Page 80 of Too Old for This

They weren’t as close as Norma had claimed.

As I expected, Cole was the one who told her that Plum was missing. He texted and asked if Norma had seen or heard from her daughter.

Norma:Not for a couple days. Why?

She was already lying. It had been weeks.

Cole:If you hear from her, let me know. She’s traveling down in Oregon for work.

Norma did not respond until the next day, when she texted back to see if Cole had found her. He called and they spoke for thirty-seven minutes. Over the next week, they called and texted multiple times. Every message was about Plum. Cole also mentioned coming to Baycliff to talk to me.

Norma:Who is Lottie Jones?

Cole:Someone she wanted to interview for her docuseries.

Norma:Never heard of her.

A day or two later, that changed. Norma called the Spokane Police Department.

Norma’s communication with Cole ended the way she said it did. She reached out three more times, and he ignored her. His final message came a few days later, when he referred Norma to his lawyer.

All of this takes a long time to put together, given that I’m working off pictures of screen images.

I stop and close my eyes, seeing flashes of light in my head. My neck is killing me. I need more ibuprofen and more coffee. By the time this whole thing is over, I might need a new stomach, too.

At nine o’clock at night, there’s a knock at my door.

Tula is the first one who comes to mind. Norma is dead, Cole is hiding behind his attorney, and neither Sheila nor Bonnie would stop by this late. It has to be Tula.

My phone lights up.

It’s my personal one, which is on the kitchen counter. Right where it should be.

Morgan:Hi, I’m here!

CHAPTER 44

I take a quick look around the living room. It’s clean; the blood and broken glass are gone. The only damage left is on the door to the study. I leave it open, pushed into the room, so it isn’t visible unless you get close enough to walk inside.

Also, the body in the freezer. There’s that.

I take a deep breath and open the front door.

The last time I saw Morgan in person, she had an overwhelming amount of hair and looked like she had just stepped out of a photo shoot. Glowing brown skin, glittery dark eyes. She was overly stylish and always wearing a full face of makeup.

The Morgan standing on my porch now looks like a modern Jackie Kennedy. She is wearing a sleek pastel suit with matching shoes and an impressive leather bag, and her hair is swept back into a chignon. She smiles, almost bouncing out of her shoes with excitement.

Until she sees my face.

“Oh God. Archie didn’t call, did he?”

I shake my head no. A lot of things are happening in my mind—rage, confusion, dismay, disappointment—but I force myself not to show any of them.

“What an incredible surprise! Come in!”

Morgan sighs with relief, her smile returning. She has deep dimples in her cheeks. “I’m so sorry for the mix-up. Archie was supposed to call you this morning. It was a last-minutedecision to come up here.” She steps into the foyer, heels clicking on the tile, and pulls her bag inside.

Hersuitcase.