She extended the prize toward him, and he unfolded the pressed white cloth the object had been wrapped up in. It was a gun. A Smith and Wesson .38, in pristine condition. It took him only a moment to realize which motel guest this piece of history had once belonged to.
“The gun that Sadie Durning used…” he said, picking it up. “Am I right?”
She beamed. “I found it in the scrub behind the motel, before the police got to searching for it. There was such a commotion, you know, nobody looked twice at me. And of course they didn’t try and look for it in the light.”
“Why was that?”
“The ’55 tornado hit, just the day after. Took the motel roof right off; blew the school away. People were killed that year. We had funerals for weeks.”
“They didn’t question you at all?”
“I was a good liar,” she replied, with no small satisfaction.
“And you never owned up to having it? All these years?”
She looked faintly contemptuous of the suggestion. “They might have taken it off me,” she said.
“But it’s evidence.”
“They executed her anyway, didn’t they?” she replied. “Sadie admitted to it all, right from the beginning. It wouldn’t have made any difference if they’d found the murder weapon or not.”
Earl turned the gun over in his hand. There was encrusted dirt on it.
“That’s blood,” Laura May informed him. “It was still wet when I found it. She must have touched Buck’s body to make sure he was dead. Only used two bullets. The rest are still in there.”
Earl had never much liked weapons since his brother-in-law had blown off three of his toes in an accident. The thought that the .38 was still loaded made him yet more apprehensive. He put it back in its wrapping and folded the cloth over it.
“I’ve never seen anything like this place,” he said as Laura May kneeled to return the gun to the drawer. “You’re quite a woman, you know that?”
She looked up at him. Her hand slowly slid up the front of his trousers.
“I’m glad you like what you see,” she said.
“SADIE…? Are you coming to bed or not?”
“I just want to finish fixing my hair.”
“You’re not playing fair. Forget your hair and come over here.”
“In a minute.”
“Shit!”
“You’re in no hurry, are you, Buck? I mean, you’re not going anywhere?”
She caught his reflection in the mirror. He gave her a sour glance.
“You think it’s funny, don’t you?” he said.
“Think what’s funny?”
“What happened. Me getting shot. You getting the chair. It gives you some perverse satisfaction.”
She thought about this for a few moments. It was the first time Buck had shown any real desire to talk seriously. She wanted to answer with the truth.
“Yes,” she said, when she was certain that was the answer. “Yes, I suppose it did please me, in an odd sort of way.”
“1 knew it,” said Buck.
“Keep your voice down,” Sadie snapped, “she’ll hear us.”
“She’s gone outside. I heard her. And don’t change the subject.” He rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed. The wound did look painful, Sadie thought.
“Did it hurt much?” she asked, turning to him.
“Are you kidding?” he said, displaying the hole for her. “What does it fucking look like?”
“I thought it would be quick. l never wanted you to suffer.”
“Is that right?” Buck said.
“Of course. I loved you once, Buck. I really did. You know what the headline was the day after?”
“No,” Buck replied, “I was otherwise engaged, remember?”
“‘MOTEL BECOMES SLAUGHTERHOUSE OF LOVE,’ it said. There were pictures of the room, of the blood on the floor, and you being carried out under a sheet.”
“My finest hour,” he said bitterly. “And I don’t even get my face in the press.”
“I’ll never forget the phrase. ‘Slaughterhouse of Love!’ I thought it was romantic. Don’t you?” Buck grunted in disgust. Sadie went on anyway. “I got three hundred proposals of marriage while I was waiting for the chair, did I ever tell you that?”
“Oh yeah?” Buck said. “Did they come and visit you? Give you a bit of the old jazz to keep your mind off the big day?”