My heart races with worry. I pray to God that the news article doesn't refer to Goldie, but a sinking feeling tells me otherwise. She never reached her destination, and I can't help but question the authenticity of the text message. Does this person know me? Panic starts to well up inside me, and I rush around my house, making sure all doors and windows are securely locked.
As I read the article, it confirms my worst fears. The body was found in a Home Depot parking lot, just as Brock had mentioned seeing Goldie's car there. It's undoubtedly her, and I can't shake the fear that this person may also know where I live. Have they been watching my home, waiting for an opportunity? The only individuals with a motive to harm Goldie are the ones named on the recording, along with Jeff Patterson. But would he travel all the way to Grantsville just to kill her? It's an unsettling thought.
I continue reading the article, and a chilling realization sets in. Someone discovered the body in the passenger seat and initially thought she was asleep. But upon closer inspection, they realized she had been shot in the head. The thought that Goldie knew she was going to die pulls at my heart, and tears stream down my face. I can't imagine the fear and despair she must have felt in those final moments.
As I ponder how the killer found her and whether she really sent that text, I remember her words about delivering the recorder to Chief Errington if anything happened to her. I rush upstairs to retrieve the recorder from my bathroom, then head back downstairs, hastily bundling up in my coat and gloves. I glance out my living room window to ensure no one is watching before getting into my car.
I drive cautiously, constantly checking my rearview mirror for any signs of being followed. Thankfully, there's no one behind me as I pull into the police station, praying that justice will be served.
I ask for Chief Errington, but Officer Lopez arrives instead, inquiring about my purpose. She reminds me of a police detective from one of those crime-solving TV shows. Her black hair is pulled into a tight ponytail, and her flawless brown skin has a natural beauty. I marvel that she doesn’t need any makeup when her big, brown eyes scrutinize me. I explain that I have something to give to him from Goldie Stanton. Her eyes widen with surprise, and she promises to inform the chief. He comes out and waves me into his office.
"Trice," Gray greets me when I walk inside.
"Hey, Gray." I search in my purse for the recorder, which I had slipped into my wallet before leaving for the station. "This was given to me by Goldie yesterday morning. She instructed me to give it to you if anything were to happen to her. It contains the names of everyone involved in Troy's murder." I slide it towards him.
Gray takes the recorder and listens to the contents, his expression growing grimmer as he hears what I had heard. After the recording finishes, he places his hands behind his head in thought.
"This is likely the reason someone killed her," I suggest.
"Yeah, it certainly seems that way. We only have first names, but if I can get Grant to provide their last names, we can bring them in for questioning. He'll probably want a plea deal, even after what he did to Troy. I'll need some time to figure this out. Thank you, Trice, for delivering this to me.” Worry is etched on his face. “But since you had contact with her, you might be in danger now. I'll have Officer Lopez follow you home and keep an eye on the area for a while."
"Okay, thanks," I reply. I get up and follow Officer Lopez outside. Gray accompanies us.
"Trice," Gray says before I leave the building.
"Yeah?"
"Be careful. This person is very dangerous, and they won't hesitate to case out your home and ensure you're alone."
I gulp and nod. "I understand. I've informed Brock, and he mentioned he might try to take some vacation time so we can leave the area for a while."
"All right, let me know your plans.”
"I will," I assure him. I walk to my car and wait for Officer Lopez to follow me home, cranking up the heat while watching through my windshield. A few cars pass by, but nothing appears suspicious.
On the way home, I check my rearview mirror multiple times and see Officer Lopez's car following at a reasonable distance. When I arrive home, I press the garage door remote to enter, but Officer Lopez parks behind me and signals for me to stop. I slam on my brakes, and she approaches my car. I lower the window with a push of a button.
"Don't pull into the garage until I've checked it out to ensure it's safe," she advises. I find her caution sensible, so I await her inspection before proceeding. She motions for me to drive in once everything is clear, and I obey, but she stops me again.
"Let me go in first to make sure everything is secure," she says. I nod and wait, contemplating whether I should close the garage door while I wait. Deciding it's safer, I lower myself to the front of the car, feeling slightly absurd. A few minutes later, Officer Lopez returns.
