D. Gilles - Colder Than Death

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

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

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

“He’ll meet you whenever you want?”

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

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

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

“Where will you be going?”

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

“Isn’t he in school?”

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

“I’ll call him after the service.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m staying !” she said adamantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“ Why ?” she said coolly.

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

“I guess.”

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

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

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

“So?”

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

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

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

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

“You tell me.”

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

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

“Why are you asking these questions about Gretchen?”

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

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

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

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

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

“That was a sneaky thing to do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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