Chapter Forty-Eight: We Have to Find It

 

The only two people who know about the ring, besides Grant and the one who dropped it, are me and, well, Goldie, who was killed. I have to tell Brock, so I bring it up after Officer Lopez heads back to her car for her nightly patrol.

"I have to tell you something, and don't get mad." He looks at me and sighs. I've kept too much from him.

"Trice..."

"When Goldie was alive and sending me text messages, she sent me a riddle, and I guessed it but couldn't say anything because it would have put her in more danger, so I kept it to myself. The night Jeff's band of merry thugs dumped Troy's body and buried it, one dropped his wife's ring. He was going to get it resized the following day, but somehow, when he was pulling out stuff from his pocket, it fell out. No one has been able to find it since. We have to find it – it's the only way to implicate Jeff."

"Good grief, Trice. What else aren't you telling me?" he takes off his glasses and stares me down, his arms crossed.

"That's it. I swear." I raise my hands in surrender. "But I had to protect Goldie. Now that she's gone, it's up to us to get justice for her and Troy."

"How can we find it? There's at least 4 inches of snow on the ground."

"I don't know, but we have to try. This nightmare won't end unless we can find it and give it to Gray, so he can arrest Jeff."

Brock closes his eyes, and I know he's weary of everything that's happened. "This whole thing is maddening. We can't leave our home, can't see our kids or grandchildren, and must listen to everything and watch out for anyone. And now," he says, holding up his finger, "we need to find a stupid ring in the snow. Great, just great."

"I'm sorry, hon. I really am. I was just doing my best to protect Goldie. She was a loose string, and now, we are."

"Fine, but let's at least wait for the snow to melt some." He pulls up our home weather station on his phone. "It looks like clear skies are in the forecast for the next several days. Let's hold off and let the police do their job of being our lookout. Plus, if they're here day in and day out, they will notice us going next door. But why can't we just tell Gray, and he can get several investigators searching for it? Why involve us at all?" He makes a point. But then I come back to reality.

"If any of those guys are casing the house and they see police next door looking around, it will set them off. Who knows if they will tell Jeff, and he sends someone else to finish the job - that of killing us to protect his secret. Right now, there is only circumstantial evidence that he was involved. We have to build a case on him."

"God, Trice, you sound like a criminal investigator." I don't know whether to thank or slug him in the arm for being a butthead.

"At least someone is trying to figure this out," I raise my voice, and Herc perks his head around and stares at me. He knows when Brock and I fight; most of the time, he leaves the room if we get too loud.

"That's what the police are for," he says through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, but they're minutes away when seconds count," I bite back.

"Gray and Officer Lopez have done an amazing job, Trice. Stop trying to play the hero." That hurts, and I become silent.

After a few minutes, Brock rubs his eyes and turns to me. "Look, I know you're trying to help, but you're jeopardizing our family. I love you, and I'm trying to protect you, but I can't if you keep me in the dark and then go silent when I give you some hard truths. You're not a criminal investigator or the police. Please, let them do their job." I hate when he's right.

“Fine. But we have to find the ring, not them. Once that happens, I will turn it over to Gray and be done with it. Deal?” I hold out my hand, and he shakes it.

“Deal.”

But the rest of the night, I can’t stop thinking about the ring and where it could be. By now, it could have sunk deep into the earth.

A few days later, the snow had melted enough for Brock and I to search. We haven’t seen anyone around, and I feel a bit safer, especially with the police parked out front; however, I know they can’t do that indefinitely.

Tomorrow would have been when we returned from NYC if all had gone to plan. It’s a Tuesday, and Brock goes back to work the next day. It’s been nice having him around. We’ve bonded more this last week than we have for years. It sparked a flame that I felt was smoldering for quite some time.

It’s nearing nighttime when I broach Brock about going out to search for the ring. There’s just a skiff left of snow on the ground. It’s a perfect time before the next storm is supposed to arrive this weekend.

“Okay, but we can’t just walk over to the house. We will have to go out back and climb the fence into their backyard.” Oh great, more fence climbing. “Remember, another family has moved in there, so we may need to do it closer to midnight. Can you handle that?”

“Sure. I’ll just down a cup of coffee to keep me awake.”

“We’re going to need a small cultivator to dig and maybe a trowel and shovel – not big, though,” he says.

“Okay.”

“And we’ll need to wear light shoes but dress in layers as it will be cold.”

“I know.” I have to remind myself that he’s trying to protect me and not take control. I don't dare think what would have happened if he hadn’t been at Jeff’s with me.

I barely touch my food, the knot in my stomach growing more intense. But I need to calm down. Brock can’t have a nervous nelly while we’re looking for the ring. I dress in layers when it’s nearing midnight. I downed a cup of straight black coffee an hour ago, and I’m more awake now. I silently pray we will find it and not get caught doing so.

At exactly midnight, we slip out back, telling Herc to be a good boy and stay in the house. And to ensure he does, I slip the cover down over his dog door. He whines, and I bend down and rub his head. “Sorry, bud, you have to stay here. We’ll be back.” I hope he doesn’t bark loudly and wake anyone up. Our windows are nearly soundproof, but Herc can bark pretty loudly, too. “No bark,” I wag my finger at him, and he sits on his hind legs and whimpers.

I quietly close the door and follow Brock to the east side of our house. This 6-foot gate is better than the 10-foot gate we traversed at Jeff’s. I shimmy my way up and find it easy to toss my legs over the side and jump down – this time straight on my feet. The biting cold nips at my face, but the rest of my body is warm. I had put on a T-shirt, hoodie, coat, and spandex athletic pants I bought to get in shape but never wore, and jeans.

