Page 21 of Too Old for This

My original plan wasn’t to kill her. But when Kelsie was so ungrateful about the money and then ordered me out of her house, she didn’t leave me a choice.

I put on a pair of gloves and wrap her head with a plastic bag.

No tile in the kitchen—just that linoleum—so the grout isn’t a problem. I grab her arms and drag her toward the hallway, through her bedroom, and into the bath. Kelsie is fairly small, but it’s still a difficult task. Dead weight always is.

I remove all her clothes. Again, not easy when I have to move her limbs to get it done. But on the upside, getting her into the bathtub is easier than getting a body into the freezer.

The positioning is where things get tricky.

About halfway up the wall, there’s a shelf built into the tile. I remove the bag from Kelsie’s head and summon all my strength to hoist the top part of her body up to it. Then I slam her head into the shelf. Hard enough to crack both.

When I let her go, her body drops with a thump. A long smear of blood runs down from the shelf to the tub.

Good, that looks good. Convincing.

I don’t want anyone looking too close at that wound. It needs to be an obvious slip-and-fall death, the kind of thing a police department won’t spend a lot of money or resources to investigate.

The vanity in her bathroom is small and covered with lotions, soaps, and makeup.

I lean against it, trying to catch my breath.

All that exertion is either very good or very bad for my heart, and I’d rather not find out which.

Good thing I took some ibuprofen back at the coffee shop.

You never know when you’ll have to exert yourself.

Kelsie’s body is not my only problem. I return to the kitchen and get her phone. I have to use her face to open it.

The first thing I do is delete the pictures of me and the Spokane newspaper. I delete her internet history and search for anything else related to my past. The only thing I find is another old newspaper headline.

The She-Devil of Spokane?

Delete.

But I can’t take her phone with me, and I can’t destroy it. That won’t work at all.

The money I brought goes back into my bag. My initial $4,500 payment may still be around. I need to look for the envelope, and I need to search for anything else linked to my past.

Her bedroom is as cluttered as the rest of the house. I drop the clothes she was wearing on the bed and floor, assuming that’s what she would do before taking a shower, and start looking in the obvious places. Her dresser, duffel bag, and purse.

Kelsie’s gun is in the nightstand. The closet is a disaster, with clothes and shoes everywhere. On the top shelf, she has another gym bag, but the only thing inside is a water bottle and another pair of sneakers.

I find two more doors in the hallway, another bathroom, and a second bedroom. She turned that into a workout space, with a treadmill, some weights, and a TV screen. Exercise was an obsession for Kelsie. This is why I hate to do it. All that movement can get so out of hand.

Back to the kitchen, the space where Kelsie seemed to spend most of her time. What a mess. On the table, her laptop, several half-filled glasses, an empty plate, a stack of mail with lots of junk and overdue bills.

The laptop has a password. Of course I can’t get into it, so I must get everything else right.

In the living room, I look in the entertainment center, the drawer beneath the coffee table, the bookshelves, even the ottoman with a removable top.

Nothing.

I stand in the middle of the room and look around, wondering where someone like Kelsie would put that much money. It may already be gone, given how much she needed it, but I have to be sure.

The trash.

She has a large aluminum can in the kitchen with a rounded top. It’s only been two days since I gave her the first payment. If she took the money out, she would’ve tossed the envelope. And it has my fingerprints on it.

I don’t see a recycling bin anywhere. Kelsie may care a lot about her body, but not the environment. I take the top off the can and sigh. This has become far more unpleasant than I bargained for. But I do it anyway, and root through the remains of her organic this and grass-fed that.

Bingo.

The envelope. The same one the bank gave me when I withdrew the money.

One last thing to do. I return to the bathroom and turn on the shower. The nozzle is pointed toward the center, hitting right around her abdomen. Not high enough to rinse off the blood on the wall.

Perfect.

—

Every part of my body hurts. My legs, arms, and back scream at me, demanding to know why I ask so much of them.

It couldn’t be helped. I sit down in my recliner and review the evening, going over it point by point. It will work. Kelsie died of a freak accident in the home, same as Gary. No one will glance in my direction.

I am particularly pleased about finding the envelope. I probably didn’t need to, especially if they rule it an accidental death, but it’s one less thing for me to worry about.

My anger is gone, too. I didn’t realize how much Kelsie pissed me off.

The audacity of that exercise nut coming after an old woman like me. As if I have $50,000 just lying around, ready to hand over to the first extortionist who comes my way.

Good riddance to her.

I close my eyes as the pain medication starts to do its job. For the first time in over a week, I allow myself to relax.

Yes, there is a chance this will all go sideways, given that I’ve left a body behind. After Spokane, that was my rule: Leave no bodies behind.

But I had to break it for Kelsie. The only other choice would’ve been to take out a loan on my house and pay her, but then she would’ve come back for more and more and more, until my home was gone. That was never going to happen.

Eventually, I get up and head into the kitchen. Time to check my messages, see if I missed anything this evening.

My phone isn’t on the counter.

I always leave it in the same spot so I don’t lose it. But it isn’t there.