PART THREE
Almost six months had passed since Troy's discovery, Deanna's arrest and release, and the arrest of Grant Lawson, who faced charges of drugging his aunt and falsely diagnosing her with dementia, a cruel manipulation facilitated by mind-altering drugs.
In the midst of this turmoil, another individual, Jeff, was brought in for questioning as Grant confessed that it was Jeff who had paid his associates $10,000 each to dispose of Troy's body and an additional $20,000 to carry out the murder. Jeff, reportedly the husband of the woman Troy had an affair with, vehemently denied any involvement, even though the investigation remained ongoing. Jeff had a compelling alibi for the crucial weekend, June 15, when Deanna and her children had gone camping. The puzzle persisted: who had orchestrated this sinister plot, and was Jeff framed?
The mystery surrounding my backyard, which was undoubtedly linked to the disposal of Troy's body, continued to gnaw at my thoughts. The texts from the messenger, particularly the one mentioning the ring Goldie messaged me months ago about and what I tried to retrieve but never could find was also on my mind.
Months had passed since the last message from the messenger, suggesting a resolution to Troy's murder, as his nephew, Grant, was now behind bars. However, the abrupt message on Valentine's Day raised new questions and concerns:
NEED YOUR HELP NOT OVER
I stared at my phone, perplexed. What did the messenger mean by "not over"? Was there another layer to this story that remained concealed from everyone?
PLEASE – I’M IN DANGER
The messenger, it appeared, had unearthed something dangerous. But how could I, a stranger, possibly assist them? The situation weighed heavily on my mind.
CAN WE MEET?
I watched the three dots indicating a response, my hesitancy mixed with a growing sense of responsibility.
PARK 8:00 AM TOMORROW MORNING
My apprehensions battled with my desire to help. Could I trust this person? What if this was all an elaborate ruse? Nevertheless, the earlier messages alluded to safeguarding their family, compelling me to take action. If the messenger was indeed in danger, it was my moral obligation to assist in any way possible.
WILL BE THERE
The following morning, my heart raced as I anticipated the messenger's revelations. However, I couldn't let my unease hinder the day's plans. I had promised to take my grandkids to the latest Disney movie, granting their parents a Valentine's Day night out. As they arrived, we embarked on our outing, enveloped by the warmth of family bonding.
Later that night, I lay in bed, engrossed in my book, when the sound of the garage door interrupted my reverie. Herc scampered downstairs to greet Brock, a routine they followed religiously. I glanced at the clock; it was nearly 10:00 PM. Our Valentine's Day had passed like any other day, devoid of flowers or cards, reflecting the dwindling romance in our 35-year marriage.
Brock entered the room, loosening his tie and placing his plate and cup on the nightstand before collapsing onto the bed, Hercules at his feet. His eyes fluttered closed. "I'm so exhausted," he muttered. "This case has been a nightmare. If we don't wrap it up this week, the trial won't begin until mid-March due to the judge's daughter's wedding in Hawaii at the end of February."
"I understand," I replied with a hint of disappointment. It had been two weeks of 12 to 14-hour workdays, and I yearned for more quality time with my husband. "But it feels like I'm a widow sometimes."
Brock's eyes opened, and he sighed deeply. "I know, and I'm sorry. After this case, I've got some vacation time. Let's plan a getaway, just the two of us."
A spark of excitement surged within me. It had been years since we'd taken a trip together. "I'd love that."
"Great. Any particular destination in mind?"
The thought of visiting New York City had always intrigued me. "How about New York? I'd love to explore the city and take in all the tourist attractions."
Brock's eyes lit up. "Sounds fantastic. It's been ages since I was there, and that was for work. I'd also like to visit Long Island and catch up with Jeff, my old buddy's son. You remember he used to hang out with our boys?"
It's twice that I've heard that name, but the years have faded memories, and I can't remember this particular Jeff. "Sure, that sounds nice."
As our plans took shape, I contemplated the tumultuous events of the past six months. Deanna's departure from her home, the unresolved mystery of the ring, and the messenger's cryptic messages weighed on my mind. The mention of Jeff's name both intrigued and disturbed me.
By the time my thoughts shifted to the upcoming meeting with the messenger, I had drifted into slumber, and it was Brock's departure for work that roused me from my restless sleep.
