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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.

I wake up feeling extremely groggy and immediately notice that I'm strapped to the bed. Panic surges as I try to free myself, but the tight ropes cut into my wrists. I glance over and see that Brock is still asleep, his hands also bound to the bedpost. My feet are tightly bound as well, but thankfully, there's nothing in my mouth, though it feels parched, like I could down a large glass of water in seconds. "Brock," I whisper, trying to get his attention. When that doesn't work, I say it louder, and finally, he opens his eyes, his expression filled with shock as he struggles against his restraints. "It's no good. The rope is pretty tight," I tell him, trying to stay calm. "Trice, w-what happened?" he stammers. "We were drugged at breakfast, and Jeff tied us to the bedposts. It's a safe bet to say he knows we know the truth." "Damn, that bastard." Brock's jaw tightens, and he flexes his neck muscles. "I knew I should have listened to my intuition." "I should have listened to you—again. I'm sorry. We left Utah to be safe, and now, we're trapped in a psychopath's home." He attempts to move his feet back and forth. My arms start to ache, and I wonder how long we'll be stuck like this. "I don't think Jeff is a psychopath. I think he's been deeply hurt and is trying to protect his family." I recall the genuine concern in his eyes when he talked about his kids, especially Ian. The special bond he has with his son. If our family was in danger, Brock might have also taken drastic steps to protect us. "He's the one that put his family in danger when he got Troy killed, paid off the killers, and lied to cover it all up." I nod. "That's true. But now, he's been backed into a corner, and unfortunately, we played right into his hands." "But how did he know we knew anything?" "His goons. They've been casing out the house, the ones who were in the garage and in our backyard months ago. The ones who sent the threatening letter. They know who I am because of my YouTube channel." Brock closes his eyes and shakes his head. "Of course they do." "Listen, I'm sorry this is happening, but it's not my fault." "I didn't say it was, but you are well-known in the YouTube community. It's not hard to figure out everything about you, our family, and our home. And since we live right next door to where they dumped the body, they were going to keep an eye out." I had forgotten about that. Even though Grant confessed, there was no direct evidence linking Jeff or his accomplices to the crime. Sure, Goldie said the five were involved, but what proof did she have now that she's dead? The recording was the only thing we had; well, Gray has it now. "Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry I put you and our family in danger." Brock looks at me with understanding. "It's not your fault, Trice. Goldie is the one who contacted you and put you in the middle." "I know, but if I didn't know anything, no one would have had her recording. She went through a lot before she died. They nearly killed her twice before when the smoke grenade went off at the police station, and then someone broke into her home, and if Grant hadn't shot him, they both might have been killed to protect the secret." "So now what? We can't stay like this. We have to try and get loose before he comes back. I don't know how long we've been here, but by the looks of it, hours." I see him peering out the window, and I turn to notice that the light is fading. Whatever he put in our coffee was pretty potent if we've been asleep all day. "I don't know how to get loose. Every time I try, the rope cuts into my wrists and feet, and it burns." Brock attempts to free himself again, wriggling his wrists side to side in the hope of loosening the ropes. After a few minutes, he stops, sweat accumulating on his brows. "Damn, he tied them good," he says, breathing fast. I hear a noise outside, and both Brock and I instinctively turn our heads toward the door. If it's Brock, yelling won't help, but what if it's not him? Should we try to get their attention? We remain silent, my heart pounding in my chest. Slowly, the doorknob turns, and the door inches open, revealing a child's hand. It's Kirsten. I bring my hands to my lips and wave her over. She cautiously approaches and sees us. Her hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. "Are you guys OK?" she whispers. "No, sweetie. It looks like someone tied us to this bed. Can you help us? But, you have to be very quiet, and no one can know you were here. Can you do that?" My voice is soft and reassuring. She nods. "See if you can find some scissors," Brock adds. "Okay." She takes a step back. "Remember, be very quiet, and don't tell anyone about us," I repeat. Kirsten goes to the door, quietly closes it behind her, and leaves. I exhale a sigh of relief, though I can't help but worry about her getting caught. "I hope she can get the scissors without Jeff knowing. It's weird, though, that she was on this floor when it's usually empty," I muse, suddenly suspicious that Jeff might have sent her up here to see what we would say to her. "Yeah," is all Brock mutters. "Do you think Jeff told her to come up here? I mean, no one is on this floor, and then suddenly, she shows up." "It does seem suspicious." "If he told her to come up here, we just played into his trap—again." "Trice, stop thinking of the worst-case scenario. Let's just wait." I sense Brock's growing frustration from the furrowed brow and his curt tone. "Okay." I know better than to push him when he's like this. He's patient, but everyone has their limits. I'm more of a problem solver, eager to tackle things head-on. We wait what feels like an eternity when I suddenly hear the door turning again. Kirsten's back. She cautiously peers in, glances over her shoulder, and then enters, gently closing the door behind her. In her left hand, she holds a pair of scissors. Thank goodness! "Oh, good, you found some," I smile. "Was it difficult?" Kirsten's demeanor has shifted from earlier, and she climbs onto the bed. "No. Dad is working and never knows or cares what we're doing when we get home from school. I found the scissors in the junk drawer in the kitchen. He didn't even see me." Despite being only seven years old, she exudes a surprising level of maturity and composure. "Can I ask you something?" I tread lightly. "Sure." "How did you know we were here?" "Well, after breakfast and before Jayden and I went to school, we saw you eating breakfast, and then you left and went upstairs. When I came back home, I looked for you everywhere. Dad doesn't like us being up here, says it's not for children. But I was curious, so I heard the bed creaking and you guys talking, so I thought I would come say hi." Her vocabulary far exceeds her age. "I see. Well, we appreciate you checking up on us." I can't tell her that her dad drugged us and tied us to the bedposts; she's too young to hear that. "Anyway, why are you tied up?" she asks, curiosity evident. I have no idea what to say, but Brock steps in, saving the day. "We were playing a game, and it got a little out of hand. Before we realized it, we couldn't get loose. Patrice didn't realize she tied my hands a little too tight, and the same happened with her." It's a ridiculous story, but we hope she'll buy it. "Oh, okay," she responds, nonchalantly flipping her blonde hair behind her. "So, can you cut us loose?" Brock says, wriggling his wrists. "Sure." She comes to the side and starts cutting the ropes