up the sheets of paper and glanced at them without much interest.

The idea being that even though its a low traffic area populated with graves of people whose relatives and friends are long since dead, perhaps the killer happened to be paying his respects nine years ago and 

Perry shrugged and tossed the list of names onto his desk dismissively. Im way ahead of you. I had Greg and Wendell check out all the names on those tombstones plus the dates that the people died and not a one was after Nineteen-twenty. I dont know exactly how many years make up a generation, but lets say its twenty, twenty-five. That means nearly five generations of people have lived and died since the last person was buried in that Section. And your theory is that the average person wont visit a grave beyond his parents and grandparents. He leaned forward and picked up the names again. So these are all bullshit.

What Perry said made sense, but I didnt want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I agreed with him.

Then whats your theory, Perry?

Try this on for size. Two perfect strangers, cemetery buffs, encounter each other over a grave. They fall into conversation. Maybe they actually hit it off because theyve found this weird common bond. They spend time together, checking out old graves and maybe this is the first girl the guys ever met who had the same fascination with cemeteries as him. The guy hits on her, but she doesnt want to. She screams. The guy panics. He didnt want any trouble. He just thought he was gonna get lucky with this sexy fellow cemetery buff. She wont stop screaming so the guy grabs her a little too hard and he doesnt mean to hurt her. He just wants her to stop screaming. He puts his hand on her mouth and shes struggling because shes still scared and before you know it theyre on the ground and she hits her head on an old headstone and shes dead. Its not like the guy planned on it. It was an accident. If only she had stopped screaming. You think that couldve happened, Del?

Its possible, I said.

Now, the killer has a problem. Does he call the cops and tell them what happened? Hell no. Hes a decent guy. Just has a strange hobby. Its not like he came there to kill anyone. But he knows that if he calls the police and tells them the truth they might not believe him. He might be arrested. Have to go to jail. Get a lawyer. Go to trial. Maybe hes poor. Cant hire a good attorney. Maybe he has a nice career going for himself. Hes watched enough TV and movies to know there might be some ambitious District Attorney who wants to nail him because its an election year or something. Our boy knows his ass is grass if he does the right thing and reports what happened. So he thinks, If I hide the body, nobody will know what happened. And since hes a cemetery buff he figures hell stash the body in a place that wouldnt have a lot of people paying respects, so he looks for an old, out of the way mausoleum, breaks in, hides the body, seals it back up and hes gone. And he figures the odds are in his favor that the bodyll never be found. And for nine years he guessed right. Bastard never figured that some teenagers would spoil his perfect crime.

He looked to me as if he wanted my approval.

Youre assuming she was murdered there. If she was killed somewhere else and brought to the cemetery it changes your theory completely.

Thats another scenario. All I can work with is something that sounds logical. What I just said sounds possible. But just to show you I can be open minded, lets call mine Theory One. Now lets talk about Theory Two. Dels theory that she was killed somewhere else. Ill make this quick, because its real simple. For arguments sake, lets forget about the fact that Brandy Parker was a cemetery buff. Lets say that on the day she was killed she picked up a guy in a bar. They went somewhere to do the dirty deed. For whatever reason, things get out of hand, and for whatever reason, he kills her. Its late at night. Again, lets assume the killer didnt plan on killing her. It just happened. Just like our guy in Theory One, he has to decide whether or not to call the police. He says no way. He has to hide the body. Now this guys a cemetery buff. He figures hell take his chances and hide the body in the mausoleum. Bingo! Thats how she couldve been strangled somewhere else and then brought to the cemetery.

Youre pretty much basing everything on the idea that the killers a cemetery buff.

Has to be. Or like I said to you the day we found the body its somebody who knows that cemetery inside and out. Perry turned back to the computer, punched a couple of keys and watched as something came onto the screen. He pressed the Print button and in seconds out came a sheet of paper.

I made of list of the employees of Elm Grove, your Funeral Home and DiGregorios. Theres a grand total of nineteen people, including you. Take a look. He handed the sheet of paper to me. I read the list of names.




Elm Grove Cemetery

Inside

Mel Abernathy (Manager)

George Granger (salesman)

Joanne Linley (bookkeeper)

Patricia Aimes (secretary)


Outside

Alton Held (Head Groundskeeper)

Vaughn Larkin (Night Watchman)

Will Polk (Gravedigger)

Nat Jaspers (Gravedigger)

Tim Wallach (Gravedigger)


Hendersons Funeral Home

Del Coltrane (FD)

Lew Henderson (FD)

Clint Tristler

Nolan Fowler (Embalmer)

Elaine Whorley (Hair)


Digregorios Funeral Home

Tyler DiGregorio (FD)

Alphonse DiGregorio (FD)

Wilton Ging (Embalmer)

Elaine Whorley (Hair)


Why do you have Vaughns name on the list? I asked.

Dont get your balls in an uproar. I just put his name there when I listed all the cemetery employees. Far as Im concerned, Vaughns the only person in this town whos above suspicion. What about the other names? You know them all. Does any strike you as having a dark side?

I looked at the names. Precisely because I did know them all I didnt put much stock in the idea that one was a killer, but as I stared at the names one thing began to alarm me. If the killer was someone on the list, it meant that I knew him. And despite Perrys refusal to consider the possibility that Brandy Parker had been murdered by the same person who killed Virginia Thistle and Alyssa, if the killer was on that list, it meant that someone I knew had killed the only woman Id ever love.

I cant believe any of them are capable of it, I said.

My father never trusted Alton Held.

Altons a pussycat. What was not to trust?

His white trash southern accent bothered my father. He always had a hard on for people with any kind of accent. He did some checking up on Alton when he moved to town and found out he had a record back in Louisiana.

What was the crime?

Burglary, breaking and entering, passing bad checks, a bunch of drunk and disorderlies and assault and batteries.

I wondered if Vaughn knew about Altons record. Was he arrested for any serious crimes?

Perry smirked. No. But coincidentally, Altons been living here for twenty-five years. I said nothing. The guy comes out of nowhere with a record and hires on as a gravedigger, one of lifes great career moves. He rolled his eyes. Gets to know his way around the cemetery pretty well. Could even be a cemetery buff and even if he wasnt he probably sees some now and then. Im thinking on my feet here, Del, so this might not be totally clear yet, but if your notion about one killer murdering three woman is right, the guy had to be around for all these years. Alton was and Lew, Alphonse, Mel Abernathy, Nolan Fowler and Wilt Ging.

He leaned back looking satisfied with himself. They were all around and theyre all suspects. All of em!



Chapter 18

But theres one guy who wasnt around? I said. Kyle Thistle. He was in the institution when Alyssa was killed.

If she was killed, said Perry.

If. But under my theory, Kyle is eliminated. And obviously most of the names on your list arent serious suspects. Like Vaughn and the women. And I cant believe you put Lew Henderson as a serious suspect?

Go back nine years. Lew wouldve been fifty-five. And old man DiGregerio wouldve been in his early Sixties. And interestingly enough, both men have always looked younger and stayed in good shape, especially Alphonse. And it was common knowledge that he was a pussy hound all his life. And based on what the girl just told us about her Aunt being turned off to young guys and maybe seeing an older man/father figure type, who would be more natural than Alphonse?

Youre reaching, Perry.

Itd be convenient for everybody if he was the one. Not only would a nice deathbed confession have taken the heat off me to solve the damn murder, but it would save the County a fortune in court costs. I wish I couldve talked to him before he died.

The man isnt even in the ground yet. I think a little respect for the dead is called for.

Screw the dead! I know what people are saying. Im an asshole and I dont have a shot at finding the killer. I dont need a murder case in my life, Del. Ill take a lifetime of chicken-shit misdemeanors. I dont want to have to prove anything to anybody. And I dont want this to slip into the wind. And I most assuredly dont want to spend the rest of my life being haunted by a case like my old man.

Which case was your father haunted by?

Whattya think? he snarled. Not finding the body of Virginia Thistle.

But you said as far as your Dad was concerned, it was closed.

Only reason it got closed was because Kyle Thistle lost his mind. Sticking him in the nuthouse made things easy for everybody, especially my father. But he had his pride. No easy answer ever does anything for your pride. That case nearly drove him off the deep end. Its hard enough to find evidence for even the simplest of crimes, but when its murder, not to have a friggin body? My Dad worked his ass off trying to figure what happened to that woman. Perry shook his head with heaviness. Goddamn Pete Dinwiddy!

Who?

The so-called witness who claimed he saw Kyle Thistle dropping garbage in a couple of cans. Dinwiddy was a lush, but it was the only thing my father had to go on. There was pressure from the County DA so my Dad made an arrest. But he never believed him. As for the body being in the lake, its standard procedure to make a search. You comb the area around the missing persons house. You scour the wooded areas. You drag Lake Dankworth. Ho-hum. But Thistle got put away and everybody was satisfied except my father. He wanted Kyle to be tried. Figured a jury wouldnt put much stock in the testimony of Dinwiddy because of his drinking. Dad was counting on a not guilty verdict. He figured people wouldve thought he tried to find justice.

Did he have a theory of what really happened?

He thought Virginia Thistle was kidnapped. Statistically, in kidnappings of adults, its almost always a stranger. And the victim is almost always a woman. And the perpetrator is almost always a man. Or men. Seldom the husband. If the motive isnt a ransom, its usually sex. Or sex and murder. They may not want to kill the woman, but they have to because she can connect them with the crime. And because its usually a stranger, the officer investigating the case has to assume that some drifter did it, some psycho passing through, whether its a big city or a small town. With all that in mind, youd think that it would apply to the Virginia Thistle case, right?

Right.

Thats what my father assumed when he began the investigation. But he kept having these gut reactions. Dad was always big on gut reactions, whether it was concerning somebody breaking into a feed store, me lying about a grade I got on a test in school and everything else. He operated the same way with the Thistle disappearance and his gut feeling told him a few things: that she was kidnapped and murdered and that whoever did it was someone in Dankworth and that it was someone who knew her.

A friend? Neighbor? Co-worker?

No. Some guy who saw her and set his sights on her. Dad said that she was a nice-looking woman. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a dirty, stained manila folder held together by two thick, red rubber bands. After I saw Kyle Thistle at the Funeral Home I pulled out his file, figured Id refresh my memory. This is all we had. Most of its illegible. Because of the flood we hadsome records of old cases got waterlogged. Nobody much cared. They were closed. I have the basic data in the computer, but all the paperwork was in this folder. Not that it matters.

Why doesnt it matter?

Im not working on the Virginia Thistle disappearance. That case is closed.

But if your Dad is right, the real killer could be walking the streets of Dankworth right now.

Yep. Or maybe he moved away. Wouldnt you move if you killed somebody? I would. Or maybe the guys dead. Hell, maybe he was buried by your Funeral Home. But it doesnt matter. Ive read lots of books and manuals on police work. I study the stuff. Most cases never get solved. All society demands is that somebody pay a price. Hopefully, most of the time, the right person pays the price. The rest of the time the wrong guy has to cough up with prison time or his life. But society is satisfied. Only time society gets pissed off is when nobody pays. Kyle Thistle paid and everyones satisfied.

Not everybody.

You mean you and that kid?

I mean Kyle Thistles daughter. If she found out everything you just told me, she could demand that the investigation into her mothers disappearance be re-opened.

She aint gonna find out.

She will if I tell her.

You can tell her anything you want, but Ill deny saying what I told you. And Ill destroy whats left of the file.

Arent you the least bit curious about what really happened to Virginia Thistle?

He thought for a few seconds, sucking on his lower lip, then said, I could give a shit.

What about your father? Perry glared at me, his face expressionless. Wouldnt it be nice if he could have the answer to the biggest case of his career solved by you?

Dont pull that crap with me. This how you con people into buying more expensive coffins? He shook his head. The past doesnt interest me. You and the kid and Thistles daughter are all stuck in it. What the hell is with you people? Why cant you let go? Get the fuck outa here!

If I walk out of here now Im going straight to Thistles daughter and telling her everything you said. Shell make trouble for you, man. You dont re-open her mothers case and she wont hesitate to go over your head.

Let her try. Ill give her the County Sheriffs number. And the DAs and Ill even throw in the Governors. She wont find a soul willing to muck around in old crimes. Shell get lost in the bureaucracy. Now get out!

I knew that if I let it end like this Perry would have another reason to half-ass his investigation and throw in the towel earlier than he might want to. I decided to make one last appeal to his vanity. Over the years, Thistles daughter hired detectives to find her mother.

Perry seemed surprised. What did they come up with?

Nothing. They were convinced she met with foul play. Only problem is, she didnt believe them and from what Quilla says, she doesnt believe them now. But once she hears your Dads theory, maybe she will.

Like I said, Ill deny saying anything.

Who do you think shell believe, you or me? Maybe shell hire a detective not to look for someone alive who has been hiding out, but someone dead whose body has been hidden. Just like Brandy Parker. And maybe Alyssa. And if you dont find out what happened to them and who killed

Brandy, some hotshot detective will. And thats not gonna be too good for your image in this town such as it is. I stood my ground, staring him down. I knew Perry wanted to beat the crap out of me. But I felt that Id boxed him into a corner.

Heres what Ill do, he said after staring me hatefully in the eyes. Im gonna look through all this stuff the kid brought over. Then Im gonna have a talk with Thistles daughter about her relationship with Brandy Parker. If she doesnt bring anything to the table and if Brandy Parkers mementos turn out to be a bust, Im not saying Ill re-open the Virginia Thistle case, but Ill take a look at what we have on it.

And if you find something?

Lets just wait until I find something before I take the next step.

And will you keep an open mind that there might also be a link to Alyssa?

He paused, then said, Dont push your luck with me, Del. The Virginia Thistle business is flimsy enough. Dont say another word. Just leave.

I nodded and started for the door, but then Perry spoke.

When you have a father like mine, youre always trying to prove something not so much to him, but to yourself. Only thing he ever failed at was not getting to the bottom of the Virginia Thistle case.

Why are you telling me this, Perry?

If he couldnt solve it when it was fresh how can I solve it now? He picked up one of Brandy Parkers notebooks, then without saying another word began paging through it.

How is your father these days, Perry?

Friggin nursing home. He doesnt even know me. He gets worse and looks worse every time I see him. Only thing as bad as having your old man die when hes young like you is having him wind up in a nursing home. And the only good thing about having your father die when youre young is that you never have to compete with him.

