Chapter 39
Now
We’d traveled down a rural stretch of highway, past trailer parks and Dollar Generals and the occasional bar that would fit right into a true crime documentary.
Britney’s entire Blackout album had played through twice before Aunt Ruth threatened to open her car door and hurl herself to the side of the road if Bunny didn’t put on something different.
An hour later, the Chicks were singing “Goodbye Earl” when Aunt Ruth turned down the volume and said, “Let’s run through it again. One more time.”
Bunny groaned, and I agreed. We’d beat this dead horse too many times. The plan wasn’t great, but it was the best the three of us could do, and there was nothing else to discuss.
“Please?” Ruth asked, and that one word sounded like it cost her something. She’d always been human barbed wire, tough and sharp. Catching this rare wisp of vulnerability in her voice meant I would’ve done anything she asked.
“Sure,” I said. “From the top. We’ll coat the rims of the glasses in the poison. Then we’ll put the rest of it on a rag.”
“I’ll take the rag and hide with Bunny,” Ruth said.
I leaned forward in my cramped seat, until I was between the two women. “I’ll get Burt to come into the room.”
Everything hinged on this. I was putting all my faith in my sister’s certainty that Burt wouldn’t be able to resist a plot twist in his game.
“Once he’s inside, he’ll sit down so we can talk. I’ll make him a drink. That should be that. But, if he doesn’t drink, that’s where you two come in.”
“I’ll cover the door,” Bunny said. “Ruth will catch him from behind and stick the rag in his mouth.”
Hearing it, the plan sounded almost cartoonishly simple. But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t work.
“That’s right,” I said. “He can’t leave that room. No matter what, we can’t let that happen. If Burt leaves the room he’ll go straight to Puddle Creek, then Frances and Hattie-May are both in danger.”
“Fight like a hellcat,” Bunny said as she accelerated into a curve. “Got it.”
“If things get noisy, are you sure no one will call the police?” I asked, not for the first or second time. I figured if it was okay for Ruth to ask to hear the plan yet again, then it was okay for me to fish for reassurance. Last thing we needed were cops. Not out here.
“Babe,” Bunny said. “Nobody in this place is gonna hear a damn thing. You can trust that.”
Two turns later, and we rolled into the parking lot.
The desolate motel was made up of cement blocks painted a sickly pale yellow, with a door to what I assumed was the office. Next to it, ten faded red doors—each with their own dents and holes—stretched out in a row.
The nearly empty parking lot was littered with potholes like chickenpox on a sick kid, and there was a squat sign that had seen better days. It was the kind with removeable letters and said simply, B DGET RO MS.
“B-d-get Roms,” I said. “Nice.”
Bunny and Ruth ignored me.
During my years on my own, I’d lived in some sketchy places, but nothing as bad as this.
As we rolled across the lot, despair seemed to rise up from the concrete like steam after a summer rain.
But as ugly and scary as this motel was, it suited our needs perfectly.
I tried to imagine Burt’s shiny, put-together version of my sister stepping foot in a place like this and couldn’t.
To be fair, I couldn’t imagine anyone willingly staying here.
The idea of actually breaking down and having to walk to somewhere like this was chilling, but Bunny seemed unbothered as she pulled behind the building and shifted to park.
“Bun.” I unclicked my seatbelt. “How do you know about this place?”
Bunny fluffed her blond hair, then leveled a serious look at me. “You ain’t the only one who had a tough time in their youth, Milly.”
“Easy,” Ruth said, her hand lightly landing on Bunny’s arm. “It was only a question.”
Silence lingered until, finally, Bunny nodded. “I’m going to get our keys. I called last night. We’re in room seven. Wait here.”
When Bunny was out of the car, Ruth turned in her seat. “Coming back to a place like this… It ain’t easy for her.”
I waited for Ruth to say more, but the conversation dropped away. When Bunny reappeared from around the side of the building, we grabbed the leather purse holding the drugs and booze and poison and hurried inside, locking the door behind us.