binding Brock's wrists. It takes her a minute because the ropes are so tight. Then she moves to the other side and cuts him free. He shakes off the ropes and rubs his wrists. "Thank you so much, sweetie," he says, relieved. "Here, I'll do the rest." Kirsten hands the scissors to Brock, and he cuts the ropes from his feet and then unties me. My wrists are marked with red burns, and as they're released, they flop limply to the bed. I feel utterly drained. Brock then moves on to cutting the ropes from my feet. "Okay, now, you need to go back down and replace the scissors where you found them, and don't tell Dad what you did. He's part of the game, and we don't want him to ruin the surprise," I say, improvising as I go. It's a good thing I've watched plenty of true crime stories. "All right." She takes the scissors and leaves as quietly as she comes in. "We have to leave – NOW," Brock says, emphasizing the word. He goes over and locks the door, then starts tapping on his phone. "There has to be some way to get off this island." I watch him scroll through his phone, and then he heads into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. I assume he can talk without whispering, but I can't sit still. I walk over to the window and peer outside. The snow has melted quite a bit. There's no reason we can't leave. A few minutes later, Brock reopens the door. "I've got a driver to meet us on the main road in ten minutes. If he shows up at the door, Jeff will know. That means we'll have to sneak out of here and get to the main road as quickly as possible." I mentally calculate how long it would take. Jeff's home is situated at the end of a winding road. We might make it, but we'll have to walk quickly, and that won't be easy with the remaining snow. As it is, darkness is starting to creep in. "Can you make it in ten minutes?" I turn away from the window. "It's getting dark, and we still have to find a way out of here. What if he's locked the doors, and we can't escape? And don't tell me I'm being too negative," I warn him when he starts to speak. "I'm being realistic." "I know. We're on the fourth floor, and Jeff is working on the first level. We'd have to take off our shoes and quietly but quickly get down the stairs and find a door that isn't locked. It's going to be tricky, but we have to do it." I feel tears bubble up, but this is no time to cry. Brock needs me to be strong. "Okay." Then it dawns on me that I don't have my purse and can't find it anywhere. Jeff must have taken it. "I can't find my purse." I search everywhere: on the bed, the floor, the bathroom, behind the computer, under the bed. Panic rises. "Do you have your wallet?" Brock reaches behind his back and pulls it out. "Yes." He quickly checks it. "Everything is still here." Thank goodness. At least we can get out of here. But all my identification and cards are gone, which means I may not be able to travel. "Brock, if I don't have any identification, how will I get on a plane?" "We might have to rent a car and drive home." The thought of a long road trip sends a shiver down my spine, but we may have no other choice if I don't find my purse. I can't bear the idea of days on the road. But now isn't the time to search the house. We need to get out. "Follow me," Brock says, heading to the door and listening carefully. He then turns the knob slowly and opens the door. After checking both ways, he whispers, "We're good. Just take off your shoes and be quiet." I slip off both shoes and hold them to my chest. He does the same, and we tiptoe down the hall. We descend the stairs as quietly as we can, moving with the stealth of a cat. It's eerily quiet – almost too quiet for a house with three kids. We reach the ground floor, and Brock glances in both directions. "Let's try the back door to the garage. That's the one most likely to be unlocked," he murmurs. Are the kids in their room? My watch reads 6:02 p.m. Dinner should be soon. Brock peers into the living room and then motions for me to follow him. My heart races and my hands feel clammy. The adrenaline coursing through me and the lingering effects of the pills leave me feeling disoriented.  We reach the living room, and I quietly follow him into the kitchen. He tries the doorknob, and it turns. He opens the door, and I slip through closely behind him. The garage is shrouded in darkness, and Brock uses his phone's nightlight to illuminate the area. Only one car is there – Jeff's. Melanie hasn't returned home yet. Our only option is to sneak out through the backyard. I quickly slip on my shoes and join Brock outside. The cold immediately pierces my body, and I can see that the clear sky promises a frigid night. Once outside, I follow Brock to the gate, where a padlock secures our exit. "Damn," Brock mutters, scanning the area. "Unless we try to climb the fence, we're not getting out of here." Climbing that fence? It must be at least ten feet tall! "Are you sure we can scale it?" "We're going to have to try, Trice. There's no other way." I gulp, silently praying that we can make it over. It's a beautiful yet old, ornate iron gate with sharp, pointy tips that could impale a person; one in particular looks bent too. This isn't good. I just hope it can hold our weight. "You go first," he instructs me. I hesitate, but I understand he's trying to protect me. He cups his hands. "Climb up, and I'll push you over." I grip his shoulders and place my foot into his hands. With a strong push from him, I manage to hoist myself upward, searching for something to hold onto in the posts that will let me climb. The curly Q of the iron allows me to get a foothold, and when I make it to the top, I have to remind myself not to look down. The pierced tips look like it's waiting for someone to land wrong. I carefully slide my legs between the spikes to the other side and descend again, using the iron as footholds. Towards the bottom, I slide down faster than I want, and my right ankle twists when it hits the ground. I feel it pop, and a sharp pain shoots through it. "Ahhh!" I cry out, tears springing to my eyes. "Are you okay?" Brock asks as he lands nearby. "I turned my ankle. I can't move it." "Hold on." Brock looks around. "It's going to be all right, babe." He picks me up, and I clutch onto him, wrapping my arms around his neck. "You can't carry me to the car," I protest, but deep down, I know he has no choice. The ground is lightly dusted with snow, making it easier to walk now. I can't see, but Brock keeps the nightlight on his phone to guide us. I turn my head and glance behind us, but there's no sign of pursuit. Yet, Jeff could discover our absence at any moment and come looking for us. Brock walks along the side of the road, staying close to a line of sycamore trees to keep us hidden. "The last time you carried me like this was over the threshold on our honeymoon. Remember that?" He says, slightly breathless. "Yeah," I smile, recalling the memory. "You almost dropped me." "How was I supposed to know there was an extra step from the porch into the house?" To be fair, it was our first apartment, and an unexpected step caused him to stub his toe while carrying me in. He cursed and almost lost his balance, but luckily, he grabbed onto the door to steady himself. That night, wearing my white chiffon wedding dress with my hair in a French twist was magical. It was 1986, and we danced to Bryan Adams' "Heaven" at our reception. I knew then that I would be with Brock forever. As he carries me down the road, huffing and puffing, I know he'll do whatever it takes to protect me. I just hope we make it.