"Okay you can come in now. But make sure to close the garage door behind you," she instructs.
I press the button, closing the garage door behind me, feeling a sense of security with Officer Lopez present, knowing she's armed and prepared for any potential threat.
Herc bounds toward me but growls when he spots Officer Lopez. She wisely extends her hand, palm down, allowing Herc to sniff it. After a moment of interaction, Herc's demeanor relaxes, and Officer Lopez gently rubs his back.
"Everything looks clear," Officer Lopez informs me. "I'll be out front, keeping an eye on your property and neighbors. How long will you be alone?"
I consider the schedule I keep with my grandkids. "I pick up my grandkids from school and watch them on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. So, I'm alone from about 3:30 to 6:30. My husband, a Salt Lake City attorney, sometimes works late and doesn't come home until around 9:00. He leaves for work at about 8:30, so I'm alone most mornings and afternoons."
Officer Lopez glances out the window. "All right, I'll give you my cell number. Keep your doors locked, and don't answer the door for anyone. If you hear anything outside that sounds unusual, call me immediately. I'll be here for a few hours, then I have a meeting at the station. After that, I'll return to patrol the area. When you pick up the grandkids, I'll be here watching the house. How far is the kids' school?"
I provide an estimate, noting that it's about four miles away.
"Okay," Officer Lopez acknowledges. "I'm sure you leave a bit early to get in line for pickup."
"Yeah," I confirm, "I usually leave around 3:00 and wait for about 15 minutes before they get out at 3:15."
"Got it. Just pick them up as usual, but stay aware of your surroundings. Look out for any cars following closely or appearing to watch you or the school."
My anxiety deepens as I consider the potential risk to my grandkids. Taking them to their house seems unsafe, as it could lead the threat straight to their location.
Officer Lopez gives the all-clear signal and departs, emphasizing the importance of locking the door immediately after her exit. I follow her instructions and then find myself with over five hours to kill until I pick up the grandkids. I feel trapped, like a prisoner in my own home.
Realizing I can't jeopardize my grandkids' safety, I decide to call my son, Eric, and fill him in on the situation. I send him a text and request an urgent call.
A few minutes later, my son, Eric, phones me. "Mom? Are you okay? What about the kids?"
"I'm fine, and the kids are okay, but there are some things you need to know." I proceed to share all the details with him, and the phone call falls momentarily silent.
"Mom, this isn’t good. Okay, um, I think it's best if the kids don't come over then," Eric eventually responds. "Since you have the police there patrolling the area, that makes me feel a little better. If my kids are in danger, though, I need to get them out. Let me call Steph, and I'll call you back."
I agree to his decision, telling him I love him. I anxiously await his call.
A few minutes later, he rings back. "Mom, I'll pick up the kids from school and take them to Steph's parents. They'll look after them until we can figure out what to do."
"Okay. I'm sorry about all of this."
"I just want you and the kids to be safe."
"I completely understand."
"Mom, you need to tell Dad now. You can't stay home alone."
"I know, and I will."
"Love you, Mom. Stay safe."
Tears well up in my eyes. "I will. Love you too."
With the knowledge that the kids will be safe elsewhere, I dial Brock's number and deliver the news to him.
"Damn, Trice, what's going on?" he exclaims.
"I don't know, but whoever is involved in Troy's death won't stop."
"I have court all week, so I can't be home. But next week, we're taking time off. I'll make sure of it."
"Okay. I'll be fine with Officer Lopez here, but I don't dare venture out. Who knows what will happen."
"Just stay inside, keep the doors locked, and only pick up the phone if you know who it is. Promise me."
"I promise," I assure him. Now that Goldie is gone, I doubt anyone will try messaging me unless... that message I received from Goldie's phone the day she died wasn't actually from her.
A sudden shiver runs through me, causing me to tremble. If this individual has possession of Goldie's phone, they could have access to all our text messages, especially if Goldie failed to delete them. My phone number is also stored in her contacts.
I send a silent prayer that Gray can obtain those last names swiftly.
Two people have already met a grim fate.
I can't shake the chilling thought …
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