We got to work in the tiny room that smelled like piss and something else I didn’t want to think too much about.
The walls were the same sad almost-yellow as the outside of the motel and clashed with the burnt orange blanket that covered the lumpy bed.
The thick curtains blocked the sunlight and kept prying eyes at bay as Bunny sat out the tiny bottles of booze and hid the drugs in the nightstand.
I grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom, and a roach fell from the top of it, landing on my wrist. I screamed as it scurried up my arm, then took flight.
“Well,” Bunny said. “Guess that’s a good way to check and make sure I was right about nobody hearing anything.”
“Sorry.” I rubbed where the roach had touched my skin.
Bunny shrugged.
We worked in silence, ignoring the bugs (spiders nesting in corners and silverfish in the sink) as well as the stains.
The worst was the rust-hued flecks that fanned over the ceiling above the bed.
I assured myself it was from a leak, but the heavy twist in my gut told me I was lying to myself.
Being here to end a life didn’t mean I wanted reminders that it was likely this room had known death before.
I’d finished coating the drinking glass with poison when Ruth said, “Let’s run through it again.”
“There’s no reason,” I said. “You know what to do.” I poured poison on a rag and handed it to her carefully.
“I’d feel better if—”
There was a knock at the door.
We froze. Listened.
Another knock.
We looked at each other. Was it time already? It seemed too early.
Unless Burt had caught an earlier flight, enraged after the Instagram post.
As we stood, it was like time stopped and we were locked in a moment with every hole in our plan now obvious.
Of course Burt could catch an earlier flight.
He was an angry rich man. He could do whatever he wanted.
What if the tracker we assumed was on my sister’s car was more sophisticated than we could imagine?
Everything I knew about the technological capabilities of a tracker was learned via five minutes on Google while standing in my kitchen.
Or maybe there wasn’t even a tracker in the car, and when Frances mentioned finding one, it tipped him off that something was fishy.
God. For maybe the first time in my life, I wished I had a gun. A weapon of any kind. I reached into my pocket, fingers wrapping around the bone. I caressed it with my thumb and exhaled a tight breath.
I looked at Ruth. Knowing my aunt, she had at least one knife on her somewhere.
Bunny stood next to the window and peeked out the dusty curtains.
“Is he here?” I whispered.
Bunny looked at me with wide eyes, her bubblegum pink lips parted.
My heart thudded. Nothing shocked Bunny. What was Burt doing on the other side of the door that had her rattled?
Another knock.
Sunlight beamed through a tiny hole near the top of the door, like the laser sight from a sniper’s rifle.
“Okay,” I said. “Y’all know what to do.”
Instead of moving to hide in the bathroom, Bunny stepped in front of the door. “Ruth,” she said. “You should answer it.”
“What?” I shook my head. “No. We stick to the plan.”
Bunny looked past me, locking eyes with my aunt. “Really. Ruth. Trust me.”
Ruth’s gaze jumped from Bunny to me, her face a question mark.
“What’s going on?” I demanded.
Ruth said nothing as she moved around me, still clutching the rag.
“And give me that.” Bunny plucked the washcloth with two fingers. She dropped it onto the shabby corner table.
Another round of knocking, but this time, Aunt Ruth pulled open the door.
“Ruthie?” a woman’s voice said.
My heart grew heavy as a stone.
I glanced at Bunny whose eyes were still wide in disbelief.
“Oh Ruthie. I’m so happy to see you!” the woman’s voice said.
And it wasn’t just any voice. This was the voice that I heard in my sleep. This was the voice I clung to, afraid that one day, I’d forget it altogether.
It was the voice that had told me to run.
Ruth, shocked to silence, pulled the door open a little wider, so I could see the woman on the other side.
“Milly,” she said. “Oh Milly.”
I took a breath, trying to reclaim the oxygen that had been knocked from my lungs.
Finally, I replied, “Hey there, Mama.”