She tapped her foot liked she owned the place. I glanced down, noticed she’d changed her shoes, and nodded at them. “Those are quite lovely, Ginnie. Walmart?”
Her foot froze, and when I raised my eyes to her face, I noticed her lips twitched. “Lily, dear, you need to stop this travesty of events, and you need to stop it now.”
What was with this woman? I had no control over this travesty, as she called it, whatever that meant, and I certainly had no desire to help her.
“Ginnie, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I pushed through the group of women, corralled Bo to follow, even though one of the women had a bag of treats with her and had given him a handful. His whimper told me he wasn’t pleased, but none the less, he was a loyal dog. I had treats all the time, and gave the best ear rubs.
“Of course you know. The association, it suspended the entire athletic program indefinitely, and it’s all your fault.”
I opened my door to let Bo inside, but he stuck by me, so I shut the door again. “My fault?”
Several of the women yapped at me at once. I couldn’t make out any full sentences, but I did hear various words like, sheriff, relationship, murder, Carter, arrest, anonymous, you, Bobby, uppity, high-falootin’—I had a feeling those two were in reference to me in some way—and a few other choice adjectives my momma would not approve of my repeating.
When I was a kid, Daddy would whistle by using his finger and thumb to call me inside for supper. The sharp, shrill sound always got my attention—and the attention of the rest of the kids with me—and I sprinted to my house knowing Momma would give me extra chores if I was even a second late. Over the years, I’d learned to whistle just like Daddy.
I used that whistle on those ornery women. It got their attention, too.
One of the them, I thought her name was Traci Jo Murray, a tall blonde who never wore her hair in any style other than what Belle liked to call ditzy blonde cheerleader ponytail, squealed in this awful, high, shrill pitch that seriously made my ears hurt. She wasn’t at all a drama queen. She clutched her chest and said in a breathy voice, “Oh my, that was not ladylike at all.”
Bo barked at her feet, and she jumped back, bumping into Ginnie. Ginnie’s face warped from a mix of snarky know it all, I’m in control kind of smile to an appalled, you’ve just ruined my completely planned snarky, know it all, I’m in control kind of smile, and now I’m embarrassed for it, one.
I rolled my eyes and blew out an obnoxiously exaggerated sigh for affect. “As if what y’all are doing is anything even close to ladylike.”
That shut them up faster than a cat cornering a church mouse. “Ladies, how about you tell me what in heaven’s sake you’re talking about and then perhaps I can help you?”
Clarissa Mooney stepped forward to take the lead as head mean girl, but I wasn’t worried. I’d successfully survived middle school, so I knew how to handle mean girls. “Lily, we have a serious problem.”
Again with the verbal free for all. I raised my hand to my mouth and prepared to whistle, but that action alone silenced them.
“Can just one of you speak? It’ll be easier that way.”
“Your boyfriend’s arrested Bobby Yancy, and now the school’s gone and cancelled the lacrosse program entirely. All because one of the parents ain’t worth two cents.”
A woman I recognized from the community sale piped up and said, “One bad seed and the rest of us suffer. How’s that fair?”
I blinked. “Dylan arrested Bobby Yancy? I thought they just brought him in for questioning.” I wanted to check my phone. I thought maybe I’d missed a text message from him or something, but it wasn’t the right time. Dylan had said they would likely arrest Bobby, but he’d also said he’d keep me posted. I was surprised he hadn’t. In his defense, he was the county sheriff, and his job was more important than just updating his girlfriend.
“Nope. Arrested him,” Clarissa said.
“And now the entire lacrosse program is cancelled, and it looks like the state athletic association is reviewing the entire sports program for the county. You’ve got to talk to your boyfriend about this.”
Dylan’s county vehicle pulled up onto the side of the road in front of my house. I tried to send him a telepathic message to cut and run, I failed because he sauntered toward us anyway.
I had a feeling this incident would hit the gossip chain and light the town on fire fast, and it would be uglier than when the Bulldogs lost their third SE football playoff game to Alabama in the last few minutes of the game. And trust me, that was ugly.
I strongly suspected they thought I could influence him to handle his investigation in a way that benefited their children, but the fact was, I couldn’t. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. Rules are rules for a reason, and they’re meant to be followed.
When the women saw Dylan approaching, they marched toward him as if charging to battle. I wasn’t quite sure who would win, but I leaned toward the women, mostly because they were in a tizzy, but also because they had numbers on their side, and well, they were women.
* * *
“You arrested Bobby Yancy?”
He put his feet up on my family room table as he leaned his head back on my couch. “Yup.”
“Did you find more evidence against him?”
“Yup.”
“Care to share?”
He rubbed the top of Bo’s head, which was already on Dylan’s lap. “Principal gave us access to Carter’s school email. Yancy had sent several threatening emails over the past month.”
“Threatening how, and about what? According to Carter, he was just telling Bobby he was suspending his son if his grades didn’t improve at the box game Saturday night.”
“It wasn’t about that. There were a few, and they were all different. Making sure his kid got enough play time, criticizing his coaching philosophies, telling him how to run the program, that kind of thing.”
“And they were threatening?”
