Lily Sprayberry Realtor Box Set

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

“Okay, well, he doesn’t want the property to sell because he thinks part of it belongs to him. We both know that.”

  “That’s not it.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “That’s exactly what the note at my house said.”

  “Oh, that’s not good.”

  “I can’t help but think maybe Jesse is innocent now.”

  “Maybe you’re right. Are you going to talk to Dylan?”

  “Yes, but first I’m going to talk to Jesse. After work. I’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Lord girl, work can wait. You should talk to Dylan. And didn’t he tell you to stay away from all of this?”

  “Would it matter? It seems to find me lately, don’t you think?”

  “You’re right. I just wish you had the dog already. We’ll have to have him trained to bite mean guys in their sensitive spot in case something like this happens again.”

  “I’m not getting a dog.”

  “I know you’re not. I’m getting you the dog. For your birthday.”

  “It’s not my—oh my gosh. My birthday is coming up, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, in three days.”

  I guzzled down the last of my sweet tea. “I can’t believe I forgot. Is that a sign of old maid-dom? Maybe I am becoming one?”

  Belle threw her hand up into the air. “That’s what I said.”

  My jaw dropped. “I was kidding. Gosh. Way to make me feel old.”

  “What can I say? The clock is ticking Lily. I mean, seriously, even Junior Goodson is dating, and no one ever thought he’d find a girl. Did you see the little cutie he was hanging out with earlier?” She coughed to disguise her laugh, a tell-tale sign she was giving me a hard time.

  “You mean Grace Jeffers from Meals Made for You? I wouldn’t say they were hanging out. More like standing next to each other.”

  “Wait, that’s the girl you told me about?”

  I nodded.

  “She sings at church. She’s really good, and they were definitely hanging out.”

  “You think?”

  “Absolutely. I even caught them doing a shoulder bump and laughing once, so there is definitely something going on there.”

  “Huh.”

  “She’s pretty young, right?”

  “Bonnie said around nineteen.”

  “Ew. That’s practically a baby compared to Junior.”

  “I know. It’s kind of gross.” I tried to imagine what it would be like if I went out with a nineteen-year-old boy, but I couldn’t. “Well, all I can say is if dating someone seven years younger than me is the only way I won’t be an old maid, then that’s just too bad. I’m actually not all that worried about being an old maid anyway. I’m happy doing my own thing, and I like having my independence. I’m not interested in trading it in, not for something like that at least.”

  Belle laughed. “You are not becoming an old maid. I was just kidding. I’m not kidding about the dog though. I really think you need a dog.”

  I would have preferred her joke about my being an old maid over the dog. I didn’t have time for a dog, though that puppy was awful cute. “Let me see the video again.” I shook my head. “No, wait. I do not need a dog.”

  She leaned toward me. “Someone, probably Sonny Waddell, a very angry old man, entered your home and left a threatening note, someone that very likely murdered your client, and that someone was also most likely in that same client’s house two times while you were there.” She straightened. I am absolutely getting you a dog, and we’re training that dog to defend you.”

  There wasn’t one point in any of that I could argue, so I didn’t even try. “I’m heading to the office. You coming?”

  “You don’t want to go see the puppy?”

  “Uh, no. Not right now anyway. I’ve got some calls to make. Maybe next year.”

  “Chicken.”

  “Absolutely.”

  * * *

  The unusually high foot traffic outside our office window had to be because of everything going on, so I closed the blinds.

  Belle laughed. “Bless their hearts. They can’t help themselves.”

  “I swear, they’re all slowing their gait and staring at me.”

  “You should run for the county fair queen this summer.”

  “Why on earth would I do that?”

  “You’re hugely popular right now.” She skipped over to the window, pulled up the blind, and waved at the onlookers, who quickly walked away. “I’m pretty sure you’re more popular than Sally Sue what’s-her-face.”

  “Who?”

  “You know, the girl whose number was painted on the gas station wall in high school?”

  I threw my pencil at her. It hit her forehead and bounced off.

  “Ouch.”

  “Well, you deserved that.”

  “Yes, I did, but it was totally worth it.”

  Dylan coughed. “Some things never change, do they?”

  I brushed a long, flyaway golden strand back behind my left ear and licked my lips before turning around to face him. “Hey. What’s up? Did you release the boys?”

  Belle laughed. “Boys. That’s an accurate description considering how they behaved.”

  “My thought, too,” Dylan said. He sauntered over to my desk all slow and steady, the way he used to when he’d see me coming toward him from a distance. It was all kinds of sexy and sweet rolled up in six feet of adorable. I hated it.

  “Did Jesse press charges?”

  “He wanted to, but I questioned each of them and explained that they all could press charges if they wanted, and surprisingly, none of them wanted to.”

  Belle snorted.

  The corner of Dylan’s mouth twitched.

  “This really is a big mess.” I bent my leg and tucked my left foot under my right hamstring.

  Dylan pulled one of our conference table chairs over to my desk, flipped it around and straddled it, his legs wrapped around the back of the chair. It was the way he used to sit in high school, too. “I arrested Jesse.”