I look at the house. All the lights are off, as far as I can tell. I’m shivering, even though I’m layered up.

“Follow me,” Brock whispers. We go around to the side, and Brock flips the gate handle up as if he’s performing surgery, slowly but methodically. He peers out. “Okay, I don’t see anyone, but that doesn’t mean a squad car isn’t next door or hiding on the street somewhere. But to ensure we’re not seen, we need to crawl to where Troy was dumped.”

“Oh, joy,” I say, sarcasm dripping from my lips. The last thing I want is to get down on my hands and knees and crawl. But I follow Brock’s lead and do exactly that. I had put on gloves, so at least my hands were covered, but it didn’t feel too good on my knees. I ignore the rough feeling and soldier on, as my father would always say. Can’t wasn’t a word in our home. He was in the military and ran his house like one, and he expected things to be done right the first time. It taught me respect, work ethic, and doing things correctly, which carried over to adulthood and my professional life.

We get to the area where Troy was buried, but its covered over as if nothing was ever unearthed here. This is going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack. “Okay, how about I work my way on this side, and you go on the opposite side and cover the area and meet in the middle,” Brock says in a hushed tone.

“Okay,” I say quietly. How on earth are we supposed to find anything in this dark? If Brock turns on the flashlight, it may give off too much light. I want to laugh at the absurdity of two over 50-year-olds crawling in the dead of night in their neighbor’s front yard, looking for a ring that’s been missing for close to a year now. It sounds crazy.

Brock pulls off the backpack he had slung over his shoulder and opens it up. He pulls out the shovel, trowel, and cultivator. He takes the shovel, and I take the cultivator and work digging in the ground. I try to remember how big the hole was last year and feel around for any bumps or irregularities in the ground. Since it’s winter, all the plants have died back, making it a little easier to search the area.

The ground is still pretty frozen, and I find myself sweating after breaking up as much soil as possible with the cultivator. After a while, my arms start aching, and my knees start to burn from the pressure.

I don't know how long it's been, and I think about giving up when I hear Brock gasp. “Trice, I feel something.” I crawl over to him. “I can’t see anything though. Can you shield me so I can turn on the flashlight for a minute? Just act as my cover so the light isn’t illuminated.” I get close to him and use my back as a cover while he pushes a button and lights up the ground. Hopefully, I’m blocking out enough light because I too see something gold about 3 inches down.

“I found it,” Brock whispers excitedly. The light goes off. Okay, we need to replace the soil and try and tamp it down as much as possible." I go back to my area and try and push the soil back into where I was digging and pat it down.

When I'm satisfied. I whisper to Brock, "I'm done."

"Yeah, I think I am too." We both inspect each other's area, and to anyone looking at us and seeing two people crawling past each other, they'd think we look ridiculous, and they'd be right.

"I think it looks about the same as before we started digging," I say, wanting to get up and stretch. "Let’s get out of here.” I follow Brock out of the yard, crouching low, when I hear a car coming down the street and freeze. Maybe it’s a police car patrolling. “Get down as flat as possible,” Brock says. He drops to the ground, and I do the same, waiting. My knees hurt, and I feel flutters in my stomach. I silently pray we don’t get caught.

Shortly after, the car drives by, and again, it’s silent. I let out a breath. Brock rises to his knees again, and I follow suit. I can’t believe our luck.

This time, we crawl over to our property line instead of returning to the backyard. “If we crouch low, we can get back inside the house quickly." He gets up to a crouching position, and like a large cat eyeing its prey, he darts across our driveway and hides behind the bushes in our yard, covering the bay window. I follow his lead. He flips his head from side to side. "I don’t see a car, do you?”

“No,” I say, pivoting my head around.

“Okay, let’s get to the front door; I’ll punch in the code, and we can quickly get inside.”

It takes seconds but feels like minutes when he opens the door, and we dash inside, Brock closing and locking it behind me. We had left a light on, and Hercu was there to greet us, his tail swaying back and forth. “Hey, Herc.” He circles around me and lets out a bark. “Shhh,” I scold him gently. “It’s OK, we’re here now.” I stretch my back and feel a tightness in my arms and thighs.

Brock goes into the bathroom, and I follow. He turns on the light, and I shield my eyes. “Sorry,” he says, flipping on the fanlight and off the main light. He thrusts his hand inside his pocket and pulls out a gold ring. It’s dirty, and he grabs a washcloth, turns on the water, and wets it, then rubs the ring to clean it up. “Trice, there’s an inscription.” I lean in and read the words.

"Love Always, Colton"

“We got him!” I clap my hands.

“I can’t believe it, Trice. We did it.” He hugs me and I melt into his arms. He polishes the ring and slips it back into his pocket. “We have to hide this well until we can get this to Gray.”

“I agree. I have the perfect place.” I tell him to follow me and climb the stairs to where I put the recorder, and Brock chuckles. “Yeah, this is the last place I’d think to look for a ring.” He places it inside the Preparation H container, puts it in the back of my drawer, and closes it.

We both plump down on the bed, with Herc jumping up and trying to lick us. “Okay, it’s your turn,” Brock says to him as he starts rubbing his back, and Herc rolls over onto his back with his legs straight up. We both give him “scritches,” and then I fall back on the bed, feeling fatigued but relieved.

I flip my wrist over and notice it’s nearly 1:00, way past my bedtime. I get up, brush my teeth, remove all my makeup, and apply my skin cream. I get into some warm pajamas, and when I come out, Brock’s eyes are closed, and he’s snoring softly.

He didn’t even change his clothes.

Herc has curled up at his feet. I slide into bed, feeling the cool sheets against my skin, turn off the light, and feel myself drifting off to sleep within seconds.

This is for you, Goldie.