Lily Sprayberry Realtor Box Set

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  “They dropped the charges and released me late last night, or early this morning, I guess,” he said.

  “I’m glad.” I pointed to the entrance to Millie’s. “I’ll be just a minute. Can you stay?”

  He nodded. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

  I placed my order with Millie and let her shower her love on me while I enjoyed every moment of it. She wanted the dirty details—her words—of my traumatic experience—again, her words, but I told her I just couldn’t go into them and that I wanted, no, that I needed some time to heal before I talked about them. She understood. I asked if she’d bring my things outside, and she agreed.

  I sat with Austin. At first, we just stared at each other, and then we both sighed. It was one of those, holy-cow, I can’t believe that all happened kind of sighs from both of us.

  He leaned toward me. “Thank you, Lily.”

  “For what?”

  “For believing me. You were the only one.”

  “I…I uh…you’re welcome.” I rubbed my neck. “I did believe you, for the most part, but there were moments I wasn’t sure.”

  “Of course, and I understand that. I wouldn’t have known for sure, either, but even my parents thought I killed my wife.”

  “They did? That must be horrible knowing that.”

  He nodded. “My life will never be the same.”

  “I don’t think mine will be, either.”

  He shook his head. “That woman. I can’t…I can’t believe she did this. All because of Faith Pruitt. And the thing is, I didn’t actually date that girl. We talked a little at camp, and then she texted me afterwards, but that was it. We didn’t have a relationship, so I don’t know why she thinks we did.”

  “How did you find out about this?”

  “One of the deputies told me. The one Belle’s dating? Matt something or other.”

  I nodded.

  “He told me the whole story. Wanted to know what was true and what wasn’t.” He leaned back in his seat. “And I’ll confirm to you, the dating thing definitely wasn’t.”

  “So, what happens now for you?”

  “I don’t know. Savannah’s parents won’t talk to me, and yeah, my parents were helping me with this, but you know, I just don’t think I want to go back to my life. I don’t know. I’m not sure what I’m going to do. I guess I need a little time.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “Are you okay? You know, really? That must have been scary.”

  I didn’t want to say how I really felt. I just wasn’t ready to deal with it. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m a lot tougher than I look.”

  He smiled. “You definitely are a tough lady. Dylan’s one lucky guy, that’s for sure.”

  I hoped it didn’t show, but on the inside, not one part of me felt tough. The inside felt like a fragile glass vase ready to crumble into tiny pieces if just touched with a fingertip.

  Millie brought out the scones, and Austin and I hugged goodbye. He promised to keep in touch, but we both knew that wasn’t likely, and I was okay with that. I didn’t mention anything about Savannah and William. I didn’t see the point of bringing up the past again. It was time to move on, for everyone.

  I took the scenic route to Caroline’s hoping to practice what I wanted to say. Even though I went five miles under the speed limit, the drive wasn’t long enough to decide on the right choice of words. It didn’t matter anyway. I knew once I saw her, I’d have to wing it.

  William answered the door. “You okay? We heard what happened. I feel responsible.”

  “I’m good.” I searched his head for a lump or bump. “How are you?”

  He showed me the lump on the back of his head. “The woman’s pretty strong for her age. Dylan told me she said she smacked me with an encyclopedia. I’d left the library, but I just didn’t feel right about leaving you there. You seemed…I don’t know, stoned or something, and I felt bad leaving you like that. So, I went back in and the next thing I knew, Billy Ray was offering me a cup of sweet tea and a Band-Aid.”

  I laughed. “That’s Billy Ray for you. Listen, I owe you an apology. I actually thought—”

  He cut me off. I know. It’s okay. We’re good.”

  “You sure?”

  He nodded. “I would have thought the same thing.” He flicked his head toward the family room. “She’s in there. She’s got some exciting news for you, too.”

  I raised an eyebrow, but William didn’t say anything more, he just led me to the family room.

  Caroline was sprawled out on the couch with a glass of Coke® and a bag of boiled peanuts. When she saw me, she set the glass on the table and jumped up, sending the peanuts flying into the air. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Look at what I did.”

  I laughed. “You never were the cleanest girl in the house, were you?”

  She stared at me, and we were both silent for a moment, and then we rushed to each other, crying.

  “I’m so sorry, Lily. I know I already apologized, but I was just so ugly, and you didn’t deserve that. I did not mean any of what I said. My hormones have just been a mess, and I didn’t know what came over me, but now I do, and it all makes sense.” She let go and smiled. “I’m having a baby.”

  My eyes nearly popped out of my head. “You’re—a baby? Oh, Caroline, that’s fantastic!”

  She jumped up and down and hugged me again. “Oh honey, it’s just the most amazing thing, isn’t it? William is over the moon, he’s so excited.”

  “So, you and William? You’re okay?”

  William interrupted. “We’re better than okay.” He smiled. “Here, let me show you something.” I followed them into the den. Sitting on the couch were two large canvas paintings. One wasn’t finished, but the other was. Both were of William and Caroline—one on their wedding day at the church, and the other the day they got engaged, at the bridge, and both with Heather’s signature in the bottom right corner.

  “William was the client Heather told me about,” Caroline said. “The one that was paying her the big bucks for the paintings.” She held up the finished painting, the one of the bridge. “This is my favorite. Not because it’s finished, but because it’s where I knew our lives were changed forever, right William?”

  He smiled. “It’s where she knew I truly loved her.”

  “He’s right. I knew.” She handed him the painting and rubbed her belly. “And now with this little one on the way, we’ve got even more love to share, and more changes to come.”

  “You sure do,” I said.

  “And this time, Lilybit, I want you to be more involved. No matter how busy you are, I’m going to need my girlfriends around. You hear me?”

