Page 103 of We Already Dug the Grave

“Good point. That’s out, then,” Ruth said. “We have to figure this out. I don’t like winging it.”

“This means you’re coming?” I asked Ruth.

“Well of course I’m coming. I’m not sending you two off on your own with a half-cooked scheme.”

“Good.” I looked at Bunny. “Were you able to get everything we need? To make it look legit?”

Last night, Frances had told us that in college and right after, Burt had gotten in trouble several times with cocaine and once with ketamine. Being an Anderson, his grandpa made it disappear.

“The Anderson family motto is basically ‘Avoid scandal at all costs,’” she’d said, and assured us that as long as Bert’s death looked like a believable bender, his family likely wouldn’t use their resources to dig deeper. They’d want it over and done with and out of the public eye as quickly as possible so it didn’t cast a shadow over his brother’s political prospects.

The Andersons sounded like a lovely bunch.

“Yeah, I got it.” Bunny nodded. “It’s in the car. Which is why we need to leave right now. Speeding ain’t an option. I can’t get pulled over with that shit.”

“I was planning on driving my car,” I said.

“Oh you were?” Bunny smirked. “Better make another plan, because we’re taking the Camaro. It’s reliable and fast. And I’m driving.”

“Fine.” I sighed. It was dumb how, out of everything that would be happening over the next twenty-four hours, the idea of not having my own car sent flurries of anxiety through my chest, but Bunny was the only person who I’d ever seen out-argue Aunt Ruth. I let it go. “Let’s hit the road, then.”

Frances squeezed me in a hug and whispered in my ear. “Sister, you’re saving me once again.”

I hugged her back, then walked to the car and folded all five foot, two inches of myself into the cramped back seat.

We were silent as we made our way down the driveway, until Bunny turned on some music.

Ruth stared out the window, Bunny lit a cigarette, and the first bars of Britney Spears’s “Gimme More” blasted through the speakers. For the second time in my life, I was on my way to kill for my little sister.

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.

Bunny had smiled and said, “Aw, Ruthie. You knew when we started dating that there would always be three of us in this relationship. You. Me. And Brit.” Ruth gripped the door handle like she might follow through on her threat, and Bunny had switched to her Y2K playlist.

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.”