Lily Sprayberry Realtor Box Set

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

  “True, but he has been acting ugly lately.”

  “Definitely.”

  “But then again, Caroline’s been a bit on the crazy side, so we can’t just shove that under the table.”

  “Nope. No shoving on my part.”

  “But if you think about it, who’s got more to lose here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If any of this stuff about William and Savannah and Heather is true, who’s got more skin in the game, him or her?”

  “William, of course. If he did cheat on Caroline with Heather, then his marriage is definitely over, and if she does find out he cheated on her with Savannah, with the way she’s talked about it lately, I’m pretty sure that would end their marriage, too.”

  “I’m right there with you, so if I were a gambling woman—”

  “Which you’re definitely not.”

  “Which I’m definitely not, but if I were, I’d have to put my chips on William, not Caroline. He’s definitely got the cards stacked against him in this one.”

  I cocked my head and when it hit me, my mouth dropped open. “Oh, my gosh. You’re watching crime TV shows now, aren’t you?”

  She cleared her throat. “Maybe once or twice.”

  “Oh, sweetie, you are so busted from here to Sunday.”

  “I’m dating a law enforcement officer. I have to keep up with his world, you know.”

  I laughed. “Dylan told me reality is a lot different than what they show on TV. Half that stuff isn’t even possible, and most crimes aren’t solved in less than a day.”

  “If we were solving them, they would be.”

  “Darn straight.”

  Dylan responded to my text on Belle’s phone. “He said he’s on his way.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Maybe I ought to scoot on out of here and give you two a little privacy. You know what I mean?”

  I threw a throw pillow from my couch at her. “Get on out then, and let me get to my business.”

  She jogged to my door, said, “You go girl,” and giggled as she closed the door behind her.

  “I didn’t mean that how it sounded,” I hollered, but she just waved her hand behind her and kept walking.

  Chapter 10

  I poured Dylan a tall glass of ice cold sweet tea while Bo covered his face with doggy kisses. His lips were closed tight, but in the shape of a half moon, so I knew he didn’t mind. Bo had Dylan on his back on the floor, his colossal sized paws bounding up and down on Dylan’s chest. I ordered him to stop, but he kept playing. Dylan laughed, and Bo took that opportunity to stick his tongue directly into Dylan’s open mouth.

  I laughed. “Ew. I think that means you’re going steady now.”

  He grabbed Bo’s paws and lifted the mini-monster off him, moving him onto the ground. When he sat up, he patted Bo’s head. “Sorry buddy, but you’re not my type.”

  Bo snuggled up next to him, and Dylan pointed to me. “See your momma over there? That’s the woman I intend to marry. Besides, I think I saw a French Poodle at doggy daycare eyeing you big time buddy, so how ‘bout we stick to just friends?”

  I couldn’t help but laugh, even as a bolt of—I don’t know what—shot through my body and left my limbs tingling. “Here, drink this.” I shoved the sweet tea at his face, pretending I hadn’t heard his marriage comment.

  We locked eyes, and I saw something in his I’d never seen before. I saw my heart. “Thank you,” he said.

  I moved to the couch pretending we didn’t just have that moment. “So, what’s going on?”

  He sat near me, and even though he’d spent the day working, I still caught a hint of the fresh soap he’d used since college. I breathed in through my nose just to keep smelling it.

  He sighed. “It was a long day.”

  I leaned closer to him and breathed in his manly, soapy scent, letting it swirl around in my nose, taking me back to high school and the beginning of college, and just last week, where I felt safe, and happy and loved.

  “Lily?”

  I realized I’d closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. “Yeah, sorry.”

  The side of his mouth twitched. “Yes, it’s the same soap. Why don’t you just buy yourself a bar of it so you can smell it when I’m not around?”

  The tops of my ears burned, and I backed away. “I..I…what are you talking about? Soap? What soap?”

  “You used to do that all the time, you know. Smell me like that? You think I didn’t notice? You even did it last week. The first thing I did when I came back to town was get that soap because I knew it was your favorite. I may be good looking, but I ain’t stupid.” The side of his mouth twitched again.

  I pulled my knees up to my chest. “You knew I…I—”

  “Liked the way I smell? Yes, I knew. I know, and I think it’s kind of cute.”

  That sounded so much less creepy than what I thought.

  He scooted closer, tilted his head to the side and stretched his neck toward me. “Here, put your nose right here.”

  I backed up again and almost fell over the side of the couch. “Uh, no. That’s okay.”

  He laughed. “Darn. I thought I’d got you with that one.”

  I smacked his arm. “Nice try, buddy.” That’s all it took for me to get my head on straight again. “Okay, seriously, what’s going on?”

  “You might have been right about Austin.”

  I jumped from the couch. “I knew it. He didn’t kill Savannah. I just knew it.” I jumped up and down like a frog on steroids.

  He sat back with his arms folded. “Let me know when you’re finished.”

  I froze. “Oh, sorry.” I sat back down and stayed still, except for my foot, which wouldn’t stop tapping on the floor.

  “We aren’t sure yet, but we think Heather was probably strangled, though we believe whoever killed her wants us to think she poisoned herself. Initially we thought it might be a copycat thing, but we don’t think it was.”

