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It’s been a few days, and I haven’t heard from Patrice, and wonder if I made a mistake in texting her. But I try again; this time, it’s a riddle about arsenic. It should be easy to solve. I wait but see no message back. Maybe it’s good she doesn’t text back – at least for now. If she reads it, that’s all I care about; but then maybe I’m texting no one because she’s already blocked me. I open YouTube on my phone and go to her channel. Her last video was a few days ago about fall planting. I feel frustrated that I won’t be able to plant some fall flowers since I have no car. However, I could maybe order some and do some planting when my nephew is at work. Yes, I could do that. I go to my favorite online nursery and pick out some yellow and purple pansies, ornamental cabbage, and kale, with a few Echinacea to fill in the back garden. The suspected ship date is in a few weeks, just in time for September planting. I feel better and start humming. The house looks a mess, so I start cleaning. My nephew can’t expect me to stay in bed all day, even if I did have so-called dementia. I’m not an invalid. And it’s  house. A few hours later, I wipe the sweat off my forehead, sit with a cold glass of milk, and surf Facebook to see if any of the kids or grandkids have posted. That’s the only reason why I have social media. A few of the grandkids have posted some summer vacation pictures, and I liked and commented on them. After, I check out some gardening sites and watch some more YouTube videos. I go out front and take a tour of my gardens and want to cry. The weeds are taking over a few of my smaller gardens by the lawn, and speaking of the lawn, it’s much higher than it was a few weeks ago. I doubt my nephew does any yard maintenance, so I call my good friend’s grandson, who does yard care and who has come in the past, and get an appointment to have him come out and weed, mow, and trim some bushes. Thankfully, one of those smart meters does the watering automatically, so my flowers still look nice. Earlier in late spring, I planted tomatoes, cucumbers, green and yellow peppers, onions, and zucchini in our raised beds that my late husband Willis built for me about ten years ago. It’s been five years since he passed; died in his sleep. He was 67, and I was 65. Why do male spouses die earlier and leave females alone? The sun had gone down when I came back in. My nephew will be coming home soon, and I realize I haven’t ordered any food. Once I submit my DashDoor order, I turn back on the TV to  to see if a good mystery can keep me occupied until dinner arrives.  True to their word, a knock on my door signals that dinner is here. Good, because it’s nearly 8:30, and I’m starving. I first use the bathroom and grab one of my pills upstairs so that I can “prove” I remembered to take my meds. When I open the door and grab the food, I see an unfamiliar grayish car drive by slowly, watching me. It's nearly dark, so I can't get a good look at him. Suddenly, my heart starts racing, and I quickly close the door and lock it. I then flip open one of the foyer blinds and notice the car has pulled over to the neighbor’s house to the right of mine. I feel panic rising in my chest. It couldn’t be the DoorDash driver since they quickly drop the food off, take a picture, and then leave for the next home. Who is this, and why are they parked at my neighbor’s house? I contemplate calling my nephew. He may not care a lot about me, but I know he will protect me. I wait to see if this person leaves, but after a few minutes, I pick up my burger and start eating, still watching through my blinds. When my food is gone, and I’m about to call my nephew, the car pulls out and leaves. Even though I can breathe easier, I still have butterflies thinking about who it was and why they were parked outside. Could they have been looking for an address and pulled over to check their map? That’s likely what happened, and I’m letting my imagination go wild. Still, I can’t get the thought out of my head that the person was watching me - no expression, just staring at me as he drove by. Another very terrifying thought occurs to me. What if this is Devin, and he didn’t know about me and now has found out? Am I just another loose end for him? After all, he only knows about the four people who carried out the murder and the burial of Troy. Now that he knows, I’m a target. Soon after, my nephew comes in looking tired.  I’m sure he’s not sleeping well since he killed someone and then had his friends dump the body, and now a ring has been lost at the crime scene that was just discovered today. Actions have consequences. I grab the food bag from the floor. “Hi. Are you hungry?” I had bought a burger for him as well. “Yeah, starving.” He grabs the bag I hold out to him. I’ve been watching a murder mystery and turn down the volume. “How is work?” I ask, trying to carry on a friendly conversation. My nephew has changed so much. No longer is he the quiet, respectful, and kind person he was years ago. It’s like he hates the world now. His dark brown hair is nearing his chin, and his brown eyes look bloodshot, and I know he drinks and does drugs, and he looks like it too. His jeans are dirty, and his dark blue shirt shows off his tanned muscles. He works as a mason for a local company, so often comes home dirty and exhausted. I believe he gets paid well, but he works at least 10 hours daily. He told me years ago that working is the only thing that keeps him from his “evil thoughts.” I believed him. “It’s work.” He looks at me, his eyebrows narrowing. My heartbeat starts to rise. “Why are you being so nice?” “Well, you’re my nephew, and I care. It just seems like you’ve been stressed out lately, so I figured it was from work," I say, taking on a more serious tone, hoping he bought it. His face softens, and he says, “Yeah, work has been crazy, and some other things going on with workers haven’t helped.” Yeah, I’m sure since two of his coworkers are also his accomplices to Troy’s murder, and one of them lost his wife’s ring in the same place they dumped his body. “I’m sure it’s hard being a manager and dealing with workers. I remember when I was a manager in the marketing agency I worked in many years ago, and you had to deal with workers stressed about their job or home situation. You had to be empathetic but still firm. It was a challenge to balance the two. There were days I just wanted to crawl in a hole because I had to answer to my manager about why the team I managed wasn’t exceeding expectations of the company. As a manager, it falls on you to explain why.” I feel like I’m rambling and stop. My nephew isn’t even paying attention, as he’s punching in what looks to be a message on his phone. I go back to watching TV, turning the volume up. A little while later, my nephew gets up and says, “I’m headed to bed,” which is also my cue to go into my bedroom, even though I’m in the middle of my show. It IS my home, and I should be able to go to sleep when I want to, and I feel irritated that he controls me. But I also don’t want to cause ripples right now, especially since he’s being nice. In my room, and after I have “taken” my meds, I pull out my phone and text Patrice about the ring. They can test it for his DNA if she can find it before Colton does. Of course, this would only implicate Colton, not my nephew. I want them all arrested, especially the one who instigated it, but I still don’t have evidence of who hired the group to kill Troy. After reading a while, I feel my eyes getting fatigued. But as soon as I put my book away and turn off my lamp, I hear a gunshot. Then … a   shortly after.

I barely slept. I thought of every scenario of the good, bad, and ugly. I want so badly to just call the police and end it right now, but I can’t. It will get back to my nephew that I told them since I was the only one here. I think about how I should act today. I have no idea if they are coming here first or if my nephew will just be waiting for the “deed” to be done. I almost don’t dare leave my room, even though I’m starving and barely had dinner last night. I look at the clock, and it reads 7:22 AM. I doubt he’s even up, but who knows. I’d better check. I grab my robe, open the door as quietly as possible, and tiptoe down the hall to his bedroom. I peer in and see him fast asleep. Sometimes, he’ll sleep in late when he’s been out partying. When they left yesterday, I didn’t hear him come in until late, so he could sleep for a few more hours. This gives me time to get something to eat and maybe go outside for a bit. He doesn’t let me out often, and I miss the breeze on my face and feeling the warm sun. I return to my room, change into some comfortable pants and a blouse, and put on my shoes. I look in the mirror and notice my slivery shoulder-length bob needs a wash and wish I could put some makeup on my wrinkly skin, or at least put on some lipstick and rouge and maybe some eyeshadow to bring out the blue in my eyes. I feel like I’m also shrinking. I’m not too tall or short, about 5’7, but lately, I feel more hunched over. I don’t like getting old, and I don’t like the meds my nephew makes me take for my supposed dementia. They make me tired and forgetful; maybe that’s his plan. I go slowly down the stairs and hope nothing creaks. I get to the bottom and let out a small sigh. The day is bright, with the sun streaming through the kitchen. I hope he went shopping. I open the fridge and see some yogurt and grab it. I then check the pantry and find some oatmeal and granola – my favorite. I take it out, pour some in a bowl, and turn on the hot water so I don’t use the microwave. I find a spoon and sit down at the table and eat. I almost devour the breakfast and drink some lemonade.   After, I slip out the back door and into the perfect day. The sun is bright, the birds are singing, and I see my rose bushes all blooming. At least I have a sprinkling system that automatically turns on to water my lawn and plants. I close my eyes and let the sun beat down on me. I should have put on sunscreen, especially given my history of skin cancer ten years ago, but I don’t care right now. I’m nearly 70, and if the good Lord wants to take me, so be it. I feel like a prisoner in my home and wish I could run away. I take out my phone and surf social media for a bit. A while later, I notice the sun peeking over the mountains and realize I have been out here for at least an few hours, but it feels so good. Still, I don’t want to upset my nephew, so I’d better go in. I open up the sliding glass door and shut it quietly. I don’t hear or see anyone, so I go back up the stairs and see he’s still asleep. I feel somewhat tired even though I’ve only been up for a few hours, but I also didn’t get much sleep. After I read for a while, my eyes begin to droop. A nap sounds good, as I lay the book on my nightstand and then lay down and put the covers over my head. ________________________________________________________________ I’m awakened by noises and hear my nephew downstairs. The room seems to be darker than when I went to sleep, and I’m shocked when I see that it’s nearly 5:00 PM. I slept all day, and my nephew didn’t wake me? “Is everything ready to go?” “Yeah. Petra and Greg went to get the body. They will text when they’re about 30 minutes away, so around 10:30, Ely and I will go to the house and start digging. It will probably take us at least 20 minutes or so to get the hole dug.” “This had better go flawlessly or else,” I hear a threatening tone. “It will. There’s no way we will screw this up when we’re getting paid thirty grand each.” “Yeah, well, I did my part, so I better get paid,” my nephew said. I just realized they’re all getting paid, so  hired them to kill Troy, but who? It does make me feel somewhat better that my nephew was only doing it because he’s getting paid and that this isn’t premeditated by him.  My mouth is so dry, and I need water and dinner since I’ve been asleep all day. I don’t think I can get my nephew’s attention unless I yell down at him, but then he may get upset. I have a glass by my bed, so I will just get some water in the bathroom and hold out on getting some food until he comes back upstairs. After closing the bedroom and bathroom door, I turn on the faucet just a little to get some water. I feel a little better after gulping it down. I turn on the TV and lower the volume so I have something to watch while waiting.  one of my favorite series, is coming on soon. I like going back to the time without mobile phones, the internet, and social media. We barely had one TV, which was black and white with an antenna you had to fiddle with to get decent reception. But we only had 3 channels, and the news was on at 6:00 and 10:00 at night, and that was it. You weren’t privy to everything going on in the world, and it was nice. Ignorance is bliss.   It’s after midnight when I hear voices and realize I have fallen asleep. I rub my eyes and put on my glasses and my hearing aid. It’s so tiny; no one ever knows you have it on. I’m able to hear perfectly. “It’s done,” is all I hear, and it’s from Petra. “Good. Did you hear anything? See a light come on from the neighbors?” My nephew says. “Nope. We were real quiet. No one suspects a thing.” If I could see her, I would know she was smiling. “Okay, so when we get paid?” Colton asks. “You took pics, right?” My nephew says. “Yep, a few. I even got one with the necklace on his chest,” Petra chuckles. “Awww … how cute,” Greg pipes in. Send me the pics, and I will forward them to Devin.” Darn, I really wish I could see their faces, but I don’t dare open the door and check over the banner. “Well, head home. Good job. I’ll let you know once Devin sends the transfer.” “How long is that going to be?” Colton seems impatient. “I don’t know, hopefully soon. Just lay low for a few days,” my nephew says. “I can’t wait too long. I have work, you know?” Petra sounds like she’s jangling keys. “Yeah, we all do. But we’ll each be $10,000 richer soon, well, except for me. I did the killing, so Devin promised me $20,000. Just hang tight,” my nephew says. A few minutes later, I hear the door close, and I quickly get back into bed, put away my glasses, and lay down with my eyes closed. Shortly thereafter, I hear my door creak open. I know it’s my nephew checking on me. My heart is racing, but thankfully, it’s dark, and he can’t see me. I hear him close the door, and I breathe out in relief. He doesn’t suspect a thing. _____________________________________________________________ It’s been nearly two months since the incident when I hear my nephew one morning yelling. I groggily wake up but then come wide awake when I hear, “What do you mean you lost Jenna’s ring? Where? When?” I get up and creep my way to the door. “I don’t know, man. I had it in my pocket because I was going to the jeweler to resize it and can’t find it now,” Colton sounds freaked out. “Okay, when was the last time you had it?” I hear nothing and then, “Oh shit. It was the night we dumped Troy.”  