Chapter Forty-Two: And Then What?

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Before I knew it, we had been in NYC for four days. We visited Central Park, Statue of Liberty, One World Trade Center, 9/11 Memorial, Empire State Building, saw a Broadway show, and enjoyed city life.

Tonight, we are dining in one of the most popular restaurants in NYC when Brock mentions going to see Jeff.

“Sure. Let’s go tomorrow,” I say, finishing the filet mignon, baby red potatoes, long green beans, and the softest dinner rolls I’ve ever eaten. I’m stuffed and can’t eat another bite. Brock orders New York Cherry Cheesecake and finishes it off quickly. He dabs his mouth with his napkin, and we wait for our check to arrive. The ambiance of the restaurant, coupled with soft music, makes me feel almost too calm. The gleaming chandelier in the center of the room gives off just enough light on our table and those around us. I can’t remember sitting in such a comfortable booth, drenched in black leather, the distinct table, a deep chestnut.

“Okay. I’ll text Jeff for his address, and we can leave right after breakfast,” he says.

I nod, but that odd feeling resurfaces. I need to stop stressing about this. Jeff was a great kid and was friends with our boys for years. I could never see him doing something like this. Granted, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen him, and sometimes, people snap and do things they thought they’d never do, so I can’t completely rule it out. But still, why ruin the trip by stressing out about this irrational fear?

On the cab back to the hotel, I’m leaning against Brock. “This has been a nice trip. We need to do this more often.”

“I agree. We’ve needed time to get away and be with each other. I’m sorry I’ve been so busy with this case. I’m sure with everything that has happened, it’s been hard on you. I should have been there.”

I grab his hand. “I know and it’s OK. We’re together now. Let’s make the most of being in the city and enjoying the sights. Before too long, our vacation will end, and we’ll be back home.” I dread going back without knowing who this person that is clearly targeting me is, and if they haven’t caught him, if he will try again. “I just hope Gray can find this person who tried breaking into the house. I’m tired of feeling afraid,” I say, feeling tears well up. I haven’t heard from Gray since we came here, and I have a bad feeling that he won’t be able to find a match in the database. For all I know, this person doesn’t even live in Grantsville. But I keep going back to what this person knows about me. Do they know about the recorder? And, how?

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The next morning, the skies are a bit overcast when we head out to Long Island. It’s about a 30-minute drive from Manhattan, and when Brock gave me the address, I looked it up on Google Maps and saw the sprawling estate located on the east side of Long Island by the ocean with Google Earth. It’s beautiful, and I marvel at the success Jeff has had in affording such a place.

Just as we turn the corner to the street Jeff lives on, I get a text from Gray.

Didn't find a match, but Lopez has been watching the house and no one has been there. We will send footage to Salt Lake City to see if they find a match. Enjoy your trip.

My heart sinks. I knew it. We have five more days here, and the police haven’t been able to identify the person targeting me. I decide not to tell Brock just yet. I don’t want to ruin this visit with Jeff.

A few minutes later, we get dropped off at the gates of Jeff’s home, the sun shining in and out of puffy, white clouds. The dusting of snow makes it look like a Hallmark Greeting Card at Christmas, without the decorations. I look around at the gorgeous landscaping. Even though it’s in the middle of winter, tall Sycamore trees stand on both sides of the home like a protective shield. Expertly shaped evergreen bushes standing stately against the foundation to the right, and I can picture a beautiful garden in the summer, brimming with colorful flowers; I wish it was Springtime so I could see the birth of new buds forming or tulips and daffodils displaying a delicate dance - that is if they planted them.

I look up at the mansion and stand in awe. The red brick estate is three stories with a wall of windows encompassing the home. We approach the towering glass doors and push the button announcing our arrival.

“Coming,” I hear a male voice call out.

Seconds later, a man opens the door, and I audibly gasp. Even though he’s older, I remember Jeff when he played with our kids. What a transformation! His glasses are gone, and the chubby weight has been replaced with rock-hard abs, a chiseled face, deep blue eyes, and wavy dark brown hair. He’s about as tall as Brock, nearly 6 feet tall.

“Hey, Brock and Patrice. Come in!” He gives Brock a quick hug and shakes my hand – appropriate.

“We made it!” Brock ushers me in.

“Hi, Jeff, it’s good to see you,” I say, standing in front of a winding staircase resembling Jack and the Beanstalk as he climbs up to the Heavens. I look up and see each floor’s cherry oak banisters. I can’t imagine needing to clean this place. I’m sure he has staff.

