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Before you read this chapter, I would love to know your thoughts. Are you enjoying the novel? Do you have questions or anything that stands out? Please comment and let me know your feedback! Okay, back to the chapter... _____________________________________________________________________________ I sit up, my hands clammy. “Well?” I say, waiting for him to tell me. “It’s not what you expect. The license plate is registered to a Nick Giovani. He has priors and was released from jail not more than two months ago for organized crime. He was part of a string of people busted by a sting operation. They were selling drugs to minors. What’s interesting is that he’s connected to Troy.” “Wait, what?” “Yeah, I did some digging, and he and Troy were buddies, went to school together, and, get this, even gambled together. My source said he may have also been involved in helping him sell or acquire the drugs.” Troy was a drug dealer? My head is spinning. “I can’t believe this. But why come after us? Is this Nick also involved in this whole mess?” “It looks like he may be. I don’t know yet how he ties into it, but he’s coming in tomorrow morning for questioning. I’ll let you know what he says.” “Okay, thanks, Gray.” “Get some sleep. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.” I did anything but sleep. My mind kept going over this whole year to see if I missed something. Was Troy really the bad guy all along? Suddenly, nothing makes sense anymore, I think as I get dressed for the day. Brock didn’t come to bed last night, and I so desperately want to talk to him, especially considering what I learned. He must have slept on his couch in his office. After putting on some yoga pants and a maroon sweater, I leave the bedroom. It’s getting a little warmer but still cold enough to wear a sweater. I stop by his office, and the door is open but he’s not there. Maybe he went downstairs. I don't see him there when I step into the living room. I search the house, and he’s nowhere. I go into the garage, and one car is gone. Why didn’t I hear the garage door go up? Our room is right under the garage. Did I sleep that deeply? I don’t remember when I fell asleep. Where did he go? I’m alone and feel anxious. I peek out the curtains in the foyer and notice a squad car parked at the curb. At least Officer Holder is still here. I turn my wrist over and see that it’s 7:02 AM. It’s getting lighter earlier in the morning now, so even though the sun isn’t over the horizon, it’s still turning light. Brock never leaves this early, which has me wondering where he went. Back in the kitchen, I grab some coffee and sit down. Herc is wagging his tail, which tells me he’s hungry. I feed him in the morning and Brock at night. I get up and take out the can opener and his food. After opening his can, I plop it in one bowl with fresh water in another. I take out my phone and text Brock. You left. I wait. Three little dots show up and then disappear. I wait longer. Shopping. I’m surprised. In the 36 years I’ve been married to Brock, he’s never gone shopping alone. Now I wonder what type of shopping, but I don’t need to wonder too long because minutes later, I hear the garage door open. Brock comes in with bags full of groceries, and I stand there like a statue just watching him bring in all these bags. He puts them on the counter and starts rifling through them, taking items out and putting them away. “Can I help?” I ask, coming over to the sacks. “I’ve got it.” I back away. “Thanks.” I’m not sure what propelled him to go shopping, but there’s a lot of food, toilet paper, plastic cups and utensils, paper plates, and then several packages of beef and chicken and even some steaks. Boxes of cereal and oatmeal, chips, and more are now stocked in the pantry. He pulls out juice, milk, eggs, butter, fresh fruit, yogurt, and salad bowls. He then pulls out a ton of frozen meals, vegetables, ice cream, and pizzas. There are also some pies and Cool Whip. It’s like he shopped for the apocalypse or something. After everything is put away and the sacks neatly folded and placed in our bottom drawer (helpful for picking up Herc’s poop in the yard), he sits down at the kitchen table. “I’ve been thinking.” I sit down across from him and put my hands on the table. He reaches over and takes them in his hands. “I think we need to have a big party and invite the whole street. I’m tired of being a recluse and wondering if it’s safe to go out and take a walk. I know you have been stressed out and wanting this whole thing over, and that’s what you got desperate and went to Bart.” I feel his hands safe in mine and let the tears fall. “I'm so sorry I've put you through all this and that I lied to you. That wasn't right. I'm so scared, and I do want this over, but I realize I should have trusted you. You're my husband, and I love you. Please, forgive me.” I wipe my eyes and grab a napkin from its holder and blow my nose. “I forgive you, and I'm sorry you were involved at all. It wasn't fair to put you in the middle, so now our family isn't safe here.” “It wasn't, but Goldie paid the ultimate price for her bravery, and I want to make sure her death isn't in vain. Can you understand that?” “Yes, and I want to solve her murder too, but let's do it the right way – with the police's help.” I snap back to when Gray called. “Speaking of police help,” I say and then tell him everything I know. “Wow, I would have never guessed. Troy always seemed to be…” “Quiet and reserved,” I finish his sentence. “Exactly. I never thought he would have peddled drugs to children. He had young children.” He shakes his head. “It seems crazy, right? And now, this guy follows me home. It doesn't make sense.” “None of this makes sense. Why is someone still following you after most of those involved confessed or were arrested and put in jail? I think Petra and Greg are long gone. The whole thing is unraveling, and yet someone is still threatening us.” “Yeah, I mean, Gray has the ring, the photos, the license plate, the confession. Why are we still being targeted? Jeff already confessed and named names.” “Unless …“ Brock seems to be deep in thought. “Unless, what?” “Unless this is bigger than just Troy and Goldie's death.” I don't quite understand where he's going with this, but I let him continue. “You said Troy was a dealer. Did he still have the drugs or money that was supposedly owed to someone and then was killed before he could deliver it? And now this person or people are trying to find it?” That might make sense, but I don't understand what that has to do with us. “But why target us?” I ask, puzzled still. He snaps his fingers. “Maybe I put away some of these drug dealers, and they're coming back for revenge.” I never thought about that, but he could be right. He continues. “Do you think Troy told people about us and where we live before he died? Could he have been planning some kind of revenge against us? And after he died, his buddies took over the plan. When Goldie learned of the plan to kill and bury Troy – “ “They killed her because Grant, her nephew, was involved with the drug dealing,” I interrupt. “Yep, and they think we had something to do with his death in some way.” “Hold on. If they are after drugs or money, maybe Troy hid them somewhere his family wouldn't be able to find them,” the excitement in my voice rises. “Somewhere next door, or … “ I abruptly stop talking and raise my eyebrows. “Our shed.” The realization that Troy may have put a target on us gets my anxiety going. “But why would he hide them there?” Brock looks just as puzzled as I was earlier. I ponder the question but then know the answer. “Because they didn't have one and it was the perfect place where no one would think to look.” I mentally picture the shed and where he possibly could have hidden drugs or money. And then it hits me. “Our blue canisters. Remember we bought them because we were planning on storing manure for compost? We ended up saying we were going to wait until we re-landscaped the front yard. So, we kept them in there. It would be the perfect place to store lots of money or drugs.” “Oh my God, Trice, you're right!” Oh, and remember when they came over for the barbecue last year? It was a few weeks before he went missing. He wanted to see the shed, said he was looking to purchase one and wanted to see inside it? He could have easily stashed the drugs or money there after the party. We never lock it, so it would have been easy to hide it there when we were gone.” “When we took the grandkids to the county fair the week after,” Brock says, running his fingers down his face. “We were gone the whole day and didn't return until late that night.” Of course! “I can't believe this! This is why the intruder was in our garage, why I saw someone in our backyard, why I've been followed. This doesn't have to do with Troy's death directly but the items he left behind.” Anger boils within me. “Exactly. And my guess is the items are still there.” He's thinking what I am, and we both bolt for the sliding glass door leading to the backyard. Time to discover the truth.

Gray motions for me to sit down on the same chair I occupied not more than 10 minutes ago. "So, tell me, when did you notice the car?" "I was driving down Main and noticed the car, I’d say, probably about ¼ mile or so from the station. I didn’t think anything of it until it was nearly tailgating me. It then followed me to my neighborhood and then to my street. I drove slowly by the house and slightly turned to see Brock in the garage working in his shop." "Hold on. He drove past your home behind you?" "Yeah." Gray bolts out of his seat and pushes the button on his shoulder. "Holder, head to the Carmichael’s home, now." I recognized the officer’s name. He and Lopez took turns watching our house, so he knows the address. Gray throws on his jacket. "We need to get over there, Trice. He obviously knows where you live, and that Brock is alone in the garage." I slap my hand over my mouth and my eyes grow wide. "Oh no! Would they …" I can’t even say the words. "Let’s hope Officer Holder gets there quickly but stay here with Officer Lopez." I want to protest but think better of it. I hope Brock is OK. I should have never looked. I could have just put my husband of 36 years in danger. I wait anxiously, pacing in Gray’s office, the minutes tick by. Finally, my phone buzzes in my hand. It’s Gray. "He’s OK. He said he saw your message and soon after you drove past, he went inside and locked everything up." "Oh, thank God." I place my hand on my chest and nearly crumple into the chair. "I’m headed back with him. You apparently didn’t tell him about the photos." I close my eyes, bracing for the scolding from both. "No." "I figured since I asked him, and he had no clue what I was talking about." "I just didn’t want to involve him. He’s dealt with so much. I wanted to do this quietly, but I guess that’s not going to happen." "We’ll be there soon." Click Well, I messed up yet again and I know Brock is going to be upset. I wait until they arrive back to the station and pile into Gray’s office. He shuts the door and Brock won’t even look at me. "I’m really sorry, Brock." I try to save face by staring down. "When are you going to learn, Trice?" Brock’s reply stings, but I can’t blame him. "Bart wanted to help, and –" Shit, I did it again. Now Gray and Brock know his name.  "Bart gave you these photos?" Brock is now angry, and his forehead's deep lines display his emotion. "Please, he was just trying to help." "Wait, is this Bart Camden?" Gray speaks up. "Yes … " I say, and now feel incredibly ashamed. I promised to keep his name out of this. "How did he get involved?" Gray folds his arms. "He came to the house a few weeks ago and apologized for what he did to us, said he got out of prison early on good behavior and wanted to make amends for what happened. He was sincere and I didn’t feel it was right not to forgive him. Isn’t that what Christians are supposed to do." Yes, I used the WWJD card, but I’m right and he knows it. "Trice, I appreciate that you forgave him, but involving him with Goldie’s murder was wrong." Brock finally speaks. "I know, and I didn’t want to, but he offered, and well, it’s been over two months, and nothing was being done, no offense," I say, looking at Gray. Brock's head drops. "Look, we’re doing all we can, but this isn’t the only case we’re working on, and we don’t have a lot to go on. Cases can take years." "I understand; I just couldn’t stand by and do nothing. I promised Goldie we would bring justice; well, I promised myself justice would be served, and we would find her killer," I clarified. Brock’s head is against the wall, and he’s staring up. "Well now, we’re targets again, Trice. If you hadn’t texted me, this person could have returned to the house. I would have never seen it coming." I don't want to be reminded of what could have happened. We’ve both come too close a few times now. "Okay, guys, this is what’s going to happen. You will go home, and Officer Lopez will follow. She will patrol the house the rest of the day. We will post another officer for the night. I will see if I can get a hit on the license plate and put these photos into the database to see if anything comes up. And you," he says, pointing and looking at me, "will not meddle anymore into this case and let us take care of it. You will tell Bart not to do anything else. Is that clear?" He emphasizes the word. "Crystal," I say. On the way home, Brock and I are silent. We were doing so well until Bart showed up and the hurt look tells me I’ve screwed up yet again and a cold shoulder is about to be my companion. We get home and I pull into the driveway. All is quiet but who knows if this person has been here. I know better than to immediately go into the house before Officer Lopez is able to clear it, so we wait to pull into the garage. A few minutes later, she gives the all-clear signal and I drive in. We go in and Herc is waiting, his tail wagging. Brock doesn’t stop to pet him but immediately heads up the stairs. I bend down and scratch behind his ears. "Well, Herc, I messed things up yet again." He follows me to the living room couch where Officer Lopez is sitting. "I’m sorry you have to do this again," I say, watching her pet Herc’s back. "I thought I was helping." "I know, but you have to let us do our job. Whoever this is or whoever they are don’t want to be found. I’m glad you got part of the license plate and the photos. It was a gutsy thing." I see a little smile form and I exhale. Her hair is down and even displays a touch of curl to it. She doesn’t look as tired as she did before, and she’s wearing light pink eyeshadow that matches her lipstick. Her cheeks also look rosy, and I wonder if she’s dating someone. "I don’t think Brock thinks it was gutsy. He won’t talk to me for a while," I say looking up. He’s likely in his office working. When he’s mad he needs time to cool down and I have to give it to him. "Give him time. He really loves you and probably thought you were finally safe or at least safer after Jeff’s confession. Now you have to worry about more threats." "Yeah, and believe me, I don’t like this any more than he does, but I also owe it to Goldie to find her killer. But I learned my lesson and will stop interfering. Hopefully, Gray gets a hit on the plates and photos." After Officer Lopez flips open her laptop and starts Typing, I announce that I’m going to take a nap. It’s probably around 3:00 by now, but I feel sleepy. And maybe I’m just wanting to hide for a while too. I climb the stairs and head to my room, but stop by Brock’s office. The door is closed, and I hear the click-clacking on his computer. I briefly place my hand on the door and then go to my room. I take off my shoes and climb into bed. The cool sheets feel good on my feet, and before long, I drift off. I wake to the door opening and Brock coming in. The light has faded, and I fear I slept too long. He says nothing but goes straight to the bathroom and closes the door. I look at my watch. It’s nearly 6:30. I slept for at least 3 hours. I throw my covers back and sit on the edge of the bed. I want to talk to Brock but I hear the shower turn on and know it will be a while. I smooth my hair and leave the room and head back downstairs. Officer Lopez is on the couch still, the TV is on but low. “Good nap?” She says, turning off the TV. “No, keep it on. It might help distract me.” She turns it back on, and I see she’s watching Lethal Weapon, one of my favorite 80s movie franchises. “My dad turned me on to 80s movies, said this was one of his favorites,” she says smiling at what had to be a precious memory. “They did have some great ones. Mel Gibson and Danny Glover were great together.” She smiles, and I leave her to her memories. When the show is over, I get up. “I’m famished, how about you?” “Yeah, I could use some food. I told my boyfriend I would be here for a while yet until the night shift, so he’s taken care of food for the kids.” “Boyfriend, huh?” I give her a sly grin. “Yes, we’ve been dating seriously for a few months now. I introduced him to the kids and got their approval.” “So, he’s a keeper.” “Yeah, I’d say he is.” Her smile widens. “Well, I’m happy for you. I knew there was a change when I saw you in the police station.” “He’s a good guy and I haven’t had one.” I feel for her. She deserves better than the lowlifes she’s dated. “I haven’t been shopping, so how about DoorDash?” It’s like déjà vu from the first time she patrolled the house. “You know I like it. How about Thai food?” I smile. “My favorite.” I pull out my phone and order from a Thai restaurant that just opened last year. I make sure to get enough for all three of us. “Up for the second Lethal Weapon?” She picks up the remote. “Let’s do it. Brock may not come down for a while yet, but when the food comes, I’ll leave it in front of his door.” “Do you want me to take it up to him? Maybe I can get him to see reason. “You could try, but he’s pretty stubborn.” “I’d say he’s pretty protective – big difference.” I have to admit she’s right. About 30 minutes later, a knock on the door startles me out of my Mel Gibson trance. The gruff voice, long hair, and blue eyes pull me in when I watch his old movies. Officer Lopez gets up. “I’ll get it.” “I’ll get some drinks and glasses.” When I come back out, the Styrofoam containers are spread out on the coffee table. “Smells yummy,” I say, placing the glasses and bottles of two different juices: blueberry pomegranate, Brock’s favorite, and passion fruit, my favorite. “I’ll be back,” Officer Lopez says after she loads a plate for Brock. It’s filled with fried noodles, ginger and curry chicken, mango fried rice, and beef and broccoli smothered in rich Thai sauce. She carefully balances it with a glass of his juice. I load my plate and start eating, savoring the spicy curry and ginger. I wait for her to come back down before pushing play again. It’s longer than I expected when she comes into the living room. “He’s really hurt, Patrice. I tried to tell him you didn’t mean to hurt him and were trying to protect him, but he thinks you don’t trust him.” My heart sinks to my stomach. I couldn’t feel any worse than I feel right now. “I have to talk to him.” I get up to go upstairs but she stops me. “He won’t talk to you. I tried already. He needs some time to process everything. He said he’ll come down or he won’t, but to not bother him. He said you lied to him, and it’s not the first time.” My appetite is suddenly gone, and I push the plate away from me. I can’t keep doing this to Brock; it’s not right. I push play on Lethal Weapon 2, but my heart’s not in it anymore. Afterward, Officer Lopez heads home, and Officer Holder takes her place outside in his patrol car. It’s pitch-black outside, and all is eerily quiet. It’s around 9:30, and I’m wide awake. Brock has yet to come down, and I doubt he will tonight. I prop up the pillow and lay back on the couch, my body not even covering the length of it. I retrieve a book I just bought from the pouch affixed to the side. The latest thriller from a favorite author came out, and I had to buy it. looks like another good one. The black cover features a room and a dim light that shines on a woman tied to a chair, tears streaking down her face. I decide I’m a glutton for punishment, but I can’t help it. My phone buzzes, and it’s from Gray. “We got a hit.”

