Life is over. The person is gone and never coming back.
I was about to go back inside when I saw Clint’s 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 I’m late,” he blurted, out of breath.
I’d 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 one’s 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 Clint’s 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 she’s divorcing me.”
“We went through this last year, Clint. That’s how you got Sundays off.”
“I know. I know. But it’s not enough, Del. She’s not a social person. Cookie has a hard time making friends. We have this intense, co-dependant thing going on. She’s not good at finding ways to keep busy and there’s only so much TV to watch and so much to read and she hates housework. She’s starting to listen to Christian music and she’s joined a Bible study group at church. Sometimes she answers the phone with ‘Praise Jesus’ instead of ‘Hello.’ I don’t 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 I’d 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 father’s rebuilt ’57 Chevy and headed for a parking spot a few feet from where Clint and I stood.
“Tell you what, Clint, I’ll think about it.”
“Del, I love working here with you and being a Funeral Director’s 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 don’t 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?”
“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.