(2012) Colder Than Death Read Online Free

Section and all the Sections around it are between ninety and a hundred-fifty years old. Some are even older. Nobody visits graves that old because paying respects is a generational thing.”
    “Talk my language, Del.”
    “Let's say you're a kid. Your grandfather dies. Maybe for a few years you go with your parents to visit his grave. But as you get older, you move out of your folk's house... you don't go to the cemetery to visit grandpa's grave anymore. Over the years your parents die. You pay your respects to them. You have a child. He never knew your grandfather so he's not gonna be very motivated to visit his grave. But he'll visit your grave, but chances are his kids won't have too much of an inclination to say a prayer over your father's or grandfather's grave. Get the picture, Perry?”
    “What you're saying is nobody gives a good Goddamn about you after you're dead forty, fifty years.”
    “A better way of putting it is that there's no one alive to give a damn about you after you're in the ground forty or fifty years. That's why the Old Section at the cemetery is such a perfect place to hide a body.”
    “Where there's not a lot of traffic. Sonofabitch!”
    “Other than the periodic great granddaughter of somebody, who for curiosity sake, decides to visit a grave or a family plot, the only ones who come around are the cemetery buffs.”
    “Cemetery what ?”
    “Buffs. People who get a kick out of visiting old cemeteries and finding interesting headstones or the graves of famous people.”
    “You gotta be yankin' my chain,” Perry sneered.
    “Nope. People do tracings of birth and death dates. The epitaph. Whatever. I've seen people taking tracings at every cemetery I've visited. They take a piece of wax paper, press it on the headstone and trace over it with a pencil. Other people take photographs. Some people go to cemeteries all over the country, or the world, doing tracings. You'd be surprised at some of the things that are carved into headstones, especially the older ones. Some of them are somber and spiritual, others are hokey and sentimental. Some are funny. I have one from a graveyard in New Mexico that says: Here Lies Les Moore. No Less, No More.”
    “You're a cemetery buff? And I thought I was screwed up for collecting old Mad magazines.” He laughed.
    “Perry, it's just a harmless way to pass the time for people with a morbid fascination with death.”
    “I never would've thought of that in a million years,” he said. “I'll put cemetery buffs at the top of my list of suspects. Probably stands to reason that my next batch of suspects would have to be people who may not be cemetery buffs, but who know something about cemeteries.”
    “How do you mean?”
    “The only other people who'd know anything about boneyards are cemetery employees and people who work at Funeral Homes.” He grinned impishly. I could see the grotesque residue of freshly chewed tobacco in his mouth.
    “Are you saying I'm a suspect?”
    “You been working at Henderson's a long time. I'd say you know a shitload about cemeteries. How the hell many people have you buried? I bet you know Elm Grove cemetery like the back of your hand.”
    “If I killed the woman, why would I be volunteering all of this information?”
    Perry didn't miss a beat. “Probably to throw me off.” Suddenly a sound somewhere between a long belch and a chuckle resonated from the bottom of his throat. “But you better believe every single person who works at Elm Grove cemetery or your Funeral Home or DiGregorio's is on my suspect list.”
    “If you're going to think along those lines, don't limit your suspect list to just the Funeral Homes here in Dankworth. There are dozens of Funeral Homes in the County who bury people at Elm Grove.”
    “I'm aware of that, Del, but my point is that you and DiGregorio's are located in Dankworth, so I'm pinpointing you guys first.” He looked at his watch. “How fast you going?”
    “Fifty-five. The speed