Lily Sprayberry Realtor Box Set

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

“Oh, I know them all right,” Bonnie said. “I used to work at the hardware store, and Mr. Armstrong would come in every week and get himself some fertilizer and such.” She nodded while examining the landscape. “Looks like we knew what we were selling.”

  We discussed the lawn and the importance of curb appeal when selling a home. Belle had a green thumb, but mine was black as the night, so she dug deeper into plants and flowers and what could grow where before we headed into the house.

  I watched Heather and Caroline as their eyes wandered through the foyer. Caroline scratched and rubbed her arms, and if I remembered correctly, when she blinked a lot, like at that moment, that meant she was nervous. Heather’s face stayed tight, nearly frozen without expression other than the slight up lift to her cheeks. I suspected she was less nervous and more annoyed to be in close proximity to some place her ex-boyfriend and his wife had been together.

  “At least there aren’t any happy family pictures,” Heather said.

  I ignored the obvious ugly intention in her tone. “We want potential buyers to feel like they could live in the home, not that someone else already lives in it.”

  Bonnie surveyed the area, running her fingers across a wood entry table. “I might could live here.”

  “I might could, too.” Henrietta pointed toward the kitchen. “What kind of stove is there? I got one of those new electronic ones, but I can’t cook a thing on it. It confuses me with all them fancy buttons.”

  “It’s also one of those new electric ones,” I said. “Let’s work our way to the kitchen.”

  I noted several different key elements to staging and decluttering, and as we worked our way around the house, I removed each yellow note relative to the discussion. Once we made it through the first floor, we doubled back to the formal living room to discuss storage. “Once you’ve cleared the cluttered and determined what—"

  Henrietta pulled the yellow note from the old cedar trunk. “You missed this one.” She held it close to her glasses. “I can’t read nothing on it though. Looks like chicken scratch to me, and besides, it’s all blurry.” She handed the note to Bonnie. “Can you read this?”

  Bonnie stretched her arm out as far as it would go, dropped her glasses from the bridge of her nose to its tip, and read the note. “Store things you want to keep around but not have visible to onlookers in drawers and the like.”

  “So what kind of things you got stored in this here trunk?” Henrietta unlatched the trunk drawbolts and turned the key in the lock. She pulled the lid open. “Looks like it’d be the perfect place to—”

  Belle gasped. “Oh, Lord.”

  Henrietta glanced into the trunk and screamed.

  It was Savannah, and she was dead.

  .

  Chapter 3

  The news of a dead body traveled fast, and in less than an hour most of the town had gathered on the front lawn and area surrounding the Armstrong home. A few brought coolers as they always did when something exciting happened in our small county. Nothing was off limits as cause for a celebration to the folks in town, and that included murder.

  Belle squeezed my hand. “Just another average day in Bramblett County Georgia.”

  Based on the previous two dead bodies I’d found, she wasn’t wrong. I desperately wanted to pick up Bo from doggy daycare and hide in my house for the rest of my life. “Belle Pyott, Savannah was our friend. Have some respect.”

  She grimaced. “I do, but you know how I get.”

  Some people cried in the face of tragedy. Belle however, did and said whatever she could to make light of it. Her defense mechanism wasn’t just to protect herself, she also wanted to shelter and safeguard the people she loved. I apologized for jumping on her. “I’m a horrible friend sometimes.”

  She wrapped her arm around my shoulder. “You are not. You just found your third dead body in less than what, three months? And like you said, she was a friend of ours. I was wrong to make light of it. I’m the one that should be sorry.”

  A tear rolled down my cheek. Get it together, Lily.

  Dylan had arrived a few minutes after we’d called 911, and after getting the details from us, headed straight inside. A deputy secured the scene from the outside while another one managed the onlookers, or at least tried to. After what felt like hours, but was more like thirty minutes, the not-yet-defined man in my life stepped outside and signaled for the two of us to join him behind the yellow tape and on the front porch. Belle made some comment about special privileges, but I didn’t hear the whole thing because I was too busy wiping my face and pulling myself together. I didn’t want him to know I’d even come close to crying let alone already shed a tear. I didn’t know why I felt the need to be tough around him, but nonetheless, that’s how I felt.

