Page 51 of Too Old for This

The windows have been open all night, but the smell of charred human body lingers. Good thing the houses on Bluebell Lane are on huge lots, otherwise my neighbors might have grown suspicious about it. But they never have.

I throw some cinnamon sticks in a pot of water and let it simmer on the stove. At least it makes the kitchen smell better while I drink my coffee.

Once I got started last night, I didn’t stop.

In the past, I have done it over a couple of nights, but not this time.

With Norma, I felt compelled to keep going, to keep burning, to rid my life of every last piece of her.

Maybe because Morgan found that finger, maybe because of all my mistakes, but I kept burning until my freezer was empty.

This morning, I sit down with Plum’s file and read those old articles. I’ve heard that some killers like to keep articles and news clippings about themselves and their crimes. That kind of nostalgia has never been interesting to me.

Though on occasion, I do look online. The internet hasn’t been around long enough to have all of them; only a few are there.

Still, I’m not searching for a trip down memory lane. I flip through the file until I find the transcripts. In our final interview, Burke focused on Walter Simmons.

Walter.

Of all the people to bring me down, it was almost him. That paunchy, dumpy man whose face looked like a lychee.

Burke knew Walter had been a volunteer umpire for Little Tots baseball. But he had no idea Archie had almost played in the league. Or that on the first day of tryouts, Walter had grabbed Archie’s arm and screamed at him for not knowing the rules.

“Didn’t anyone teach you how to play baseball?”

Walter brought Archie over to me and said my son couldn’t come back until he knew how to play.

“You had no business bringing him here today,” Walter said. I can still picture the way his face snarled up as he spoke.

Archie never went back. He never wanted to play baseball again.

Months later, my car was in the shop, and I had to take the bus to pick it up.

Walter was on the same bus. It almost seemed serendipitous that we both got off the bus at the same stop.

It was right in front of a movie theater showing St. Elmo’s Fire .

I watched Walter buy a ticket to the five-thirty show.

My garage was two blocks down, and I rushed to get there before they closed, then drove back to that theater and parked on the street. That’s why I got a parking ticket, the one Burke discovered.

I hadn’t forgotten what Walter did to Archie and what he’d said to me. And I was no less angry about it. That’s the thing about anger. It doesn’t just sit around, doing nothing inside of you. Anger has to go somewhere.

Some people probably think my method is crazy. I think it’s crazy there aren’t more people like me.

—

I don’t return to the Harmony until late Friday afternoon. If I always text Burke at the same time every day, it might seem strange. Eventually, he would catch on to it, even at his age. Norma struck me as someone who didn’t pay much attention to time. She wouldn’t keep to a schedule.

A few messages for Norma have come in. Tammy, the dentist’s office, an autopayment notification. Nothing is important except the text from Burke. He sent it three hours ago.

Burke: Anything new with Cole?

Norma: Still nothing.

Burke: What about that coffee shop? Any luck?

Norma: I showed Plum’s picture to both employees. Neither saw her .

Burke: Okay.

Norma: I’m meeting with Detective Tula tonight.

Burke: Did he contact you?

Norma: Yes, hopefully he has something new .

Burke: Good, that’s good. It sounded like he had given up on the case the last time you talked to him .

Norma: He kept saying there was nothing new to investigate, but that everything pointed to Cole.

Burke: Right, right.

Norma: And then Kelsie died, and that was it. He sort of disappeared .

Burke: He seems lazy to me, but maybe he’s got something now .

That was a test, just to gauge Burke’s reaction. It doesn’t sound like he’s in contact with Tula at all.

I can’t decide if that’s strange or not.

I’ve always assumed detectives contact each other, even in different areas, and especially if their cases are similar.

Burke is retired. He has plenty of time to call other departments and talk to cops who are still on the job.

Maybe he tried and Tula didn’t speak to him.

Or maybe Burke never called because he has something to hide.

Norma: I’ll let you know how it goes .

Burke: Talk soon. Be safe .

I finish eating the rest of my steak-and-potatoes dinner from room service. It’s going on Norma’s tab, not mine. When I arrive back at home, the burned smell is almost gone.

I grab my phone off the counter.

Sheila: Call me. What is this play about?

Bonnie: You didn’t tell us Morgan was in town. Tell me about this finger thing.

The only surprise is that they didn’t contact me first thing in the morning. Now I have to decide which story to tell them. I don’t like the idea of telling them the same lie I told Morgan. Unlike her, they would have a problem with me cheating on our church.

After thinking about it for a few minutes, I pick up the phone and call Bonnie first. Better to test my story on her and get the kinks out.

“Lottie!” she says. “What is going on with—”

“I know, I know. Morgan’s visit was a surprise. A last-minute thing to take care of the wedding preparations.”

“How did it go?”

“Busy, as you can imagine. But she has a place picked out and finalized the menu, so now she’s just dealing with smaller things. It’s all such a rush.”

“Pregnancy does that,” Bonnie says. I can hear her tapping the edge of her mug. Though she quit smoking years ago, she still taps her fingers whenever she wants a cigarette.

“She’s gone now. Left this morning.”

“I see.”

Silence.

Finally, Bonnie asks. “Are you going to tell me about this finger thing?”

I laugh. Not a chuckle, a full-blown laugh. “The finger thing? Oh God, I forgot Morgan brought that up. My granddaughter is in a church play down in California. She mentioned it to me on the phone last week, and I was trying to help with some props.”

“You didn’t mention Olive last night.”

“I didn’t? I was sure I did. There was just so much going on.”

There is an art to gaslighting. First, give it a minute. Second, it works pretty well on people my age.

“I had no idea Olive went to church,” Bonnie says.

“She does. And she told me about how fake the Halloween fingers look, so I was trying to make one look more realistic. Morgan found it.”

“For God’s sake, you should’ve told us that last night. Sheila and I have been trying to figure out what play you were talking about.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll call her right now and tell her what happened.” I hang up, take a deep breath, and prepare myself to tell the story again.

That damn finger.