“Hold on, click on this folder,” I urge Brock, pointing at it. He complies, and we both widen our eyes in disbelief as we examine invoices for each person who had participated in Troy's murder. “These are the five who helped with Troy's murder,” I whisper, glancing toward the door nervously. “I remember Goldie telling me about it - apart from Grant, Greg, Colton, Petra, and Ely were involved. Three of them helped dispose of the body while the fourth acted as a lookout – that was Ely.” “They were each paid $10,000, and Grant received $20,000 for carrying out the killing. I can't believe it,” Brock mutters, shaking his head. He quickly snaps photos of all the files and invoices with his phone. “We should shut this down.” He logs off, closes everything, and wipes the keyboard and mouse with his shirt. We return to the bed, armed with this newfound information. “I had my suspicions,” I admit, recounting everything I had discovered about Jeff, Melanie, and Grant on Facebook. “Why didn't you tell me?” Brock appears hurt, his eyes downturned. “I couldn't be certain, and you wanted me to let it go, so I tried to respect that.” I lower my head, knowing I should have trusted my instincts about coming here. “I just can't comprehend how Jeff could pay people to kill Troy and then bury him in Deanna’s backyard to frame her.” I wrap my arms around his neck. “I know, but the pain that Melanie, and well, Troy caused him and his family might have pushed him to his limits. It happens. I guess since they have a baby now, he might have forgiven her, but she has no clue that Jeff was the one who orchestrated Troy's murder. When she finds out...” “It will shatter her and the entire family,” Brock finishes my thought. “Yeah. But we have to act like everything is normal. Jeff can't suspect that we know anything. When the roads are clear tomorrow, we need to leave and head back home. The sooner we get this information to Gray, the better. I don't feel comfortable sending it to him; he needs to see it for himself.” “I agree. It's unbelievable that we thought we had escaped the danger, only to have it resurface 3,000 miles away.” Brock turns on the TV. “Let's try to act as normal as possible.” We watch a movie for the next few hours, and eventually, I feel my eyelids grow heavy. Despite the movie droning on, I succumb to sleep. --------------- The next morning, I feel the sun's warmth filtering through the drapes onto our bed. Blinking my eyes open, I check my watch. It read 8:12. I rise from the bed and glance outside. Although the snow is piled up, at least the sun is shining. However, it seems it might be hours before the plows clear the road. I head into the bathroom and gaze at my reflection in the mirror. Over the past seven months, I feel like I have aged a decade. The bags under my eyes have become more pronounced, and my once-brown hair is now nearly all gray and looks lifeless. The wrinkles multiply across my forehead and down to the front of my neck. I don't feel attractive, especially when I think about April, Brock's assistant. What if he had had an affair, just like Troy did? I have to stop myself before I spiral into a frenzy of "what ifs." Cupping cold water into my hands, I splash it on my face, feeling the shock of the cold as it washes over me. I rifle through my makeup bag and begin applying some foundation when I hear Brock stirring and waking up. A few minutes later, he enters the bathroom. "Morning, babe," he greets me with a kiss. "Hi, how was your sleep?" "Could've been better. I'm freezing," he replies, stripping off his clothes and stepping into the spacious shower that could fit four people. "Yeah, I'm not used to being in such a cold house." I wonder if the kids' rooms are as chilly as ours. Normally, warm air rises, and since we are on the fourth floor, I assume it should have been warmer up here, but it feels as though a window is left open, even though everything is sealed tight. After finishing my hair and applying my makeup, Brock emerges from the shower. He always took longer showers than I did. When we both are ready for the day, we grapple with our plans. I feel hungry, but unsure if we should inquire about breakfast downstairs. Before we can decide, however, there's a knock at the door. "Hey guys, breakfast is downstairs whenever you're ready," Jeff's voice comes through the door. "Okay, thanks. We'll be there shortly," Brock replies. He waits until Jeff leaves, though we can't be certain if he's still lurking nearby. Brock pulls me into the bathroom and closes the door behind us. "After breakfast, let's check and see if the roads are clear. The sooner we can leave, the better." "Yeah, I can't relax. Of course, when we get back home, we also have danger there." "But at least we have proof that Jeff paid off these people – the same ones Goldie knew about. When we get on the road back to the airport, we can call Gray and let him know about the invoices. Let's head downstairs and get breakfast." I nod in agreement, and we open the door, putting on our best masks of normalcy. "It all looks delicious," I remark as we enter the spacious dining room. The scent of bacon and sausage fills the air, and a spread of eggs, hash browns, toast with butter and jelly is laid out on a table, an elegant burgundy