At five minutes to 3:00 p.m., Leah and I plop down on her couch with iced tea and cookies.
The TV is on Channel 2, and we sit in anticipation for the press conference that will either
confirm or deny the dead male body found in Deanna’s front yard is Troy.
“Oooo, here we go,” Leah says, increasing the volume. Gray is standing at the podium with the press snapping their cameras. I listen intently to the medical examiner’s findings.
“Wednesday morning, police got a call from the home of Deanna Carmichael at approximately 8:30, when Ms. Carmichael explained that as she was digging in her front yard, she found a human hand. She immediately contacted the police and was cooperative when they arrived. A male body was discovered and taken to the medical examiner’s office for DNA testing and an autopsy.
We now know that the victim is approximately 35 years old, 6 feet tall, has sandy brown hair, and has a medium build. Toxicology tests came back positive for arsenic poisoning, which is colorless, tasteless, clear, and has no smell. He has been deceased for about 54 days, and decomposition was rapidly occurring due to being in the elements. DNA forensic evidence has identified the victim as that of Troy Carmichael, the ex-husband of Deanna Carmichael.”
“I knew it!” I punch the couch. Leah’s eyes look dilated as her hand clamps over her mouth. Suddenly, I remember the riddle from the text message, and my stomach drops as if I just flew down a roller coaster. This person knows what he was poisoned with. OMG, what if I have been talking to the killer this whole time? I return my attention to the screen.
“Police have taken Deanna Carmichael in for questioning, and we ask the public that if they have any information about this case to contact Grantsville Police.
Thank you.”
The press starts in all at once, but Gray quiets them saying he would take a few questions, but then they wouldn’t hear from him until the investigation is complete.
Leah shuts off the TV and turns to me. “You were right. I can’t imagine who would do this. I mean, Deanna doesn’t have it in her to poison him and then dump his body in her own backyard.”
“Yeah, Deanna doesn’t seem the type. But then who?” Shivers flood my body just thinking about everything that has transpired, especially these cryptic messages that keep popping up on my phone. Who is doing this and is it the same person who dumped Troy’s body? Another vision pops into my head, that of the night before when I knew I saw someone in my backyard. Have they come back to the scene of the crime? And why did they sneak around in my yard? So many questions swirl in my head. The phone buzzing in my pocket snaps me out, as I stare at the one-line message:
TOLD YOU SO
I slightly gasp but it was enough for Leah to say, “What happened?” Should I tell her? Maybe if she knows, I can have a witness … just in case.
“I never told you this before, but I’ve been getting text messages since the discovery from an unknown number.” I give her the phone.
“What?” Leah holds the phone up. “Trice, this is serious. You need to tell Gray about the messages.” I know she’s right, but I keep feeling that this person has to know more, and if I tell Gray, I won’t find out what.
“Please, just hear me out. This person obviously has more information and confides in me, so I must follow this through.”
“Trice, what if this person is the killer? Did you think about that?” I did, but my instinct tells me they aren’t. “He or she could be luring you in so that you will trust them. I mean, I really don’t understand why they are even messaging you but be careful.” She hugs me, and I feel guilty for making her so concerned.
“I will, but Lee, I really feel this person is helping to solve the crime. I don’t know why they chose me, but I have to keep this under wraps, OK? I haven’t even told Brock.” I feel worse that I haven’t told my husband, but he will say what Leah did and then take it one step further and go to Gray himself.
I can’t let that happen.
I go back to the house. The kids are watching a movie, the same as when I left them. I figured they would be fine while I watched the press conference for a few minutes.
I find them riveted to the TV when I come down the stairs. This was probably the fourth time they had watched Encanto in the past two weeks. Claire was dancing, and the boys were mimicking their sister dancing. “Get your groove on, boys,” I chuckle. They immediately stop, embarrassed.
Later that evening, when the grandkiddos leave, I prepare for the Beginners to Gardening club I started five years ago. Several ladies and a few men were interested, so we get together every week for an hour or two, rotating between homes and chatting about gardening. We have about fifteen in the club, but only about eight show up religiously. I get it; people have lives and sometimes can’t make it.
This week, the lesson is about using a drip system for plants. It saves water and ensures that each plant gets an accurate amount of consistent water. Plus, some plants don’t like overhead watering.
I start out the door but quickly send a message to this anonymous sender.
OK, I’LL BITE.
_______________________
When I get to Leah’s home, I hear the chatter of women and men talking about none other than Troy. I can already tell we won’t discuss gardening much.
“Hi, guys,” I interrupt.