  “But I thought nobody pressed charges?”

  “For his aunt’s murder.”

  “Oh.” I untangled my legs and repositioned them the same way, only opposite.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I picked at a piece of lint on my pants.

  His relaxed posture disappeared, replaced with tight, stiff shoulders and a corded neck. “Are you really going to do this?”

  “Tell him about the note already,” Belle said.

  Dylan’s eyes shifted from Belle to me. “Did you get another note?”

  I shook my head. “No, I didn’t get another one, but earlier today, during that whole thing with the guys, Sonny Waddell said exactly what was written on the note.”

  He pulled his note pad from his pocket and flipped through the pages. “Make sure that property don’t sell or else?”

  I nodded. “Word for word. Don’t you think that’s kind of strange?”

  “That’s a pretty basic statement. Any of those men could have written that.”

  “Well then, doesn’t that at least imply reasonable doubt?”

  “She’s got a point there, Sheriff,” Belle said.

  “The evidence points to Jesse,” he said.

  “But doesn’t it point to Sonny Waddell, too?” I asked.

  “In a lesser way, I suppose so.”

  “I don’t think it’s all that less. He admitted to being at Myrtle’s the night she was killed. He has a stake in the property being sold, too. His family has a long-standing property dispute with the Pickett family, and he’s been heated and aggressive toward me and others a few times about it all. You should have seen him earlier. He threatened both Jesse and me.”

  “So, you’re saying you think Sonny Waddell killed Myrtle Redbecker?”

  I nodded slowly and then ended up shaking my head. “I honestly don’t know.”

  “That’s why you sell real estate and I’m a Sheriff.”
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br />   “You were supposed to be a football player,” I mumbled under my breath.

  Dylan didn’t say anything, but the furrowed brow and down-turned mouth told me he’d heard what I said.

  He grabbed hold of the top of the chair back and pushed himself up. “I’ve got the note. How about I take another look at it? Will that make you happy?”

  “Can you maybe check writing samples? You know, send it out to a forensic writing analysist or something?”

  “This is Bramblett County Georgia, Lilybit. How much money do you think we have?”

  “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

  He positioned his hat snuggly onto his head and nodded toward me. “Yes, ma’am. I know.” He smiled. “I’ll be in touch.”

  He smiled at Belle. “Ms. Pyott, always a pleasure.”

  Belle returned his smile. “Sheriff Roberts.”

  As he walked toward the door, I rushed over and stopped him. “When is Jesse’s bail hearing?”

  He checked his watch. “Judge is trying to clear his schedule for his last call this afternoon.”

  “That doesn’t even give him time to get an attorney.”

  He laughed. “Best he can get is a public defender, and he’s not getting out before his trial anyway, so he’s got time to work the case.” He offered me one last smile and walked out.

  I didn’t smile back.

  I dragged myself back to my desk and dropped into my chair. “Great.”

  “What?”

  “Remember that song my mom used to make us listen to all the time when we were in high school?”

  “Which one? She made us listen to a lot of songs.”

  “The one she said her mom used to make her listen to all the time when she was a kid.”

  “Should I repeat my last statement?”

  “The one Vicki Lawrence sang that Reba McEntire redid. ‘That’s the Night that the Lights Went Out in Georgia’.”

  “Oh, yeah. I always kind of liked that song. What about it?”

  “I’m worried that’s how Jesse will end up.”

  She sang the chorus, her voice chipper until the words made sense. “Oh. Yikes.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Do you think he’s innocent?”

  “I don’t think so, but I’m going to find out for sure.”

  Chapter 5

  The Bramblett County Jail hadn’t had an upgrade in at least fifty years. As if the dismal gray cell walls weren’t bad enough, years of allowing transient prisoners to smoke in them turned them a stained yellowish color, and the scent of old, stale cigarette smoke hung in the air like dead skunk on the road.

  Most county jails don’t let visitors go back to the cells, but Bramblett County was special. Actually, Dylan let me go back to the cell only because the visiting room was being cleaned since the most recent prisoner to be visited decided to defecate on the floor to show his angst over his imprisonment. I was promised once it was clean, Jesse and I would be moved to the room, and the smell would be reasonably better. Not fresh and flowery, but better.

  Anything would be better than dead, smoky cigarette smell.

  Jesse was surprised to see me and from the look on his face, maybe even a bit happy. “What’re you doing here?”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you might just be happy to see me, Jesse Pickett.”

  His shoulders sank. “I’m sorry for being nasty to you, Lily.” He held onto the bars of his cell. “I shouldn’t be that way. My momma taught me better than that.”

  “I know for a fact she did, but it’s okay. I forgive you.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I figured this would be the best place to have your full attention.”

  He laughed. “Guess you figured right. Not much else going on here.”

  Dylan came in and led us to the visiting room. We were the only ones there.

  “Even less going on here,” I said.

  He nodded. “You want to know if I killed my aunt, don’t you?”

  “For starters I want to know if it was you that attacked Junior Goodson.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, and that was all I needed to know he’d done it.