My head is spinning. “You’ve got to be kidding me! Are you saying you might have lost it in her  I don’t know, man, maybe.” “Maybe?” My nephew’s voice thunders. And then he says, “Shit, we’re gonna wake her up,” his voice is down a notch. Too late, nephew.    “How did you just figure out you lost it two months later? Didn’t Jenna say something?” “Yeah, and I told her it was still at the jeweler. I didn’t know what else to say.” “Damn it, Colt.” I have to tell Patrice. Colton will go back to the yard and try and find it. I have to warn her. “There’s one more thing,” Colton says. The police were just called to her home. Deanna found Troy.” “Oh shit.” I realize I have to text Patrice  . It’s the middle of August, and they dumped the body on June 25th. I pull her contact information I’ve had in my notes for two months, and text her a cryptic message about Asters and soil. I have no idea if she will think I’m some lunatic or even the killer. I hope she doesn’t delete the message and block me. I wait. And then another thought hits me. I have to message her anonymously and then delete each message. That could work! “You are one stupid son-of-a-bitch,” my nephew says. “Look, I said I’m sorry. I’ll go back in a few nights and see if I can find it.” “No. The cops will be swarming the place. Wait at least a week and hope they damn well don’t find it before you do.” “Okay.” I hear footsteps, and then the door closes. I quickly get back to bed before he catches me. He throws open the door just as I close my eyes. “Time to wake up and take your pill,” he tells me. I groggily open my eyes as if I’ve been asleep the whole time. “Oh, okay.” I rub my eyes and stretch. “I must have been way tired. I’m usually up by now.” I glance at the clock; it reads 8:15. I haven’t been sleeping much since this whole thing happened, but I tell my nephew I have been sleeping more. I have been getting up later, but it’s because I haven’t been getting to sleep until later too. It was after midnight until I finally drifted off last night. He goes into my bathroom, takes out the pill bottle, and brings it into the room with a glass of water. He hands me both, and I put the pill in my mouth and swallow. “Good girl,” he says as if I’m a toddler. “I’ll bring you some breakfast soon,” he says, then puts the glass down and walks out. About thirty minutes later, he comes in with a tray of buttered toast, yogurt, and grapefruit juice. “Thanks, I say when he lays it down across my lap. “I’ll be leaving soon for work, but I’ll come back at noon for your afternoon pill.” I nod and then start eating. I’m starving but thirstier, as I seem to be lately. When he leaves, I eat and read a little but then feel my eyes drooping. I wake up what seems like hours later. I’m alone. It’s now 12:22 PM. Did my nephew come back, see me asleep, put the pill on my nightstand, and leave? I look over but don’t see the pill. I get up and put on my robe and slippers and go downstairs. A cold glass of orange juice sounds good. I open the fridge, grab the juice, and then see more Greek yogurt with the fruit at the bottom. I wonder if there’s more granola, so I peer into the pantry and see some on a shelf.   I set everything down on the table and look out the back. It’s a beautiful August day – perfect for some more reading. After sprinkling granola on the yogurt and pouring the juice, I take everything outside and sit on the lawn chair. The sun is warm, and the slight breeze tickles my skin. Sometime later, I heard the back door slide open. “What are you doing out here?” My nephew sounds like he’s accusing me. “Oh, hi. It’s such a pretty day. I thought I’d sit out here and enjoy it.” I turn around and see him frowning. “You know how the sun can damage your skin. You’ve already had skin cancer.” “I know, but I put on sunscreen,” I lie, “and I won’t stay out long.” He doesn’t know how long I’ve been out here anyway. “Fine, but no more than an hour. I will get your pill.” He closes the sliding door, and I turn back to my book. I hate the meds he gives me, so I pretend to take them, but I keep the capsule in the side of my cheek and spit it out when he’s not looking. I have a baggie I put them in and then tuck them under the mattress. I’ve been doing that for months now. I checked what he was giving me; it was some kind of sedative. It’s like he’s trying to keep me numb and out of it. It feeds into the dementia story, I assume. One time I asked for an MRI to see how far advanced I was, but he refused, saying it was too expensive. Apparently, all he had to tell my doctor was I exhibited the signs and symptoms he read about, and they believed him. But I know I don’t have it. My memory is good, that is, without that damn medication. After he gives me the pill and I pretend to swallow it, he leaves and says he won’t be back until later tonight, but I can order DoorDash for dinner. Oh good, I’m tired of soups and salads. I click on the TV, and the local news is on. I see a reporter standing in front of what looks like Deanna’s house. I turn up the volume and stare at the screen, watching as the police interview her. I then watch the medical examiners pushing a stretcher with a zipped black bag on top, and I know it’s Troy. I suddenly fear that if my nephew is found out and gets arrested, I will be alone, and then they will put me in an assisted living center. I will have to leave my home. And then, I see Deanna, and she looks devastated, and it makes me sick to know she’s being framed, and there’s nothing I can do about it. But I know who can …

PART TWO PART TWO The Messenger The Messenger I’m not asleep; instead, I hear voices downstairs and wonder what’s happening. And then I hear something that made me pay better attention. “Are you sure she’s asleep?” I hear a guy ask. “Yeah, I gave her Melatonin, which she says is the only thing that helps her sleep. She’ll be out for hours,” My nephew says. I hear silence for a few minutes, and then another guy starts talking. At this point, I tiptoe to the door very quietly, so I can hear better. “So, do you have the address?” “Yeah, but we have to be smart about this. We have to case out the house and see when she leaves, and it has to be at night, so we’re not seen,” my nephew says. I hear the words case, night, and not seen, and my mind goes on overdrive. What are they planning? “Okay, you know what you need to get then?” My nephew asks. “Yeah, what’s to get? A shovel, the necklace, and, well, his body,” a woman’s voice chimes in. I clamp my hand over my mouth. Did they kill someone? “Don’t be a smart ass,” my nephew’s tone is harsh. “It’s not going to be as easy as you might think, especially getting into her home. Getting his body won’t be as hard. No one knew anything different since Troy was headed to the cabin to work on some repairs, and Melinda was going to Florida for the week. Good thing arsenic can’t be detected. It was quick, nasty, but quick. Now that he’s dead, we just have to wrap up a few things and then take him.” He acted so nonchalantly, with no feeling.  They kill him, and now they’re going to bury him. Suddenly I can’t breathe well. My heart is racing, and I feel like I’m going to pass out, but I have to hear this. I try breathing deeply. “When do we get the money?” Another male voice asks. “When the guy is buried in her backyard, duh,” the woman says. “Remember, you can’t leave any DNA on her necklace. It must be Deanna’s, and it has to be placed on his chest right before we bury him.,” my nephew says. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I just need to pick up my lock-pick equipment from the shop on the 17th. I will be in and out in a few minutes. We already know she doesn’t have a security system from when I called pretending to be a telemarketer. That was too easy,” she laughs. What has he gotten himself into? I mean, murder? I know he’s been arrested before, but I never thought he was capable of committing murder. I back away and get back into bed. What do I do? If I go to the police, they will know it was me. I can’t take that chance. After I calm down, I mull this plan over. I don’t think they thought this through so well. What did they think would happen when Deanna found her husband’s body, that they would arrest her and immediately charge her as guilty, and it would be over? That’s not how this works, and he should have known that. But taking her necklace and then framing her for his murder is not a half-bad idea. I need to know more, but I can’t be directly involved. However, I know someone who can help. She’s good at this murder mystery stuff. I have to stay anonymous, or it will destroy my family. And as I type this, I realize the person I thought I knew I really didn’t, and that’s hard to square, especially when it’s part of your family. I sent the first message, and yes, it was cryptic, I admit, but I know this woman is smart and will get it. So, now, she knows about asters and their secret. That’s a good start. It’s a good thing these people don’t think there is any way I would say anything. All they know is that I’m mostly deaf and legally blind, but it’s not bad; I just pretend it is. I also pretended as if I was asleep after being given Melatonin, but that stuff never works with me, even though I said it’s the only thing that helps to sleep. They have been murmuring for days now, whispering when they didn’t think I could hear. This is the first time I have heard it all clearly, however. I know more now and when they plan on dumping his body – June 25 after Deanna and her kids went camping. It was a perfect time. When they dig up the plants to bury him, they will shoddily plant the flowers, so one day, she would see that the flowers are dying and dig them up. That’s when she discovers Troy, and with the necklace tied to her, they would arrest Deanna and get away with murder. But how do they know Deanna is going camping? And how long has Troy been dead? And why kill him? None of this makes sense. I need to wait until after they bury Troy, and then I can start giving more clues to Patrice Summers. She could piece together their plan and let the police know. I started watching her on YouTube about four years ago. I’m a gardener too, but she knows so much more than I do, so I follow her channel and get to see her videos. She did some with Troy a few years ago because he was also a gardener and did much of the digging while Trice recorded him, and then they would switch, and she would plant, and he would record. That’s when I discovered his name was Troy Carmicheal, and his wife was Deanna. I also learned from my son, who is a police officer for Grantsville, that she has helped Gray Errington, Chief of Police, on a few cases, even helped solve them, so I knew she would be the one who could figure it out with the clues I would give her. My nephew doesn’t know that Patrice won’t accept that Deanna murdered her ex-husband unless she had proof, and she would do everything to clear her friend. I have to be careful I don’t give myself away. I hear them leave and can breathe freely again. I put on my bifocals and look outside my window just as they drive away. I think about what might have led my nephew to do something like this. He’s had a rough childhood. His mom left his father, him, and two younger siblings, his brother and little sister. After that, his father was never the same. He started drinking and would come home drunk most of the time and beat him. They never touched the younger ones, just him. I took him in when he was 16 and got custody. After that, my brother never saw my nephew again. It’s been over 15 years now. I tried to get him therapy and set him straight, but he wouldn’t listen to me. He flunked out of high school and started selling drugs. I tried to warn him that I wouldn’t tolerate his drug dealing, but he spun a tale to the police about how I had dementia and was a danger to myself and others. Instead of it being my home, he took over and used it for his drug dealing. I was “permitted” to stay as long as I shut my mouth. He threatened to kill me and then go after anyone I loved. I have five grandchildren and three great-grandchildren, so you can see how I did what I was told. Now, I have this huge secret, and the only one I can tell is Patrice, and it has to be in riddles, and she can’t know it’s me – ever. ________________________________________________________________ I don’t hear anything until the night before when the group is together again. I feign being asleep when my nephew shuts my door. I wait until he’s back downstairs, and then I creep out of bed and to the door, listening again. “Troy should have been getting back from the cabin tomorrow, and since I have his phone, I will text Melinda and tell her “I’m” on my way home around 7:00 p.m. It’s about 3 hours from Grantsville. She won’t suspect anything for at least a few hours after that, which gives us plenty of time to bury him,” My nephew says. “I wish I could see her face. She deserved this, and so did he,” my nephew spews out. I could hear the venom in his voice. What happened to have him hate this person so badly, and Melinda? And then it hits me. She must have been having an affair with Troy. This is what happened when his mother left. She was also having an affair and left to be with the man, abandoning him. It all makes sense now. He’s out for revenge. “Okay, Ely and Colton, tomorrow night you will dig the grave at 11:00 p.m. Petra and Greg will get Troy’s body from the cabin at 8:15, so when they arrive, the grave will be ready. You guys dump his body while Petra grabs the necklace. She places it on his chest, and you all bury him. That’s it. Now, if everything goes as planned, Deanna will find his body and get taken in for questioning. The necklace will have her DNA on it, so it will look like she killed him, just like we planned. After all, Deanna had the means, motive, and opportunity - his affair.” My nephew had it all thought out as if he had been planning this for months. And who knows, maybe he has been. All I can do is watch it play out.