cloth draped over it. A bouquet of yellow and red roses is placed in a crystal vase as a centerpiece. "Please, have a seat," Jeff smiles and gestures for us to join him at the table. He's wearing blue jeans and a dark blue sweatshirt, his hair combed neatly, vastly different than his pin-striped black suit and white shirt he was wearing the day before. I take a seat across from Brock, and although the food looks appetizing, just being in Jeff's presence makes my stomach churn. I eat as much as I can and sip fresh coffee while Brock engages in a normal conversation with Jeff, trying not to raise any suspicions. Jeff pours coffee into two cups and hands them to us. "Cream and sugar are by the juice." I grab the cream and pour some into my cup, followed by a pinch of sugar. "Hopefully, the roads are starting to clear so we can get out of your hair," I comment, glancing out the window. The snow is still piled up, and the prospects of finding an Uber seem bleak. I take a long drink and hope the coffee will give me some energy. "Oh, no problem. I hope you slept well," Jeff replies, picking up a small ceramic cup and pouring orange juice into it. "Yes, it was nice, thank you," I respond, placing my napkin on the table. "Thank you for letting us stay," Brock adds, pushing his chair back. "I'm going to check and see if we can get an Uber out here." He takes out his phone, and my heart races as Jeff's gaze locks on me. "Well, we'll see," Jeff replies vaguely. What did he mean by that? This is Long Island, not some remote outpost. "Excuse me," Brock says. "I need to call an Uber." I want to follow him but unsure if that would be considered rude. However, there is no reason to feel like we're prisoners here. I get up and follow Brock out. He paces back and forth as he speaks with someone on the phone. "What do you mean there aren't any drivers available?" I overhear Brock's conversation, watching as his expression shifts from confusion to anger, furrowing his eyebrows deeply. "Listen, we have to get to the airport for our flight." Even though our flight isn't actually scheduled for another three days, Brock doesn't care; he just wants a way out. "I can't believe this," he mutters before ending the call and shoving his phone into his back pocket. My heart sinks. "So, there's no Uber drivers?" I take a deep breath, trying to stay composed. "No," Brock replies with a sigh. "The city is locked down with the snow. Apparently, NYC has about a foot, and no one wants to drive. We're stuck here unless we can get Jeff to drive us. I don't know how I feel about that, either." He suddenly stops talking, and I turn to see Jeff approaching. "Is there a problem?" Jeff inquire. Brock faces him squarely. "There aren't any Uber drivers that want to drive to the city, so I guess you're stuck with us. Sorry." Jeff seems unfazed. "I figured that was the case. The news said quite a lot of snow fell. Well," he claps his hands, "Not a lot we can do about it. You're more than welcome to stay another day. I won't be going to work either; probably just work here. Melanie is already gone, but she has the Lexus crossover. The kids didn't go to school, so they're downstairs watching Disney or some other channel. Ian should be getting up soon." I listen to him talk about his family as if he hadn't paid people $60,000 to eliminate his wife's lover; it leaves me dumbfounded. He seems like a normal family man, not someone capable of orchestrating a murder. "Thanks, Jeff, we appreciate it," Brock says. The only positive aspect is that maybe I can spend some time with the kids, especially little Ian. "When he gets up, do you mind if I watch Ian for a bit?" I ask, trying to sound casual. "Of course. That would be very helpful. Thanks, Patrice," Jeff replies. I breathe a sigh of relief. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get some work done. I'll be upstairs next to Ian's room. When he wakes, I'll bring him…" "Our room is fine," I interrupt. "Okay." Brock and I head back to our room. Suddenly, I feel overwhelmingly tired, as if I'd just taken a hefty dose of melatonin. It must be the stress catching up with me. But when I look over at Brock, he, too, is rubbing his eyes and yawning. "Feeling tired, too?" I ask, mirroring his yawn. "Yeah," he replies, his voice heavy with fatigue. "It just came on suddenly." "Same here," I mumble, fighting to keep my eyes open. "You slept well, right?" Brock removes his glasses and places them on the side table. "I thought so, but I did let my mind wander a bit." I try to recall the events of last night, but my thoughts are growing increasingly hazy. When I look at Brock, he has already closed his eyes, seemingly fast asleep. This sudden fatigue was unusual for both of us. My mind races with suspicions as I recall Jeff pouring coffee into our cups. I notice that he hadn't taken a sip himself. Could he have...? No, he wouldn't do that, right? But who was I kidding? He had arranged Troy's murder. If he knew that we knew anything, we would be a liability. My mouth feels dry, and my eyes grow heavier by the second, along with my limbs. This isn't just fatigue; it feels like the effects of a drug. Then, just before I lose all consciousness, a horrifying realization washes over me. And then, I remember the arsenic.

