Page 4 of Too Old for This

My freezer is a thing of beauty.

Plum is carved up into pieces, none are recognizable. I’ve bundled them into small packages, each one wrapped in butcher paper and labeled. Chicken , Pork , Ribs , Tuna , Lamb , Salmon , Cutlets , and so on. Every type of meat and fish, even the ones I don’t eat.

If the police stormed into my house right this minute, all they would find is a stocked freezer. Though it won’t stay that way for long. I consider this to be the middle part of the process. A stopgap until Plum is completely gone.

Yes, I’m being overcautious. But I’ve never regretted doing that.

Next, I get the fireplace going. That’s another thing Archie has a problem with.

He thinks an old woman in an old house with a wood-burning fireplace is a recipe for disaster.

He may be right, so many things could end in disaster for me, but not this.

When I was growing up, a fireplace was the only heat we had. I know what I’m doing.

One by one, I throw Plum’s belongings into the fire. The stuff from her bag is mostly useless, though I do take a closer look at her wallet. Credit and debit cards, along with cards from the library and gym. A few dollars in cash. No photos. They’re all on her phone, no doubt.

The one thing I do keep is the file she had next to her laptop. My name is written on the tab. I suspect that if things hadn’t gone the way they did, Plum would’ve taken it out and showed it to me.

I get settled into my recliner. If someone had told me half my life would be spent in the same chair, I might’ve killed them just for that. But now, ten years after buying this recliner, it fits my body perfectly. Every wrinkle and lump has its own place. There is nowhere I’d rather be.

The first page in the file looks like a synopsis, followed by an episode-by-episode breakdown of her series.

The Tragedy of Lorena Mae Lansdale

Good Lord, so dramatic . She even used my full, original name.

Well. This is what it came down to in Plum’s eyes. My life, or at least a good chunk of it, has been a tragedy.

In the spring of 1985, the Spokane Police Department realized it had an active serial killer in the city. Detective Kenneth Burke was the first…

I close the file. That’s enough for now.

No time for a trip down memory lane, not when Plum is still in my freezer. First, I settle in for a nap. Long night ahead.

—

The house is almost dark when I wake. The only light comes from the embers in the fireplace. I heave myself up, feeling all the activity of the past twenty-four hours. The soreness is deep in my bones, screaming out for me to stop.

I rebuild the fire, get it roaring with three new logs stacked side by side, making a flat surface across the iron grate. I open all the windows and plug in a few air fresheners.

In the garage, I divide the bundles by type—chicken and turkey first. I stack them all in a shopping bag and bring them into the living room. It would be easier if I had a crematorium and could burn Plum all at once. The whole middle part with the chain saw could be skipped.

Alas, we don’t get everything we want. In fact, I’ve decided that getting one or two things I really desire is the best I can do.

This process is not quick. It’s not like burning paper or even wood. Beyond the frozen veins, blood, muscles, and organs, there are bones.

Using a fireplace requires work. You can’t just throw a body in and expect it to burn—or a limb, for that matter.

Fireplaces are not incinerators. To do it properly, the body must be cut into small pieces, and the fire must continue burning so it can reduce as much as possible to ash.

If it’s done right, only bone fragments and teeth will remain.

The first time, I did it wrong and had to reburn what was left.

An unpleasant process, to say the least.

Success depends on the temperature of the fire. The wood and logs are stacked to allow for air flow and maximum burn, and I stoke it with a bellow. The more oxygen the fire gets, the hotter it burns. The gate in front helps keep the heat contained, in turn making the temperature rise.

I step into the backyard to get some fresh air and wait for the first packages to burn.

Over the next few hours, I get through the chicken, turkey, and red meat before taking a break. The smell still gets to me; that hasn’t changed. The charred, burning stench is impossible to get used to.

I go out back and cut a hunk of rosemary from the garden—God knows, I have enough of it—and throw it into the fire. It helps.

Only then do I notice the missed call. It’s the second one today from the same unknown number. This time there’s a voicemail.

“Hi. My name is Cole Fletcher. Sorry to bother you. I know this might sound a bit strange, but I’m looking for my girlfriend, Plum Dixon. I think she stopped by your house yesterday? I haven’t heard from her, and I’m getting a bit worried. Could you please call me back when you have a chance?”

Her boyfriend. The world really does move faster than it used to, and Cole knows exactly where Plum’s phone has been over the past day. Even I know there’s an app for that.

I call him back. Cole answers on the first ring. He sounds out of breath.

“Hello?”

“Hello. This is Lottie Jones. You left a message for me about Plum Dixon?”

“Yes, thank you so much for calling me back.”

“Of course. How can I help?”

“Plum was down in Baycliff doing some research for a project she’s working on. She went to your house yesterday?”

“Yes, she was here,” I say. “She came by last night to discuss a docuseries she wants to make. We talked for a bit, and she left after that.”

“Okay…” Cole’s voice trails off for a minute, like he’s reading something. “What time did she leave your house?”

“It was around nine or nine fifteen. You said you haven’t been able to get hold of her, is that right?”

“She’s not answering calls or texts.”

“That’s rather alarming,” I say.

“Did Plum happen to mention where she was heading next?”

“She said something about leaving town last night but didn’t say where.”

“Really?” he says. “Strange.”

“Is it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe not. I’m just trying to get hold of her.”

“I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful. But I’m sure she’s fine. Plum struck me as being quite determined.”

Cole laughs a little. “She is that. Okay, thank you, Mrs.Jones. I really appreciate your time.”

“Not a problem. If I think of anything else, I’ll be sure and let you know. Feel free to call if you have any more questions.”