I pace back and forth in Gray’s office, waiting for him to return. It’s been almost 20 minutes, and my anxiety is through the roof. After learning everything I know now, it’s mighty suspicious that Jeff’s last post was to his ex – at least, that’s what I believe. It just seems very strange that the post was published on June 22nd.  I mentally calculate 56 days to when Troy was found. It was last Wednesday, August 15th, and we now know the body had been deceased for nearly two months. This man could have very well killed Troy. I have no evidence, just speculation. The best I can do is give this info to Gray and let him investigate it. About 15 minutes later, I see Gray stroll into the police station, and I rush out of his office. “Gray, you’re finally here.” “Hey, Trice. Hold on.” He talks to one of the police officers and then pats him on the shoulder. “Okay, I’m all yours,” he says as he walks to his office with me on his heels. He shuts the door and tells me to sit. “Okay, what’s up.” I tell him everything I learned, feeling like I’m talking a thousand miles a minute or I’m on Speed. “Hold on, back up, and slow down.” Yeah, he notices it, so I slow down and go through the timeline, ensuring he knows everything – well, except for the messenger. After I’m done, he sits there with his arms behind his back, looking up at the ceiling. I flashback to when my kids were young, and I would read  and Junie never could understand what people were seeing when they looked up (rolled their eyes). “Wow, Trice, you did more than my investigators and in such a short time. It does sound very plausible, but we need concrete evidence, and the only thing we have is that necklace.” I sit back and blow out a deep breath. “I know, but it’s a lead. The fact that he posts that on his Facebook page around the same time Troy dies has to mean something, right?” “Maybe, but it could be anything. We don’t even know if he knew about the affair.” He’s right; we don’t. “How is Deanna?” “She’s scared, but Brock is doing what he can to help. We’ve searched the house, and nothing else looks out of the ordinary. The killer could have broken into the house and stolen the necklace to put on Troy’s chest to frame her like you said. Deanna did have an alibi around the same time Troy would have died, but we have no idea when he was dumped in her yard. He could have been killed 56 days ago but not dumped for days or weeks after. It’s hard to pinpoint what someone did with that range of days. Maybe you can track down what her days were like back then.” Gray picks up the phone. “Hey, I have a visitor for Deanna Carmichael.” Oh, he wants me to go down to the jail now. “Okay, thanks,” he says, then puts the phone down. “Okay, you have permission to visit her. Her court date is tomorrow, so anything you can get out of her will help the judge decide whether she’s granted bail.” “Okay, I’ll do what I can.” “Thanks, Trice. You may be the only one who can help her.” Well, that’s a lot of pressure. I say goodbye and take off to visit the Tooele County Jail. The last time I visited a jail was when my uncle was there, my dad’s brother. He was arrested for petty theft and threatening someone with a deadly weapon. He had a knife and threatened a convenience store clerk to “slash” him if he didn’t give him some smokes and alcohol. He took off and got himself drunk. On the way home, he was pulled over after drifting in and out of the lane and then arrested. He was in jail for 90 days. I was 21 at the time. I was close to him as a teen but saw him spiraling after his wife divorced him and took their two kids. And the ironic thing is that my father was killed by a drunk driver when he was only 30 years old, and I was 7. My younger brother, Nathan, was only 4. It devastated my mother, who got remarried but not for ten years. They now live in Sunny, Florida, in a senior community. She will turn 80 in a few months. Her husband, Rob, will be 82 a month after her birthday. They are enjoying life, and it’s been nearly two years since she visited. I wanted to go but have had to watch the monsters for the last 18 months. I pull up to the gate and announce my name. After I am cleared to go, they open the gate and let me through. The jail isn’t nearly as big as the one in Salt Lake City, and as I pull into visitor’s parking, I see a guard tower and hear noises coming from the jail yard. It must be outside time. I learned from Uncle Nathan that you were allowed outside in the yard for one hour daily to get exercise and sun. Before I go in, I see two large off-white ceramic pots with flowers on each side of the door. The colorful red, white, and blue plants were probably planted for the Fourth of July, America’s birthday. I identify the red geraniums in the back, white diamond euphorbia in the middle, and blue lobelia hanging down in the front and to the sides, making for a vivid display.   When I go inside, I’m patted down and have to empty my pockets; then they search my purse. When I go through the metal detector and am cleared, the clerk takes me to a meeting area, where tables and chairs are spread across, allowing visitors to speak with inmates. I also learned that you can do video calls now instead of what there were in the past - phones you had to dial and everything. I sit down at a table and wait for her to come out. I’m tapping my foot and then abruptly push down on my knee to prevent me from doing it. She needs to see me calm, not nervous. I see her come out in an orange jumpsuit, and she looks … well, beaten down. Her hair doesn’t look like it's been washed for at least a week, her blonde highlights have faded, and her dark brown roots are coming through. Her cheeks are pasty white, and her eyes look lost. I try to maintain my composure, but I really want to hug her and cry. She comes and sits down, her wrists cuffed. “Hey, Dee. How are you?” “Well, I’m in jail; that’s how I am.” I can’t blame her for saying that. “I would be scared and feeling confused, as I can tell she is right now. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could clap my hands or wiggle my nose like Samantha on Bewitched and change the scene. Are you at least being treated OK?” “Yeah, word got around that I “offed” my husband for having an affair, and most of the women think I’m a hero, but I’m telling you, Trice, I didn’t do it. I swear.” I believe her. “I don’t think you did either, but that necklace …” “Someone took it from my jewelry box because I haven’t worn it since we divorced. Troy gave me a simple heart locket on our tenth wedding anniversary. That was right before his affair.” Her voice starts to tremble, and I know I don’t have much time, so I need to get straight to the point. “Dee, look, I know you’ve been through this with the police, but if you can remember anything else from around June 15 to the 24th, that could explain your whereabouts. If we can pinpoint an alibi, it would help Gray.” I pray she remembers something, anything. She looks like she’s thinking hard, but I can tell she’s just tired. “I just don’t know,” she says, shaking her head. “Okay, let’s see if I can help. Did you go out of town or state during that time?” “No, well … hold on.” I lean forward. “I did take the kids camping for the weekend, but it was just Saturday and Sunday, and I think it was sometime around then.” Her eyes widen, and she leans forward. I watch the guard eyeing her. “We did go camping the weekend of June 18 because I remember promising Tanner we would do it for this birthday, which was the week before.” The excitement in her voice shows hope. “This is good. Maybe the killer watched the house, waited until you left, broke in, stole the necklace either Saturday or Sunday night, dumped Troy, placed the necklace on his chest, and then covered him up. They tried to replant the Asters, but what they didn’t know is that if you dig up plants before they are done blooming, they will go through transplant shock, and depending on how hot it is and how much water it gets determines if they come out of it and survive. When did you notice the asters were dying?” “Well, I didn’t really notice until a few weeks ago. I just thought because of the heat and the last few storms that, they were damaged. They started drooping and then falling over and weren’t even flowering anymore, so I figured I would dig them up and maybe put something else in or wait until fall and replace them since they did look nice there.” This is great news; it means she may have an alibi for the time Troy was dumped in her yard. “This is great, Dee,” but why didn’t you tell the police and better yet, Brock about this?” She placed her hand on her forehead. “I must have just spaced it. It was a few months ago, and with all the summer activities, I just didn’t think much of it.” “Okay, well, you need to tell Brock this, and I will tell Gray. Someone is trying to frame you, and we’re going to prove it,” I say with conviction in my voice. Of course, I don’t know that 100%, but I really don’t believe Deanna killed Troy, and if I can help prove it, I will do what I can. “Do you really believe so?” I nod. The change in her from when she walked out to now was palpable. She has hope now. “Oh, thank you so much, Trice. I’ll never forget this.” At this time, the guard said her time was up, but I got what I came for, an alibi that could clear her once and for all. I leave the jail with a little spring in my step. As I round the corner to my street, I get a buzz from my phone. I pick it up, and the screaming message makes me slam on my breaks. I KNOW WHO DID IT!

