The words Goldie shared with me at the park would linger in my memory for a long time. I wish we could offer her a safe haven in our home. We have the space, but she had been confined to her own home for the past year, and leaving behind the residence she had known for decades would undoubtedly be challenging. Moreover, bringing her into our home would only make us more susceptible to danger, given the risks we already faced.
I make my way back home before the snowfall worsens. My thoughts keeps returning to that elusive ring. With the ground now frozen, searching for it would have to wait until spring. I reach into my pocket, feeling for the small recorder that Goldie had entrusted to me.
Upon my arrival home, Herc greets me with an enthusiastic wag of his tail. I bend down to scratch his ears and prepare hot chocolate before settling at the kitchen table. With the recorder in hand, I switch it on and begin listening to Goldie's message.
"This is Goldie Stanton, and I possess the names of the individuals involved in Troy Carmichael's death and burial," her voice resonated from the recorder. "In the event of my demise, I have instructed Patrice Summers to deliver this recorder to Chief Errington. I cannot ascertain the extent of these individuals' knowledge, but I have been threatened and nearly killed twice. They must not escape justice for Troy's murder and the disposal of his body. Following these names, please continue listening, for I have also recorded my conversation with Ms. Summers. She is now privy to the same information you will hear shortly."
The recording paused briefly before resuming, and I heard Goldie's voice again. "If I should pass away, my children will inherit my home. Although I have made a will, these are my spoken wishes. I am of sound mind, and my only desire is for my family to be secure and protected."
She proceeded to reveal the names of those involved - Ely, Colton, Petra, and Greg. Although unsure of their last names, she suggested that her nephew might possess that information. Goldie emphasized her quest for justice for Troy and her determination to shield her family from the grim truth.
I stop the recording, realizing the gravity of what had been shared. Considering all the novels and TV shows I have seen, I need to find a secure hiding place. It needs to be a location where no one would think to look or dare to search. My bathroom comes to mind. Although I no longer had a menstrual cycle, I still kept some medical supplies for other purposes.
Climbing the stairs, I enter the bathroom and open the bottom drawer. Extracting a Preparation H tube from its container from the farthest corner, I replace it with the small recorder Goldie had given me. It fit snugly, and I conceal it at the back of the drawer where it would remain unnoticed.
Returning downstairs, I switch on the TV and gaze out at the gently falling snow. I appreciated the beauty of winter, particularly the warmth of hot chocolate, a cozy blanket, and engaging murder mysteries. Herc curled up beside me. His multicolored fur, a mix of black, brown, and white, held fond memories of the day I first saw him, and I cherished his presence.
Later, I awake from an unplanned nap and discover my phone buzzing. I grab it swiftly, noticing a text message from Goldie.
"GOING OUT OF TOWN FOR THE REST OF THE WEEK – BE BACK LATER," her message read. Although somewhat surprised, I understood her need to distance herself from potential threats. Perhaps she is going to visit her sons. Although unaware of their whereabouts, her safety is paramount.
I reply, "ENJOY YOUR WEEK," hoping she would remain safe during her absence.
In the afternoon, I pick up my grandchildren from school, navigating the slippery roads caused by the accumulating snow. I detest driving in such conditions but ensure their safe arrival home.
Upon returning, the children eagerly indulge in hot cocoa with cookies, adhering to my rules of orderly eating in the living room. They each grab a coaster, plate, and napkin.
I glance at Connor, who seems fixated on something outside.
"What are you looking at, Con?" I inquire.
He points and I follow his gaze, spotting the same cat from last year circling a corner of my backyard. It struck me as peculiar, given the cold and snowy weather.
"Don't go anywhere, Con," I caution before stepping outside to investigate. Hercules follows me through the doggy door.
As I approach, I discover a lifeless bird, perhaps a crow, lying in the snow. Herc begins sniffing it. Something doesn't add up – dogs typically hunted birds, but Herc hadn't been outside all day and showed no interest in bird hunting. I shoo the cat away, and it retreats into a nearby tree.
Disliking the handling of deceased birds, I fetch a shovel from the shed and dispose of it in the garbage can, wiping away any traces of blood with my foot, which I then conceal beneath the freshly fallen snow. Returning indoors, I feel a chill that has nothing to do with the weather.
As I contemplate the strange occurrence, Herc follows me inside.