For the first time in my life, I felt genuinely sorry for Perry.

Without saying good-bye I stepped into the main office. Lucy was gone and Greg sat at her desk covering the phones. He and Quilla were engrossed in quiet, but deep conversation. When they saw me they both looked as if theyd been caught with their pants down.

Hi! Quilla said, overly friendly.

You guys all finished? said Greg, equally amicable, and that made me even more suspicious.

I knew she had talked to him about the case. The question was how much had she told him. Lets go, I said to Quilla, completely ignoring Greg as I headed to the door.

Where? she said.

Ill tell you in the car.

I opened the door and stepped outside. At least half a minute passed and she still hadnt come out. I looked in through the window and saw her moving away from Greg, but still talking. She shrugged her shoulders towards him, he gave her a thumbs up sign, then she waved goodbye with a big grin and strolled out the door.

Why were you so rude to Greg? she snapped.

You told him, didnt you?

Told him what?

Everything weve been talking about. Gretchens mother. Alyssa. The whole thing.

Just some that we think whoever killed my Aunt probably killed Gretchens Mom and Alyssa.

That was stupid.

Gregs a good guy.

Youre really naive if you think that.

Whats that supposed to mean?

I almost told her that Greg was spying on her and her friends, but again I forced myself to keep what I knew to myself. I just dont like him. And he doesnt like me.

Why doesnt he like you?

I should have just ignored her question or given some innocuous answer, but I couldnt help myself, even though I knew it would complicate things even more.

Maybe instead of wondering why he doesnt like me, you should start asking yourself why he likes you. She gave me an angry stare. Isnt it kind of odd that a cop would spend time with your crowd? I mean, you guys arent exactly candidates for the Pep Club. And its not like youre bucking for election to the Student Council. The perception is that youre all wild, dope-crazed, slacker metalheads looking for trouble.

Whats your point?

My guess is that a cop would have a motive other than friendship to spend time with kids like you.

She stared coolly at me, thinking. Finally, she shook her head and said, Are you saying that Greg is some kind of spy for Cobb?

I didnt want to alienate her, so I said, Im not saying anything. Im only asking you to question his motives. Lets drop the subject now. Get in the car. Ill take you home. I started walking.

Wait a minute! What did you and Cobb talk about after he kicked me out of his office?

All kinds of things. I got him to concede that there might be a connection between your Aunt and her Mom, but Alyssa hes not so convinced about. Cant say that I blame him. Compared to Brandy and Gretchens mother, the facts are pretty slim.

So now what? I talked to Cobb. What do we do next?

Hell go through your Aunts things. Lets hope he finds something to help the investigation or that hell

re-open the Virginia Thistle case.

What if he doesnt find anything?

I hesitated, then said, We go back to our lives and try to put this all behind us.

I cant believe you said that!

What else can we do?

We can try to find the killer ourselves! It really pisses me off that youd give up.

Im not giving up. Ive done everything I can do to this point. Lets give Perry a shot now.

Its like you suddenly dont care anymore! About Gretchens mom or even Alyssa. I really thought you had it going onthat you were differentbut youre no different than my mother or Cobb orshit! I shouldve started my own investigation right from the start. I knew I shouldnt have wasted my time listening to you. I wanted to hire a detective from the get-go. Goddamnit! I shouldve known better than to trust a fucking undertaker whos afraid of his own shadow!

Without warning, she turned and ran across the street, narrowly missing being hit by a car.

Quilla! She didnt stop. Quilla, come back here! She kept running. I thought about jumping in my car and going after her, but Greg Hoxeys voice stopped me.

What the hells the story, man? He was standing in the doorway leading into the police station. Keep shouting like that and Ill have to arrest you for disturbing the peace.

I ignored him. Instead of looking at Greg I continued to watch Quilla as she ran to the corner and took a left. Greg turned to see what I was looking at.

What did you say to her? he said harshly.

Mind your own business, Greg. I walked to my car. He followed me. Before I could get inside he grabbed my arm.

I was watching you two talk from inside. She looked ticked off and hurt. I want to know what you said to her.

Shes angry because nothings happening in her Aunts murder case. I pulled my arm out of his grasp and slid behind the steering wheel. She wants instant answers and they arent there.

She told me about the connection with that case from twenty-four years ago and some girlfriend of yours. Weird.

Right, Greg. Weird.

Perry hasnt been giving up much info.

There isnt much to give.

It pains me to see Quilla hurting so much.

Why would you care?

She means a lot to me. So do the kids she hangs with.

Thats surprising, considering youre spying on them.

Shock was in his eyes. Howd you know?

Perry told me.

Thats how it was supposed to be, but I ended up liking em too much to spy on em. And they like me. When Im around them I get treated like Im somebody. They all look like punks, but its all a costume and a pose. The worst thing they do is drink beer on weekends and get drunk once in a while. Maybe they have a little weed sometimes. So what? I let Perry think Im controlling them.

I knew Greg long enough to know he was being truthful.

Quilla said youve been helping her, Greg said. Thats good.

If you really care about her, Greg, do what you can to motivate Perry. Hes sinking fast.

What can I do, Del?

Id say theres a connection with Virginia Thistle. Maybe not my girlfriend, but if this is ever gonna be solved Id look backwards. I started the engine, waved good-bye to Greg and headed back to the Home, hoping that Quilla wouldnt stay angry at me for long.



Chapter 19

Burial services are draining on a Funeral Director, especially large scale affairs like Alphonses. As I drove through town, I looked forward to the three hours in-between the afternoon and evening viewings. If there werent any interruptions, I could catch a couple hours of sleep.

It was a few minutes before two when I got back to the Home. There were already three cars in the lot. Turnouts for afternoon viewings were always hard to predict. People who didnt know the deceased that well tended to come in the afternoon of the second day of viewing. I suspected that they felt it was easier to make an appearance, then leave quickly, the excuse being that they had to get back to work. And when an elderly person died it seemed that the afternoon viewing was far more popular than the evening.

I snuck in the rear entrance, ran upstairs to my apartment, washed up, put on a fresh shirt, slipped into a suit and tie, then went downstairs expecting to join Clint who would be at the front entrance greeting people. But as I reached the bottom step on the stairway that led to my quarters, I heard voices coming from behind the door under the stairs that was a private entrance to the lower level of the Home. It was the stairway that Nolan, Clint and I used as a shortcut to the Embalming Room

I walked to the door, opened it and heard Nolan talking.

Like I told you, he was saying. Its not like being an accountant or a bank teller. Its not like any kind of job in the world except maybe a coroner or pathologist.

Or ambulance drivers, said the person with Nolan. They have to pick up bodies after accidents and whatnot.

Its not the same, said Nolan. Sure, theyre handling dead people, but they arent spending time with the bodies or, as I like to say, living with the bodies. Thats what an embalmer does. And if youre also doing the restoration, you spend even more time with a corpse.

Nolan and his companion were at the bottom of the stairs. I had no idea why Nolan was saying what he was saying until I saw who was with him. It was Quillas friend Viper.

They both seemed surprised to see me.

Yo, Mr. Coltrane, said Viper with a big grin.

Hi, I said as I walked down the stairs, extending my hand to him. I realized that Viper had come to discuss career possibilities with Nolan.

Looks like the boys a keeper, said Nolan, gently punching Viper on the right shoulder. We might want to think about giving him some sort of part-time job. Let him hang around, doing odd jobs. Like you did when Lew first hired you way back when.

I dont see why not, I said. If Viper was as serious as Nolan believed it would be a tremendous break for him to get a foot in the door.

Meanwhile, said Nolan. Ill make up a package of reading material for you. Start to familiarize yourself with the profession. Call me in a day or so if I dont call you.

No problem, said Viper. Well, guess Ill get going. Thanks a lot for the tour, Nolan.

My pleasure,  said Nolan, patting Vipers shoulder.

And thank you, Mister Coltrane, said Viper.

Im glad it worked out.

Viper waved good-bye and walked up the stairs.

Kid reminds me of myself when I was that age, said Nolan. Unsure. Awkward. A little uncomfortable about even thinking about going into a profession like this. Oh Nolan laughed. He even has the same kind of fly paper memory as me. He remembers the first television show he ever watched. A re-run of The Brady Bunch. Remembers the date and time of day he ate his first chocolate donut with sprinkles on top. He laughed again. I impressed the hell out of him with the fact that I remember not only the day and date that my wife left me twenty-six-and-a-half years ago, but the actual minute she walked out the door.

Had Nolan not been talking about his capacity for remembering things, I probably wouldnt have asked him the next question, but the information that his wife had left him twenty-six-and-a-half years ago triggered a question that had been lingering in my mind.

Nolan, this might sound strange, but since you have such a good memory, can I bounce something off of you that happened almost twenty-six years ago?

Sure.

A woman disappeared from Dankworth twenty-four years ago.

Virginia Thistle, Nolan blurted matter-of-factly. May ninth. No tenth.

Do you remember anything about the case?

Without batting an eyelash, Nolan said, Not only do I remember Virginia Thistle, but I knew her. Saw her right here in this building.

At our Home?

Hell yes. In fact, I embalmed her father. He was one of my first. Real tough job. Skin and bone.

Did you know her beyond your dealings with her fathers funeral arrangements?

Not at all. He looked at me with a curious expression, Surprises me that you know the name. You werent even living here.

This is out of left field, but in the investigation of the girl in the mausoleum, there might be a connection with Virginia Thistles disappearance.

Sounds pretty remote. Way I remember things is that Virginia Thistle ran off with some guy.

You dont think she was murdered by her husband?

Thats what most people thought. But I knew Kyle Thistle a little. He was an asshole and a drinker and what people nowadays call an abusive husband, but I never thought he killed Virginia. That kind of violence wasnt in him.

You never believed that he cut up her body and hid it?

Cutting up a body is hard. Doing it clean so you dont make a mess. I should know. Ive worked on enough of them. You want my opinion, Virginia Thistle was tired of living with a drunk who slapped her around so she bolted.

How did you know he was abusive towards her?

This is getting complicated. Bringing back more memories. My ex-wife told me.

Howd she know?

They worked together.

They mustve been very good friends to confide something like that.

Nah, said Nolan, shaking his head in an aw shucks manner. Know how some people are good at pulling information out of other people? How they have a knack for getting people to open up? Say personal things? My wife was like that. Virginia Thistle poured everything out to her.

Did you know that Kyle Thistle lives in the area?

I think I heard that.

Im going to tell you this in confidence because its probably completely unfounded and I dont want it to get out, but Kyle Thistle is a suspect in Brandy Parkers murder.

Nolan genuinely seemed taken aback. Why?

Accused of wife murder twenty-four years ago. Released from the institution twelve years ago. Nine years ago Brandy Parker disappears. Its a slim pattern, but 

Nolan smiled sympathetically. I dont know, Del. Doesnt feel right.

If he had been more supportive I wouldve told him about Alyssa and how her disappearance would enhance the idea of a pattern, but his lack of enthusiasm diminished my own.

Nolan fingered his goatee. How come you know so much about this?

I explained to him how Id gotten involved because I felt sorry for Quilla.

I can understand that, Del. The grief in that kid is frightening. I dont know what I could contribute, but if theres anything I can do to help.

Meeting you was important to her. And being supportive to Viper is too. Shes somebody who hasnt met very many adults she can trust.

Neither have I, he said with a silly grin.

Shes hell-bent on finding her Aunts killer.

Hows Perry coming along with his investigation?

Im not optimistic. But Im staying on his ass. And Quilla will be relentless. I laughed. Shes the person the killer should fear most.

Whys that?

Theres nothing worse than somebody who wont give up.

Nolan nodded. Oh, before I forget. Viper asked if he could watch me prepare a body. I said Id check with you.

Hold off on that. Showing him the Embalming Room and the tools you use is one thing. This interest in the trade could all be a passing fancy. You said youre giving him some material to read. Let him get through it. And if we find some part-time work for him and he shows the right attitude, maybe then well let him watch.

Youre the boss, said Nolan with a wink.

Nolan, one more thing: if that memory of yours dredges up anything about Virginia Thistles disappearance or if something your wife mightve said to you pops into your head, could you bounce it off me?

You bet.

Oh ah, never mind.

What, Del?

Tell me if Im pushing too hard, but is it possible that I might contact your ex-wife and ask her if she remembers anything?

Nolan stiffened up a bit. Only way you could contact her is if you were in hell.

What?

Shes dead. His voice was without emotion. Havent see her since the day she walked out. Heard she kicked the bucket ten years ago or so  He stretched, looked at his watch and made a move to return to the Embalming Room. If I remember anything though, Ill tell you right away.

Thanks.

I walked up to the main floor. Clint was standing at the front door, pointing two people in the direction of Alphonses Viewing Room. I walked over to him.

Hows the crowd? I asked.

Slow.

Anybody here now that I should know about?

Vaughn and Alton just arrived. Can you handle things for a few minutes, Del? I have to give Cookie a quick call.

Take your time.

A couple of people whom I did not know came out of the Viewing Room and left. A few seconds passed, then Vaughn and Alton made their way out of the Viewing Room. Considering that Vaughn was close to ninety he moved at a clipped pace. Alton, thirty years his junior, had a hard time keeping up.

Vaughn raised his right hand in a quick wave as he walked up to me. Alton nodded, the scent of a cheap cigar arrived before he did.

Im gonna hit the head, then bring the car around, said Alton. Which ways the can?

Down the hall and to the left, I said.

Meet you in front in five minutes, Vaughn, said Alton as he ambled away from us.

Perry making any headway on the murder? said Vaughn.

Dribs and drabs. Mainly from information he got from me. But things might be getting complicated. Remember the Kyle Thistle case twenty-four years ago?

Hell yes. Damn near drove Chester nuts.

Do you know anything about what mightve happened?

Only from listening to Chester go on about it.

Perry said it was the one case that became an obsession with Chester.

True. He couldnt shake it loose. Hell, even though the poor guys wasting away in that nursing home, wouldnt surprise me if in those rare pockets of time where he thinks clearly, Kyle Thistles wifes whereabouts still pops into his head and riles him up. You should have a chin session with him.

Perry says hes pretty much out of it.

Vaughn nodded. In and out. I try to stop by and see him once a month. Sometimes he knows me. Del, whats this chatter about Kyle Thistles wife have to do with the murder of that gal?

Theres a strong possibility that whoever killed the girl also killed Virginia Thistle and remember Alyssa?

