Sunset and Sawdust

“Jimmie Jo was already dead. That McBride, or one of them working for him, they drowned her.”

“McBride wasn’t as good at killing people as he thought. In the long run, he couldn’t even fight grasshoppers. If he’d been good, you wouldn’t have had to finish the job.”

“Why would I kill the baby?”

“Maybe you wouldn’t. Maybe you didn’t want Pete having a baby by some whore he wasn’t married to. I don’t know.”

“It was perfect, Sunset. Really. She was out of your way, out of Pete’s life, and out of my life. The baby-I don’t know, maybe it’s like Karen’s baby-it was best. The way it ought to be. Way God wanted it. Pete, I told him where they were buried. Zendo found the baby first, moved it, and Pete found it, moved it to the colored graveyard. Guess he did that until he could put it in a white cemetery. I don’t know. We never got the chance to talk about it. You killed him.”

“He hid the land business with the body,” Sunset said. “Marilyn, you didn’t mind me taking the blame for killing Jimmie Jo and the baby.”

“I did mind. I just couldn’t say anything.”

“You know what I think?” Sunset said, standing. “In the long run, you thought it would work out fine, me taking the blame. You knew Pete wouldn’t end up taking it, not the way everyone felt about me. That way, you had me too, for killing Pete. And you could stay in good graces with Karen.”

“I done a lot of good by you, Sunset. I got you that car. I helped you.”

“Maybe so. Maybe you really did it all for Karen. And yourself. Thing is, I’m nervous around you, Marilyn. You might get moody. I might wake up sewed to my bed, you standing over me with a rake. A shotgun. That thirty-eight.”

“You did some things yourself.”

“I defended myself against your son. I went to arrest some men who were breaking the law and who tried to kill my daughter and my deputy and killed a boy I cared about. A dog I liked. They would have killed me, Daddy. My conscience is clear. What about yours, Marilyn?”

Sunset started out the door.

“You go

“I’m not wearing my badge. Or my gun. I don’t intend to put them on again. I don’t need them anymore.”

Sunset pushed the screen door open and let it fly back. Marilyn came out and stood on the steps as Sunset reached her car.

“You’re quitting?”

“I am.”

“You’re not going to arrest me, then?”

Sunset shook her head.

“What are you go

“I’m go

“Do you believe me, Sunset?”

“I don’t know. Don’t know it matters anymore. Not enough, anyway. But I got some doubt, and that much is too much. Important thing is, I got my center.”

“Do what?”

“So long, Marilyn.”

Sunset got in her car and drove away and Marilyn stood on the front porch and watched until she was out of sight and all that was left to see was the road and the dust from the passing of the car.

Joe R. Lansdale

Joe R. Lansdale has written more than a dozen novels in the suspense, horror, and Western genres. He has also edited several anthologies. He has received the British Fantasy Award, the American Mystery Award, six Bram Stoker Awards, and the 2001 Edgar Award for best novel from the Mystery Writers of America. He lives in Nacogdoches, Texas, with his family.