The following day, I open my eyes and feel like someone has taken a hammer to my head. A migraine, one of several I get every month, has taken up residence, and they’re always brought on by insufficient sleep. This is why I go to bed by 10:30 and up by no later than 6:30, so I can get a solid 8 hours of sleep. My side of the bed is still empty. Brock must have slept on the couch the whole night. I put on a robe and walk down the stairs to find him still there. It’s a little past 7:00, so I quietly walk into the kitchen, start the coffee pot, and take two Excedrin from the cupboard. I hate the meds, but they’re the only thing that helps my migraines. Couple that with the caffeine from the coffee and it usually knocks it out after an hour or so. This is a doozy, though, so who knows? If they’re bad, I need an ice pack on my forehead and no lights or any stimulation. Thankfully, I don’t have any meetings today, so I can rest somewhat as the meds take effect. I need some food, even though I'm nauseous, so I get the cereal out of the pantry and milk out of the fridge. I want to close the blinds and just sit in the dark too. Maybe I’ll go back to bed and do just that. A few hours later, I can feel the meds kick in as I open up my eyes, realizing that after I ate, I laid down and crashed. The time is nearly 9:00, but I didn’t hear Brock come up, so I wonder if he’s still asleep. If he is, he’s late to court. I rush down the stairs, and he’s still asleep. “Brock.” No answer. “Brock,” I say louder and nudge him with my hand. He groggily wakes up and stares at me. I still have the ice pack on my head. “Yes, had a migraine earlier, but you’re late for court.” Brock looks down at his watch, and his eyes grow big. “Oh damn. I was supposed to be there at 8:30. Where’s my phone,” he gets up, searching for it. He throws open his briefcase, and it’s sitting on top of his papers. He picks it up and then mumbles, “Great, it’s dead; no wonder I didn’t get up.” “Sorry, I would have woken you, but I took my meds and then fell back asleep.” Wait, it’s not my fault he missed the alarm. His phone was dead. “I’ll have to charge it in the car.” He runs up the stairs, and five minutes later, he’s back down again in a new shirt, slacks, and tie, his hair combed. “I can’t believe you can get ready that quickly,” I say, shaking my head. “See you,” he says and then kisses me. “Have a good day,” I wave him off. Now that my headache is just a dull throb, I puff up the pillows on the couch, lay back, and flip open the laptop to start my search. Okay, Troy had to have had social media, so the first place I check is Facebook. Sorry, but I refuse to call it Meta. And why is there Threads now? It makes no sense. No matter; I’m only on Facebook and Instagram to see the grandkids. I put in his name and search through all the Troy Carmichaels. There’s a bunch of them, and then I see his photo and click on it. His last post was in August 2022, a year ago, and it’s pinned. It reads:  There’s a photo of them kissing at sunset on a cliff, it looks like. She’s pretty, medium height, with long, flaming red hair, and wears, I think, a bikini or tankini, can't really tell. She looks to be about 30 if that. Troy has short, sandy-curled brown hair and wears Bermuda shorts and a black t-shirt. They look like a striking couple. I see the ocean behind them. There were five comments, and hers is the first one. It says:  He took her to Hawaii, the bastard. He had promised to take Deanna on their 20th anniversary, which would have been in five years. I scroll down and see memorial tributes, and then see one that reads: That last sentence … was that a threat? I screenshot the page to give to Gray. I click on her photo; Melinda Patterson is her name. There’s not much on her, except her birthday is September 14, 1995, so 28 years old. Her last post was also in August 2022, with a similar photo of her and Troy in Hawaii, with the post:   It’s almost sickeningly sweet but also odd. She didn’t delete her Facebook, but nothing for a year? I click on her friends, and a name–Jeff Patterson–pops out. I immediately click on his photo and wonder if it’s a brother, in-law, or maybe an uncle. I scroll down his feed. There are a few photos from six months ago, but then on June 22nd, 2023, a post with the words:   That was it. A chill runs up my spine. What does that mean? There were no comments or likes, but nothing after that. OMG, the same month Troy died. Did Jeff kill him? I mean, it would seem strange and even stupid to put up a post like that. Maybe he posted this as a warning to her. I have to know more about him, so I open another tab and search for his name. I scroll down and see a LinkedIn post with his name, so I click on it. I find his profile and see that he’s a civil engineer, and his hobbies are mountain biking, hiking, snowboarding, and horticulture, the study of plants. What??  This cannot be a coincidence that Troy is first poisoned with a natural substance, then his body is scarred from a plant, and this guy’s hobby is  . My phone buzzes, and I almost jump off the couch. I search for it and realize it’s right under my hip. I grab it. IF YOU WANT THE KEY TO FINDING THE KILLER YOU’RE LOOKING IN THE WRONG PLACE How does this person always know what I’m doing? Did they bug my home and car or my laptop? Was the person I saw last week in the backyard able to get inside my home and plant a bug? How else do they know everything? WHERE ARE YOU? Silence PLEASE, YOU’RE SCARING ME. YOU KNOW EVERYTHING I’M DOING I wait … I CAN’T TELL YOU WHERE I AM - I JUST KNOW YOU AND THIS IS WHAT YOU DO This person  me? I wrack my brain on who it could be, family, friends, someone in the neighborhood, on the street? Still, how do they know I’m looking for Troy’s mistress? Wait, if they have Facebook and they’re friends with me, they would see I’m active right now. I rarely go on there, so it makes sense that if they saw me on there, I could very well be looking for Melinda. Now, I know they’re not the killer; they are trying to help me, but they know things I would never know, so it begs the question, do  know the killer?

A young, pretty strawberry blonde woman sits on one of our barstools. She whips around and smiles. She’s wearing a red pencil skirt and black sheer blouse that plunges down her chest, and if I look hard enough, I’m sure I could see her bra peek-a-booing. Her emerald, green eyes are gorgeous, with smoky gray eyeliner matching the bottom of her eyelids and a light pink highlighting the top. Her lipstick has just a hint of red that makes her lips pop. “Um, hello?” I say, trying to be courteous but then a little firm. She turns around with a huge grin. “Oh, hi, you must be Patrice.” “I must,” I say, coming over to the pantry and grabbing a can of dog food. Hercules isn’t barking at her at all, but then, she’s been here longer than I have, and he might have when she walked through the door. “I’m just waiting for Brock. He forgot to get some papers for court today and ran out of gas on his way home. And since the courtroom wasn’t too far, I came and picked him up so he could get a can of gas and take it back to his car.” He could have texted me, but then I was about 20 minutes away. “I see. And your name?” She touches her forehead briefly with her middle finger and says, “Oh yes, sorry. I’m April.” She kind of looks like one, with her long hair, white skin, and bubbly personality. Every April I know or knew acted this way and looked this gorgeous too. “I’m Brock’s paralegal and have been helping him on this case. He’s worked really hard, and I’m sure wants it over. You can tell.” I find it amusing that she’s telling me how my husband feels. “Yes, he has, he works nearly all night, so I rarely see him. He probably sees you more than he sees me,” I joke, well, sort of. She giggles a little. “Yeah … “ “Hey, you’re home.” I whip around and see Brock with some papers in his hand. He comes over and kisses me on the cheek. He runs his fingers through his hair and gets out a glass, offering one to April, which she politely declines, but not me. “Ran out of gas, so April was kind enough to come get me, so I didn’t have to bother you. I got to get the gas can out of the shed. Be back.” And it’s just April and I again. “So,” I ask, “Are you dating or married?”  She smiles and shakes her head. “No, men are scum.” Well, okay … “I mean, I hang with some of them, but not in a relationship. Done with that.” What is she, 25, and she’s already done with men? What is it with this generation? When I was her age, you found a guy, dated him, and then got married. A few years later, you popped out a kid, and viola, you had a family. Now, no one wants to get married, let alone have kids. We sit silently until Brock comes back in with a gasoline can. “Okay, we gotta get back. See you later tonight; not sure when. See ya,” he says, with April following him out the door. I know what thoughts are invading me, and I must tell my brain to shut up. We’ve been married for 32 years. No, he’s not having an affair. April was nice enough to give him a ride back home to grab his court papers and a can of gas, that’s it. I refuse to get jealous over this. After they leave, I head back out and start planting. It takes me an hour, but all the pots are planted, and I look back and am satisfied. My phone rings. It's Gray, and I pick up. “Hey, Gray,” I say, sitting down to rest. “Hi, Trice, got your voicemail. Thanks for your help.” He stops, and I can tell he’s going to say something I don’t want to hear. “Hate to say this, but we just got a warrant to arrest Deanna and search through her house.” I'm kind of taken aback, but then not really. “Wow, I thought she was cleared.” “Well, the thing is, we found a necklace at the scene. It was lying on top of the body, and we figured it was dropped on purpose, but Deanna’s DNA was on it when we tested it.” Wait, what? “How? Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” I grip the phone tighter. “Not necessarily, but we had to arrest her. It’s evidence we can’t deny.” I’m reeling. Deanna killed her husband? It just can’t be. I then tell him what I suspect when I found more information about Bloodroot. “Is it possible that someone killed him, laid him down in the bloodroot or rolled him around in it to disfigure him, tossed him in their trunk, drove down here, and then dumped his body into Deanna’s yard and somehow planted that necklace there to frame her? I mean, maybe they snuck in and found one of her necklaces and planted it on Troy before covering him up.” I could tell Gray was contemplating that possibility. “Could be, but we have no way of knowing, so we must follow protocol. Since it’s hard to pinpoint a date of when Troy was killed, except that it was in the middle of June, we need to question her on an alibi for that period.” “Yeah, I know. I’m just sure she didn’t do it, Gray.” I look over the fence to Deanna’s backyard that once was filled with kids playing and laughing, and even fighting, and feel so bad for her and the kids. “Well, we have to rule her out then, and this is the only way.” “She needs a good lawyer, Gray, and I know just the person.” “Well, then you’d better call him now.” I get off the phone but forget that Brock is in court right now. Shoot, she needs a lawyer. I text him anyway, hoping he will get it when he’s out. DEANNA ARRESTED, NEEDS A LAWYER, NOW Short but to the point, and I hope he can take her case. I haven’t heard from the messenger and wonder if something’s wrong. Now that there’s a search warrant, there’s no way I can get over there to look for the ring. But it may be the only thing that clears her name. I wait impatiently for Brock to get home. I check my watch, and it’s nearly 8:00. He can’t be still in court; where is he? I made dinner around 7:00, thinking he would have come home by now. I cover everything up and put it in the fridge, and then I hear the garage door. It’s about time. Brock comes in looking drained. His tie has been loosened, and that means he’s exhausted. “Hi, did you get my –“ “Yes, and that is why I just got home. I got out of court at 6:00 and headed straight to the police station.” I want to kiss him right now. “Oh, Brock, thank you!” I come over and wrap my arms around him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to bother you, it’s just …” “I know, it’s your friend, and she’s in trouble. I have to say it’s not looking too good for her right now.” He opens the fridge and pulls out dinner and a can of Coors. It’s going to be that kind of night. “That necklace is pretty damning,” he says, then sits on the couch. I come over and sit next to him. “But what if it was planted to make it look like she killed him?” I then tell him everything Gray and I talked about, but he looks stony-faced. “I mean, it’s more plausible than her poisoning him with arsenic, dumping his body in her front yard, and then placing a necklace there.” “The necklace could have also fallen off while she was rolling or pushing him in or burying him,” He sighs. “But it was placed on his chest. Why would she do that?  It doesn’t make sense since it would have her DNA on it and implicate her as the killer.” I could tell Brock wanted the conversation over as he picked up the remote. “I don’t know, Trice. Can we just have a calm night without talking about murder, investigation, being a lawyer, or Deanna, just for one night?” I have been obsessed with her case, and he can tell. “Yeah, sorry.” He turns on the TV, and I cozy up next to him while we watch some mind-numbing movie on Hulu. Later, I feel the familiar buzz of my phone and look over, and Brock is sound asleep. I get up and go upstairs. It’s Leah’s text message. DEANNA’S BEEN ARRESTED! I KNOW. I’LL CALL YOU. I text back. It’s almost 10:00 when I call. “Hey, so what is going on?” She almost shrieks in my ear. “They arrested Deanna because they found a necklace on Troy's chest, and when they did a DNA analysis, it matched Deanna. “Oh my gosh. Does that mean –“ “No,” I clap back. “It just means that somehow the killer got her necklace, which could have happened at any time, and put it there to frame her. Brock was with her at the police station for nearly two hours tonight. He said it looks bad, but I can’t believe she killed Troy. It doesn’t add up. First, she’s not that strong to lift him; second, why would she dump him in the front yard? Third, where would she find arsenic and fourth, where would she have gone that had Bloodroot … “ and then I realize she doesn’t know about that. “Bloodroot? You mean the plant?” “Yeah, they found lesions on his body and did a skin test, and it came back conclusive for Bloodroot, which is toxic and can be deadly in large amounts. Someone either dragged his body through it or used it to torture him, which can cause major disfiguration.” “Oh, poor Troy.” Leah sounds as if she’s going to cry. “Anyway, nothing adds up to her killing him,” I say. “The killer could have broken into Deanna’s house, grabbed one of her necklaces, and placed it on his chest before burying him. That makes more sense.” “Yeah, much more. Poor Deanna and those kids!” “I know, it’s awful.” “Wait,” she hesitates and then says, “How did you know they did a skin test?” Shoot, I was supposed to keep it between Gray and I. “I talked to Gray, but you can’t breathe a word of this to anyone, not even Trevor.” “Of course not! I’m not talking to Trevor right now much as it is.” Her voice breaks. “Uh oh, Lee, what’s going on?” “Well, we just don’t have anything in common anymore. When the kids were here, we had a purpose and a partnership, but we rarely see each other lately. He works ten hours a day at the stupid plant, and then on the weekends, he’s golfing with his buddies. I just don’t know if we even have a relationship anymore.” She sounds so dejected, but some of what she said rings true for Brock and I. Is this what happens when the birds leave the nest? I remember when our boys hung out together, and we would take them places, and when the men were done with their workday, Brock at the firm and Trevor at the Power Plant, we would barbeque or go swimming. Now, it’s like we all lead separate lives. “Oh, Lee, I understand. I sometimes feel the same way, but Trev loves you and is maybe just going through a rough time. Have you talked to him?” She hesitates. “Well, no.” “See, that’s the problem. Talk to him. Maybe he’s just waiting for you to come to him.” “Yeah, true. Okay, it can’t hurt.” I need to practice what I preach myself, but I’m afraid if I try and talk to Brock, he’ll bite my head off. I get off the phone and realize it’s past 10:30, so I do my nightly routine and climb into bed, but I can’t shut off my brain. All I keep thinking about is who would take Deanna’s necklace and put it with her dead husband to frame her. Unless … time to find out who Troy’s mistress was.

