A young, pretty strawberry blonde woman sits on one of our barstools. She whips around and smiles. She’s wearing a red pencil skirt and black sheer blouse that plunges down her chest, and if I look hard enough, I’m sure I could see her bra peek-a-booing. Her emerald, green eyes are gorgeous, with smoky gray eyeliner matching the bottom of her eyelids and a light pink highlighting the top. Her lipstick has just a hint of red that makes her lips pop.
“Um, hello?” I say, trying to be courteous but then a little firm.
She turns around with a huge grin. “Oh, hi, you must be Patrice.”
“I must,” I say, coming over to the pantry and grabbing a can of dog food. Hercules isn’t barking at her at all, but then, she’s been here longer than I have, and he might have when she walked through the door.
“I’m just waiting for Brock. He forgot to get some papers for court today and ran out of gas on his way home. And since the courtroom wasn’t too far, I came and picked him up so he could get a can of gas and take it back to his car.” He could have texted me, but then I was about 20 minutes away.
“I see. And your name?”
She touches her forehead briefly with her middle finger and says, “Oh yes, sorry. I’m April.” She kind of looks like one, with her long hair, white skin, and bubbly personality. Every April I know or knew acted this way and looked this gorgeous too. “I’m Brock’s paralegal and have been helping him on this case. He’s worked really hard, and I’m sure wants it over. You can tell.” I find it amusing that she’s telling me how my husband feels.
“Yes, he has, he works nearly all night, so I rarely see him. He probably sees you more than he sees me,” I joke, well, sort of.
She giggles a little. “Yeah … “
“Hey, you’re home.” I whip around and see Brock with some papers in his hand. He comes over and kisses me on the cheek. He runs his fingers through his hair and gets out a glass, offering one to April, which she politely declines, but not me. “Ran out of gas, so April was kind enough to come get me, so I didn’t have to bother you. I got to get the gas can out of the shed. Be back.”
And it’s just April and I again. “So,” I ask, “Are you dating or married?” Jeesh, Trice, put her on the spot, why don’t you?
She smiles and shakes her head. “No, men are scum.” Well, okay …
“I mean, I hang with some of them, but not in a relationship. Done with that.” What is she, 25, and she’s already done with men? What is it with this generation? When I was her age, you found a guy, dated him, and then got married. A few years later, you popped out a kid, and viola, you had a family. Now, no one wants to get married, let alone have kids.
We sit silently until Brock comes back in with a gasoline can. “Okay, we gotta get back. See you later tonight; not sure when. See ya,” he says, with April following him out the door. I know what thoughts are invading me, and I must tell my brain to shut up. We’ve been married for 32 years. No, he’s not having an affair. April was nice enough to give him a ride back home to grab his court papers and a can of gas, that’s it. I refuse to get jealous over this.
After they leave, I head back out and start planting. It takes me an hour, but all the pots are planted, and I look back and am satisfied. My phone rings. It's Gray, and I pick up.
“Hey, Gray,” I say, sitting down to rest.
“Hi, Trice, got your voicemail. Thanks for your help.” He stops, and I can tell he’s going to say something I don’t want to hear. “Hate to say this, but we just got a warrant to arrest Deanna and search through her house.”
I'm kind of taken aback, but then not really. “Wow, I thought she was cleared.”
“Well, the thing is, we found a necklace at the scene. It was lying on top of the body, and we figured it was dropped on purpose, but Deanna’s DNA was on it when we tested it.” Wait, what?
“How? Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” I grip the phone tighter.
“Not necessarily, but we had to arrest her. It’s evidence we can’t deny.”
I’m reeling. Deanna killed her husband? It just can’t be. I then tell him what I suspect when I found more information about Bloodroot.
“Is it possible that someone killed him, laid him down in the bloodroot or rolled him around in it to disfigure him, tossed him in their trunk, drove down here, and then dumped his body into Deanna’s yard and somehow planted that necklace there to frame her? I mean, maybe they snuck in and found one of her necklaces and planted it on Troy before covering him up.” I could tell Gray was contemplating that possibility.
“Could be, but we have no way of knowing, so we must follow protocol. Since it’s hard to pinpoint a date of when Troy was killed, except that it was in the middle of June, we need to question her on an alibi for that period.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m just sure she didn’t do it, Gray.” I look over the fence to Deanna’s backyard that once was filled with kids playing and laughing, and even fighting, and feel so bad for her and the kids.
“Well, we have to rule her out then, and this is the only way.”
“She needs a good lawyer, Gray, and I know just the person.”
“Well, then you’d better call him now.”
I get off the phone but forget that Brock is in court right now. Shoot, she needs a lawyer. I text him anyway, hoping he will get it when he’s out.
DEANNA ARRESTED, NEEDS A LAWYER, NOW
Short but to the point, and I hope he can take her case. I haven’t heard from the messenger and wonder if something’s wrong. Now that there’s a search warrant, there’s no way I can get over there to look for the ring. But it may be the only thing that clears her name.