  “Why’d you do it? And why were you in the house?”

  “You know why.”

  “Are you trying to find the money? Did you kill your aunt?”

  “Do you think I did?”

  “The evidence is pretty damaging.”

  He hung his head. “They’re going to lock me up for good.”

  “Not if you didn’t do it.”

  He stared at me.

  “Well?”

  It don’t matter none what I say now does it? They’ve already hung me out to dry.”

  “The judge is going to hear your case today for bail. Have you seen your public defender yet?”

  He shook his head. “That don’t matter either. Your boyfriend even said they ain’t gonna let me out of here. Don’t know why. I don’t have a dime to my name. Can’t go anywhere anyway.” His voice was monotone, lacking emotion entirely.

  I almost felt sorry for him, but I just couldn’t decide what I thought. Half of my head thought he did it while the other half swore he was innocent. “I wanted to let you know I’ve contacted the Georgia Historical Society. If there are any records of the original property lines for the Pickett and Waddell properties, they’ll let me know. That might at least clear up part of this whole mess.”

  “That man ain’t getting any of my family property. It belongs to me.”

  I leaned toward his glassed-in room. “That’s the thing Jesse, it doesn’t. It belonged to Myrtle, and she left it to the trust, to be sold upon her death.”

  He smacked the glass with the palm of his hand. “That property is mine. I don’t care if there’s money buried on it or hidden in that house or not. She can’t leave it to no trust. I’m her next of kin.”

  A deputy pushed through the door. “All right Mr. Pickett. Time to go.” He gave me a slight smile. “Sheriff’s in his office if you’d like to talk to him, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, but I’ve got to run.” I headed out to my car more confused than before I visited Jesse.

  * * *

  The tiny courtroom had to be closed fifteen minutes before Jesse’s bail hearing because most of the town showed up to watch, and the room only held twenty-four people.

  The fire department came through and insisted everyone leave, but instead of going home, they ordered pizza and liters of Coke and stood outside waiting for the news.

  Those twenty-four people left crowded in, and I didn’t know who, but one of them forgot to hit the shower that morning. Part of me wanted to climb up on a chair and suggest everyone smell their arm pits, but I knew that wouldn’t go over well.

  I breathed a sigh of relief that Bramblett County hadn’t become a country music song, and Jesse Pickett was given bail, but I doubted he’d be able to come up with the ten thousand dollars necessary to be released before his trial, which had yet to be set. His charge, first degree murder, was awfully harsh, but so was a blow to the head with a cast iron skillet, so I really couldn’t object. Had Junior Goodson pushed to press charges for his attack, Jesse may had been spent a lot more time in the clinker.

  The crowd had mixed feelings on his bail. Belle and I scoped everyone out, snooping without intention—okay, so we snooped with intention—hoping to determine what a trial with a jury of Jesse’s peers might look like, and if things went the way it sounded, he’d spend the rest of his life behind bars.

  “Look, see that?” She pointed to the backs of two people walking away from the crowd and down the main street through town. “It’s them again. And they are definitely together.”

  I flipped up my sunglasses to get a better view. It was past five o’clock and the sun had already begun to dip down in the sky. “Is that Junior and Grace?”

  “Yup. Told you so.”

  “That’s just gross. She’s too young for him.”


  “I don’t know, maybe not. Men mature slower than girls.”

  “Still gross,” I said.

  “You just don’t like Junior.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You don’t have to say it, I can tell.”

  She was right, but I didn’t think it was that obvious. “How?”

  “Seriously? I’m your best friend. As if I don’t notice the slight raise of the right side of your upper lip every time you see him or someone mentions his name? And I definitely notice the way you push back your face—which isn’t the most flattering of looks if you must know the truth—every time you have to talk to him. I know all your little tics and tells. I have since we were what, ten?”

  “I can’t decide if I love you more for that or if it scares me.”

  “I suggest both.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  She hooked her arm through mine. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.”

  We walked past our favorite antique store that Santa always showed up and visited with kids at every holiday season, and the county library, which only opened the previous year, and I still hadn’t picked up my card. “I need to get my library card.”

  “You better. Ellie Jean Pruitt is the librarian there now, and you know how tough she can be.”

  “Mrs. Pruitt? The librarian from high school?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “She wasn’t tough. She loved me.”

  “Then you’re the only person she loved.”

  “I doubt that, but if it’s possibly true, I’d better get in there and get my card to maintain my good reputation.”

  Belle laughed.

  * * *

  I had several potential client leads to follow up on, a decluttering class I’d scheduled, promoted and filled with participants already booked for next month I’d yet to outline and create materials for, and a computer and planner full of regular work to get to, but instead, I decided to relax in a lavender salt bath with candles, soft music and a tall glass of sparking grape juice. Even though I didn’t drink, I liked to enjoy something bubbly while I relaxed, so I always had my sparking grape juice in a champagne glass.

  I closed my eyes and let the smooth, instrumental music and the warm water relax me and then that sweet puppy popped into my head. My eyes burst open. “Get out.”