It's two weeks since I heard back from Bart, and I start to wonder if I made a mistake in letting him help find Goldie’s killer. But this morning he contacts me and says he has a few leads, and could I meet with him. I tell him to meet me at Daniel’s Diner for lunch at 1:30 p.m. I don’t want it to be too crowded, so meeting a little later would mean construction workers and the like wouldn’t be there. The doctor also calls and says my levels of arsenic are not bad, but I am definitely poisoned by it. Brock tells me he got the same result. As the crime novels also state, the plot thickens. After taking a shower, I pull on a pair of jeans, noticing that I’m losing weight. It’s not a huge difference, but it’s enough that my jeans are a little loose. I put on some makeup and dry my hair. I contemplate whether to straighten it or let the natural curls come out with a touch of scrunching and hairspray for wavy hair. I decide to leave it be. Brock is in the shop building who knows what. Not working is “driving me crazy,” he keeps saying. I had to remind him that he wanted to take the time off. Nothing has happened, and even the police stopped patrolling the area. He could go back to work, and we’d be fine. But I still want Goldie’s murder solved, and we’re not entirely safe until whoever did it has been arrested and justice served. I feel somewhat anxious as I sit waiting in the booth at Daniel’s. My foot tapping on the floor and my heart rate accelerating doesn’t help. I look at the families around me, or single people at the bar. No one knows what is going on in other people’s lives. We all judge why someone acts the way they do, or if someone is introverted or extroverted, we think they’re either snobbish or stuck up. A server is pouring coffee into an older man’s cup as he reads a newspaper, which is rare these days. A few minutes later, I see Bart walk towards the booth, and I exhale as I see him carrying a manila envelope close to his chest. “Hi Patrice,” he says, sliding onto the bench opposite mine. “Hi,” I say, looking around, almost feeling guilty for meeting him here. I wipe imaginary crumbs off the table. “Thanks for meeting me here. So, I found something you may find not just interesting but a little odd.” He opens the envelope and spreads out some photos. At this time, a server comes to our table, and he gathers them up. A young woman with long blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail takes out her phone, which I thought was odd. Her red T-shirt fits like a glove over her tall frame, showing off her ample breasts. A white apron wrapped around her tiny waist hides her black yoga-like pants. Her blue eyes look like the ocean, her eyelashes long and thick with mascara. When she smiles, her eyes crinkle and sparkle as if she genuinely is happy. She is naturally beautiful, and I can see why Bart is staring at her. As an older woman, I can appreciate beauty when I see it and remember when I was that age how I looked before kids changed my body. Aside from being short, I had long blonde hair, and my hazel eyes changed with my clothes and even my moods. My face was fair, but my skin took on more of an olive tone. I had several boyfriends before meeting Brock and went out every weekend. Sometimes, I miss those days. “Hi, I’m Lisa, your server. Can I get you some coffee to start out with?” “Yes, please,” I say, with Bart nodding. I pick up the menu and tell her we need a few minutes to look it over. When she leaves, Bart hands me the photos. Three were at what looks to be Goldie’s funeral, and then a few more were at her gravesite. I remember that day. Several hundred people came to her funeral at the local LDS church in town. The place was filled with what looked to be her students, friends, and family. She had three children, and they were all there with their spouses and kids. She was a loved woman, and it makes me sick that someone would so callously murder her. The day was cold and gray when we all stood at her gravesite; the beautiful cherry oak casket was adorned with her favorite white and yellow roses. Afterward, I approached one of her kids and gave her my condolences, announcing my name and that I was one of her students. I never said anything about our other relationship. What Goldie told me before she died was between her and me, except for the info on Troy’s death and burial. A few birds were chirping, the wind started picking up, and leaves scattered about. Even though it was over two months ago, it still feels like yesterday. She died alone at age 69. Life isn’t fair, and I promised her at that gravesite that I would find her killer. I stare at the photos, trying to understand. “Is there something I’m supposed to see here?” I ask Bart, picking them up one by one. I see her casket, her family in front of the casket, other people milling around, and some tall trees. “Look at them again, and you will notice the same person in three pictures. He stood out, was quiet and kept to himself, and in this one,” he said, rifling through them and picking out one, “he was smiling. And in another, he's talking with a woman." Bart slides the photo over to me, and I pick it up. He’s right. A man who looked to be at least six feet tall with dark brown hair slicked to the side and green eyes was looking at something, grinning. I pick up another photo to see if I could place where he’s looking. I put the photos side-by-side. It was like piecing together a puzzle. Then I see it. One photo was of the man talking to someone, a woman; the next was him grinning, and the last was a photo of the same woman looking and smiling too, most likely at the man. They don’t look familiar, but immediately I wonder if it’s Greg and Petra. The woman looks tall, and her skin is almost porcelain, her eyes an icy blue. Her hair is practically white. Her smile, more like a smirk, gives me chills. “The first one is a man and woman talking, and the other two are the same man and woman in separate photos, grinning at someone, probably at each other.” I throw down the photos in disgust. “I can’t believe they would go to her gravesite – sickening.” “Yeah. I think you’re looking at her killers,” Bart whispers. “How did you get these, and who took them?” Bart steels a look that tells me not to ask questions. “I see. Thank you for these. I need to show them to the Chief of Police.” Bart’s eyes widen, “But I promise your name won’t come up.” He sighs deeply. “Thank you. I don’t want to get involved in another case, but I owe you this. "I don’t know how much more I can do, but if this helps, it will be worth it.” “You’ve done more than enough. If we can prove these two killed Goldie, it will be because of your work.” Lisa brings us our coffee, and I order a pastrami sandwich and fries, and Bart orders a bacon cheeseburger, fries, and key lime pie. “Man, I miss real food. The crap they serve at the prison is horrible, not even fit for a dog,” Bart says. “Well, it’s not supposed to be Hotel food. The whole point is not to end up there.” “You’re right. I won’t make that mistake again.” I believe him. After saying goodbye to Bart and him saying he would try to get more information, I head straight to the police station. Gray needs to see these photos. I pull into the parking lot and find a spot at the front. I swear this place has become my second home as many times as I have been here in the last year. In fact, most of the officers now greet me by name. I walk in, and the place buzzes with officers chatting or on their computers. I see Gray in his office, the door closed. Officer Lopez sits, engrossed in staring at her computer, talking with another officer. I start back towards his office, and Officer Lopez stops and comes over. “Hey, Patrice, what’s up?” “Hi. I need to give some photos to Gray. It may help with the investigation into Goldie’s murder.” Officer Lopez gives me a suspicious look, her eyes squinting. “Photos?” “Yes. Look, I can’t go into how I got these photos, but this could help solve her murder.” I can tell she’s not too happy with me, but I don’t care. She sighs deeply and shakes her head. “Follow me.” She knocks on the door and then slowly opens it. “Hey, you busy?” Gray turns from his computer and sees me. “Hey, Trice. You, OK?” “Yes, fine. But I have some photos you need to see that could help with Goldie’s murder investigation.” I retrieve the envelope from my purse and hand it to him. “What is this?” “Please, just look at them. Focus on two people, a man and woman, in three of them.” I come over and sit down; Officer Lopez follows and sits in the adjacent chair. I watch him pull out the photos and stare at each one, his brows furrowing deeper as he goes through them. “Where did you get these?” “I – I can’t tell you.” “Trice …” “I promised the person who gave them to me that they would remain anonymous.” “This doesn’t provide proof, you know?” “Yes, but isn’t it odd that two people who shouldn’t be there are smiling at a funeral? This could be Petra and Greg. At least look into this, and since you now have photos, you can compare them against the database.” Gray grins slightly. “Hell, Trice, you’re starting to sound like an investigator.” “Haha, that’s what Brock says.” “Did anyone see you with these photos?” It’s Officer Lopez speaking now. “I don’t think so. I met the person at Daniel’s Diner, and he was very careful.” Shoot, I just revealed his gender, and my face shows it. “So, this person who gave you the photos is a male.” It was a statement, not a question, and Gray sits back in his chair with one of the photos, looking at it again. “It does look like they could be the two we’re looking for.” “But why go to her gravesite?” I say. “It’s an act of control,” Officer Lopez says. “Most killers go to their victim’s funeral since it gives them an air of authority or a feeling that they got away with murder. It’s basically an F-you to the family and friends, and even the victim themselves.” “How cruel,” is all I can say.  "Okay, I'll put out a BOLO for these two. The least we can do is bring them in and question them. I don't like how or why you got these, but I'll take any lead I can get." I leave the police station for the first time in months, feeling like we may finally get justice for Goldie. On my way home, I see a car in the rearview mirror following quite close to me. It follows me to my neighborhood, and I start to feel uneasy. As I pull onto my street, so does the car. I keep looking in the mirror, my heart racing. The car is red and looks to be an older sedan. I struggle with pulling into my driveway or going right back out and to the police station again. I decide to pull up to my home, but before I do, I text Brock from Carplay and tell him someone is following me. I wait but don't see a reply message. I go past my home and see the garage door open, Brock working in his shop. Damn, he needs to know what’s going on. When he's working, he rarely has his phone. He told me he wouldn't hear it anyway. I exit our street, leave the neighborhood, and return to the station. The car is hanging back now, and the driver probably knows I’m onto them. When I pull into the station, the car flies by, and I flip my head back to see the license plate, but all I get is three letters: RMB. That might be enough, though. I text Gray, and seconds later, he throws up the door and comes to my car window. “Did you get the plates?” He asks while searching the area. “I only got three letters, RMB.” “That’s enough to make an identification. Come in.” I get out and follow Brock inside. Here we go again.