Vaughn scrunched up his face again and thought hard for several seconds. The one who sent you the Dear John note?

Right. Its very possible that she was a victim too.

Vaughn stared at me expressionless. What are you basing something like that on?

I filled him in on everything Quilla and I had theorized along with what Perry said about Chester Cobbs fixation on the Thistle case.

You telling me that Perry thinks Kyle Thistle killed all three of these women? said Vaughn.

He couldnt have killed Alyssa because when she disappeared he was in the mental institution. But Perrys not giving any credence to Alyssa being a victim. Hes giving a little to the possibility that Kyle or someone who lived here twenty-four years ago mightve killed Virginia Thistle and the girl in the mausoleum. What do you think, Vaughn? Is this stupid? Am I grasping at straws?

What do you feel in your bones?

That Alyssa and Virginia Thistle and maybe even more women met the same fate by the same hands.

Do you think all these other women are stashed away in mausoleums too?

Quilla brought that up. Maybe. Maybe not.

Theyd be very low risk hiding places. When I discovered the body that morning there were six other mausoleums that had been broken into? Remember? I nodded yes. Only bodies inside those mausoleums were the ones who were supposed to be there.

What are you getting at, Vaughn?

If theres one of them serial killers loose around here whos been bumping women off for twenty-four years, dont you think he wouldve hidden the rest of his victims in the same general area?

Maybe. But theres dozens of mausoleums at Elm Grove.

Ninety-four to be exact.

So he couldve hidden bodies in any of them.

Not really. Most of them are impenetrable without the proper equipment. Unlike most products manufactured in this country, a mausoleum is built to last and that means once its sealed, getting into it isnt an easy proposition. As for the mausoleum where the girl was found, it was one of the oldest. Built on land thats been gradually deteriorating. Lots of tree roots in that Section have been unsettling the ground in that whole general area. And theres the drainage problem we had about ten years back when they were tearing down trees for that housing project a mile-and-a-half away. The seepage helped to dislodge the foundation of a bunch of mausoleums. Thats how the killer was able to get in. One or two loose bricks is all it takes. When I was Head Groundskeeper I always tried to keep on the lookout for deterioration. Wed fix any problem right away. And I know for a fact that since Altons been running things, hes just as conscientious as me.

By the way, Perry thinks of Alton as a suspect.

What?

Evidently Chester took a dislike to Alton when he came to town. Perry did some checking and it seems Alton moved here a year or so before Virginia Thistle disappeared. And he wouldve been here in all the years since but most of all, Perry claims Altons got a criminal record. Did you know about that when you hired him?

Shit, Del, of course I knew about it. How the hell do you think Chester found out?

You told him?

Only to ease Chesters mind. Whenever I hired a new gravedigger Chester got suspicious. Like most everybody else in the world, anybody who digs graves for a living has to be a psycho of some kind or another. Damn! Im disappointed in Perry for thinking like that. Alton is good people. And he wouldnt be dumb enough to hide a body where he works. Vaughn looked at his watch, then glanced out the window to the left of the front entrance. Theres Alton. I better go. He continued talking as we went out the front door and walked to Altons car.

One more thing Del: I dont believe youll find another body in any mausoleum. In that Section alone there are twelve mausoleums. Seven of em got broken into before the punks stumbled onto the girls body. Odds are the killer wouldve hidden at least one of his other victims in one of them. My guess is that he hid her there as a fluke. I cant tell you why. Its just something I feel in my old bones.

So the bodies are hidden somewhere else?

I dont know if hidden is the right word. Anything couldve happened to the other bodies if there are other bodies. We stopped a few feet from the car. As for Alyssa, I remember how you felt when she broke off with you. You pined for her so bad it was enough to make a person cry. But I dont ever remember you saying anything about her being murdered or kidnapped. So now, for you to dredge this all up and start to thinking she was killed by some mass murderer it doesnt make sense to me. Are you sure?

Like you always say, Vaughn I feel it in my bones.



Chapter 20

The last person left the afternoon viewing at a little before four. I was able to grab a couple of hours sleep before the evening viewing, which ran smoothly despite the constant influx of visitors.

I manned the front door and Clint handled the side entrance. I disliked large turnouts because of the problems of moving people and providing enough parking. Big crowds cost us money. I had to hire someone to supervise the comings and goings in the parking lot. On the other hand, the more people who came to pay their respects meant a less depressing two hours for the deceaseds family. One of the most heart-wrenching sights is three or four people sitting in a Viewing Room, alone with their thoughts and regrets.

Tyler stayed around for fifteen minutes to go over the logistics of the burial the next morning. It would be fairly standard, apart from the large crowd that was expected. Those who would be attending the funeral would arrive at the Home at 9:30 for the closing of the coffin. A procession would then drive the half-mile to Saint Richards Catholic Church for a requiem Mass, then head out to Elm Cross cemetery for the interment. The only difference between this and most other funerals would be the length of the procession. If theyre lucky, most people have four or five cars go to the cemetery. Tyler guessed that Alphonse would have three dozen.

As it turned out, there were thirty-eight cars and the most difficult part of the morning was keeping the procession together as it wound from the Home to the church to the cemetery. As always, I remained at gravesite until the burial was complete. From there I went to Nicolas, an Italian restaurant in Dankworth that Tyler rented to receive visitors after the burial. There were so many people it was easy to get lost in the crowd. I seldom attended these gatherings, even if I knew the deceased or the family well. I thought of myself as a reminder of death and I felt strongly that the last time the survivors should see me was at the cemetery. The healing had to start immediately.

After about ten minutes I left and went back to the Home only to find Perry sitting in his cruiser. As I parked he got out and approached me.

Lets have a little chat. He was arrying the box of Brandy Parker memorabilia that Quilla had given him.

Ive spent the last few hours going over this crap. Nothing more than the silly ramblings of a teenage girl. I hoped her notebooks might reveal something, ya know, but the stuff Brandy Parker wrote was ordinary things like Kenny didnt call me. Its been ten days. I wonder whats wrong. Or I decided to stop wearing underwear when I go out at night. And there were some sections where she went into explicit detail about her sexual adventures.

Did she mention any names?

Not really. A first name. Like, Bob wanted to screw me in the parking lot at K-Mart. Corny stuff. Stupid stuff. There was a lot of pages devoted to her feelings. The notebooks cover about four years. She died at nineteen, so she started writing in them at, say, fifteen. And the early stuff is random. Unfocused. One page will have references to ten different things. Music. Clothes. TV shows. Boys. Loneliness. Insomnia. Shell talk about a teacher who she hates on one page. Then five months later, she has a crush on the same guy. In the last few months she seemed to change.

How so?

This might be the only thing I have to go on. He picked up one of the journals and turned to a page he had marked. Its almost like a different person, but its definitely the same handwriting. Instead of describing guys she went out with or things she wanted to do she becomes serious, talking about self-esteem and being a worthwhile person and not being a victim anymore. She uses words like entitlement and expressions like making a contribution in the world. Its like she suddenly found religion.

It wasnt religion. What she found was Kyle Thistles daughter. Anything else?

Thats it. Its all gonna come down to Gretchen Yearwood. Perry sat down roughly in the Queen Anne style chair in front of my desk.

And if she cant give you anything to go on?

Then Im flying blind. But I did have a notion about your girlfriend. If she didnt send you the note and the postcard, obviously the killer did, right?

Right.

So the killer had to know that you and the girl were involved and where you lived. Which leads me to believe that he was extremely thorough or that he knew one or both of you. And on a strictly gut feeling, he probably knew you.

Why me?

If he knew her theres a good chance he knew she broke up with you so there wouldnt have been a reason for her to drop you a line. But if he knew you and didnt know that youd been dumpedlogic dictates hed cover his tracks by sending the note. He leaned back in the chair, looking proud of himself. When it happened fifteen years ago were you working at Hendersons yet?

I nodded yes. Part-time stuff. But by the time Alyssa left I was on my way to being an apprentice.

But you were there. Learning the ropes, right?

Yes.

Perry reached into his shirt pocket and unfolded a sheet of paper which he held out to me. It was the list of the names of employees at Elm Grove cemetery and DiGregorios and Hendersons Funeral Homes whom he considered possible cemetery buffs and suspects.

How many of these people did you know back then? Perry asked as he handed me the list.

I scanned it for a few seconds. Over time I came to know them well. But I didnt really get to know most of them until after college and I was Lews Assistant. Obviously, everyone at Hendersons. At DiGregorios I knew Tyler, Alphonse and Wilt Ging. Vaughn was the only person I knew at the cemetery then.

Who knew you were dating with Alyssa Kirkland?

I had to think for a few seconds. Tyler, definitely.

Interesting. Tyler knows cemeteries. Tyler knew your girlfriend. Tylers the first one to show up at the Funeral Home where Brandy Parker is laid out.

He came to see me, not her.

He couldve called. And why did he come when he did?

Youre way off base on this, Perry.

Well see, he said. Who else knew about Alyssa?

Its hard to remember. Lew mightve known I had a girlfriend, but I dont think I ever wouldve discussed it with him. Same with Nolan. They were grown men. If we talked it was about sports or the business.

But you mightve let it drop that you had a girlfriend. Or you and Alyssa were seen together. Its not inconceivable that Nolan or Lew knew you were dating someone.

You cant possibly think either one of them could be the 

Hell, if your theory about the same person killing all three women holds water, Lew and Nolan are old enough to be responsible for all deaths.

Thats just crazy, Perry. Why would either one ?

Dont waste your time asking why? Del. My father used to say that there is no why for some crimes. Guy robs a bank for money. Guy steals food to eat. Woman kills her husband for insurance money. Guy murders his wife because shes cheating on him. Those are solid, definite whys. Then there are the crimes of impulse. Guy doesnt need money, but he robs a liquor store for laughs. Kid from a good family decides to sell drugs for kicks. Guy slaps his girlfriend around one punch too many. Then theres the crimes where a cop or a District Attorney scratches his head from here to Timbuktu looking for a reason. A motive. And there isnt one. Give me a motive why somebody killed Brandy Parker.

I cant.

Give me a motive why someone killed or kidnapped and killed Virginia Thistle.

I cant.

Give me a motive why Alphonse Digregorio or Lew Henderson or Nolan Fowler or Wilt Ging or Alton Held or Tyler DiGregorio would have killed Alyssa Kirkland.

I cant.

Neither can I. Lets narrow the odds. Tyler couldve, understand me, could have killed Brandy Parker and Alyssa Kirkland, but he wouldve been too young to have done in Virginia Thistle. So well leave him out of this scenario. But Nolan and Lew and to make it interesting Kyle Thistle couldve killed his wife and Brandy Parker. But he was locked up in the nuthouse when Alyssa disappeared. But Nolan and Lew and just for laughs, lets say Alphonse who knew you indirectly because you were friends with Tyler and just to make it really interesting, lets put Wilt Ging into the mix because as Chief Embalmer at DiGregorios, he mightve known you only because of your friendship with Tyler.

Where are you going with this, Perry?

The point being that those men were all in Dankworth when Virginia Thistle disappeared. And of the people you knew fifteen years ago when Alyssa Kirkland vanished, Lew, Nolan, Alphonse, Wilt and Alton couldve known that she was your girlfriend. They all were certainly around nine years ago and each of them knew enough about the layout of that fucking cemetery to know where to hide a body.

Wrong! Not Nolan and Wilt. Embalmers dont go to cemeteries. I cant speak for Wilt, but Id bet you a thousand dollars that Nolan Fowler doesnt know anything about the layout of Elm Grove or any other cemetery. In all the years Ive been associated with Hendersons Funeral Home, with the exception of a handful of burials, if that, Nolan never spent enough time at Elm Cross to be any kind of expert on the layout of the grounds.

Fine. But Lew has. And Alphonse. And Alton works there, for Gods sake. And you dont know if Wilt Ging is a cemetery buff. And, frankly, you dont know what Nolan does in his spare time or what he did in his spare time fifteen years ago. He mightve been a cemetery buff back then.

Perry was confusing me. I wasnt sure if he was playing mind games with me like he usually tried to do or if he was genuinely trying to communicate to me from the point of view of a cop stumped by a difficult case.

Is being a cemetery buff a lifelong hobby for people?

For some.

Ive been interested in some things all my life, other things I get tired of after a year. Some things six months. I have to weigh all kinds of facts and information. It sounds nice to theorize that the same person was responsible for what happened to these three women, but when you think hard about itits just too remote. Ill grant you its possible, but its not probable. Thats why I have to focus on the facts I have. And the biggest fact I have the body of Brandy Parker. If I had the remains of Alyssa Kirkland or Virginia Thistle, then Id say your theory has one hundred percent credibility. But I have to go with what Ive got. And as of this moment, its all in Gretchen Yearwoods court. And if she cant give me something new to go on its over.

Shes already given you something, Perry. Shes the only person connected to both Virginia Thistle and Brandy Parker.

Perry took in the remark. I take it that you and the kid have already talked to her? I nodded yes. Save me some time. Did she say anything that I can work with?

Not much.

Then thats it. Theres nothing except theories. I met with Greg and Wendell to pick their brains. We sat down like lawyers trying to come up with logical scenarios of who, what, where, why and how.

He removed two sheets of paper, folded in half, from his jacket pocket and unfolded them. This is a printout of the fifty-six names you and the kid got from the headstones by the mausoleum. We poured over them, looking for a link. Abbreviations. A big chunk of people from Europe settled here. Lots of them changed their names. We considered that the killer uses the shortened surname of his ancestors. He handed me the page. Of the fifty-six names, eleven couldve been trimmed down or Americanized. I made a separate list of those. Take a look.

I looked at the paper, my eyes going to the short list:



Norbyer

Uvorelli

Friskenacht

Suinneur

Oberfuolner

Bastaad

Ruddigger

Wachtmannfried

Viteurhoven

Kogarun

Puillifert


None rings even the remotest bell for me, I said. In my head Im trying to make anagrams out of them.

We tried that too. Nothing. I even ran them through the computer to find variations on the names. Made it even worse. Came up with seventy-six weird-sounding names.

I examined the longer list of conventional names hoping to find one that I could place with the face of someone alive in Dankworth today. There were none, other than a few common English and Irish surnames.

Listen, Del, Im not Sherlock-fucking-Holmes. Theres no bodies. No weapons. No evidence of any kind. Ive read enough and talked to enough cops to know that cases get solved either through plodding, detailed, painstaking work or dumb luck. Just like it was a fluke that Brandy Parkers body was discovered, itll be the same kind of chance event thatll put an end to this. When I dont know.

