Search Results

My heart races with worry. I pray to God that the news article doesn't refer to Goldie, but a sinking feeling tells me otherwise. She never reached her destination, and I can't help but question the authenticity of the text message. Does this person know me? Panic starts to well up inside me, and I rush around my house, making sure all doors and windows are securely locked. As I read the article, it confirms my worst fears. The body was found in a Home Depot parking lot, just as Brock had mentioned seeing Goldie's car there. It's undoubtedly her, and I can't shake the fear that this person may also know where I live. Have they been watching my home, waiting for an opportunity? The only individuals with a motive to harm Goldie are the ones named on the recording, along with Jeff Patterson. But would he travel all the way to Grantsville just to kill her? It's an unsettling thought. I continue reading the article, and a chilling realization sets in. Someone discovered the body in the passenger seat and initially thought she was asleep. But upon closer inspection, they realized she had been shot in the head. The thought that Goldie knew she was going to die pulls at my heart, and tears stream down my face. I can't imagine the fear and despair she must have felt in those final moments. As I ponder how the killer found her and whether she really sent that text, I remember her words about delivering the recorder to Chief Errington if anything happened to her. I rush upstairs to retrieve the recorder from my bathroom, then head back downstairs, hastily bundling up in my coat and gloves. I glance out my living room window to ensure no one is watching before getting into my car. I drive cautiously, constantly checking my rearview mirror for any signs of being followed. Thankfully, there's no one behind me as I pull into the police station, praying that justice will be served. I ask for Chief Errington, but Officer Lopez arrives instead, inquiring about my purpose. She reminds me of a police detective from one of those crime-solving TV shows. Her black hair is pulled into a tight ponytail, and her flawless brown skin has a natural beauty. I marvel that she doesn’t need any makeup when her big, brown eyes scrutinize me. I explain that I have something to give to him from Goldie Stanton. Her eyes widen with surprise, and she promises to inform the chief. He comes out and waves me into his office. "Trice," Gray greets me when I walk inside. "Hey, Gray." I search in my purse for the recorder, which I had slipped into my wallet before leaving for the station. "This was given to me by Goldie yesterday morning. She instructed me to give it to you if anything were to happen to her. It contains the names of everyone involved in Troy's murder." I slide it towards him. Gray takes the recorder and listens to the contents, his expression growing grimmer as he hears what I had heard. After the recording finishes, he places his hands behind his head in thought. "This is likely the reason someone killed her," I suggest. "Yeah, it certainly seems that way. We only have first names, but if I can get Grant to provide their last names, we can bring them in for questioning. He'll probably want a plea deal, even after what he did to Troy. I'll need some time to figure this out. Thank you, Trice, for delivering this to me.” Worry is etched on his face. “But since you had contact with her, you might be in danger now. I'll have Officer Lopez follow you home and keep an eye on the area for a while." "Okay, thanks," I reply. I get up and follow Officer Lopez outside. Gray accompanies us. "Trice," Gray says before I leave the building. "Yeah?" "Be careful. This person is very dangerous, and they won't hesitate to case out your home and ensure you're alone." I gulp and nod. "I understand. I've informed Brock, and he mentioned he might try to take some vacation time so we can leave the area for a while." "All right, let me know your plans.” "I will," I assure him. I walk to my car and wait for Officer Lopez to follow me home, cranking up the heat while watching through my windshield. A few cars pass by, but nothing appears suspicious. On the way home, I check my rearview mirror multiple times and see Officer Lopez's car following at a reasonable distance. When I arrive home, I press the garage door remote to enter, but Officer Lopez parks behind me and signals for me to stop. I slam on my brakes, and she approaches my car. I lower the window with a push of a button. "Don't pull into the garage until I've checked it out to ensure it's safe," she advises. I find her caution sensible, so I await her inspection before proceeding. She motions for me to drive in once everything is clear, and I obey, but she stops me again. "Let me go in first to make sure everything is secure," she says. I nod and wait, contemplating whether I should close the garage door while I wait. Deciding it's safer, I lower myself to the front of the car, feeling slightly absurd. A few minutes later, Officer Lopez returns. "Okay you can come in now. But make sure to close the garage door behind you," she instructs. I press the button, closing the garage door behind me, feeling a sense of security with Officer Lopez present, knowing she's armed and prepared for any potential threat. Herc bounds toward me but growls when he spots Officer Lopez. She wisely extends her hand, palm down, allowing Herc to sniff it. After a moment of interaction, Herc's demeanor relaxes, and Officer Lopez gently rubs his back. "Everything looks clear," Officer Lopez informs me. "I'll be out front, keeping an eye on your property and neighbors. How long will you be alone?" I consider the schedule I keep with my grandkids. "I pick up my grandkids from school and watch them on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. So, I'm alone from about 3:30 to 6:30. My husband, a Salt Lake City attorney, sometimes works late and doesn't come home until around 9:00. He leaves for work at about 8:30, so I'm alone most mornings and afternoons." Officer Lopez glances out the window. "All right, I'll give you my cell number. Keep your doors locked, and don't answer the door for anyone. If you hear anything outside that sounds unusual, call me immediately. I'll be here for a few hours, then I have a meeting at the station. After that, I'll return to patrol the area. When you pick up the grandkids, I'll be here watching the house. How far is the kids' school?" I provide an estimate, noting that it's about four miles away. "Okay," Officer Lopez acknowledges. "I'm sure you leave a bit early to get in line for pickup." "Yeah," I confirm, "I usually leave around 3:00 and wait for about 15 minutes before they get out at 3:15." "Got it. Just pick them up as usual, but stay aware of your surroundings. Look out for any cars following closely or appearing to watch you or the school." My anxiety deepens as I consider the potential risk to my grandkids. Taking them to their house seems unsafe, as it could lead the threat straight to their location. Officer Lopez gives the all-clear signal and departs, emphasizing the importance of locking the door immediately after her exit. I follow her instructions and then find myself with over five hours to kill until I pick up the grandkids. I feel trapped, like a prisoner in my own home. Realizing I can't jeopardize my grandkids' safety, I decide to call my son, Eric, and fill him in on the situation. I send him a text and request an urgent call. A few minutes later, my son, Eric, phones me. "Mom? Are you okay? What about the kids?" "I'm fine, and the kids are okay, but there are some things you need to know." I proceed to share all the details with him, and the phone call falls momentarily silent. "Mom, this isn’t good. Okay, um, I think it's best if the kids don't come over then," Eric eventually responds. "Since you have the police there patrolling the area, that makes me feel a little better. If my kids are in danger, though, I need to get them out. Let me call Steph, and I'll call you back." I agree to his decision, telling him I love him. I anxiously await his call. A few minutes later, he rings back. "Mom, I'll pick up the kids from school and take them to Steph's parents. They'll look after them until we can figure out what to do." "Okay. I'm sorry about all of this." "I just want you and the kids to be safe." "I completely understand." "Mom, you need to tell Dad now. You can't stay home alone." "I know, and I will." "Love you, Mom. Stay safe." Tears well up in my eyes. "I will. Love you too." With the knowledge that the kids will be safe elsewhere, I dial Brock's number and deliver the news to him. "Damn, Trice, what's going on?" he exclaims. "I don't know, but whoever is involved in Troy's death won't stop." "I have court all week, so I can't be home. But next week, we're taking time off. I'll make sure of it." "Okay. I'll be fine with Officer Lopez here, but I don't dare venture out. Who knows what will happen." "Just stay inside, keep the doors locked, and only pick up the phone if you know who it is. Promise me." "I promise," I assure him. Now that Goldie is gone, I doubt anyone will try messaging me unless... that message I received from Goldie's phone the day she died wasn't actually from her. A sudden shiver runs through me, causing me to tremble. If this individual has possession of Goldie's phone, they could have access to all our text messages, especially if Goldie failed to delete them. My phone number is also stored in her contacts. I send a silent prayer that Gray can obtain those last names swiftly. Two people have already met a grim fate. I can't shake the chilling thought … I might be the next target.