I’m ten minutes from McDonald’s when a police siren blares it’s lights behind me. I stare at my speedometer and notice I’m not speeding. Oh great, what then? I pull over to the side, get my license and registration, and wait. A tall, thin policewoman instructs me to roll down my window, so I comply. “Hello, officer, I wasn’t speeding,” I immediately spill the words. “Yes, I know, but did you know both of your taillights are broken?" She starts writing in her notepad. "Did you get into an accident?” "What? No!" I am stunned. I've never been in a car accident before. Did Brock do this? I don't even remember the last time he drove my truck. "Ordinarily, I wouldn't ticket you for just one light out, but two can cause an accident, especially at night. You need to get that fixed asap." She rips off the paper and hands it to me. I gasp when I see the ticket is for $200. "Okay, sorry, ma'am, I didn't know," I say, covering my eyes and shaking my head. My body feels on high alert, and my body now starts to shake. What is happening? "Ma'am, are you OK?" I want to shout that I'm not and spill the whole story, but I know I can't. Who could have done this to my truck, and when or where? "Yes, I'm just shocked. I've never been in an accident and can't understand how I have two busted taillights." She looks me over, purses her lips, then says, “If you promise to go get that fixed right now, I'll let you go with a warning.” Oh, thank God! I didn't know how I was going to explain this to Brock. “Yes, I promise. Thank you, officer,” and I squint to see her badge. “Thompson.” I didn’t even need to give her my license and registration. I guess she figured, what trouble can a senior citizen get into? “Okay. Have a good day now.” I nod and roll up my window. Great, I now need to go and get these stupid taillights replaced. And I got to ask Brock if he took my truck in the last week. I ask Siri for directions to a car repair shop near me and find one in West Valley, just a few minutes from McDonald’s. I’m still starving, so I drive through, grab a big breakfast, sit in the car, and eat it while looking up more info on Bloodroot and its effects on the skin. Along with causing lesions on the skin, it can also cause burning in the mouth and throat, but Gray didn’t mention that. I see an image of a Bloodroot, and the white flowers are delicate with a mustard yellow center. It’s a pretty plant; if anyone didn’t know better, they would think it was completely harmless. But why did they choose this particular plant, or maybe they didn’t; it chose them. Wherever Troy was killed, Bloodroot was growing. But that could have been anywhere from Maine to Florida- good grief, that’s several states. I keep reading. Troy was killed in Spring, so it answers the question of why the plant was able to affect him. I also read that it’s found in woodlands. But, if it’s that short, how did it come in contact with his skin? Was he poisoned with the arsenic, dropped in a field of them, put in a car trunk, driven way down here, and then buried in Deanna’s yard? If so, it doesn’t make sense to try and find Bloodroot here if he wasn’t killed here. And whoever did this wanted to send a message. But what and why frame Deanna? I doubt she had any enemies. Still, I’ve got to find that ring. It’s our only lead right now. I’ve been sitting long enough. Time to get these stupid taillights fixed. ___________________________________________ Two hours later, I’m still sitting at the repair shop. They were able to get me in, but I had to wait for two other cars ahead of me. Maybe this is a good time to tell Gray what I discovered and to call off trying to find Bloodroot in Utah. No one else is in the waiting room, so I have some privacy. The last thing I need is prying eyes or ears to hear about murder investigation talk. I call and wait for him to pick up. “Chief Gray here, leave a message.” That was it, plain and simple. I leave a brief message and then sit and wait for my car to be finished. When I think I can’t stand to sit here one more minute, the mechanic comes in with a paper and pen for me to sign. “Okay, all done.” He looks to be no older than my youngest but with stark blonde hair and dark brown ends, which I find odd on a guy. He’s about 6 feet tall and wearing overalls, and has some beads of sweat pooling on his forehead. I take the invoice, sign it, then hand him my card for him to charge. I look at the bottom where it has the total and about die. It was $500 to fix? I shake my head and figure it wouldn’t do any good to complain about it. I get back on the road and see that it’s already 2:00. Maybe on my way home, I’ll pick up some fall plants to replace the haggard ones in my pots. I had my eye on some mums and ornamental cabbage and kale, and maybe even get some pansies; on second thought, it’s still too hot for them. I will have to wait until fall for those. There’s a local nursery that I probably spend just as much time and money at as I do at Walmart for groceries. I like that they know about plants instead of the Lowe’s and Home Depot that when you ask them a question, they shrug and say, “Don’t know.” I think knowing something about plants should be required if you work in a nursery. I pull up in front of Mountain Lands Nursery. I always get a little giddy when I go buy plants. I love arranging them in pots and seeing them grow in the following weeks. Since it’s still late summer, there aren't many people here. Fall planting hasn’t really begun yet when it will pick back up again. Temps will start dropping in the next month, so they usually do well if I keep my pots in a protected area, away from the sun. I pick up some ornamental cabbage and kale that look bluish gray with a dark pink center to go in front of the pots, with purple mums in the center and yellow snapdragons in the back. I may tuck some white sweet alyssum into the sides for a cascading effect.  Since I have five pots, it will take me some time to fill them. Pulling into the driveway, I notice a car I’ve never seen before parked on the street. It’s a white Lexus crossover with tinted windows and looks to be one of the newer versions that is probably seventy grand or more. It’s parked along our curb, but is the person visiting next door, or are they at my home? I open the garage and drive in. I get out and start grabbing plants. My black Ford F-150 needs cleaning badly, as I notice a film on the windows and dust caked on the exterior and especially by the rims. I'm a truck gal since I can put down the guardrail, load plants, mulch, hell, anything, and also load three kids in the back seat. I took them to the fair in Salt Lake City, and the only parking places available were in the dirt, so afterward, it looked like we’d gone digging (what we use to call it) or off-roading as it’s called today. I take the plants around to the backyard, and Hercules bounds through the doggy door. He barks at me as if he is scolding me because I left – without him. “Hey, Herc, hold on, let me put these plants down.” I set them down and then crouch down and scratch his ears. “You been a good boy?” He knows what that means. I punch in the keycode to get inside the back door to the kitchen and stop and stare. Who’s in my house?

