Page 12 of Too Old for This
“What did they say?”
Cole averts his eyes, looking down at the table. “They asked me what our relationship was like.”
“Your relationship?”
“When I told the police she left her car at the airport and disappeared, they sort of…” He stops and moves his hand around, like he’s trying to conjure up the words. “They kept asking if we’d gotten into a fight. Sort of insinuating that she was trying to escape. Like I was…abusive or something.”
This comes out of nowhere.
I reach over and place my hand on Cole’s arm. “That must’ve been terrible to hear.”
“It was, because I never…I mean, Iwould never…”
“Of course you wouldn’t.” But, really, how would I know if Cole is the abusive type? It’s not like they come tagged and bar-coded.
“This detective kept asking me the same questions over and over,” he says. “The last time we argued. If it got out of control. How often things got physical between us. I kept saying it wasn’t like that.”
Cole’s emotions are a little overwhelming for both of us, and it seems like a good time for cookies. Moments like this are why I disagree with my doctor about sugar. Sometimes, nothing else will do.
The walker makes the trip to the cupboard slower than it should be. By the time I return to the table, Cole’s face has turned red, something he can’t hide with that pale skin.
“I’m sorry. I’m sure you have better things to do than listen to me,” he says.
“Nonsense. A young woman is missing, and that deserves attention.”
“Right? That’s what I kept telling them.” He picks up a cookie, eats it in one bite. “The thing is, this is the sort of stuff that drives her crazy. People making assumptions about what happened, thinking someone is guilty when they aren’t.”
“Plum seems like a very passionate young woman.”
“She is.” Cole smiles a little. It makes him look about twelve. “Plum is a really positive person. She believes she can change people’s lives.”
“Tell me more about her.”
Cole talks for the next half hour, sharing the story of how they met, how long they’ve been together, what Plum likes and what she hates. By the time he runs out of words, Cole is holding on to his teacup with both hands like he’s guarding it. Always the hero, even for porcelain.
“She’s just getting her business off the ground,” he says. “She wants to help people who were wrongly accused of a crime. I think it’s because of her mom. She had a lot of problems, but Plum still wants to believe the best in her, you know?”
“Had she produced a lot of these docuseries?”
“Three so far, and they’re all online. Her dream is to get a deal with one of the streaming networks.”
Good thing that hadn’t happened yet. Otherwise, a lot more people would be searching for her.
“She sounds like an amazing person,” I say.
“I feel like I’m babbling now. Thanks for listening.”
“Anytime. And if there’s anything I can do, you let me know.”
CHAPTER 7
By the time Cole leaves, he is hyped up on sugar and ready to continue his search for Plum. I sit down on my recliner and pull out her file. It’s been stuffed between the cushion and the armrest for days. Until now, I haven’t been tempted to go back to 1985.
I read through the first page of Plum’s episode synopsis, then flip through the rest. Copies of news reports, interview transcripts, and a few pictures. Including the infamous one of me walking into the police station.
My style was pure ’80s. That fluffy, feathered hair with the blond streaks. I didn’t wear the blue eye shadow that was so popular at the time, although brown and lavender wasn’t much better. Neither was my bright lipstick.
But the horrible fashion and style choices aren’t what stand out in the photo. It’s the expression on my face. I don’t look surprised or shocked, no dewy or wide eyes. Mine are narrowed and aimed directly at the camera. Glaring at it.
