“Oh, nothing. Well... there is something. Could you... maybe do something for me?”
“Name it,” he said.
“Well... you know... I’ve still got that gun. The one we used that night.”
We used. Not you used. It had a comfortable sound, like an affirmation that she was his, always.
“What about it?”
“Jerrold, we have to get rid of it. I wonder if maybe you can take it. I’d like you to bury it, at that spot we go to by the lake in the summer. I’d like to come, but I have to be at home...”
He put out his hand. She took it out of her purse and gave it to him. He put it under the seat.
“Done. Here’s your house. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The next morning, she couldn’t conceal her surprise at seeing him sitting in his car, waiting for her. He thought for a moment that she might run, but, looking afraid, she walked quickly to his car and got in.
“I killed Scott last night,” he told her. “I made sure the gun was loaded, so I wouldn’t end up like Mason. I figured it out.”