Page 111 of Too Old for This

Burke:Are you okay?

Norma:Did you seriously just ask me that?

Burke:Calm down.

Well, there’s one reason why Burke is so obsessed with a forty-year-old case: He probably has a lot of time. He can’t have much luck with women if he talks to them like this.

Norma:I’m over this. And I’m over you telling me what to do.

Burke:All I’ve been trying to do is help.

Norma:So you’ve said.

Burke:Fine. What can I do to make this easier and more pleasant for you?

It takes all my strength not to throw the phone against the wall. I’ll bet if I searched the wordpatronizingon the internet, I’d see a picture of Burke.

Norma:I don’t need anything. I’ll be fine.

Burke:Of course you will. You’re going to get this psycho and find out what happened to Plum.

Psycho.We’re back to that, I see.

A good sign. He resorts to name-calling when he doesn’thave anything else. Burke didn’t have enough evidence to arrest me the first time, he doesn’t have it now, and his plan revolves around a camera in my house and coercing an unstable woman into entrapping me.

What he doesn’t have is real evidence, like the severed finger Morgan found in the freezer. Burke also doesn’t have my phone data. My son has the monopoly on that.

I put Norma’s phone down. The Dew Drop is not exactly a comfortable place to hang out, though it can be interesting. Since I’m not here to do any business, nobody cares who I am or why I’m staying here. That gives me a lot of time to watch, to figure out who’s in charge and who is dangerous.

Cropped Hair is the manager who shows up after dark, bringing order to the parking lot chaos. Sort of like the branch manager at a bank—a boss, but nottheboss. That would be the district or regional manager, and they don’t show up very often.

Neither does Cropped Hair’s boss. I think I’ve seen him once, when an SUV drove through the lot and everybody moved out of the way. The car stopped in front of Cropped Hair, and they had a short conversation before the car took off. To quote Delia, it looked like dick-swinging behavior.

Tonight, a cop car drives through the lot. Cropped Hair doesn’t go near it. No one does except a young man who looks desperate. Sick. The cops call a paramedic.

Lots of people gather around to watch, and that’s when I see it. Cropped Hair doesn’t talk to the police, but she does communicate. She lifts a hand to smooth her hair and subtly points toward a room on the first floor.

One of the cops walks over and knocks on the door.

Maybe she works with the police, and, in return, they look the other way from whatever business she’s conducting.

I smile.

The pieces are all falling into place. Cropped Hair will make an excellent witness.

CHAPTER 60

My outfit is a nice pair of slacks and a blouse. I braid my hair, put some powder on my skin, a bit of eyeliner, and some lipstick.

The dining table is set. I go back and forth, in and out of the kitchen, using the tray on my walker to bring in plates, glasses, and a bowl of pine cones for a centerpiece. I considered flowers or candles, but I don’t want Burke to think it’s a romantic dinner. It’s not that kind of night.

Next to the doorway leading from the kitchen into the dining room, I pinned up a giant red dot. Like a camera light but much bigger, and it’s impossible to miss. Every time I pass through the door, the red dot reminds me the camera is on and Burke is watching.

Around seven o’clock, I walk into the dining room. After pausing to check the table, I shuffle through the sitting room, glancing around like I’m making sure everything looks nice. Once I step into the foyer, I’m out of view, but the camera doesn’t shut down for twenty seconds. After fifteen, I knock on the front door and open it up.

“Hello! I’m so glad you could make it. Come in, come in.”

The camera shuts down.