Ten minutes later, I pull up in front of the Grantsville Police Department. My hands are sweaty, and my pulse quickens. I don’t know why I’m so nervous; it’s not like I’m being questioned. I walk in and announce my name and wait. The place is dead, but that’s a good thing. Not too much happens in Grantsville. A few police officers are at their desks on computers as I tap my foot on the hardwood floor. To the right is a portrait of a smiling Gray in his uniform and his badge that reads “Chief of Police.” I know he’s proud of that photo, as his dream was always to be Chief. But it almost didn’t happen after his car accident the year before he entered the police academy. It was a hit-and-run and if he hadn’t been wearing his seatbelt, the impact would have thrown him through the windshield. The car was going 50 mph when it ran a red light and slammed into Gray. He broke his collarbone, had whiplash and a concussion, and broke his wrist. But he survived. A few minutes later, Gray comes to the front and ushers me to his office. I sit down across from him and watch as he furrows his brow and appears to be looking at some papers. “I asked you down here because Troy’s autopsy revealed something only a gardener would know, and well, since you’re the only experienced one, I thought you could help.” “Okay … “ I say, waiting in anticipation. “We know the cause of death was arsenic poisoning; however, the medical examiner noticed he had lesions all over his body, including his face and mouth, and decided to conduct further testing. That’s when the results came up as Bloodroot.” “Bloodroot? That’s kind of odd. I know that it can cause skin scarring if you encounter it. But it isn’t native here, only Canada and the Eastern U.S.” I’m trying to understand where he’s going with this. “But Troy could have gone where it is native and got scarred before he died.” “Yes, but if it’s not native here and yet, his body was dumped here, he has to have died in the Eastern US or Canada and then brought here, which is pretty much impossible with border security, unless ...” he looks in deep thought. “The killer kidnapped him from the Eastern US, had the Bloodroot already in his possession, and then poisoned him here and dumped the body.” I understand now. “So, wherever Troy was, he came in contact with Bloodroot,” I say. “Yeah. It just seems strange that he was poisoned with arsenic, but then he’s also scarred with Bloodroot.”   It did seem odd.  The wheels start spinning in my head. “So, why did the killer go through all the trouble of taking him over the border or from somewhere in the Eastern US, poisoning him, scarring him, and then dropping his body at his ex-wife’s house?” “There’s only one plausible explanation I can think of,” Gray says, and then I think the same thing, as I thought about it for days now. “The killer wanted to frame Deanna,” I say, and he nods. He puts his hand to his mouth and sighs. “Why would someone want to frame her?” “That, Gray, is the million-dollar question.” And then, another disturbing thought entered my mind. “Maybe they used Bloodroot not just to scar him but to disfigure him, making it difficult to ID him.” “I mean, that makes sense. He was already quite bloated and starting to decompose. The Bloodroot just helped it along,” Gray said, and I had to agree with him. “But, we can always identify bodies with dental records, too.” Gray opens his bottom drawer and pulls out a pad of sticky notes. “Can you help me with something?” “Sure.” He rips one off and grabs a pen. “Can you check around and see if any nurseries or big box stores, like Lowe’s or Home Depot, got a shipment in for Bloodroot and then let me know? I can get video footage or receipt records if we can trace it to a local place. Also, check online to see if you can purchase Bloodroot. I think they had to have purchased it here and then had it shipped, which could be from anywhere. I don’t think they would have risked killing him in Canada and then driving over the border. Border Patrol would have possibly checked the car, found the plant, and even Troy.” He scribbles his cell number on one of the papers and thrusts it to me. “Yeah, of course.” I would have to go outside of Grantsville and probably hit all of Tooele County, which Grantsville is part of, and maybe even Salt Lake City. “Thanks, and Trice, let’s keep this between us. I don’t want it to get out and have the press swarming around.” “Yeah, I understand.” It’s an ongoing investigation; no one will know anything until investigators have concrete evidence. I get up and tell him I’ll keep him posted, and he nods and waves me off, returning to his paperwork. As I head out to my car, I notice a black, older Silverado slowly go past the police station. I can’t see because of the tinted windows, but suddenly I feel a prickly sensation on the back of my neck as if someone was lightly blowing on it, and I shiver. ______________________________________________ I drive home, keeping my eyes peeled for anyone following me. When I enter my street, no one is behind, and I can finally take a deep breath. I push the remote to open the garage door, drive in, then close it behind me. I turn off the car and sit, trying to reduce the anxiety pumping through my body. I don’t know what to text back, but I’m getting tired of these games. I DON’T WHERE YOU LIVE OR WHY YOU’RE FOLLOWING ME, BUT UNLESS YOU REVEAL YOURSELF, I WILL GO TO THE POLICE AND TELL THEM EVERYTHING I wait, seeing the dots on the screen, and I know they’re responding. WHAT? I'M NOT FOLLOWING YOU - I HAVE NO CAR. I’M SORRY, I CAN’T REVEAL MY IDENTITY, OR IT COULD GET ME AND MY FAMILY KILLED. BUT YOU DON’T NEED TO FEAR ME. I’M ONLY HERE TO HELP. Somehow, I believe them, and I calm down, now very curious as to who this is and what they know, and more importantly, if it wasn't them in the car watching me at the police station, then who was it? My heart nearly stops when I think about the figure I saw in my backyard. Does this person know that I know something and is following me? And, If the messenger is that scared for their family, they must know more than they're letting on. I have to be very careful not to reveal anything about them, which means not even telling my best friend. They have reasons for staying anonymous, and I will continue to listen as long as I’m not in danger. OK, I WON’T. WHOEVER YOU ARE, IF YOU HAVE ANY MORE INFORMATION TO SHARE, PLEASE LET ME KNOW. I HAVEN’T BEEN ABLE TO FIND THE RING BUT I WAS GOING TO GO BACK OUT TONIGHT TO CHECK. I wait for another message as I go inside the house. Hercules is wagging his tail and I bend down and scratch his head. “Hey, Herc.” My phone buzzes again. BE CAREFUL THE HOUSE IS BEING WATCHED I remember Detective Sanchez and that she’s been watching to see if the killer returns to the scene, so I don’t know how I will get over there without her seeing me. It’s just me and Hercules since I still haven’t heard from Brock and figure he’s in court. I grab my laptop, toss it on the couch, and then head to the kitchen, realizing I’m starving. There’s leftover chicken from our barbecue last Friday, so I take it out, along with some cut-up fruit and lemonade. After heating the chicken, I take everything into the living room. Herc stays in the kitchen, whining, and I remember he hasn’t had any food today, so I go back into the kitchen and open up a can of dog food, plop it in his bowl, and fill his water bowl. There - time to do some research. I open my laptop and smile for facial recognition.  However, before I search, I want to check out my YouTube channel to see if this person possibly left me any clues. I open up my latest video on preparing for fall planting and scroll down. I did it a few days before the discovery of Troy and see there are 650,000 views and over 2,000 comments. I sometimes respond to comments, but only the top 20 or so, or I would be on my laptop all day. I post weekly videos, sometimes more or less, depending on time constraints. Scrolling down, I see comments about my backyard garden, where I show my fall plants starting to come up. Mums will usually bloom in early September, sometimes sooner, especially if they're in the nursery. Master gardeners usually get them to bloom earlier, in late July or early August, so they can be sold as they're blooming. It's an excellent marketing tactic, but when they return the following year in your landscape or pot, they typically won't bloom until the end of August or early September. As I scroll down, looking for any clues or odd comments, I turn on the TV. I'm the ultimate multi-tasker. I can watch TV, surf the web on my phone, eat lunch or dinner, and think about my next video. Brock thinks I'm nuts, but then he's not a mother. When the boys were younger, I had to remember their school events, gardening classes, and grocery items. (wrote them down since there was no internet back then) While cooking, I would talk to a teacher on the phone and watch the monsters to ensure they didn't destroy the house or kill each other. Borck said he has to compartmentalize, putting things in each box so he can think straight. I just laugh at him. I don't find anything that looks odd, so I open another tab and find a credible source that informs me that Bloodroot is only native to Canada and the Northeastern US, and apparently, in ancient times, it was used for ulcers, as a blood purifier, and for skin conditions, which I find interesting since that is what caused Troy’s scarring, but I digress. Bloodroot juice is used for sore throats and coughs. It’s an early spring wildflower, so it makes sense that Troy would have been exposed to it since he died in late spring. The next part is what stands out to me. So, if the killer had used Bloodroot as a salve or paste on his skin, it would have caused scarring. Were they torturing Troy? That thought makes my skin crawl. And why? I mean, the arsenic did the trick fast, so why choose Bloodroot? It doesn't make sense. I then pull up a map of all the local nurseries to see if they sell it. There are a few places in Tooele, but I don’t see them listed for sale. I check Salt Lake City, which takes me quite some time. There are dozens of nurseries in the valley and Salt Lake County. I see one place, a small nursery located in West Valley. It would take me about 20 minutes to drive there since it’s in Western Salt Lake County, not quite as far as Salt Lake City. I grab my notepad and pen and write down the address and number. It’s open until 6:00, so I have plenty of time to grab some breakfast since it’s only 9:00 and then head over. Gray never said to go there just to tell him if I found something, but I have some time to kill since my client meeting was canceled. It won’t hurt if I just do some window shopping, right? If I can take a few pics and get one of the workers’ names, Gray will have that much more to work with. What could go wrong?