Just like its taken twenty-four years for something to solve the Virginia Thistle case? I snapped. Or fifteen years for something to solve the Alyssa Kirkland case?

You want me to go forward? Give me more than hunches and heartache. Give me something real. He walked to the door. Give me something I can hold in my hands. He stepped out of my office.

He left the printout of names of people buried near the mausoleum and the box containing Brandy Parkers things behind. I picked up the printout and studied the names again. Not one looked even remotely familiar.

I spent the next five hours going through Brandy Parkers things. I examined everything in the box, reading the notebooks, looking at the pictures, grasping for something that would offer a clue. There was nothing. I was beginning to understand Perrys frustration. I knew he was right about finding something solid to work with, but I also knew he was right about dumb luck playing an important part. Either way would take time.

I wanted to call Quilla. It had been two days since shed left me standing in front of the Police Station. I wanted to see if shed calmed down, as well as to tell her about my latest visit from Perry. Plus, I had Brandys things. Even if Quilla had made up her mind to stay angry at me forever, I wanted to get them back to her. I decided to be the adult and give her a call.

Suzanne Worthington answered with an abrupt, Quilla?

No. Its Del Coltrane.

Have you seen or talked to Quilla today? There was an edge to her voice. Or yesterday?

No. Is something wrong?

Quilla hasnt been home for the last two nights, she said gravely. Sometimes she stays away for one night if weve had an argument, but she always comes back the next day only we didnt have an argument two days ago. Since the funeral, weve actually been very decent to one another. Im extremely concerned. Shes been obsessing on finding my sisters killer. And she mentioned a connection with her friend Gretchens mother and someone you knew. At first I thought it was too unbelievable to give any credibility to, but now Im wondering if it could be true. I cant believe Im saying this, but could the same man be after her?

The question gave me the chills. Why would you think that?

My sister vanished off the face of the earth, she snapped. I think I have a right to ask the question. Quilla wasnt the only one to suspect that something awful happened to her. I just chose to focus on the easier solution: that she ran away. But a small part of me feared the worst. Since Brandys disappearance Ive spent every day dreading that the same thing might happen to Quilla. Shes run away in the past. You cant imagine what that did to me. And shes stayed out all night without warning me. Going on forty-eight hours without knowing where your child is can be hell. For the last two days Ive been asking myself if my worry is premature. Should I call her friends? They would lie to protect her. Should I call the police? What good would it do. So Ive been waiting wondering and I dont know who to turn to.

Where was she going the last time you saw her?

I dont know. She doesnt tell me her plans. She comes and goes. Sometimes Im here. Sometimes Im not. I often work long hours. My worst fear is that the person who killed my sister has indeed gotten hold of Quilla.

That didnt make any sense to me, but I knew enough about life not to assume anything. That seems unlikely, Mrs. Worthington. There are so few people who know of Quillas passion for solving the murder me, Perry Cobb, Gretchen Yearwood, the two other men on the Dankworth Police force.

Quilla told me about it. Who else did she tell? And who else did the others tell? Who else did you tell? I tried to remember. Besides Gretchen, there was Vaughn and Nolan. I trusted each of them implicitly.

Mrs. Worthington, if you feel in your heart, if your mothers intuition is sending you a message, I think you need to call the police and tell them Quillas been gone for the last two days. Ill be happy to put a call into Perry Cobb and, if you like, Ill call Gretchen Yearwood unless youve already contacted her.

Ive been reluctant to call anyone. Quilla has run away before.

Call the police now. Ill see what I can do. And if she shows up, call me.

Definitely.

We both hung up. I wasnt sure if I should be concerned or if Quilla was acting out because of a fight with her mother that Suzanne hadnt told me about. Or was it the fight with me? I decided to call Gretchen before I called Perry. She picked up after the first ring.

Gretchen, its Del.

I dont believe it, she said her tone friendly. I was just about to call you.

Why?

To apologize for my hostility the other day. I know you meant well with the information you had and I know that youre in as much of a quandary about the whereabouts of your girlfriend as I am about my mother, but what you said was all so unexpected and, well, I felt badly after you left and Im calling to tell you Im sorry.

Thats not necessary. Theres no easy way to give or receive horrible information. Im hoping that Im wrong about your mother and Alyssa.

Ever since I heard your and Quillas theory Ive been forcing myself to give it some consideration despite my misgivings. Quilla told me a few more of hers, a couple of which I find interesting. I was thinking that the three of us should put our heads together.

Thats a great idea, but we may have a problem. Whens the last time you saw Quilla?

When you two were here. But I talked to her yesterday.

She hasnt been home for two nights. I just spoke to her mother. Shes petrified that somebody has Quilla.

Somebody who?

The killer.

My God. I still cant acclimate myself to thinking in these concepts. Why would the killer want Quilla?

Her mother thinks it might be to stop her. Maybe she stumbled onto something and mentioned it to the wrong person. Do you know how to reach any of her friends?

I know some of their names. I could call them.

Let me help. If its not a bad time, I could come over. We could call her friends together.

Fine.

Ill be there in a few minutes.

As I threw on some fresh clothes, I shook my head, frustrated at the mixed emotions I was feeling. I was concerned that something had happened to Quilla, yet I was glad that I would be spending some time with Gretchen.


* * *

As I pulled into Gretchens driveway the headlights on my car bounced off the front of her house revealing for a second a figure sitting on the front steps. I thought it was Kyle Thistle, but it was Gretchen.

Hi, Del! she said as she stood up. I felt as if I was picking her up for a date. Lets go inside.

I followed her into the foyer and down a hallway whose walls were covered with a dozen or so framed photographs. She wore black jeans, a light blue denim workshirt and was barefoot. She had very small, delicate feet. Her toenails werent polished.

Since we hung up I made a list of the names of her friends that I remember. Shes got quite a few.

A bunch showed up at the Funeral Home, I said.

The night we met? said Gretchen sweetly.

Yes. Ive talked to one of them. Viper.

I already phoned him. No answer. These kids probably all have their own phones. Some are under their parents names. Some are unlisted. With a little luck we might make contact with a few and through, them, the others.

We reached the kitchen. The scent of cinnamon and baked apples was in the air. She gestured to the table. Make yourself comfortable. A freshly baked pie was in the center of the table. As I sat down I noticed that she had the telephone directory spread out on the table. Next to it was a yellow legal pad with several names scribbled in pencil.

Do you want to call or look up numbers? she asked.

Do these kids know you? She nodded yes. Then you call. It might not be too productive when they learn the town Funeral Director is on the line.

Gretchen smiled. Alright, she said. Lets go.

It took us about twenty-five minutes to find and dial the numbers that were available. Of the eleven names that Gretchen could remember, we managed to reach six and through them we got five more names, as well as the numbers we couldnt find. But not one of the kids we reached even knew that Quilla was missing. Two girls had seen her yesterday and both claimed to have talked to her briefly, each saying that Quilla told them she was investigating her Aunts murder. After reaching the last of the names, we continued to dial Vipers number, still getting his Voicemail.

When you talked to Quilla yesterday did she have anything specific to say? I said.

She had another hypothesis about the killer. It was difficult for her to tell me because she knows how strongly I feel that my mother is still alive. But in the interest of helping I was willing to suspend my disbelief. She brought up the notion that  assuming someone murdered my mother  is there any guarantee that she was his first victim?

I never thought of that.

Quillas point is that whos to say my mother wasnt his third victim? Or tenth? And that your girlfriend and Brandy came later.

That would mean hes an old man now.

Not necessarily, she said. If he started his killing at, for discussion sake, age twenty-one. If he killed my mother he would only be forty-six. If he started even younger, say when he was in high school, hed be in his early forties. On the other hand, if he started at thirty, with my mother, hed be fifty-four. And as for him being an old man, lets say an older man, if he started killing when he was thirty and the first victim was ten years before my mother, hed only be in his mid-sixties. Everything hinges on when the killer began. If he was twenty-one and started fifty years ago, then were talking an elderly man. But if my mother was the first and he was anywhere from twenty-one to, lets be generous and say forty, then it could be someone from his mid-forties to mid-sixties. The upshot of all this, Del, is that Perry Cobb needs to do some checking beyond my mothers disappearance and since Brandys murder nine years ago. Despite the fact that I still believe my mother is alive, Im willing to confront him and demand that he re-open her case solely for the purpose of bringing some peace of mind to Quilla and you.

If she gets it Ill be happy.

After all this time, you should too. Its only fair.

I shrugged. She looked at me with an odd expression, almost one of disapproval. Your ambivalence surprises me. Ive been getting the impression that finding out what happened to Alyssa has been uppermost on your mind for years, like me with my mother. Now you shrug your shoulders?

You know how there are people who bury their emotions and hide their true feelings? Gretchen nodded yes. Well, Im one of them. I dont like to get too hopeful or excited about things. Like the old saying: never complain, never explain. I keep a comfortable balance.

Ive found that impossible to do since I grew up, she said sternly. Life keeps hitting me in the face. It took me a long time to learn that hiding doesnt work. It only fends off the inevitable. Every time I decide to lock myself away from the worldthe world comes and drags me back. Like now. The person Im probably closest to in the world is missing and might be in trouble and, as much as Id like to be tucked in bed reading a book, I have to do something to find her. She ran her fingers through her hair and simultaneously took a deep breath. Should we notify Perry Cobb about Quillas idea?

I shook my head no. Hes up to his ass in theories. He needs something tangible.

Thats how it was with the detectives I hired to find my mother. Give me something to go on theyd all say. Anything. Id get so frustrated. They were the detectives, but they wanted me to do all the preliminary work.

What did you do?

Read every word I could find on her disappearance. Tried to talk to people who knew her, but it was next to impossible. I was so young when she disappeared and I didnt start to seriously take action until I was in my late teens. The police seemed disinterested. No one remembered. Not even my father.

You asked him about her disappearance?

Of course I did. Constantly. But when he was institutionalized they beat him. Whatever memories he had got knocked out of his brain. I hardly knew him as a little girl. I was fifteen when he got out. It was like talking to a stranger. He barely remembered me. He didnt even live with me until I finished college and I had a little money. When his time was up they put him in a halfway house in Youngstown for six months. Then he lived in a rooming house and got a job as a night clerk at a third-rate hotel. If I wouldnt have bought this house and brought him here to live with me he would either be dead or wandering the streets of Youngstown. As far as information about my mother or what happened to her hes pretty useless. I used to show him pictures of her to try and trigger his memory but nothing worked. Sometimes I find him gazing at her picture. I wonder if hes doing it because a glint of memory has kicked in or if hes trying to force himself to remember. What he does say sometimes is how pretty she is. Hell be staring at her picture and just say, Very pretty or So pretty or variations on that. I keep pictures of her all over the house with the hope that it might spark his memory, but it hasnt. Would you like to see her picture?

Yes. Id enjoy that.

Gretchen stepped into the hallway we had passed through earlier and returned a few seconds later carrying a framed photograph which she handed to me. It was an 8 x 10 color print of a gorgeous brunette who bore an amazing resemblance to a young Kathleen Turner.

This is she, said Gretchen. This is my mother.

Shes gorgeous. No. Beautiful.

It was taken on her thirtieth birthday.

Thirtieth? I thought to myself. She looks more like twenty. To Gretchen, I said, She looks much younger.

I know. She smiled. The handful of people I talked to who knew her all remarked about how young she looked. Everyone thought she was in high school. She was still getting carded at bars into her thirties.

This could be important, I said. My heart began to pound. Gretchen looked at me, a confused look on her face. This could be what Perry needs to dig deeper.

Why?

He and I were looking for similarities with Brandy, Alyssa and your mom. But the one thing that didnt fit was your mothers age. Brandy and Alyssa were both nineteen. Perry had your mothers age listed at thirty-two when she disappeared. We assumed that because Brandy and Alyssa were young, the killer wouldnt have gone after someone older.

Therefore no pattern.

Right. But since she appeared so youthful the killer mustve assumed she was ten years younger.

Are you thinking he went after women who resembled each other? Because my mother and Brandy looked nothing alike.

Alyssa didnt look like them either. It just seems that they all were young-looking and attractive. Red or brown hair. Shapely. Did your mom have a nice figure?

Yes.

So did Alyssa.

This area is filled with hundreds of young, attractive women with dark hair and nice bodies. Why would he single out these three? And there could be more victims. Before, during and after.

Lets not concern ourselves with that. I want to tell Perry about your mothers youthful appearance.

As I reached for the phone Gretchen put her arms on the table and rested her head on them. She began to sob.

Oh God, she moaned. If theres anything to this theory I dont know if I can handle it.



Chapter 21

I dialed the Dankworth Police Station. Lucy picked up immediately. Dankworth Police. I need to talk to Perry. You know where he is?

Probably at home. Ill patch you in.

Within seconds Perry was answering his phone.

Its Del, I said. I just found out some key information about the case.

Glad somebody has. He sounded depressed and tired.

Im at Gretchen Yearwooods. Weve pinpointed the pattern youve been looking for.

And what pattern is that?

The age of the victims. Brandy Parker and Alyssa were both nineteen. But Virginia Thistle was thirty-two.

Right. So?

But she looked nineteen. There was a long pause on Perrys end. He was thinking and that was good. If it was the same person killing these women he went after a certain age. And I want to add another wrinkle to the pattern. I looked at Gretchen. Imagine for a minute that Virginia Thistle wasnt the first victim. I waited a few seconds to let this sink in. And imagine that the same guy has killed after Brandy and before Alyssa.

Alright. Im imagining all this crap, but what am I supposed to do about a cold, hard fact or two?

Perry, maybe you can find one or two facts by going over all the missing person reports of girls in their late teens or early twenties for the last thirty years.

If I do that and I find nothingthen what?

ThenJesus, Perry, do you always have to be so negative? I dont know.

Youre Goddamn right you dont know. But you think you know and its real easy to keep dropping these little tidbits on me. I want to see the picture of Virginia Thistle. Get your buns to the station. Im going there now. He slammed down the phone.

As I hung up Gretchens phone I said, He wants to see the photograph of your mother. Can I borrow it?

Sure. She handed the framed photo to me. What about Quilla? Should we be worried or not?

I dont know. For now, maybe you should call her friends back in case she contacted any of them. And keep on trying Viper. She nodded yes. Id better go, Gretchen.

