Page 62 of Too Old for This

It’s about eleven when I get to the Dew Drop. When Burke does arrive in town, the motel will be his first stop, not my house. He thinks Norma is staying here. And I bet the woman at the front desk will tell him the room number for cheap. Ten dollars at the most.

I set myself up in a chair near the window. My nerves are jangly. The noise outside makes sleep impossible; the cars and music never stop. Which is good. I don’t want to sleep at all.

Burke lied in his text. He is coming tonight, not tomorrow. I am convinced of this because I would do the same thing. Especially if I had been illegally watching video of someone in their own home.

But it will take him a few hours to get here, and I still have a few things to do.

I am no expert in vending machines, but the ones at the Dew Drop are refilled regularly. They’re popular, too. People use them at all times of the day and night. Around midnight, I head down to the machines for some sugar. Not because I am addicted to it, but because it’s time to use my witness.

Cropped Hair has no idea she has been targeted. Normally, I go out of my way to be invisible, or at least to blend in. But in this situation, setting up a witness has become necessary.

Down at the machines, two young men are getting sodas. Their conversation bounces around, moving from music to money to cars in the span of seconds. I wait in the shadows until they’re finished. They pass by without noticing me.

I step into the light, in front of the machines, and look at the options. Several items are sold out. Some off-brand cookies and chips are left, along with nut-and-raisin granola bars. Cropped Hair gets those. I bet they’re never sold out.

As far as I’ve been able to tell, there are no cameras at the Dew Drop.

Which is probably why they have so much activity in the parking lot and the motel.

Even if there were cameras, no one would recognize me.

I have Norma’s jacket on, the same one as always, but tonight I also wear my brown wig.

The same one I wore when stalking Kelsie.

Behind me, I hear footsteps.

“You okay?”

Cropped Hair’s voice is melodic and smooth. They should use it on the app for driving directions.

“I’m fine, just trying to decide.” I take a step back. No cane tonight. Norma doesn’t use one, so neither do I, not at the Dew Drop. I turn around, coming face-to-face with Cropped Hair for the first time.

My heart seizes up.

I step back again, trying to get away from her, and bump into the vending machine. It shakes a little. But I can’t stop staring at Cropped Hair.

I know her.

Bonnie’s daughter has changed a lot, starting with that hair. It used to be so much longer.

—

The last time I saw Danielle was at Bonnie’s house during the holidays. That was over a year ago, after she had her third child.

The only thing Bonnie loves more than her grandchildren is throwing a party, the kind where the booze is on the table, instead of in a flask, and every other dish is a dessert.

She makes gingerbread houses, wreath-shaped cakes, and so many kinds of cookies.

But she has never outdone the hand-carved white chocolate sleigh.

It has become Bonnie’s “winning quarterback at the high school championship” moment. Impossible to top.

Danielle was there. Her long hair was a brassy shade of blond, and the ends were crispy from all the bleach. She wore an ugly Christmas sweater and so did her baby.

“Next month, I’m going back to school,” she said. “I’m finally going to finish.”

“What are you studying again?”

“Accounting. I’ve always been good at numbers.”

I sat down next to her. After I’d worked at a bank for so long, numbers had become my thing. We briefly talked about interest rates and CDs, but we were interrupted when her baby got fussy.

No wonder I didn’t recognize her. That Danielle looked nothing like the sleek, somewhat frightening woman in front of me.

“You okay?” she says.

I nod, keeping my head down, hoping she doesn’t recognize me under the wig and Norma’s big coat. “Fine, thanks.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

I turn around and go back up the stairs, away from the vending machine and away from Danielle. She does not call after me.

Good. If she knew it was me, she would’ve yelled my name.

Back inside the room, I lean against the door and close my eyes.

My plan had been to talk to Cropped Hair, tell her I wasn’t from around here, and ask her for a restaurant recommendation.

I was going to act stupid and na?ve about this motel and about Baycliff, and tell her that someone from Spokane had recommended it to me.

I also would’ve introduced myself as Norma Dixon.

That part of my plan has been shot to hell. Now I’m left to worry about whether or not Danielle recognized me. I saw nothing in her eyes to indicate that.

But the mind is a funny thing. Memories come back in a different way. Sometimes real, sometimes not.

This was a lot easier when all I had to worry about was a body.