In the 43rd installment and part three of flipping your grass into a beautiful water-wise garden, where I discuss the perfect plants to grow. But first, before planting your garden, design it. Do you want tall plants intermingled with smaller plants, all tall plants, all small ones, or a cascading effect of tall, smaller, and small? Install the water system. Even though you will grow drought-tolerant plants, you still need to get them established first, and that takes regular watering. Drip systems work well for this because it allows you to meter the watering, thus ensuring the correct amount of water at the right time. Next, are you putting in rock, gravel, or just dirt? There are advantages and disadvantages with any type of substrate. Now onto the good stuff. Here are tried and true plants to grow in your garden. 🌵 Cactus plants (which there are many) take very little water and repel many pests due to their sharp stickers. 🏵 Yarrow is a great addition to any drought-resistance garden. Multiple bushy flowers are on each sturdy stem in beautiful colors, including red, purple, peach, yellow, and white, with different shades of those colors. 🌻 Sunflowers can make a rock garden shine and create a bold statement. There are small and mammoth sunflowers you can use as a backdrop or use as centerpieces. 🌿 Aloe not only doesn't need much water but it's medicinal. Have a sunburn or mosquito bite? Aloe vera helps to calm the itch and pain. 🌼 Rockrose has a perfume aroma that displays large, papery flowers; they are fast growing and love the sun, and don't need much water to thrive. 🏵 Brittlebrush are a bush teeming with yellow daises that need minimal watering and offer a bright addition to a water-wise garden. 🌸 Crape Myrtle puts on quite a show in summer with gorgeous, showy blossoms that linger into fall. The beautiful, dark bark contrasts with bright pinks, purples, reds, and snow-white flowers. 🌼 Bougainvillea provides an instant tropical feel to your garden, which feature vibrant, often vining blooms and peak in summer, and in milder climates bloom from early spring to late fall. 🏵 Marigolds, with their strong, aromatic scent and mustard blooms do quite well in a water-wise garden. Bonus is that they keep away nasty pests, so your plants stay healthy without being food to unwanted insects. This is just a small sample of plants that do well in deserts or without much water. Do you have a water-wise garden? Post your pics below! Happy Gardening!! ____________________________________________________________________ Hi, thanks for reading! I'm a 30-year garden veteran, having planted over 500 species of plants. Please like, comment, share, and join my gardening group where I post on everything garden related. Visit my website @ jewelswrites.blogspot.com & follow me on IG hotmamagardener

The words Goldie shared with me at the park would linger in my memory for a long time. I wish we could offer her a safe haven in our home. We have the space, but she had been confined to her own home for the past year, and leaving behind the residence she had known for decades would undoubtedly be challenging. Moreover, bringing her into our home would only make us more susceptible to danger, given the risks we already faced. I make my way back home before the snowfall worsens. My thoughts keeps returning to that elusive ring. With the ground now frozen, searching for it would have to wait until spring. I reach into my pocket, feeling for the small recorder that Goldie had entrusted to me. Upon my arrival home, Herc greets me with an enthusiastic wag of his tail. I bend down to scratch his ears and prepare hot chocolate before settling at the kitchen table. With the recorder in hand, I switch it on and begin listening to Goldie's message. "This is Goldie Stanton, and I possess the names of the individuals involved in Troy Carmichael's death and burial," her voice resonated from the recorder. "In the event of my demise, I have instructed Patrice Summers to deliver this recorder to Chief Errington. I cannot ascertain the extent of these individuals' knowledge, but I have been threatened and nearly killed twice. They must not escape justice for Troy's murder and the disposal of his body. Following these names, please continue listening, for I have also recorded my conversation with Ms. Summers. She is now privy to the same information you will hear shortly." The recording paused briefly before resuming, and I heard Goldie's voice again. "If I should pass away, my children will inherit my home. Although I have made a will, these are my spoken wishes. I am of sound mind, and my only desire is for my family to be secure and protected." She proceeded to reveal the names of those involved - Ely, Colton, Petra, and Greg. Although unsure of their last names, she suggested that her nephew might possess that information. Goldie emphasized her quest for justice for Troy and her determination to shield her family from the grim truth. I stop the recording, realizing the gravity of what had been shared. Considering all the novels and TV shows I have seen, I need to find a secure hiding place. It needs to be a location where no one would think to look or dare to search. My bathroom comes to mind. Although I no longer had a menstrual cycle, I still kept some medical supplies for other purposes. Climbing the stairs, I enter the bathroom and open the bottom drawer. Extracting a Preparation H tube from its container from the farthest corner, I replace it with the small recorder Goldie had given me. It fit snugly, and I conceal it at the back of the drawer where it would remain unnoticed. Returning downstairs, I switch on the TV and gaze out at the gently falling snow. I appreciated the beauty of winter, particularly the warmth of hot chocolate, a cozy blanket, and engaging murder mysteries. Herc curled up beside me. His multicolored fur, a mix of black, brown, and white, held fond memories of the day I first saw him, and I cherished his presence. Later, I awake from an unplanned nap and discover my phone buzzing. I grab it swiftly, noticing a text message from Goldie. "GOING OUT OF TOWN FOR THE REST OF THE WEEK – BE BACK LATER," her message read. Although somewhat surprised, I understood her need to distance herself from potential threats. Perhaps she is going to visit her sons. Although unaware of their whereabouts, her safety is paramount. I reply, "ENJOY YOUR WEEK," hoping she would remain safe during her absence. In the afternoon, I pick up my grandchildren from school, navigating the slippery roads caused by the accumulating snow. I detest driving in such conditions but ensure their safe arrival home. Upon returning, the children eagerly indulge in hot cocoa with cookies, adhering to my rules of orderly eating in the living room. They each grab a coaster, plate, and napkin. I glance at Connor, who seems fixated on something outside. "What are you looking at, Con?" I inquire. He points and I follow his gaze, spotting the same cat from last year circling a corner of my backyard. It struck me as peculiar, given the cold and snowy weather. "Don't go anywhere, Con," I caution before stepping outside to investigate. Hercules follows me through the doggy door. As I approach, I discover a lifeless bird, perhaps a crow, lying in the snow. Herc begins sniffing it. Something doesn't add up – dogs typically hunted birds, but Herc hadn't been outside all day and showed no interest in bird hunting. I shoo the cat away, and it retreats into a nearby tree. Disliking the handling of deceased birds, I fetch a shovel from the shed and dispose of it in the garbage can, wiping away any traces of blood with my foot, which I then conceal beneath the freshly fallen snow. Returning indoors, I feel a chill that has nothing to do with the weather. As I contemplate the strange occurrence, Herc follows me inside. "Was that a bird?" Connor inquires, staring at me with curiosity. "Yes, perhaps a crow. I think something killed it – maybe the cat that's often in our tree," I explain. Connor shrugs, seemingly unfazed. "Come on, it's cold," I urge, holding my mug and cookies, and we retreat to the warmth of the living room. Later that night, after the kids leave, I resume my reading in bed, a nightly ritual. The clock nears 9:00, and the garage door announces my husband's return. Brock's relentless work schedule weighs on my mind; I worry about his health and wish he would slow down. As he approaches 61, I fear the toll his demanding job could take on him, especially since he was seldom home. A few minutes later, he enters the room. "Hey, hon, how was your day?" he asks, climbing onto the bed and kissing me. "Good." I hesitate about mentioning my earlier conversation with Goldie to Brock, wondering if I should finally open up to him. He's my husband, and I've already kept so much from him. Perhaps it's time to share. I set the book on my nightstand. He studies my expression, his brows furrowing. "Uh-oh, I don't like your tone." "Sorry, but I need to tell you some things I've been keeping from you. I know I should have said something sooner, but I was worried." I take a deep breath and proceed to reveal everything I know, including the existence of the recorder. After hearing my account, he lowers his head and shakes it. "Trice, why didn't you tell me sooner? I can't believe you've held onto this for so long." He leans over and hugs me, surprising me with his lack of anger. "I was trying to protect Goldie, but Brock, she's in grave danger, and I don't know how to help her." "Well," he says, "you mentioned that Chief Errington is keeping a close eye on her, right? There's nothing more you can do except let them handle it." "She texted me shortly after leaving the park and told me she was going out of town for the rest of the week, which I thought might be safer." Brock looks at me curiously. "When was that?" "About 10:30 this morning." He taps his chin thoughtfully. "That's odd, because I saw her car parked at the Home Depot off State Street around noon. I had just come back from the courthouse and thought about grabbing lunch at Daniels." I furrow my brow, wondering how Brock knows what Goldie's car looks like and why he didn't contact me to meet for lunch. He usually has an hour, sometimes more, between court sessions. Maybe he quickly grabbed lunch and returned to work. However, my thoughts quickly pivot back to Goldie. "How do you know what her car looks like?" Brock gives me an incredulous look. "Come on, Trice, she's had that car for years. Plus, her license plate is pretty memorable." He's right; Goldie's license plate spells out "GOLDIE," and her car is, fittingly, a gold Toyota Camry. She had to order it from another state because no local dealer carried that color. "Well, perhaps she stopped at Home Depot before heading out," I suggest. "I assume she's visiting her kids, although I don't know where they live. Maybe they're in Salt Lake since she mentioned going 'out of town,' not 'out of state.'" In hindsight, Goldie being at Home Depot doesn't make much sense. Brock nods. "Could be." I contemplate sending Goldie a message to check on her and make sure she arrived safely at her destination. However, it's likely late on the East Coast, so I decide to wait until morning. She may be tired and already asleep. As I watch the snow fall gently outside, I can't help but wonder how much more snow we'll get overnight. The following morning, I wake up to find Brock gone again. I yawn and rub my eyes, feeling like I had a restless night, even though I can't recall any dreams. My memory for dreams has been fading as I age. I reach for my phone to check for messages and find none. Glancing at the clock, I see it's nearly 7:30. It's probably not too early to send Goldie a text. I type a quick message: JUST CHECKING TO SEE HOW YOU ARE AND IF YOU MADE IT TO WHEREVER YOU WERE GOING. I wait for a few minutes, but I don't get a response. She might still be asleep, so I get up and look outside. It's a beautiful, sunny morning. Realizing I need a shower, I gather my clothes and head into the bathroom. After my shower, I recheck my phone, hoping for a reply, but there are no new messages. A sense of unease settles in my stomach, but I try to push it aside. If I don't hear from Goldie by tonight, I'll try reaching out to her again. I head downstairs to grab some breakfast and open my laptop. As I glance out through the sliding door in the kitchen, I notice a significant amount of snow that must have fallen overnight. I spend some time browsing the internet and then decide to check the latest news on the KSL website to see if there are any reports about the recent storm. At the top of the page, one particular story catches my attention. The headline reads: Body Found in Car

