(2012) Colder Than Death (18 page)

I looked at the inscription on the headstone:

Here Lies

Christine Framingham

Born April 6,1920

Died December 2,1933

Our beloved daughter taken from

this Earth into God's loving hands

But what made the grave stand out were the flowers on it and surrounding it. It was Fall and they weren't in full bloom, but I could see that there were hundreds of them and they were engulfed by a white picket fence that stood about a foot high. And it didn't only surround Christine's grave. It went around what amounted to the area of four graves, but it was obvious that only one person was buried there. Because it was so dark I couldn't make out what kinds of flowers were there, but I could tell that they were planted with care because there was a pattern.

It was really like a tiny garden that somebody might have in their back yard, only it wasn't in a back yard, it was in a cemetery. I had a pretty good idea of who was responsible for it.”

“'Whattya think?'“ asked Vaughn.”

“'I don't know what to say. You don't expect to see something like this in a cemetery.'“

“'Damn right. And you won't find nothing like it anywhere else in this bone yard either. Probably won't find one in any other cemetery anywhere.'“

“'Why is her grave so big? I mean, she's taking the space of four graves.'“

“'Family plot,' said Vaughn.”

“'I don't see any markers for the rest of the family.'“

“'They aren't buried here. Not even in this cemetery.'“

“With what struck me as great sadness, he looked down at Christine's headstone. 'She's all by herself. And she's been all by herself since about two years after she died when her family moved away. Only one she's got is me. She's been alone in the ground for a long time and if I wouldn't have been coming here and tending to her grave, she wouldn't have had a single soul pay respects in all these years.'“

“'How come you planted all these flowers?' I asked. 'I thought people
brought
flowers to a grave.'“

“'There was a time when coming to visit a loved one's grave was a regular family ritual. Two or three times a year. Usually on a Sunday. It’s different now. In Chrissie's case, she didn't have anybody to visit her after her family left. Until I was old enough to think for myself and have opinions and feelings on things, she never had so much as a dandelion put on her grave. But then I got into the habit of bringin' flowers to her, like on the anniversary of her death and Memorial Day and her birthday. I'd ride my bicycle all the way out here when I was a boy, then when I got my first automobile I'd drive out, then when I started working here after I got out of the Navy, I could tend to her on a more regular basis.' He looked at me. 'That what you're gonna do with your father's ashes? Tend to them? Put 'em on a shelf in your room? Dig a hole in the back yard and put 'em in there? Plant posies around it? Huh?'“

“'I don't know.'“

“'I
bet
you don't. Didn't bother to think about
that
part of your plan.' He looked at the grave, lost in his thoughts, then turned back to me. 'Until they made me retire a year ago, I was Head Groundskeeper here, working days, supervising burials. Now I'm the night watchman. Come the dark it's just me and all the permanent residents. I like it here. Always did. Even as a young man. You wondering what makes a man willingly take a job at a cemetery?'“

“'It's crossed my mind.'“

“'You probably think I'm crazy or some rummy who can't find anything else. Not so. I had my reason.'“

“'Christine?'“

“'Her family abandoned her. Bastards just left her alone. She was only thirteen. How could they leave her?'“

“'That's how I feel about my father being here.'“

“'Figured as much. For some reason I took it upon myself to look after her grave and make sure she wouldn't be forgotten like most of these poor souls planted here. And she hasn't been.' He looked at the grave. 'Of course, once
I
bite the dust, that's it. Won't be nobody to visit her. I'm gonna be buried next to her. Right here.'“

“He aimed the flashlight beam to the immediate right of Christine's plot.”

“'It's all taken care of. That's why I put in this little flower garden. They're perennials. All they need is a little sunshine and water. Of course, when
I'm
in the ground there won't be anyone to tend to my grave or Chrissie's, so it won't look as nice as it does now, but... that's life.'“

“'How come you're gonna be buried next to her?' I asked. “'What about your wife?'“

“'She's long gone and long dead. We got divorced in a time when couples stuck it out no matter how miserable they were. Not that we were miserable. She couldn't take my working here. She couldn't stand the fact that I was handling coffins day in and day out, setting up gravestones, being around sad, grieving people. About a year after our boy was born she gave me an ultimatum: find a new job or she was taking our son and leaving. And that's what she did. Emily.'“

“'Emily?'“

“'That was her name. And little Vaughn. Died in the jungle in Nam. Never found his body. Can't say I blamed her for leaving. Takes a certain kind of person to be in a profession like this. Sometimes you look at people and they seem to be leading such pathetic lives. You wonder how it happened. How did the girl who was pretty and innocent when she was a teenager grow into the middle-aged drunk? How did the football hero become the slimy used car salesman who picks his teeth in public with a matchbook? Or
me
? How did little Vaughn Larkin who wanted to be an engineer on a train wind up doing night security in a cemetery when other men my age are home drinkin' hot milk thinking about their grandchildren's visit on Sunday? There are people who wonder about me. And I've been stared at down through the years.” He suddenly pointed the flashlight beam in my face.

“'You ever been stared at, son?'“

“'Since I moved to Dankworth. At school. Word got around that my father died in a plane crash and... people look.'“

“'You like it?'“

“'I hate it.'“

“'Too bad. If you think people are staring at you
now
, think how bad it would be if word got out that you dug up your father's grave and stole his ashes.'“

“'Word wouldn't
get
out.'“

“’Some secrets are hard to keep. Sometimes the truth has a way of leaking out. You believe in destiny, son?'“

“'I don't think about it that much.'“

“'I believe there's a reason for all the stuff that happens to us--good or bad--whether it's little Chrissie dyin' so young and me spending my life taking care of her grave or my own boy not ever being found during the War or even me coming upon you in this old cemetery tonight. Maybe my true destiny was to stop you. Maybe my stopping you tonight will change your life... push you in a direction you never thought about. Either way, tonight's one of the most important nights of your life. And maybe our meeting each other in this sad way will mean something to me too.'“

“'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.

Chapter 17

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.”