Chapter Fifty-Nine: Is Melanie Ordering a Hit on Us?

The next morning, Brock and I barely speak. We quickly get breakfast, pack up, and head back to Grantsville for another nightmare that won't end. I don't even care how I look since I didn't sleep much. I'm sure my eyes are bloodshot with purplish bags under them. I hear Brock get up a few times, once he goes into the bathroom and the other time, he leaves our room and doesn't return for a while. I never ask him where he goes.

It's close to 9:00 when we get into the city. I don't want to go home and see crime tape strewn across my lawn, but I know that's the scene we will encounter. When we enter our street, I notice a crowd gathering – of course, I know where. Soon, the press will be here, if they aren't already, and questions will begin.

"Do you know about the body?" 

"It seems odd the police notice it after you leave."

 "Where have you been?" 

"Another murder on this street? 

"Are you involved?"

I want to crawl into a hole and not come out until this whole horrible string of events and murders is behind us. However, now, we have a dead body in our backyard, drugs that we found in our shed, no idea who killed Goldie, and who is now targeting us – again.

I take a deep breath as we slow up on the crowd, and they start to part, seeing our car. Is it too late to slink down into my seat so no one can see me? I look straight ahead, my heart racing, palms sweaty, and the feeling of dissociation comes on strong. I try taking some deep breaths. I have to face this, and panicking won't help.

Brock pulls into the driveway, and I see a few police cars on the curb. I had texted Gray that we would be home around 9:00, and he said he'd meet us there, and he's right. Brock stops the car in the driveway, and at first, I wonder why he doesn't pull into the garage, but then figure police would need easy access to the backyard.

"Hi guys," Gray says as we exit the vehicle. He looks somber.

"Hey Gray," I say. The morning sun is beating down, and if I'm not just coming home to a crime scene, I would relish the late March day.

"Let's go inside. Officer Lopez is in there with Hercules." I nod and follow him in, feeling eyes on us from all angles as the crowd comes back again.

"Please, give the Summers some privacy," Gray barks at them.

When I step inside, Herc is right there, tail wagging and running circles around me. I bend down and scratch behind his ears.

"Hey, buddy," I say, thankful he was with Officer Lopez and not at the house yesterday. He would have for sure heard the commotion and went out and maybe even tried attacking the intruders. Who knows what could have happened to him. I wrap my arms around his neck. "I'm glad you're safe."

"Do you want to see where it happened?" Gray says. "The body has been removed," he adds.

"I want to see," Brock says.

We follow Gray out back, and since it's still too early to mow and it hasn't rained, I can clearly see a bloodstain in the grass.

"As I said on the phone last night. Officer Lopez found the male – Dimitri – with a bullet to the chest. It pierced his heart because he bled out on the grass." I feel ill. "He's from New York, Queens. His license shows him with dark brown hair, brown eyes, and a scar running down his left cheek. He's 31 years old. And you've never heard of the name?"

"No," I say, as he pulls out what looks to be the man's wallet. He pulls out a New York license. He hands it to me, and I stare at his photo having no idea who it is. I hand it to Brock, and he shakes his head.

"I've never seen him before."

"Yeah, figures. We have no idea what happened here, and since he's dead, we can't question him. The only one we can question, besides you and Brock, is Jeff. Being from New York himself and this Dimitri also from New York, it can't be a coincidence."

"Well, that very well could be. If she knows about the drugs, where they're stored, and Dimitri was staking the house, he would have known when you left, as well as Officer Lopez. He had the perfect opportunity to get the drugs. Of course, he wouldn't have known that we too were waiting for someone to show up. The question is who found him and subsequently shot him?"

A shiver runs through me. If Dimitri was after the drugs, who was after Dimitri? Better yet, did they know about the drugs too? Was this a neighbor who heard something and came over to investigate, saw him, and there was a struggle and he was shot? Did they flee because they had just shot and killed someone? Questions swirl in my head, and I try to focus on what Gray is saying.

"So, you question Jeff and if he doesn't know who this person is, then what?" Brock folds his arms and stares down at the bloodied grass. Officer Lopez kept Herc inside, or he would have been sniffing and digging around.

"Well, we can question Melanie. If she is the one who poisoned you, we have means, motive, and opportunity, but it will be tough getting proof." Gray is right. This seems like a crapshoot. The one person who could spill the beans is dead.

"You guys didn't notice anyone suspicious slowly driving by or stopped next door or across the street before you left?" I shake my head. "No one. Of course, I wasn't paying that much attention since I figured no one would come until last night when we were gone."

