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