PART THREE Almost six months had passed since Troy's discovery, Deanna's arrest and release, and the arrest of Grant Lawson, who faced charges of drugging his aunt and falsely diagnosing her with dementia, a cruel manipulation facilitated by mind-altering drugs. In the midst of this turmoil, another individual, Jeff, was brought in for questioning as Grant confessed that it was Jeff who had paid his associates $10,000 each to dispose of Troy's body and an additional $20,000 to carry out the murder. Jeff, reportedly the husband of the woman Troy had an affair with, vehemently denied any involvement, even though the investigation remained ongoing. Jeff had a compelling alibi for the crucial weekend, June 15, when Deanna and her children had gone camping. The puzzle persisted: who had orchestrated this sinister plot, and was Jeff framed? The mystery surrounding my backyard, which was undoubtedly linked to the disposal of Troy's body, continued to gnaw at my thoughts. The texts from the messenger, particularly the one mentioning the ring Goldie messaged me months ago about and what I tried to retrieve but never could find was also on my mind. Months had passed since the last message from the messenger, suggesting a resolution to Troy's murder, as his nephew, Grant, was now behind bars. However, the abrupt message on Valentine's Day raised new questions and concerns: NEED YOUR HELP NOT OVER I stared at my phone, perplexed. What did the messenger mean by "not over"? Was there another layer to this story that remained concealed from everyone? PLEASE – I’M IN DANGER The messenger, it appeared, had unearthed something dangerous. But how could I, a stranger, possibly assist them? The situation weighed heavily on my mind. CAN WE MEET? I watched the three dots indicating a response, my hesitancy mixed with a growing sense of responsibility. PARK 8:00 AM TOMORROW MORNING My apprehensions battled with my desire to help. Could I trust this person? What if this was all an elaborate ruse? Nevertheless, the earlier messages alluded to safeguarding their family, compelling me to take action. If the messenger was indeed in danger, it was my moral obligation to assist in any way possible. WILL BE THERE The following morning, my heart raced as I anticipated the messenger's revelations. However, I couldn't let my unease hinder the day's plans. I had promised to take my grandkids to the latest Disney movie, granting their parents a Valentine's Day night out. As they arrived, we embarked on our outing, enveloped by the warmth of family bonding. Later that night, I lay in bed, engrossed in my book, when the sound of the garage door interrupted my reverie. Herc scampered downstairs to greet Brock, a routine they followed religiously. I glanced at the clock; it was nearly 10:00 PM. Our Valentine's Day had passed like any other day, devoid of flowers or cards, reflecting the dwindling romance in our 35-year marriage. Brock entered the room, loosening his tie and placing his plate and cup on the nightstand before collapsing onto the bed, Hercules at his feet. His eyes fluttered closed. "I'm so exhausted," he muttered. "This case has been a nightmare. If we don't wrap it up this week, the trial won't begin until mid-March due to the judge's daughter's wedding in Hawaii at the end of February." "I understand," I replied with a hint of disappointment. It had been two weeks of 12 to 14-hour workdays, and I yearned for more quality time with my husband. "But it feels like I'm a widow sometimes." Brock's eyes opened, and he sighed deeply. "I know, and I'm sorry. After this case, I've got some vacation time. Let's plan a getaway, just the two of us." A spark of excitement surged within me. It had been years since we'd taken a trip together. "I'd love that." "Great. Any particular destination in mind?" The thought of visiting New York City had always intrigued me. "How about New York? I'd love to explore the city and take in all the tourist attractions." Brock's eyes lit up. "Sounds fantastic. It's been ages since I was there, and that was for work. I'd also like to visit Long Island and catch up with Jeff, my old buddy's son. You remember he used to hang out with our boys?" It's twice that I've heard that name, but the years have faded memories, and I can't remember this particular Jeff. "Sure, that sounds nice." As our plans took shape, I contemplated the tumultuous events of the past six months. Deanna's departure from her home, the unresolved mystery of the ring, and the messenger's cryptic messages weighed on my mind. The mention of Jeff's name both intrigued and disturbed me. By the time my thoughts shifted to the upcoming meeting with the messenger, I had drifted into slumber, and it was Brock's departure for work that roused me from my restless sleep. After my morning routine, which included arming myself with mace, I embarked on my journey to Grantsville City Park. The winter's chill lingered in the air, the roads cleared of the previous day's snowfall. Arriving at the park, I found it deserted, a foreboding sign. Only one other vehicle, presumably belonging to the messenger, occupied the parking area. As I parked beside the car, a surge of apprehension coursed through me. I scanned the park, not daring to believe what I saw. Seated on a bench in the corner was none other than Goldie Stanton, my former elementary school teacher. Her golden hair had been the source of her name when she was born, and her identity was unmistakable despite the passage of time. "Hi, Trice," she greeted me with a nervous smile. "Mrs. Stanton?" My confusion and concern were palpable. "Please, call me Goldie." "Alright," I acquiesced, struggling to articulate my thoughts. "I never imagined..." Goldie interrupted, acknowledging my unspoken words. "I know. Believe me, I didn't want to be involved in any of this, and I certainly didn't want to involve you. But I didn't know where else to turn. I've already had my life threatened and nearly lost it twice. You know my nephew, Grant, was responsible for Troy's murder, but what you don't know is who orchestrated it." My suspicions were confirmed, yet I wanted to hear it from her. Her revelation about the threats and near-death experiences sent a chill down my spine. "It was Melanie's husband, Jeff," Goldie continued, her voice laden with gravity. "Grant executed the act, with three others assisting in disposing of the body. Remember the ring I mentioned?" "Yes," I replied. "Well, it's never been recovered. If that ring surfaces, it will lead the authorities to his accomplices. Currently, Jeff denies any involvement, and the police can't connect him to Grant. But allowing my nephew to murder Troy is reprehensible. He must be held accountable, along with the others." The name "Jeff" resurfaced once more, leaving me to ponder the possibility of this being the same Jeff from New York City who used to be buddies with our boys. It sounds implausible, but if he once lived here before relocating, it might just be the same individual. "I concur," I replied, glancing around the park to ensure our privacy was maintained. "Even if we manage to find the ring and present it to the police, it would only implicate one person." "Yes," Goldie agreed, "but I assure you, once they catch him, he'll sing like a canary and reveal the mastermind behind it all." "True," I conceded. "But what if the others genuinely don't know who orchestrated it? Did Grant ever mention the mastermind's name?" Goldie furrowed her brows and shook her head. "Not to my knowledge, but he could have said something to them that night or earlier when I couldn't overhear. Nevertheless, I don't think that's a critical factor. If everyone else comes forward and corroborates what Grant said about receiving $10,000 each for body disposal, it would significantly complicate Jeff's escape." Her reasoning made sense, and I nodded in agreement. Goldie then turned to me, her gaze scanning the park and the surrounding area to ensure our safety. "I'm sharing this with you because if something were to happen to me, I want someone else to know the truth," she confided. "Now that Grant is in prison, it's just me. I have security measures in place, and the police regularly patrol my vicinity, but they can't provide long-term protection. I'm a target if these individuals become aware that I possess this knowledge. I've already faced a near-fatal incident when an intruder broke into my home. Fortunately, Grant was there and managed to intervene. Then, when Officer Lopez, Chief Errington, and I were at the police station, someone hurled a smoke grenade through the window. I suffered from smoke inhalation and had to undergo oxygen therapy due to the toxic substances in the grenade. Someone even followed us home and monitored my residence. I'm far from safe." I was taken aback by the harrowing experiences Goldie had endured. Her foreboding words about her safety made me shiver. "You must inform Chief Errington of your concerns," I urged. "He's aware and doing everything within his power," Goldie assured me. "However, we don't reside in a bustling metropolis with an abundance of police officers. I'll ensure my doors are always locked and set the alarm when I leave. I've equipped myself with mace and even a firearm. I'm taking every possible precaution to safeguard myself. But in the event that something does happen, I want you to have some leverage or evidence. I'm currently recording our conversation," she disclosed, producing a small rectangular recorder I hadn't seen in years. "I opted not to use my phone for this. I want you to have this recorder. If I meet an unfortunate end, take it to Chief Errington. It contains the names of everyone involved in Troy's death." She pressed the stop button on the recorder. After cautiously scanning our surroundings, Goldie placed the recorder on the bench and pushed it toward me. I discreetly retrieved it and slipped it into my pocket while keeping a vigilant eye on the eerily quiet park as the snow began to fall. Goldie embraced me, her parting words casting a haunting pall over the day. "It may be my time."

