(2012) Colder Than Death (9 page)

“What are you doing here, Perry?”

“I'm taking a guess that the killer might show up. I want to check out everybody who comes in.”

I nodded, then for Quilla's 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. Girl's been dead nine years. I got the Sheriff's office to send me a criminalist and fingerprint person to dust the mausoleum and what was left of Brandy Parker's 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. I'm 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 don't 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, it's 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 I've been able to piece together is that she wasn't ‘involved’ with anyone so to speak. I'm hoping it wasn't 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.

“You've found out an enormous amount of information for such a short period of time. I'm impressed.”

“Doesn't matter,” he said grimly. “Part of me thinks I won't 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 can't find grass or cocaine, they'll 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 she'd 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 can't hurt, I guess.” He looked at me as if he were giving me an evaluation. “That's twice now.”

“Twice what?”

“Only positive things I've had to work came from you. That cemetery buff stuff and now this info about the niece. I never would've 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 didn't 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.
You're asking me
? I thought to myself. I wasn't 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 don't know anything about solving crimes and having
feelings
about who should or shouldn't 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 I've dealt with. Some are devastated and can barely get through the arrangements process. Others are so calm and collected you'd think that instead of picking a coffin they're selecting drapes. Suzanne made no bones about her feelings for her sister. She'd dealt with her being gone years ago. Finding the body was anti-climactic. That's not to say she won't fall apart when she realizes her sister's remains are in that locked coffin or that she won't lose it at the burial. But if you want my gut feeling: Suzanne Worthington didn't kill anybody.”

Perry bit down lightly on his upper lip. “I wonder why
she
didn't tell me to talk to her daughter.”

“She probably doesn't have any idea how much the kid knows. This is a mother and daughter who don't communicate going on. Besides, Suzanne wants to get this over with. She's 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 Perry's cruiser.

Three doors opened almost simultaneously and I watched Suzanne get out of the front passenger side, her husband slide out of the driver's side and Quilla step from the right side of the back. As if she couldn't stand to be near them, Quilla darted ahead of her mother and stepfather. I checked my watch. 6:50. I couldn't 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 mother's 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, “I'm sorry about your Aunt,” with a heartfelt sincerity.

“Thanks,” she said with more sarcasm than gratitude. I knew she didn't 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 I'm 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 we're late,” Suzanne said perfunctorily.

Alan Worthington glanced at the empty parking lot and smirked, saying in a too loud voice, “Told you it wouldn't matter. Nobody's coming.”

Quilla glared angrily at him. So did Suzanne, who sniped, “The important thing is that we're 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. Don't 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.

“He's 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. “He's already done a lot of work, but
you're
the only real lead.”

“Why me?”

“He's been tracking down people from your Aunt's life. So far, he's 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 Aunt's 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.”

“I'm 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 don't anticipate a large turnout I've 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, “I'll 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, I'm close by.”

Suzanne smiled half-heartedly while Quilla gazed at me with a sad expression that suggested she didn't 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 don't care,” said Clint.

“I'll 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 night's off?” said Clint with an almost childish tone.

“We'll see,” I said, then I walked to the side entrance.

Within two minutes someone was opening the door. I hoped for Quilla's 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 Cobb's 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 didn't have a relationship with Suzanne Worthington. If he had, she would've 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 wasn't Tyler. For as long as I'd known him he'd been in a state of perpetual relaxation. Nothing fazed him. He possessed an almost saintly calm.

“Let's go outside.” He reached for the doorknob.

“No. Perry's watching.”

“Watching what?”

“The people who'll be coming in here tonight. He thinks that whoever killed the girl in the mausoleum might show up. You're the first visitor.”

“I'm not here to visit. I don't even know these people. I'm here to see you.”

“Too late. Perry saw you walk in. That's another, no pun intended, nail in your coffin.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Del?”

“You're 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 didn't 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. He's playing with the notion that the killer knew his way around cemeteries.”