Page 26 of Too Old for This

I stuff myself into a fitted black dress, thinking about whether this is stupid or safe. The stupid column is the obvious: I murdered Kelsie.

If I hadn’t made a mistake and brought my phone to her house, I wouldn’t go near her funeral. But I’m also a retired old woman without much to do. The kind of person who shows up at funerals for people I barely know. It won’t look strange to pay my respects.

I put on a full makeup face. Foundation, translucent powder, penciled eyebrows, bright red lipstick. Old-lady makeup, which is how people expect me to look.

The funeral home is a large, stately building with an entrance flanked by two rows of columns. The first time I came here was a few years after arriving in Baycliff, when the owner of the bank where I worked had died.

To be clear, I had nothing to do with that.

But I’ve never been here for a death I was responsible for. Those bodies are long gone. Nothing left to bury in Baycliff. Not until now.

I park in front, near the door, with a view of who walks in. A lot of younger people show up, probably friends from the yoga studio or softball team. A few older people arrive as well, including at least three women with hats and veils that cover their faces.

As I sit in my car in front of the funeral home, I think about Noah’s birthday package.

I’ve bought all the items on my list but still have to gift wrap everything.

He’s probably too old for wrapping paper with spaceships.

He used to like spaceships a lot, but that was years ago.

The last time I saw him, he was wearing a green-and-blue-striped shirt.

Maybe I can find paper with a similar pattern.

I get so absorbed in this idea, so determined to get the paper right, that the knock on my window makes me jump.

Tula stares at me through the glass.

Isn’t this wonderful? I couldn’t have planned it better if I tried. I wave and open the door.

“I’m Detective Tula. I was at your house—”

“Of course I remember you. Hello.”

“Nice to see you again, Mrs.Jones. Though I guess”—he motions to the funeral home—“this isn’t so nice.”

“I was so upset when I read about Kelsie’s death. It’s always horrible when someone dies so young.”

He nods and offers me his arm. Tula and I walk inside together.

—

A bouquet of white lilies is on top of the closed casket. Next to it is a large photo of Kelsie. Her hair is down, she is smiling, and she looks even younger than she did in person.

As far as funerals and services go, Kelsie’s is quite lovely.

The only speakers are family members: her father, her mother, and her aunt, but not her grandmother. Not well enough to leave the Merrydale nursing home, I expect.

Tula does not cry or show any emotion, which I find so odd.

I always cry at funerals and memorials. It doesn’t matter who it is or if I’m responsible for it.

There’s something about the ceremony of death that brings out my tears.

I think it’s because of how funerals end.

Everyone walks out and continues with their day as if nothing happened. That seems sadder than the death.

At my age, I can’t avoid thinking about how and where I will die. Maybe I’ll be in my house, dead on the kitchen tile or at the bottom of the stairs, or even in the bathtub, waiting for someone to find me.

If I disappeared for too long, Archie would eventually get worried and call the police. Bonnie or Sheila would do the same if I didn’t show up for church or answer my phone. Without them, I wouldn’t be found for a long time.

The older I get, the more possible this becomes. Especially now that my mind doesn’t work as well as it used to.

Do I want to die alone in my house, with my body decomposing until someone finds me?

Like the hip surgery, this is yet another decision I don’t want to make. Old age is full of them.

—

When Kelsie’s service is over, I stand in line to offer my condolences. Tula does not. He walks out, and I find him waiting for me outside.

“A beautiful service,” I say. “A lot of people loved her.”

“Yes, they did.”

“How long were you two partners?”

“Less than a year.”

Tula and I walk to the parking lot in silence, which gives me a chance to study him out of the corner of my eye.

He has a small scar on his jaw, something I didn’t notice the first time.

Today, he has on a navy suit instead of a wrinkled sports coat, and his shoes are rather shiny. Tula made an effort.

“I was actually going to call you,” I say. “Or stop by the station.”

“You were?”

“Is there somewhere we can talk? If you have the time.”

“I have time.”

We go to a diner a few blocks away. The waitress has burgundy hair, and she wears pom-pom anklets with her thick-soled shoes.

She calls Tula by his first name, Rey, and he orders “the usual.” It turns out to be an omelet with peppers and cheese.

I order the same. In the middle of the afternoon, we both eat breakfast.

“Kelsie came by my house,” I say. “By herself.”

He nods. Shrugs. “She told me. It’s pretty standard for us to check back in and see if witnesses have remembered anything new. I was already working on a new case.”

I take a bite of dry toast and watch him, looking for a sign that he’s lying. Tula takes a sip of coffee, says nothing further.

“She asked if I remembered anything else about Plum.”

More nodding.

“She also asked about Cole. Actually, I think she asked more about him than she did about Plum.” I pause, almost like I forgot my train of thought. “Since Cole had contacted me, she wanted to know more details about what he said. And I really tried to remember everything I could.”

“Mrs.Jones—”

“Lottie. At this point, I hope we’re on a first-name basis,” I say. “And now that I’m thinking about my little chat with your partner, I distinctly remember her asking about when Cole came to my house. She wanted to know which rooms he was in, if he used the bathroom…Basically, everywhere he went.”

A crease appears on Tula’s forehead. “What else?”

“Well, that was the first time Kelsie came to my house. Alone, I mean. Now, the second time—”

“There was a second time?”

“It was about a week and a half ago? I’m not sure. I’d have to double-check the dates. But she came back to ask more questions about Cole.”

I’d rather not do this. My preference would be to move past these recent events and get on with my life. Instead, I’m making Tula question his now-dead partner.

Honestly, Kelsie has only herself to blame. Or she would if she was still alive.

“I asked her if there was a break in the case,” I say. “Or if she had any more information about Plum, but she said she couldn’t talk about it. One of those…moving investigations?”

“Active investigations.”

“That’s it.”

I sip my coffee.

Tula stops eating and looks out the window, as if things in his head are being rearranged.

The burgundy-haired waitress comes by, fills our coffee cups, and leaves the check on the table.

“Can you show me where Kelsie was in your house?” Tula asks.

Thank God he finally asked. Otherwise, I’d have to bring it up again without sounding like I was leading him around on a leash.