I freeze and wonder if I should turn around or quickly open the door and shut and lock it. I turn around and see a woman, her hands on her hips, an angry frown planted on her face. “Excuse me?” I feign my own anger. “I live here. What are  doing here?” She looked as if I slapped her. “You know what I’m talking about. You were at the Carmichael’s snooping around.” Wait, what? How did she know that? No one was on the street, and I didn’t see a car. “Umm … did you see me there?” I didn’t want to come right out and confess after all. “Yeah. I was in the unmarked car next door,” she said, pointing behind her, “keeping an eye on the property, as the Chief asked me to do, and which I have done for the past three days.” Well, shoot. She caught me. Damn, now what? “I’m waiting.” She taps her foot. I have to think fast. “My dog escaped, so I was checking to see if he took off next door. He usually goes over there when I take him out on our walks since Deanna has a dog. I thought he wandered over there, so I asked my good friend, Leah, to come and help me look. I just hate being out at night, especially given what happened.” Damn, I’m a good liar. She stares at me, probably deciding if she believes me. “Did you find your dog?” “No, and then I got a text from my husband telling me he found him in our backdoor neighbor's yard.” She hesitated before saying, “Well, glad you found him. I’m Detective Maria Sanchez, and I would appreciate that if you see anyone suspicious hanging around or driving by you contact me immediately. Usually, the suspect will return to the crime scene if they know it’s been discovered. So, we’re keeping a close watch.” I kind of shine my flashlight where it illuminates her but doesn’t blind her. Maria looked no older than my youngest son and was short, too, shorter than me even, but I could tell she worked out. Her muscles bulged out of the black t-shirt she was wearing, and her jeans fit snug on her thin, but not too thin, waist. Her black hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, and she wore no makeup. It was 9:30 at night and the last place she wanted to be, I’m sure. She gives me a card with her name and number and then returns to her car. I quietly open the door, shut it behind me, and lock it even though we have the security system   I still feel better locking it immediately instead of waiting minutes for it to lock automatically. I can’t hear Brock, so I figure he’s still in the attic. It’s now after 9:30 and I’m beat. Hercules runs to me and starts wagging his tail. “Hey, Herc, ready to hit the sack?” I stop in the kitchen, grab some tea and crackers, and head to my room. I can’t lie; sneaking around next door was scary, but it was also a little thrilling. I read for a while and then turn off the lights. My phone buzzes. THAT WAS CLOSE, HUH? My heart skips a beat. How did they know what happened, unless … am I being watched? ARE YOU WATCHING ME? I wait. No response. Who is this person and how do they know where I live? I’m starting to feel uneasy and wonder if I should have never responded to their messages, but not knowing is worse. At least, I have a record I can take to the police if needed. I drift off but toss and turn, and when I wake up, I feel like I didn’t get a lick of sleep. Brock wasn’t next to me. He must have crashed on the couch. Although, when I walk downstairs, it’s quiet and Brock isn’t there, and when I search the rest of the house, I discover he’s not there. I turn my arm to check the time and see it’s almost 7:30, which I find odd that Brock isn’t here. He’s a night owl, especially with the case he’s been working on. Maybe he went into the office. I do my morning routine and head downstairs, Hercules on my heels, when I hear a rapid knock which makes me jump a little. I look out the peephole and open the door to Deanna Carmichael. “Trice, do you have some time to talk?” Deanna looks haggard, and something urgent in her voice concerns me. Purple creases under her bloodshot eyes that now look even greener, and her blonde matted hair makes her look ten years older. She’s wearing some gray Yoga pants and a plain black t-shirt. “Of course,” I usher inside. I’m shocked to see her, figuring she wouldn’t want to be anywhere near her home. “How are you and the kids?” She follows me into the kitchen, where I get two glasses from the cupboard and grab juice from the fridge. When she sits down, I fill her glass and then place it in front of her. “The kids are OK. They’re with my mom, and the younger ones think we’re just visiting, but my oldest son keeps asking questions of why they can’t go home.  Trice, when I found his …” she trails off, furrows her brows, and rubs her head, “The kids weren’t home, thank God. They were having a sleepover with my parents, and I figured that while they were gone, I would get out and do some yard work since the weeds were getting out of control. I noticed some of the plants had wilted from our storm.” Well, shoot, I feel guilty now for thinking she didn’t care about her yard. “Anyway, I started digging those purple flowers.” “Asters,” I say. “Yes, asters. I noticed many were wilting and didn’t look very good, so I started digging them, and that’s when I saw the … hand.” Her voice cracks and tears slide down her face. I reach over and grab her hand. “That must have been awful,” I say, squeezing her hand. “It was. I immediately called the police and well, you know everything now. I’m just … I don’t know how to deal with this. I don’t know what to tell the kids about their father.” I take a chance and say, “How come you and the kids haven’t seen him in two years?” She doesn’t say anything for a minute and then sighs. “Troy told me he and the woman he had an affair with were moving to the Northeast, I think he said New Hampshire, but he would let me know when they got settled. He never did. I tried his cell phone numerous times, and it always just rang. I would leave so many messages. I figured he just wanted to start a new life and didn’t care about us anymore.” That didn’t make sense to me. “But would he really do that, Deanna? He loved those kids. I just don’t see him leaving and never contacting you guys.” She glares at me, and I figure I have gone too far. “What are you getting at, Patrice?” Uh, oh, no one calls me by my full name. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to offend you. I just find it strange that after you guys divorce, he leaves, and you don’t hear anything from him. Then two years later, his dead body was found in your yard. I’m not blaming you for anything, just trying to make sense of it.” She gets up. “I – I shouldn’t have come here. First, I’m interrogated by the police who think I could have killed him, then Troy’s mother, and now you, my friend.” She looks hurt, and I realize I should have just listened. “No, please, don’t leave. You came here as a friend, and I shouldn’t judge you.” Her stance softens, and she sits back down. I need to just shut up. “The thing is Troy’s mom blames me. She’s never liked me and said that even if I didn’t kill him, I might as well have.” She starts crying again. “She blames  ? He was the one who had an affair and it had been going on for a year, a whole freaking YEAR.” An angry tone takes over, and her face shows it. “She then blames me for the affair. Can you even …” “I’m so sorry. Apparently, she thought her son could do no wrong, which is often a parent’s attitude, especially a mother.” If any of my sons ever do that to their wives, I will clock them. But I know mothers who coddle their sons and enable their behavior. “Yeah, and now she’s probably telling all her church friends about me. I can’t go back to church now.” I knew Deanna was a Non-denominational Christian, and they go to the local and only church in town – the same one Carmichael’s worship. The prominent religion is the LDS one, so the Community of Christ congregation, one I have been to a few times, isn’t huge, but the two religions sometimes host events together. Before I can say anything, my phone rings not buzzes. Hardly anyone calls me, so I answer. “This is Trice.” “Hey, Trice, this is Gray. I need to talk to you. Can you stop by in about 10 minutes?” His voice sounds urgent. “Yeah, sure. What’s this concerning?” I sound formal, but I don’t want Gray to know I’m talking to Deanna. “We found something disturbing.”

Here are a few more facts about Asters: Asters prefer areas with cool, moist summers and cool nights in sites with full to partial sun. In warmer climates, they do not like the hot midday sun. Give plants plenty of water at the time of planting. Add mulch after planting to keep the soil cool and prevent weeds. All asters have the potential to spread. They are rambunctious plants that are spread by underground rhizomes. While they make for excellent ground cover and very rarely cause any real problems in the garden, they can occasionally become quite weedy. After flowering is over, all asters should be cut back hard to ground level. This will encourage the clumps to spread and develop, and it is good practice to mulch over these plants in the autumn to protect them from frost and improve the ongoing fertility of the soil. Okay, now for Chapter Nine ... On Sunday, I take it easy. I spent all day Saturday gardening and doing chores, and my back is screaming at me now. I hate that my body keeps reminding me I’m not a spring chicken anymore. I have a movie on Sunday night in the bedroom when I hear another loud noise, followed by Hercules barking like crazy and then the cat hissing back. Oh, good grief, not this again. I’m ready to call animal control if this stupid cat won’t quit antagonizing my mutt. After a few minutes, Hercules enters my bedroom and jumps on the bed. “You sure told him, didn’t you?” I scratch his back, and he rolls over so I can pet his belly. It’s 9:03, and Brock is still in the attic working. Having a lawyer for a husband can be quite lonely. I grab some water and a few cookies downstairs, suddenly feeling all alone and a bit afraid. I can’t stop thinking about this person’s text message. If I do find the ring and give it to Gray, he can find out who it belongs to, arrest them, and then we can put this whole thing behind us. I have an idea. HEY, YOU BUSY? I text Leah. NO, WHAT’S UP? MEET ME OUTSIDE IN FIVE OK … WHAT’S THIS ABOUT, TRICE? JUST MEET ME. K After grabbing a small flashlight, I quietly open the door and step outside, keeping Hercules from following me, and then shut the door. It’s a balmy night. The stars twinkle in the nighttime sky, and I can hear the faint sound of crickets. It’s their mating time. Leah’s porch light comes on a few minutes later, and she opens the door. I scrunch my eyes in that direction. My eyes are starting to go blurry at far away distances, but I can see her walk across her lawn and then across the street. It’s eerily quiet tonight. “Okay, I’m here,” Leah says, folding her arms. I tell her what the person texted me about the ring and try to gauge her reaction. “Wow, this is getting insane, Trice. The fact that this person seems to know more about this case than the police is just weird and even disturbing.” “It is, and I keep feeling like it’s up to me to find this ring before the killer does.” “Trice …” Leah cocks her head and signs deeply. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right, but if I find this ring, we can get it to Gray and nab this person.” Leah looks taken aback. “ “Yeah, the thing is, I need someone to be my lookout while I see if I can find the ring in Deanna’s yard.” Leah looks at me like I have two heads. “You have got to be kidding me. You know how dangerous this is, right?” “Yes …” I bite my lip. “But, if you could just stay on the sidewalk, kind of obscure, I could do some searching. If a car comes by or you see anyone, you can duck behind the tree and text me. I have my phone.” “Trice, I have a bad feeling about this. Why can’t you just let the police handle it?” I get it, I really do, but if I don’t do it, the killer will find the ring, and our lead will grow cold. “Because this person, for some reason, wants to communicate with me. I can’t blow it.” Trice shakes her head and sighs. “If I do this, promise me whatever you find that you will take it to Gray and let them deal with it.” I lie and tell her I will. “Okay, I’ll give you 15 minutes. I told Trev you needed me to help you with something, but he doesn’t want me out this late, especially since they found Troy dead.” “Oh, thank you!” I hug her and then eye Deanna’s yard as I plan how to search it. After ensuring Leah was in an obscure spot, I carefully lift the police tape and slide under it, careful not to pull any of it down. I could have used my phone’s flashlight, but I want my phone free if Leah texts me. I push the LED flashlight on and crouch low. Ok, now the killer was searching right by what I call Troy’s grave. I drop to my knees and start searching with my free hand. I had previously pulled on my gardening gloves to protect my hands and ensure my prints couldn’t be detected. So, I begin to dig in the dirt, sweeping any leaves or mulch to the side. Even though it's warm with no wind, a cold shiver courses through my body. I can’t believe I’m doing this. After fifteen minutes, I get up, feeling dejected. I looked everywhere I thought it could be and didn’t find it. Of course, I never thought that the killer could have already found it, but then I remember what the person texted me. They wouldn’t have sent the riddle and subsequent message about finding it if it were found. “Psst,” I summon Leah. She comes over. “Did you find anything?” “No. It could be anywhere. Maybe the killer just dug the hole thinking it could be there, but who knows. It’s like finding a needle in a haystack, and to be honest, I feel like I’m going on a goose chase.” “You know, you could send an anonymous text to Gray about the ring. Would this person even know?” Leah just didn’t understand. “Believe me, they will know. I will have to come back another night and look some more.” “Oh no, Trice, do we have to?” I could tell it was bothering her. I didn’t want to put her in the middle. It’s not fair. “Lee, it’s OK if you don’t want to get involved. I wouldn’t blame you.” I could tell she was grappling with what to say. “I will help one more time, and then I just can’t do it again, and you shouldn’t either.” I could tell in her voice and on her face, and I knew. She was scared. I say goodbye to Leah, watch her walk across the street and inside her home, and then head for the door when I hear an unknown voice. “What are you doing?”

