D. Gilles - Colder Than Death

“I don’t know. She doesn’t tell me her plans. She comes and goes. Sometimes I’m here. Sometimes I’m not. I often work long hours. My worst fear is that the person who killed my sister has indeed gotten hold of Quilla.”

That didn’t 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 Quilla’s 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 mother’s intuition is sending you a message, I think you need to call the police and tell them Quilla’s been gone for the last two days. I’ll be happy to put a call into Perry Cobb and, if you like, I’ll call Gretchen Yearwood… unless you’ve already contacted her.”

“I’ve been reluctant to call anyone. Quilla has run away before.”

“Call the police now. I’ll see what I can do. And if she shows up, call me.”

“Definitely.”

We both hung up. I wasn’t sure if I should be concerned or if Quilla was acting out because of a fight with her mother that Suzanne hadn’t 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, it’s Del.”

“I don’t 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 you’re 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 I’m calling to tell you I’m sorry.”

“That’s not necessary. There’s no easy way to give or receive horrible information. I’m hoping that I’m wrong about your mother and Alyssa.

“Ever since I heard your and Quilla’s theory I’ve 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.”

“That’s a great idea, but we may have a problem. When’s the last time you saw Quilla?”

“When you two were here. But I talked to her yesterday.”

“She hasn’t been home for two nights. I just spoke to her mother. She’s petrified that somebody has Quilla.”

“Somebody who ?”

“The killer.”

“My God. I still can’t 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 it’s not a bad time, I could come over. We could call her friends together.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll 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 Gretchen’s 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. “Let’s 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 weren’t polished.

“Since we hung up I made a list of the names of her friends that I remember. She’s got quite a few.”

“A bunch showed up at the Funeral Home,” I said.

“The night we met?” said Gretchen sweetly.

“Yes. I’ve talked to one of them. Viper.”

“I already phoned him. No answer. These kids probably all have their own phones. Some are under their parent’s 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. “Let’s 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 couldn’t 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 Aunt’s murder. After reaching the last of the names, we continued to dial Viper’s 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.”

“Quilla’s point is that who’s to say my mother wasn’t his third victim? Or tenth? And that your girlfriend and Brandy came later.”

That would mean he’s 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, he’d be in his early forties. On the other hand, if he started at thirty, with my mother, he’d be fifty-four. And as for him being an old man, let’s say an older man, if he started killing when he was thirty and the first victim was ten years before my mother, he’d only be in his mid-sixties. Everything hinges on when the killer began. If he was twenty-one and started fifty years ago, then we’re talking an elderly man. But if my mother was the first and he was anywhere from twenty-one to, let’s 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 mother’s disappearance and since Brandy’s murder nine years ago. Despite the fact that I still believe my mother is alive, I’m 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 I’ll be happy.”

“After all this time, you should too. It’s only fair.”

I shrugged. She looked at me with an odd expression, almost one of disapproval. “Your ambivalence surprises me. I’ve 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?”