Bidding War Break-In

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  She bit into another Oreo, and I’d lost count at how many she’d had. “No, we’re just handling the lead planning for the Celebration Dance at the moment. It’s our year.” She sipped her tea. “Magnolia’s responsible for the posters.”

  “I bet she wasn’t planning to put any at the development.”

  “Actually, we are. I thought it would be a good way to involve the new residents in the community. You know, reach out to them.”

  “How did Magnolia feel about that?”

  “She wasn’t pleased.”

  I loaded the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. “Do you know what her husband does?”

  She grimaced. “That city slicker? Other than scare me worse than Freddy Krueger, I think he works in property management or investment. Something like that.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded. “I don’t know which exactly, but Magnolia said he travels a lot and works from home when he’s not out of town. She said he’s got an office in Alpharetta but barely goes there.”

  “Do you think they’re happy?”

  She blinked. “Uh, I guess. I don’t really know. Magnolia and I don’t really hang out together unless it’s a Women of Society thing. Why do you ask?”

  “Because when I was at her house, he treated her like she was lower than a maggot on a gut wagon.”

  “Ew, I hate that expression.”

  “I know, but it fits. You should have seen how he talked to her, and how she cowered to him. I actually felt bad for her.”

  “I don’t get the impression he respects women.”

  “I agree.” I put the detergent pod into the compartment in the dishwasher and set it for quick wash, then I got to work on the dishes that wouldn’t fit inside.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I know. Consider it payment for your interview.”

  “Interview? Are you really worried about this?”

  I set down the dish I’d been scrubbing. I wasn’t sure what had been on it, but it was superglued to the ceramic so I let it soak in the soapy water. “Someone vandalized my client’s townhome and a bunch of stores, and I’m being dragged through the mud by Magnolia and her posse as the promotor of all progress and evil. Whether I’m the scapegoat or not, I take it seriously.”

  “Magnolia isn’t the nicest person, but I can’t see her deliberately ruining someone’s career.”

  “Maybe if she was forced to she would.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I dried my hands, leaving the washed dishes to air dry on another dish towel. “Can I borrow your laptop?”

  She pointed to it on the desk in the kitchen. “Have at it.” She ate another Oreo.

  I opened the laptop and went straight to her internet search engine and typed in Dominic’s name. A whole list of things came up, the first being his business. “D.S. Development. Dominic Scratachelli’s business is called D.S. Development. He’s a real estate developer.”

  “Really?”

  I nodded. “Interesting, don’t you think?”

  “It sure is.”

  I laughed. “Don’t you think it’s ironic that a woman who claims to be fighting against a development is married to a developer?”

  She bent over my shoulder and looked closely at the website. “Go to that tab.” She pointed to the current projects section of his website.

  Dominic had four current projects all on the outskirts of Atlanta. “All of his projects are like the one here,” I said. “This just keeps getting better.”

  Caroline sat back at the kitchen table again. “You think he’s involved?”

  “I don’t know. That doesn’t fit the puzzle. Why would she be pushing to stop progress if her husband, a man that basically built progress, was involved?”

  She shrugged.

  “Wait a minute. What if that’s it?”

  “What?”

  “What if Magnolia is lashing back at her husband by doing this? I mean, they clearly didn’t look happy to me, so it’s possible, right?”

  She shook her head. “No way. Besides, wouldn’t doing something so obvious make things worse for her?”

  I closed her computer. “Unless he doesn’t know. Do you ever see him in town? I know I barely do, so maybe she’s hiding it from him?”

  “Sweetie, I’m married, and trust me, hiding a lover might be easy, but something like that would be impossible.”

  “Caroline, are you and William having problems?”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, sweetie. Even if I wanted to cheat on my husband, I don’t think the guy would like my baby sitting there staring at us. And look at me. I haven’t put on clean clothes in two days, and we both know I stink. You think another man would want this? I am blessed William loves me as much as he does.”

  I laughed. “You do kind of stink.”

  She blushed. “Good Lord. I really must take better care of myself.”

  “You do that, and I’m going to figure out what’s really going on.”

  “My bet is you do that before I have a chance to bathe.”

  * * *

  I drove back to the development and parked in Carter Trammell’s short driveway. No lights were on in the home, so I knew Johnny’s crew had left for the day. I watched the few cars driving near the townhomes, but none of them appeared to be casing the place, so I thought it was safe for me to go inside and check out the progress.

  I nearly cried when I walked inside. The walls were completely finished, the scratched wood floor replaced with a brand new one in the same stain, and the stair railing cord had been installed. Ryann had opted for the three rows of tight cording to replace the iron balusters, and it looked perfect. I breathed a big sigh of relief. The place would be finished soon.

  I wandered upstairs to check out the redo there, and I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  Someone had taken a paint can and tossed it, open, all over the master bedroom. Red paint splattered everywhere, including the ceiling and light fixture, a crystal and silver chandelier that cost well over five hundred dollars, and the newly installed wood floor.