"Was that a bird?" Connor inquires, staring at me with curiosity.
"Yes, perhaps a crow. I think something killed it – maybe the cat that's often in our tree," I explain. Connor shrugs, seemingly unfazed.
"Come on, it's cold," I urge, holding my mug and cookies, and we retreat to the warmth of the living room.
Later that night, after the kids leave, I resume my reading in bed, a nightly ritual. The clock nears 9:00, and the garage door announces my husband's return. Brock's relentless work schedule weighs on my mind; I worry about his health and wish he would slow down. As he approaches 61, I fear the toll his demanding job could take on him, especially since he was seldom home.
A few minutes later, he enters the room. "Hey, hon, how was your day?" he asks, climbing onto the bed and kissing me.
"Good." I hesitate about mentioning my earlier conversation with Goldie to Brock, wondering if I should finally open up to him. He's my husband, and I've already kept so much from him. Perhaps it's time to share. I set the book on my nightstand.
He studies my expression, his brows furrowing. "Uh-oh, I don't like your tone."
"Sorry, but I need to tell you some things I've been keeping from you. I know I should have said something sooner, but I was worried." I take a deep breath and proceed to reveal everything I know, including the existence of the recorder. After hearing my account, he lowers his head and shakes it.
"Trice, why didn't you tell me sooner? I can't believe you've held onto this for so long." He leans over and hugs me, surprising me with his lack of anger.
"I was trying to protect Goldie, but Brock, she's in grave danger, and I don't know how to help her."
"Well," he says, "you mentioned that Chief Errington is keeping a close eye on her, right? There's nothing more you can do except let them handle it."
"She texted me shortly after leaving the park and told me she was going out of town for the rest of the week, which I thought might be safer."
Brock looks at me curiously. "When was that?"
"About 10:30 this morning."
He taps his chin thoughtfully. "That's odd, because I saw her car parked at the Home Depot off State Street around noon. I had just come back from the courthouse and thought about grabbing lunch at Daniels." I furrow my brow, wondering how Brock knows what Goldie's car looks like and why he didn't contact me to meet for lunch. He usually has an hour, sometimes more, between court sessions. Maybe he quickly grabbed lunch and returned to work. However, my thoughts quickly pivot back to Goldie.
"How do you know what her car looks like?"
Brock gives me an incredulous look. "Come on, Trice, she's had that car for years. Plus, her license plate is pretty memorable." He's right; Goldie's license plate spells out "GOLDIE," and her car is, fittingly, a gold Toyota Camry. She had to order it from another state because no local dealer carried that color.
"Well, perhaps she stopped at Home Depot before heading out," I suggest. "I assume she's visiting her kids, although I don't know where they live. Maybe they're in Salt Lake since she mentioned going 'out of town,' not 'out of state.'" In hindsight, Goldie being at Home Depot doesn't make much sense.
Brock nods. "Could be."
I contemplate sending Goldie a message to check on her and make sure she arrived safely at her destination. However, it's likely late on the East Coast, so I decide to wait until morning. She may be tired and already asleep.
As I watch the snow fall gently outside, I can't help but wonder how much more snow we'll get overnight.
The following morning, I wake up to find Brock gone again. I yawn and rub my eyes, feeling like I had a restless night, even though I can't recall any dreams. My memory for dreams has been fading as I age.
I reach for my phone to check for messages and find none. Glancing at the clock, I see it's nearly 7:30. It's probably not too early to send Goldie a text. I type a quick message:
JUST CHECKING TO SEE HOW YOU ARE AND IF YOU MADE IT TO WHEREVER YOU WERE GOING.
I wait for a few minutes, but I don't get a response. She might still be asleep, so I get up and look outside. It's a beautiful, sunny morning. Realizing I need a shower, I gather my clothes and head into the bathroom.
After my shower, I recheck my phone, hoping for a reply, but there are no new messages. A sense of unease settles in my stomach, but I try to push it aside. If I don't hear from Goldie by tonight, I'll try reaching out to her again.
I head downstairs to grab some breakfast and open my laptop. As I glance out through the sliding door in the kitchen, I notice a significant amount of snow that must have fallen overnight.
I spend some time browsing the internet and then decide to check the latest news on the KSL website to see if there are any reports about the recent storm. At the top of the page, one particular story catches my attention. The headline reads:
Body Found in Car
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