Page 130 of Too Old for This

Of course he has a prepaid. Who doesn’t?

With a sigh, I turn back to Burke.

I dig into his pockets, eventually finding the phone beside his leg, on the seat of the chair. It opens with his thumb. The last text I sent from Junior’s phone is on the screen.

His prepaid is not like mine; it’s a smartphone. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to spy on me with a camera app. I put it in my bag and look around, making sure I haven’t forgotten anything.

The only thing left is the fire. That oxygen tank attached to Burke’s wheelchair isn’t going to blow up on its own.

—

How high up in the air did his body go? Are there any recognizable pieces left? Was he instantaneously shredded? Is Burke now just a bunch of microscopic pieces of bone, blood, and skin?

No idea. I wasn’t able to stick around to watch. Nobody wants to get knocked out or blown away in a blast, includingme. I had to light Burke’s clothes on fire, along with the rug underneath him, and then leave. By the time the oxygen tank exploded, I was two blocks away.

Now I’m heading back down to Oregon. It’s been years since I’ve been to a bus station, much less traveled on a bus. The good thing is, there aren’t many people on board and no one is sitting right next to me. I can enjoy the moderately comfortable seat in peace.

The long ride home gives me plenty of time to rest and recuperate. I run through it all, from Plum to Kelsie to Norma to Junior, and finally to Burke. Two of those bodies ended up in my fireplace. One has been buried. The last two were destroyed beyond the point of being useful.

I hope.

This has all taken longer than usual. One murder has never led to so many others.

I can’t fix or change anything now. Any attempt at that would make things worse. Time to move on to the final stage: acceptance. The worst part, and the hardest. Walking away is never easy.

I shut my eyes tight, trying to close off my brain. All the mistakes I made get locked away inside my head. Thinking about them doesn’t help; obsessing makes them even worse.

Eventually, I doze off. The sleep isn’t an easy one. Every time the bus pulls over to make a stop, I wake up. This is the slowest way home. My only other options were using Junior’s car or Burke’s. Either way, a bad idea. It had to look like everybody died in that blast, including Norma.

Why else would I have driven up there with a little baggiefilled with Norma’s teeth? I scattered them inside Burke’s house. Or as I call it, the blast site.

CHAPTER 70

The cane is not a prop today. I ease myself down onto the church pew, sighing with relief. After spending last night on the bus, I can’t imagine walking on my own today.

I arrived in Baycliff this morning and took a taxi to the Dew Drop. It did not burn down to the ground. The fire damage was contained to Norma’s room and the one next to it, and the rest of the motel seemed to be functioning as normal. My car was right where I left it down the street. The plan was to go home and take a nap before church.

Instead, I walked into my kitchen and peeled the duct tape off my phone. Archie picked up on the first ring.

“Mom. Hi. How are you? Everything okay?”

“Everything is fine.”

“I know you’re still mad at me.”

“No, I’m not.”

“But you hung up on me the last time we spoke.”

“I’m not madanymore. You were just looking out for me. I understand that.”

Archie sighs. I know what he looks like when he’s relieved,the way his throbbing temple relaxes and his shoulders drop. “I was just worried about you.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Archie.”