I stand there, speechless, confusion blanketing my face. Staring back at me is someone I hadn't seen in years and who I thought I'd never see again – Bart Camden. This man nearly destroyed my marriage. He was a "private detective" (not really) who, the first time I met him, informed me that he had proof Brock was doing illegal things and that he was having an affair to cover it up. When I confronted Brock, he vehemently denied it. This was five years ago. We had learned that Bart was in litigation with several other lawyers, Brock included, when he tried to blackmail high-profile lawyers, telling them he had dirt on them and would go to the media and their spouses if they didn't pony up obscene amounts of money. When some refused, including Brock, he found the spouses' contact info and called us. At first, he sounded very convincing, said he had photos, video, and proof that the lawyers were doing either unethical, illegal, or immoral things and that he would take what he knew to the media if we didn't give him $250,000. He showed me his badge, gave me his card, and kept in touch with me. For several weeks, I was torn on who and what to believe. "I know this is not what you wanted to hear, but I felt it was my duty to expose criminals where I see them," Bart had said. "Look, I know my husband, and there's no way he would do anything illegal – he's a lawyer and knows the system. Plus, he's not that kind of man." "Look, I get it. You want to believe him because he's your husband, but you can't always trust the ones you love." That night, I confronted Brock, and he swore this guy was a grifter and had nothing on any of the lawyers. To prove it, he represented himself and the lawyers. When he was through with him, they didn't even go to trial; his case was so weak. The judge sentenced him to 15 years for blackmail, perjury, falsified identity, and extortion. And here he was, standing at my door with a remorseful look. I can't believe the sleazy man with the receding black hairline, calico mustache that looks more red than brown, and almost painted-on, and green eyes that bore into you was free. Other than looking thinner, he has stayed the same. He's quite tall and at least 50 by now. But when I look at him, he gives off an air of being defeated – the once arrogant smile and tone are gone, and in its place is a broken man, his face a little gaunt. "Hello, Patrice." I want to slam the door in his face, and when I go to put some space between him and me, he takes a step forward and holds his hands up. "Whoa, I'm not here to start trouble." "Why are you free?" I fold my arms, waiting to hear what better be a damn good reason. "I was let out for good behavior. I turned my life to God while in prison and it taught me about forgiveness and grace. I know what I did was cruel and wrong, and I'm so sorry. I was able to be let out, only if I came to each family I wronged and made amends and agreed to two years' probation. Don't worry, I'm not here alone; my parole officer is sitting in the car," he turns and points to a gray sedan parked on our curb. The man has his window rolled down and he waves. "Anyway, is Brock here? I need to especially apologize to him." 'He is. Stay here." I close the door and rush to get Brock from the living room. The TV is loud, so I doubt he even heard us talking. "Brock, you'll never guess who's here?" He turns the volume down and looks at me, then flips his palm up. "Well? Who? I can't read your mind." "Bart...Camden." That got his attention. He sprung up off the couch. "What?" "Yeah, he's out of prison for good behavior and here to make amends. His parole officer is sitting outside in the car. He seems humble." Brock stares at me as if I just said the craziest thing. "Humble? I seriously doubt that." "Brock, we need to hear him out. He really looks like he's changed." "You know the saying that a tiger can't change his spots, well..." "Come on. He's waiting out on the porch." Brock reluctantly follows me, and as I open the door, Bart can't look at him. "Bart," Brock said with no emotion. "Hi Brock. Can-can I please come in?" He shuffles his feet. "Whatever." Bart walks through the door, and I invite him to sit in the chair while Brock and I sit on the couch. It's an awkward moment for all three of us. "Thank you for letting me in, I know you didn't want to," Bart says. "You're welcome," I say, trying to be polite but not too polite. After all, he did try and ruin our relationship. "I'm sure Patrice told you that I'm out of prison on good behavior and while there, I found my way to Christ and have since repented of my sins; however, to feel truly forgiven, I need to ask for your forgiveness and all the others I hurt and wronged. I know what I did was stupid, mean, and criminal. Back then, I was in desperate times, but it still doesn't excuse what I did. I'm sorry for everything I put you two through. I am trying to do what's right so I can live a life full of purpose and joy, but I can't do that until I set things right." He sounds so genuine that a little tear slips from my eye. I wipe it away and Brock sees and gasps at me. "You're crying? Trice, this man nearly destroyed our marriage and did destroy others' marriages. I'm sorry, but you put us through hell," he says looking squarely at Bart. Bart looks down, his shoulders sagging. "I know, and I will never live that down. I made some bad mistakes, and I went to prison for them," Brock says under his breath. "Brock, he did time and is out because he made amends and sought out God. Give him a chance." I'm always taught about second chances and forgiveness. If Christ could die on the cross for all our sins, then we need to forgive others who have wronged us so they can move forward. Holding grudges just punishes us, not the ones who harmed us. I remember one day my father told me, "If we don't learn to forgive and we hold grudges, we give our power away. Then we become victims and they become victors." I will never forget that. "I do appreciate you coming to apologize and ask for forgiveness, but I can't just forgive and forget. It's not that easy." Brock glances at me as if I should know better. "I understand. I don't expect you to forget – I'm just asking that someday you can forgive me. I'm only here to apologize for what I did. I'm on probation, and for a few months, I will be volunteering my time in the city. It's the least I can do." He leans forward and places his elbows on his knees. I see them shaking slightly. He's nervous, and it shows. "Thank you, Bart, for gathering up the courage to come and see us. I'm sure that was tough to do," I say. He nods and stands up. "I don't want to take more of your time than is necessary, so I will go now. Just know that I have learned my lesson, and I will be helping the police with a few cases they are struggling with. I figured the least I could do is lend my skills of hacking and such to hopefully catch some criminals." I wonder if he knows about Troy and all that stuff or if he's strictly helping with petty crimes. I decide not to pursue it. I stand up and follow him to the door while Brock doesn't move, lost in thought. I know it will take him a while before he can forgive Bart. "Thanks again, Bart. It's been a tough year, and it's nice when someone can apologize when they've done something wrong, and justice can be served." As if he can tell something is bothering me, he stops at the door and turns around. "I heard about Troy and everything that has happened, and I just can't believe it. Troy and I used to be friends, and even though he did some shitty things, look who's talking, I know he loved his kids. And Goldie was also my first-grade teacher in the '90s. When I found out she was murdered, it shocked me. I hope Chief can solve this case." I'm surprised he knows so much, but then it's been in the news for months, and I have no clue how long he's been out of prison. "Yeah, it's been a very hard year, and there are still two co-conspirators who haven't been caught. We've been threatened, and well, the person who put the hit on Troy tried to kill us. Believe me, I'm trying hard to solve Goldie's murder. She's the one who told me about Troy's killer." I stop and wonder why I'm spilling this to him. "Man, I can't believe that happened to you, and to Goldie. Listen," he says, stroking his chin. "Let me help. And before you say no, hear me out." I'm not quite sure what to say, for some reason, my gut tells me to listen. "I've developed some, uh, skills in actual investigating. Give me a week and let me see what I can come up with. I have some connections who can do some digging. It's the least I can do." I look over my shoulder to see if Brock is around or even listening, but the TV is on, and he's still on the couch. I know Brock would vehemently disallow Bart to do investigating on Goldie's death, but I owe it to her to solve her murder. "Is it anything illegal? "Haha, no. I learned my lesson. I just know some people who are real investigators who could look into the case and do some research on these two people still missing. Do you have their names?" "I only know their first names: Greg and Petra. I do know they are Grantsville citizens, but I have no idea if they are still here, though." Bart scrunches his eyebrows. "Okay, no problem. It may be a little more difficult to find them, but I'll do what I can." His face changes, and he looks anxious. "I better go." He rushes out just as Brock joins me at the door. "What were you two talking about?" "Not much. He knows about Goldie, said she was his teacher as well, so we talked about our memories of her." I hate lying to Brock, but the last thing I need is to have him upset with me, allowing him to use his connections to investigate her murder. "I don't trust him," Brock said, staring at him as he gets in the car. "He did his time, and he apologized. What more do you want?" "I don't know. I just don't buy his whole remorse spiel." Just hearing him say this tells me I was right to not say anything about what we really talked about. "I know, but I think we should give him a chance. I think he's sincere. He wants to atone for what he did." Brock doesn't say anything, and I don't push him. And yes, I have my doubts too, but if he can help find Goldie's killer, this whole nightmare can finally be over. We all need a break.

The days seem to blend into each other as we go back and forth from the courthouse to the station and back home each night. After Colton Cosgrove, we learn, confesses to helping dump Troy's body, he takes a plea deal. But the other two co-conspirators are still out there, and Gray has put out arrest warrants. It's not until two weeks after he takes that plea that Jeff pleads guilty to putting the hit on Troy and attempting to murder Brock and me. His sentencing is set for May 14th, nearly a year after Troy was killed. Since he pleads guilty, it's up to the lawyers and the judge to determine his fate. I don't want his money; I want justice. We still don't have a confession on who killed Goldie. I can't imagine it being the female, Petra, or the other male, Greg, both of whom were involved in the plot to dump Troy's body. Is there another killer? The thought makes me shiver, tiny bumps forming on my arms as I push a shopping cart around Reddy's on a Monday afternoon. After loading the groceries in the car, my eye wanders to another car one row over. Someone is blasting rock music, and I briefly recognize it as ACDC's "Bang Your Head," which instantly throws me back to the '80s. Sometimes I miss the simplicity of that time. I was a young mom in the late 80s, and we didn’t worry about so much information being fed to us twenty-four a day. It was easier to raise kids (not as easy as the 50s) and there wasn’t so much political correctness. I snap out of my memory trance and shut the car trunk. Looking around, the world looks normal, even though grief, sadness, anxiety, and stress are all around me. We all put on facades and go on with life. When I get home, I see Brock out in the front. He’s slapping on a fresh coat of white paint to our doorframe. It’s an unusually balmy March day and I only need a light jacket. The sun pours down upon me as I come outside after unloading and putting the groceries away. You’d think it was any other day in Grantsville and has been for the past year, even if it’s been anything but. “Looking good,” I say, shielding my eyes from the sun. “You think? I figure it could use a fresh coat after 15 years.” I can tell Brock is going stir-crazy being home. He wants to be in the city, taking on cases and winning, and socializing with people. I took a break from posting on my YouTube channel, telling my subscribers that I was dealing with personal issues and would be back soon. Next week, we meet up again for my gardening group. The last time, it seemed we only talked about the crazy that had happened last year – the last thing I wanted to discuss. I understand, but if everyone knew the hell Brock and I have been through, they might be more sensitive. I had the group promise to talk about gardening, and that was all. We’ll see what happens. I go back inside and notice Herc barking at the sliding back door, instantly putting me on edge. I cautiously look outside, half expecting to see someone in our backyard, but I only see that stupid cat who seems to have made our tree his home. “Herc, quiet. It’s just the dumb cat.” I grab his collar and drag him away. For a split second, I think I see something out of the corner of my eye, but when I look back, it’s gone. It’s just my mind playing tricks on me. No one is out there. As I’m folding a pile of laundry, I hear my phone vibrate. I pick it up and push the phone icon. “Hey, Trice, Gray here.” “Hi, Gray.” “Listen, there’s been a … well, some kind of hiccup with the case.” His voice sounds strained, and my heart skips a beat. “What hiccup?” “Jeff has been released.” My mouth drops open. “What? How?” I feel faint. “He has a damn good lawyer, and he made up some bullshit story that you and Brock threatened him and his family, and it’s why he tied you two up.” “Are you kidding me? What absolute rubbish!” “I know. He also said Troy’s death was an accident, that he fell on a step leading to the cabin, smacked his head and got a severe concussion. Grant, who went to medical school, tried to save him but wasn’t able to. They were both scared and didn’t report to the police.” “Hold up. Jeff confessed to having Troy killed and poisoning us. I’m so confused.” What the hell is happening? This is supposed to be over. “He said he was forced to confess, that he was intimidated, and when you guys came to Long Island, you all but accused him of murder. You didn’t, right Trice?” I have to think back to dinner at Jeff’s home. I recall talking about Troy’s death and that someone killed him and then dumped his body, and I guess I could have – “Trice, please tell me you didn’t say anything to Jeff.” “Well, I … “ “Damn it, you did.” Gray’s long and deep sigh makes me feel ashamed. “What did you say?” “He asked how life was in Grantsville, and I might have said that Troy’s body was found and that someone killed him and did he know anything about it.” “I can’t believe you. You may have just screwed this case; you do know that, right?” I had no idea Jeff would do this “I’m sorry, Gray. I had to know if he was involved.” I should have kept my shut. “So, you basically accuse him of murder at his home? Do you know how bad this sounds? Any leverage we had over him is gone.” At this point, he’s nearly yelling at me, and I feel about 4 inches tall. I realize what a stupid thing I did and wish I could unwind back to that day. If I had kept silent, I wouldn’t have put Brock and me in danger. We could have come back and told Gray what we found and let him take care of it. Of course, it was Brock who found the files and took pics, and Jeff found them, which, if he said something about that, there’s no evidence, just his word against ours. This just keeps getting worse. “Gray, I don’t know what to say. I feel so ashamed. I thought we were helping the case, not hurting it. What can I do?” I hate the silence on the other end. “You and Brock need to find some evidence to tie him to Troy’s murder and your attempted murder. We need something or he walks free.” “What about the arsenic they found in his blood?” That was no accident. “Arsenic in different concentrations can be in food. The bloodroot was at the cabin. In other words, both can be explained, other than murder.” This can’t be right. And then it hit me. If we were also poisoned with arsenic, it would still be in our blood. “Gray, we need to be tested for arsenic. It’s not even been a month since we were poisoned. When our blood comes back with it in our system, that’s too much of a coincidence, right?” I can tell Gray is thinking about it. “That might work. Okay, you and Brock get an appointment for a blood test. We can prove that he poisoned you with arsenic.” “I’ll call right after I get off with you.” “Alright, Trice. You may have just saved the case.” I blow out a breath. I end the call and immediately contact the doctor for a blood test. They can get us in tomorrow morning. I go out and tell Brock everything, and at first, he’s just as angry as Gray. “I knew this would come back to bite us, Trice. We should never have gone there in the first place.” His face shows disappointment – the creases showing prominently between his brows. Then his face softens, and he looks sad. “You suspected it was the same person, and I never listened. This is my fault as much as yours.” “No, I should have just not said a word and enjoyed our trip. We could have taken the pics and acted as if everything was fine. If I wouldn’t have accused him of something, he probably would have never known we knew. No, this is my fault, and I need to make it right.” The following day, Brock and I are sitting in the doctor’s waiting room waiting to get our blood drawn. Some people are there, sitting in red and gray leather chairs. One is with a little boy, and he’s watching Encanto on the large TV in the back.  