Page 60 of Too Old for This

My outfit is a nice pair of slacks and a blouse. I braid my hair, put some powder on my skin, a bit of eyeliner, and some lipstick.

The dining table is set. I go back and forth, in and out of the kitchen, using the tray on my walker to bring in plates, glasses, and a bowl of pine cones for a centerpiece. I considered flowers or candles, but I don’t want Burke to think it’s a romantic dinner. It’s not that kind of night.

Next to the doorway leading from the kitchen into the dining room, I pinned up a giant red dot. Like a camera light but much bigger, and it’s impossible to miss. Every time I pass through the door, the red dot reminds me the camera is on and Burke is watching.

Around seven o’clock, I walk into the dining room.

After pausing to check the table, I shuffle through the sitting room, glancing around like I’m making sure everything looks nice.

Once I step into the foyer, I’m out of view, but the camera doesn’t shut down for twenty seconds.

After fifteen, I knock on the front door and open it up.

“Hello! I’m so glad you could make it. Come in, come in.”

The camera shuts down.

I walk down the hall, into the kitchen, and wait for about fifteen minutes. Long enough for a couple of drinks to be poured and consumed.

With one swipe of my hand, I trigger the camera back on.

“Wait, wait…What are you doing?”

I back up, out of the kitchen and into the dining room, and grab on to a chair. My eyes remain fixed on the doorway of the kitchen, as if someone is standing there.

I throw my hands up, shielding my face. Like I’m trying to fend off an attack. “Stop it, stop it!”

My knees bend, appearing to buckle.

“No, no, nooooooooooooo!”

I bend down, making my body crumple behind the back of the chair. When the floor meets my knees, so does the pain. I knew that would happen.

My screams become more realistic. They sound like I’m dying.

—

I practiced this quite a bit. It took a lot of work to stay in character from beginning to end, pretending to be someone who was getting murdered. To prepare, I watched movies, TV shows, and true crime reenactments so it would look real. They really helped with the finer details of being on camera.

I can thank Bonnie for that. She’s been a huge proponent of how-to videos for a long time, while Sheila prefers to read books. I have never taken a side in their ongoing argument between the two. What I can say is that “how to die on camera” falls into the visual category. Bonnie wins that one.

Recording myself also helped. I was so bad the first few times. Cringey, painful, awful from beginning to end. But after a few hours of practice, I improved a lot. The key was to stay focused.

My only thought: I am going to die.

After setting up my tablet to record the same angle as the camera, I knew where to move and where not to. More importantly, I knew where to fall. My body lands half behind the chair, and the other half lies across the kitchen doorway and out of the camera’s view.

I wait.

Fifteen, thirty, forty-five seconds. I crawl the rest of the way into the kitchen. Even if a tech glitch turns the camera back on, it won’t see me.

I stay in the kitchen for at least ten minutes.

Nothing in the house moves except my heart.

The pitter-patter is disturbingly fast, as if I really was close to death.

Or, more likely, close to being caught. My next step is to get up off the floor and leave the house.

All I have to do is avoid the sitting room and head straight for the garage.

By the time I get to the Dew Drop, there are three texts and two missed calls on Norma’s phone.

Burke: Hello?

Burke: Where are you?

Burke: Don’t text. Call me.

That’s not going to happen, though I understand why he said it. Right now, Burke must have three big questions: Is Lottie dead? Did Norma kill her? If so, what are we going to do about it?

Norma: I’m here .

Blue dots.

The screen lights up. Burke is calling, but I don’t answer. He doesn’t leave a voicemail.

Norma: Can’t talk. In an Uber .

Burke: Is everything okay?

Norma: Not exactly, no.

After working at a bank for so long, I can calculate compounding interest in my head, but I’d have to watch a few how-to videos to figure out how to calculate odds. At a guess, I’d say there’s a very good chance that Burke will show up in Baycliff.

Although he shouldn’t. He should stay far away from this mess.

But people never do what’s good for them. Not me. Not Plum or Cole or Norma. Not Archie. Not Kelsie. And definitely not Burke.

Burke: I’m coming down there .

Norma: How soon?

Burke: I’ll be there tomorrow.

Of course he will be. Burke and I are too much alike. Neither of us knows when to stop.