“Hey, Trice,” Caroline pipes up. She’s the most active in our club and is my assistant, as she’s dubbed herself. She’s about a decade younger than me and owns a tech start-up company and has been successful so far. Her brunette hair is straight as a pin and just touches her chin. Her deep green eyes stand out amidst the dark brown eyeliner and smoky gray and rose eyeshadow she couples with pure black mascara. She almost looks exotic with her porcelain skin.
“So, what do you think, Trice?” Laurie turns to me. It’s like she thinks I’ve been sitting here the whole time.
“About what?” I sit down in one of the chairs Leah has provided.
“About Troy being dumped in Deanna’s front yard, of course.” Laurie chuckles a little, and her dimples show slightly. She’s closer to Caroline’s age and has the popular cheerleader look we all love to hate. Her blonde hair snakes down her back, and she’s her skin is tanned from all the outdoor recreation she does. She and her husband, Ken, and their two children, 5-year-old Brooke and 3-year-old Ashley are mini me’s of Laurie. She dresses them the same, and their equally long, blonde hair shines. They all could be models.
“Well, I’m not sure. It’s definitely weird that this happened two months ago, but I don’t think Deanna had anything to do with it. If you would have seen her face. She looked shocked to her core.”
“Yeah, makes sense, but the divorce was messy, and no one had seen or heard from Troy since then. It was like he …”
“Vanished,” Yolanda finishes the sentence, staring off into space. Out of everyone in the group, Yolanda is the one who won’t take crap from anyone. Coming from a law enforcement family, her father taught her at a young age to defend herself, especially since they lived in the Bronx. When she was a teenager, they moved to Utah as her father took a job as the local police chief of Grantsville until he retired, and his son, Carson, took his place. That was twenty years ago.
Yolanda confided in me that her brother would have probably led the gang life if they hadn’t moved. She’s in her late forties now, at least 5 inches taller than me, but still has the skin of someone in their 30s. Her brown skin is nearly flawless, and her short, curly hair frames her oval face perfectly. Her chocolaty eyes are large, with the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen, and no, they’re not fake.
“Exactly,” Leah chimes in.
“What gets me is that someone was bold enough just to dump his body in their front yard. I mean, they had to have done it at night, but no one heard anything? It just doesn’t make sense.” Heather, the youngest of the group, is like me. We love to watch true crime, and sometimes, after the meeting has ended, we will chat about the latest podcast episode.
I’m envious of her youth and exuberance. She’s 27 or 28 years old and has an athlete's body. Her wavy ombre hair of blonde, brown, and black goes just past her shoulders, and her striking blue eyes are devoid of makeup. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her wear any, but she doesn’t need it. Her heart-shaped skin is olive, and her legs, her most prominent feature besides her eyes, go on forever. Of course, she’s 5’11, but with heels, she towers over everyone.
“Nothing makes sense,” and before I can stop myself, I instantly regret what comes out of my mouth next. “I talked to Gray, and I think he knows more than what he’s leading on.”
“Really?”
“What, tell us?”
“I knew it!”
I become bombarded with questions from everyone in the group. Shoot, why didn’t I just keep my big mouth shut?
I clasp my hands together. “Well, it’s just how he acted when I talked to him.” I mean, I did bother him at work, so I can see why he was impatient. “Right before I got off the phone, he said something that’s been bothering me.” All ten eyes are on me, waiting. “I told him I wish I knew who it was that was buried in Deanna’s backyard and his only words were, “If you only knew.”
“Okay, he had to have known it was Troy then. Did he see the body when it was in the bag? I mean, that makes sense he would say that,” Laurie says.
“Yeah, true, but it was the way he said it, as if this wasn’t a surprise that it was him. We all knew the marriage was in trouble a few years prior to the divorce, and I heard my fair share of yelling from both, but there has to be more to the story. I’m about 99% sure Deanna didn’t kill him, but then who did? He worked for the IRS, so maybe someone he audited it had it out for him.” Even as I said the words, I didn’t really believe them.
“I heard that he had a gambling addiction, and partly why Deanna divorced him. He spent much of their savings on gambling, which was supposed to be the kid’s college fund. Maybe a loan shark got him,” Heather shrugged. Good grief, Heather and I need to quit watching so much true crime.
“I didn’t know that,” Yolanda says. “But if that’s true, whoo boy, those thugs will kill and ask questions later.” She purses her lips together. We all nod.
It wasn’t a secret that our little group didn’t have much love for Troy, seeing as he had an affair and then left Deanna and the kids. However, we never wanted him dead either.
We talk some more and barely even mention gardening. What could I expect? Next week, we can chat about drip systems.
Around 10:00, I say my goodbyes, with Leah saying we will discuss gardening next time.
As I dart across the street, my phone buzzes, and I instinctively know who it is.
READY FOR ANOTHER RIDDLE?
No comments:
Post a Comment