It was the eve of Christmas, and Melanie was five days overdue, enduring the discomfort that comes with late-stage pregnancy. Outside, snowflakes drifted gently down as she reclined on the couch, her belly large and pronounced. A small plate balanced precariously on her protruding bump. Everything had been meticulously prepared for this moment, a month's worth of readiness. Brimming with excitement, the children relentlessly inquired about the impending arrival of baby Ian, particularly Kirsten, who celebrated her seventh birthday in October. Since Grant's phone call from jail, he had fallen silent, leaving me to grapple with the conversation where I had inadvertently implicated him. While he knew my reluctance to harm Troy, he had a persuasive way about him, ultimately leading me to compromise my values. The guilt had consumed me in the days that followed, every doorbell ring or knock sending shivers down my spine as I dreaded the arrival of the police. Nevertheless, I had taken precautions. No one, not Grant nor anyone else, would jeopardize my budding romance or the imminent arrival of our baby. Later that night, I jolted awake at the sound of Melanie's gasp. "My water just broke!" Her voice trembled as she stood at the foot of our bed, her gaze directed downward. "All right, let's go!" I rouse the kids, who had their suitcases ready for this moment, meant for a visit to my parents when the time came. "Ian is on his way," Kirsten gleefully skipped toward the car. According to my watch, it was nearly 3:30 a.m., with Christmas looming just two days away. I silently cursed the timing. As we sped towards the hospital, Melanie's moans filled the car. "These contractions are really intense." "Hang in there, just a few more minutes." Upon our arrival at the hospital, the orderlies whisked Melanie into the Labor and Delivery unit. I handled the check-in process, and upon entering her room, I found a plump nurse with short red hair, thick-rimmed brown glasses, and green eyes examining the contraction monitor. "You're making great progress, Melanie. Contractions are strong, about every 4 minutes now. I'll call the doctor in to check on you soon," she assured us before departing. I glimpsed at her name badge as she left – Nurse Warner – and noted her thorough hand sanitizing routine. "Did you hear that? We're almost there," I said, gently wiping Melanie's perspiring forehead. "Would you like some ice chips?" She nodded, moaning once more. I hurriedly sought out the nurse, procured a cup, and filled it with ice chips. Upon my return, she grasped an ice cube, rubbing it against her forehead and face before downing the entire cup. "It's so hot," Melanie murmured, kicking off her covers. A doctor, not Melanie's regular one, entered the room. "Hi, Melanie. I'll be delivering Baby Ian today, as Doctor Bradford is on Christmas vacation. Let's check your progress, shall we?" Dr. Bradford donned latex gloves, his silver hair glistening under the bright light he adjusted. Towering in stature, he positioned himself and examined her, a warm smile gracing his face. "You're dilated to a 7 now, so it won't be long," he informed us, prompting another pained moan from Melanie. "It's painful. Can I get an epidural?" Melanie inquired, her voice tinged with desperation. The doctor's expression turned apologetic. "I'm afraid it's too late for that now. You're too far along. But, considering your progress, Ian will be here soon." Melanie sighed, closing her eyes, visibly attempting to regain her composure. Around twenty minutes later, Melanie uttered, "I have to push; he's coming." Her voice quivered with fatigue. I rushed out of the room to summon the doctor. He arrived promptly, examined her, and confirmed that she was fully dilated and ready to push. At 4:42 AM, Ian made his entrance into the world, his cries filling the room. He boasted a full head of dark brown hair, reminiscent of Jayden's birth. As I studied his tiny features, I couldn't help but notice the similarities – his nose and lips matched mine. The realization hit me like a thunderbolt. It was my birthday, and we had been intimate for the first time in a long while. She had done it as a birthday gift, but I had been oblivious to her affair with Troy. Ian might be my son.

It’s been a few weeks since Troy was found. His ex-wife was arrested a week ago when a necklace placed on his chest before burying him was found to have her fingerprints on it. Just like Grant said would happen, did, and now it may be months before anything commences, such as a trial. Melanie was nearly seven months pregnant and glowing. She seems happier now since I have spent much more time with her. She even took the kids to the fair before they went back to school last week. It seems we’re all going to get away with it. I bought a crib, changing table, and rocker for Ian, the name Melanie chose for her son and Troy’s middle name. (William) We painted the baby’s room a lilac, and she had it decorated with dark purple blocks spelling out his name that she placed on his small dresser. A large framed portrait of a pregnant Melanie, taken just a month ago, was over the dresser. She's holding her stomach and turning sideways towards a rising sun. A custom-made mobile displaying her and Troy’s pictures was placed into hard plastic cubes; it towered over the crib. When I saw the pictures, I felt like I had been punched. Every time I pick up Ian, I will be reminded that he’s not my son and his father’s pictures will be what he sees every morning he wakes up. But I have Melanie; Troy doesn’t. Two and half months later, Melanie has two weeks until she’s due to give birth, and it’s Wednesday afternoon when I get a call from The Tooele County Jail in Utah. I look at the number, confused. “Hello?” “Jeff, it’s me.” Oh my god, it’s Grant. “Grant?” “Yeah, it’s me. I’m in jail. Surprise.” “What? How?” I’m reeling. My happy future has just been destroyed. “I was arrested when my aunt told the cops I was drugging her – even after I saved her life. Then, a week later, she told them I killed Troy.” I sat there, stunned. I felt sick. “Sorry, Jeff, but I’m not going down alone. This wasn’t supposed to happen, but my bitchy aunt knows everything. She overheard me and my buddies talking about Troy. After you left the cabin, I called a buddy who owed me a favor. He has a 4-seater plane, and I told him some BS story about needing medical supplies to Utah. He knew I was in medical school but didn’t know I dropped out, so I told him I was a doctor and was working for   and asked if he could fly these supplies to the small airport in Provo, UT, where my team would come pick them up and drive them down to the border where I would meet them in a few days.” I’m trying to focus, but all I can think about is that he will betray me. “Anyway, I stuffed him into a large duffle bag filled with medical supplies. Damn, he was heavy. I got him to Utah, and everything went as planned. My buddies stayed in my family cabin up Big Cottonwood Canyon in Salt Lake. When Troy’s body got to Provo, a few picked him up. They took him back to the cabin, and they all stayed until the next night. The day after, they all drove down from the cabin to Grantsville, about an hour and a half away, taking him to his ex’s and dumping him.” It seems complicated, but Grant's speech sounds like he’s reading from a script. I have to be careful what I say next. “So, why are you calling me? Am I your one phone call or something?” Silence “Look, the jig is up; they know.” “Know what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Jeff, it’s over. They know what you did.” “Did what? Grant, I’m not sure what you’re jabbing on about, but it has nothing to do with me.” They can’t trace the money I paid. I transferred $70,000 over several days to the overseas account and then sent the cash to Grant for him to distribute to each person. There is no wire transfer. Plus, I didn’t kill Troy, he did. I hear a long sigh, some rustling in the background, and someone else whispering. He’s trying to get me to confess; the feds are recording us. “I told you that if you called one day, it would be from jail. After all, you drugged your aunt. It was bound to catch up with you. I mean, who does that?” “Jeff, they know you paid us money to kill Troy and dump him in his ex-wife’s yard.” “What! I did no such thing! How could you even think that?” And then I said something I thought I never would. “Grant, you’re off your meds, aren’t you?” I knew he took medication for anxiety and depression. “Listen, dude. I know it’s been rough since you lost custody of your kids, and your gambling addiction caused you to be way in debt, and now your aunt is finally getting her life back after being drugged by you, but don’t put me in the middle of your sad life.” “Jeff, knock off this shit! You went to the cabin where Troy was and begged me to be your backup while you were just going to tell him about Melanie’s secret and pay him off to leave her. You two fought and you told him to leave. He fell on your cabin steps and cut his head. I went to the store and got medical supplies and a bottle of pesticides that you agreed to and gave it to him after you left the cabin. Good God, man, I have your text messages!” I start panicking. Shit, I forgot to tell him to delete all our messages. I quickly scan through them to see if any mention Troy specifically, and none do. Every time Grant texted me, I never texted back. I called him. I could make up any excuse about why he or I called, but he has nothing in the text messages to implicate me. I deleted every conversation from my phone. I also told him to delete all our phone conversations. “What text messages, Grant?” I don’t see anything from you. On the phone, we’ve talked a few times over the last couple of months when I told you Melanie was pregnant with our son, and you congratulated me, but nothing about this Troy person.” I knew he shouldn’t have killed Troy, but he did it anyway. He was so hard up for money that he was willing to risk it all for $20,000. I hear whispers again. “You bastard. I know what you did. This isn’t over.”  I breathe out a sigh of relief. I can’t believe I improvised the whole conversation. Grant has nothing on me, and neither does the police. They may pick up my fingerprints at the cabin, but it’s MY cabin. I was there a few times throughout the year. The question would be why Troy was at my cabin to begin with. And Grant already owes loan sharks, so he could have killed him for the money to pay them off. Maybe whoever “hired him” was anonymous. The police could chalk it up to Grant being paid off by them, but to keep it a secret, he framed me. I already have my alibi, and I left before Grant killed Troy. If push comes to shove, I can always tell police that I headed up to the cabin since I was alone for the week, saw an unknown vehicle, and was assaulted by a man. In self-defense, I killed him. When I returned from the forest to call the police, my car wouldn’t start, and I couldn’t get cell reception. I called my good buddy, Grant, to come and help me. Or I came and saw him at the cabin, and he was hurt, so I called Grant to come. When I left to get supplies and came back, they were gone. I didn’t use to be a good liar, but I am now. And the only one who knows anything is his aunt, who doesn’t know me. Plus, he’s the one who’s been trying to kill her. Why wouldn’t he be guilty of killing Troy? Oh, and Grant never liked Melanie, so he could stick it to her in killing her lover. I stop because I could think up means, motives, and opportunities all day, but I can’t. Melanie has a doctor’s appointment in an hour to see if Ian is ready to be born into this world. And I can’t wait.