The large aquarium on a black stand in the corner houses colorful fish swimming back and forth, yellow, orange, and a few multi-colored ones. The lightly colored blue Berber carpet contrasts perfectly with two large portraits of colorful bouquets, one with yellow and white roses with baby’s breath and the other with yellow and pink carnations and blue salvias that hung on the back wall. The walls are painted lavender, which gives it a calming effect. “Brock and Patrice.” I hear our names, and I get up and head to the waiting open door. “You just need your blood draw?” The nurse with the white scrubs, short red bobbed hair, and green sparkly eyes says as we follow her down the hall. “Yes. We need to know if there’s arsenic in our blood,” I answer back. The nurse, identified as Bridgette from her nametag, looks back at me with a confused look. “It’s a long story, but we think we were poisoned by it.” Nurse Bridgette places her hand over her chest. “Oh, how awful!” She leads us to the lab and tells us to wait in their waiting room while she informs the phlebotomist of what to test for. Suddenly, I feel like all eyes are on Brock and me when two come into the waiting room with Nurse Bridgette and take us individually into the room. I inform the male, who looks like he could pass as a younger version of Tom Cruise, that I get faint if my blood is drawn in a sitting position. He nods and leads me to an empty room. He’s quite tall and thin, and his brown hair and eyes show off his white face, light blue scrubs, and white lab coat. He looks no older than his mid-twenties. After we get our blood drawn, we’re told to wait for the doctor. About ten minutes later, Doctor Henshaw, our doctor for the last 15 years, comes in, a frown planted on his mouth. His brown hair is starting to gray, and you can see a receding hairline, but he looks fit with no fat in the middle. He reminds me of Sean Connery in his younger years, except for the British accent. “So, I understand you might have been poisoned with arsenic?” Straight to the point. “Yeah, it’s a long story, but we went to Long Island and, well …” I struggle with what to say. “We think someone poisoned us, the same one who had Troy Carmichael killed.” Doctor Henshaw sits down and looks fascinated with the story Brock tells about, well, everything since last year. “I heard about that but had no idea you two were involved. I know Jeff; I was his doctor for years and would have never thought he’d be capable of doing something like that.” We never did either, but here we are. “I put a rush on the test, so it should be back within 24 hours. Do you have any residual effects? Arsenic can have long-term damage, so I think it would be wise to get a full blood workup and check for any signs.” Great, another thing to worry about. When we both agreed to further blood tests, we got more blood drawn. Doctor Henshaw said he would contact us by tomorrow with the results. “If you have any symptoms or signs of further effects, let me know immediately. He then rattles off a list of everything we could experience now or in the future. By the time we arrive home, I’m exhausted and just want to crash. Brock flips on the TV and immerses himself in a mind-numbing sci-fi movie. I go upstairs with Herc and lie down. It’s not quite noon, but I feel like I’ve been up all day. Before long, I feel myself drifting off. When I wake, it’s still light outside, but I’m surprised when I see that it’s nearly 4:00. I don’t ever take long naps, but something about having eight vials of blood drawn takes it out of you. Thankfully, the dull headache I had earlier is gone. I get up and yawn, stretching my back. I feel famished, and no wonder. The last time I ate was before getting our blood drawn nearly 8 hours ago. I run cold water and splash it on my face. It feels refreshing. After brushing my hair and teeth, I walk downstairs, Herc on my heels. It’s quiet, and I can see why. Brock is sprawled out on the couch, snoring softly. I tiptoe into the kitchen and grab a feta chicken berry salad bowl I had bought at the store. It’s light but feels me up. When I finish, Brock walks in, his hair sticking up. He yawns. “Man, we both crashed.” I point to his head. ‘You’re sticking up, dear.” He pats his hair down. “Man, I’m starving.” “I was too, so I ate this salad. There are shortbread pepperoni pizzas in the freezer,” I say, throwing away the plastic salad bowl. “Great,” he says and retrieves two and tosses them in the microwave. That man will eat anything. I make a pot of coffee and pour him and me a cup. At this rate, we’ll be up late. I smell the aroma of straight black coffee and put a little cream and sugar in it for taste. Brock likes his plain. I stare at his arm, that still sports the yellow bandage wrapped around it. I ripped mine off the moment we got home. “Gonna keep that on all day?” I motion to his arm, and he chuckles and removes it. Just a hint of a prick is noticeable. A small bruise is forming on my arm, which is typical. When I get my blood drawn, I often end up with a blown vein, and they have to do it again. I was told I have small veins and need to stay hydrated when getting blood drawn. This time, I followed the instructions, and they quickly found a good vein. But I bruise easily, always have. It’s the same with my mother and sisters. We are just settling down to watch March Madness when I hear a knock at the door. Without thinking, I get up and answer it without checking through the peephole. When I open the door, the blood drains from my face. It can’t be ….

After Gray takes the intruder away, Officer Lopez stays behind and interviews us. You can tell she's drained, just like us. Her facial expressions shift from confusion to anger as we recount what happened. Her long hair, typically in a ponytail, flows past her shoulders and down her back. It's been a relentless year, filled with sleepless nights and constant worry about my family's safety. We lost a neighbor and a former teacher, had a friend's home broken into, and nearly lost our own lives. The ordeal isn't over, and I'm determined to find out who killed Goldie, no matter what it takes. She sacrificed herself to get the truth to me and, by extension, Gray. As Officer Lopez leaves, I feel the exhaustion creeping in. The days, weeks, and possibly months ahead will be mentally taxing, but I have to stay strong. Earlier, Leah suggested getting the gardening group together for an upcoming Spring meeting. I'm initially hesitant, considering the recent events, but now it feels like the right thing to do. We need to show our community that we won't let criminals dictate our lives. It's been months since our last meeting, and it's time to reintroduce some semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos and uncertainty. In the next few days, Brock and I find ourselves caught up in rounds of questioning, first with the uncooperative intruder and then with Jeff regarding the events at his home. But tonight, as we prepare for the gardening group meeting, all I want is to discuss the upcoming season and momentarily set aside the weight of our recent troubles. Since the arrest of Jeff and the intruder, Gray believes our home is safe. He suspects the intruder is Colton, who has been terrorizing our street for months. The other two involved in Troy's disposal remain elusive, but with Jeff's confession, the truth is now within our reach. As I stand outside, I notice the sun ascending higher in the sky, signaling the arrival of March and the impending Spring. Utah's chilly climate might persist for a while, but the promise of warmth looms on the horizon. The snow has melted, leaving behind buds on the trees and the cheerful chirping of baby birds. Since the threat has diminished with the capture of Jeff, Colton, and Grant, I yearn to venture on a walk. However, Gray advises me to remain vigilant for a while longer. I examine my reflection in the mirror and note the emergence of more gray hairs and wrinkles. The past six months have aged us both prematurely. Since Troy's discovery and the subsequent threats, I've been unable to visit my grandkids in person. We make do with FaceTime, trying to maintain a façade of normalcy, but kids are perceptive. They sense it's not safe here yet. This knowledge fuels my anger, often driving me to the brink and making me want to punch a hole in the wall or confront Jeff himself. I place the blame squarely on Jeff's shoulders. His wife's affair should have been a matter for personal resolution. Divorce or seek help, but don't resort to murder. Don't orchestrate the disposal of a body, don't issue threats, and certainly don't endanger innocent lives. My initial fear has transformed into a burning anger, a deep-seated resentment towards his reckless actions. How could he be so callous, so willing to destroy lives for his selfish agenda? It's a question that gnaws at me every day. Since the intruder has been caught, Gray thinks our home is safe now and that this person is Colton who has been terrorizing our street for months now. Even though there were two others involved in the dumping of Troy, there was no direct evidence linking them to the crime. Jeff did tell Gray who was all involved, but it’s been months. The others could be gone by now, or they have no clue (more likely) that Jeff confessed everything, and Gray is looking for them. I want to go for a walk but haven’t since last September. Gray told me to still be watchful for a while yet, so all threat is gone with the arrest of Jeff, Colton, and Grant at least. When I looked in the mirror this morning, I noticed more gray hairs popping up and wrinkles gracing my face. It’s like Brock and I aged five years in the last six months. “Hey, whatcha doing out here?” I hear Brock behind me. I turn and smile. “Just enjoying some sun. I’m so tired of being cooped up, even with it still being cold out here. I want normal to make a comeback,” I chuckle somewhat. Brock comes toward me and wraps his arms around me. “I feel the same. But, with the intruder in custody and the cards starting to fall, I feel like justice can finally be served. We just have to be patient a little longer, Trice.” He sweeps my hair from my back and rubs it gently. “You know, we make a pretty good team.” I pull back from him. “Yes, yes, we do. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” I reach up and kiss him, my lips melding with his; I sense a mixed taste of salt and coffee bean, which tastes comforting.  Suddenly, I want to hold onto Brock and not let go. A few times now, he could have been killed. It makes me panic to think that if he dies before me, how I would move on without him. His father died at a young age, and his mother had to, but the stories he told me of her need to work two jobs to make ends meet and then Brock needing to step up and do what his father no longer could do, stressful and put a lot of pressure on a kid who just wanted to enjoy childhood but knew he couldn’t. “Well, that was unexpected, but I’m not complaining,” Brock says as he pulls his lips away from mine. So, what are your plans for the day? It feels weird not to be going to the office, but it gives me time to fiddle around in the shop. Maybe I’ll clean it up a little.” I smile. I’ve been asking him to clean it for months, but he was so busy he didn’t have time. Since he’s on a sabbatical for the next month or so, he has plenty of time – well, until the trial starts. A brisk wind picks up, and I wrap my arms around myself and head back inside. It’s laundry day, and since we have to wait for the court hearing for both Jeff and Colton, who I still believe is the intruder, it’s best to go on as normally as possible.  The upcoming gardening group meeting and the prospect of reconnecting with friends bring a glimmer of hope. It's time to demonstrate our resilience and show that the actions of criminals won't cow us. The following days will be challenging, but I'm determined to stay strong. The arrest of Jeff and Colton marks a turning point in our quest for justice. The memory of Goldie's sacrifice continues to inspire me to seek the truth and ensure her legacy lives on. As I load the laundry, my phone buzzes, and I notice my youngest son's name flashing on the screen. Every time he calls, a pang of anxiety washes over me. My initial thought invariably skews towards some grim scenario, fearing that something terrible may have happened to someone we care about. “Hey, son,” I say after swiping left to answer. “Hi, Mom, long time no speak,” he chuckles. It has been a few months since I’ve heard from him. He doesn’t act like anyone is hurt, so I silently thank God. “Yes, it has been. I was beginning to wonder if you’d fallen off the face of the earth,” I joke. “No, but we do have some news …” He trails off, and I perk up. “Ok …?” I match his tone. He’s silent. “Ian Brock Summers, tell me now!” “Are you ready to become a Grandma again?” My hand flies to my mouth. “What?” “Yep, baby number two is finally on the way and healthy.” I want to cry. Ian and his wife, Stephanie, have seen heartbreak after heartbreak when they started trying for baby number two after Clarise turned two. She’s now 6, and after four miscarriages, one when Stephanie was 22 weeks along, it finally happened! “Ian, I’m so happy! How far along, and when’s she due?” She’s 19 weeks, and we just had the ultrasound yesterday! We also found out we’re having a boy!” Another grandson to add to the three we already have, and he’s healthy! “Right now, the due date is July 4th! “Oh, I’m so happy,” and the tears streaming down my face show it. “We can’t believe how it happened. You know we stopped IVF since it was just too hard on Steph, right?” “Yeah, you mentioned that last year.” “Well, we stopped trying, and she didn’t even know she was pregnant until she started to show. We took four tests, and they all showed two very pink lines. We were shocked and scared when we had the ultrasound. He looks absolutely perfect, though; he has my nose and Steph’s lips. We also want to come visit after he’s born in July.” It suddenly hits me that we never told Ian about Troy or anything else. He lives in South Carolina, and Brock and I figured he didn’t need to know and worry. But now that there will be a trial, it will go on for months. He needs to know, but then I worry he will stay away, and we won’t get to see our new grandson or Clarise, who we haven’t seen in person since she was four. I decide to hold off until I know more. “Oh, we would love that!” “Save the date then. Sometime in August, when it’s safe to travel.” We talk a little longer, and I get to say hi to a very excited Clarise talking about her baby brother she will get to see in summer. After, I rush to the shop adjacent to the garage, where Brock is cleaning up. He’s sweeping, kicking up dust. “You’ll never guess who just called!” “Gray?” “No … better. Ian called and they had some news … “ I trail off and realize Ian gets that snarky tone from me. “And?” He sighs. “They’re pregnant!!” Brock’s eyes widen, and then he smiles. “It’s a boy and due on July 4th! They just had the ultrasound yesterday and he’s healthy!” He closes his eyes. “Oh, thank God.” “I’m so happy for them and us. But they want to come after the baby is born, in August. They don’t know about Troy or anything else. I didn’t have the heart to tell him.” “That’s right. We didn’t tell him, only Eric. Josh doesn’t even know.” He sits down on his bench with the broom still in his hand. “Yeah, I begged Eric not to tell his brothers. They didn’t need to know until Jeff was caught and everyone involved charged and in prison.” ‘Yeah, but if this trial goes through the summer, they will know one way or the other. It has to come from us, not the media.” “I know, but can we wait until we at least have more info and a trial date? We still don’t know who this intruder is, and if it’s not Colton, we’re still in danger. Let’s wait until at least May, OK?” Brock grits his teeth and he starts to shake his head. “Brock, you know how the boys are, especially Ian. They will overreact and scold us for not saying anything.” “Yes, but they will do that no matter when we tell them.” He has a point. “Look, let me take care of this. I can talk to them logically, whereas you –“ “Are too emotional,” I finish his sentence. “Well, yeah. You know how the boys protect you.” “They are very protective.” “Yes, so let me handle them, OK?” “Okay. I just don’t want them to freak out. August is five months out, and by then, the case should be over, right?” I should know better than to ask Brock that. His last case was nearly nine months long. “Trice, you know I can’t promise that, right?” “Yeah.” I lower my head, knowing he’s right. “Tell you what. I’ll wait till April to tell them. A court hearing probably won’t even happen for a few weeks. Once we know more, then we can make a decision on how best to tell them. OK?” “OK. Thanks, hon.” He got up and walked over to me. I immediately went into his arms. “We’re going to get through this.” Almost as if on cue, my phone buzzes. I pull it out of my pocket and see a text from Gray. “It’s him, Brock.” I show him the message. The flood of tears can’t be held back, and I cry in his arms. It’s over. It’s finally over.

