Page 32 of Too Old for This
“I knew you were clever. And I bet you would do just about anything to keep your secrets, wouldn’t you?”
I tread carefully here, unsure what kind of trap she is setting. “Exactly what do you want?”
“Maybe I need to use words from your generation, just so we’re clear,” she says. “This is a shakedown.”
CHAPTER 17
I do know what the wordshakedownmeans. Extortion, blackmail, bribery…In this case, they all mean the same thing.
“What if I call your partner and tell him about this?” I ask.
“Go ahead, call Tula. Call the chief of police if you want. First, it will be your word against mine. They don’t know who you are, but I’ll be sure and tell them.” Kelsie pauses to smile at me. “You can guess which one of us they’ll believe.”
I can. And I don’t like it.
“Second, your identity will get leaked to the press. The police won’t be the only ones that know who you are. Everyone will. Imagine how surprised your church friends will be. What will they think when they learn you were the last one Plum talked to?”
Yes, I can see how the dots connect.
On the table in front of me, there’s a figurine I’ve always hated. It was a gift from an old colleague who had terrible taste in tchotchkes. I imagine picking it up and smashing it in Kelsie’s face. Maybe poking out an eye. Or shoving it in her ear.
I wonder if that’s even possible.
As pleasurable as this fantasy is, killing someone else in my house is not the smartest move right now.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“Is it really so difficult to figure out? You must know that cops don’t make a lot of money.”
Of course. I just wanted her to say it. “Perhaps you didn’t do enough investigating. I don’t have a lot of money, either.”
“But you have this house. I’m sure you can get a second mortgage. Or, what’s it called, a reverse mortgage?” Kelsie stands up, smoothing down her jacket, and she grabs her phone. “I’ll show myself out. Don’t bother with that whole walker thing.”
“Why don’t we—”
“Fifty thousand dollars. That’s what you owe me.”
The number hangs over my head like a bounty. “Impossible. There’s no way I can pay you that much.”
“Then find a way to get it. I’ll check in with you next week. That should give you enough time to arrange everything.” She flounces out the front door, slamming it shut behind her.
It’s painful to admit I did not see that coming.
The reality is I am woefully inexperienced when it comes to the police. After I moved here and changed my name, the people I killed were strangers. We had no known connection. The police didn’t show up the way they did after Plum.
My earlier experience, with Detective Burke, was valuable. It made me better, though clearly not perfect. But the thing about blind spots is that, by definition, you can’t see them. And mine have gotten me into trouble.
I remain in the sitting room long after she is gone, thinking about how I’m going to kill her. So many ways come to mind.
Gun. Knife. Blunt force. Fire. Strangulation. Poison.
That last one might be the cleanest, but it’s my least favorite. I tried it once at a bar, where it was easy to slip intosomeone’s drink. Strychnine, cyanide, arsenic…any of them will do, though I believe cyanide works the fastest.
I stuck around until the man collapsed and watched a bartender try to revive him. The paramedics didn’t arrive until he was already dead.
Such a passive way to kill someone.
There’s nothing quite like wielding a hammer, a crowbar, or even an umbrella. Poison doesn’t have the same satisfaction, that feeling of taking care of things myself, with my own hands. Nothing else like it.