I swallow hard, feeling like I’m suffocating in the tense atmosphere of the car. I need fresh air desperately, but for some reason, I can’t figure out how to roll down the damn window. “It’s kind of hot in here. Can I roll down the window a bit?” I ask, my voice betraying signs of aging, even though I haven’t experienced menopause symptoms in a few years. “Of course. Let me roll it down for you.” I sigh with relief as a rush of cool air greets my face when I see the window slide down. The cold air feels invigorating, though my coat provides some insulation against the chill. I feel better with the wind in my face but refuse to look up and meet Jeff's eyes. He takes us on a tour around Long Island, and I marvel at the vast Atlantic Ocean stretching out before us. We pass by vineyards and The Hamptons, where I can easily picture myself retiring in one of those beautiful lakeside properties. The Oheka Castle, perched by the seaside in Huntington, is truly a sight to behold. I can’t resist taking numerous pictures, already planning to frame one when we return home. Jeff explains that the cream-colored French chateau with its marine-blue rooftops is a popular wedding venue and had been built over a century ago in 1919. Again, I wish it were spring to see the gardens in full bloom. A few hours later, we circle back to face Jeff's estate. He parks the car, and by now, the sun has set. I hope Melanie is home so we aren’t alone. Jeff enters the security code, and the door opens, granting us entry. Laughter from children echoes through the hallway. “We’re home,” Jeff calls out. Shortly afterward, two kids emerge: a boy who bears a striking resemblance to Jeff and a girl who looks just like Melanie. The boy appears to be around ten, and the girl six or seven. “Hey, guys. Where’s Mom and Ian?” Jeff inquires. “Mom’s giving him a bath and said she will be down soon,” the girl replies. Despite her young age, her mannerisms seem mature. Her fiery red hair cascades down her back, complementing her wise green eyes. A few freckles dot her cheeks. “Okay. Well, let’s go sit in the living room. The cook should have dinner ready soon.” He leads the way, and I catch a whiff of garlic mingled with the distinct aroma of rosemary, making my stomach growl. It has been hours since I last ate. Jeff directs us to a plush creme-colored sectional with a high back and pillow-type armrests. “Hi, I’m Kirsten,” the girl introduces herself, extending her hand. I shake it, impressed by her politeness. “And this is Jayden,” Jeff says, ruffling his son’s hair. Jayden pushes his dad’s hand away, clearly embarrassed. It reminds me of how my sons had reacted when they hit puberty, avoiding any public displays of affection from me. A few minutes later, Melanie enters the living room, holding Ian. She’s dressed in a red pencil skirt, a black silk blouse, and black heels that accentuate her seemingly endless legs. Her red hair mirrors her daughter and displays subtle waves that add volume. She is undoubtedly gorgeous, and I can see why Troy was attracted to her. Brock even seems captivated, following her with his eyes. “Melanie, these are the parents of two friends I hung out with while growing up in Grantsville.” Melanie nods and hands Ian to Jeff like she’d had him for hours. “Nice to meet you,” she says, then kicks off her heels. “When’s dinner going to be ready?” She turns to Jeff. From Melanie's demeanor, I can tell dinner will be somewhat tense. She makes no effort to engage in conversation or get to know us. “I’ll go check,” Jeff replies, bouncing Ian in his arms. He looks like a proud father. If I hadn't seen the evidence for myself, I wouldn't think he had any involvement in Troy's death, but I have to try and relax and enjoy the rest of our time. We just have to get through the next few hours. “Melanie, your home is gorgeous,” I compliment her. “Thank you. It’s taken a lot of work, but it finally lives up to the Patterson expectation.” Melanie holds her head high, reminding me of Barbara Woodward, the most popular girl in junior high with her flowing red hair and piercing blue eyes. Barbara had walked the school halls as if she owned them, flashing a fake smile to anyone who waved. I had seen through her fakeness from the start, just as I see through Melanie's now. “Jeff says you’re an Account Executive at an ad agency. I’m a marketing consultant myself, but I don’t travel as much as you do. I’m sure it’s very rewarding,” I say, hoping to establish some connection with her. She flips her hair back. "Yes, well, it’s not always fun. But I do what I have to to contribute to our finances. Jeff isn’t always, well, responsible when it comes to money," Melanie reveals, raising her eyebrows. I'm curious about what she means, but I decide not to press her for details. The cook enters the room, and my first impression is of an Italian chef. Her bobbed black hair is neatly tucked behind her ear, and though she is taller than me, it isn't by much. Dark brown eyes crinkle with smile lines when she greets us, and her bright red lipstick is a bold choice that I could never pull off. Her white apron is smudged with grease and what looks like sauce of some kind. “Please, sit,” Jeff motions with his hand as he takes the seat at the head of the table, with Melanie sitting at the other end. I notice it’s just the four of us. “Aren’t the children joining us?” I ask, secretly hoping to snuggle with little Ian some more. “They will be eating in the kitchen. They usually don’t like the gourmet meals we feed our guests,” Melanie explains. Given the sumptuous spread before us—pasta with shrimp and what smells like a garlic sauce, roasted Rosemary chicken, and artichokes in a creamy white sauce, accompanied by various sliced breads and cheeses—I could understand why. “This is delicious wine,” I comment after taking another sip. “Ah, yes, the best Italian wine, vintage 2001 Montepulciano d'Abruzzo,” Melanie replies with decent Italian pronunciation. I have never heard of it, but I disagree with her assessment of 2001 as a vintage year. Nevertheless, what do I know about wine except that this one is a sensual delight with a light cherry flavor that has just the right amount of acidic taste. I also detect a hint of earthy mushroom that harmonizes perfectly with the chicken's sauce. The entire meal is a delectable experience. For dessert, the cook serves a chocolate fudge cake with orange sorbet that tastes heavenly. When I finish, I am comfortably full but not overly stuffed. Throughout dinner, Brock and Jeff engaged in conversation ranging from cars to the