  I stayed out of the room, worried entering would mess up something Dylan’s staff might find. I grabbed my cell phone from my purse to call him, but stopped when I heard something downstairs. Something, or someone, was down there. I heard a door open and feet hitting the ground.

  I rushed to the top of the stairs to see who it was. “Who’s there?”

  I’d left the door unlocked, and someone dressed in all black darted through it, slamming it closed behind them.

  I flattened myself against the wall. There was no way I’d go back downstairs, so I crept quietly, hoping not to make a sound, back to the master bathroom and locked myself inside.

  Just like one of those stupid girls in horror movies. I didn’t care. What if someone else was in the house still? What if they had a gun?

  They’d shoot it right through the bathroom door, I thought.

  I really was as stupid as one of the girls in horror movies.

  I took my phone from my bag, turned off the volume, and I sent Dylan a text. “911 at Carter’s. Someone just ran out the front door. I’m locked in the master bathroom.”

  I put my ear to the door and listened but heard nothing.

  Dylan texted that he was on his way.

  I kept my ear glued to that door for three minutes, and I still didn’t hear a thing. I quietly bent down on my knees and peered out beneath the bottom of the door. I didn’t see any movement in the bedroom, so I went ahead and gently turned the lock on the doorknob. My palms shook as I carefully twisted it open, praying it didn’t make a clicking sound.

  The room was empty. I tiptoed over to the French doors to the balcony and stuck myself against the wall, only moving my head enough to peek outside. Whoever had been there had obviously left, and they were long gone.

  I built up enough guts and tiptoed downstairs. Once I got to the bottom, I darted to the front door, got in my car, locked it, and drove to the
extended parking area in front of the units just as Dylan and two other sheriff cars pulled up.

  “Stay here,” he said as I rolled down my window. “Get down in the seat until I come back.”

  “I’m pretty sure they’re gone because I—”

  He shushed me and headed toward the front door.

  A minute or two later he tapped on my window and gave the all clear. “You okay?”

  I leaned against my car. “Someone was there, Dylan. I think I interrupted them vandalizing the place again.”

  “Looks like it. Did you see anything?”

  I shook my head. “Just someone running out like I said. I tried to get a good look at them, but the angle of the stairs makes it almost impossible to see the front door. That’s so unsafe, blocking the view of the door like that.”

  “That’s why people have digital doorbells, but someone took Carter’s.”

  I rubbed my arms and my teeth chattered. “I’m exhausted.”

  He hugged me. “Let me get a deputy to take your statement and then you can leave, okay?”

  I nodded.

  “And this time I’d really appreciate it if you’d go straight home. Bo’s probably stir crazy by now.”

  “Probably.”

  Chapter 7

  A few hours later, Dylan showed up at my place with two bags of takeout food. “You doing okay?”

  I shuffled to the kitchen sink in my fuzzy dog slippers made to match Bo’s face–Belle ordered them online from an Instagram ad—and poured myself a glass of ice water. “Just tired. You thirsty?”

  He held up a six pack of beer. “Not for long.”

  “Blech.”

  He popped the top on one and tossed the cap into the garbage. “Not me.” He guzzled down a big chug of the stuff and smiled. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

  “Hope you don’t wake up hungover.”

  “I’m only having two.” He removed the food from the bag and made a plate for each of us then handed me one. “Sesame chicken and fried rice. Your favorite.”

  I did that shuffle thing back to the family room and sat on the couch to eat. Bo bolted over and sniffed the plate. “No, Bo. Go eat your own comfort food.”

  Dylan gave him a palmful of fried rice, which Bo inhaled in two seconds flat.

  “That can’t be good for him.”

  “You kidding? Dog’s got a stomach of steel. I’ve been sneaking him food since the day you brought him home.”

  “Great.” I sighed and put my plate on the table, told Bo to stay away from it, and laid down on the couch. “I’m Caroline’s level of give out.”

  “Baby wearing her out?”

  I nodded and then filled him in on my visit with Caroline.

  He laughed. “One day that’ll be us.”

  “Oh no, mister. You should have seen the place. It was a mess. Ours will not look like that because you’ll be helping keep it clean.”

  Dylan pressed his lips together.

  “What?”

  He shook his head, but kept his lips tightly joined in a flat, thin line. “Nothing.”

  I pointed at him. “Probably best. I’m cranky.”

  He squeezed my knee. “I can tell. So you probably don’t want my bad news then, do you?”

  I stared up at the ceiling. “No, but what is it?”

  “We couldn’t find a match on the partial print from Carter’s.”

  “I didn’t expect you would.”

  * * *

  Monday morning started with a bang. Rufus published an article about the new vandalism, and Millie called to suggest I hold off coming by until the crowd lessened. I had no intention of going to Millie’s to be the target of anyone. Instead, I dropped Bo off at day care, bypassing the park along the way, and went right to work.

  Dylan assured me he’d contacted Ryann, so I followed up with Johnny to see how long the damage would take to repair.

  “Just got here, but it don’t look all that bad. Might add a day or two to the schedule, but that’s it. Miss Ryann asked me to replace the Ring doorbell, and she said Dylan’s offered up a security buddy of his to install some hidden cameras, so that’s being done today.”