"Whoever shot Dimitri has to be connected with the drugs somehow," Brock says.

"What I don't understand is why come in the afternoon and not nighttime when it was dark?" I say.

"Lopez said she wasn't gone that long before she forgot to grab Hercule's food, maybe 30 minutes. It was long enough, apparently, but I still can't understand how he got into the backyard without anyone noticing," Gray pivots to the 6-foot-tall vinyl fence.

"Not only that, but how did Melanie know where we live?" I say and then realize she could have found us online.

"She probably Googled us," Brock answers for me.

"Yeah, I realize that now. You can find anyone online," I mutter. "Gray, you said you questioned the neighbors, what did they say?" I completely forgot to ask him about that.

"I talked to the neighbor to the east, but she wasn't home, and I couldn't reach the neighbors who now live where Troy and Samantha used to, and the home across the street, Mrs. Baxter, wasn't helpful either as she's an old widow who is legally blind." I knew Mrs. Baxter was mainly a recluse but had no idea she couldn't see. It shows how much I converse with my neighbors.

I shuffle uncomfortably, wanting to leave the backyard, suddenly feeling uneasy, as if someone was watching us. "Can we go back inside? It's getting windy, and I need to sit down." I start to head for the sliding glass doors before anyone can object. Back inside, it feels warmer, and I can concentrate on who this person who shot Dimitri is and who Dimitri is connected to. We all sit down in the living room sectional.

Gray looks lost in thought and then he pipes up. "Trice, didn't you say Melanie works in New York City?"

"Yeah."

"Do you know where?"

"Um, it was some big ad agency. Let me think." Did Jeff or Melanie mention where she worked? I can't remember and tell this to Gray.

"We can always check her social media; she might have it listed on Facebook or Instagram," Brock says, getting out his phone.

"True," Gray says. "Okay, see if you can find that out. Trice, can you look up ad agencies in New York? I know it's a long shot since there are probably more than we can fathom, but it's worth a shot."

I grab my laptop from the study and flip it open and start searching. Google comes back with a ton in the city. It could be anywhere, but I screenshot the top ten.

"There are a ton of ad agencies, so I screenshot the biggest ones since I remember Jeff telling us it was a huge one in the city," I say. "I'll do some research." I start clicking on each one and go through the company bios to see if Melanie shows up in any of them, and then when that doesn't produce results, I enter her name in Google and up comes several Melanie Pattersons. I narrow the search to her name and city, and I see her photo and her title at Top Quality Advertising, not a very unique name. I click on the link which takes me to the website and her photo and bio that mentions she's the Account Executive. The company's in Brooklyn.

"I found it. Here's the company she works for, address, and phone number," I say, taking the laptop over to Gray and showing him.

He takes the computer. "Brilliant, Trice." I feel my cheeks grow hot. I always felt odd with praise, probably why I don't read my YouTube comments. I also don't like hate or confrontation either.

"I found her social media," Brock says a few minutes later. "The last time she posted was late last year, looks like Christmas Eve. Nothing after that." I found that rather odd. Melanie is what I call an attention whore and I can't see her not posting for months. I look myself and see Brock is right, and even photos of her and Troy are gone. It's like she erased anything to do with him. After all, if Jeff's in prison, her lover dead, she could hire someone to find the drugs and get them and no one would know the wiser. She would have paid Dimitri to make it worth his while, but I'm sure his death wasn't part of the deal.

"All right, well, this is a good start. Once we get info on the gun used, we might be able to lift prints if the shooter was careless and didn't wear gloves. If he did, it's going to be harder finding out who killed Dimitri."

Back to square one. The mystery of Goldie's killer remains unsolved, and now we're faced with another murder to unravel. It feels like the Universe is working against us, and it's a reminder that fate is not to be trifled with.

"I'm going to head back to the station and expedite this investigation. The shooter is still at large, and there's a possibility they're waiting for the right moment. Officer Lopez and Holder will stay here for a while. Tonight, Holder will be stationed in his squad car, keeping watch over the house. If this person is aware of the drugs and took out Dimitri, they might attempt to seize them. Maybe not tonight, but when things settle down. I strongly advise you to keep your gun with you at all times."

"It's in the safe, but I'll grab it," Brock says, heading upstairs.

"I'll inform you as soon as we have any information about the gun," Gray assures. He rises and heads for the door. "You know the drill. Stay vigilant, and if you observe anything unusual or hear any strange sounds, contact me immediately."

I am all too familiar with the routine, and it has become wearisome. Shouldn't the forces of good prevail?

I'm not so sure anymore.