  “I’m confused. She poisoned herself, but she was strangled, too?”

  “No, we think she was strangled, but we believe the killer wants us to think she overdosed on drugs. That she committed suicide. At least that's what the note says."

  “You found a note?”

  “Yes, and that’s why we don’t think it’s a copycat. I’ll explain, but first, I’d like you to tell me exactly what you did when you got to Heather’s.”

  “Pretty much what you did. I rang the doorbell and when no one answered, I knocked and then I looked in the window, saw the light was on and got worried, so I drove down the street like you told me to do after Myrtle Redbecker was murdered and called you.”

  “And you should be glad you did.”

  “Because?”

  “Because it looks like you got there while the killer was there.”

  The hairs on my arms stood. “You mean, the killer could have seen me?”

  “Or heard you. Either way, you scared him—”

  “Or her.”

  “Or her, away, and he—or she—dropped the note on the floor in the hallway. I don’t know what he—or she—intended to do with it, but I don’t think dropping it in the hallway was the plan. I think the note ended up on the floor because the killer heard you at the door, got scared and rushed to finish the job.”

  “What did the note say?”

  “It was a suicide note. From Heather.”

  “Oh.” I shook my head to clear out the fog. “But you said you don’t think she committed suicide.”

  “No, we don’t. We think the killer wrote the note and wants us to think it’s from Heather.”

  “Oh. I get it.”

  “The thing is, we know she didn’t. We just have to wait for the autopsy report to say for sure.”

  “How do you know?”

  “For one, like Savannah, there are similar marks on Heather’s neck, but that’s not all. When a woman commits suicide, she’s most likely to do it through self-poi
soning—or drug overdose, and when she does that, it’s either in her own bed, or in the bathtub, with the added benefit—for lack of a better term—of drowning. It’s a meticulous, planned act, and they’re usually well-prepared. Most often, there isn’t a note, but when there is, it’s not just tossed on the floor in the hallway. It’s left some place where the person knows it will be seen, and it’s not usually next to the victim. It may be on the nightstand, but usually they leave it some place outside the room where they commit the act, so the person that does find them finds the note first and has a chance to prepare themselves for what’s coming.”

  I didn’t know any of that, and to hear Dylan talk with such knowledge and compassion about it made me admire him more. “Okay, so the note on the floor is reason enough to think Heather didn’t commit suicide?”

  “That’s not all. Heather was on the floor along with a bottle of spilled pills. I won’t go into too many details, but the position of her body wasn’t one typical of someone that overdosed on pills and laid down to die. She’d either collapsed, fallen or been dropped there. Sure, I can see the pills on the floor. She could have had the bottle in her hand and fallen asleep on the bed, but not on the floor, not just standing there. It doesn’t happen like that. Could she have taken them somewhere else and wandered into the room and fallen? Yeah, sure, but it’s unlikely. Doesn’t fit the typical suicidal M.O. of a woman.” He paused, took a deep breath and released it. “Does that make sense?”

  “I think so.”

  “But none of that is the kicker. The kicker is the note.”

  “Why? What did it say?”

  “It’s not what it said. It’s the font. It’s the same one as the other notes.”

  “Have you been able to find the font online yet and trace it to an owner?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet, but we’re close. Maybe another day or two and we should be able to.”

  “Oh, my gosh. Then Austin really didn’t kill her, did he?”

  “I don’t believe he did.”

  “I knew it.”

  “How many times do you want to say that?”

  “About another ten or so, maybe.” I winked. “Or more.”

  “But you thought it might be Heather, didn’t you?”

  I sighed. “Except that’s changed, too. Other than because of the fact that someone killed her, I mean.”

  “How do you mean then?”

  “Because the more I think about it, the more I think William or Caroline could have killed Savannah.”

  He pulled his left leg up and rested the side of his calf over his right thigh. “But what about Heather?”

  I explained the theory as Belle and I saw it.

  “I have to admit, Little Bean, you’re really learning your stuff. I guess all that crime TV is paying off.” I wasn’t sure, but I think one of his teeth sparkled when he smiled.

  “You are a big jerk, and besides, this was a lot more Belle than me, though I was pretty much there already. I just hadn’t said it all out loud.”

  He laughed. “I’m serious, really. I think you two might be onto something here.”

  “Really? Took you long enough.” I flung my hair back and batted my eyelashes. I’d gone for sexy and confident, but Dylan laughed, so I knew I’d missed the mark. “So, are you going to let Austin go?”

  “Not yet. There’s still enough evidence to hold him, so we’re going to do that until we can guarantee another killer can be brought to trial.”

  I felt bad for Austin. “Why? So you can still send him to prison if you can’t pin the crime on someone else?”

  “No. If I release him, then the killer might know we’re onto him and—”

  “Or her.”

  “Or her. Now I understand why you keep saying that. And we want the killer to get lazy and comfortable, to think it’s all good and he—or she—doesn’t have to worry.”

  “Oh, that makes perfect sense. So, what happens now?”