  “That’s good. I’ll come by later and check on things.”

  He coughed. “Uh, Miss Lily, that would be nice, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. Not now, anyway.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s a crowd growing out front, and I just think you ought to stay away, at least for today.”

  I rolled my eyes. Not again, I thought. “I’ll call Dylan. He’ll send a deputy over.”

  “Already on the way. You got a job to do, and so do I, so let’s stick to them today, and I’ll catch up with you later.”

  I’d just been told to back off, but in a polite, Southern way. I liked Johnny, and I didn’t want to make things hard for him, so I obliged.

  I made some calls, checked on Belle who’d stayed the night at our cabin to tend to a few decorating things, followed up on a few emails, scheduled my continuing education class, and decided to do more research on Dominic Scratachelli’s business.

  Each of the four projects listed on his website were similar to the one in Bramblett, just a heck of a lot bigger.

  His company had already completed two others, so I did some research on those, and I discovered he, or his company at least, was also the current owner of the largest mixed use development in Alpharetta.

  Something tugged on my memory. I did a Google search on that development and up popped Alpharetta newspaper articles from two years ago when the development had been vandalized. I remembered then that it sold shortly after that for an incredibly low price.

  It didn’t take a genius to make the connection.

  I slammed my laptop shut, instantly regretted that, locked up the office and headed straight to the sheriff’s office.

  “It’s him.”

  He guided me past the security area and into his office. “I’m going to need a little more than that.”

  “Dominic Scratachelli. It’s him. He’s the one vandalizing Carter’s and the other places, and I’m pretty sure it’ll happen again.” I sat in front of his desk. “That has to be why Magnolia was making that map.”

  Dylan sat across from me, his feet up on his desk and his chair leaning back. “A map?”

  I told him about my run in with her the day before.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that last night?”

  “I don’t know. I was so tired, I honestly didn’t think about it.”

  “Well, I doubt it’s for her husband. He could get that information pretty easily.”

  I pursed my lips. “Who’s the law enforcement official here? If he got them online or requested them from the city, all that could be traced. If she draws out a map, it can be burned and no one would know about it.”

  He laughed for a moment, but stopped. “You might be onto something here.”

  “Of course I am. Dylan, you really need to watch crime TV. Trust me, you’ll learn something.”

  “It’s make believe, Lily. This is real life.”

  “Well sweetie, I learned that real life tidbit from a make believe show, so what do you have to say to that?”

  Nothing, apparently.

  “You know I’m right, and you don’t know what to say about it now, do you?”

  “Why would Magnolia be pushing to stop the county from growing if her husband wants to drop the value of the development and buy it?”

  “That’s my point exactly. So, what do we do now?”

  He shifted and rested his feet on the floor beneath his desk. “We don’t do anything, Lily. If what you’re saying is true, then you need to back off and let the officials handle it. Scratachelli is bad news, and I don’t want you involved with him.”

  “But I already am involved. I’m being targeted by his wife.”

  He pressed the top of a pen to his lips. “Give me some time with this, okay? But please, I need you to lay low, at least when it comes to S
cratachelli, you hear?”

  I heard, and I understood, but I wasn’t sure that would stop me.

  * * *

  Back at the office, I made myself a Keurig coffee and got to work. Investigative work.

  I pulled local crime reports for the area near the development in Alpharetta, researched the local papers for articles about its sale, and got and found the actual pricing online.

  Ten million under value. Dominic Scratachelli bought the development for ten million under its appraised value. The development wasn’t even on the market until the vandalism started, so I knew Dominic had a hand in it.

  I researched crime in mixed use developments, but generally speaking, there wasn’t much, and the crimes weren’t the kind of stuff that happened in Alpharetta or to the development here. Those were anomalies, or as I’d begun to think, planned actions with a goal.

  Time passed quickly, and my stomach complained it needed food, so I locked up and walked over to Millie’s. Thankfully, I’d beaten the lunch crowd.

  I ordered my favorite sandwich and waited at a table next to the window, snooping further on my cell phone for more information on Dominic Scratachelli.

  Magnolia walked through the door. “Well, well, if it isn’t my current stalker, Lily Sprayberry.”

  “Wouldn’t stalking you mean I came here after you?”

  “You know I come here practically every day. I’m sure you were just waiting to see if I’d show up.”

  I didn’t bother looking at her when I spoke. “Yes, that’ exactly what I’m doing.”

  She sat down at my table. “You know, I’ve tried to tell you to stay away, but you just don’t listen. Maybe people are getting tired of you butting into their private business, and it looks like they’ve now decided to butt into yours.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  She leaned back and examined her French manicured nails. “I heard about the new vandalism at that listing of yours. I’m simply making an observation, honey.”

  Magnolia mastered the skill of manipulation, but I was onto her game, and I wouldn’t let her win. Not anymore. I placed my elbow on the table and rested my chin against the side of my fist. “Speaking of observations, Magnolia, has your husband always treated you with such little respect?”