  “I’m going to get statements from the other ladies, but I wanted to talk with the two of you one more time before I do.”

  We both nodded. When he’d arrived, we gave him a quick run through of what happened, but nothing too detailed because he needed to get inside and manage the situation.

  “Belle, why don’t you run me through what happened again? Start from when you arrived to when I got here, okay?”

  “Okay.” She pursed her lips together. “Lily and I got here around the same time. Separate cars.”

  She spoke is short, direct sentences, totally un-Belle-like. I wondered if that was on purpose.

  She waved her right hand toward the ground. “Waited here on the front porch for the others to arrive. Saw the note and—”

  Dylan interrupted her. “Note?”

  “Oh!” I swiveled around. “Where’s my bag? I put it in there.” I pointed to the front door. “Can I go get it?”

  Dylan shook his head. “Let’s wait until the coroner is finished, okay?”

  I nodded.

  “What did the note say?”

  Belle responded. “That she had to meet with her attorney and to lock up when we left.”

  “She being Savannah I assume?”

  She nodded. “Then we went in, and Lily began the class. Pointed out some of the stick up notes she’d left the night before, detailed the what and why for them, and then Henrietta saw one of them on the trunk and opened it.”

  The skin around the corners of her eyes bunched. “Oh, dear Lord, Savannah is dead.” She clutched her stomach and bent over. “I’m going to be ill.”

  Reality just hit her. I grabbed hold of her. “You okay, honey? Do you want me to get Billy Ray?”

  I didn’t have to. Dylan clicked the little radio on his shoulder and asked for them to send him over. In the meantime, I guided Belle to the swing and gently sat her down. “You did good honey.” I rubbed her back. “It’s not easy, trust me. I know.”

  “I’ll be back in a bit,” Dylan said and headed back into the house.

  She leaned back on the swing. “Don’t make it move. Please, my breakfast might make a reappearance, and you know how much I hate that.”

  I knew how much everyone hated that, actually.

  Billy Ray showed up with a cup of sweet tea, an ice pack wrapped in a cloth—something new to the mix—and a Band Aid. “Here you go Booboo, this ought to have your stomach feeling good as new right quick.”

  Belle took the drink and sipped it. “Thank you, Billy Ray. I don’t think I need the Band Aid though. You can’t put that on a broken heart.”

  Billy Ray frowned. “I know, but you keep it anyway. Might could use it sometime later. I got me a whole bag full of them anyway.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry ‘bout your friend. I know you two was close once. It’s hard to lose someone, no matter how close you were now, she meant something to you before, and that matters.”

  Dang it. Billy Ray flipped the tear switch on for both me and Belle, and the dam broke. Tears poured out from the both of us.

  “Aw, now look what I gone and did.” He shook his head and his shoulders drooped. “Here I am, trying to make you feel better, and I set you both to crying. Ain’t no good at
properly consoling a lady in despair now, that’s for sure.”

  Belle finished the tiny cup of sweet tea and stood. She wrapped her arms around Billy Ray and squeezed him into a tight hug. “Billy Ray Brownlee, don’t you go thinking that one bit. You are the master at making a lady feel better. My heart is already healing because of your kind words.”

  She’d hugged him with such force his eyes practically bulged from their sockets, but the smile on his face showed his relief. When she finally let go, he released a deep breath. I hoped she didn’t crack one of the old man’s ribs.

  “Then why you got them tears rolling down your cheeks?”

  We both wiped our faces. “Because that’s what ladies do, Billy Ray,” I said.

  Belle wiped her face with the side of her hand. “Yes, we cry at everything.”

  He nodded. “Ain’t that the truth. My sister, ‘fore she passed, she cried at the drop of a hat.” He went on to tell us a story about his sister who died when he was twelve. It made us both want to cry all over again, but we didn’t because we knew that would make him feel bad. Instead, we listened and smiled, and then sent him on his way.