“Patrice, you haven’t changed a bit,” Jeff says, and I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. It’s been at least 15 years since I’ve seen him.

“Neither have you,” I say, which is true in a sense. Yes, he has more muscle, and he’s gotten taller, but he still has the same bright smile and mannerisms he used to have.

“My wife is at work, and the kids at school, except for our little guy, Ian. He’s just two months old, and for now, I’m the stay-at-home dad until he’s a little older and we can trust someone to care for him. He’s taking a nap, but let me show you around.” It's only about 10:30 when we arrive, and I wonder what we will do while we are here.

Jeff takes us on a tour of my dream home, and then we sit in the living room while his cook brings in some cheese, crackers, fresh fruit, and coffee. A while later, I hear a cry and assume it’s Ian. Jeff leaves for a few minutes and then brings out a mini-me adorable baby with Jeff’s nose, mouth, and hair. It makes me long for my grandkids, whom I haven’t seen in nearly two weeks, and my newest grandson, who was born four months ago and have only seen him on Facetime since bringing him to our home now is unsafe.

“Oh, what a handsome little guy,” I say, inquiring if I can hold him.

Jeff hands him to me, and his sweet baby smell engulfs me. I rock him gently, and he stares up at me, studying this stranger. He then gives me the biggest smile, and my heart melts. I could sit here all day with him, but after a while, I give him back to Jeff when he starts to fuss.

“Time for his bottle.” He calls for the cook. “So, tell me how everything is back in Grantsville,” Jeff says after the cook comes in and takes Ian off to be fed.

“Well, I’m finishing up a big case, and Patrice has been watching the grandkids a few times a week and is also a marketing consultant.” Brock fills him in on our sons as well.

“Wow, that’s great!”

“Yeah. But there have also been some problems, especially next door when a body was discovered last year, buried in their front yard,” I let slip out. Brock steals a glance at me, and his eyes widen. I know this isn’t the right time, actually, no time is right, but I need to know if Jeff knows anything about it, and my answer is clear when I suddenly see his whole demeanor change and darkness falls over his face.

“That’s horrible,” he says at last. “Did the police know who it was and how he died?”

“It was my friend's ex-husband who lived there, and it was discovered that he died from arsenic poisoning. His body was also burned by the Bloodroot plant. Ever heard of it?” I say, studying his face. He squints at me and then softens his face.

“No, but that is truly awful. I’m sorry.”

We sit in silence when Brock says, “Well, we don’t want to keep you. It was great to see you again.”

“You’re leaving already?” A deep crease between his brows shows his disappointment. “I wanted you to meet my wife, Melanie.” I suck in my breath, and my heart is racing so fast I can swear you could see it in my chest. Melanie was Troy’s lover! As if a brisk wind blew through my body, I hug myself. I must act nonplussed; he can’t see my fear.

“Oh, well, I guess we can stay a while longer, right, Brock?”

He turns to me and smiles. “Of course. We just didn’t want to hinder any plans.”

“Oh, it’s no bother at all. I actually planned on having you for dinner. We can talk more in the study until Melanie and the kids get home, okay?” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Sure,” I say. I hope my demeanor hasn’t given away my shock at learning this is the same Jeff, and the thought didn’t escape me that if he did orchestrate Troy’s death, we are no longer safe here, either. I have to get Brock alone and tell him.

“Great. I’ll show you to the study, and then I have a few things I need to take care of, so if you’ll follow me …”

“No problem,” Brock says, quickly interceding and ushering me to follow.

I walk slowly behind Brock and Jeff as they chat about our sons. A loud dong vibrates the ground, and I look towards the end of the hall, where a huge grandfather clock chimes that it’s 12:00 PM. How are we going to occupy yourselves for hours?

I walk into the largest study I’ve ever seen, reminiscent of the stately libraries from old movie classics. It’s wall-to-wall shelves with books that travel to the ceiling. I could get lost in all these books. A large desk devoid of anything on it, except an equally large monitor and keyboard, sits in the corner with a black leather office chair under it.

My high-heeled boots clank on the hardwood floor, and I second-guess why I chose to wear them. A crackling fire warms my face as I observe a rock fireplace encompassing the whole wall. A leather couch and two chairs are placed in front. I immediately picture Jane Austin’s Pride & Prejudice, when the Bennett sisters visit family in London and are in awe of the estate, compared to their paltry home. I don’t know how old the home is, but it looks like it’s at least from the early 20th century.