Many varieties of bulbs pop up in spring, summer, or fall. What I love about them is that you bury them deep with some bulb fertilizer, water them well, and then fo' get about it! Here are some examples of bulbs, when to plant them, and how. 🌷 Tulips are a spring favorite and one of the first bulbs to come up in spring, like daffodils. These two powerhouse bulbs come in so many different sizes and colors that it can be hard to choose which ones to plant. The best time to plant them is fall and when temps are below 45. Bulbs need at least 10-12 weeks of cold to set them up for spring blossoms. I usually plant them in November in my area, and they pop up in March or early April. To plant them, ensure you dig a hole deep enough to cover (6-8") and place the tip up. Sprinkle some bulb fertilizer in the hole before planting, and then water well for the first week. TIP: To ensure tulips and daffodils come up every spring, leave the leaves alone and let them yellow before pulling them out. Even though the flowers fade, the leaves still need the sun to store up energy for the next year's blooms. 💮 Dahlias are a top favorite bulb in my garden. They, too, come in different shapes, sizes, and colors. The only difference is that in colder zones, such as 6, 7, 8, and 9, you need to pull them up in fall and store them over the winter as they are not winter hardy. Dahlias can be planted in spring since they don't usually blossom until summer. Late May is great, and they will flower all the way into fall. Just be sure to dig them up before the first frost. 👩‍🌾 Allium, or ornamental onion, is another great bulb to plant in the fall for a late spring or early summer boomtime. These tall pop poms come in various colors and sizes but look like puff balls. They do great in between late flowering daffs and tulips or even crocus. They usually are the last of the spring bulbs to pop, so when all other bulbs have faded, these put on a beautiful show. 👨‍🌾 Crocus make perfect spring companions to tulips when planted in fall. Since they are typically short, they do well as border bulbs in the garden. They are about 4-6" tall but open up and spread their petals when the sun shines. When cloudy, they close up, the same as tulips. These are just a sampling of bulbs you can plant in the spring or fall. Iris is another spring flowering bulb that makes for a gorgeous display and, when in bloom, creates quite the landscape of gorgeous colors when it's desperately needed. Follow me on IG @hotmamagardener for all my plant pics, and check out my blog @  jewelswrites.blogspot.com , where I have my resume (looking for a digital marketing position) and more. Happy gardening!! #plantingbulbs #planting #springplanting #fallplanting #springgarden #summergarden #fallgarden #bulbs #floweringbulbs #gardentips #gardeningtips #gardens

I feel sick, and my appetite just died, but I can’t let Melanie know. She’s pregnant with another man’s baby and yet has two kids with me. Troy is no longer around, so what does that mean? Will she break down and leave forever? She’s told me before that she can live independently, but with a baby and her work schedule, I seriously doubt it. Melanie comes into the kitchen with fresh lipstick and gloss, a fresh coat of mascara, and her long auburn hair brushed. She’s now wearing a pair of dark blue jeans that shows off her toned legs and a plunging ruffled floral blouse. She’s a gorgeous woman. Have I told her that lately? “You clean up nice,” I say, grabbing my keys. “Thank you.” Her eyebrows knitted into a confusing smile. Part of me wants to strangle her for getting pregnant with Troy’s baby when she told me she was done at two. I wanted at least one more. I guess she didn’t want any more kids with  “Drive through or dine in?” I ask, pulling out of the driveway. “Let’s go to Rod’s Diner. I have a hankering for a big cheeseburger and beer-battered fries,” she says, the excitement showing on her face. “Sounds good.” I guess she’s not too worried about Troy right now. We arrive at the café, and it’s not too busy. On the weekends, it’s usually packed. I find a parking spot and pull in. Big Block Red Letters light up and spell out  ; the O no longer lights up, but no one seems to care. The Diner looks like it came straight out of the 50s. We get out and head into the café; a hostess that I swear looks like Flo, the gum-smacking, red-haired waitress from  on the early 80s TV show,   escorts us to a small booth in the corner. I remember my parents watching that show every week, and I can't help but smile. Rod’s has been in this area for over 20 years and reminds me of   in Grantsville. In fact, it’s almost a carbon copy, right down to the red and white jukebox and the same-colored checkered flooring.    The hostess gives us menus, and I open it up but know what I’m getting. We haven’t been here as a couple for years. We took the kids until about a year ago. It’s nice that it’s just the two of us now. “Did you have a good trip?” I say, wanting to make casual conversation. “It was OK, but I’m exhausted.” I want to blurt out that she’s pregnant, that’s why, but I hold my tongue. “My client is teetering on canceling their account. I had to go and basically wine and dine them to get them to stay. It gets tiring sometimes.” She yawns and then picks up that damn phone. “I’m sure. I would hate to have to travel all over.” “I love traveling.” The stern voice is back. I never know what to say. “I didn’t say you didn’t, but it has to be exhausting traveling all over the country for work, is all.” Her face softens. “Oh, yeah, it does.” I then notice a faraway look in her eyes, and I can tell she’s thinking about  “What did you do all weekend,” she says. I suddenly panic, thinking about my alibi. “On Saturday, I went into the city with my buddy from Grantsville, Grant; remember him?” A seething look comes over her. “Yes. He’s that jackass that didn’t want you to marry me.” I’m surprised she remembers that since it was ten years ago, and she’s only seen him a few times since then. “Yeah, well, he was in town, so we spent the day off-roading. Oh, and Sunday, I went to  and picked up a bunch of plants. I spent the day in the yard planting. Monday, I went to work, of course, and then drove the kids up to summer camp, so not a very eventful weekend. You probably had a more fun time than I did.” She shrugs and then takes a sip of her strawberry lemonade. Melanie doesn’t drink, and for good reason. (other than being pregnant) Her older brother was killed by a drunk driver when he was 16. She was 14 and swore off alcohol afterward. She has one younger sister, Alisha, and her parents still live in Texas after moving there from New York twenty years ago. Melanie moved back to New York City to attend college and stayed there until I met her; bumping into her is more like it, at the park. I was running and rounded the corner in Central Park and ran smack dab into her while she was bending over and tying her shoes. She fell forward and hit the pavement face down. I felt horrible and remembered helping her up, looking into her emerald green eyes, and was smitten. She had some scratches and a small bump on her forehead, but otherwise said she was OK. She had the most striking red hair I'd ever seen, which made her eyes glisten in the sun. I got her number and took her out to dinner. And, well, as they say … the rest is history. We both order the same thing: a double cheeseburger, beer-battered fries, and a chocolate milkshake with whipped topping (the real stuff) and a cherry on top. If this was 70 years earlier, we could be my grandparents. I try talking to her while we’re eating, but she keeps looking at her phone, no doubt waiting for Troy to text or call or the police to call. My heart pricks for her, knowing the father of her baby is dead, and it’s my fault. We finish and head home, both in silence. As we walk in the door, Melanie’s ringtone goes off. She grabs it from her purse and pushes the phone icon. “This is Melanie.” I wish I knew who was on the call. “What?” I hear her almost yell into the phone. “He’s not there? What do you mean his Range Rover is, but he’s not?” Oh shit, we didn’t dispose of his Rover! Okay, calm down, Jeff. They could think he drowned. “You looked everywhere, and he’s not there?” I listen for more. “Could he have accidentally drowned or maybe been kidnapped?” Even to me, it seems ludicrous. He was the only one there, well, until me and Grant arrived. But Melanie and the police don’t know about that. And he’s a grown adult, so unless he committed suicide by drowning, that scenario isn’t plausible either, especially since he would be a father again. “No, I only knew he was coming back to Long Island on Monday morning and would text me as soon as he reached the city. It’s Tuesday night, and I haven’t heard from him.” She listens, as do I. “No, of course not! He has no reason to just vanish like this.” I try to do something while I still listen to Melanie. I grab the sponge and start wiping off counters to keep myself busy. “Okay, call me when you know anything.” She puts her phone down on the counter, the one I just wiped. “They can’t find Troy.” Yes, I know. “His truck is there, but he’s gone, like … vanished. It’s not like him to take off, and no one has seen or heard from him in this long.” Tears fill her eyes, and I feel my heart drop. Even though he’s her lover, I feel guilty for what I did, well, what Grand did, and I allowed. I put my hand on her shoulder, and she folds into me, her body pressed against mine, her fragrant perfume filling my nostrils. “I’m sorry, Mel.” I haven’t called her that in years. But I am truly sorry. I hated the man for what he did to my family, but he didn’t deserve to die. Why did I let Grant kill him? This will eat at me for the rest of my life, probably like Melanie when she killed the cable technician. We now have something in common. We both are responsible for killing a man. __________________________________________________________________ It’s 5:30 a.m., and I bolt awake when my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Grant. Troy’s body has been dumped, and he and his friends want their fee. They flew to New York and rented a car to drive him back. I have to figure out how to wire each $30,000 without giving them my card number. I figure it will have to be done by cashier’s check. I text them to give me 24 hours to wire the money. It’s over. I look over at Melanie, her back to me, breathing softly. I carefully get out of bed and rake my fingers through my hair. I look through the window. It’s still dark, but I notice a sliver of dawn creeping into the night sky. Now, it’s a matter of when Deanna will find Troy’s body and whether she has an alibi for last weekend. Damn, I feel like a son-of-a-bitch. For the next several days, Melanie went back and forth with the police. She’d been at the station several times already and went up to the cabin to look for Troy. When a week went by and no word from him, Melanie told me he either drowned or maybe hurt himself in the woods and tried to get back to the cabin but got lost. I hate seeing her this way. A month later, Melanie resigned herself to believe she would never see Troy again and became even more distant than before. However, she told me about the baby when she started showing. We argued, and I told her I was hurt. A month after that, I was watching TV when my phone buzzed. SHE FOUND HIM I knew immediately what it meant. An hour later, I get a call from Melanie. She’s sobbing. “Jeff, Troy’s wife, found him buried in her front yard a week ago. This morning, it was confirmed to be him.” “In  ?” I say, stunned. I’m such a good actor.  “Yeah. His wife was digging in her flower garden and saw his h-hand. The police came, and the medical examiner thought he’d been dead for almost two months – the same time he went missing at the cabin.” “Oh, I’m sorry, Mel. But Utah? How, why? It doesn’t make any sense.” And I’m right, it doesn’t. “I don’t know, but I knew he was dead. And I can’t fly out for the funeral.” She hangs up, and I feel like shit all over again. But I have a second chance.

