Page 46 of Too Old for This

Not many people can make my heart stop, but Detective Kenneth Burke is one of them.

I thought he’d have died of old age by now. When I was in my thirties, he seemed at least twenty years older. Perhaps it was the way he acted. Burke always came across like an angry father who couldn’t get his daughter to behave.

The last time I saw him was the day I left Spokane. My name had been cleared, but I had lost my job and Archie still couldn’t go to school because of the bullying. Those kids were relentless.

What we needed was a fresh start in a new state and city, where I could find a job at a bank.

My plan was Portland. The car was packed up, all the furniture had been given away, and I was scrubbing our ground-floor apartment one last time to make sure the security deposit was returned.

All the doors and windows were open to air it out.

Burke appeared at the front door, casting a shadow on the floor. He wore a tweed blazer, pressed slacks, and that same damn tie with the medallions. His thick head of hair and mustache looked unruly.

I grabbed a bag of trash and walked right past him, out to the garbage can.

“I heard you were moving,” he said.

I still hadn’t spoken to Burke. And I wasn’t about to start.

“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me where you’re going?” he asked.

I walked past him again and back into the apartment. Archie ran down the hall and slammed the door to the bathroom. I gathered up the cleaning supplies and put them into a plastic tub.

“I know you’re guilty,” Burke said.

If he thought he was going to goad me into answering, he was wrong. Burke stood at my door for a few more minutes before giving up.

“I’m sure I’ll see you again, Lorena.”

That also made my heart stop. It sounded like a promise.

It’s been almost forty years since that day. I open the browser on Norma’s phone and search his name online, looking for an obituary. Just to be sure.

He hasn’t died, but his wife did; it was about a year ago. The last time Kenneth Burke was in the news, he was retiring from the Spokane Police Department. That was back in 2005. Yet he still remembers me. And he’s still trying to put me in prison.

I didn’t see this coming. It makes me wonder what else I’ve missed.

—

I go back to his text, wondering how I missed it yesterday. The message isn’t with all the others. Nor is his name. It came through an app with an icon that looks like the Settings icon but isn’t.

Shelter: Secure Encrypted Messaging

I scroll to the beginning of their conversation, shocked to discover they’ve been talking for weeks. The first time, they spoke on the phone for about twenty minutes. That was followed by a text two days later on the Shelter app.

Norma: I’ll be there tonight .

Burke: What time?

Norma: About ten.

Burke: Let’s meet for breakfast tomorrow .

While I was dealing with Kelsie and her blackmail, Norma drove to Spokane to meet with Burke.

Unbelievable.

After her trip, they continued to text.

Burke: Did you get a chance to read that file?

Norma: Most of it. I can’t say I understand it all.

Burke: Let me know when you have time for a call. I’d love to explain everything.

That night, Norma was on the phone with Burke for two hours and twenty-eight minutes. The texting continued in the days afterward. Most of the time, Burke initiated the conversations.

Burke: Just checking in. How are you doing?

Norma: Hanging in there. A little nervous about Baycliff .

Burke: It’s for your daughter. Remember that.

Norma: I know. I do.

Burke: But…?

Norma: But I’m scared I can’t do this .

Burke: You’ll be fine. I trust you

He uses emojis . This just gets worse and worse.

They were in contact almost every day. It became routine enough that “Hello” and “Goodbye” and “How are you?” vanished. Burke got straight to the point, and he pushed her a little bit harder each time.

Burke: I know you can do this. Just talk to her like a friend.

Norma: I really am trying.

Burke: Of course you are. You’re doing great.

Norma told him about her first meeting with Tula, all the way up to the note I left and the phone calls to her hotel.

Burke: Don’t pay attention to the noise. Pay attention to her.

Norma: I just want to find Plum .

Burke: And I’m helping you do that.

Norma: I know, I know. And I appreciate it. This is just making me so crazy.

Burke: Lottie’s doing it on purpose. Don’t let her. Whenever you feel like it’s too much, just give me a call. I’m always here for you .

I shiver, making a face at his words. It was creepy how Burke always circled back to me.

Norma had been sharing so much with him, including all the clues that led away from me, but he wouldn’t stop.

Regardless of the evidence—or lack thereof—he kept trying to convince her I was the center of everything.

Norma: There is so much that points to Cole. He won’t even talk to me anymore.

Burke: What did I tell you?

Norma: That she made it up .

Burke: It’s what she does .

Norma: I get that. I’m just saying, maybe this time she didn’t .

Burke: I can’t believe this .

Norma: Believe what?

Burke: That after all I’ve shared with you, and the files I’ve given you, I can’t believe you would doubt me .

Norma: I don’t doubt you. You’re obviously an expert about this woman.

Burke: I’m trying to help you find out what happened to Plum. If you don’t want my help, it’s fine.

Norma: I didn’t say that.

Burke: You came to me. I don’t have to do this.

Norma: I do need your help. And I appreciate it.

This passive-aggressive thing Burke did is new. His manipulation tactics have improved since we last met. I don’t like that one bit.

Their last exchange makes me feel a bit ill.

Norma: I have an idea.

Burke: An idea?

Norma: A surprise. Just wait.

She wanted to impress him. Norma didn’t tell him about her plan.

He waited until today to text again. In between, she showed up at my house, drugged me, and tied me up. But he doesn’t know that.

—

I have to answer Burke. If Norma stops responding, he is going to look for her. And I know exactly who he would start with. He wouldn’t be wrong, either. That’s the problem.

It’s hard to believe that after all this time, I am going to talk to Burke. And he has no idea.

My hands tremble as I type.

I stop, close my eyes, force myself to relax. And I try again.

Norma: I’m here .

I send the text. Blue dots appear, disappear, reappear. I imagine old man Burke sitting in a rocking chair, trying to figure out what he wants to say. Or maybe he’s in a wheelchair at this point.

Burke: Everything okay? I was worried .

Norma: Everything is perfect .

Burke: Yes?

Norma: I talked to her. Actually, I followed her so I could “run into” her at the store. We sat down and had coffee together.

Burke: Brilliant. You are just brilliant .

I smile. Not because I think he’s being honest, but because he’s trying to flatter me.

No, he’s trying to flatter Norma . And she would’ve believed him.

Norma: Brilliant? Oh, stop that. Don’t be ridiculous .

Burke: It’s true! So what did she say?

Norma: It was so odd. She told me she’s been talking to Tula quite a bit.

Burke: The detective? She’s talking to him?

Norma: That’s what she said.

Burke: And what do they talk about?

Norma: Both suspect Cole of doing something to Plum, but they have no way to prove it.

Burke: She’s lying. Don’t buy into it.

I make Burke wait, letting him get antsy about what Norma is thinking. One minute, two, three, and then I text him again. That’s exactly what she would do.

Norma: I didn’t say I believed her .

Burke: For your sake, I hope you don’t .

He hasn’t changed that much. Still arrogant.

And still after me.

I call down to the front desk. A perky young man answers and calls me by Norma’s name. “Good afternoon, Ms.Dixon. How may I help you?”

“Yes, who am I speaking to?”

“This is Emilio.”

“Hi, Emilio. I need to stay in town for a few more days. Is it possible to extend my reservation until Sunday?”

“One moment.” Tap, tap tap. “Yes, we can do that for you.”

“Perfect.”

I hang up. My mind is spinning with ideas about how to handle the next few days. Burke has changed everything.

He has always known. Back then, I could tell by the way he looked at me. It was like I had the word guilty painted on my forehead. He didn’t question it, either. That type of blind faith can be dangerous. All he needed—all he needs —is an opening. He’ll sprint right through it, straight to me.