Lily Sprayberry Realtor Box Set

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  “He’s a good little guy,” Matt said. “You got a name for him?”

  Dylan had grabbed a chair from my back yard and I sat. He put the wiggly mess of love on my lap, and that mess put his front paws on my chest and showered my face in kisses. “You are so much better than a fish little guy.”

  He gave me a full-blown French kiss. I didn’t complain one bit.

  Belle coughed. “Ew. That might be a bit much on the first date.”

  We laughed.

  “Bo can get away with it.” I rubbed his ears. “Bo, yes. That’s your name little guy. You just look like a Bo.”

  Belle kissed the top of his head. “I love that.”

  Matt whispered in her ear.

  “Oh, yes please. Thank you.”

  “We’ve got a bunch of stuff for you in the car. We’ll get it out and put together for you since you’re one-legging it right now. In fact,” she starred at Dylan. “You might want to stick around for the night to help her take him out.” She winked at him.

  I coughed. “Smooth move there, bestie.”

  I filled Belle in on the lock boxes.

  “So you’re saying there never was any money? That Boone Pickett made the whole thing up?”

  “Based on the letter in the box, it would appear so.”

  “You really think he wrote the letter?”

  I nodded, and I showed her a file of letters from Myrtle’s house. “We picked these up on the way here. They were in the attic and are items that belonged to Boone. I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I can check other records, and I’m pretty sure I’ll find that it’s his handwriting. He must have thought the town would get a kick out of the joke.”

  “Or he was just a mean-spirited old man.”

  “Or that,” I agreed.

  Bo showered my face with kisses again.

  “Are you going to let the town know?”

  “I’m emailing the county paper in a bit. With an image of the letter just in case.”

  “Good idea.”

  An hour later both Bo and I were sound asleep on the couch, my leg resting on Dylan’s lap, and Bo draped over my chest. My little bungalow never felt more like home. Bo snored in my ear and jolted me out of my slumber.

  Dylan laughed. “That’s probably the sweetest picture I’ve seen since you drooled in your sleep in my dorm room my sophomore year at UGA.”

  I wiped my mouth just in case. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

  Bo stretched and fell off my chest onto the floor. It didn’t faze the little guy. He went on a sniffing mission across the room. I kept my eye on him just in case he needed to potty.

  “I remember everything, Little Bean.” He moved my legs to the table in front of the couch so I could sit up. “And I’m hoping we can make more memories.”

  He’d worn me down, and no matter how much I wanted to fight my feelings, I didn’t have the strength. Who was I kidding? I didn’t want to fight my feelings anymore. I wanted to melt into them, to drown in them. “I’d like that, too.”

  He moved closer. “Really?”

  I moved closer, too. “Really.” I leaned my head on his shoulder. “But I need to take it slow.”

  He angled toward me, lifting my head in the process. “I can do that.” He tipped my chin forward and gently pressed his lips into mine.

  I closed my eyes and let the kiss happen. It was quick and light, and fireworks exploded around us, though I wasn’t sure anyone felt or heard them but me.

  “Wow. Some things never change,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your lips feel just like I remembered.”

  I smiled. “So do yours.” I moved over and leaned my head back on his shoulder. “It’s kind of sad though.”

  “What is?”

  “Bo is a much better kisser than you.”

  THE END

  Keep Reading for more!

  Decluttered

  And Dead

  A Lily Sprayberry Realtor

  Cozy mystery

  Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  COPYRIGHT SEPTEMBER 2018

  CAROLYN RIDDER ASPENSON

  COPYRIGHT INFORMATION:

  This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

  Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).

  Noncommercial — You may not use this work for commercial purposes.

  No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.

  Cover Design by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

  For Mary Ann Ridder

  Thank you for encouraging my love for mysteries.

  Message from the Author

  Bramblett County Georgia is a fictional county based on two areas in the northern(ish) part of Georgia. If you’re from either of those areas, and one specifically, you may recognize some of the last names as well as various street and park names, though they may seem a bit off. None of the characters are modeled after anyone in particular and first names are not intended to represent anyone specific. If anyone resembles someone in any way, it is totally by accident, unless of course, they are a relative of mine.

  Chapter 1

  Secrets are never really secret, especially in a small town.

  “Bo, heel.” I stood ramrod straight with the vibration controller in hand, ready to press the button on my Boxer mix puppy’s collar if he didn’t heel to my side. His crazy-legged gallop, the one where his big feet flopped all over the place from pure uncontrollable excitement, screeched to a halt, and he backed up, placing himself into the heeled position by my right side.

  I beamed with pride. Bo was only four months old, but he’d already grown out of his puppy stage and into a clumsy forty-pound lump of drooling, rock-like muscle lap dog. The muscle that left a multi-colored bruise when it plowed into the side of my leg. I’d started the two of us in training, and so far, we’d done well. Actually, Bo did better than me. I was a softy, and I needed to toughen up so he didn’t get mixed signals. It wasn’t easy though, with those big puppy eyes staring at me as they did.