This is getting ridiculous; I punch in my response. WHO IS THIS, AND WHAT DO YOU WANT? I’m aware I’m responding in all caps, but then so are they. I wait to get a response, but nothing comes. Whoever it is just wants to play games, and I’m ready to call their bluff. LOOK, YOU RESPOND WHAT YOU WANT, OR I’M BLOCKING YOU Shortly after, a message appears. THEN YOU WILL MISS OUT ON THE ANSWER What answer? Wait, does this person know who killed Troy? I have to know. WHAT DO YOU KNOW? IF YOU ONLY KNEW … I abruptly stop where I am just before opening my door. Butterflies attack my stomach, and I suck in a deep breath.  I don’t respond. Suddenly, I feel eyes watching me, and I quickly open the door to safety. I shut the door behind me and hear Brock call out, “That you, Trice?” Of course, it’s me. Who else would it be? “Uh, yeah.” “I will be working late again. Court is in a few days, and I’m way behind,” I hear his yell from the attic. All he’s done is work. How can he be so far behind? But I’m tired and so head straight to bed and hope those four words don’t haunt me. ______________________________ Surprisingly, I wake up refreshed and can’t believe I slept so well. I look at my watch. It’s only 7:10 am, perfect for our walk. Hercules stretches and gets up from his doggy bed in the corner of the room. “Hey, Herc, ready …” I don’t need to finish the sentence because he jumps up, wags his tail, and darts for the door. “Hold on; I gotta get ready.” Fifteen minutes later, we shut the door behind us, and I head down the street; however, I stop and back up after I get past Deanna’s home as something catches my eye. The yellow tape still surrounds the property, but the crime scene has been tampered with. The hole is still there, but it looks deeper now, and adjacent to it, a smaller hole has been dug, but you wouldn’t notice it unless you came close. I know the police haven’t been here since Wednesday, and I’m sure there will be a warrant to search the house after Deanna has been questioned, but I’ve been watching the house to ensure no kids try and breach the tape and get curious, but this hole is fresh. Should I contact Gray, or maybe it’s a stray dog? Pickles left with the kids, so I know it’s not their dog, and Hercules is never out front without me. I’m so fixated on the spot that I almost ignore my phone buzzing. Another riddle. WHAT’S SMALL, GOLD OR SILVER, AND GOES ON FOREVER Oh, yay, more games. I say the riddle in my head, but it’s like my brain doesn’t want to work. Plus, Hercules keeps pulling on the leash. I’ll have to think about it on our walk. I start walking, and by the time I get to Jack’s house at the end of the street, it hits me: a RING! I punch the answer in my phone. VERY GOOD Then a thought bursts into my head. Did the killer leave evidence behind, like a ring? And, if he did, he returned to find it last night! When just moments before, I was enjoying our walk, with a mostly overcast morning and lower temps, I suddenly feel cold, but I have to at least get in a 30-minute walk, but as I cross the street and head west, I try not to let an ominous thought that the one who was in my backyard was the same person who was digging in the Carmichael’s yard the night before. LISTEN, I’M NOT A CHILD. STOP TREATING ME LIKE ONE, I quickly text. Whoever this is seems to enjoy playing these games, but I don’t. YOU’RE RIGHT YOU’RE NOT IF YOU FIND THE RING, YOU'RE ONE STEP CLOSER What does that mean? One step closer to what? Oh great, now  have to find a ring. What ring and where? Why don’t I just tell Gray, and then he can take it from there? But then, I would have to explain the rest of the messages, and then he will scold me for not telling him before. This person will stop texting, and what leads I have will be gone. No, I must keep this to myself … for now. _____________________________ It’s half past eight o’clock when I step out of the shower. I feel like I’ve been up for hours, and I need to run some errands before I need to get the Saturday chores done, which include trimming some gangly rose bushes, deadheading some petunias, and weeding – oh joy. I told Brock I would pick up his dry cleaning. No, I don’t iron and don’t judge me. Once I’m done with my errands, I pull into the driveway and click the garage door remote control, but before I pull in, I look to my right at Deanna’s yard.   I can’t think about that right now. And as Scarlett O’Hara says in  “I’ll think about that tomorrow.” It’s already getting warm, and the clouds that were obscuring the sun earlier have now moved on, and it’s a mostly sunny day. Shoot, I really wanted some rain. I slather myself with sunscreen, don my gardening hat, and grab my tool bucket. Even though it’s the weekend, I know Brock is working on his case, so I have no idea when I will see him today. I start in the front yard, getting as many weeds as possible. I trim some of the boxwoods and deadhead the flowers. Before I know it, an hour has passed, and I’m sweating. I take a big drink of my Gatorade and glance next door. What if I’m messing around trying to find the ring some night, and the killer returns and finds me? Then what? I need to speak to Leah; she could be my lookout. Almost as if this person can read my mind, they text: LET’S KEEP THIS BETWEEN US

At five minutes to 3:00 p.m., Leah and I plop down on her couch with iced tea and cookies. The TV is on Channel 2, and we sit in anticipation for the press conference that will either confirm or deny the dead male body found in Deanna’s front yard is Troy. “Oooo, here we go,” Leah says, increasing the volume. Gray is standing at the podium with the press snapping their cameras. I listen intently to the medical examiner’s findings. “I knew it!” I punch the couch. Leah’s eyes look dilated as her hand clamps over her mouth. Suddenly, I remember the riddle from the text message, and my stomach drops as if I just flew down a roller coaster. This person knows what he was poisoned with. OMG, what if I have been talking to the killer this whole time? I return my attention to the screen. The press starts in all at once, but Gray quiets them saying he would take a few questions, but then they wouldn’t hear from him until the investigation is complete. Leah shuts off the TV and turns to me. “You were right. I can’t imagine who would do this. I mean, Deanna doesn’t have it in her to poison him and then dump his body in her backyard.” “Yeah, Deanna doesn’t seem the type. But then who?” Shivers flood my body just thinking about everything that has transpired, especially these cryptic messages that keep popping up on my phone. Who is doing this and is it the same person who dumped Troy’s body? Another vision pops into my head, that of the night before when I I saw someone in my backyard. Have they come back to the scene of the crime? And why did they sneak around in my yard? So many questions swirl in my head. The phone buzzing in my pocket snaps me out, as I stare at the one-line message: TOLD YOU SO I slightly gasp but it was enough for Leah to say, “What happened?” Should I tell her? Maybe if she knows, I can have a witness … just in case. “I never told you this before, but I’ve been getting text messages since the discovery from an unknown number.” I give her the phone. “What?” Leah holds the phone up. “Trice, this is serious. You need to tell Gray about the messages.” I know she’s right, but I keep feeling that this person has to know more, and if I tell Gray, I won’t find out what. “Please, just hear me out. This person obviously has more information and confides in me, so I must follow this through.” “Trice, what if this person the killer? Did you think about that?” I did, but my instinct tells me they aren’t. “He or she could be luring you in so that you will trust them. I mean, I really don’t understand why they are even messaging you but be careful.” She hugs me, and I feel guilty for making her so concerned. “I will, but Lee, I really feel this person is helping to solve the crime. I don’t know why they chose me, but I have to keep this under wraps, OK? I haven’t even told Brock.” I feel worse that I haven’t told my husband, but he will say what Leah did and then take it one step further and go to Gray himself. I can’t let that happen. I go back to the house. The kids are watching a movie, the same as when I left them. I figured they would be fine while I watched the press conference for a few minutes. I find them riveted to the TV when I come down the stairs. This was probably the fourth time they had watched in the past two weeks. Claire was dancing, and the boys were mimicking their sister dancing. “Get your groove on, boys,” I chuckle. They immediately stop, embarrassed. Later that evening, when the grandkiddos leave, I prepare for the Beginners to Gardening club I started five years ago. Several ladies and a few men were interested, so we get together every week for an hour or two, rotating between homes and chatting about gardening. We have about fifteen in the club, but only about eight show up religiously. I get it; people have lives and sometimes can’t make it. This week, the lesson is about using a drip system for plants. It saves water and ensures that each plant gets an accurate amount of consistent water. Plus, some plants don’t like overhead watering. I start out the door but quickly send a message to this anonymous sender. OK, I’LL BITE. _______________________ When I get to Leah’s home, I hear the chatter of women and men talking about none other than Troy. I can already tell we won’t discuss gardening much. “Hi, guys,” I interrupt. “Hey, Trice,” Caroline pipes up. She’s the most active in our club and is my assistant, as she’s dubbed herself. She’s about a decade younger than me and owns a tech start-up company and has been successful so far. Her brunette hair is straight as a pin and just touches her chin. Her deep green eyes stand out amidst the dark brown eyeliner and smoky gray and rose eyeshadow she couples with pure black mascara. She almost looks exotic with her porcelain skin. “So, what do you think, Trice?” Laurie turns to me. It’s like she thinks I’ve been sitting here the whole time. “About what?” I sit down in one of the chairs Leah has provided. “About Troy being dumped in Deanna’s front yard, of course.” Laurie chuckles a little, and her dimples show slightly. She’s closer to Caroline’s age and has the popular cheerleader look we all love to hate. Her blonde hair snakes down her back, and she’s her skin is tanned from all the outdoor recreation she does. She and her husband, Ken, and their two children, 5-year-old Brooke and 3-year-old Ashley are mini me’s of Laurie. She dresses them the same, and their equally long, blonde hair shines. They all could be models.     “Well, I’m not sure. It’s definitely weird that this happened two months ago, but I don’t think Deanna had anything to do with it. If you would have seen her face. She looked shocked to her core.” “Yeah, makes sense, but the divorce was messy, and no one had seen or heard from Troy since then. It was like he …” “Vanished,” Yolanda finishes the sentence, staring off into space. Out of everyone in the group, Yolanda is the one who won’t take crap from anyone. Coming from a law enforcement family, her father taught her at a young age to defend herself, especially since they lived in the Bronx. When she was a teenager, they moved to Utah as her father took a job as the local police chief of Grantsville until he retired, and his son, Carson, took his place. That was twenty years ago. Yolanda confided in me that her brother would have probably led the gang life if they hadn’t moved. She’s in her late forties now, at least 5 inches taller than me, but still has the skin of someone in their 30s. Her brown skin is nearly flawless, and her short, curly hair frames her oval face perfectly. Her chocolaty eyes are large, with the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen, and no, they’re not fake. “Exactly,” Leah chimes in. “What gets me is that someone was bold enough just to dump his body in their front yard. I mean, they had to have done it at night, but no one heard anything? It just doesn’t make sense.” Heather, the youngest of the group, is like me. We love to watch true crime, and sometimes, after the meeting has ended, we will chat about the latest podcast episode. I’m envious of her youth and exuberance. She’s 27 or 28 years old and has an athlete's body. Her wavy ombre hair of blonde, brown, and black goes just past her shoulders, and her striking blue eyes are devoid of makeup. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her wear any, but she doesn’t need it. Her heart-shaped skin is olive, and her legs, her most prominent feature besides her eyes, go on forever. Of course, she’s 5’11, but with heels, she towers over everyone. “Nothing makes sense,” and before I can stop myself, I instantly regret what comes out of my mouth next. “I talked to Gray, and I think he knows more than what he’s leading on.” “Really?” “What, tell us?” “I knew it!” I become bombarded with questions from everyone in the group. Shoot, why didn’t I just keep my big mouth shut? I clasp my hands together. “Well, it’s just how he acted when I talked to him.” I mean, I did bother him at work, so I can see why he was impatient. “Right before I got off the phone, he said something that’s been bothering me.” All ten eyes are on me, waiting. “I told him I wish I knew who it was that was buried in Deanna’s backyard and his only words were, “If you only knew.” “Okay, he had to have known it was Troy then. Did he see the body when it was in the bag? I mean, that makes sense he would say that,” Laurie says. “Yeah, true, but it was the way he said it, as if this wasn’t a surprise that it was him. We all knew the marriage was in trouble a few years prior to the divorce, and I heard my fair share of yelling from both, but there has to be more to the story. I’m about 99% sure Deanna didn’t kill him, but then who did? He worked for the IRS, so maybe someone he audited it had it out for him.” Even as I said the words, I didn’t really believe them. “I heard that he had a gambling addiction, and partly why Deanna divorced him. He spent much of their savings on gambling, which was supposed to be the kid’s college fund. Maybe a loan shark got him,” Heather shrugged. Good grief, Heather and I need to quit watching so much true crime. “I didn’t know that,” Yolanda says. “But if that’s true, whoo boy, those thugs will kill and ask questions later.” She purses her lips together. We all nod. It wasn’t a secret that our little group didn’t have much love for Troy, seeing as he had an affair and then left Deanna and the kids. However, we never wanted him dead either. We talk some more and barely even mention gardening. What could I expect? Next week, we can chat about drip systems. Around 10:00, I say my goodbyes, with Leah saying we will discuss gardening next time. As I dart across the street, my phone buzzes, and I instinctively know who it is. READY FOR ANOTHER RIDDLE?