  We waited for Dylan to come back out, but instead a deputy came by and told us he’d asked for us to wait with the other women from the class off the porch and near the side of the house. He directed us to a sectioned off area of the yard within ear shot of the crowd.

  “All that blood,” Henrietta said. “It might could take years to get that out.”

  Bonnie guffawed. “I got the perfect solution for that. My momma showed me once after Daddy cut the head off of a chicken and came in the house and plopped right down on the couch like he hadn’t just done it. The blood got all over his shirt. She told him not to wear his Sunday clothes when he cut them heads off, but my daddy, he never did listen to what Momma said. All you got to do is spray a little club soda and laundry detergent on it, let it sit a spell, pat—don’t rub ‘cause rubbing just makes the blood get in them fibers—and keep on doing that until the blood comes out. Nothing to it.”

  “Blood? I didn’t notice any blood anywhere,” I said.

  Both Henrietta and Bonnie stared at me like I’d lost my mind.

  “You didn’t?” Bonnie asked. “Blood was ever’where. Can’t believe you missed it. You might could do with an appointment at that eye doctor. What do they call them?”

  “Orthothamalgust?” Henrietta asked.

  “Yeah, that one,” Bonnie said. “Looks like you could use a pair of glasses.”

  “I recently had an eye exam with my ophthalmologist, and I’m all good.” I made a point of accentuating the word ophthalmologist.

  Belle giggled, and I asked her if she saw any blood.

  She shook her head. “There was something red on the trunk and maybe a little red stuff on the note, but I can’t be sure it was blood.”

  Caroline agreed. “I saw that too, but I’m not sure it was blood either.”

  “I saw it on a few of the yellow stick up notes you went over. Where’d you put those?” Henrietta asked.

  “They’re in my bag with the note from the door.”

  Heather tipped her head back and glanced toward the sun. She sighed. “I’m fixin’ to pop a blood vessel here. Are we ever going to be dismissed?”

  “You got ants in your pants or something?” Henrietta asked.

  Heather snarled. “I have better things to do than waste my time standing around here, that’s for sure.”

  Heather’s nostrils flared, and she stood with her feet shoulder width apart. Prime for a fight, I did my best to keep the peace. “I don’t think it will be that much longer. Do you want me to see if Billy Ray can get us some sweet tea?”

  “I don’t need sweet tea. I need to get out of here.”

  The crowd next to us split in two, and Austin Emmerson marched through the middle of it, his face red, worry set in his eyes through the furrowing of his brows. “Where’s Savannah? Someone said she’s dead.”

  “Dear Lord, it’s like Myrtle Redbecker’s murder all over again. Only it’s the husband and not the great-nephew this time,” Belle said.

  I glared at her.

  “Sorry.”

  Austin pushed his way to our little group. “Lily, is it true? Is my wife dead?”

  Heather bowed up like a hen going after the biggest rooster in the flock. “From the looks of her stuffed in that trunk, she couldn’t be any deader.”

  Henrietta and Bonnie gasped.

  “Ooh wee. That one’s gonna sting,” Bonnie said.

  Austin stepped close to Heather and stuck his nose down into her face. “You want to do this right now? Right now?” He thrust back his shoulders and stuck his chin up. “Then come on, let’s do it. I don’t have anything to lose anymore.”

  She cowered, and all the spitefulness in her dissipated. “I…I...”

  Dylan had perfect timing and broke up the possible fight before it went full throttle. “Austin, how about we step over here and talk?”

  Austin stomped away, his hands flailing around him and his head jerking in all directions while Dylan remained calm and steady.

  I chided Heather like an elementary school teacher. “That was completely out of line. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  She fixed her eyes on me and snickered. “Well, I for one am not upset that that boyfriend stealer is dead. You just don’t get it Lily. You have this perfect little life, all wrapped up in a sweet little bow. You don’t know what it’s like to have your future pulled out from under you.”