  We stayed in heel position until we walked closer to the dog park entrance inside Castleberry Park. Bo’s tail wagged blissfully, and he stuck his little booty in the air with his front paws down, in what I called his puppy play mode, when he saw all of his friends rush to the fence to bark their hellos. “Bo, sit.”

  He sat.

  I completely understood how parents felt when their kids did something wonderful. Sure, Bo wasn’t a human kid, but he was my baby, and for me, the fact that he had four legs and a tail didn’t matter. His daily accomplishments were also mine, and they made me happy. I removed the leash and said okay, and he rushed off to the fence gate. Another dog owner opened it, greeted Bo with a cheerful hello and pat on the head, which he acknowledged with a tail wag and then bolted off to play.

  After thirty minutes of tumbling and rough-housing with the other dogs, I had to drag him out practically kicking and screaming like a toddler. We needed to practice our off-leash training on the park’s path before meeting the not-yet-labeled man in my life, Dylan Roberts.

  Castleberry Park was the largest of three Bramblett County recreational parks. The county built it two years ago to accommodate the increased popularity of lacrosse, and teams from all over the state flocked to tournaments there every season except winter because it was the only one in northern Georgia with eleven turf lacrosse fields. With the pressure of local dog owners, the county added the dog park to an unused, lightly wooded area about nine months ago. The paved multi-use path outlining the park was perfect for
practicing off leash training with Bo. Though technically the law stated all dogs must be on a leash no longer than six feet, it was early enough that the morning walkers didn’t complain, and since the not-yet-defined man in my life just happened to be the county Sheriff, I flat out broke that law. I figured I’d get off with a warning, at least the first time I got caught.

  In my defense, I wasn’t the only one that did it, though my momma would tell me that’s no excuse and question if I’d jump off a bridge because everyone did it, but technically speaking, the electronic collar was a leash, and I had more control over Bo with the controller than I did with an actual physical strap, so I would argue that point in court any day if I had to. I just hoped it never came to that.

  We’d spent twenty minutes walking part of the two-mile path and made it to the section connecting to the exit path that connected to Gibson Bridge. Nose to the ground, Bo followed a scent to the right and onto that path. The bridge was about a half mile up, and it was his most favorite place on earth. An ideal spot for local photographers and artists, the old covered wood walking bridge didn’t actually lead anywhere anymore unless one wanted to cross the rocky stream to fish or swim. Bo liked to watch the fish jump out of the water. They fascinated him. He’d try to catch them with his drooling mouth and droopy jowls but wasn’t quick enough.

  The covered section of the bridge was my favorite place to hang out, mostly because of the shade. It leaned just a bit to the left, and years of teenagers carving their true loves names into the old wood was considered damage by some, but I thought of it as a touch of history and nostalgia. Yes, Dylan and I had our names carved into it, too, which was why I thought of the carvings as nostalgic rather than damaging. Our long-term high school and college relationship had been intense and hadn’t ended well, but he wanted to give it another try, and considering I was still in love with him, I couldn’t deny the chance. I just had to take it slow because I didn’t trust that he wouldn’t up and leave me again.

  “You feel like going that way, big guy?” I checked my watch. We still had a good fifteen minutes before we had to meet Dylan, so I figured why not?

  I sent Dylan a quick text telling him we’d veered off toward the bridge and might be a few minutes late just in case.

  “The nose goes where the nose goes,” he replied.

  Up ahead I caught a glimpse of my high school friend and college sorority sister, Heather Barrington walking with a man with short brown hair and a scruffy beard I thought looked like William Abernathy. William’s family owned the biggest and most popular corn maze and pumpkin patch in the surrounding area. Another high school and college friend, Caroline Abernathy, married William shortly after college. As I walked Bo toward them, the man turned off the path and cut through the wooded section.

  Heather and Caroline were best friends then, and best friends still, and both were signed up to be in my Decluttering and Staging Your Home for Sale class starting later that morning.

  Bo greeted Heather with a nose bump to a somewhat private place. He had no shame, but it embarrassed me. “Bo, heel.”

  He backed up and stood by my side.

  “Sorry about that. We’re still learning our manners.”

  She waved it off. “Oh, honey, he’s a dog. That’s how they say hey.” She bent down and patted Bo’s head. “I’m looking forward to class today. Should be a lot of fun. Will Belle be there?”

  Belle Pyott, my best friend and business partner, also went to school with Heather and me.

  “She’ll come by, but she’s not staying for the entire class.”

  She blew out a breath and puffed her bottom lip out into a pout. “That’s too bad. Funny, we all live in the same town and rarely see each other.”

  “Caroline will be there, too, but you probably already knew that. Hey, was that William I just saw with you?”

  She twirled a strand of her long red hair around her finger. “William? Oh, heavens, no. That was a client. He’s looking for a painting of the bridge. Wanted to see if I was interested in doing one for him.”

