Page 61 of Too Old for This
“Me?”
“About the whole police force, actually. Norma ranted and raved, going on and on about everyone lying to her.”
Tula grabs a cookie and takes a sip of his coffee. “I knew she was distraught, but I didn’t realize she was paranoid.”
“She thinks you lied to her about the bruise on Plum. She said you and Kelsie made it up because you’re trying to blame Cole.”
“But…but you were the one who told us about the bruise.”
“Exactly!” I throw my hands up in exasperation. “That’s what I told her, but she didn’t believe me.”
Tula draws in a sharp breath. I think he believes me, but I have no idea what Norma has said to him. “I didn’t know she’d spiral like that. I’ve had a lot on my mind since Kelsie died.”
“Norma has ideas about Kelsie as well. Specifically, about you.”
—
I almost didn’t call Tula. But while I was looking at Norma’s posts, she put up a new one. Over the past weeks, she hasposted photos of Plum, the Salem airport, and the Salem PD station. Today, it was a picture of Bluebell Lane.
The caption:
The police may have given up, but I haven’t. So many questions.
#WhereIsPlum #HowDidKelsieHarlowDie
I show this post to Tula. After two cups of coffee, his reaction is immediate. All that caffeine has to go somewhere, and it comes right out of his mouth.
“I understand that she’s hurting, but this…This is a little odd.” He pulls up the post on his phone and takes a screenshot.
“Is that stalking? It feels like stalking.”
“No. It’s just a picture of the street, not your house. But it’s something to keep an eye on.”
“She thinks the police are lying,” I say. “She thinks you had something to do with Kelsie dying, and now she’s coming by my house at night and posting pictures of my street. I really think she’s grabbing on to anything she can. Which I can understand, of course. I’m a mother, too.”
Tula is getting a raw deal here. I’ve gone to great lengths to blame everything on Cole, and now here’s Norma, blaming the police instead. Not my fault. Nor will I accept responsibility for what Norma is doing. But I do want it to stop.
“Thank you for calling,” he says. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Once he’s gone, I pull out my phone. It’s been sitting in my bag since I got home from the store today. But it’s not the only one.
I have a brand-new prepaid. It’s a dumb phone with big, easy-to-read buttons. No fancy apps, no internet.
It felt necessary, given how much life has changed. My comfort zone is long gone. I’ve left it behind and walked straight into a strange place where people keep knocking on my door, including Plum’s mother. It’s not easy to navigate around this new world, because my hands are tied so tight and technology follows me everywhere. I can’t murder my way out of this mess.
I suppose theOld dog, new tricksaying applies here. The doctors always say it’s important to learn new things and keep those neurons firing, though I’ve noticed only the young doctors say that. They blame us for our mental failings.
The older doctors know better. All the puzzles and games and new hobbies haven’t stopped anything.
I sit down with my laptop and get to work. So many things to do. Normally, I would ignore my phone when it rings, but I can’t.
It’s Archie.Again.
“Good?” he says.
“I’m sorry?”
“Morgan was a little upset about your text,” he says. “She thinks you don’t like the bridesmaid dresses.”