past, while Melanie remained mostly silent. I chimed in occasionally to feel like a part of the conversation. I check my watch and am surprised it is nearly 8:00. I want to leave, but Brock is deeply engrossed in Jeff's discussion about the stock market. Melanie dabs her mouth with her napkin, then pushes her chair back and stands up. “I’m going to put the kids to bed. Patrice, Brock, thank you for visiting,” she says, quite curt, directing her thanks mainly at Brock. "Thank you for having us," I say. With that, I also push my chair back and stand up, but my eagerness to leave is interrupted by an unexpected announcement. “Looks like a storm has arrived. It’s snowing pretty hard out there,” Jeff observes as he gazes out the window. I follow his gaze and see a blizzard brewing outside, the snowfall so thick that visibility is severely compromised. “Oh wow, I never noticed. We’d better get going,” Brock says, a note of urgency in his voice. Jeff chuckles. “No Uber will be coming out here tonight. But no worries, you can stay here the night,” Jeff offers, leaving us with little choice. “Are you sure? We wouldn’t want to impose,” I reply, knowing full well that the weather has made any other option impossible. “Of course. Mi casa, su casa,” Jeff reassures us. “Thank you,” Brock says as he gets up from his chair. “The dinner was delicious.” “Yes, it was very tasty,” I add, feeling a bit silly for using the word "tasty." “Rosalie is a great cook, learned it in her family’s restaurant in Italy before immigrating here. We hired her a few years ago, and she’s never let us down,” Jeff explains. Then, he turns to me and utters words that send a chill down my spine. “No one lets us down.” As Jeff leads us to our rooms on the fourth floor, I find myself panting. I’m way out of shape. He opens the door to one of the rooms, revealing a breathtaking cherry oak bed with a burgundy swag canopy surrounding it. The dark cherry wood is intricately carved with beautiful swirls. A matching six-drawer dresser sits stately across from it, and a desk in the corner features a computer and keyboard. I wonder if there are computers in every room. “I’ll let you get settled. There are some extra toothbrushes and toothpaste in the bathroom down the hall on your right. You’ll find some other personal items there as well,” Jeff informs us before leaving. I sit on the bed, marveling at the luxurious surroundings, and stare at the large-screen TV on the wall across from me. Though I’m ready for sleep, I’m ready to relax and watch a mindless movie until slumber takes over. The sooner night is over, the sooner tomorrow comes, and we can leave. Following Jeff's directions, I eventually find the bathroom down the hall. We seem to be the only guests on this floor, and I can’t help but wonder why anyone needs so many rooms. A family with only three kids certainly didn't require this much space. All their bedrooms are on the second floor, so what do they do with the other two floors? I ponder this as I explore the bathroom, which resembles the amenities of a luxury hotel: soap, shampoo, conditioner, a built-in hair dryer, toothbrushes and paste, washcloths, and plush bath towels. The countertops are adorned with pure white marble, and the glass tumblers add a touch of elegance. Gold faucets, similar to those in the kitchen, grace the sink. The jetted tub looks especially inviting, and I wish I could take a leisurely soak. After preparing for bed, I exit the bathroom and step into the darkened hallway. I can make out enough to find my way back to our lit room. The TV is on with the volume set low, and Brock sits at the desk, engrossed in the screen. “Trice, come here. Check this out,” he beckons me over. I walk over to the desk and notice the intense look on Brock's face, his hand cupping his mouth. “What is it?” I inquire. He clicks on a video folder. “They're small video clips of a cabin, but it's only like 15 seconds of video, like a panorama view of the area. I also saw a folder that wasn’t labeled, and when I clicked on it, a bunch of your gardening videos showed up, as well as you and Goldie sitting in the park, you coming out of the store, our home. It’s as if he’s spying on you.” I clamp my hand over my mouth. Goldie warned me. “Brock, how did you access this?” I react with concern as I rush to close the door before returning to the computer. I can’t believe Jeff has all this on me. The only thing I can think of is that he hired a private investigator or had his goons track me. Maybe this is who has been stalking me – the person in our backyard, in our garage, the car next door … it’s all making sense now. “Honestly, I wasn't hunting for a password. I was exploring the hard drive, and the password was taped on the bottom. I thought I might check my work emails while we're here,” Brock explains, reminding me that even on vacation, he can't fully disconnect but refuses to tie his personal email to his work. He left his laptop at home, knowing it would be too tempting to check on work. He's right about that. “We must send these over to Gray,” I say, wanting badly to leave this place now.   I scan the rest of the folders, and one particular folder caught my eye. My stomach churns when I read the label: PAYMENT FOR THE FIVE

Before I knew it, we had been in NYC for four days. We visited Central Park, Statue of Liberty, One World Trade Center, 9/11 Memorial, Empire State Building, saw a Broadway show, and enjoyed city life. Tonight, we are dining in one of the most popular restaurants in NYC when Brock mentions going to see Jeff. “Sure. Let’s go tomorrow,” I say, finishing the filet mignon, baby red potatoes, long green beans, and the softest dinner rolls I’ve ever eaten. I’m stuffed and can’t eat another bite. Brock orders New York Cherry Cheesecake and finishes it off quickly. He dabs his mouth with his napkin, and we wait for our check to arrive. The ambiance of the restaurant, coupled with soft music, makes me feel calm, almost too calm. The gleaming chandelier in the center of the room gives off just enough light on our table and those around us. I can’t remember sitting in such a comfortable booth, drenched in black leather, the distinct table, a deep chestnut. “Okay. I’ll text Jeff for his address, and we can leave right after breakfast,” he says. I nod, but that odd feeling resurfaces. I need to stop stressing about this. Jeff was a great kid and was friends with our boys for years. I could never see him doing something like this. Granted, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen him, and sometimes, people snap and do