  I nodded even though it sure looked like William to me.

  We caught up as we walked toward the main path. “Well, I have to meet someone, but I’ll see you an hour or so,” I said.

  She smiled. “Yes, I hear you’re back together with Dylan. You sure latched onto that tall drink of water right quick when he got back to town.”

  And that’s when I remembered why we’d stopped hanging out. My momma once said there were two types of women, One type a man brings home to his momma, and the other type a man brings home, but not to the house his momma lived in. She also said girls went to college for one of two types of degrees, either a degree from the university itself or an M-R-S degree. She believed Heather Barrington went to college thinking she was the bring her home to momma kind of girl and wanted that M-R-S degree, but when she realized that wasn’t in the cards, she’d flipped sides. Based on Heather’s comment, I had to agree with my momma.

  I didn’t want her to make a play for Dylan, not that I thought he’d fall for it, but because we’d been friends since elementary school. That would be all kinds of awkward, her throwing herself into the mix of my sort of relationship with my one true love, but I also didn’t feel right saying something that wasn’t entirely true. “We’re testing the waters.” The truth was, yes, Dylan was back in town, and yes, we were spending time together, but the relationship itself hadn’t yet been defined. I knew I loved him. I’d always loved him, but slow and steady won the race, and I was in no hurry to get to the finish line. Thankfully, Dylan understood.

  “Well, that boy’s got a mighty fine physique to go swimming with. He’s all grown up now, that’s for sure.” She giggled, but it was more of an evil laugh than one filled with humor. “Keep an eye on that one. Someone might just sneak up behind you and steal him out from under you if you don’t.”

  Gee, was that a threat of some sort? Had she let me know she’d planned to make a play for my man? Was he even really my man? Ugh. As if I needed that kind of additional stress in my life, especially given the fact that Heather would be in my face every day for the next week.

  “Ta ta,” she said, heading in the other direction. She turned around a second or two later. “Oh, Lily, I’d be tickled pink if you’d put one of my paintings up in your office. I’m into reds right now. They really add a pop of color.” She wiggled her head and flicked her hair back. “I mean, look at my hair. Men just adore it, and you know what they say about us gingers. I bet one of my paintings would bring in all kinds of business.”

  Did she actually just threaten to take my man and then try to sell me her artwork? Wow. If I remembered correctly, the saying about gingers referred to them having no souls, though I doubted that’s the one she meant.

  Bless her heart. She wanted to sell her work so bad she’d resorted to comparing it to her floozy ways. I had half a mind to tell her that sales technique wouldn’t work on women, but she might could give it a try on some of the older men in town. I would have bet good money on Old Man Goodson buying her self-portrait and hanging it right next to the 50s girl pin up calendar in his shop.

  If my momma knew what I was thinking she’d have sent me outside to pick the thinnest switch on a tree in my backyard and then whacked me on the back of the thighs with it. I was ashamed of myself for my nasty thoughts, especially because they were about an old friend.

  I didn’t want one of Heather’s paintings, but I almost pitied her because I knew her life hadn’t turned out the way she’d expected. Heather planned to marry rich and paint without worry of supporting herself. Instead, she still lived at home with her parents and worked at their store while trying to sell her paintings on the side. That had to crush the ego. “I’ll talk to Belle, see what we can do.” I smiled, knowing Belle thought a blind cow could paint better than our old friend. Belle didn’t have an eye for art. It wasn’t just Heather’s. “See you in a bit.”

  She waved and skipped off. “Ta ta, lo
ve.”

  Bo and I met up with Dylan a few minutes later.

  “Why the long face?” he asked.

  I ignored the old joke reference that referred to the person resembling a horse because I knew he hadn’t gone there. “I just ran into Heather Barrington.”

  “And?”

  “I suggest you watch your back.”

  He glanced behind him. “Hard to do when it’s behind me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean.”

  “Okay. Done. Care to tell me why though?”

  “Because she’ll probably leave claw marks in it if you don’t.”

  “Noted.” He brushed the back of his hand across my face. “Did you tell her I only have eyes for you?”

  “I didn’t think that would be appropriate.”

  “Then I promise, if she tries to get her claws into me, I’ll make sure she knows.”

  I had a feeling the sheriff’s office wouldn’t have any Heather Barrington original artwork hanging in it any time soon.

  “So, you know that secret client I’ve been working with for the past two weeks?”

  He nodded. “The one that’s taken you away from your favorite crime TV shows?”

  “I have cable, you know. I can watch them on On Demand.”

  “That’s too bad. You also have a real-life crime fighter right here.” He pointed to his chest, which, I had to admit, was quite sexy in the tight-fitting t-shirt stuck to him from the sweat of his run.

  “You’re a small-town sheriff. The crime rate here is what, negative twenty?”

  “It went up with the two murders you were involved in, remember?”

  “I wasn’t actually involved in them.”