Two days have passed since the incident, and I find myself watering my houseplants when a sudden knock on my door startles me, causing my heart to race. I consider the possibility of a squad car parked outside, prompting the visitor to knock. Yet, my instincts drive me to check the peephole, and a sense of relief washes over me as I see Leah. I quickly open the door, and she greets me with an immediate and heartfelt hug. "Oh, I'm so glad you're OK!" I reciprocate, wrapping my arms around her, realizing how much I've missed her. As we pull away, I take in her appearance, noting her yoga pants and the dark red sweater beneath her black pea coat. Her impeccably styled hair still stands out, but I can see the signs of exhaustion in her eyes. "We're fine, but I'm so sorry about your house," I say, leading her into the living room. I go on to explain that my husband and I were away for our anniversary, and our house had been torn apart during our absence. Leah listens intently as I describe the chaos left behind by the intruders. "They were either looking for the ring or trying to divert the police's attention," I continue. "But they won't find it because Brock and I already did." I watch Leah's eyes widen as I share the story of how we found the ring and where it is now. "Wow," she exclaims, visibly surprised. "We got in trouble with Gray, but he didn't arrest us because he knows the ring will bring Jeff down," I explain. Leah's eyes widen even further as she places her hand over her mouth, clearly absorbed in the gravity of the situation. I go on to reveal more about our encounters with Jeff, including our visit to his home in Long Island, where he tied us up in his guest bedroom. Leah is left speechless by the time I finish my account. "I can't believe he tried to kill you," she finally says. "It just shows you what someone will do to avoid getting caught." "I think he's so afraid of losing his family that he would rather risk going to prison than have his wife leave and take the kids," I respond. Leah shakes her head in disbelief. "You have to be careful. He probably doesn't think he has anything else to lose now that he will be arrested. He may send his goons to exact his revenge." "Yeah, I know. But, after nearly a year, Troy's murder will finally be solved and possibly Goldie's as well," I reflect. "I can't believe everything that has happened in the last 9 months. Nothing has ever happened on our street, let alone our neighborhood," Leah says with a concerned look. "I look over my shoulder whenever I go out or leave for somewhere." "I know, and I'm sorry you got caught up in all this. It wasn't my intention; I hope you know that," I admit with a crack in my voice. "I will never forgive myself if something happens to you." Leah reassures me, mentioning that she now carries a Glock for protection, even though she once detested guns. Her newfound sense of caution is evident. Before I can comment further, my phone buzzes in my pocket, and I retrieve it to read the three words on the screen: "We got him." I share the news with Leah, and she departs, but I can't divulge any details until Jeff has been indicted. Left alone, I sit on the couch, contemplating the recent turn of events. I call Gray to get more information, and what he reveals leaves me in awe. "Gray, tell me everything," I urge. "You'll never believe this, Trice, but Jeff turned himself in," Gray shares. "What?" I exclaim in astonishment. As Gray continues to provide details, I hang on every word. Jeff's confession and the remorse he's expressed are shocking, and I can't help but feel a mix of relief and sadness. His decision to turn himself in impacts not only him but also his family, especially his children. "That little girl is smart," I mention, recalling the day we were tied up and the way she had helped us escape without saying a word to her father. Leah continues to voice her concerns about the remaining co-conspirators and their potential actions. "I think he's so afraid of losing his family that he would rather risk going to prison than have his wife leave and take the kids," I reflect. Leah shakes her head in disbelief. "You have to be careful. He probably doesn't think he has anything else to lose now that he will be arrested. He may send his goons to exact his revenge." "Yeah, I know. But, after nearly a year, Troy's murder will finally be solved, and possibly Goldie's as well," I express with a glimmer of hope. "I can't believe everything that has happened in the last 9 months. Nothing has ever happened on our street, let alone our neighborhood," Leah says with a concerned look on her face. "I look over my shoulder every time I go out or leave for somewhere." "I know, and I'm sorry you got caught up in all this. It wasn't my intention; I hope you know that," I admit with a crack in my voice. "I will never forgive myself if something happens to you." Leah reassures me, mentioning that she now carries a Glock for protection, even though she once detested guns. Her newfound sense of caution is evident. Before I can comment further, My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I swiftly retrieve it, my eyes fixed on the three words displayed: "We got him." I hurriedly inform Leah that I have an appointment, and she leaves. There's an intense need to share this moment, but I remind myself that I can't say anything to anyone until Jeff faces indictment. I lower myself onto the couch and dial Gray's cell phone number. After several rings, Gray answers, and I waste no time in getting to the heart of the matter. "Gray, tell me everything," I implore. His words leave me astounded: "You'll never believe this, Trice, but Jeff turned himself in." My head flops back against the cushions as I absorb this astonishing revelation. "Yeah, he walked in and told one of my deputies that he ordered the hit on Troy and tried to kill you and Brock," Gray continues. "He said he knew it was time to confess, especially since he tried killing you guys, and once you escaped, it was just a matter of time before he was arrested. He’s ready to accept the consequences. He also said he was very sorry for what he did, not just to Troy but to you and Brock, in particular. We questioned him for hours and he told us about the affair, the cabin, Troy’s accident, how Grant had poisoned him, and then when you guys came, how he slipped arsenic in your coffees and tied you to the bed. He’s now been arraigned." I hang on Gray's every word, my emotions ranging from shock to relief. "He said the guilt was eating at him because his daughter asked why he tied you up and wouldn’t let you leave. He didn’t have an answer. She then asked him what he would do if someone tied her up. He said he knew then he had to turn himself in and make it right, even if it meant he would be imprisoned." I nod, remembering the cleverness of Jeff's daughter that day and how she played a crucial role in our escape. My initial excitement at Jeff turning himself in starts to wane, replaced by a sense of sadness, knowing that his children will bear the brunt of his choices. "Yeah, she is," I respond to Gray's mention of Jeff's daughter. "He seemed very remorseful, even cried. He said he didn’t want his kids to think he was a monster. And since we know he didn’t kill Goldie or break into Leah and Trevor’s home, we need to focus on Colton, as he has the most to lose, aside from Jeff. It was his wife’s ring he lost in the same area Troy was dumped. But now that Jeff has confessed and told us about the whole plan, including everyone involved, we can now get them all." A deep breath escapes me, signaling that it's finally ending. "I still can’t believe he turned himself in just like that. But kids can be very influential." "That is very true," Gray acknowledges. "He has contacted his attorney, and his court date is Friday." With three more days to go, the anticipation mounts. "You and Brock will need to testify once his trial starts. Are you ready for this?" Despite the reluctance to relive the trauma and confront the painful details about Goldie, I muster my resolve. "I'm ready, and I will call Brock too. He went to work to alert his team that he was taking a sabbatical until the case was over." "Okay. You will need to come to the courthouse at 10:00 A.M. on Friday." "We’ll be there." I bid Gray farewell and toss my phone on the couch, my thoughts racing to process this newfound information. I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them, recognizing that there are still three co-conspirators to locate. We're not out of the woods just yet, but the finish line is finally in sight.  ------------------------------------------ After I shared what I'd learned with Brock upon his return home, his expression contorted with a mixture of pain and regret. "I'm glad Jeff did the right thing, but he alone destroyed his family. It’s too bad because he seemed to be a good father and loved his kids. Now, they will grow up without him." I watch his face, feeling an overwhelming sense of empathy wash over me. Jeff had been like a fourth son to us, a constant presence in our lives, almost like part of the family. I remembered the time he had mentioned that our game night was what a real family looked like, and it tugged at my heartstrings. I reach over and embrace Brock, understanding the weight of the forthcoming testimony. "This is going to be hard testifying against him. I never thought he had the capability of murdering someone," I confess. Stepping back, I add, "But now, we need to be more worried about Colton. He’s still looking for the ring, but who knows if he’s still in the city after breaking into Leah and Trevor’s house. I doubt anyone else did it. And once the tests come back with his fingerprints, we will have solid proof. It could take weeks, but Gray can bring in Colton for questioning. I mean, even though he didn’t kill Troy, he did help dump his body." Brock nodded, his expression a mix of relief and determination. "Thankfully, I’m home for a bit, and we still have police protection. It’s almost over, Trice." Later that night, after we'd ordered food for delivery and settled into bed, me with a book and Brock engrossed in his iPad, a sudden loud noise pierces the quiet, making me jump. Herc, our loyal dog, starts growling instantly. My head snaps up, and I see Herc's intense gaze fixed on the doorway, ears perked up. Brock, too, had heard it. He reaches into his nightstand drawer, retrieving his gun, and with a tense motion, he cocks it and points it toward the door. My heart races as fear grips me, and I dread what might be on the other side. Brock climbs out of bed and moves silently toward the door, the gun leading the way. "SHHHH, Herc," he whispers, glancing back at me. "Stay here and close the door behind me." "Brock, please be careful," I implore, hurrying out of bed to follow him to the door. He ventures out, with the loaded gun guiding his path. I try to keep Herc from following, gently taking hold of his collar, urging him back, and then closing the door. My hands are clammy, and panic surges within me. I could do nothing but wait, hoping it wasn't Colton inside our home and praying for Brock's safety. I strain to listen through the door but can’t discern anything. To keep Herc from growling, I stroke his ears and whisper soothing words. I briefly contemplate hiding in the bathroom, but then I hear a gunshot echo through the house. Without hesitation, I fling the door open and rush into the hallway. "Stay down!" Brock's voice reaches me, sounding like he’s in the living room. I hurry down the stairs to find Brock aiming his gun at a figure clad in a black ski mask, jeans, and a hoodie. The intruder clutches his leg, blood gushing from the wound. "Call Gray," Brock instructs me urgently. Fortunately, my phone, which I had grabbed from the nightstand, is in my hand. I rapidly dial Gray's number. "Trice?" he answers. "Someone broke into our home. Brock shot him in the leg." "Be right over." Click. "Who are you?" Brock demands. Silence. "Listen, you bastard, I'm not afraid to shoot you again." "Okay, fine." "Take off the mask." The intruder complies, revealing a face I don't recognize. His short, spiky sandy brown hair framed deep brown eyes that glare defiantly at Brock. Bulging muscles suggest a frequent gym visitor. "I'm going to bleed out," the man whimpers. "No, you're not. I barely grazed your leg," Brock retorts. I can see the blood still flowing from the wound, knowing it was more than a graze. The intruder needs medical attention. "Brock, we have to staunch the blood," I urge, rushing to the bathroom to fetch an old towel. I return and swiftly wrap it around the man's leg, tying it tightly to stem the bleeding. "What are you doing in our house?" Brock demands, his eyes never leaving the intruder. Before the man can respond, I hear a loud pounding on the front door, followed by Gray's voice announcing his arrival. I rush over and open the door, and Gray, along with Officer Lopez, burst in. "Are you both OK?" Gray inquires, stepping into the living room and spotting the injured intruder. "Oh shit," he mutters. "Okay, we've got it from here, Brock." Brock lowers his gun and lets it hang at his side. Gray moves swiftly to secure the intruder, handcuffing his hands behind his back. "Damn, chill out," the man complains. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law..." Gray recites Miranda rights. While Officer Lopez calls 911, Gray attempts to extract information about the intruder's intentions and identity. The man remains stubbornly silent. It must be Colton.

