I’m ten minutes from McDonald’s when a police siren blares it’s lights behind me. I stare at my speedometer and notice I’m not speeding. Oh great, what then? I pull over to the side, get my license and registration, and wait.
A tall, thin policewoman instructs me to roll down my window, so I comply.
“Hello, officer, I wasn’t speeding,” I immediately spill the words.
“Yes, I know, but did you know both of your taillights are broken?" She starts writing in her notepad. "Did you get into an accident?”
"What? No!" I am stunned. I've never been in a car accident before. Did Brock do this? I don't even remember the last time he drove my truck.
"Ordinarily, I wouldn't ticket you for just one light out, but two can cause an accident, especially at night. You need to get that fixed asap." She rips off the paper and hands it to me. I gasp when I see the ticket is for $200.
"Okay, sorry, ma'am, I didn't know," I say, covering my eyes and shaking my head. My body feels on high alert, and my body now starts to shake. What is happening?
"Ma'am, are you OK?" I want to shout that I'm not and spill the whole story, but I know I can't. Who could have done this to my truck, and when or where?
"Yes, I'm just shocked. I've never been in an accident and can't understand how I have two busted taillights."
She looks me over, purses her lips, then says, “If you promise to go get that fixed right now, I'll let you go with a warning.” Oh, thank God! I didn't know how I was going to explain this to Brock.
“Yes, I promise. Thank you, officer,” and I squint to see her badge. “Thompson.” I didn’t even need to give her my license and registration. I guess she figured, what trouble can a senior citizen get into?
“Okay. Have a good day now.” I nod and roll up my window. Great, I now need to go and get these stupid taillights replaced. And I got to ask Brock if he took my truck in the last week.
I ask Siri for directions to a car repair shop near me and find one in West Valley, just a few minutes from McDonald’s. I’m still starving, so I drive through, grab a big breakfast, sit in the car, and eat it while looking up more info on Bloodroot and its effects on the skin.
Along with causing lesions on the skin, it can also cause burning in the mouth and throat, but Gray didn’t mention that. I see an image of a Bloodroot, and the white flowers are delicate with a mustard yellow center. It’s a pretty plant; if anyone didn’t know better, they would think it was completely harmless.
But why did they choose this particular plant, or maybe they didn’t; it chose them. Wherever Troy was killed, Bloodroot was growing. But that could have been anywhere from Maine to Florida- good grief, that’s several states.
I keep reading.
Sanguinaria canadensis, known to Botanists, and bloodroot as they are commonly called, are herbaceous perennials that spread using rhizomes to form colonies under the right conditions. They are indigenous to eastern North America but beware: These are poisonous plants. They bloom in spring, but their flowers and the plant are short-lived. They hang around for Spring but then retire until the following year. They are short plants growing only about 8 inches, but they blossom an impressive 3-inch flower.
Troy was killed in Spring, so it answers the question of why the plant was able to affect him. I also read that it’s found in woodlands. But, if it’s that short, how did it come in contact with his skin? Was he poisoned with the arsenic, dropped in a field of them, put in a car trunk, driven way down here, and then buried in Deanna’s yard? If so, it doesn’t make sense to try and find Bloodroot here if he wasn’t killed here. And whoever did this wanted to send a message. But what and why frame Deanna? I doubt she had any enemies. Still, I’ve got to find that ring. It’s our only lead right now.
I’ve been sitting long enough. Time to get these stupid taillights fixed.
___________________________________________
Two hours later, I’m still sitting at the repair shop. They were able to get me in, but I had to wait for two other cars ahead of me. Maybe this is a good time to tell Gray what I discovered and to call off trying to find Bloodroot in Utah.
No one else is in the waiting room, so I have some privacy. The last thing I need is prying eyes or ears to hear about murder investigation talk.
I call and wait for him to pick up.
“Chief Gray here, leave a message.” That was it, plain and simple. I leave a brief message and then sit and wait for my car to be finished.
When I think I can’t stand to sit here one more minute, the mechanic comes in with a paper and pen for me to sign. “Okay, all done.” He looks to be no older than my youngest but with stark blonde hair and dark brown ends, which I find odd on a guy. He’s about 6 feet tall and wearing overalls, and has some beads of sweat pooling on his forehead. I take the invoice, sign it, then hand him my card for him to charge. I look at the bottom where it has the total and about die. It was $500 to fix? I shake my head and figure it wouldn’t do any good to complain about it.
I get back on the road and see that it’s already 2:00. Maybe on my way home, I’ll pick up some fall plants to replace the haggard ones in my pots. I had my eye on some mums and ornamental cabbage and kale, and maybe even get some pansies; on second thought, it’s still too hot for them. I will have to wait until fall for those.
There’s a local nursery that I probably spend just as much time and money at as I do at Walmart for groceries. I like that they know about plants instead of the Lowe’s and Home Depot that when you ask them a question, they shrug and say, “Don’t know.” I think knowing something about plants should be required if you work in a nursery.
I pull up in front of Mountain Lands Nursery. I always get a little giddy when I go buy plants. I love arranging them in pots and seeing them grow in the following weeks. Since it’s still late summer, there aren't many people here. Fall planting hasn’t really begun yet when it will pick back up again. Temps will start dropping in the next month, so they usually do well if I keep my pots in a protected area, away from the sun.
I pick up some ornamental cabbage and kale that look bluish gray with a dark pink center to go in front of the pots, with purple mums in the center and yellow snapdragons in the back. I may tuck some white sweet alyssum into the sides for a cascading effect. Since I have five pots, it will take me some time to fill them.
Pulling into the driveway, I notice a car I’ve never seen before parked on the street. It’s a white Lexus crossover with tinted windows and looks to be one of the newer versions that is probably seventy grand or more. It’s parked along our curb, but is the person visiting next door, or are they at my home?
I open the garage and drive in. I get out and start grabbing plants. My black Ford F-150 needs cleaning badly, as I notice a film on the windows and dust caked on the exterior and especially by the rims. I'm a truck gal since I can put down the guardrail, load plants, mulch, hell, anything, and also load three kids in the back seat. I took them to the fair in Salt Lake City, and the only parking places available were in the dirt, so afterward, it looked like we’d gone digging (what we use to call it) or off-roading as it’s called today.
I take the plants around to the backyard, and Hercules bounds through the doggy door. He barks at me as if he is scolding me because I left – without him. “Hey, Herc, hold on, let me put these plants down.” I set them down and then crouch down and scratch his ears. “You been a good boy?” He knows what that means. I punch in the keycode to get inside the back door to the kitchen and stop and stare.
Who’s in my house?
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