Ill walk you to your car.

As we passed through the hallway that gave entranceway to the kitchen, I noticed the empty space on the wall where the picture I held in my right hand had hung. Despite the seriousness of what had transpired during the last few minutes, I felt an urge to connect with Gretchen on a different level. Something personal. It seemed obscene for me to ask her to go out, considering how Quillas disappearing had brought us together, but I had to say something.

This is so odd.

How do you mean? she asked.

Were surrounded by death and sadness and long term grief andhad we met under different circumstances I wouldve asked you out for dinner or a drink by nowbut considering the forces that brought us togethereven thinking about doing something normal seems tasteless.

Id like to have dinner with you, she said warmly as we stepped outside and walked to my car.

Maybe once we know Quillas safe we can pick a night?

Sounds good. She opened the drivers side door of my car, then smiled awkwardly. Since we met it seems that all weve done is talk about secrets family and personal. Virtually everythings out in the open. And maybe thats good. There wont be any skeletons in our closets. I nodded in agreement. Thats why I have to ask you this, Del: you were a kid when Alyssa vanished. Now youre a grown man. After all these years are you still in love with her?

Quilla asked me that too. And Ive thought about it a lot the last couple days. I think Im in love with the promise of what I lost. Its like my mother always loved James Dean. And he died so youngsomething like twenty-four. All thats left of him are three movies. You watch them and you wonder what he wouldve accomplished if hed lived. When I think about Alyssa its the same thing.

An incompleteness?

Yeah.

I dont think youre ever going to be complete until you find out what happened. She sighed. Me neither. Until then, were damaged goods. Maybe we wont be all that good for each other.

Were all a package deal, I said.

She smiled. You better scoot on out of here.

Yeah. I got into the car. She closed the door. I should warn you that Funeral Directors social lives are a lot like doctors. If I get a call during dinner

Im flexible, she said. Good-night, Del.

Good-night.

I started the car and backed out, my headlights flashing on Gretchen for a fleeting moment. As I pulled away I beeped the horn. She waved back, a brilliant smile on her face. As I drove away, thinking of Gretchen, I realized that I hadnt felt this happy in years. As I thought about Quilla, I realized I hadnt felt this sad in years.


* * *

I had never been in the Dankworth Police Station at night. Oscar was sitting at the dispatchers desk, reading a Field & Stream and listening to an oldies station. Lyin Eyes by the Eagles was just ending. Oscar waved me over and quietly said, What gives? Perry never comes in at night.

Why did he say he was here?

He didnt. He just snarled at me and went into his office. On the other hand, he snarls at me most of the time. I laughed. Why are you here, Del?

Im helping Perry out on something, Oscar.

Oscar nodded and went back to his magazine as I walked to Perrys office. The door was closed. I knocked on it twice. From inside Perry snarled, Come in.

I opened the door. Perry was at the computer, typing. He was out of uniform, wearing a Cleveland Indians T-shirt. Sit down. Want something? I have beer. Coke. Some other shit.

Nothing, thanks. I sat down.

He didnt look up from the monitor for about thirty seconds. It was as if I werent there. I was getting upset, so I said, What are you doing?

What you asked me. Searching through thirty-plus years of missing person reports for young broads.

I couldnt believe he was acting so fast.

Hold on. Im printing something out. He sat back in his chair. His eyes fell to the framed photograph of Virginia Thistle on my lap. Lemme see the picture. I handed it to him. He stared at it for several seconds. This was taken when she was thirty?

Yes.

Ill be damned. If you told me she was in tenth grade Id believe you. He set the frame on his desk, then removed a sheet of paper from the printer. He put it next to another sheet of paper on his desk. Did a printout of all the missing person cases from ten years before Virginia Thistle disappeared until three months ago. Then I broke it down to females in their late teens and early twenties. And for what its worth, besides your girlfriend and Brandy Parker, there were two other names who fit a pattern. He picked up one of the sheets of paper on his desk and read from it. Linda Helfer and Connie Birch. Ones twenty, the others seventeen. Linda Helfer vanished two-and-a-half years ago and Connie Birch disappeared nineteen years ago. He returned the piece of paper to his pocket. Now, this isnt a pattern thats neat and clean, but if you look at the timetable starting with Virginia Thistle twenty-four years ago and ending with Connie Birch two-and-a-half years backit seems that every four or five years a young or in Virginia Thistles case, young-looking girl disappears. He leaned back in the chair.

But you dont know if these two other girls have been heard from since?

Theres no record of their parents contacting us to say that they came home. Im gonna be contacting the families or at least trying to. Odds are the one from two-and-a-half years back will still have people here, but the one from nineteen years agoI dont know. You know how people are around here. You either stay here awhile, then goor you never leavelike us.

Things are finally starting to fall in place, Perry.

So? Wheres it gonna get me? What started out as an almost impossible task trying to solve one murder, is turning into an even more impossible job trying to solve two, three, four and maybe even five additional murders. Ive been thinking that if I failed at getting to the bottom of Brandy Parkers death people would be understanding, considering that so much time had passed since her death. But nowif word gets out that theres been some kind of serial killer around here all these yearsIll have to deal with something even bigger.

What?

Id hate like hell to have it come out that all these other women were done in while my dad was Chief.

People arent gonna blame anybodywhether you get results or not.

Youre dreaming, Coffin Boy. If somebody doesnt get nailed for Brandy Parker, they could let it by. But if it gets out that all these other girls mightve been killed by the same guytheyre gonna get on my tail. Ill never live it down and my father goes to his grave in disgrace. Shit!

Dont you think youre being a little premature in your doom? See what you can learn about the two new girls you found. Maybe theyre both alive and well. And maybe Alyssa is too. And so might Virginia Thistle.

He sneered as he said, Oh, now youre having a change of heart? Now nobodys been killed but Brandy Parker? All this crap about other victims started because of you!

Im just trying to be supportive, Perry. I know youre frustrated. I feel sorry for you.

I dont want your fucking pity! He stood up. I dont want anything from you.

You seemed to want some of the information I gave you.

Yeah, well, all your cemetery buff bullshit hasnt led me anywhere. I wish youd never brought it up. Id have been a helluva lot better off. Im beginning to think that whoever put Brandy Parkers body in that mausoleum did it out of dumb luck. He suddenly turned off his computer. Heres what Im gonna do. First thing in the morning Im contacting the families of these two new girls. If theyre both alive and well Im not gonna give one second of time to the Thistles case or your old girlfriends. Im gonna do whatever more I can on Brandy Parker, then, Im gonna keep the case open and forget about it until the day comes when I or someone accidentally stumbles onto something that leads to a killer.

You want me to do anything more?

No.

Not even acting as a liaison between you and Quilla Worthington?

Just stay out of my way and keep doing what you do bestburying people. By the way, speaking of Quilla Worthington, her mother called in here. She hasnt come home for two nights. Disappearing must run in the family. Perry leaned back in his chair.

Shes been investigating the case herself.

Perry smirked. Right!

Maybe she accomplished what you couldnt.

What are you saying?

Maybe she found the killer and hes got her.

Bullshit.

You think you have problems now? If anything happens to that kid you might have six murders to account for. You talk about being disgraced in this town, let me tell you something, youll be tarred and feathered. I pointed to his computer. Its a good thing youre so adept on that thing. If Quilla stays vanished youll be spending the rest of your life making eight bucks an hour as a word processor.

I turned and left, nodding good-bye to Oscar in the outer office. As I headed back to the Home I wasnt sure how I felt. A part of me was relieved that I didnt have to be around Perry and think about the case. But another part made me wonder if Perry would half-ass his investigation and deny Quilla, Gretchen and I the closure we so desperately wanted.

It was close to midnight when I swung into the parking lot of the Home. I was surprised to see a vehicle parked in the lot. It was Vipers ancient VW bug. I pulled alongside it, got out of my car and looked inside. Viper was sleeping. I nudged his right calf a couple of times, waking him.

Hi, Mr. Coltrane, he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and sitting up.

Did you get my message? I asked. I assumed Gretchen had finally reached him and that hed come to see me.

What message?

From Gretchen.

I didnt get any message from anyone today. Our phone was out of order all day.

Then why are you here?

To pick up a magazine from Mr. Fowler. Yesterday, Quilla and I went to his house to get a bunch of em and

You saw Quilla yesterday?

In the afternoon. She went with me to Mr. Fowlers.

And she was okay?

Yeah. Why wouldnt she be? I cant believe I fell asleep. He glanced at his watch. WhoaIve been out here for three hours. Mind if I get out and stretch my legs?

Go ahead. He opened the door and got out. Quilla didnt come home last night or the night before and as of a couple hours ago, she hasnt been home tonight.

She stayed at my house night before last.

Why didnt she tell her mother?

We kind of got drunk and forgot. Shes mad at you.

Why?

Because you were giving up on finding the killer.

Did she stay at your house last night?

No.

Where could she have stayed?

He got a bemused look. She has a few other places to crash, but thats only when shes pissed at her mom. She said theyre getting along good since her Aunts funeral so she wouldnt have had a reason not to come home last night. Im starting to feel weird about this. In fact, I think Im gonna, like, pass out.

Suddenly, Viper fell into my arms. I picked him up and carried him inside, into my office where I placed him on the sofa. I took an ammonia pellet from a drawer and opened it under his nose. He regained consciousness instantly.

Wow, he said, sniffling and coughing as he sat up. He looked around the office. Howd I get in here?

You fainted. Are you alright?

Yeah. Fainting. Its like, such a chick thing. Would you promise not to tell anyone, especially Quilla?

Promise. When was the last time you saw Quilla?

He paused for a few seconds, scratching his head and scrunching up his forehead. We went to Mr. Fowlers to get the mortician magazines he wanted me to look at. We stayed there about ten minutes. No. Wait. Thats wrong. We went to Mr. Fowlers after we went out to the cemetery.

What were you doing at the cemetery?

Checking out gravestones. By the thing where her Aunts body was found. Quilla said you and she went up there at night and checked em out, but she felt you guys mightve missed something because of the dark. Shes got this idea that nobodyll be able to solve her Aunts murder except her, so shes putting a package together to give to a private detective she was gonna hire.

Whered you two go after you left the cemetery?

Her laptops broken so we went to my house and she typed the names in alphabetical order. There were a bunch.

I glanced at my desk and noticed the detailed printout of the names that Perry had given me when he showed up after Alphonses funeral. I reached for it. I was curious if they had managed to find some additional names that Quilla and I mightve missed.

Would you know how many names you two came up with? I asked as I held Perrys printout in my right hand. There were fifty-six names in two columns. Column A contained forty-five names that Perry labeled as Typical/Normal. Column B had the eleven oddly spelled foreign surnames that Perry felt could have been Americanized into shorter names.

Not off the top of my head, said Viper. He reached into his shirt pocket, removed a flash drive and glanced at my computer. I can plug this in and pull up the list for you.

You always carry a flash drive with you?

Its Quillas. Forgot to give it to her.

Viper inserted the flash drive into the back of my computer. Within seconds I was looking at the list of names hed typed up. They werent numbered, so I had to count. He stood behind me and counted, as well.

I get sixty-four names, I said.

I get sixty-three, said Viper.

Lets count together. We did. Viper was right.

You and Quilla found seven more names. Tell you what  I handed him my list. Thats in alphabetical order too. You read the names from it and Ill check them off on the computer screen.

This has two separate lists of names, he said.

Read the longer one first.

No problem.

It took us only a few minutes to find the additional names. All seven were common and none rang a bell for me.

Whats this other list? asked Viper.

Foreign names that mightve been shortened to sound more American.

Viper glanced at the list. Some of these are really strange-sounding. And I thought having to go through life with a name like Petrovitch was bad.

He laughed. I did too.

Wait a minute, he said. This one name He stared at the sheet of paper. I could swear I saw this

What? Which name?

The fifth one from the top. He handed me the list.

Oberfuolner? You know this name?

I saw it.

Where?

Viper closed his eyes and again scratched his head and scrunched up his face for several seconds, then a huge smile flashed across his face. Ah! Yesterday. At Mr. Fowlers.

Nolans?

It was over his fireplace. Hanging on the wall. It was one of those things. People with ancestors who go way back have them. Family uhfamily somethings.

Family crests?

Yeah! That name was part of a design with a couple of Crossed swords and some other stuff on it, but I remember the name because it was so weird-looking.

I looked at the name again: Oberfuolner. I froze.

What does it mean, Mr. Coltrane?

Its either the biggest coincidence of my life or it means that somebody Ive known since I was your age killed Quillas Aunt not to mention a couple of others. But more importantly, he may have Quilla.

Viper stared at me. His face serious, concerned. Angry. I looked at Oberfuolner again and imagined it without the first four letters.

F-u-o-l-n-e-r

To myself I said, Is this the Americanized version of Fowler?

Tell me everything you and Quilla talked about with Nolan when you were at his house yesterday.

Well uh mainly about me wanting to get into mortician business. Then Quilla talked about some of the ideas she had about who the killer was. He looked up at me with compassion. She told us about how your old girlfriend might be a victim. Sorry.

Did she say that in front of Nolan?

She said everything in front of Mr. Fowler.

Did he say anything?

He just listened.

Then you guys left?

Yeah. Well, I meanI did. Quilla stayed.

I wanted to throw up. Why?

I had to go to my job. I work for my Uncle. Petrovitch Heating and Cooling.

Why did Quilla stay behind?

Nolan wanted to talk more about some of her ideas. He was very interested and said he wanted to help.

Jesus. I stood up and walked out of my office. Viper followed, saying, Where are you going?

To Nolan Fowlers.

Im coming too.

No. Stay here. If I dont call you in forty-five minutes call Perry Cobb and tell him to go straight to Nolan Fowlers house. Tell him I said Nolan is the guy.

Got it, said Viper. Mr. Coltrane? Are there any bodies in here now?

One.

Is there anybody else in here? Anybody alive?

Just you.

I watched him gulp. There was fear in his eyes.

Dont panic, I said. Itll be good practice if you get into the business.



Chapter 22

As I sped to Nolans I found myself torn.

A part of me still viewed this as a terrible coincidence. I knew Nolan too long to let so little evidence make me think that he could be capable of harming anyone, let alone murdering someone. I wanted to call Perry and let him know that his Americanized list mightve hit paydirt, but I felt that after eighteen years of working together, I owed Nolan the benefit of the doubt and the chance to explain. On the other hand, what if Nolan was involved in the killings? Or just Brandy Parkers? Or what if he had done something to Quilla? If I confronted him what would he do to me?

