“Meaning what?”
“Meaning that she wouldn’t sit still without wanting to know what happened to her. She hired private investigators. That’s where I got the idea to hire one.”
“Obviously her private investigators didn’t find her mother.”
“Right,” Quilla said softly. “If I tell you something, will you promise absolutely never to tell Gretchen?”
“Absolutely.”
She pauses a moment, then said, “I think Gretchen’s theory is all wrong. I think that somebody kidnapped her and killed her. Just like my aunt.”
“Since when did you think your aunt was kidnapped?”
“Always. When Gretchen first told me her theory about her mother’s disappearance, I didn’t believe it. I just pretended to. I was only thirteen. Gimme a break! What did I know? She was older. Everything she said sort of made sense, so I went along with it. But since they found aunt Brandy’s body I’ve been racking my brain to come up with possible theories and I know some of them are dumb, but the newest one I came up with has to do with Gretchen’s belief that her mother’s still alive. Del, this might be crazy, but the more I think about it I keep wondering if whoever killed my Aunt killed Gretchen’s mother.”
Her statement bothered me. I wondered what she would say if she knew that the night before Perry had suggested the same thing, naming Kyle Thistle as the killer.
“Am I stupid to be thinking that, Del?”
“No. Two women disappear. It’s a fair assumption.”
“Since they found my aunt’s body I’ve been thinking a horrible thought.”
“What?”
“That…” She looked out the passenger side window. “That maybe Gretchen’s mother’s body is lying in some other mausoleum in Elm Grove cemetery.” She looked at me. “Am I demented to think that? I mean, it’s not like they disappeared three weeks apart. I figured it out. My Aunt disappeared nine years ago. Gretchen’s mother vanished twenty-four years ago. Fifteen years apart. That’s not really a pattern. If the killer’s the same guy, why would he wait fifteen years to kill again? What destroys my theory is that there weren’t other killings. If somebody’s been kidnapping and murdering women over the last twenty-four years, he certainly wouldn’t let fifteen years slip between each victim, right?”
Suddenly, I felt sick to my stomach. “There isn’t a fifteen-year gap. Alyssa disappeared fifteen years ago. There is a pattern,” I said weakly. “There is”
She looked confused for a moment, then a sense of awareness overcame her face. “But you got the note from here and the postcard and… ”
“Whoever killed her could’ve sent them.”
“Del…” She looked terrified.
“First, Gretchen’s mother. Twenty-four years ago. Then nine years later, Alyssa. Then seven years later, your aunt. If this is an accurate time line, whoever did it may have done it again in the last couple of years. Or maybe there are more missing women that we don’t know are missing.”
“Did you ever wonder before if Alyssa was dead before today… before now?”
“Not with any conviction. I wondered if something had happened to her, if she’d been hit by a car in some strange town or if she had amnesia…things like that. But then the note came and it never occurred to me that she wasn’t alive. Then the postcard came and that solidified it. There was no reason to think any other way.”
“But the words came out of you so easily now.”
“What words?”
“That Alyssa’s disappearance fits into the pattern. If all these years you’ve been thinking that she’s alive someplace out there, how could you suddenly think that she might’ve been killed fifteen years ago?”
“One thing always bothered me. There was no reason for her to send me a note, let alone a postcard. To her, I was history. She’d talked about getting out of Dankworth from the day I met her. I had this deep high school crush on her, so it was easy to hold on to the fact that the note meant that there was still hope that she’d come back to me. The postcard enhanced my hope. Until a minute ago when you mentioned Gretchen’s mother’s body being hidden in a mausoleum back at Elm Cross it makes sense that Alyssa could be there too. Or somewhere. She’s dead. And whoever killed her murdered your Aunt and Gretchen’s mother and God knows how many more. We’ll have to tell all of this to Perry. I’m gonna call him right now.”
The daytime dispatcher, Lucy Devane, took the call and informed me that Perry was checking out a three-car accident in the parking lot of Dankworth General Hospital. I told her to have him call me the second he was free and that Quilla and I were ready to meet with him.
“I threw up when we got the word that Aunt Brandy was found in the mausoleum. I always thought that the kidnapper took her away and held her prisoner or made her be his slave or that she got sold into a harem for one of those middle eastern sheik guys.” She paused for a few seconds. She seemed to be thinking. “Del, what you said about Alyssa and Mrs. Thistle both being in mausoleums at the cemetery: if that’s possible maybe we could check every one and… ”
“You just can’t break into a mausoleum. Just like you can’t exhume a body without getting a court order. A grave is considered hallowed ground. The only time a body is allowed to be disinterred is when a crime is suspected.”
“But isn’t this connected to a crime? And isn’t it fair to assume that if the killer hid one body in a mausoleum he’d hide all his victims in one?”
“There are dozens of mausoleums in that cemetery, Quilla. To open each one would take a huge amount of legal paperwork. Families have to be contacted. Permission given. Not to mention the manpower. Mausoleums are sealed. Relatives would fight it tooth and nail. It could turn into a nightmare.”
“Do you think that whoever killed my aunt put her in that particular mausoleum for a reason?”
“Sure. It was a great hiding place. If the idiots who broke into it hadn’t done so, she never would’ve been found.”
“But did the killer have a specific reason for hiding her in that mausoleum in that part of the cemetery?”
“Most likely because it’s so remote.”
“But could there be another reason. I’m trying to think like a good detective would, I’m trying not to leave a single stone unturned.”
What Quilla was saying prompted me to tell her about my cemetery buff theory. She listened quietly, then said, “Are they the ones who take a piece of wax paper and rub it against an old headstone?”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t know people who did that had a name.” She looked pained and upset.
“They don’t officially. I call them cemetery buffs.”
“I knew a cemetery buff,” she said softly.
“Who?”
She paused for a few seconds. “Aunt Brandy.” I stared at her solemnly, more than a little anxious.
“This is getting creepier and creepier,” said Quilla, nodding her head yes, looking confused and frightened.
Chapter 14
“You’re sure?” I asked.
“Don’t you think I’d remember something like that?” She looked as if her feelings were hurt. “Geez, Del.” She turned away and I was about to apologize when my iPhone rang.
“Hello?… Sorry, Tyler… I’ll take care of everything, like we discussed… We need to talk, go over the arrangements… Right… Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll get on it immediately… Bye.” I turned to Quilla and said, “Today’s no good to talk to Perry. Or to Gretchen. A friend of mine’s father died. I have to handle the funeral. Perry will have to wait until tomorrow.”