Page 38 of Too Old for This
She holds up a paper bag in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. The smell of Italian herbs wafts into the house.
“I brought dinner,” Norma says.
It takes a mighty big ego to assume someone wants to break bread with you. But I am nothing if not polite, and I force myself to smile.
“What a surprise! I hope this means you’ve found Plum and we’re celebrating?”
She shakes her head no. I open the door wider.
Norma wipes her shoes on the mat and steps inside. It’s cool out tonight, she’s wearing a nice pair of slacks, a sweater, a jacket, and leather boots. To anyone else, Norma would look like an average middle-aged person. But I’ve seen her latest post online. Norma is not short for normal .
Earlier today, she posted a picture from the window of her hotel room. The Harmony faces the mountains and cliffs, the views that make people want to live here.
Dreaming of Plum. She is starting to haunt me.
#WhereIsMyBaby #CantStop
I wave her inside.
“Come on in.”
She follows me into the kitchen, plops the paper bag on my counter, and starts unpacking our meal. It comes from a downtown bistro. I’ve been there a few times with Archie.
I hand her plates from my everyday set—not my good china—along with serving spoons and a wine opener. I go into the dining room and set up the table while she dishes out the food. From the outside looking in, we look like two friends having dinner.
From the inside looking out, it feels wrong.
“The last time we spoke,” Norma says, “I think things went a little…sideways.”
“Did they?”
The table is set for two. Place mats, silverware, and cloth napkins. The centerpiece is a vase with fresh flowers from my garden and a couple of candlesticks. If I wasn’t so curious to know why she is really here, I would never go to this much trouble.
“I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did,” Norma says.
“Perfectly understandable. Of course you’re upset about Plum. Any mother would be.”
She sighs, looking a bit relieved. “Thank you.”
Dinner is eggplant parmesan, mixed vegetables, and pasta. The garlic rolls are drying out, but otherwise it looks delicious. We settle down at the table for what would be a very nice meal if it wasn’t with the mother of a girl I killed.
Talk about new experiences. The neurons in my brain must be working overtime right now.
But I’m not ready to celebrate anything yet. I couldn’t get to my hammer without her noticing, though I did manage to slip a paring knife into my pocket. You never know when a weapon will be necessary.
“Has there been any news at all?” I ask.
“A few things have come up, but I’m not sure what they mean.” Norma props both elbows on the table as she hunkers over her food.
I shove a bite of eggplant in my mouth and wait for her to continue.
“Cole won’t talk,” she says. “I tried to get hold of him and finally got a message from some lawyer. Everything goes through him now.”
“That sounds a little suspicious.”
She chews a bite of pasta and talks through it. “Last time I talked to Detective Tula, he was still convinced Cole was abusing her.”
“Was he still talking about that bruise, too?”
“You bet he was. One of them has to be lying, but it’s impossible to know which one.”
“I agree.”
Norma takes another bite of eggplant and washes it down with wine. “What do you think happened?”
“To Plum? I wouldn’t have any idea.”
“You’re a mother, aren’t you?”
I nod.
“Take a guess,” she says.
A challenge. Not one I like.
The dining room is a drafty place. Well, the whole house is, but this room in particular. The candle flames dance, making shadows on the walls. Norma doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too intent on staring at me, waiting for my answer.
“All I know is that she seemed fine when she left. I don’t remember her being afraid or nervous or…anything, really. Our conversation went fine.”
“Fine?”
“Yes.”
“She wanted you to be in her series.”
Again, I nod. “But I don’t want to be on TV. That’s what I told her.”
“If I had been accused of murder, I wouldn’t, either.”
And there it is.
I’m not surprised that Norma knows. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t keep showing up at my house. Maybe she spoke with Plum more often than I realized.
I shove a bite of vegetables in my mouth and use the time to think. Norma is trying to bait me. I admire the attempt, to be honest. Most people want nothing to do with accused murderers.
But before I can say a word, Norma laughs. The sound is high-pitched and shrill, and it makes me jump.
“I’m sorry. That sounded horrible, didn’t it?” she says. “It’s just that I’ve been getting phone calls and notes.”
“About Plum?”
“Yes. Someone has been warning me, telling me not to believe…” She stops and covers her face with her hands.
“This sounds very bizarre,” I say.
“I know. But it’s my daughter . How can I ignore any message, even if it’s anonymous? The police have already stopped looking.”
“Have you learned anything new?”
“I’m waiting to see if anyone will call again or leave a message…I’m honestly not sure what to do next. But I can’t figure out which one is lying. Tula or Cole—it has to be one of them.”
“I wouldn’t trust Tula, not after his lies about Plum having a bruise on her head.” I stand up and grab my plate. “I’m going to get a little more sauce. Do you want anything?”
She waves her hand and takes another sip of wine. Norma has eaten all of her eggplant pasta but hasn’t touched the vegetables. “No, no. I’m fine.”
In the kitchen, I spoon a little more sauce onto the pasta. As I turn to go back into the dining room, the dizziness hits.
My vision blurs.
I grab the counter but can’t hold myself up.