I wait impatiently for Brock to get home. I check my watch, and it’s nearly 8:00. He can’t be still in court; where is he? I made dinner around 7:00, thinking he would have come home by now. I cover everything up and put it in the fridge, and then I hear the garage door. It’s about time.
Brock comes in looking drained. His tie has been loosened, and that means he’s exhausted.
“Hi, did you get my –“
“Yes, and that is why I just got home. I got out of court at 6:00 and headed straight to the police station.” I want to kiss him right now.
“Oh, Brock, thank you!” I come over and wrap my arms around him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to bother you, it’s just …”
“I know, it’s your friend, and she’s in trouble. I have to say it’s not looking too good for her right now.” He opens the fridge and pulls out dinner and a can of Coors. It’s going to be that kind of night. “That necklace is pretty damning,” he says, then sits on the couch. I come over and sit next to him.
“But what if it was planted to make it look like she killed him?” I then tell him everything Gray and I talked about, but he looks stony-faced. “I mean, it’s more plausible than her poisoning him with arsenic, dumping his body in her front yard, and then placing a necklace there.”
“The necklace could have also fallen off while she was rolling or pushing him in or burying him,” He sighs.
“But it was placed on his chest. Why would she do that? It doesn’t make sense since it would have her DNA on it and implicate her as the killer.” I could tell Brock wanted the conversation over as he picked up the remote.
“I don’t know, Trice. Can we just have a calm night without talking about murder, investigation, being a lawyer, or Deanna, just for one night?” I have been obsessed with her case, and he can tell.
“Yeah, sorry.” He turns on the TV, and I cozy up next to him while we watch some mind-numbing movie on Hulu.
Later, I feel the familiar buzz of my phone and look over, and Brock is sound asleep. I get up and go upstairs. It’s Leah’s text message.
DEANNA’S BEEN ARRESTED!
I KNOW. I’LL CALL YOU. I text back.
It’s almost 10:00 when I call.
“Hey, so what is going on?” She almost shrieks in my ear.
“They arrested Deanna because they found a necklace on Troy's chest, and when they did a DNA analysis, it matched Deanna.
“Oh my gosh. Does that mean –“
“No,” I clap back. “It just means that somehow the killer got her necklace, which could have happened at any time, and put it there to frame her. Brock was with her at the police station for nearly two hours tonight. He said it looks bad, but I can’t believe she killed Troy. It doesn’t add up. First, she’s not that strong to lift him; second, why would she dump him in the front yard? Third, where would she find arsenic and fourth, where would she have gone that had Bloodroot … “ and then I realize she doesn’t know about that.
“Bloodroot? You mean the plant?”
“Yeah, they found lesions on his body and did a skin test, and it came back conclusive for Bloodroot, which is toxic and can be deadly in large amounts. Someone either dragged his body through it or used it to torture him, which can cause major disfiguration.”
“Oh, poor Troy.” Leah sounds as if she’s going to cry.
“Anyway, nothing adds up to her killing him,” I say. “The killer could have broken into Deanna’s house, grabbed one of her necklaces, and placed it on his chest before burying him. That makes more sense.”
“Yeah, much more. Poor Deanna and those kids!”
“I know, it’s awful.”
“Wait,” she hesitates and then says, “How did you know they did a skin test?”
Shoot, I was supposed to keep it between Gray and I. “I talked to Gray, but you can’t breathe a word of this to anyone, not even Trevor.”
“Of course not! I’m not talking to Trevor right now much as it is.” Her voice breaks.
“Uh oh, Lee, what’s going on?”
“Well, we just don’t have anything in common anymore. When the kids were here, we had a purpose and a partnership, but we rarely see each other lately. He works ten hours a day at the stupid plant, and then on the weekends, he’s golfing with his buddies. I just don’t know if we even have a relationship anymore.” She sounds so dejected, but some of what she said rings true for Brock and I. Is this what happens when the birds leave the nest? I remember when our boys hung out together, and we would take them places, and when the men were done with their workday, Brock at the firm and Trevor at the Power Plant, we would barbeque or go swimming. Now, it’s like we all lead separate lives.
“Oh, Lee, I understand. I sometimes feel the same way, but Trev loves you and is maybe just going through a rough time. Have you talked to him?”
She hesitates. “Well, no.”
“See, that’s the problem. Talk to him. Maybe he’s just waiting for you to come to him.”
“Yeah, true. Okay, it can’t hurt.”
I need to practice what I preach myself, but I’m afraid if I try and talk to Brock, he’ll bite my head off.
I get off the phone and realize it’s past 10:30, so I do my nightly routine and climb into bed, but I can’t shut off my brain. All I keep thinking about is who would take Deanna’s necklace and put it with her dead husband to frame her.
Unless … time to find out who Troy’s mistress was.
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