Chapter Fifty-Six: We Got A Hit

 

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I sit up, my hands clammy.

“Well?” I say, waiting for him to tell me.

“It’s not what you expect. The license plate is registered to a Nick Giovani. He has priors and was released from jail not more than two months ago for organized crime. He was part of a string of people busted by a sting operation. They were selling drugs to minors. What’s interesting is that he’s connected to Troy.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, I did some digging, and he and Troy were buddies, went to school together, and, get this, even gambled together. My source said he may have also been involved in helping him sell or acquire the drugs.”

Troy was a drug dealer? My head is spinning. “I can’t believe this. But why come after us? Is this Nick also involved in this whole mess?”

“It looks like he may be. I don’t know yet how he ties into it, but he’s coming in tomorrow morning for questioning. I’ll let you know what he says.”

“Okay, thanks, Gray.”

“Get some sleep. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

I did anything but sleep. My mind kept going over this whole year to see if I missed something. Was Troy really the bad guy all along? Suddenly, nothing makes sense anymore, I think as I get dressed for the day. Brock didn’t come to bed last night, and I so desperately want to talk to him, especially considering what I learned. He must have slept on his couch in his office.

After putting on some yoga pants and a maroon sweater, I leave the bedroom. It’s getting a little warmer but still cold enough to wear a sweater. I stop by his office, and the door is open but he’s not there. Maybe he went downstairs.

I don't see him there when I step into the living room. I search the house, and he’s nowhere. I go into the garage, and one car is gone. Why didn’t I hear the garage door go up? Our room is right under the garage. Did I sleep that deeply? I don’t remember when I fell asleep. Where did he go? I’m alone and feel anxious.

I peek out the curtains in the foyer and notice a squad car parked at the curb. At least Officer Holder is still here. I turn my wrist over and see that it’s 7:02 AM. It’s getting lighter earlier in the morning now, so even though the sun isn’t over the horizon, it’s still turning light. Brock never leaves this early, which has me wondering where he went.

Back in the kitchen, I grab some coffee and sit down. Herc is wagging his tail, which tells me he’s hungry. I feed him in the morning and Brock at night. I get up and take out the can opener and his food. After opening his can, I plop it in one bowl with fresh water in another.

I take out my phone and text Brock.

You left.

I wait. Three little dots show up and then disappear. I wait longer.

Shopping.

I’m surprised. In the 36 years I’ve been married to Brock, he’s never gone shopping alone. Now I wonder what type of shopping, but I don’t need to wonder too long because minutes later, I hear the garage door open. Brock comes in with bags full of groceries, and I stand there like a statue just watching him bring in all these bags. He puts them on the counter and starts rifling through them, taking items out and putting them away.

“Can I help?” I ask, coming over to the sacks.

“I’ve got it.” I back away.

“Thanks.” I’m not sure what propelled him to go shopping, but there’s a lot of food, toilet paper, plastic cups and utensils, paper plates, and then several packages of beef and chicken and even some steaks. Boxes of cereal and oatmeal, chips, and more are now stocked in the pantry. He pulls out juice, milk, eggs, butter, fresh fruit, yogurt, and salad bowls. He then pulls out a ton of frozen meals, vegetables, ice cream, and pizzas. There are also some pies and Cool Whip. It’s like he shopped for the apocalypse or something.

After everything is put away and the sacks neatly folded and placed in our bottom drawer (helpful for picking up Herc’s poop in the yard), he sits down at the kitchen table.

“I’ve been thinking.” I sit down across from him and put my hands on the table. He reaches over and takes them in his hands. “I think we need to have a big party and invite the whole street. I’m tired of being a recluse and wondering if it’s safe to go out and take a walk. I know you have been stressed out and wanting this whole thing over, and that’s what you got desperate and went to Bart.” I feel his hands safe in mine and let the tears fall.

“I'm so sorry I've put you through all this and that I lied to you. That wasn't right. I'm so scared, and I do want this over, but I realize I should have trusted you. You're my husband, and I love you. Please, forgive me.” I wipe my eyes and grab a napkin from its holder and blow my nose.

“I forgive you, and I'm sorry you were involved at all. It wasn't fair to put you in the middle, so now our family isn't safe here.”

“It wasn't, but Goldie paid the ultimate price for her bravery, and I want to make sure her death isn't in vain. Can you understand that?”

“Yes, and I want to solve her murder too, but let's do it the right way – with the police's help.” I snap back to when Gray called.

“Speaking of police help,” I say and then tell him everything I know.

“Wow, I would have never guessed. Troy always seemed to be…”

“Quiet and reserved,” I finish his sentence.

“Exactly. I never thought he would have peddled drugs to children. He had young children.” He shakes his head.

“It seems crazy, right? And now, this guy follows me home. It doesn't make sense.”

“None of this makes sense. Why is someone still following you after most of those involved confessed or were arrested and put in jail? I think Petra and Greg are long gone. The whole thing is unraveling, and yet someone is still threatening us.”

“Yeah, I mean, Gray has the ring, the photos, the license plate, the confession. Why are we still being targeted? Jeff already confessed and named names.”

“Unless …“ Brock seems to be deep in thought.

“Unless, what?”

“Unless this is bigger than just Troy and Goldie's death.” I don't quite understand where he's going with this, but I let him continue. “You said Troy was a dealer. Did he still have the drugs or money that was supposedly owed to someone and then was killed before he could deliver it? And now this person or people are trying to find it?” That might make sense, but I don't understand what that has to do with us.

“But why target us?” I ask, puzzled still.

He snaps his fingers. “Maybe I put away some of these drug dealers, and they're coming back for revenge.” I never thought about that, but he could be right. He continues. “Do you think Troy told people about us and where we live before he died? Could he have been planning some kind of revenge against us? And after he died, his buddies took over the plan. When Goldie learned of the plan to kill and bury Troy – “

“They killed her because Grant, her nephew, was involved with the drug dealing,” I interrupt.

“Yep, and they think we had something to do with his death in some way.”

“Hold on. If they are after drugs or money, maybe Troy hid them somewhere his family wouldn't be able to find them,” the excitement in my voice rises. “Somewhere next door, or … “ I abruptly stop talking and raise my eyebrows. “Our shed.” The realization that Troy may have put a target on us gets my anxiety going.

“But why would he hide them there?” Brock looks just as puzzled as I was earlier.

I ponder the question but then know the answer. “Because they didn't have one and it was the perfect place where no one would think to look.” I mentally picture the shed and where he possibly could have hidden drugs or money. And then it hits me. “Our blue canisters. Remember we bought them because we were planning on storing manure for compost? We ended up saying we were going to wait until we re-landscaped the front yard. So, we kept them in there. It would be the perfect place to store lots of money or drugs.”

“Oh my God, Trice, you're right!”

Oh, and remember when they came over for the barbecue last year? It was a few weeks before he went missing. He wanted to see the shed, said he was looking to purchase one and wanted to see inside it? He could have easily stashed the drugs or money there after the party. We never lock it, so it would have been easy to hide it there when we were gone.”

“When we took the grandkids to the county fair the week after,” Brock says, running his fingers down his face. “We were gone the whole day and didn't return until late that night.” Of course!

“I can't believe this! This is why the intruder was in our garage, why I saw someone in our backyard, why I've been followed. This doesn't have to do with Troy's death directly but the items he left behind.” Anger boils within me.

“Exactly. And my guess is the items are still there.” He's thinking what I am, and we both bolt for the sliding glass door leading to the backyard.

Time to discover the truth.