“Enough that the district attorney felt they solidified the fingerprints on the syringe and justified his arrest. There’s a lot of motive behind his actions, Lily.”
“I guess if that’s the way y’all are looking at it, I’d expect the fingerprints would be enough to have him arrested.”
“He’s the janitor at the school. He touches a lot of garbage. Any defense attorney could argue that right into an innocent verdict.”
“I hadn’t thought of it like that.”
“That’s why I’m the sheriff and you’re the real estate pro.”
I rested my head onto his shoulder. “Those women almost had you for dessert tonight.”
He massaged his temples. “Man, they were rough. I think I’d rather face a group of gang members than moms.”
“You’d probably have better odds of winning with the gang members.”
“Probably.”
“But you did okay. Probably shouldn’t threaten to drag them all into the station by their ponytails and throw them behind bars next time though.”
“I didn’t exactly say it like that.”
“Perception is reality.”
He laughed. “They were scary.”
“They’ve got gumption, that’s for sure.”
“That’s a nice way of putting it. I’d probably choose another way.”
“It’s that Y chromosome. It really messes y’all up. The power is in the double X.” I leaned into him. “So, tell the truth, did you have anything to do with the state athletic association shutting down the program?”
“Not a thing.”
I steely-eye him.
“I promise. Listen, I’m just a county sheriff. I can’t force a state association to do anything. Besides, why would I? They saw the school wasn’t doing what they’re required to by the associations guidelines, so they decided to shut down the program. And they were notified of that because of an anonymous letter, not because of the sheriff’s office, so these women got on my case for no reason.”
“
And you did a good job of making sure they knew that, except for the letter part.”
“They’ll find out about that on their own.”
“I’m sure they will.”
“I wonder who sent the anonymous email or letter or whatever it was?”
“I’m not sure. The guy from the athletic association didn’t give me a whole lot of information.”
“Do you think that has anything to do with who killed Carter?”
“You mean with Bobby Yancy?”
I repositioned myself on the couch. “About that.”
Dylan groaned. “And, here we go.”
“Why do you and Belle say that to me all the time?”
“Because you do this on purpose.”
“Do what?”
“Try to investigate my investigations and then go back and forth on your opinion.”
“I don’t do that. Well, okay, I do investigate your investigations, but I don’t go back and forth on my opinion, do I?”
“One minute you think it’s him, and the next you don’t, then you do, and then when he’s arrested you change your mind. I might be off on the pattern, but it’s close.”
“I’ve never once been one hundred percent sure he did or didn’t kill Carter.”
“And where are you now?”
“On the fence.”
He rubbed his temples again. “I’m getting a headache.”
I got up from the couch and paced a path from my fireplace to my front window, sharing my thoughts in random order. “It’s just a little too easy, don’t you think? Maybe too tidy.”
“Tidy?”
“You know, wrapped up with a bow? That kind of thing.”
“As I’ve said before, criminals aren’t all that smart, especially ones that commit crimes in a hurry, like I’m assuming this one was.”
“A syringe with something strong enough to kill a man isn’t exactly murder done in a hurry, Dylan.”
He eyed me with a stern, serious look. “You know something?”
I stopped pacing and mimicked his stare. “What?”
“You’re right.”
My eyes widened. “Well, I appreciate the acknowledgment. Thank you.” I continued my pacing and then stopped again. “Do you have any idea what was in the syringe?”
“We have our suspicions.”
I tired of pacing, but kept going anyway.
“Doesn’t appear to be anything off the streets or any kind of poison because of his appearance and condition at the scene.”
“So whoever killed him wanted it to look like natural causes.”
“Possibly, possibly not.”
I pointed at the front window as I paced that direction. “Which completely nullifies your theories on stupid criminals, and this one being in a hurry, and all that.”
“Not exactly, though your point about murder by syringe does make me pause. It’s got to be something easily accessible, and something that causes death quickly.” He grabbed his phone off the coffee table and typed out a text. “I’m having Matthew look into it. We might come up with some ideas before the autopsy is back. I’ll let you know, of course.”
“Maybe a tad bit quicker than you let me know about Yancy’s arrest, please?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll stop everything in the investigation to keep you up to date.”
I sat on the chair facing Dylan and Bo. “Thank you.”
He smiled. “It still doesn’t rule out my original theory though. You know that right?”
“Your original theory?”
“That people who commit crimes aren’t always the sharpest nail in the box.”
“Wait. You just basically retracted everything we just said.”
“Let me explain how the penal code in Georgia works first, and maybe it’ll help you have a better understanding of reality over your crime-fiction TV shows, which base nothing on reality whatsoever.”
“Yes, sir, Sheriff.” There might have been a touch of the double chromosome coming out in my response.
He must not have felt threatened by it because he kept talking. “In Georgia there are two basic types of killings, those with intent and those without. A homicide is a killing without legal justification, murder being the severest of homicides. First degree is the only degree we recognize in the state, and it’s committed in one of three ways, with malice intent, a disregard for human life, or during the commission of a felony act. Other killings fall under manslaughter, whether it’s voluntary or involuntary. Do you know the difference?”
