“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.”
“Like what?”
“Pictures, photo albums, a calendar, scrapbooks, her journals. There’s not as much as I thought. I re-read what she wrote. It isn’t very interesting. I mean, it’s interesting for me because it helps me to understand who she was, but I don’t think it’ll be very helpful to Cobb.”
“You never know.”
Quilla tucked her feet under her legs and spun around, leaning against the passenger door. “Something about you has been bothering me.”
I glanced at her, wondering what was coming.
“You told me why you became a Funeral Director,” she said. “But I don’t understand why you continue to be one.”
“It’s the only thing I know how to do.”
She rolled her eyes. “You could do a lot of things. I mean, deep down Funeral Directors are like salesmen or counselors, right?” I nodded yes. “I don’t want to dump on your profession, but how you can surround yourself with so much death and sadness. Doesn’t it get to you?”
“Sometimes, but it’s the kind of job that desensitizes a person. See enough death and you’re immune to it.”
She tilted her head and smirked. “Why would you want to be immune to death?”
“What I mean is…I’m immune to having feelings about death. I have to shut down and turn everything off.”
“But, Del, that’s not a normal human reaction. If somebody dies it’s normal to feel bad. And I don’t think it’s normal to want to be around dead bodies and grieving people and coffins and graves and…”
“It’s all part of the job.”
“Maybe for somebody else, but not you. It’s a bad environment for you to be in.”
“That’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think?” I wasn’t sure why, but Quilla was starting to irritate me.
“Ever since you told me the story of how you tried to get your father’s ashes, I’ve been playing it over and over in my head and I think about how you’ve held onto the memory of Alyssa and how you’ve never been married and how you don’t have a girlfriend and based on everything I’ve learned about you, I keep thinking that, yeah, it’s understandable how he got into this weird business and, yeah, he’s nice-looking and smart and sensitive and he understands me which is a really hard thing to do and he’s intelligent enough to know that Gretchen is a woman worth pursuing and when I put all the pieces together I look at you and I say that there’s one thing missing.” She looked at me tenderly. “You don’t seem very happy.”
“You sound like a psychiatrist.”
“Good. It’s one of the careers I’m thinking of pursuing.”
“There’s only one problem with your profile of me. You’re leaving out one key factor.” She stared at me, eyebrow arched, waiting. “Did it ever occur to you that I might like my job? I help people get through the worst times of their lives. I make it bearable. I get a lot out of that.”
She hesitated for a moment. “If that’s the case, then I feel sorry for you.”
“Why? I’m making a contribution! And…do you have any idea how many people hate their jobs?”
“Yeah. I hear my mother and stepfather whining all the time about how horrible their jobs are. But they aren’t like you. Most people aren’t like you.” Tears started to form in her eyes. “You’re like Gretchen. Different. Special. You could be making a better contribution somewhere else.” She shook her head slowly. “It’s such a waste.”
I was about to respond, but we had arrived at the Dankworth Police Station. I parked in front. As we walked to the front door Quilla punched me lightly on my right arm and said, “Don’t mind me. I can be a real ball breaker sometimes.”
*****
Perry wasn’t there. The only ones around were Greg Hoxey and Lucy Delaine, the dispatcher.
Lucy was slender, almost petite, but dressed like a fat woman, favoring loose-fitting shifts from K-Mart with patterns that were either outrageously loud or depressingly bland.
“Is himself in his office?”
She shook her head. “Perry’s not back yet. He called in a few seconds ago. He’ll be here in no time flat.”
“What are you doing here?” said Greg to Quilla, totally ignoring me.
Quilla smiled when she saw Greg. He smiled back. “To meet with Perry,” she said sweetly, trustingly. Her demeanor suggested that she might have a crush on him.
“What about?”
“My Aunt’s murder case. I’m here to talk about leads and to find out how Perry’s investigation is coming.”
Greg looked at me dismissively. “Why are you here?”
“Perry wanted me,” I said abruptly.
“Does Perry have you on the case, Greg?” Quilla asked with such sincerity that it angered me to know that Greg wasn’t really on her side.
“Nah. He’s doing it alone.” He rolled his eyes.
“We have information that’ll blow this thing wide open.”
I cringed as the words came out of her mouth. Greg arched his left eyebrow and said, “What kind of information?”
Quilla was about to speak when I said, “Maybe you should wait to tell Perry first.” She and Greg looked at me. She with confusion, he with disapproval. “After all, he is the Chief and it might not be smart to supercede him. Isn’t that right, Greg? You know how Perry is about controlling things.”
Greg glared at me.
“What’s the difference?” said Quilla. “It’s not like Perry won’t tell Greg what we’ve found out.”
“We haven’t found out anything,” I said. “All we have is a theory.”
“Greg, does Perry tell you about theories?” said Quilla.
“All the time,” said Greg. “You can tell me what you know, Quil.”
Quil? I thought to myself. He calls her Quil? “But most of the crimes here in Dankworth are small time,” I said. “This is a murder case. Not only that, it’s the first murder case Perry’s ever had.”
“Perry tells me everything,” said Greg, his voice firm.
“Maybe so, but in this instance, I think Perry won’t be too happy knowing you know something before he does. Quilla, our meeting’s with Perry. That’s who we’ll talk to.”