It went missing when Mama was murdered and was never found. The cops presumed it was the murder weapon, which is why they took Pop in for questioning, even though he was making drinks when the murder happened.
"Where did you get the gun, Laurelyn?"
My aunt centers it on me. "Been carrying it around a long, long time."
I don't even have to ask her if she did it. I know she did. And then she hugged me afterward and bought me a goddamned Happy Meal.
"Why? She was leaving anyway. If you wanted Pop, she was going to let you have him."
Boone stills beside me, and I can almost hear him cursing me in his brain.
"I didn't know that! I didn't know until we found a damned packed bag upstairs and it was already done!"
"But how? I was the first one inside, and there was no one else in the bathroom."
None of it makes any sense. When I skidded to a halt on the tile, there was only Mama and Gil, dead on the floor.
Laurelyn shakes her head at me and laughs. "Says who? I jumped on the toilet in the stall and closed the door. When you ran out-"
"You snuck out and pretended to break down when you saw them."
She shakes her head. "Something like that. It wasn't like I planned it. Frank was drinking as much as he was serving, so I took the gun from behind the bar and tucked it in my pants because I didn't trust him not to shoot up the place. Maybe I should've let him. And then I walked into the bathroom and saw them in there together . . . and I just . . . I couldn't stand to see her humiliate her Frank one more time under his own goddamned roof. He deserved better than that! He stayed by her, even with the rumors going around."
The confession crashes into me, and I'm horrified to finally hear the truth. Before I can think of a single thing to say, Laurelyn waves the gun around.
"Tell me where you hid that damned ring. Brandy said that rock is worth at least ten Gs, and I need the money more than either of you."
Boone finally speaks. "Ma'am, I'll give you all the money you want and you can get the hell out of here. All you have to do is put the fucking gun down."
"Shut your mouth, boy. I didn't ask you."
"Mama? Are you down here?"
Brandy's voice comes from upstairs before I hear the creak of footsteps on the old treads.
Oh shit. I don't know how Aunt Laurelyn's going to cover up this one, but I know there's no way in hell she'll shoot her own daughter. I look to Boone, but his eyes are fixed on the gun that wobbles in Laurelyn's hand as she glances toward the stairs.
"Hold on, girl. I'm coming back up."
The treads keep creaking.
"I told you to wait upstairs," Laurelyn yells at Brandy when she hits the bottom step.
My aunt's arm bobs as she looks away, and Boone launches himself at her, tackling her to the floor like he did with the rodeo clown. A shot explodes from the gun, deafeningly loud. Both Laurelyn and Boone go still, and Brandy shrieks.
"No!" I scream and bolt toward them.
I can't handle a replay of what happened at the rodeo, and I'm not losing another person I love in this goddamned bar.
Before I can drop to my knees, Boone rolls off my aunt, keeping both her hands pinned over her head. Thankfully, I don't see blood coming from him.
"Oh my God, are you okay?"
"Yeah," he grunts before he knocks Laurelyn's hands against the floor, and she finally releases her grip on the gun.
"Help!"
Brandy's wail finally gets through to me, and I see her on the floor at the base of the stairs, dark red staining her pink shirt. But how?
I rush to her side. "Where are you hit?"
"I don't know. What's going on? Who has a gun?"
"Call 911," Boone orders from where he has my aunt pinned to the floor. He looks to Brandy and then back to me. "Must have been a ricochet or something."
"Brandy!" Aunt Laurelyn yells, and Brandy's gaze cuts to her mom.
"Mama? You shot me?"
"I told you to stay upstairs," Laurelyn spits out.
Like I did with Boone at the rodeo, I sacrifice my shirt and use it to put pressure on Brandy's wound. "Hold this on there. Tight. I'm calling for an ambulance."
Once I get a dispatcher on the line and fill her in on the situation, Brandy lifts the shirt off the wound. At the sight of her own blood, her eyes roll back in her head and she slumps to the floor, unconscious.
When I relay that to the dispatcher, the woman promises help is on the way.
The cops get there first, then the PI with Pop in tow. Apparently, they figured out the clues in the lyrics and were coming to investigate the bar too, but they didn't expect to walk into pandemonium.