I awake to my phone buzzing on the nightstand. It startles me as I reach out my hand and grab it and look at the text. It’s from Gray. I look at the time – nearly 10:00 A.M. I text back that I’ll meet him at the station. I glance over at Brock and he’s still asleep, so I gingerly creep out of bed so as not to wake him, slip into the bathroom and take a cold shower to wake myself up. I never get up this late and hate that I went to bed so late last night. But we found the ring and that’s all that matters. After I apply some makeup and brush my hair, I throw on some jeans and sweater and then open the drawer and retrieve the Preparation H container with the ring in it. I drop it into my purse and walk out to a still sleeping Brock. I kiss my finger and place it on his lips, then leave the room. Herc follows me downstairs and for a split second, I think about looking out the foyer window to ensure no one is parked outside except for a squad car but think better of it. I don’t want to draw attention to myself. As it is, I need to contact Officer Lopez to let her know I’m headed to the police station. Gray instructed her to escort me or take me there herself while another squad car takes her place to watch the house. After calling her, I quickly grab some coffee in the kitchen to wake myself up and a muffin I found on the counter. It probably has a ton of preservatives in it so it’s likely safe to eat after a week. I take a bite and a long sip of coffee and head out to the garage. I flip on the light, still leery after someone was here just a week ago and push the button to open the garage. When I back up, the sun hits my eyes and I reach for my sunglasses in the cubby above the rearview mirror. I clean them with my shirt then put them on and drive down my road, Officer Lopez following after. I wonder what Gray wants to talk about when I pull up to the police station and park. Does he have information on Grant, Jeff, the ones who dumped Troy, or … and then it dawns on me; he knows we found the ring! Why else would he say we need to talk as if he was a boyfriend breaking up with me? Officer Lopez holds the door open for me, and I walk into the police station. I hear Gray in a heated conversation with someone, and Officer Lopez tells me to hold back. She goes into this office alone and I can’t hear what they’re saying because he looks at me, shakes his head, and then shuts the door behind her. I’m in trouble. I wait on the bench, my knees shaking, as I stare off into space, willing myself to calm down. What will he do, arrest me? I mean, we did enter someone’s property and take something. Even though it didn’t belong to the residents, we still dug up their yard in the middle of the night. It seems forever when Gray opens the door and wiggles his finger, demanding me to come into his office. I take a big gulp and go inside and shut the door. Officer Lopez won’t look at me, and it takes me back to when I was a child and did something wrong, and my father wouldn’t look at me but would shake his head in disappointment. I would look at him and say, “Sorry, Dad.” He would usually just say the four dreaded words I hated to hear. “I’m disappointed in you.” He didn’t spank me but would lecture me for the next hour. I never wanted to disappoint him again but I always did. Before Gray can say anything, I hold my hand up. “Before you light into me, Gray, we had to take the risk. I know it was not the best timing, but – “ “Trice, what you and Brock did was break the law!” The anger is apparent on his face with deep grooves etched into his forehead. “I know, but – “ “There is no  ,” he says, emphasizing the word. “If your neighbor or anyone else for that matter saw you, they would have called us and we would have had no choice but to arrest you for entering someone’s property and digging up their yard. What you guys did was stupid.” “How did you know? I thought we were so careful.” Gray looks at me with a sideways glance. “Trice, Officer Lopez saw you. She was watching your house, remember?” “I didn't see a car, so I thought she left. And I’m sorry.” I try not to say “but” again. “We needed to find that ring and since it’s been months, if we didn’t do it, who would? Plus, whoever dropped it would have come looking until they found it, and our evidence would be gone with them.” Gray sighs deeply. He knows I’m right. I look at Officer Lopez who is looking down. “I know you did what you thought was right, but Trice, someone already broke into Leah and Trevor’s and tore apart their place. If these people know you have the ring, you’re not safe, not that you were or have been this last year.” “I know, which is why I’m giving it to you.” I reach into my purse and take out the long rectangular box. “It’s the best place I could think of to hide it.” I put it on his desk, and I see a slight smile form on his lips. “Well, that was kind of clever.” He opens the box and takes out the gold ring. “Wow, it’s even inscribed,” he says. “Love Always, Colton.” He runs his finger around the band. I grab my chair and pull it up to his desk. “This is his wife’s ring. Goldie said Colton was getting it resized the day after they dumped the body and he had it in his pocket. Somehow when he was reaching inside and getting the rope, it fell out and got buried the same time Troy was. If we can get him to talk and implicate the rest, including Jeff, this nightmare can finally be over.” “Well, since Jeff basically tried to kill you, we will need to get a warrant to extradite him here to answer questions. You may have to testify against him. Can you do that?” I have no hesitation when I say, “Hell yeah. This man was responsible for killing Troy, Goldie, and almost Brock and I, not to mention destroying my best friend’s home. He has to pay.” I feel my jaw tighten and heat rise to my face. ‘Okay then. We already questioned him once but now we have proof and can arrest him. He will throw Jeff and anyone else under the bus for a deal.” “Chief, do you want me to send out an arrest warrant for Jeff and get Colton back in here for questioning?” Officer Lopez speaks up for the first time. Her face has softened towards me. “Yeah, let’s contact Judge Carlton to get a warrant and then the Long Island Police Department and clue them into what’s going on. They can arrest and question him about what he did to Trice and Brock. After, go visit Colton and get him in here. Let’s wrap up this case before anything else happens. We know three others are involved, so the sooner we get the names, the sooner we get them talking. Right now, it’s Jeff that is controlling this. Let’s turn the tables on him. He has to know Trice and Brock came to us, and he may try and run.” “Thank you, Gray,” I say, finally able to breathe freely again. “I’m sorry we broke the law. If there was any other way, we would have taken it.” “Yeah … but Trice, don’t ever do anything like this again “Yeah.” He ushers me out and tells me to go home and unpack and settle back in but that a squad car will be parked out on the curb. All we can do now is wait and hope we can nab Jeff. Back home, I walk inside from the garage and see Brock sitting at the table, a cup in his hand. “I woke up and you were gone, Trice.” He says and then stands up and throws his arms around me. “I thought something had happened.” “Well, it kind of did,” I say, biting my nail. I then tell him everything that happened, and I see the anguish in his eyes. He sits back down at the table and closes his eyes. “Well, shit. This isn’t looking too good for a lawyer to have broken the law. He could have arrested us, Trice.” “I know, but he didn’t. Now, he can arrest Jef and question Colton and get a confession, hopefully. We’re really close to solving this. I mean we know Jeff killed, well, had Grant kill Troy, but we don’t know who killed Goldie, ransacked Leah and Trevor’s home, or who tried to break into our home. There are still 2 suspects, not including Colton, Grant, and Jeff. Any one of them could have been Goldie’s killer.” “Which means at least three of them could still be staking our house, waiting to get us out of the way. If they knew Goldie told you, we are sitting ducks. I’m going to speak with the Board and see if I can get a sabbatical or something so I can stay here until the threat is gone.” It makes my heart ache that he looks almost defeated. I place my hand on his shoulder. “Oh, Brock, I couldn’t ask that of you. I’ll be OK with the police here.” “Trice, the police can’t continuously babysit our home; they have a job to protect the city, not just us.” I understand what he’s saying and he’s right. We have to take care of ourselves. I know we have a gun. Brock calls it the “home defense rifle.” I have thought about getting a small gun I can carry in my purse for protection. Thank Heavens Utah is an open carry state, meaning you don’t need a permit to own a gun. “I just hate that you can’t work,” I say, grabbing some oatmeal out of the pantry. “I can still do cases, just not be in court. It will work out.” He gets up and refills his coffee cup. I go to him and hug him tightly. “Thank you, Brock, and I’m sorry I got us into this mess to begin with.” “You didn’t, Goldie did. But I understand why she did it, and she paid with her life. We have to vindicate her, so her death isn’t in vain.” Tears well up and I let them fall – for Troy and Goldie. I owe it to them to solve her murder and implicate his murderer. I hope we’re not too late.

The only two people who know about the ring, besides Grant and the one who dropped it, are me and, well, Goldie, who was killed. I have to tell Brock, so I bring it up after Officer Lopez heads back to her car for her nightly patrol. "I have to tell you something, and don't get mad." He looks at me and sighs. I've kept too much from him. "Trice..." "When Goldie was alive and sending me text messages, she sent me a riddle, and I guessed it but couldn't say anything because it would have put her in more danger, so I kept it to myself. The night Jeff's band of merry thugs dumped Troy's body and buried it, one dropped his wife's ring. He was going to get it resized the following day, but somehow, when he was pulling out stuff from his pocket, it fell out. No one has been able to find it since. We have to find it – it's the only way to implicate Jeff." "Good grief, Trice. What else aren't you telling me?" he takes off his glasses and stares me down, his arms crossed. "That's it. I swear." I raise my hands in surrender. "But I had to protect Goldie. Now that she's gone, it's up to us to get justice for her and Troy." "How can we find it? There's at least 4 inches of snow on the ground." "I don't know, but we have to try. This nightmare won't end unless we can find it and give it to Gray, so he can arrest Jeff." Brock closes his eyes, and I know he's weary of everything that's happened. "This whole thing is maddening. We can't leave our home, can't see our kids or grandchildren, and must listen to everything and watch out for anyone. And now," he says, holding up his finger, "we need to find a stupid ring in the snow. Great, just great." "I'm sorry, hon. I really am. I was just doing my best to protect Goldie. She was a loose string, and now, we are." "Fine, but let's at least wait for the snow to melt some." He pulls up our home weather station on his phone. "It looks like clear skies are in the forecast for the next several days. Let's hold off and let the police do their job of being our lookout. Plus, if they're here day in and day out, they will notice us going next door. But why can't we just tell Gray, and he can get several investigators searching for it? Why involve us at all?" He makes a point. But then I come back to reality. "If any of those guys are casing the house and they see police next door looking around, it will set them off. Who knows if they will tell Jeff, and he sends someone else to finish the job - that of killing us to protect his secret. Right now, there is only circumstantial evidence that he was involved. We have to build a case on him." "God, Trice, you sound like a criminal investigator." I don't know whether to thank or slug him in the arm for being a butthead. "At least someone is trying to figure this out," I raise my voice, and Herc perks his head around and stares at me. He knows when Brock and I fight; most of the time, he leaves the room if we get too loud. "That's what the police are for," he says through gritted teeth. "Yeah, but they're minutes away when seconds count," I bite back. "Gray and Officer Lopez have done an amazing job, Trice. Stop trying to play the hero." That hurts, and I become silent. After a few minutes, Brock rubs his eyes and turns to me. "Look, I know you're trying to help, but you're jeopardizing our family. I love you, and I'm trying to protect you, but I can't if you keep me in the dark and then go silent when I give you some hard truths. You're not a criminal investigator or the police. Please, let them do their job." I hate when he's right. “Fine. But we have to find the ring, not them. Once that happens, I will turn it over to Gray and be done with it. Deal?” I hold out my hand, and he shakes it. “Deal.” But the rest of the night, I can’t stop thinking about the ring and where it could be. By now, it could have sunk deep into the earth. A few days later, the snow had melted enough for Brock and I to search. We haven’t seen anyone around, and I feel a bit safer, especially with the police parked out front; however, I know they can’t do that indefinitely. Tomorrow would have been when we returned from NYC if all had gone to plan. It’s a Tuesday, and Brock goes back to work the next day. It’s been nice having him around. We’ve bonded more this last week than we have for years. It sparked a flame that I felt was smoldering for quite some time. It’s nearing nighttime when I broach Brock about going out to search for the ring. There’s just a skiff left of snow on the ground. It’s a perfect time before the next storm is supposed to arrive this weekend. “Okay, but we can’t just walk over to the house. We will have to go out back and climb the fence into their backyard.” Oh great, more fence climbing. “Remember, another family has moved in there, so we may need to do it closer to midnight. Can you handle that?” “Sure. I’ll just down a cup of coffee to keep me awake.” “We’re going to need a small cultivator to dig and maybe a trowel and shovel – not big, though,” he says. “Okay.” “And we’ll need to wear light shoes but dress in layers as it will be cold.” “I know.” I have to remind myself that he’s trying to protect me and not take control. I don't dare think what would have happened if he hadn’t been at Jeff’s with me. I barely touch my food, the knot in my stomach growing more intense. But I need to calm down. Brock can’t have a nervous nelly while we’re looking for the ring. I dress in layers when it’s nearing midnight. I downed a cup of straight black coffee an hour ago, and I’m more awake now. I silently pray we will find it and not get caught doing so. At exactly midnight, we slip out back, telling Herc to be a good boy and stay in the house. And to ensure he does, I slip the cover down over his dog door. He whines, and I bend down and rub his head. “Sorry, bud, you have to stay here. We’ll be back.” I hope he doesn’t bark loudly and wake anyone up. Our windows are nearly soundproof, but Herc can bark pretty loudly, too. “No bark,” I wag my finger at him, and he sits on his hind legs and whimpers. I quietly close the door and follow Brock to the east side of our house. This 6-foot gate is better than the 10-foot gate we traversed at Jeff’s. I shimmy my way up and find it easy to toss my legs over the side and jump down – this time straight on my feet. The biting cold nips at my face, but the rest of my body is warm. I had put on a T-shirt, hoodie, coat, and spandex athletic pants I bought to get in shape but never wore, and jeans. I look at the house. All the lights are off, as far as I can tell. I’m shivering, even though I’m layered up. “Follow me,” Brock whispers. We go around to the side, and Brock flips the gate handle up as if he’s performing surgery, slowly but methodically. He peers out. “Okay, I don’t see anyone, but that doesn’t mean a squad car isn’t next door or hiding on the street somewhere. But to ensure we’re not seen, we need to crawl to where Troy was dumped.” “Oh, joy,” I say, sarcasm dripping from my lips. The last thing I want is to get down on my hands and knees and crawl. But I follow Brock’s lead and do exactly that. I had put on gloves, so at least my hands were covered, but it didn’t feel too good on my knees. I ignore the rough feeling and soldier on, as my father would always say. Can’t wasn’t a word in our home. He was in the military and ran his house like one, and he expected things to be done right the first time. It taught me respect, work ethic, and doing things correctly, which carried over to adulthood and my professional life. We get to the area where Troy was buried, but its covered over as if nothing was ever unearthed here. This is going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack. “Okay, how about I work my way on this side, and you go on the opposite side and cover the area and meet in the middle,” Brock says in a hushed tone. “Okay,” I say quietly. How on earth are we supposed to find anything in this dark? If Brock turns on the flashlight, it may give off too much light. I want to laugh at the absurdity of two over 50-year-olds crawling in the dead of night in their neighbor’s front yard, looking for a ring that’s been missing for close to a year now. It sounds crazy. Brock pulls off the backpack he had slung over his shoulder and opens it up. He pulls out the shovel, trowel, and cultivator. He takes the shovel, and I take the cultivator and work digging in the ground. I try to remember