“Based on my fictional crime shows, isn’t voluntary when they do it on purpose but without it being planned?”
He nodded. “Call it your typical passion killing. It’s a sudden act under the influence of a serious provocation that causes a normally reasonable person to act unreasonable. For example, I come here, find you with someone else, lose all sense of reason, and shoot the guy.”
I winced. “You’d never do that.”
“You never know what a person might be driven to do, but thankfully, I’ll never have to.” He rubbed Bo’s ears. “My buddy Bo here would chew the guy up and spit him out before I had a chance.”
“Of course he would, but he wouldn’t have to because you’d never find me with anyone else.” I’d barely dated when we’d been apart for the several years we were, but I didn’t remind him of that.
“Involuntary manslaughter on the other hand, is completely unintentional. And I’m pretty confident it’s not what happened with Bobby Yancy. It’s more along the lines of reckless homicide in other states—an act caused by illegal or reckless behavior.”
“Like someone killed by a drunk driver.”
“Yes, like that.”
“So, I still don’t see how this could be Bobby Yancy being a stupid criminal.”
“It’s possible,” he paused. “Mind you, I’m looking at this as a defense attorney might, because arguably, this could be a possible defense, so we have to consider it. It’s possible someone could have put something in a syringe, planted it nearby, and in the moment, Yancy grabbed it and jabbed it into our vic’s neck. Not bright by any means, but a sketchy line between malice and reckless intent and or heated emotions in an impassioned situation.”
“But that still doesn’t mean the killer was stupid.” That was a stretch on my part, but I gave it my best shot.
“If Yancy was the one that physically stuck the needle into Carter Trammell’s neck, he’s the killer, Lily. It doesn’t matter where the syringe came from, or who intended for the killing to happen. There are two potential cases there, yes, but the actual physical killer, be it through first degree murder or manslaughter, would be Bobby Yancy. See what I’m saying? So yes, if this theory rings true, we have a stupid criminal on our hands.”
“But if Bobby Yancy didn’t kill Carter Trammell, then someone knowingly planned his murder with malice intent, and that’s first degree homicide.”
He nodded.
“But you think Bobby Yancy did it.”
“I think he physically committed the crime, yes.”
I sat with that thought stirring around in my head.
“What’re you thinking?”
“I think we need to find out what was in that syringe before we come to any conclusions.”
“We?”
“This isn’t the suburbs of Atlanta, or Atlanta itself. We don’t have the drug problems here that they do, and like you said, Carter didn’t appear to have any signs of a drug overdose, so what other options could it be?” I knew what I was talking about. I’d used this kind of information to sell the area to clients on a regular basis and had done the research.
“He didn’t show any of the typical signs of sudden death from poisoning, many of which are the same signs from overdosing. Foaming at the mouth, throwing up, that kind of thing.”
My stomach tightened, and I must have grimaced because Dylan raised his brow and asked if I was okay. “I’m fine. Go on.”
“If I
were to guess, I’d say he was injected with something that stopped his heart.”
“Like a medical drug.” I grabbed my phone and checked online. “Propranolol hydrochloride?”
“There are a few, but that’s the most common.”
“Can you buy that at the drug store? No pun intended, of course.”
“The pill form is available as a prescription, but I’m not sure if the liquid form is.”
I jumped from my seat. “Michael Longley’s wife is a nurse. He told me she took care of his sister who died of cancer. She could easily get that drug.”
“And what, give it to her brother to kill his arch nemesis?”
That question deflated the theory brewing inside of me, but it didn’t pop it entirely. “And Ginnie Slappey’s sister-in-law is a nurse at a hospital on Pill Hill. So, right there we’ve got two potential suspects with access to the drug that killed Carter.”
That got a response from Dylan, only it wasn’t quite the response I wanted. “We don’t know yet if that was the drug that killed him.”
“Fine. But still, you’ve got two other possible suspects with relatives with access to drugs that could have killed Carter. Maybe you were too quick to arrest Bobby Yancy.”
Chapter 6
My doorbell rang in the middle of the night. Maybe it wasn’t the middle of the night but it sure felt like it. I blindly patted the top of my nightstand searching for my cell phone to see what God awful time it really was. Five twenty-three AM. It sure felt like I shouldn’t have been jarred awake by the shrill of my doorbell and the loud growl and bark of Bo at five twenty-three AM. I also shouldn’t have been nearly crushed by my dog’s semi-truck sized paws as they used me as a catapult off the bed to rush to the door and greet whatever crazy person pounded on it. I fought in the dark to get my robe on in an effort to be appear presentable before answering.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” I hollered down the short hallway between my bedroom, family room and kitchen area. “Act like you’ve got some raisin’, will ya?” I peeked through the curtain on my kitchen door window and saw four old, wrinkly but smiling faces beaming at me. One of them had a missing tooth just to the right of his top front teeth, and he stuck his tongue through the hole. I couldn’t help but laugh. Billy Ray Brownlee was sweeter than a piece of cherry pie with a scoop of ice cream on top on a hot summer night. I loved him like the dickens. Even at five twenty-something AM in the morning.
Signed, Sealed and Dead Page 7