I text Grant back and say I’ll call him when I get in my office. I feel a surge of relief. It’s done. Troy is headed to Utah to be buried in his ex's front yard. I get back on the road to head for 11 Wall Street and 18th Broadway, and the skies have darkened. I hear thunder booming in the distance. When I pull into the underground parking of the New York Stock Exchange , the rain begins pelting the ground. I walk into the building and to the trading floor, but before I can focus on anything else, I have to contact Grant, so I quickly walk to the bathroom. I have to make it quick. Inside, the marbled counters are clean, with gold faucets and the white tile glistens. I check under all the stalls just like they do in the movies, but I see and hear nothing, so I quickly punch in Grant’s number. “Hey,” he says. “So, give me the rundown.” “A couple of friends came Saturday night and picked up the body. They should arrive in Grantsville tomorrow night. They’ll dump him and then bury him. It will no longer be our problem any longer.” Yeah, it will be Deanna’s, and I know she doesn’t deserve this, but I don’t know any other way. But she may still get off because there isn’t evidence of the exact date he was dumped. Since there will be no other leads, they will investigate his acquaintances and friends. They may even suspect Melanie. I already have an airtight alibi for the weekend – Friday, I stayed at home with the kids; Saturday, I went into the city and met my friend (Grant), and went off-roading. I went Sunday to East End Trees and went home and planted all day. On Monday, I took the kids to summer camp. Since medical examiners won’t have an exact day and time of his death, I have four days covered. “I’ll let you know when it’s final.” I push end on the phone and leave the bathroom. I head to my station and start work to keep myself from thinking about it for another day or so. I stay longer to make up the morning not being there, and then my phone rings around 7:30, and it’s Wyndham Summer Camp. My heart starts racing. They only call if it’s an emergency. “This is Jeff,” I say, my voice shaky, “Hi, Mr. Patterson; this is Sylvia, the Wyndham’s director.” “Yes …” “Kiersten fell off a log coming across the river and landed pretty hard. We’re at the hospital, and it looks like she broke her arm, but the X-rays haven’t come back yet.” She gave me the address, which is about 20 minutes away. Here, she wants to talk to you.” I hear my sweet daughter’s voice, but she doesn’t act hurt. “Hi, dad,” she says almost cheerfully. “Hey, you OK?” “Yeah, just fell and hurt my arm.” “Ouch. I’m on my way.” “It’s OK. I really want to stay, please.” I ask to speak to Sylvia again and get her opinion. “Well, if it’s broken, they will cast it, but I suppose she could still stay. She just needs to be careful not to get it wet.” I give her the OK, and she says she’ll text me once they get the X-rays back. I get back to Kirsten and tell her I love her and to be careful. She seems so happy that I’m letting her stay at camp. I can breathe, too, knowing nothing serious happened. About ten minutes later, I get good news. The arm isn’t broken, just sprained. I stay at work for a while longer and then head home. It’s been a long day, and I want to crash on the couch with a cold Coors and maybe put on Netflix. It will just be me – again. ___________________________________________________________________ I’m up and ready for work by 8:30 on Tuesday morning. I have to get there on time today, as I’ve already taken a week off and came in late yesterday. It’s already a day past when Troy should be home. Melanie will be wondering why she can’t get a hold of him, and in a few days or sooner, she will know he’s no longer at the cabin, and the search will commence. Sometime tonight, his body will be in Grantsville. My life has completely changed within one week, and so has Melanie’s. I would love to see her face when she finds out the love of her life is gone. Will she understand what it feels like to lose someone and her family? After working the day, I arrive home and walk into the house through the garage, which opens into our kitchen. I hear Melanie on her phone in the living room, her voice frantic. “I haven’t been able to reach him for two days!” I smile – just slightly. I know I shouldn’t, but I enjoy listening to her freaking out. And it’s only been about 30 hours, not two days. “Okay. Yes, he was at our cabin the last time I talked to him. He would be there for the weekend and then head back to Long Island.” She then gives the officer the address to the cabin. My smile fades. Our cabin? No, it’s my cabin. “Alright, thank you, officer. Please let me know.” I open the fridge door and grab a beer, feigning surprise when she enters the kitchen. “You’re home,” I say. “Yes.” She plants her hands on her hips. “I can’t get a hold of Troy.” “Oh?” Again, I act surprised. She was going to leave me for him, but they were in the middle of working out the living situation since Troy lives in Utah and she is in New York. Now, there’s no reason for her to leave. “He went to the cabin for the weekend and … don’t look at me that way,” she says when I act shocked. “No one goes there anymore. He needed some time away, so I gave him permission to go. Anyway, he was supposed to be back yesterday morning.” “It’s my cabin, Melanie, not yours. It’s been in my family since the 80s. But why am I even surprised since you don’t care about your family anymore.” I then tell her about Kirsten. “She sprained her arm and is still at summer camp?” Her voice rises higher. “Yes. It’s not broken, and she needs to be careful, but other than that, she’s fine.” “Why didn’t you call me?” “Because it wasn’t a big deal. And isn’t it interesting that the camp called me, not you? You were in Florida. Were you going to rush home?” Melanie opens her mouth and then shuts it again. “Yeah, didn’t think so.” I rifle through the pantry, trying to figure out what to eat since it’s past 6:00 p.m., and I’m starved. I barely got coffee and a donut this morning. I feel a headache coming on, and I know it’s because I haven’t eaten all day. “I’m hungry, so I’m going to grab a burger. Are you hungry?” I don’t know why I care, but I do. “Yes. C-can I come with?” “Sure,” I say. At least she’s not ignoring me. Maybe I can get the old Melanie back, the one I fell for over a decade ago. “And maybe Troy decided to stay a little longer at the cabin and will be back tomorrow,” I add. I have to placate her for tonight. “Yeah, maybe. Let me grab my purse and do something with my hair; it’s a mess,” she says. When she leaves the kitchen, I notice she leaves her phone on the counter. I quickly pick it up and put in her password. She gave it to me long ago, “just in case,” she said. I hear her go upstairs and know I have a few minutes. I scroll through her messages to Troy. MELANIE: I CAN’T WAIT FOR YOU TO COME BACK I MISS YOU TROY: DITTO MELANIE: IT’S TIME TO TELL HIM TROY: I KNOW. LET’S DO IT WHEN YOU GET BACK FROM FLORIDA MELANIE: REALLY? OKAY. I’M NOT SHOWING YET, BUT I WENT TO THE DOCTOR LAST WEEK AND THEY DID AN ULTRASOUND.  CAN’T WAIT TO HAVE YOUR BABY BOY! I throw the phone down and stare at it. She’s having HIS son? The world is spinning, and I must sit down before passing out. I just had her unborn son’s father killed. My plans to save our family just vanished.

