Page 69 of Too Old for This

“You bitch.”

I smile.

Junior said that’s what his father always called me. I prefer to think of myself as highly resourceful, rather than a bitch. And smarter than Burke.

The gun is pointed at Burke to keep him from getting any ideas, but I’m not going to shoot him. The last thing I want is some ambitious crime scene investigator finding a bullet hole in a skull fragment.

“I knew it was you,” he says.

Perhaps the kindest thing I could do is admit it. Tell him once and for all that I am the killer of his dreams. If the soul is real, I have the power to let his rest in peace.

He stares at me. “You were always—”

I hit him on the head with the gun before he brings up my single motherhood again.

His head falls to the side, eyes closed, mouth still open.

No more words for him. Burke has had more than enough years to say everything he wants.

Now, I’ve got a list of things to do.

I hit Burke one more time. To be safe, yes, but also because I want to. This has been such a long time coming, it feels very cathartic. A breakthrough, as the therapists say.

Outside, the neighborhood is still quiet. No porch lights, no headlights, only a few streetlamps on. I head down to Junior’s SUV and grab my bag.

When I get back to the office, Burke is right where I left him. Still in his chair, his head tilted to one side. Blood snakes down his face, down his neck, and into his shirt.

My prepaid phone stays in the bag. I take out Norma’s and stack it on the desk with Junior’s. This is the last stop for Norma, who killed Junior back at the Dew Drop, took his phone and his SUV, then came up here to kill Burke. The phone data doesn’t lie.

Speaking of phones…

Burke’s fell off the edge of his armrest. I use his face to unlock it and go straight to the texts, searching back through them. A couple of weeks ago, he exchanged messages with Cole.

Burke: I’m trying to help. I know you didn’t hurt Plum .

Cole: What does it matter? If what you’re saying is true, Plum is dead .

Burke: You don’t want to help bring her killer to justice?

Cole: On the advice of my attorney, I can no longer speak with you.

I also find a local group Burke was involved with, mostly retired cops who like to drink and tell war stories. They go out every week or so. It looks like his version of my Thursday night church social.

When I scroll down farther, I find Plum. The last time they texted was over a month ago.

Plum: Thank you for sending all this background info. This is amazing!

Burke: Absolutely. If you need anything else, just let me know .

She never bribed anyone. All the information in that file had come from Burke.

I set his phone down on the desk. If the police bother to look, they won’t find his texts to Norma about me. Those aren’t on his personal phone.

Of course he has a prepaid. Who doesn’t?

With a sigh, I turn back to Burke.

I dig into his pockets, eventually finding the phone beside his leg, on the seat of the chair. It opens with his thumb. The last text I sent from Junior’s phone is on the screen.

His prepaid is not like mine; it’s a smartphone. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to spy on me with a camera app. I put it in my bag and look around, making sure I haven’t forgotten anything.

The only thing left is the fire. That oxygen tank attached to Burke’s wheelchair isn’t going to blow up on its own.

—

How high up in the air did his body go? Are there any recognizable pieces left? Was he instantaneously shredded? Is Burke now just a bunch of microscopic pieces of bone, blood, and skin?

No idea. I wasn’t able to stick around to watch. Nobody wants to get knocked out or blown away in a blast, including me. I had to light Burke’s clothes on fire, along with the rug underneath him, and then leave. By the time the oxygen tank exploded, I was two blocks away.

Now I’m heading back down to Oregon. It’s been years since I’ve been to a bus station, much less traveled on a bus. The good thing is, there aren’t many people on board and no one is sitting right next to me. I can enjoy the moderately comfortable seat in peace.

The long ride home gives me plenty of time to rest and recuperate. I run through it all, from Plum to Kelsie to Norma to Junior, and finally to Burke. Two of those bodies ended up in my fireplace. One has been buried. The last two were destroyed beyond the point of being useful.

I hope.

This has all taken longer than usual. One murder has never led to so many others.

I can’t fix or change anything now. Any attempt at that would make things worse. Time to move on to the final stage: acceptance. The worst part, and the hardest. Walking away is never easy.

I shut my eyes tight, trying to close off my brain. All the mistakes I made get locked away inside my head. Thinking about them doesn’t help; obsessing makes them even worse.

Eventually, I doze off. The sleep isn’t an easy one. Every time the bus pulls over to make a stop, I wake up. This is the slowest way home. My only other options were using Junior’s car or Burke’s. Either way, a bad idea. It had to look like everybody died in that blast, including Norma.

Why else would I have driven up there with a little baggie filled with Norma’s teeth? I scattered them inside Burke’s house. Or as I call it, the blast site.