how big the hole was last year and feel around for any bumps or irregularities in the ground. Since it’s winter, all the plants have died back, making it a little easier to search the area. The ground is still pretty frozen, and I find myself sweating after breaking up as much soil as possible with the cultivator. After a while, my arms start aching, and my knees start to burn from the pressure. I don't know how long it's been, and I think about giving up when I hear Brock gasp. “Trice, I feel something.” I crawl over to him. “I can’t see anything though. Can you shield me so I can turn on the flashlight for a minute? Just act as my cover so the light isn’t illuminated.” I get close to him and use my back as a cover while he pushes a button and lights up the ground. Hopefully, I’m blocking out enough light because I too see something gold about 3 inches down. “I found it,” Brock whispers excitedly. The light goes off. Okay, we need to replace the soil and try and tamp it down as much as possible." I go back to my area and try and push the soil back into where I was digging and pat it down. When I'm satisfied. I whisper to Brock, "I'm done." "Yeah, I think I am too." We both inspect each other's area, and to anyone looking at us and seeing two people crawling past each other, they'd think we look ridiculous, and they'd be right. "I think it looks about the same as before we started digging," I say, wanting to get up and stretch. "Let’s get out of here.” I follow Brock out of the yard, crouching low, when I hear a car coming down the street and freeze. Maybe it’s a police car patrolling. “Get down as flat as possible,” Brock says. He drops to the ground, and I do the same, waiting. My knees hurt, and I feel flutters in my stomach. I silently pray we don’t get caught. Shortly after, the car drives by, and again, it’s silent. I let out a breath. Brock rises to his knees again, and I follow suit. I can’t believe our luck. This time, we crawl over to our property line instead of returning to the backyard. “If we crouch low, we can get back inside the house quickly." He gets up to a crouching position, and like a large cat eyeing its prey, he darts across our driveway and hides behind the bushes in our yard, covering the bay window. I follow his lead. He flips his head from side to side. "I don’t see a car, do you?” “No,” I say, pivoting my head around. “Okay, let’s get to the front door; I’ll punch in the code, and we can quickly get inside.” It takes seconds but feels like minutes when he opens the door, and we dash inside, Brock closing and locking it behind me. We had left a light on, and Hercu was there to greet us, his tail swaying back and forth. “Hey, Herc.” He circles around me and lets out a bark. “Shhh,” I scold him gently. “It’s OK, we’re here now.” I stretch my back and feel a tightness in my arms and thighs. Brock goes into the bathroom, and I follow. He turns on the light, and I shield my eyes. “Sorry,” he says, flipping on the fanlight and off the main light. He thrusts his hand inside his pocket and pulls out a gold ring. It’s dirty, and he grabs a washcloth, turns on the water, and wets it, then rubs the ring to clean it up. “Trice, there’s an inscription.” I lean in and read the words. “We got him!” I clap my hands. “I can’t believe it, Trice. We did it.” He hugs me and I melt into his arms. He polishes the ring and slips it back into his pocket. “We have to hide this well until we can get this to Gray.” “I agree. I have the perfect place.” I tell him to follow me and climb the stairs to where I put the recorder, and Brock chuckles. “Yeah, this is the last place I’d think to look for a ring.” He places it inside the Preparation H container, puts it in the back of my drawer, and closes it. We both plump down on the bed, with Herc jumping up and trying to lick us. “Okay, it’s your turn,” Brock says to him as he starts rubbing his back, and Herc rolls over onto his back with his legs straight up. We both give him “scritches,” and then I fall back on the bed, feeling fatigued but relieved. I flip my wrist over and notice it’s nearly 1:00, way past my bedtime. I get up, brush my teeth, remove all my makeup, and apply my skin cream. I get into some warm pajamas, and when I come out, Brock’s eyes are closed, and he’s snoring softly. He didn’t even change his clothes. Herc has curled up at his feet. I slide into bed, feeling the cool sheets against my skin, turn off the light, and feel myself drifting off to sleep within seconds. This is for you, Goldie.

Let's discuss winterizing your garden in today's 46th installment of Gardening Tips & Tricks. As winter approaches, gardeners need to prepare their gardens for the harsh season. (for those in Northern climates) However, anywhere you are, winterizing your garden is crucial for its health. Here are essential tips: 1. Clean Up: Remove dead plants and debris to prevent disease. Rake fallen leaves to prevent mold. 2. Pruning: Trim overgrown branches for spring growth. Remove dead or diseased branches. Cut perennials back to 3 inches above ground. 3. Mulch and Insulate: Apply 2-4 inches of mulch for root protection. Use leaves, straw, or compost. Wrap delicate plants with burlap. 4. Water and Drainage: Hydrate your garden before the first frost. Ensure good drainage. Disconnect and drain hoses. 5. Protect Potted Plants: Shelter them in a garage or greenhouse. Elevate pots and add insulation. 6. Garden Tools: Clean, oil, and sharpen tools. Store them in a dry place. 7. Composting: Continue composting, avoiding diseased material. Turn the pile regularly. 8. Consider Structures: Use cold frames and cloches. They create a microclimate for sensitive plants. 9. Pest Protection: Check for pests before winter. Use row covers or mesh for critters. 10. Spring Planning: Order spring seeds and bulbs. Plant when the ground is at least 45 degrees. Water well and mulch. 11. Monitor: Check your garden periodically. Remove snow from structures and inspect for damage. 12. Wildlife: Provide bird food and water. Avoid harmful pesticides. 13. Crop Rotation: If you have a veggie garden, rotate crops. 14. Keep Records: Maintain a garden journal. I use the app, www.gardenize.com. It allows you to take notes and pics, categorize your gardens and plants, and keep everything in one place. It's only $3.99/month! With these tips, your garden will thrive through winter, emerging vibrant in spring. Winterizing your garden is an investment in its long-term beauty and health. Prepare your garden for winter, and it will thank you in the spring! Please like, comment, and share this group if you know someone who loves gardening or just wants to know more about it. Pics below are of this year's harvest: cucumbers, tomatoes, (made homemade spaghetti sauce) carrots (onions, peppers, strawberries, and raspberries not pictured)

We've been on the road for nearly two days now, and we decide to make a stop in St. Louis, Missouri. The weather is warmer here, a welcome change that allows me to finally shed the jacket I've been wearing for the past week. As we walk to the front of the hotel, the sun shines on my face. It's getting close to 5:00 PM, and the days are growing longer, with Daylight Savings Time just a few weeks away. Our hotel room has two queen beds, light blue plush carpeting, and crème-colored walls. Large portraits of floral bouquets hang over both beds, giving the room a cozy atmosphere. The sight of the large flat-screen TV is inviting. I haven't had the chance to watch anything for a few days, and the idea of enjoying some room service and a light-hearted movie sounds perfect. Brock graciously lets me choose a movie while he orders our food. About twenty minutes later, a server knocks on our door, and I welcome him in. He wheels a cart over and unveils the dishes, and steam billows out of the garlic-herb salmon I ordered. The aroma is mouthwatering. Brock opts for another medium-rare steak, and we both dig in while watching one of my all-time favorite movies, "Somewhere in Time." It turns out to be more emotional than I expected, and I find myself dabbing my eyes, a reaction that happens every time I watch it. After dinner, I decide to take a relaxing bath in the jetted tub. It's the first time in four days that I've had the luxury of soaking in a tub, and the hot water soothes my tired body. I notice that the swelling in my ankle has subsided, replaced by a yellowish bruise, which is a welcome change from the angry red and purple hues of a few days ago. After my bath, I crawl into bed. Brock is busy browsing on his phone. He furrows his brows. "How was your bath?" he asks. "Heavenly. I feel like a human again," I reply. I glance over at his phone. "What are you looking at?" I can see concern etched in his features, and his eyes reflect sadness. "The local news. While we've been away, there was a home invasion in Grantsville." My heart suddenly skips a beat and starts racing. "Is it...?" "No," he hesitates. "But, it's Leah and Trevor's home." "What?" I gasp and clutch my chest. "Are they okay?" "Fortunately, they weren't home when it happened, but their place was ransacked, Trice. It was as if they were..." I finish his sentence. "Looking for something." "Yeah. The police report says nothing was stolen, but drawers were turned out, clothes were strewn around, beds were overturned, and cabinets were emptied. When Leah and Trevor returned home, it looked like a tornado had hit." "Why would they target their home and not ours?" I ponder the question for a moment before answering my own query. "Because Gray's police force is patrolling our house." "Most likely. It does take the heat off our home, but it makes me wonder if someone was also snooping around our property while the others were ransacking Leah and Trevor's place." "That does make sense," I mumble, lost in thought about my best friend's home being violated due to my involvement in Troy's murder. Another victim left in my wake. Tears well up in my eyes, and Brock looks over at me when he hears me sniffling. "Hey, it's not your fault. Come here." I move closer to Brock, and he envelops me in his arms, comforting me while I let out months of pent-up emotions. He rubs my back, and when it's all out, a sense of relief washes over me, and I fall asleep, cradled in his arms like a moth in its cocoon. The next morning, I wake up, and it's still dark. Hotels have those thick curtains that block out most of the light, even if it's morning. I check the time on my wrist, and it reads 6:47 AM. We usually wake up early and hit the road by 8:00, so I gently nudge Brock, and he stirs from his slumber. "Good morning, sleepyhead," he says, bending over to kiss my cheek. I can't recall when I fell asleep last night, but it was earlier than usual. It's close to 8:00 when we resume our journey. Brock mentioned it would take one more day of driving to reach Utah if we drive for 9 hours today. The closer we get to home, the more anxiety wells up within me. However, as the unease intensifies, a surge of anger takes its place. Jeff has made us fearful in our own home, the one place meant to be a sanctuary. Now, he's entangled our dearest friends in this mess. I can't and won't let him win. Throughout the day, Brock and I take turns driving. We listen to podcasts, and I steal a nap while he takes the wheel, and vice versa, with him resting when it's my turn to drive. It's nearly 5:00 PM when we pull into another hotel in a small Colorado city. The temperature has dropped as we're now in the Rocky Mountains, so I put my jacket back on. This is our last stop before returning to Utah. The skies are overcast, and it appears as though snow might be on the horizon, but we decide to go for a walk around the area after checking in. Stretching our legs and regaining feeling in them feels great, even if there isn't much to see around us. Next to the hotel is a charming restaurant where we decide to have dinner. It's a significant departure from our previous dining experiences, exuding a higher level of quality. As we walk in, the first thing that catches my eye is a giant moose head mounted above the reception counter. The restaurant is designed to resemble a cozy cabin, with dark brown logs stacked atop each other. Portraits of hunters and their trophies adorn the walls, and a large sign above the moose head proudly declares: "Serving Colorado and its Visitors since 1954." The food here is delightful, and the bread pudding is moist and flavorful, accompanied by a rich caramel sauce with subtle notes of nutmeg and cinnamon. The comfortable benches and the solid wood table with a swirl design carved into it complete the charming atmosphere. Following dinner, we decide to see if there's a movie theater in town. We feel like we deserve a night out without fear and anxiety. Ten minutes from our hotel, we spot a small theater playing the latest blockbuster that I've been wanting to see. We stop and grab tickets. It's a Friday night, and the place is buzzing with energy. It may not be a massive multiplex, but it's clean and welcoming. We crawl into bed after 10:00 PM. I slip under the cool comforter and rest my head on the soft pillow. In just a few minutes, I close my eyes and don't wake up until morning, which is unusual for me, as I'm usually up at least once during the night As I navigate through the dark hotel room, the inevitability of age becomes all too apparent when that late-night urge, affectionately known as the "pee alarm," disrupts my deep slumber. Make no mistake, it's an annoyance, but it's a fact of life I've come to accept without complaint. The morning's arrival brings a serene sight of icy blue skies as I gaze out of the window at the hotel's restaurant. Sunlight bathes the crème-colored ceramic table where we're seated. The room is bustling with people, partaking in the hearty offerings of the continental breakfast – a sumptuous spread of eggs, hash browns, bacon, sausage, pancakes, orange juice, coffee, and hot chocolate. It's a buffet-style breakfast, allowing us to indulge to our heart's content. With a satisfied appetite, I am reinvigorated for the day ahead. Upon returning to the car, Brock good-naturedly accentuates the aftermath of our meal, sticking out his stomach and giving it a playful pat. "I'm stuffed." I respond with a chuckle, "It's your food belly, hon." He humorously feigns offense by deflating his stomach and delivering a lighthearted quip, "Way to burst my bubble. Haha, get it?" Smiling, I retort, "Yeah, dear, I get it." We continue our journey, reminiscing about the times before the responsibilities of kids, grandkids, careers, and life's complexities took hold. The clock inches toward 7:00 PM as we reach Salt Lake City, and while the city lights warm my heart, I can't shake the lingering apprehension about returning home. Gray's silence adds to my unease. Perhaps Jeff hasn't arrived here, or maybe he's merely biding his time. Upon our arrival in town, I send a text to Gray, learning that Officer Lopez will be there to meet us. Driving down our street, I'm struck by the sight of snow piled high on both sides of the road, creating an eerie, hushed atmosphere. As we approach Leah and Trevor's residence, my heart aches at the sight of yellow crime tape surrounding their property. Pulling into our driveway, our home appears frozen in time, unaltered. A squad car rests at the curb, and Officer Lopez emerges, opening the back door for Herc. He tugs at his leash, knowing his pack is back. As we step into the house, Herc leaps up and initiates a joyful chorus of barking, his tail wagging furiously. It's incredible how dogs manage to communicate with us, especially when they're expressing their disapproval of our absence. Herc lays down and rolls over on his back, inviting me to scratch his belly. "Hey buddy, I missed you," I say as he pants and showers my hand with affection. Brock kneels and joins in, scratching Herc's ears. Officer Lopez instructs us to remain in place while she investigates the house. She, along with her fellow police officers, had been patrolling the premises and hadn't observed any unusual activity. I ponder the situation, noting the recent burglary at Leah and Trevor's across the street. I voice my thoughts, "Yes, but my best friend's home was burglarized." Officer Lopez responds, "Yes, and thankfully they weren't home and didn't lose anything." I quickly connect the dots, "They must be searching for the ring." "Likely. Stay here while I inspect the house." After her thorough check, Officer Lopez returns to the living room. "Clear. Everything is secure, but remain vigilant for any unusual sounds. Don't take unnecessary risks – contact me." I reassure her, "No worries. After the week we've had, I don't want to create more problems. After nearly being killed by drugs, I want to do whatever it takes to apprehend Jeff." I share a revelation, one that neither she nor Gray is aware of. "Officer, when we were at Jeff's place, Brock uncovered some files on his computer. They prove he paid Grant's accomplices $10,000 each, and Grant received $20,000 for the killing." Officer Lopez's interest is piqued, "Really? Did you capture any evidence?" I sigh with disappointment, "He did, but Jeff erased them while we were bound. We believed Gray could still extradite him for questioning, especially after the attempt on our lives." She nods thoughtfully, "Let's see if he shows up here. If he perceives you as his greatest threat, he might come after you." I concur, "Yes, that's what we anticipated. Or he might delegate one of his associates to do it for him, given that they reside here." Grant may be behind bars for Troy's murder but the situation is clear: the individuals who concealed Troy's remains are now out on bail, and the sole piece of evidence that could potentially bring them to justice is the ring. We must locate it.