Before delving into this next chapter, I wanted to update you on job stuff. No, I don't have one - YET. I have been talking with a company and have another interview on Monday, so we'll see. Not getting my hopes up until I have signed the offer. But, in the meantime, I am offering my copywriting services. If you or anyone you know needs stellar copy, DM me for my fee structure. Thanks, and let's get into this! The next morning, I get a text from Grant. IT’S DONE My hand shakes as I punch in his number. I  to know what happened. “Did he suffer?” I ask when he picks up. “Not a lot. I patched him up real good, then poured some in his water bottle and told him to drink to stay hydrated. A few minutes later, he complained that his stomach hurt, and I told him he probably ate too fast, and it could be the effects of the concussion. About five minutes later, he threw up and started convulsing; foam started bubbling up in his mouth. It was gross, but a few minutes later, he stopped breathing. “I called some friends and told them about dumping the body and that they’d get $10,000 each. Oh, and I have a brilliant idea. Someone breaks into the Carmicheals, grabs a necklace, and places it on his chest before burying him. It will have the misses’ fingerprints on it, and viola, she gets the blame.” Grant’s cold voice gave me goosebumps. There were no feelings or emotions behind his words. “When are they coming?” “Tonight. They’ll text when it’s done, and then I’ll let you know.” I mentally go through when Melanie is due home. Of course, she’ll text him on Monday when he’s supposed to return from the cabin. She won’t suspect anything for at least a day. But four days? I guess by the time the police come up, he will already be on his way to Utah. I push end and throw my phone down on the bed. I have two days before I hear anything, and no one is home, but I can’t sit around and do nothing, worrying about this. I look out the window and see a blue sky. It's time to buy some plants. I drive on the road to  , the nursery I’ve been going to for years now. Saturday is their busiest day, so I get there right when they open at 9:00 a.m. I go down the rows and pick up Coleus, Supertunia, and some Sweet Alyssum to fill in the gaps between the tall Phlox and in front of the Iris, Vinca, and some Begonias. I also picked up a few more Spirea bushes I planted last year, a few Asters since most didn't make it last year, and some bags of mulch. I spread out the blue tarp I carry in the side pocket and load all the plants and mulch in the back, ready to get back home and plant. Before I head back, I stop at the store and grab some food and a few beers for the rest of the weekend. The kids come back from my parents Monday morning, and I drive them to summer camp on Monday afternoon, 30 minutes away. Melanie gets home that night and won’t even get to say goodbye to them. I pleaded with her to take an earlier flight, but she said she had a meeting in the afternoon. She won’t get in until after 10:00 p.m. Sometimes, I feel she does these things on purpose. I pull in the driveway and open the hatch. It takes me about three trips, but I get all the plants and mulch out and start in the front yard. I grab my shovel, drill with auger attachments to make the job easier, gloves and some fertilizer from the backyard shed and toss them in the wheelbarrow. I may need to attach some tubes to the dripper system for the new bushes. The sun is high in the sky when I wipe my brow. It takes me nearly 3 hours to plant everything and spread mulch. I sit on the bench in the backyard and admire my work. The new plant additions display colors of purple, yellow, pink, salmon, some reds, and pops of white. I had pulled the yellowed tulips and daffodils so the summer plants could spring up soon. I usually start planting in early May, but we had cooler and wetter weather all month this year, so I had to wait. I pull off my gloves and return the tools and supplies to the shed. Back inside the house, I grab some cold lemonade from the fridge and pour it into a large cup. My watch reads 1:20 p.m. I started planting around 10:30 when it was cooler, but now it feels almost hot. I sit on the couch and drink the lemonade, the cold, tart liquid sliding down my throat and cooling me down. I hadn’t thought about Troy while planting, but now, thoughts creep up. What if something goes wrong and Grant’s buddies screw up? What if they take my money and then go to the police? Hell, what if one of them is a cop?  I snap out of it, grab the remote, turn on the TV, and occupy myself with some mind-numbing psychological series. I find myself drifting off, and before I know it, everything goes black. The phone buzzing shocks me awake. I fumble around for it and see it sticking out between the cushions. I grab it and see the text from Melanie. DECIDED TO STAY LONGER- BE BACK IN A WEEK OR SO Of course. She would rather stay in Florida than come back home to me. The kids are gone, so she has no reason to be here as if she cared when she was here. I’m on my own for another week, but if she can’t reach Troy, she will likely come back sooner. My stomach growls, and I notice the sun is lower in the sky. I turn on the phone and see that it’s almost 7:00 p.m. I’m shocked I slept for almost … well, I really don’t know when I fell asleep, so don’t know how long I was asleep. I yawn and get up, making my way to the kitchen. I have a few extra patties from the night before, so take them out. I can grill them, along with some corn-on-the-cob. There is leftover watermelon, so I pull that out of the fridge. I take everything out back, set everything on the table, turn on the propane tank, and turn on the grill. It’s still warm outside, so as I wait for the grill to heat up, I take off my shirt and dive into the pool, feeling the cool water wash over me. I swim as much as I can in the summer; it keeps me cool and helps my muscles after working out. I get out after swimming several laps and shake the water out of my hair. I grab the patties, open the hood, and slap two patties on the grill. I season the meat, then shut the hood down and wait. ___________________________________________________________ It’s Monday morning, and the kids will be home any time. This is the day I get a text from Grant saying Troy’s body has been dumped in his yard, and this whole thing will finally be over. I shower and get dressed, and as I walk down the stairs, I hear the beeping sound of the code, and then the door unlocks. The kids are home. “Hey, Dad,” Jayden says, charging through the door. Kirsten follows after. “Hey guys,” how was Grandma and Grandpa’s?” “Awesome,” Jayden says. “We went to the zoo and saw some cool animals.” “Yeah? Which ones?” I say, following them into the kitchen. Jayden throws open the pantry and grabs the Apple Jack’s cereal box. He grabs the milk from the fridge and gets two bowls and spoons out. He sets them on the table, along with the cereal and milk. “We saw lions and tigers … “ “And bears, oh my,” I pipe in, chucking. “Dad!” Kirsten rolls her eyes. “Alright, just having fun,” I say, throwing my hands up. I watch the kids gobble up the cereal and wonder if my mom fed them breakfast before they left. It was close to 9:00 by my watch, so I don’t why she wouldn’t have fed them before leaving. “Hey, guys, didn’t Grandma feed you before taking you home?” “Nope. Grandma didn’t have time,” Jayden says. That’s odd, but I don’t think much about it. She probably had a hair appointment or something. After breakfast, I tell the kids to head upstairs and pack for camp. Both run up to their rooms. Thirty minutes later, I check their suitcase and ensure they have all the checked items, repack everything, add the stuff they forgot, and then zip them both up and drag them down our winding stairs. I grab their sleeping bags and extra pillows from the closet and then load the car. A few hours later, after playing video games with them – something I try to do often – we all pile in the car. I timed it so they would get to Camp Wyndham at around noon, and then I would head to the office for the remainder of the day. My calculations are pretty spot-on since we miss the noon-day traffic and get to the camp around 11:45 before lunch starts at 12:30 p.m. I unload all the luggage, and one of the camp counselors, wearing a red t-shirt with the name in bold white letters and the camp logo of a canoe and blue skies etched inside a perfect circle, smiles. The teen girl with long brown hair and brown eyes looks about 16 as she flips through a list of names on her clipboard and crosses off Jayden and Kirsten’s names. “Okay, all set.”  I say goodbye, kiss Kirsten on the cheek, and hug them both. “I’ll see you in August. Love you, kids.” “Love you too, Dad,” Kirsten says. “Ditto,” Jayden calls back as he takes off. Two teen guy counselors, one with blond hair, short but with muscle definition, and the other with brown hair, tall and skinny, take the suitcases, sleeping bags, and pillows and go off to the cabins. I watch, always feeling a little sad that I won’t see them for two months. Just as I get back in the Lexus, my phone buzzes. THE JOB IS DONE - TIME TO PONY UP

Tired of maintaining a lawn, dealing with a diseased lawn and don't have the budget to get new sod, or want a drought-resistant garden? In the 41st installment of Gardening Tips & Tricks, I will give you tips on flipping your lawn to an attractive, water-wise garden, especially if you live in a dry climate. This will be a 3-part series, so ensure you have joined my group and hit the notification bell. Let's dig in! First, it's important to decide the space you have that includes: 🌞 Light - Do you have trees that give your lawn shade? 🚰 Water system - Do you use an installed sprinkling system or a surface sprinkler that is manually moved to areas? 🏡 Design - Are you looking to just remove the diseased grass and create a garden, so it's part lawn and garden, or do you want to remove all grass and install a rock garden with pockets of plants throughout the yard? Or do you want to create a produce garden? Parts one & two will go through the lawn removal process; part three will discuss the best plants for a water-wise garden. 📦 The easiest way to transform your lawn into a garden is by a process called Sheet-mulching, where you place biodegradable material such as cardboard boxes (ask Home Depot or Costco/Sams Club) or old newspapers and lay them down on the grass you want to flip. Ensure it's a thick covering and wet the material to ensure it molds to the grass. So there are no gaps for the grass to come up through, ensure the boxes/newspapers overlap like roof tiles at the edges of the grass. TIP: Remove any tape or stickers on the boxes, as they won't break down and will stay in the soil after decomposing. Also, don't use any shiny or glossy material since most are made from plastic and won't decompose. After, you have two options: 1️⃣ Cover the cardboard layer with 6 plus inches of compost or topsoil. 2️⃣ Cover with 4 plus inches of mulch. The compost/mulch helps to smother the grass. Using the compost/topsoil option, you can plant your new garden as you would with an existing garden. However, it can get expensive to get that much compost. If you have access to a lot of mulch, you can just spread it all over the cardboard; it's also less expensive. TIP: Sign up for ChipDrop to get wood chips delivered to your door for free or at a very low cost. You can also ask a local farmer if they have old, spoiled hay or straw, which they can give you for free. Or collect leaves from your trees or neighbors, which you can use as grass covering as well. Part two will go into cutting out grass and replacing it with rock, creating a garden that way. Happy Gardening!! ____________________________________ Hi, thanks for reading, and if you joined my gardening group, welcome! Please like, comment, and share, and follow me on IG @ hotmamagardener; visit my website jewelswrites.blogspot.com & sub to Musings & Mysteries.