“This is beautiful,” I whisper.

“Yes, well done, Jeff.” Brock pats him on the back.

“It’s not me who decorated this place. My wife is to take credit. She’s the designer, not me.”

“Well, she’s done an amazing job,” I say, almost forgetting the proverbial elephant in the room. Jeff excuses himself, and I drag Brock over to the couch.

“So, I have to tell you something you won’t like or may not believe.” Jeff had closed the door behind him, but I talk quietly anyway. “Jeff’s wife is, well, was Troy’s lover.”

Brock almost looks amused as he throws his head and chuckles.

“I know it for a fact, Brock. I saw Melanie’s Facebook account and pictures of her and Troy. But I also saw a comment by Jeff on one of her posts back last year when Troy was reportedly killed. He said she got what she deserved. And now, Goldie is dead, and we are sitting in the ex’s home!” I bow my head and cover my eyes.

“Trice, you are obsessed with this. I had hoped that we could put all that aside when we left Grantsville and enjoy ourselves. Do you have any proof Jeff did anything?” I really didn’t have concrete evidence, but it seems too much of a coincidence for him not to be involved. I mean, his wife had an affair, and now Troy is dead.

“No, but come on, Brock. He’s Melanie’s husband. He has the means, motive, and opportunity,” I say, listing off the words with my fingers.

“Trice, we are in the man’s home. Please, just let this go. You are letting your imagination run wild.” I know he’s right. I don’t have any evidence that Jeff did anything to Troy or had anything to do with his burial. But I do have a hunch, and they are rarely wrong. Still, I should let this go – for now.

After sitting and not doing much except surfing on our phones, Jeff comes in and claps his hands, nearly scaring me to death.

“Sorry to keep you guys in here for so long. I had some business to take care of, and sometimes, these meetings are forever. You know how that is, right, Brock?” Of course, I would have NO idea about that; I’m just a marketing consultant and spend hours in client meetings, but what I do I know.

“Definitely,” Brock chimes in.

Jeff looks at his Apple watch. “Well, it’s about 2:00. The kids will be home in about an hour, and I contacted Melanie and told her you were visiting. She said she would try and make it home by 5:00 for dinner. In the meantime, would you like a tour of Long Island?”

“We would love that, right Trice?” I hesitate, but I don't want to ruin this for Brock.

“Yes, that would be great. Thank you, Jeff.”

“My pleasure. There are some beautiful places to see. Why don’t we hop in my car and check out the sites.” I think about the wisdom of getting in his car and having Jeff control where we go.

“Uh, can I borrow your bathroom?” I have no clue how long we’ll be gone, so I’d better take advantage of a bathroom nearby.

“Of course. I’ll show you.” I think it’s odd that he can’t just direct me, but when he shows me, I realize why he didn’t just tell me. I felt like I went through a maze to get to it.

I walk inside a bathroom that’s nearly as big as my bedroom. It reminds me of the Hilton Hotel bathroom, except the counters are made from rose quartz, and when I run my hands along, it feels like it was made out of slick oil. Even though the room has only a double sink, shower, and toilet, it’s still way bigger than my master bathroom.

On the way out of the home, I notice a beautiful portrait that I can only surmise is Melanie, large as life, in the foyer. Her fiery red hair flows down her back, and her emerald green eyes seem to bear into your soul.

She’s wearing a long, beautiful black gown with a plunging v-neckline and ruffles at the bottom. She looks like she belongs in 1900, not today. However, I see a sadness in her eyes, not what I would expect from a modern portrait unless, again, this was 1900. This is definitely the same woman I saw on Facebook.

Jeff tells us to wait while he “fires up his car.” My mouth falls open when he pulls around to the front of the house. A sleek red Maserati (yes, I know somewhat about cars) is waiting for us. I get in the backseat, feeling more comfortable not sitting by Jeff. He peels away, and I grab the side, digging my fingers into the crevice under the door handle.

“So, Patrice, about your YouTube channel,” he flips his rearview mirror and stares at me, his eyes dark. How did he know about that?

“Uh, Yeah, I have a gardening channel. Did Jeff tell you about that?”

Brock chuckles. “Not me.”

My heart starts racing, and even though it’s cold outside and Jeff hasn't turned on the heat, I can feel the sweat forming on my brow. Jeff glances back at me, a sly grin on his face.

"No, but I have my ways.”