  She couldn’t have been more wrong. I’d been there, just maybe not in the exact situation, but I’d been there. Dylan left me my sophomore year at the University of Georgia. I spent seven years focused on building a future for myself and forgetting about him—although that part never really happened—so yes, I got it. I just didn’t think it was the right time to go into my sob story, and I’d moved on, like a person was supposed to do. Heather was too involved in her own pity party to listen anyway.

  Belle spoke in a calm, soft voice. “Heather, news flash. This isn’t about you. Austin dumped you eight years ago. Move on already.”

  Heather’s face flushed. “Well, I’ve never!”

  “You might ought to sometime. It’s good for ya,” Bonnie said.

  Heather clenched both fists. “I do not have to stand here and take this from the likes of you.” She flipped around and bumped into a deputy.

  “Going somewhere?” he asked.

  “Yes, I have a job, and a career. I am an artist, and I have a painting to finish.”

  “Ma’am, Sheriff Roberts hasn’t given permission for any of you to leave. I suggest you hold on a bit until he does.”

  Heather glared my direction. “Can you talk to your boyfriend? I don’t have time for this.”

  “I, uh…”

  Dylan squeezed my arm. “I got this.” He held up a red zipper sweat jacket. “This belong to any of you?”

  Heather swung her arm out to grab the jacket, but Dylan yanked it back. “That’s mine.”

  “When did you have it on last?”

  She stuck out her chin. “Yesterday morning. It was a bit chilly when I left, so I went inside again right quick and grabbed it from the coat rack. Why?”

  Dylan whispered something to the deputy.

  “Ma’am, I’d like you to come with me to the station.”

  Heather dug her heels into the ground. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”

  Dylan used his calm but authoritative voice, the soft, low one that accentuated his southern drawl. “We’ve got some questions for you, Heather, and it’s best they’re asked at the station. I’ll be there soon. Just go and sit tight, okay?”

  She pitched a fit bigger than the state of Texas. “Why am I going to the station? Do you think I had something to do with that…that…with Savannah’s murder? What’s going on? I need a lawyer. Someone get me a lawyer.”

  “You’re within your rights to
have an attorney present at the time of questioning if you so desire, ma’am, and we can make arrangements for you to contact one at the station. Now, if you’ll just come with me.” The deputy held onto her arm and all but dragged her to his car.

  “Well, I am most definitely going to get myself an attorney. This is police brutality, that’s what it is. I am a victim here.” She screamed so everyone could hear her. “A victim!”

  Henrietta shook her head. “Oh, that can’t be good.”

  “If she did it, then maybe her paintings will sell, and she’ll die one of them martyrs or what you call them. You know, like that famous guy that cut his nose off did.”

  “It was Van Gogh and it was his ear, not his nose,” Belle said.

  “Yeah, that’s what I said. His ear. Cut it off so his paintings would sell. Smart man right there.”

  That wasn’t exactly how the story went, but I knew Belle wasn’t going to fill her in when she shook her head and turned away.

  “What’s going on?” Caroline asked Dylan.

  He’d been distracted for a moment by the two older women. He smiled at them and then at Caroline. “One of the neighbors said they saw someone outside the house last night wearing a red jacket with a hood.” He flicked his head toward the sheriff’s vehicle with Heather in the back. “We found that in the house.”

  “Austin is wearing a red jacket,” I said.

  Dylan nodded. “He’s headed to the station also. Another one of my deputies is taking him. Quietly, I hope.”

  William Abernathy arrived and hurried over to Caroline. “Honey, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

  “Oh, William, it’s just terrible. Awful.” She wrapped her arms around him and fell into him. He held her tight. “Savannah, she’s dead. My old friend. Someone killed her.”

  She laid it on as thick as the sap dripping from a Georgia oak tree, and William fell for it completely.

  “Why, I’m just devastated,” she said. “I can’t believe she’s dead.”

  Bonnie coughed. “You can’t? I recall you threatening her in class yesterday.”

  Henrietta nodded. “Yeah, I recall that, too. And you pitched a hissy fit at Millie’s yesterday afternoon.”