“If you stay with him, I can go pick up a pesticide. There’s got to be a local place where I can grab some around here. Depending on what you're looking for, you can find one with the components that make up arsenic: phosphorus, nitrogen, antimony, and bismuth, which can result in severe effects if given enough. Since arsenic is odorless, colorless, and tasteless, it’s hard to detect. I'll give him enough in the water bottle for effects to occur, and it will cause nausea and vomiting, maybe even convulsions, and then shock. By the time he's found, the cut will have already healed, and they'll find the chemicals in his system and probably determine the ex-wife poisoned him and either she dumped him or paid someone to do it. We'll all be in the clear." I stand there shocked, unable to move or say anything. I can’t believe Grant’s solution is to kill him, but I can’t lose my family. I don't how much he would have to give him to do the trick, but I don't want him to suffer. “I’ll clean up everything, so when the police search the cabin, they won’t see anything suspect. They will search the lake area and maybe even think he drowned when they can’t find him. By the time they dredge the lake, if they do, it could be days or weeks. Of course, an investigation will be opened, but it will take months or longer. Meanwhile, his body will be driven to Utah and dumped in his ex's front yard. She'll find his body eventually, and they will arrest her as the main suspect.” My mind is spinning. It could work, but his ex isn’t to blame; she’s as much a victim as I am. I can’t do that to her. I shake my head and say, “I don’t want anything to do with this.” “Look, leave it up to me. I won’t tell you anything until it’s done. Leave the cabin, go home, and act like everything is normal. I will get some guys to help, but they won’t do it for free.” I sigh. This would solve my problem. I wouldn’t have anything to do with it. But, then I think about the money. I'm paying these people to dump a body that my buddy killed. Oh god, if I'm found out ... I sigh deeply. “Fine, I’ll pay them $10,000 each, and you, $20,000 for giving him the arsenic and cleaning everything up. But, there can be NO evidence, nothing tying it back to me.” And then I wonder how I'm going to send money without some kind of trail. I'll need to worry about that later. Grant nods and says, “Don’t worry, and thanks for the money. It will help; I could use some additional money right now. My aunt doesn’t know I emptied her savings account on gambling. I still owe about $10,000.” I shake my head. “I thought you stopped that.” “Yeah, well, it’s hard taking care of an aunt with dementia and child support for two kids.” I did understand that. I would be doing the same thing if Melanie and I divorced. “What do we say to him?” I slightly turn my head towards Troy. “You tell him I went back to town to get some medical supplies and some food, and you’ll be here to ensure he doesn’t fall asleep.” “Okay.” “I’ll be back in about twenty minutes, hopefully. There's got to be a nursery, Home Depot, or Lowes out of the forest. It took about ten minutes to get in here, so when I get out, I can use my phone to locate a place. When I get back, I’ll clean him up, dress his head, and then we’ll eat. After, you’ll pretend you forgot to call the kids for some reason and that you’ll be back in a bit after you get out of the forest and get better cell reception. I’ll give him some bottled water; before too long, he’ll start feeling the effects of the arsenic, and I will be here as the medical know-it-all. I’ll get my guys to do their thing, and viola, you rid yourself and your family of this problem. Give me four days since driving will take at least three days and then one day to ensure it’s nighttime when they dump his body.” Could it work? He’s already injured. Grant giving them the pesticide in his water will cause his death, and a medical examiner will know that's what killed him. I’ve got to take the risk – for my family. “Okay, but you had better clean up good, so no trace is left behind.” “You got it. Just keep him talking, or at least awake." I return to Troy, who is still sitting on the couch, his head flopped back, his eyes closed. “Hey, Troy, wake up,” I clap my hands. He bolts awake. “You can’t sleep, man.” I then wonder why we couldn’t let him go to sleep, and if he slips into an unconscious state and we leave him here, then we’re not liable for what happens. But then, what if he does wake up and leaves, immediately going to the police? I’m not a doctor, and we can’t really know if he’s got a concussion and how serious it is. No, Grant’s right. We have to do it his way. “I’m going into town for some medical supplies; see if we can bandage your head,” Grant heads for the door. “Yeah, sounds good. Thanks, man,” I tell him. He slams the door behind him. Now what? I have a man who looks a mess; I can’t let him sleep; I must keep him talking. “So, Troy, tell me about yourself.” Oh God, I sound like I’m interviewing him for a job. “Are you kidding?” “Look, I don’t want to do this anymore than you, but I have to keep you awake, so unless you want to fall asleep and end up in a coma, it's time to talk.” “Fine. I was born in Salt Lake City and have two brothers and one sister. Went to the University of Utah and graduated with a BA in Civil Engineering.” His eyes start to close again. I snap my fingers, and his eyes pop open. “Met my wife, Deanna, got married a year later, and within five years, popped out three kids, a girl, and two boys. We moved to Grantsville shortly after the oldest was born.” He’s slurring his words, and his head keeps falling forward. “What are your hobbies?” I don’t give a shit about them, but I have to keep him talking. “Like to hike, travel, plant cool things, watch true crime, you know the basics.” “What plants have you grown?” He closes his eyes again. “Can’t I just sleep? I’m so tired.” I’ve got to really wake him up, so I walk into the kitchen, take the glass Grant took out of the cupboard, fill it with water, and walk straight back to him and dump the whole glass over his head. Troy jumps back. “What the fuck?” “You have to stay awake.” Troy wipes the dripping water from his face and rakes his fingers through his hair. Dry blood mingles with the water and runs down his neck. “Now, tell me what it was like growing up.” “Oh shit, man, I don’t want to talk about that.” All men seem alike – they never want to talk about their childhood, but women can talk for hours. “Work with me, Troy.” He sighs deeply and sits back. At least now, he looks fully awake. I enjoyed making him squirm – I may have to do that again. “My mom stayed at home with us until I was about 8. I’m the youngest. My dad was in the Military – Navy-Marine. He was strict, gave us tons of chores, and sometimes did things with us when he was on base, but we all moved with him whenever he was transferred. I’ve lived in California, Nevada, Washington, Texas, Indiana - about ten states. Every year or so, we left and transferred to another state. I was always the new kid.” If he weren’t banging my wife, I’d feel sorry for what he went through. “My dad liked to get drunk when not working, and you know, smack us around. We probably deserved it, but my mom didn’t.” He clenches his jaw, and I notice his hand balling into a fist. “That’s rough,” I say, unsure what else to say. “Yeah, it was more than rough; it was a nightmare.” I turn my wrist over and check my Apple watch for the time. Grant’s been gone only ten minutes. Hopefully, he gets here soon. “So, Civil Engineering, huh?” “Yeah, my grandpa was one and taught me everything I know, but decided to get a degree so I could get a good paying job. It was the one thing I could focus on when my dad was screaming at my mom. He was a bastard and ran out on her when I was 13.” I shake my head and roll my eyes, “Like father, like son.” “Yeah, I know.” I punch back. "You had an affair, ruined two relationships, and ran out on your family. I’m sure your dad is proud.” “Was. He kicked the bucket when I turned 30; the booze did him in, ended up with liver cancer. I found out about it, and six months later, he was dead. Good fucking riddance.” I have to calm down, so I quickly go to the bathroom, leaving him to think about what he did to his ex-wife. When I come back out, he's drinking from the water bottle Grant gave him earlier. I don't know what else to grill him on, so I reluctantly tell him about myself, hoping to pass the time. We have some things in common, and if it weren't for him having sex with my wife, we could have been friends. Of course, he grew up in Utah, so it would have never happened, but still, he has some good qualities about him. A few minutes later, I hear Grant’s pickup approaching.  “Looks like my buddy is back. He’ll patch you up good.” Grant walks in, carrying two sacks. “Hey, need to take a piss,” Troy says and heads to the bathroom. I follow Grant into the kitchen. "I found this at a local nursery about five minutes out of the forest, he says, putting the plastic bag on the counter. He takes out a square bottle. “It's a pesticide that has the same chemicals as organic arsenic. Make sure he doesn’t see anything,” he says, turning his head and motioning to the bathroom door. “Look, man, I don’t know if this is a good idea.” Yes, Troy is a shithead for the affair, but he doesn’t deserve to die. “Nah, man, you’re not backing out on this It will be over quickly. You can go home and get on with your life.” He stashes the bottle under the sink when he hears the bathroom door open. He then reaches into the same sack and pulls out the medical kit. “How’s the head, man?” Troy rubs his forehead; a large bump now shows visibly. “It’s all right – feels like a golf ball, though. Getting a killer headache.” “Yeah, that happens when you slam your head on concrete. I got some Ibuprofen, but let’s get some lunch first.” Troy nods, and I watch Grant put a paper bag on the counter and take out the cheese, ham, turkey, shredded lettuce, a bag of chips, a six-pack of Coors, bread, and mayo. It’s like we’re having a party. He starts building the sandwiches and then brings one over to Troy with the bag of Doritos and a can of beer. “Here, eat. He thrusts the food and drink before him, and Troy takes it all. “Thanks, man.” I make my sandwich and pull one of the beers out of the plastic thingy holding them together. We all sat and ate in silence. I pop the beer tab and hear a  I take a long drink but then put it down. I better not drink too much. The last thing I need is to be pulled over driving home because I’m drunk. I don’t hold my liquor well. Grant gets my attention about fifteen minutes later and points to his phone. It’s time. Damn, I’m leaving Troy in his hands, and I don’t have any clue what will happen. But it’s too late to change my mind. “Oh hey, I forgot to call my kids and see how their day with my parents went. They went to the zoo.” Oh, good grief I’m the worst liar. “Since there’s no reception here, I’m going to quickly get out of the forest, call them, and come right back. Shouldn’t take me more than ten minutes, fifteen, tops.” “Okay, Grant says in between bites. “I'll stitch and bandage him up until you get back.” “Yeah, sure,” Troy says. “K –” I say. My hands are sweaty, and I don’t want to do this, but there’s no going back. I look at Troy one last time as Grant opens the medical kit and removes the dressings, and then I open the cabin door, never to see him again. On my way down the road in the car, I keep glancing up at the review mirror, but it's just me. I slam my foot on the gas pedal. I must get out of here - fast. It isn't until I’m out of Sargants Ponds that I can breathe and slow down, but I keep thinking a cop will pull out behind me, and I’ll hear the red and blue siren. When I'm out of the forest, I turn on the radio. The Long Island Expressway is minutes away. And within the hour, I'll be home. I start smiling. Troy will no longer be a problem. It’s time to heal.