Page 11 of Too Old for This
“I’m really sorry to bother you,” he says. “I was just hoping to ask a few more questions.”
“Of course. Come in.”
He walks into the foyer, not appearing as impressed as Plum did. He stands in the center and awkwardly holds out his hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs.Jones.”
I nod and shake his hand. It’s soft, no calluses anywhere. “Let’s go to the kitchen.”
Cole follows me down to the hall, which is a much slower process with the walker. Behind me, I hear him. Step, pause. Step, pause.
“I’ll make us some tea,” I say.
“You don’t have to go to the trouble—”
“It’s no trouble. Earl Grey or peppermint?”
He takes a reluctant seat behind the table, on the built-in bench. “Um…peppermint.”
“That’s my favorite, too.”
Fill the teapot, put it on the stove, set two cups with saucers and spoons.
Making tea while using a walker is a tedious process, but I have to stay committed. Cole jumps up more than once, offering to bring the sugar, milk, and cups over to the table.
“You said you wanted to ask some questions. Is this about the docuseries?” I say.
“It’s about Plum.”
I stop stirring my tea. “Don’t tell me you still haven’t heard from her?”
“Not since the night she was here.”
“What about her family?”
“Well, it’s really just her mom, and that’s a…weird situation.”
Sounds like something to know more about, so I stay quiet. Let Cole fill in the blank air.
“Plum’s mom dumped her on her grandparents’ doorstep when she was little, said she wasn’t ready to be a mother, and took off. Plum didn’t see her mom again until she graduated from high school.”
“Are her grandparents still around?”
“They passed away before I met her. So it’s kind of just me. I feel like I’ve got to find her.”
Cole wants to be the hero. Good to know. “Plum still isn’t answering her phone?”
“No. The last time her phone pinged was at the Salem airport.”
I shake my head, look befuddled. “I don’t understand.”
Cole launches into an explanation about their location app, describing her whereabouts in detail. He knew when she had arrived here, what time she left, and that she went straight to the airport.
He’s right. Her phone did all those things.
“Have you looked anywhere else?” I ask.
He nods, takes a sip of his tea. The cup is so tiny in his hands I bet he could drink it all in two gulps. “We live in Seattle, so I looked there. And I went to Spokane, where she was also doing some research. Her car was found at the Salem airport, and that’s where I talked to the police.”