I tried to figure out how to handle the situation. I couldnt just show up at Nolans door and say I was in the neighborhood. Id never even been to his house. The only reason I knew his address was from preparing his W-2 tax forms all these years. If Nolan was guilty and he saw me approaching he would have time to prepare. And if he wasnt guilty and he let me in and I presented him with this extreme coincidence of his familys original surname being on a grave near the mausoleum where Brandy Parker was found, how would it make him feel to know that I thought he might be a killer?

It would hurt him deeply. He had little enough human contact and I was one of the few. If he was innocent how would it affect our working relationship? And what would Lew Henderson have to say about it? Lew liked me a lot, looked at me as if I were a son, probably was going to hand over the business to me when he finally had enough. But he and Nolan went back thirty-five years. There was a history there and the loyalty that goes with three-and-a-half decades of almost daily contact. Lew would find himself in the middle. He would have to take a side and I wasnt sure it would be me.

I decided that the best way to deal with the situation was to not confront Nolan directly. I felt that if I could obtain more evidence it might be easier. I decided that before I did anything I needed to see the family crest Viper told me about. To do this I would have to make sure that Nolan wasnt around, assuming he was home in the first place. Maybe Viper was wrong about the spelling of the name. Maybe it wasnt an actual family crest. Maybe it was something Nolan picked up at a flea market.

I called Nolan. I wondered if hed be awake. The clock on the dashboard said 12:15 a.m. After the first ring he answered with an overly friendly, Hello? It was as if he were waiting for the call.

I hung up. I would wait until I got to his street, then call again, only this time I would pretend to be calling from the Home. I would tell him we had a body coming in and that he needed to get there right away. When he pulled out of his driveway I would make my move.

I got to Nolans street which was actually an unpaved, dirt and stone road without streetlights or sidewalks. It was in Dankworths oldest and least upscale neighhorhood. Although the houses were smallish and run down, the lots were surprisingly large with at least thirty yards separating the home from its neighbors. Nolans was the last one on the right. He liked to say he lived on a cul de sac, but it was really a dead end. His was a tract house, circa pre-World War II, which was almost an exact replica of the house I lived in when my mother and I came to Dankworth: a living room, dining room, kitchen and two small bedrooms on the first floor, an unfinished second floor and a basement. I knew from past conversations that Nelson was very adept at carpentry and that hed renovated his basement and attic. As I approached Nolans house I observed that the front and back had several tall shade trees and that the house itself was surrounded by thick, elaborate shrubbery.

Four houses down from Nolans I noticed a For Sale sign in the front yard of a house that clearly had no one living in it. The seller had timer lights on in the living room and upstairs bedrooms. It would suit my purpose well. I dialed Nolans number again, only this time I didnt hang up.

Hello? he said.

Its Del. Did I wake you?

Nah. I was watching TCM.

Im gonna have to ask you to come in. Got a body on its way. Guy just called. Wants the full deal with a quickie viewing tomorrow night.

Im leaving in five minutes, he said, then hung up.

I pulled into the driveway of the house that was for sale, bringing my car up to the side entrance. I turned off the engine and lights. I had a decent view of Nolans place. Five minutes later, like clockwork, Nolan backed out of his driveway and motored down the dark street.

The drive to Nolans house took me twelve minutes, so unless he knew a shortcut I assumed it would take him the same amount of time to get to the Home. I would figure out a way of explaining why I sent him on this wild goose chase later. When his tail lights dissolved out of sight I started to pull out of the driveway, but I decided that it would be smarter to leave the car here, out of sight. I got out and walked over to Nolans property. Most of the surrounding houses had the lights off, so I was able to move along in the dark without any of Nolans neighbors noticing me.

Fortunately, Nolan left lights on in the living room and kitchen. I snuck up to the bay window in the living room and looked in. By craning my neck I could definitely see the crest with the name Oberfuolner displayed prominently.

Now what?

I suddenly began to question what I was hoping to accomplish. If Nolan was the killer and if he had Quilla, why did I think he would have her here at his home? And why would he have her? To kill her too? And if he did have her, what had he done with her? Was he holding her hostage for some reason? Had he already killed her? And where would he have hidden the body? This last question was unsettling because it forced me to remember that the killer had done a masterful job of hiding bodies, so he could dispose of Quilla just as effectively.

Standing outside Nolans living room window looking inside made me feel stupid. That I was even considering these thoughts struck me as insane, almost laughable. Nolan Fowler couldnt hurt anyone. I wanted to leave, but the fact that Viper said he and Quilla were here yesterday lingered in my head. If Nolan was indeed the killer maybe he had let something slip and Quilla had picked up on it or he sensed that she was a loose cannon and could jeopardize his cover. Despite the fact that I was leaning more in favor of Nolan being innocent I knew I had to keep checking to see if Quilla were here, which meant going inside and looking around.

Getting in wouldnt be a problem. Because Nolan lived by himself he had a phobic fear of dying alone at home and not having his body discovered soon enough to prevent decomposition. Hed worked on his share of single, divorced and widowed people who died in their sleep or keeled over in their basements, only to lie there undiscovered for days and weeks at a time. What was left of the bodies, as Nolan liked to say, Looked nasty and smelled like four day old catfish.

Once I began working at Hendersons, Nolan had made a point of emphasizing that he was extremely prompt and if he was a few hours late for work there was a good chance he had died at home and that I or Lew or Clint was to drive straight to his house and check on him. He kept duplicate keys in a fake, hollowed out rock behind the central air conditioning compressor which was located amidst some shrubs next to the rear door to the house.

I crept along his driveway, then went around back looking for the compressor, but couldnt see it, partly because of the dark and also because it was hidden by a fifteen foot long row of shrubbery. As I made my way through the shrubs I could hear the soft hum the unit. For a second I wondered why he had the air conditioning on at such a late hour on such a cool October night.

When I got to the compressor, which was behind the fifth shrub in from the driveway, I felt around the back, looking for the fake rock with the keys. There was nothing, except smooth dirt and a few twigs. With my foot I felt around the entire perimeter of the unit and still found nothing, but as I was about to get down and feel around my left hip bumped into something solid that I knew wasnt the next shrub.

It was a second air conditioning compressor. Before I had time to ask myself why Nolan had two units to keep such a small house cool, I reached down and immediately found the rock with the keys. I opened it and one Medico key was inside. It would open the back door, which was a few shrubs from where I was standing.

The door opened easily. I stood in a small landing with three steps leading up to the kitchen and a stairway to the basement. I went to the kitchen. It was smallish and neat with a breakfast nook. The appliances looked old. Directly through the kitchen was a dining room with a table, buffet table and hutch, and through it was the living room with an old comfortable-looking couch. I stared at the Oberfuolner name on the crest hoping that up close it would be spelled differently than the headstone at the cemetery. It wasnt. The crests design was two Crossed swords resting on a laurel wreath with the name of a city and country: Landkern, Germany.

The mantle and fireplace wall were also filled with a dozen or so framed photographs, two of which I was in. I looked closely at the photos, most were of Nolan at various stages in his life. I assumed they were with his parents and grandparents and perhaps even great grandparents. The photos of me were all with Lew. I was about nineteen in one, about twenty-five in the other. There was also a picture of Nolan as a young man with an attractive young woman. They were dressed up. I guessed it was his wedding picture.

Off to the left side of the house was a bathroom and two bedrooms, one of which Nolan used as a den. There was a small desk with a computer, 40 High Def TV, DVD player and stereo system that looked years old. There were more record albums than CDs. The bedroom had a queen-sized bed and a dresser. The entire house was furnished not so much in a bachelor-like manner, but it sent off a vibe that it needed a womans touch.

The physical appearance of the inside of Nolans home was so normal, so ordinary that I was at a loss for words. There were no unusual smells except possibly cleanliness. I knew that Nolan was finicky about keeping the Embalming Room spotless so it stood to reason that he would be a neat freak about his residence. Nothing struck me as unusual. If Nolan had indeed taken Quilla I couldnt see or hear anything that suggested her presence. There were no signs of a struggle. I didnt see blood or broken furniture or weapons or knives.

Although I was beginning to feel ill at ease being in the house, I decided that since I was there I might as well check the upstairs. Because of the design of the house, to get to the stairs that led to the second floor, I had to go through Nolans den. Just like in the house I grew up in there was also a door that led to the attic.

I turned the doorknob, but the door was locked. I was curious enough to wonder why it was locked, but the overriding feeling I had was guilt for suspecting Nolan of being a killer when the only thing he was guilty of was having the same last name as that on an old headstone.

I tried the door a few more times to see if it was stuck, but it was definitely locked. I didnt know what to do. I wasnt about to knock it down and I didnt know how to pick a lock, so I decided to leave. This had been a moronic idea. Nolan wasnt exactly my friend, but he was an acquaintance and a co-worker and we had a history that had to stand for something. If I made good time I could get to the Home in fifteen minutes. Nolan would beat me there and I would have to come up with a lie about where I was and where the body Id told him about was.

I moved quickly out of the den and through the small hallway that led to the dining room. It wasnt until I was passing through the dining room that I realized I was sweating, dripping wet, actually. For a second I attributed it to my nervousness at breaking into Nolans home, but then I remembered that one of the air conditioning compressors outside was on.

Then why was I so hot?

For the first time since Id entered the house I realized that the entire first floor wasnt cooled at all. It was normal October weather outdoors and the temperature inside reflected that.

So what was being kept cool?

I decided to check the basement. I went to the stairs and flipped on the light. It was divided into two sections, the first serving as what could best be described as a giant workshop. My first reaction was that it looked like the set of a handyman show on TV. Professional-looking carpentry tools of all kinds hung neatly on the walls in pegboards. Wood was piled in a corner. The smell of sawdust permeated the air. Paint cans, opened and never used, were on a five feet high metal shelving unit. There was a long workbench against one wall and a smaller worktable in the center of the room. Two types of electric saws were in another corner.

I poked my head into the second section of the basement and found the utility sink, washer and dryer. I was about to leave when the smell of the sawdust was overtaken in my nose by the faint smell of something else, an aroma that I had lived with virtually every day of my adult life.

Formaldehyde.

It was coming from somewhere in the utility room. I flipped on the light, getting a clearer view of the washer and dryer. Other than a couple boxes of detergent and large can of bleach placed neatly on a shelf next to the washer, the small area was empty. I stepped inside, sniffing the air, following the smell which led me to another door on the far side of the washing machine. The door was secured by a bolt from the outside. I opened it and before I even stepped inside felt the full force of the formaldehyde.

I reached my hand to the wall and flipped on the light only to discover that I was in an Embalming Room. My heart started to pound. It wasnt as spacious or sophisticated as the Embalming Room at the Home or in most of the embalming rooms Id seen. There was only one embalming table and instead of a large utility sink, the one in here was much smaller. But all the tools of an embalmer were there.

What Nolan was doing with an embalming room in his basement I didnt know, but what I saw on the walls caused me even more concern.

There were a couple of dozen articles dealing with the preservation of bodies, including several on Eva Peron. I checked them out quickly. Some were yellowed with age, others seemed newer. I could tell by the color and texture of the pages that some had originally appeared in newspapers, while others had been in magazines, undoubtedly embalmer trade publications. Like everything else in Nolans house, the room was spotless and orderly. And again, like every other room Id been in, the temperature wasnt cooled. The only place I hadnt seen was the attic. And even though the door was locked, I was determined to get inside.

I felt in my bones that the innocence or guilt of Nolan had something to do with whatever was in that room.



Chapter 23

I headed up stairs, knowing I would have to break down the locked door. I got to it, shook the doorknob again, hoping that maybe it wasnt really locked.

But it was. Using my right shoulder as a battering ram, I slammed against the door several times. It wouldnt budge. I was sweating even more now. And panicking. Id forgotten to keep track of the time. I wasnt sure if Nolan would have reached the Home by now. If he did and didnt find me there I wasnt sure if he would wait. I pounded against the door several more times. Nothing. And not only was I getting out of breath, but my shoulder was starting to hurt. I lay on the floor on my back and, using the bottoms of my feet, tried to kick open the door.

Again, nothing.

I sat up and leaned against the wall facing the door, breathing hard, feeling nervous and scared and still filled with the shred of doubt that this was all a mistake and that Nolan would not only be hurt but angry at me. I was actually seriously trying to break down his door. What would I say if when I got up there I found nothing except junk that belonged in an attic? Or what if he had paintings or artwork or something that needed climate control? And what if hed turned on the air conditioning accidentally?

Moreover, what was I looking for? What did I think he would have up there? I was getting more confused, but something inside told me that I had to get into that attic, if for no other reason than to appease my curiosity.

I stood up, took several deep breaths and was again about to try slamming into the door when I saw it nestled precariously on the top rim of the door.

A key.

I grabbed it and slid it into the lock. It opened easily. The moment I stepped through it and started up the stairs I felt the coolness of an air-conditioned room. I ran my hand along the wall, looking for a light switch, but found none. The only light available to me as I moved up the stairs was from the den and the further I went the dimmer it got. By the time I reached the top of the stairs it was virtually pitch black and I still hadnt found a light switch. I decided to move around the room. Maybe I would find a lamp.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I tried to find a window, but I found none. I moved slowly, hands outstretched like a blind man.

I bumped into what I thought was a wood table, about waist high. I moved a foot or so to the right expecting to go around the table, but it was still there. I moved to the left, again giving myself enough space to go around the table, but it was still there. It was odd because I was in the middle of the room and a table that seemed to be about seven feet long was blocking my way. Not wanting to knock it over I lifted my hand and raised it a few inches over the table to see if there was a lamp or a knick-knack that I would make sure to avoid knocking off.

Thats when I felt what I thought was the face of a doll. Cold, not so much wooden, but like Formica or plastic. I ran my right hand over the contours of the dolls face, clearly feeling the nose, lips, eyes, cheeks and chin. But what didnt seem normal was the size of the face. It seemed too big to be the head of a little girls doll.

It seemed life-size. And it seemed to be setting neatly on this unusually long table. Not setting. Lying horizontally. And not on something, but in something.

I ran my hand from the chin to the chest, gently sliding over a pair of life-sized breasts. I pulled back my hand because the horrible truth was beginning to dawn on me.

It wasnt a doll. And it wasnt a table. It was a coffin. And the body was that of a full grown woman.