  “First, I need you to promise not to tell anyone what I’ve told you. I shouldn’t be discussing this with you in the first place, but given the fact that this is the second friend of yours to be killed in a matter of days, I thought you should know. It’s a little too close for comfort Lily, and you and Belle need to be careful.”

  “What do you mean? Like we could be in danger, too?”

  “I know you think Heather and Savannah are connected because of Austin, but have you considered other factors? Things that might connect you and Belle to them?”

  “The thought has crossed my mind.”

  “All of you have been friends since you were kids. You went to school together, to the same college. You were in the same sorority. There’s a connection there, Lily. We just have to figure out what. And until we do, both you and Belle, and even Caroline, aren’t safe.”

  When he put it like that, I understood why he wanted to stick close to me. “So, you want to be around me because you’re worried something’s going to happen to me?”

  “Yes.” He pressed his fingers into his forehead. “No. I mean, yes and no. I am worried that something’s going to happen to you, yes. And yes, I want to be around you to keep you safe, but I also want to be around you because I just want to be around you, you know? I enjoy being with you, Lily. I always have.”

  Don’t cry Lily. Do. Not. Cry. His eyes were warm and caring, and I just wanted to climb into them and spend the rest of my life there.

  He spoke barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

  I nodded, because if I spoke, I would have blubbered all over my couch, and it was only six months old. I didn’t want to stain it.

  “So, here’s what we’re going to do. I’ve got a friend in Atlanta who owns a security company, and he’s sending out a guy tomorrow to put cameras up here, at Belle’s and at your office. The cameras are accessible through any laptop but also on an app, so Matt and I will have access to them, along with you and Belle, of course. That way we’ll be able to keep an eye on your place, so if someone does try to do something and our deputy is disabled or doesn’t catch it, we will.”

  “You’re going to be watching me on camera twenty-four seven?”

  “That sounds a lot worse than it is. The cameras will be outside, not inside, so it’s not like we’ll be watching you when you’re in your nightie or something.” Both of our faces turned red.

  I giggled. “My mother says nightie.”

  “Isn’t that what it is?”

  “Well, technically, I guess, but that’s not what people our age call it.”

  “Oh really? What do people our age call it then?”

  “Flannels or sweats and a t-shirt.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Oh. Gotcha.”

  I giggled again. “Actually, I think I got you.”

  “You’ve had me since I was seventeen.”

  I swallowed hard.

  He brushed a flyaway hair from my face. “So, you okay with this?”

  I twisted my fingers together and lifted just my eyes toward him. “You’re going to stay here until this is over, right? In the guest bedroom, of course.”

  “I’ve got a week’s worth of clothes packed in a bag in the car, Little Bean.”

  Chapter 11

  Both Dylan and Matthew suggested we continued with business as usual the next day and that included holding the decluttering class. Neither Belle nor I wanted to, but we both agreed it made sense. She and Matthew had come over first thing in the morning. Belle had thrown her hair up in a bun and tossed on her go-to yoga pants and multi-colored sweatshirt with white, girly, bubbly letters that read, I’m All That and More. The sweatshirt had seen better days in its fifteen or so years, but it was her favorite, and I knew she wore it because it made her feel safe.

  I eyed her outfit and pulled my chin into my neck. “Is that what you’re wearing to class?”

  She pretended to be insulted. “Why darlin’, it took me all night to plan this outfit. Are you sayin�
�� you don’t like it?”

  The boys watched and played along.

  “I think it’s stunning,” Matthew said.

  Dylan shrugged. “It’s not bad, but I’m more of a skirt and stilettos guy.”

  I glanced at my dark jeans and sleeveless top and noted my inadequate attire. “Well, I’m sure Henrietta or Bonnie will gladly change into something more fitting to your tastes.”

  Belle laughed. “He’ll have to fight Old Man Goodson and Billy Ray for their affections, though.”

  “I think I can take them.”

  “Isn’t Billy Ray the volunteer paramedic?” Matthew asked.

  Matthew was new in town and still getting a handle on the who’s who and the what’s what.

  “Yep,” Belle said.

  “He’s old.”

  “I think a better word would be seasoned,” Belle said.

  “Or maybe matured?” I added.

  “More like past his prime, but hey, if you think you need help taking he and this Old Man…what’s his name?”

  “Goodson,” we all said collectively.

  “Taking he and this old man Goodson down, I’m happy to help.”

  We all laughed, and though I felt bad for doing so at the expense of two kind men, it was in good hearted fun, and Belle and I needed the light mood. Knowing we might be at risk weighed heavily on our hearts, and our hearts were already heavy from losing our friends.

  Adulting was hard. Why we spent our youth rushing to grow up and wanting it so badly made no sense. Sometimes, I longed for a do-over.

  Belle changed into her work attire, a more fitting outfit of dark jeans and a light colored cami with a matching button down cardigan sweater. We fixed our hair, applied limited makeup and returned to the kitchen and to two men on their phones doing sheriff stuff.

  Dylan disconnected his call and smiled at me. “So, you two know what to do, right?”

  I nodded. “Act as though you haven’t told us anything and be upset. Which, that last part at least, is true.”

  “You understand why you’re doing this, though?” Matthew directed his question to Belle.