D. Gilles - Colder Than Death

“‘How? You’re an old… older man. Isn’t it too late for you to have a destiny?’”

“‘Maybe. Maybe not. I’ve 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 you’d think. I don’t mean on a weekly or monthly or even a yearly basis. But in all my years here, I’d 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 don’t, so they stop after a couple of feet.’”

“‘But it’s not the same for ashes. It’s not like I’d be digging up my father’s body.’”

“‘True. But you would be invading the sanctity of your father’s memory. What happened here tonight is something we’ll have to take to our graves. Don’t think about it. Bury it deep inside. In the deepest, darkest spot in your soul. And if you’re ever gonna tell it to someone, make sure it’s someone who will benefit from hearing it. Otherwise there’ll be a curse on it.’”

“‘What kind of curse?’”

“‘Tell a secret made in a cemetery and you’re cursed for life. So’s the person you tell it to.’”

*****

I looked at Quilla. “And that’s what happened.”

“Creepy!” said Quilla. She paused for a moment. “Vaughn seems like a cool guy. I’m glad he’s the one who found Aunt Brandy’s body? He would have respect for her, wouldn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait a minute,” said Quilla, a concerned look suddenly engulfing her face. “The curse. Now I’m cursed. Vaughn said if you tell someone a secret made in a cemetery the person’s cursed for life. You told me and now I’ll 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 didn’t want to risk me telling even one person. So he took a chance and hoped that he would shut me up. That wouldn’t work with you. You need the truth.”

“You’re wrong there. A curse would’ve been enough to keep me quiet. I’m 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.

“I’ll 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 didn’t recognize most of the names. At least not the names of people I know living around here today. Or even since I’ve been here.”

Vaughn nodded. “You know if Perry’s making any headway?”

I shrugged. “Probably not. There’s so little to go on.”

“Too bad his Dad’s not handling the case. Chester might’ve done something. Perry means well, but he doesn’t have his old man’s instincts.”

I nodded in agreement, then looked at my watch. It was nearing ll:00. Despite Quilla’s 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.”

“I’ll see you then.”

I got back in the car. Quilla was counting the names we’d 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 Aunt’s killer and that she wanted to walk into Perry’s office loaded with as much information as possible.

“There are entire families buried in some of these graves,” she said. “Entire generations. There probably isn’t anyone left to visit the graves of these people.”

“Now or nine years ago?”

“Both. If there was anybody alive who’s related to these people he’d 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. We’ll give Perry the list. You never know what he can do with them.”

“The only thing he’ll do is stare at them. This was a wasted trip. The only good thing about it was hearing your story about Vaughn and your father’s 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 father’s 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 Parker’s possessions, I arranged to pick her up at her house at 10:45.

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.

“I’m a Virgo. A Virgo is never late.”

She smiled excitedly. “I’m a Virgo too! What day?”

“August thirtieth.”

“I’m 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 didn’t even tell her. Number two: even if I did all she’d do is give me grief about it.”

“Can I assume she doesn’t know you’re cutting school?”

“You can assume anything you like. I get good grades. I might look like a fuck-up, but I’m a card carrying member of the National Honor Society.” She cleared her throat. “I’m glad you’re gonna be with me. Whattya think will happen?”

“He’ll probably ask you questions. If he doesn’t ask you the right questions, you’ll 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. You’re either gonna help him and pump him up or you’re gonna turn him off. Be nice. Be friendly. Behave in any other way and you’ll lose him and he’ll stick the case in an unsolved file and never look at it again.”

She spent about thirty seconds absorbing what I’d said, then without looking at me, in a subdued tone said, “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him working on the case. I went through everything I had of Aunt Brandy’s last night. I brought the things that might be the most help.”

“Like what?”

“Pictures, photo albums, a calendar, scrapbooks, her journals. There’s not as much as I thought. I re-read what she wrote. It isn’t very interesting. I mean, it’s interesting for me because it helps me to understand who she was, but I don’t think it’ll be very helpful to Cobb.”