I knew there had to be a light somewhere, so I backed away, my heart pounding, sweat forming on my brow despite the coolness of the room. I wasnt sure if I would vomit or pass out from the fear that was growing in the pit of my stomach.

I stepped backwards toward the stairs, feeling more carefully on the wall for a switch. After grasping frantically I finally found it and quickly flipped it on. Although only a soft, pink glow came from the track lighting on the ceiling, my eyes took a moment to adjust to the light.

Then I saw them.

Five coffins, about ten feet apart, containing the bodies of five women. It took me a few seconds to comprehend what I was seeing. As I moved slowly back towards the first coffin, the one Id bumped into, I saw that it was handmade, undoubtedly the work of Nolan in his basement workshop.

I stepped up and gazed at the face I had touched. She looked about nineteen or twenty. Very pretty. Dark brown hair. Had I not touched her face moments ago, had she been laid out in a Viewing Room at a Funeral Home I would have assumed she had died recently, maybe the day before, and that she had been embalmed either that same day or even today. But from touching her face, non-pliant and firm, I knew she couldve been dead for weeks or months. Even years.

I turned to the four other corpses in the room. I had a fairly good idea who I was going to find inside at least one of them. I started to shake as I approached the next coffin. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before looking down. I hoped I wouldnt be staring down into the face of the only woman Id ever loved.

It wasnt Alyssa. Again, I didnt recognize this face either, but she was in her late teens or early twenties and her hair was a lighter brown than the first woman. Could she and the first girl been the two names Perry had pinpointed on his computer search?

I moved to the next one, again holding my breath. This one I recognized. It was Virginia Thistle. Because I knew she was thirty-two when she vanished twenty-four years ago it was easy to calculate that she would be fifty-six, but she looked seventeen. I wanted to cry for Gretchen, but before I would shed any tears for her, I needed to know if Alyssa was in this room too.

The next one I also recognized, but only because I had just seen her picture hanging on the wall next to Nolans family crest. It was Nolans wife, Patricia. She looked older than the others, perhaps twenty-five.

I moved to the last coffin. I was shaking, my teeth were chattering. I hadnt laid eyes on Alyssa Kirkland in fifteen years. I hoped to the God I had stopped believing in years ago that it wouldnt be her. I would rather know she was alive and out of my reach, than to see her dead.

I looked down.

It was as if time had stood still. Her face looked pure and unblemished. Her brown hair, longer than she used to wear it, was spread out across her shoulders. The oversized freckle on the tip of her slightly upturned nose was still there. Nolan had managed to shape her lips into the ironic pout I had found so cute. I wanted to touch her, but I knew that what I would be feeling wouldnt be the warm flesh Id once kissed. It wouldnt even be the freshly embalmed corpse still pliant. It would be like touching a piece of plastic.

I couldnt bear to do that. So I just stared. And cried.

Closure, I thought to myself. Is that what this is? I finally found out what happened to her, but it wasnt over. I knew who, but before I got closure I needed to know why. As I stared at Alyssas face, truly looking as if she were sleeping, my thoughts turned to the only person I could help at this stage: Quilla.

I wondered if Nolan had gotten to her yet.

Go ahead and touch her, said Nolan, his voice causing me to almost jump out of my shoes.

I turned around. He had a gun in his hand, pointed at my head. I wanted to kill him so bad I was shaking.

Her cheeks just had a treatment, lets see three days ago. Alyssas day at the beauty shop is Tuesday.

You sonofabitch! I screamed.

Dont go screaming so late, Del. Its late. The girls are sleeping.

Do you have Quilla?

Dont worry about her. He shook his head back. Boy oh boy, Del. Imagine my surprise when I come in the house and find the back door open. I figure Im being broken into. Im saying to myself that its a good thing I had to come back for my glasses, Im gonna nail the burglar. And imagine my surprise when I hear footsteps upstairs. He shook his head again. And how do you think I felt when I saw its you.

Where do you have Quilla?

Shes sleeping now.

Where? I looked all over the house.

Right in here, said Nolan calmly. By the way, Del, put your hands in the air. I know you probably hate me right now and would like to kill me, but I dont want to kill you up here and make a mess. The girls like neatness and beauty. So, raise your hands slowly.

I did what he told me, then with the gun still pointed at my head he walked to a door in the corner of the room with a deadbolt, undid it and turned on the light to reveal a tiny room with bed in it.

Go ahead, Nolan said, stepping back from the doorway. Move slowly. Take a look. Im not a mean person.

I walked to the doorway of the room and looked inside. Sleeping on a single bed was Quilla. She was tied to the bed with two leather straps. She breathed evenly. I detected a slight snore. I guessed that Nolan had her drugged.

Whats the deal, Nolan, is she next? I asked.

Shes not here to get away from her folks. Nolan laughed. Alright, lets go. Downstairs. Cmon.

Why? I stood my ground.

Why what?

Why Quilla? Why Alyssa? Why all of them? Jesus. Your wife?

Howd you know she was my wife?

I saw her picture on the fireplace. Why, Nolan?

With regard to Patricia, it was a matter of not wanting her to leave me. No matter how much I begged her to stay, she wouldnt, so one night I got this crazy idea and, well, there was never anymore talk from her again about leaving me. He turned off the light in the room Quilla was in, then closed the door. Theres no sense dragging this out, Del. Move.

Nolan nudged me in the back with his gun, almost knocking me down the stairs. Why is she in that room?

Shes too skinny. Needs some fattening up. The best preservation is done with bodies who have some meat on them. Thats why Ive always had such a hard time making them damn anorexics look good. I never kill them right away. I want them to look just right when they die, especially their faces, since thats the area of the body Im primarily interested in. The girls I pick usually need to be a tad fleshier, considering all the experimentation and work I do on their faces, so I fatten them up a little.

I was getting sick to my stomach as we walked through the den, into the dining room, then past the kitchen and out the back door, but I was compelled to keep asking questions.

Wasnt it taking a big risk to leave them alive? Didnt they try to escape?

Theyre not alive for long. A week tops. And I let them think I wont be hurting them. A real trust thing happens quickly. By the time theyre ready to die I think its fair to say weve bonded. And when they die they feel no pain. I give them an injection. Puts them to sleep. Thats when I begin the embalming.

Tell me you wait until theyre dead.

He shook his head. Del, you know from basic embalming classes that the ideal body state for more perfect preservation is as soon after death as possible. Keep walking.

I cant see, I said. Its pitch black out here.

Your eyes will adjust in a few seconds. Move in a straight line. Theres nothing in my back yard to bump into.

Where are you taking me?

Youve got to die, Del. The words stung. I was feeling scared in a way Id never experienced before. He had murdered five women and was ready to kill a sixth. I knew he would have no qualms about killing me.

You could do this to me, Nolan, after all these years?

This really pains me, Del, because I like you a lot. This might sound corny, but you were like a son to me. I enjoyed teaching you the trade when you first started with us. But you know the truth now. What I am supposed to do, let you live if you promise you wont tell?

I said nothing. The only thing running through my head was how he was going to do it. How? I asked.

Hold on a second, he said as we stopped by a small shed about twenty yards from the rear of his house. I assumed it was where he kept his power mower. Open the door. I tugged at the door and it creaked open. Now step back and get down on the ground spread-eagled. I did. Quickly, Nolan reached into the shed and came back with a shovel. Alright. Get up and keep walking.

What are you gonna do with the shovel, Nolan?

Im not gonna do anything with it. But youre gonna dig a hole, then youre gonna lay in it, then Im gonna cover you up.

Youre gonna bury me alive?

Hell no. Thatd be cruel. Youll be dead before the first pile of dirt gets dumped on you. Veer to the left.



Chapter 24

I veered to the left. My eyes were now adjusted to the dark. Whether Nolan lived on a cul de sac or a dead end, what concerned me most was the gully about fifty yards behind his house that we were headed to. If his plan was to kill me and hide my body in a shallow grave in the gully he could rest assured I would never be found.

Are there any other bodies buried back here, Nolan? People who stumbled onto your little secret?

Matter of fact, there are two.

My God, I thought to myself.

Two girls who didnt work out. One from about eight or nine years ago, and another from, oh, about fifteen.

The time frame piqued my interest.

You killed Alyssa fifteen years ago, I said. Why did you need another girl?

Alyssa was my second choice. The first one was sick. I didnt know it until I started working on her.

She was going to be dead because you were gonna kill her. So what if she was sick?

I wanted perfection. Keeping a body a long time means starting with a body in perfect condition. Thats why I never went for the older ones.

What about Brandy Parker? Why didnt you bury her in the gully with the other two?

That was a miscalculation, he said. Once a year, on the anniversary of the death of my great grandfather, Angus Oberfuolner, I go to the cemetery to pay respects, just as my father and his father did. Nine years ago it was Brandy Parkers misfortune to be there on the day I went. She had come to the cemetery to make tracings of old headstones. Somehow she had made her way to the Section where my familys plot is located. She was there, making a tracing, when I arrived. At first, the idea of her being my next challenge hadnt even entered my mind. I was at the cemetery to do my annual duty. It was something that I took seriously. Id been mulling over the fact that finding another girl was something I had to start thinking about againand that meant planning. When you kidnap someone it has to be thought out for weeks, sometimes months in advance. Why do you think I was able to get away with taking Virginia and Alyssa and the others? Planning, Del. Meticulous planning. With Brandy Parker I acted spontaneously, but only because everything seemed to be in my favoreverything fell into place.

How do you mean?

To kidnap someone there cant be any trace of them. Their families have to be convinced that they ran away. Its easy to dispose of purses and handbags and such, but what do you do with a car? Every woman I ever took was kidnapped when they were in a situation where they had left their home or place of work on foot.

What did it matter?

I didnt have to worry about disposing of their vehicles. That, more than anything, was what made me act so quickly with Brandy Parker. In the few minutes we spent talking she let it slip that shed been in an accident and that her car had been totaled. As yet, she hadnt gotten a new one. She was hitchhiking everywhere. Guess what, Del? She hitchhiked to the cemetery that day. Hearing that, I began formulating a plan. I knew she was there alone. Not a soul was near us. I could knock her out, put her in the trunk of my car and have her home in fifteen minutes.

What went wrong?

Knocking her out was easy. From all my years working on bodies I knew the exact location of the right nerves to hitlike when you see people in movies render someone unconscious with the touch of a hand. She was out like a light and didnt even know what hit her. It was while I was about to pick her up and carry her to my car that I saw it.

What?

She had a hideous scar on her face. As he pointed at the right side of his face the photograph Id seen of Brandy flashed before my eyes.

So?

I didnt want to work with a built-in imperfection. Maintaining the bodies for perpetual preservation was difficult enough. I didnt want to have to work on a body with such a problematic scar.

That still doesnt tell me why you had to kill her.

I had no choice. If I left her there unconscious she wouldve come to and known who I was. Sooner or later she mightve seen me. She had to die. I thought about putting her in the car and bringing her back here and putting her in the ground in the gully, but it was daytime and I didnt like doing my dirty work in the daylight. I had to think fast, so I dragged her body behind one of the mausoleumsonly for the purpose of figuring out what to do. It was while I was behind that mausoleum that I noticed one of the bricks in the back was loose. I loosened it some more, then loosened another and another until there was a big enough space for me to slide the body inside. Before I did it, I took one of the bricks and hit her on the head. Again, because of my knowledge of the body, I knew exactly where to place the blow. For what its worth, she was unconscious when I hit her so she didnt feel a thing.

When we reached the edge of the gully I stopped and looked down. It sloped at an incline that would be easy to walk up or down on and was filled with wild weeds, grass and an occasional shrub. Now where? I asked.

Down. Just keep moving.

So you started with your wife, I said. Why all the others?

Its kind of like dating, Del. You go out with one girl for awhile and you get tired of her, so you find someone else. That was part of it. The other part was the challenge of preservation. Over the years thereve been such advancements in chemicals and whatnot I decided to try different experiments in the treatments. I know this isnt going to make you feel any better, but Ive been keeping a detailed journal of all my experiments obviously not to be released to the world until after my death, but I wanted some good to come out of this, other than my own personal pleasure and satisfaction. To the left past this tree coming up.

Why Alyssa, Nolan?

She was perfect. I would see you with her around town. I couldnt wait to get at her. Imagine, to preserve that kind of beauty forever.

So you sent the letter and the postcard.

Yes. But she wrote them. It was her handwriting. All part of the plan. I mailed them when I was out of town at conventions. It had to look like she had run off.

That was a mistake, Nolan. What you didnt know is that Alyssa ended our relationship. He looked at me with an odd expression. I was too embarrassed to tell you or Lew. The letter came three weeks after she dumped me. It never made sense as to why she wouldve sent it.

No matter, said Nolan. But Im glad you told me this. I dont feel as bad now. She was already out of your life.

Not really. Shes been in my heart ever since. I could never feel anything for another womanor trust one because I was afraid shed take off. You killed a part of me, Nolan. I feel like this is the second time I died.

What do you want me to say, Im sorry? You made a choice to hang on to a fantasy. You ruined your life, not me. Go past that tree stump.

What kind of pleasure did you get doing this for all these years? Jesus, Nolan.

You have every right to ask that question, Del. But when you look at the nature of our business, especially my end of it, there isnt much difference between a beautiful young woman if shes alive and sleeping or dead and appears to be sleeping. Over the years, Ive come to think of myself as a man with five wives who never grow old and fat, who never cheat on me or talk back or make me hate myself. My women never go out and buy expensive dresses or run up credit cards or get wrapped up in their own careers. My wives stay home. I always know where they are. Okay. Stop here. Turn around.

Nolan handed me the shovel.

Start digging, Del.



Chapter 25

The dirt piled high and thick upon me. The deafening silence of the grave was all I had left. I heard the pounding sounds of what was unmistakably the shovel smoothing out the dirt three feet above me. He was done.

I knew it would only be a matter of seconds before whatever air was filtering through the dirt and somehow making its way into my lungs would stop. I didnt understand why I was still breathing, but I didnt waste a moment dwelling on it. In his mind, I was dead or would be shortly.

I wondered if he was getting nervous or anxious about getting caught, or if he had enough of a conscience to feel any sadness or guilt over what he had done. But there was no time to waste on what was going on in his mind. Breathing was uppermost in mine.