After my morning routine, which included arming myself with mace, I embarked on my journey to Grantsville City Park. The winter's chill lingered in the air, the roads cleared of the previous day's snowfall. Arriving at the park, I found it deserted, a foreboding sign. Only one other vehicle, presumably belonging to the messenger, occupied the parking area.
As I parked beside the car, a surge of apprehension coursed through me. I scanned the park, not daring to believe what I saw. Seated on a bench in the corner was none other than Goldie Stanton, my former elementary school teacher. Her golden hair had been the source of her name when she was born, and her identity was unmistakable despite the passage of time.
"Hi, Trice," she greeted me with a nervous smile.
"Mrs. Stanton?" My confusion and concern were palpable.
"Please, call me Goldie."
"Alright," I acquiesced, struggling to articulate my thoughts. "I never imagined..."
Goldie interrupted, acknowledging my unspoken words. "I know. Believe me, I didn't want to be involved in any of this, and I certainly didn't want to involve you. But I didn't know where else to turn. I've already had my life threatened and nearly lost it twice. You know my nephew, Grant, was responsible for Troy's murder, but what you don't know is who orchestrated it."
My suspicions were confirmed, yet I wanted to hear it from her. Her revelation about the threats and near-death experiences sent a chill down my spine.
"It was Melanie's husband, Jeff," Goldie continued, her voice laden with gravity. "Grant executed the act, with three others assisting in disposing of the body. Remember the ring I mentioned?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Well, it's never been recovered. If that ring surfaces, it will lead the authorities to his accomplices. Currently, Jeff denies any involvement, and the police can't connect him to Grant. But allowing my nephew to murder Troy is reprehensible. He must be held accountable, along with the others."
The name "Jeff" resurfaced once more, leaving me to ponder the possibility of this being the same Jeff from New York City who used to be buddies with our boys. It sounds implausible, but if he once lived here before relocating, it might just be the same individual.
"I concur," I replied, glancing around the park to ensure our privacy was maintained. "Even if we manage to find the ring and present it to the police, it would only implicate one person."
"Yes," Goldie agreed, "but I assure you, once they catch him, he'll sing like a canary and reveal the mastermind behind it all."
"True," I conceded. "But what if the others genuinely don't know who orchestrated it? Did Grant ever mention the mastermind's name?"
Goldie furrowed her brows and shook her head. "Not to my knowledge, but he could have said something to them that night or earlier when I couldn't overhear. Nevertheless, I don't think that's a critical factor. If everyone else comes forward and corroborates what Grant said about receiving $10,000 each for body disposal, it would significantly complicate Jeff's escape."
Her reasoning made sense, and I nodded in agreement. Goldie then turned to me, her gaze scanning the park and the surrounding area to ensure our safety.
"I'm sharing this with you because if something were to happen to me, I want someone else to know the truth," she confided. "Now that Grant is in prison, it's just me. I have security measures in place, and the police regularly patrol my vicinity, but they can't provide long-term protection. I'm a target if these individuals become aware that I possess this knowledge. I've already faced a near-fatal incident when an intruder broke into my home. Fortunately, Grant was there and managed to intervene. Then, when Officer Lopez, Chief Errington, and I were at the police station, someone hurled a smoke grenade through the window. I suffered from smoke inhalation and had to undergo oxygen therapy due to the toxic substances in the grenade. Someone even followed us home and monitored my residence. I'm far from safe."
I was taken aback by the harrowing experiences Goldie had endured. Her foreboding words about her safety made me shiver.
"You must inform Chief Errington of your concerns," I urged.
"He's aware and doing everything within his power," Goldie assured me. "However, we don't reside in a bustling metropolis with an abundance of police officers. I'll ensure my doors are always locked and set the alarm when I leave. I've equipped myself with mace and even a firearm. I'm taking every possible precaution to safeguard myself. But in the event that something does happen, I want you to have some leverage or evidence. I'm currently recording our conversation," she disclosed, producing a small rectangular recorder I hadn't seen in years. "I opted not to use my phone for this. I want you to have this recorder. If I meet an unfortunate end, take it to Chief Errington. It contains the names of everyone involved in Troy's death." She pressed the stop button on the recorder.
After cautiously scanning our surroundings, Goldie placed the recorder on the bench and pushed it toward me. I discreetly retrieved it and slipped it into my pocket while keeping a vigilant eye on the eerily quiet park as the snow began to fall.
Goldie embraced me, her parting words casting a haunting pall over the day.
"It may be my time."
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