things they thought they’d never do, so I can’t completely rule it out. But still, why ruin the trip by stressing out about this irrational fear? On the cab back to the hotel, I’m leaning against Brock. “This has been a nice trip. We need to do this more often.” “I agree. We’ve needed time to get away and be with each other. I’m sorry I’ve been so busy with this case. I’m sure with everything that has happened, it’s been hard on you. I should have been there.” I grab his hand. “I know and it’s OK. We’re together now. Let’s make the most of being in the city and enjoying the sights. Before too long, our vacation will end, and we’ll be back home.” I dread going back without knowing who this person that is clearly targeting me is, and if they haven’t caught him, if he will try again. “I just hope Gray can find this person who tried breaking into the house. I’m tired of feeling afraid,” I say, feeling tears well up. I haven’t heard from Gray since we came here, and I have a bad feeling that he won’t be able to find a match in the database. For all I know, this person doesn’t even live in Grantsville. But I keep going back to what this person knows about me. Do they know about the recorder? And, how? --------------- The next morning, the skies are a bit overcast when we head out to Long Island. It’s about a 30-minute drive from Manhattan, and when Brock gave me the address, I looked it up on Google Maps and saw the sprawling estate located on the east side of Long Island by the ocean with Google Earth. It’s beautiful, and I marvel at the success Jeff has had in affording such a place. Just as we turn the corner to the street Jeff lives on, I get a text from Gray. My heart sinks. I knew it. We have five more days here, and the police haven’t been able to identify the person targeting me. I decide not to tell Brock just yet. I don’t want to ruin this visit with Jeff. A few minutes later, we get dropped off at the gates of Jeff’s home, the sun shining in and out of puffy, white clouds. The dusting of snow makes it look like a Hallmark Greeting Card at Christmas, without the decorations. I look around at the gorgeous landscaping. Even though it’s in the middle of winter, tall Sycamore trees stand on both sides of the home like a protective shield. Expertly shaped evergreen bushes standing stately against the foundation to the right, and I can picture a beautiful garden in the summer, brimming with colorful flowers; I wish it was Springtime so I could see the birth of new buds forming or tulips and daffodils displaying a delicate dance - that is if they planted them. I look up at the mansion and stand in awe. The red brick estate is three stories with a wall of windows encompassing the home. We approach the towering glass doors and push the button announcing our arrival. “Coming,” I hear a male voice call out. Seconds later, a man opens the door, and I audibly gasp. Even though he’s older, I remember Jeff when he played with our kids. What a transformation! His glasses are gone, and the chubby weight has been replaced with rock-hard abs, a chiseled face, deep blue eyes, and wavy dark brown hair. He’s about as tall as Brock, nearly 6 feet tall. “Hey, Brock and Patrice. Come in!” He gives Brock a quick hug and shakes my hand – appropriate. “We made it!” Brock ushers me in. “Hi, Jeff, it’s good to see you,” I say, standing in front of a winding staircase resembling Jack and the Beanstalk as he climbs up to the Heavens. I look up and see each floor’s cherry oak banisters. I can’t imagine needing to clean this place. I’m sure he has staff. “Patrice, you haven’t changed a bit,” Jeff says, and I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. It’s been at least 15 years since I’ve seen him. “Neither have you,” I say, which is true in a sense. Yes, he has more muscle, and he’s gotten taller, but he still has the same bright smile and mannerisms he used to have. “My wife is at work, and the kids at school, except for our little guy, Ian. He’s just two months old, and for now, I’m the stay-at-home dad until he’s a little older and we can trust someone to care for him. He’s taking a nap, but let me show you around.” It's only about 10:30 when we arrive, and I wonder what we will do while we are here. Jeff takes us on a tour of my dream home, and then we sit in the living room while his cook brings in some cheese, crackers, fresh fruit, and coffee. A while later, I hear a cry and assume it’s Ian. Jeff leaves for a few minutes and then brings out a mini-me adorable baby with Jeff’s nose, mouth, and hair. It makes me long for my grandkids, whom I haven’t seen in nearly two weeks, and my newest grandson, who was born four months ago and have only seen him on Facetime since bringing him to our home now is unsafe. “Oh, what a handsome little guy,” I say, inquiring if I can hold him. Jeff hands him to me, and his sweet baby smell engulfs me. I rock him gently, and he stares up at me, studying this stranger. He then gives me the biggest smile, and my heart melts. I could sit here all day with him, but after a while, I give him back to Jeff when he starts to fuss. “Time for his bottle.” He calls for the cook. “So, tell me how everything is back in Grantsville,” Jeff says after the cook comes in and takes Ian off to be fed. “Well, I’m finishing up a big case, and Patrice has been watching the grandkids a few times a week and is also a marketing consultant.” Brock fills him in on our sons as well. “Wow, that’s great!” “Yeah. But there have also been some problems, especially next door when a body was discovered last year, buried in their front yard,” I let slip out. Brock steals a glance at me, and his eyes widen. I know this isn’t the right time; actually, no time is right, but I need to know if Jeff knows anything about it, and it becomes clear when I suddenly see his whole demeanor change and darkness falls over his face. “That’s horrible,” he says at last. “Did the police know who it was and how he died?” “It was my friend's ex-husband who lived there, and it was discovered that he died from arsenic poisoning. His body was also burned by the Bloodroot plant. Ever heard of it?” I say, studying his face. He squints at me and then softens his face. “No, but that is truly awful. I’m sorry.” We sit in silence when Brock says, “Well, we don’t want to keep you. It was great to see you again.” “You’re leaving already?” A deep crease between his brows shows his disappointment. “I wanted you to meet my wife, Melanie.” I suck in my breath, and my heart is racing so fast I can swear you could see it in my chest. Melanie was Troy’s