Page 16 of Too Old for This
Sheila’s eyes light up. For a moment, I forgot who I was talking to. “You mean for the wedding?”
“Yes. Morgan is deep into the planning already.”
“Well, you have to be these days. With social media and everything, you can’t half-ass it.”
Again, I forgot who I was talking to. I hand Sheila my phone,showing her the picture, and listen to her critique Morgan’s choices.
“You might want to tell her that shade of orange is a touch too red,” Sheila says. “And snapdragons would look lovely in her bouquet.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Are you brushing off my advice?”
“No. I’m brushing off the fact that this wedding is happening,” I say. “Now let’s taste.”
I pull the second dishes out of the oven. We each take a bite, then another.
“They’re both so good,” Sheila says.
“You know what? You make the kebabs for Thursday, and I’ll make the stuffed chicken.”
“Glenda might fall over from the shock. Should we risk it?”
“Yes. Should we tell Bonnie?”
“Definitely yes. Otherwise, she might show up with those peanut butter cookies with the fork design.” Sheila shudders.
Bonnie is the baker of our little group, and she deserves a heads-up that we’re bringing fancier food this week. She’ll probably make truffles or something equally ornate.
“I almost forgot.” I dig into one of my bags and take out a large cookie tin. “I used my fireplace over the weekend. I brought you some ashes for your lawn.”
“God, I miss having a wood-burning fireplace. You’re a lifesaver. Or a lawn saver, I should say.”
I smile. “Anytime.”
CHAPTER 9
“Hi. It’s Cole, returning your call. Unfortunately, I haven’t heard anything from Plum and have no idea where she is. I did call her mother, who talked to someone at Salem PD. They finally issued a missing persons report. Thank you for checking in, and I’ll keep you updated if I hear anything.”
Cole has turned into a useful ally. He’s a polite young man, the type who calls his mom on her birthday. Archie does, too, but I’m not sure it’s because he remembers. I usually find a subtle way to work it into one of our conversations a few weeks prior.
Not long after listening to Cole’s message, I see Plum on the local news. The picture of her looks quite different from the person I met, who was more attractive. She was not photogenic.
The TV report is brief—just the photo, her name, and that she was last seen at the Salem airport. Nothing is mentioned about an investigation or that any foul play was involved. Of course not. They can’t find a body or blood or anything to indicate something violent happened.
But I’m not out of the woods yet. The lull has been dragging on a bit, helped by Cole, and now it’s coming to an end.
More than once, the lull drew me in and made me relax. A siren song of complacency. This time, I am prepared.
The knock at the door doesn’t surprise me.
Two detectives stand on my porch. One is a young woman in a navy suit and cheap shoes. Brown eyes, brown hair, neutral makeup. The other is a man who looks around forty. He’s wearing a sports coat, slacks, and a pair of dull shoes.
I bet he cruises through life with those dark eyes, though. They’re big and expressive, and he can’t hide his surprise at seeing me.
I’m wearing an old nightgown. The pink and purple flowers have faded into the same color, and my spindly legs stick out beneath it. So many blue veins. My grey hair is tucked into a bun, and a few wiry hairs stick out on the sides. I’m wearing a huge pair of glasses. My eyes are magnified behind them.
The man steps forward and holds up his badge. “I apologize for dropping by unannounced, but are you Mrs.Jones? Lottie Jones?”