My nose was now completely plugged with dirt. I knew that trying to inhale one more time would be foolish. I also knew that my only chance to keep breathing would be to somehow get the duct tape off of my mouth and there was only one way to accomplish that. I would have to chew through it from the inside and Id have to do it fast. The problem was getting my teeth in a position in which they could start tearing away. To accomplish this I had to use my tongue as if it were a crowbar, pushing against the tape and trying to make enough of an indentation for my teeth to have a shot.

I couldnt do that. He had applied the tape so tightly that I couldnt even force my lips apart. This time for sure I thought death would come and something inside of me welcomed it. I was tired of fighting. But some other mechanism within, maybe the survivor instinct we all have locked away, wouldnt let me give up. Almost as if it had a will of its own, my right arm began to lift its way up through the dirt that was still being shoveled onto me.

It inched along slowly. Too slowly. I wanted to help it along, but I was petrified that any kind of sudden movement might disrupt the manner in which the dirt was settling. My lungs ached. I strained for air. There was none left. I could feel myself blacking out. My arm made its way from my side to my lower abdomen, then in jerky, half-inch-at-a-time movements that made me feel like a mime, across my stomach and chest, up to my mouth where my fingers took over and with an unsteady motion carefully peeled back enough tape to enable me to breathe, barely.

I was careful not to open my mouth completely. Before I did, I turned my head to the left, hoping there would be less of a chance for dirt to slip in. I didnt waste a second wondering if it was safe to breathe. I just did it. And I was alright. Where seconds before I was welcoming death, I suddenly welcomed life, even if only for the next few minutes. Or seconds.

I felt something on my right cheek. It was moving slowly. Something small and round. And cold. Not so much cold, butwet. And it was moving, noslithering at a painstakingly slow pace across my skin. It didnt take long for me to realize that it was a worm.

A grub. Probably no bigger than a nickel. I wasnt even dead and the elements were already after me.

There were two overriding questions on my mind: would I have the strength to dig my way out and, if I so, how long should I wait before trying? What if Nolan was still there?

I knew that the longer I waited the greater the risk that the air filtering through the dirt to my nose would be cut off. My only hope was to get out fast and the only way to accomplish this was to muster up every ounce of strength and in one frenzied effort, dig my way out.

I raised my right hand and began clawing. I could feel some of the dirt that was on top of me slide under my back, creating a kind of cushion. The sensation was much like being buried in the sand. If I hadnt been so weakened from the beating hed given me, I mightve had a better chance. And if there was more air I mightve had the strength to give it a couple of more shots.

But Id been in the ground too long. The air was gone, the dirt was too heavy and even though it was less than three feet from the surface of the grave, it was too far to go. So I stayed there, giving up, knowing this was it, feeling horrible that I couldnt do anything to help Quilla, feeling somewhat relieved to know what had happened to Alyssa, but nauseated at the way she had died. My thoughts turned to Gretchen. She would go on searching for the mother who had indeed been killed twenty-four years ago. I quickly calculated in my head that Gretchens house in Croybridge was about a ten minute drive from Nolans.

I closed my eyes. I felt myself blacking out. Alyssas face flashed before my eyes for a moment, then Gretchens. As I lay dying, my last thought was of Gretchen and what might have been. Once again I had only the promise to hold on to. Then I heard a muffled voice and the unmistakable sound of dirt being moved.

Im coming! said the voice, which I couldnt place. Im coming!

Suddenly I felt a slight wisp of air on my face. I breathed in. Then another. I breathed in again. Then another and another and another and the voice became clearer and I was able to recognize it.



Chapter 26

You okay, Mr. Coltrane? said Viper as he reached his hand into the grave and pulled me out.

You look like shit, said another voice that I placed instantly. It was Greg Hoxey. He was holding a flashlight, aiming the beam at me. I fell to the ground, breathing furiously. I couldnt get enough air. In-between breaths I managed to say to Greg, How did you get here?

Viper called me. Green dental floss dangled from the right corner of his mouth.

I looked at Viper. He shrugged and said, I know you told me to call Perry Cobb, but he scares me and I trust Greg, so I called him. I hope that was okay.

I turned to Greg. Its Nolan.

Whats Nolan?

He killed Brandy Parker and seven other women. And hes got Quilla. Hes gonna kill her next. Shes in the house. The attic.

Greg turned to Viper and said, You help Del. Ill handle Nolan. Viper nodded and Greg ran about ten yards.

Wait! I said. He stopped. Nolans got a gun.

So do I, said Greg, then took off again for the house. Viper took me by the arm and with great effort guided me up the incline of the gully as we started back to the house.

How did you find me?

I got scared being in the Funeral Parlor alone. You said you were going to Mr. Fowlers, so I figured that Id hook up with you here. When I got here and I couldnt see your car. I figured I had the wrong house so I walked over to a couple other houses and I saw your car and figured you parked it there for a reason, then while I was coming back to Mr. Fowlers house to look for you I saw his car pull in his yard. The next thing I know youre coming outta his house and hes pointing a gun at you, so I kept following. I watched him make you dig the hole. I remembered Quilla saying you had a cellular phone in your car, so I got it and called Greg.

You saved my life, Viper. I owe you, man.

Thanks. Think Gregll be able to handle Mr. Fowler alright?

I was about to say, I dont know when a shot rang out from inside Nolans house. Viper and I looked at each other. Then another shot cut through the night air. Working on adrenaline I stumbled as fast as I could to the house. Viper wanted to go in. I told him not to, then said, Call 911. Itll hook you up with the dispatcher at the police station. Hell call Perry.

Viper took off. I sat down on the grass in the dark, wondering who had fired the shots, hoping that Greg would either be leading Nolan outside at gunpoint or coming by himself with the news that Nolan had been shot. By now my breathing was back to normal, but my body ached with excruciating pain and cold numbness. I brushed away the clumps of dirt clinging to my clothes and face. As I was doing so I heard a grunting noise coming from the house. I slid a few feet further away from the rear door, trying to get totally out of sight. Within a few seconds Nolan came out of the house, carrying Gregs lifeless body on his shoulder. Without hesitation he headed back towards the gully, no doubt to bury Greg alongside me. Nolan was walking at a steady pace, considering that a hundred and fifty pound man was on his shoulder. When he arrived at my grave he would go ballistic. To save Quilla and myself I would have to go in the house, get her and hope that Viper had reached Perry.

Again, reeling in all my strength, I stood up and dragged myself into the house, up the stairs and into the room with the bodies. Quilla was still asleep. I wondered what kind of drug hed given her. I untied the leather straps and tried to pick her up. Under normal conditions she would have been light, but in my battered state it was like lifting five hundred pounds. I would have to drag her out and down the stairs, which I proceeded to do.

Things went smoothly until we got to the back door. Just as I was about to open it I saw Nolan running across his back yard towards the house. He had discovered that Id gotten out of the grave. I thought about dragging Quilla back through the house and out the front door, but I knew I wouldnt have the energy. So I decided to go down into the basement and hide until the police arrived.

As gently as I could, I dragged Quilla down the basement stairs, past Nolans workshop and into the utility room. We hid in the corner by the washer and dryer. We waited.

Nolan yanked open the back door and ran inside and up the stairs to the second floor. The house was so old and creaky it was easy to hear the pounding of his footsteps even though we were in the basement. Within seconds, I heard them pounding down the stairs, stopping, probably to look in a room or behind something, then starting again.

I was beginning to wonder if coming down to the basement was a bad idea, but I had no choice. I was exhausted. It was the only place left to go. Overhead I could hear Nolans footsteps as he walked towards the basement. Then came the sound of his shoes walking tentatively down the basement steps. I knew he knew I was down here. I placed the sleeping Quilla as far behind the washer as possible, then covered her with a dirty towel I grabbed from a pile of laundry.

Del, I know youre here, he said. I dont know how you got out, but thats not important now. Whats important is that we bring this to an end. You have to die. And the girl has to die. The only difference is that she has a chance to avoid extinction like all my other girls. She may not be alive forever, but she can be here on earth forever young, forever beautiful.

Suddenly, Quilla moaned. It wasnt so much the sound of a person waking up, but the gentle noise of someone tossing in her sleep. But it was loud enough for Nolan to know that she was in here. And if she was in here, he knew I was too.

In a second, Nolan was standing in the utility room. He flipped on the light and saw me crouched in the corner. I was sure he didnt see Quilla tucked behind the washer.

Where is she? he snapped.

I looked over at Nolans makeshift embalming room. For some reason, I said, In there.

She better be. He waived the gun and gestured for me to go into the embalming room first. I did. He came in a few steps behind me. Where? he said.

Perry is on his way here right now. Youve already killed Greg. Perryll find the women. Its over. To kill me or Quilla is unnecessary. Even if you did, this sad, maudlin world youve made for yourself will end. If you let us gomaybeI mean, I dont know the lawbut maybe you can plead insanity and

Wheres the girl, Del!?! I want to work on her. Shell be the youngest yet. She has wonderful skin. Itll be my biggest challenge ever.

Nolan, weve known each other for so many years.

Shell be the last one. I promise. Im an artist. I

Quilla moaned again. Nolan turned around in the direction of the washer and dryer. I decided to take a chance and go for his gun. I dont know where my strength came from, but I leaped at him, knocking him over, causing the gun to tumble from his hand. Nolan fell on top of me, his fists flying wildly. I knocked him over. He scrambled towards the gun which was setting in a corner next to a container of formaldehyde. As Nolan crawled along the floor towards the gun, I stood up and frantically looked around the room for a weapon. Normally an embalmer has plenty of tools lying around, many with sharp edges, but here Nolan didnt use his skills on a daily basis, so there was nothing at hand.

But then I saw the one thing I could use hanging from a hook on the wall. The trocar. As I grabbed it off the hook I looked at the eight-inch needle. It was used strictly on dead people, but I knew it was capable of making someone dead too.

As Nolan grabbed the gun, he spun around and prepared to fire. I was too tired to raise the trocar over my head like a spear, so with it firmly in my right hand I rushed towards Nolan, sticking the needle in his chest. He winced in pain, fell against the embalming table, lowered the gun for an instant, then raised it and with an unsteady hand pointed it at me. He seemed ready to fall over. Without thinking, I yanked the trocar out of his chest and shoved it in him again, this time in the stomach. He cried out, then dropped the gun and grabbed me. We were almost face to face.

Del, he said lightly, as the life ebbed out of him. I dont expect your forgiveness.

You wont get it.

Im not entitled to it. But theres one thing I am entitled to. A proper burial. I deserve one. Wilt will work on my corpse. I want a big funeral. The works. Mahogany coffin. No expense spared. Theres a box of money in the closet up with the girls, probably fifteen thousand. Whatevers left give to Wilt. Bury me in my family plot at Elm Cross. The name is Oberfuolner. He coughed. And Del maybe some day youll find it in your heart to put some flowers on my grave.

He closed his eyes for a moment. His breathing was weak. I stared coldly at him as his eyes opened and said, Dont count on it.



Epilogue

There was a memorial service for Alyssa, Virginia Thistle, Patricia Fowler, the two other girls in the attic, as well as the two girls buried in the gully. They all were re-buried at Elm Grove except Alyssa. Her mother lived in California and had the body sent there.

I arranged for Tyler to handle everything. Gretchen picked a plot for her mother under a spruce tree on a hill overlooking one of the two duck ponds in Elm Grove.

Perry tried to communicate to his father that the Virginia Thistle case had been solved, but he wasnt sure if Chester had absorbed the information or not. Nolan only wounded Greg. He was considered a hero and was given a commendation by the Mayor of Dankworth. The excitement of the case motivated him to apply for a job with a big city police department. He has applications in to Youngstown, Cleveland and Dayton.

I promised Viper a job after he graduated from college. Hes already doing odd jobs at the Home. After Nolans death I was concerned about replacing him, but the problem solved itself because Clint decided that an embalmer/restoration man had far better hours than a Funeral Director, so with Cookies blessing he took the position.

Quilla has become something of a surrogate daughter for me. She comes around and we chat. She does most of the talking. I listen. Give her advice. I enjoy it.

Gretchen took the discovery of the bodies the hardest. Because shed spent so long believing her mother was still alive, the truth was nearly incomprehensible for her. She demanded from the District Attorney that he initiate proceedings to clear Kyle Thistles name in the murder of his wife.

Gretchen and I started going out. She has been trying to get me to reexamine my motives for being a Funeral Director. She thinks that, though its a necessary service, its a negative and personally non-productive way for me to make money. She says she isnt sure if she could be seriously involved with someone whos life is so totally wrapped up in death. I know I have solid people skills. Im giving what Gretchen said serious consideration, checking into careers in which I could utilize what Ive learned as a Funeral Director.

In the meantime, I still have to earn a living.

The phone in the Counseling Room is ringing. Someone has died or is about to. I have to answer it.

Hendersons Funeral Home. May I help you?


The End



About The Author

D.B. Gilles is the author of I Hate My Book Club, a comic novel about a dysfunctional book club. His non-fiction includes The Screenwriter Within, 2nd Edition, The Portable Film School and Youre Funny! Turn Your Sense of Humor Into A Lucrative New Career. Also a playwright, he has written numerous plays, most notably Mens Singles, The Girl Who Loved The Beatles, Sparkling Object and Inadmissible. He writes the screenwriting blog Screenwriters Rehab: For Screenwriters Who Cant Get Their Acts Together. He is a member of The Writers Guild of America and The Dramatists Guild.

Check out other books by D.B. Gilles at:

http://dbgillesbooks.blogspot.com/: http://dbgillesbooks.blogspot.com/

Contact D.B. Gilles directly at: dbgillescript@gmail.com

Follow D.B. on Twitter: @dbgilles



Copyright

Copyright 2012 by D.B. Gilles

Published by Black Mask Publishing

ISBN: 9781476004914

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If youre reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever including Internet usage, without written permission of the author.

Cover Design: Don DeMaio



Also by D.B.Gilles


Fiction

I Hate My Book Club


Non-Fiction

Screenwriters Rehab

For Screenwriters Who Cant

Get Their Acts Together

The Screenwriter Within:

New Strategies To Finish Your

Screenplay & Get A Deal

The Portable Film School

Youre Funny!

Turn Your Sense of Humor

into a Lucrative New Career


Plays

Inadmissible

Sparkling Object

Cash Flow

Mens Singles

The Legendary Stardust Boys

The Girl Who Loved the Beatles


Humor

W. The First 100 Days: A White House Journal

(with Sheldon Woodbury)