lover! As if a brisk wind blew through my body, I hug myself. I must act nonplussed; he can’t see my fear. “Oh, well, I guess we can stay a while longer, right, Brock?” He turns to me and smiles. “Of course. We just didn’t want to hinder any plans.” “Oh, it’s no bother at all. I actually planned on having you for dinner. We can talk more in the study until Melanie and the kids get home, okay?” It was more of a statement than a question. “Sure,” I say. I hope my demeanor hasn’t given away my shock at learning this is the same Jeff, and the thought didn’t escape me that if he did orchestrate Troy’s death, we are no longer safe here, either. I have to get Brock alone and tell him. “Great. I’ll show you to the study, and then I have a few things I need to take care of, so if you’ll follow me …” “No problem,” Brock says, quickly interceding and ushering me to follow. I walk slowly behind Brock and Jeff as they chat about our sons. A loud  vibrates the ground, and I look towards the end of the hall, where a huge grandfather clock chimes that it’s 12:00 PM. How are we going to occupy yourselves for hours? I walk into the largest study I’ve ever seen, reminiscent of the stately libraries from old movie classics. It’s wall-to-wall shelves with books that travel to the ceiling. I could get lost in all these books. A large desk devoid of anything on it except an equally large monitor and keyboard sits in the corner with a black leather office chair under it. My high-heeled boots clank on the hardwood floor, and I second-guess why I chose to wear them. A crackling fire warms my face as I observe a rock fireplace encompassing the whole wall. A leather couch and two chairs are placed in front. I immediately picture Jane Austin’s when the Bennett sisters visit family in London and are in awe of the estate, compared to their paltry home. I don’t know how old the home is, but it looks like it’s at least from the early 20th century. “This is beautiful,” I whisper. “Yes, well done, Jeff.” Brock pats him on the back. “It’s not me who decorated this place. My wife is to take credit. She’s the designer, not me.” “Well, she’s done an amazing job,” I say, almost forgetting the proverbial elephant in the room. Jeff excuses himself, and I drag Brock over to the couch. “So, I have to tell you something you won’t like or may not believe.” Jeff had closed the door behind him, but I talk quietly anyway. “Jeff’s wife is, well, was Troy’s lover.” Brock almost looks amused as he throws his head and chuckles. “I know it for a fact, Brock. I saw Melanie’s Facebook account and pictures of her and Troy. But I also saw a comment by Jeff on one of her posts back last year when Troy was reportedly killed. He said she got what she deserved. And now, Goldie is dead, and we are sitting in the ex’s home!” I bow my head and cover my eyes. “Trice, you are obsessed with this. I had hoped that we could put all that aside when we left Grantsville and enjoy ourselves. Do you have any proof Jeff did anything?” I really didn’t have concrete evidence, but it seems too much of a coincidence for him not to be involved. I mean, his wife had an affair, and now Troy is dead. “No, but come on, Brock. He’s Melanie’s  He has the means, motive, and opportunity,” I say, listing off the words with my fingers. “Trice, we are in the man’s  Please, just let this go. You are letting your imagination run wild.” I know he’s right. I don’t have any evidence that Jeff did anything to Troy or had anything to do with his burial. But I do have a hunch, and they are rarely wrong. Still, I should let this go – for now. After sitting and not doing much except surfing on our phones, Jeff comes in and claps his hands, nearly scaring me to death. “Sorry to keep you guys in here for so long. I had some business to take care of, and sometimes, these meetings are forever. You know how that is, right, Brock?” Of course, I would have NO idea about that; I’m just a marketing consultant and spend hours in client meetings, but what I do I know. “Definitely,” Brock chimes in. Jeff looks at his Apple watch. “Well, it’s about 2:00. The kids will be home in about an hour, and I contacted Melanie and told her you were visiting. She said she would try and make it home by 5:00 for dinner. In the meantime, would you like a tour of Long Island?” “We would love that, right Trice?” I hesitate, but I don't want to ruin this for Brock. “Yes, that would be great. Thank you, Jeff.” “My pleasure. There are some beautiful places to see. Why don’t we hop in my car and check out the sites.” I think about the wisdom of getting in his car and having Jeff control where we go. “Uh, can I borrow your bathroom?” I have no clue how long we’ll be gone, so I’d better take advantage of a bathroom nearby. “Of course. I’ll show you.” I think it’s odd that he can’t just direct me, but when he shows me, I realize why he didn’t just tell me. I felt like I went through a maze to get to it. I walk inside a bathroom that’s nearly as big as my bedroom. It reminds me of the Hilton Hotel bathroom, except the counters are made from rose quartz, and when I run my hands along, it feels like it was made out of slick oil. Even though the room has only a double sink, shower, and toilet, it’s still way bigger than my master bathroom. On the way out of the home, I notice a beautiful portrait that I can only surmise is Melanie, large as life, in the foyer. Her fiery red hair flows down her back, and her emerald green eyes seem to bear into your soul. She’s wearing a long, beautiful black gown with a plunging v-neckline and ruffles at the bottom. She looks like she belongs in 1900, not today. However, I see a sadness in her eyes, not what I would expect from a modern portrait unless, again, this was 1900. This is definitely the same woman I saw on Facebook. Jeff tells us to wait while he “fires up his car.” My mouth falls open when he pulls around to the front of the house. A sleek red Maserati (yes, I know somewhat about cars) is waiting for us. I get in the backseat, feeling more comfortable not sitting by Jeff. He peels away, and I grab the side, digging my fingers into the crevice under the door handle. “So, Patrice, about your YouTube channel,” he flips his rearview mirror and stares at me, his eyes dark. How did he know about that? “Uh, Yeah, I have a gardening channel. Did Jeff tell you about that?” Brock chuckles. “Not me.” My heart starts racing, and even though it’s cold outside and Jeff hasn't turned on the heat, I can feel the sweat forming on my brow. Jeff glances back at me, a sly grin on his face. "No, but I have my ways.”