We are almost on the road when I hear something behind me. A car – Jeff’s Maserati. “It’s him,” I whisper. Brock quickly rushes behind a tree, but I look back and see his footprints like a trail of breadcrumbs. “He’s going to find us. He can see your footprints.” There’s nothing we can do about that. “Trice, I know it hurts, but you’re going to need to try and walk. If we can stay hidden while we walk, we can get to the road. But we only have a few minutes before the Uber gets here.” He sets me down, and that jack-knife pain returns. I have to suck it up if we are going to make it out of here alive. Brock guides us further off the road but still pretty well hidden. “I don’t care.” Suddenly, I hear a car door slam. "Shit, he's on foot now. Okay, we have to walk as fast as we can." I take a deep breath and start walking. It hurts, but I keep going. We can't stop, but each step is like someone poking me with a large needle every time I walk. Brock slips in and out of trees, and I do my best to follow him. I see the road before me. "We're almost there," Brock whispers, then whisks me up and nearly runs to the waiting car. It's a black sedan, so fitting. Brock told the Uber driver to turn off his lights. We approach, and Brock kicks the side of the door. I hear the doors unlock. He sets me down, opens the back door, and climbs in. I follow after. "Drive away slowly and then turn on your lights," he instructs the driver. "Whatever you say." The driver pulls away as instructed, and when we get away from Jeff's property, he turns on the lights. "Now, gun it. I'll pay the ticket." "I'll blame you," he says. "If we get pulled over, just tell them I injured my ankle, and you're driving me to the ER," I say. "You got it." He wouldn't be lying, as my ankle is killing me, and I can tell it's swollen. The driver suddenly accelerates, throwing me back against the seat. I hadn't even had time to fasten my seatbelt. We get farther away, and I look back; no one is following us, but that could change. If Jeff can't find us, he'll know we escaped and come looking. Hopefully, we're far enough away that he can't keep up with us. I notice my knuckles are gripping the car door tightly, and I force myself to release them. I must look a mess, but since it's dark, I doubt anyone will notice or care. I hear my phone buzz and pull it out of my pocket. It's Brock  I add a muscled arm emoji and send it to him. He turns to me and smiles, the same sexy smile he gave me on our wedding night. This was far from a pleasurable night, but with Brock by my side, I feel safe. Long Island Parkway is busy as we leave the city. But of course, it's rush hour. I'm still nervous that Jeff is somewhere out there, chasing us. If we wait here for too long, he might catch up with us before we get to the airport. However, he doesn't know what the car looks like, and it's night, so I doubt he'll find us in this long line of cars ahead and behind us. Even though the drug Jeff gave us is wearing off, the fatigue from the adrenaline is closing in on me. I close my eyes and drift off. I wake to Brock gently nudging me. I open my eyes and adjust to the darkness of the car and the brightness of the hotel parking lot. "Please stay here while we get our things. We won't be very long." The driver nods. We get out and make our way to our room. Inside, we pack everything, ensuring nothing is left behind, and pay in the lobby. We were paid for another three days, but Brock made an excuse that there was an emergency back home. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Let me take off the next three days from your bill," The kind woman says with strawberry-blonde hair just cupped to her chin, green eyes, and a smile that lights up her freckles. She types away while I keep looking over my shoulder. Thankfully, Jeff didn't know where we were staying, but then I remembered he had my purse, and the hotel room key was in there with the hotel name, so we had to hurry. We leave the hotel, get back into the car, and drive to the airport, another fifteen minutes away. We arrive at LaGuardia, and Brock pays the driver. "Thanks so much. You don't know how much this means to us," I tell him before exiting. "No problem. You have a good night." We made it! The airport buzzes with people going to and fro, and music fills the air. It seems like forever that we were here, and yet, just 6 days ago, we were coming down the stairs and out to a waiting cab, eager for our trip that has now turned into a nightmare. We walk briskly to the car rental station. Brock told me he already rented us a car while I was asleep. "I got us a roomy black Honda CR-V with tinted windows." "Sounds heavenly. I'm starving," I say, noticing the smells wafting around me. The rental company is across from the food court, and I wish we could sit and have a proper meal, but it's not in the cards tonight. The sooner we get on the road and away from NYC, the safer we'll be. We can always go through a drive-thru. I mourn my purse with lipstick, wallet, tissues, eyedrops, and keys. Wait, keys! The keys are to my car and home! What if Jeff flies to Utah and comes to our home? He has my keys! Ring controls the front door, but it doesn't to the back door into the garage – it requires a key to unlock it. Jeff knows I won't be able to fly. He could easily board a plane and get to our home before us since he knows where we live from coming over when he was a child. Officer Lopez said she would patrol it, but she won't always be there. I have to tell Brock, but it can wait until we get in the car and on our way. After paying for the car, the attendant leads us to where it’s parked. Brock clicks the button to unlock the doors, and I get in the car, my ankle pain all but forgotten. Being off it helped. As we drive out of the airport, I can finally breathe easier. But Gray needs to know what happened. Thankfully, I still have my phone, but the battery has only forty percent left. I need to conserve as much as possible. I quickly tell Brock about my purse and then call Gray. Since we’re two hours ahead, it’s only 4:30 there. I call and wait for him to pick up. “Trice?” He sounds confused. “Hi, Gray. Listen, we’re in a rental car on the way home.” “Wait, what? I thought you were there another three days.” I proceed to tell him everything up to this point. I hear him sigh. “Oh, my word, Trice. I can’t believe this. Okay, I will get ahold of Officer Lopez, and another officer will accompany her to go check your house. We will put a squad car there, with officers taking shifts. If Jeff shows up, we’ll be there.” “Thank you, Gray. We figure it will take about three days to drive home, including staying overnight a few nights at a hotel.” “Okay. If we see anything suspicious, we’ll let you know.” “Thanks, Gray, talk to you soon.” I click off with him and put my phone down. I look outside as we drive out of the city. For what it’s worth, I’m glad we could see the major attractions before going to Long Island, but now my memory of NY will have a dark place in my mind. After stopping and getting food an hour away, fatigue starts to set in, but I don’t want to fall asleep and have Brock have no one to talk to through the night, so I turn on the music and the air conditioner to keep me awake, which works for about three hours until my nightly habit of turning in at 10:30 hits me, and I can’t help but fall asleep. When I wake again, it’s nearly 6:00 AM. Brock is yawning, and I can tell he’s exhausted. “Hey, I’m awake now. Let me drive so you can get some sleep. If I drive until about 4:00, we can stop at a hotel for the night. We can freshen up and get some dinner.” He yawns again. “Yeah, okay.” He pulls off the freeway, stops at a gas station, and gasses up while I use the bathroom and grab some water and snacks. It’s nearly 5:00 p.m. when I pull up to the only hotel in the city, just outside of West Virginia. It’s nothing fancy like what we had in NYC, but it will do for the night. We pay and take the elevator to the fourth floor. Inside our room, I notice two queen beds, a light brown Berber carpet that offsets the creme-colored walls, and a few portraits of flower bouquets adorning them. The bathroom is a standard hotel one, but I don't care. The view is of a icy blue skyline with mainly green spaces. Brock stretches. “I’m hungry.” “I saw a restaurant as we came into the city. Should we go there?” I say, opening up my suitcase and pulling out my brush and makeup. There’s no way I’m going anywhere looking like a zombie. My hair hasn’t been brushed in a day, and as I look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, my eyes are bloodshot with deep grooves under my eyes, and my hair looks like a rat’s nest. I hear Brock say yes from the bed. I splash refreshing cold water on my face, then apply makeup and brush my hair. I need a shower desperately, but that can wait until we return from dinner. I change my clothes too since I’ve been in the same clothes for two days. When I come back out, Brock is scrolling through his phone. His hair looks neat, and he’s changed into some blue jeans and a blue sweatshirt that brings out his eyes while I chose some comfortable black slacks, a red blouse, and a black cardigan. I don a touch of red lipstick, and we leave for dinner. The restaurant isn’t anything special. Think of IHOP, but a little less colorful. In Angie’s Diner, the walls are painted dark blue, almost navy, with flecks of chipped paint down it. Red leather booths and a few tables and chairs sit in the middle of the area. There were maybe ten booths in the diner, and nearly every one is filled with people. The brown carpet looks worn, and the lighting is dimmer than I like, but it’s warm, and the hostess with perfect white teeth smiles as she leads us to the only empty booth next to a window, her blonde ponytail swinging as she walks. She looked no older than 21 but was taller than Brock, probably a little over 6 feet. Bright red lipstick popped on her pale complexion. She gave us our menus and said her name was Holly. Fitting, I suppose. The choices are minimal, but food is food, and when you’re hungry, well, beggars can’t be choosers. Brock orders a steak, baked potato, and seasonal vegetables, whatever that means, and I order a cheeseburger, fries, and a cup of seasonal fruit. And I want something warm right away, so I get some hot chocolate. I look around the diner and see happy families eating and talking, some feeding their baby or toddler sitting in a highchair. I envy them. Shortly after, I’m drinking my hot chocolate with whipped cream and a Maraschino cherry on top. As I process everything that has happened, I’m taken back to when we found the payment invoices from Troy’s murder on Jeff’s computer. If he does come to Utah, Gray can take him in for questioning if they see him snooping around the house. I doubt he knows we found his files on the computer, and now that I think about it, Brock never sent the photos to Gray. “So the files we found on Jeff’s computer.” “Yeah?” “You should send them to Gray so he has proof of what Jeff did. If Jeff does come to Grantsville, Gray can arrest him. I’m sure he doesn’t know you took pics of the files.” Brock looks as if he’s mulling it over. He strokes his chin, and I notice his tight beard is all gray now, but not the dirty, dull look, but a silvery, sophisticated one. “True. I guess we should have sent them to him yesterday when we took them.” I can’t believe it’s only been a day since we were there fighting to stay alive. He takes out his phone and rifles through his pics. He frowns. “Trice, they're not here.” “What?” “He erased them. It had to have been when he tied us up. He could have very easily put the phone up to my face when the face recognition prompted him to log in.” “But how would he know to go searching for photos?” “I don’t know …” his eyes light up. “Unless he was working on another computer, and it alerted him when someone logged into another device.” “Oh, I didn’t think about that.” “Damn, we have no proof now.” He shuts off his phone. I’m a little upset since we agreed not to send the pics to Gray, and now there’s no evidence Jeff paid any of the group off. The only thing we have is the recorder and the ring left behind somewhere. We must find it, but first, we need to get home and pray Jeff didn’t follow us home. If he has, the ring will be the least of our worries. Still I can’t let him win. It’s time for justice.