  I heard her loud and clear, and I planned to be there every step of the way. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And I promise I will be just as involved as you because it takes two to make a friendship work. Someone very smart told me that.”

  We spent two hours talking about Heather and how we planned to memorialize her. Savannah did come up, and I felt it was best to just leave well enough alone.

  “I need to tell you something, Caroline.” I wanted to apologize for thinking she could have murdered our friends.

  She waved her hand, formed it into a fist and then pressed it to her mouth. “None of that matters now. It’s time to move on.” She rubbed her belly again. “We have a future to plan.”

  I realized in that moment she was right. The past didn’t matter. I had a future to plan, too, and I intended to move toward that future that night at dinner.

  * * *

  I had two hours to prepare. Time was tight, but I could make it happen. I dropped Bo off with Belle for the evening, hit the grocery store and headed home. I set the table on my patio, hung my new string lights over the pergola, prepared Dylan’s favorite appetizers; buffalo chicken dip—not at all romantic, but still yummy, and chips and salsa—and hopped into the shower. I left my hair curly, applied just a smidgen of makeup, and stepped into my blue and white f
loral sundress, the one he’d whistled at when he saw me in it the first time. I even put on a pair of heels. It was a big night, and I needed my big guns to hit the target.

  When he knocked on my front door, I hollered that it was open and to come on in. I wasn’t in the kitchen, though. I’d been in the family room, waiting.

  “Lily? It’s me. You shouldn’t let anyone in without knowing who it is. You never—” He walked into the family room and stopped talking when he saw me standing there. “Oh.”

  I smiled. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  Everything I’d planned to say, everything I’d planned to do, I’d completely forgotten. It all left my brain the minute he walked into the room. His smile, his sparkling eyes, his sexy little slanted stance, it all erased my plan and instead, words rushed out of me like I was some blubbering idiot. “I’m sorry. I’ve been such a jerk. You haven’t done a thing wrong.”

  His eyes softened, and the sides of his mouth curled into the sweetest smile I’d ever seen. I dug my feet into the floor to stop myself from climbing over the table to hug him. It didn’t matter though, because he came to me and wrapped me in his arms.

  “I’m sorry, too. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t trust me to be here, to love you.”

  “I can. I do. It’s not you, it’s me.”

  He laughed and then pushed me away. “That’s a classic break up line. Are you sure you’re not still breaking up with me?”

  “I thought I already did that the other day?”

  “Ouch.”

  “So, I guess we’re even now?”

  “If you’re trying to apologize, you’re not doing a very good job.” He winked.

  I pressed my lips together. “Oh, whoops.”

  “Like I told you before, I’m not leaving Bramblett County, Lily. I’m not leaving you. This is my home. You’re my home. I came back here to be with you.”

  I backed away and walked to the other side of the couch. “I don’t know, Dylan. I mean, I’m not sure you’re the one for me.”

  His mouth dropped open. “What? How can you say that?”

  I tapped my finger on my chin. “I just…I’m not sure. I need someone special. You know, a knight in shining armor, and I’m just not sure it’s you.” I tried hard not to smile, but the sides of my mouth edged upward anyway.

  Dylan crept closer. “I think I might know a way to find out.”

  “You do?”

  “I do.” His face nearly touched mine.

  “Care to share?”

  He smiled and whispered, “Ribbit.”

  THE END

  Signed, Sealed

  And Dead

  A Lily Sprayberry Realtor

  Cozy mystery

  Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  COPYRIGHT JANUARY 2019

  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.

  PRINT ISBN

  ASIN: B07JR3T2MY

  For Jack

  LUMI

  Message from the Author

  This is a work of fiction. I did not model any characters in this story after any particular people in my life. That however, doesn’t mean I haven’t done that in the past, and I cannot promise I won’t model characters after real people in the future. Sometimes real people just make fiction so much more entertaining than an author can do on their own.

  So, you keep being you, and I’ll keep finding crazy ways to add it into my stories–just not this one. This one is all on me.

  To be notified of future releases and receive a free book, visit carolynridderaspenson.com

  Chapter 1

  Small town folk don’t always take care of their own.

  “It’s perfect.”

  I swiveled my head toward my best friend and business partner, Belle Pyott. “What—oh, my gosh. It is.” I gawked at the large, framed painting. “Carter would love this.”

  “Uh, obviously. Why do you think I’m putting a hold tag on it?” She stuck a pink sticky note on it with a hold for Belle Pyott label already applied to it.

  “How many of those did you make?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe fifty or two hundred?”

  “Bless your heart, you’re so cheap.”

  “I prefer to think of it as thrifty.” She wiggled her head. “Or efficient. Yes, efficient.”

  “Belle, the community sale hasn’t even started yet. Technically, we’re supposed to be making sure everything is ready to go, not shopping, and you’ve stuck, what, at least ten of those sticky notes on items already? That’s cheating.”

  She stuck another one on a gray pillow with white script that read, Welcome Home. “It’s more like seventeen, and it’s not cheating, it’s supporting a good cause.”

  “You have a problem.”

  “If we end up buying a flip, we’re going to need things to stage the place anyway, so consider this a business opportunity.”

  She did have a point, but I wasn’t going to give her credit for it. We’d been discussing the possibility of purchasing a house and flipping it, but it was just a discussion, nothing serious, to me at least, so snatching up décor at the community sale and fundraiser for the Bramblett County High School sports programs for possible staging was a reach, and a big one at that.

  I chastised myself for searching the rest of the items in that particular section for the flip after she mentioned it, but I couldn’t help myself and continued doing it anyway. I found myself scanning over the other over-sized portrait and wondering if Carter would like one of Michael Jordan, too. I ran my finger across a wooden vase, fought the urge to pick it up and lost.

  The chips on the top made me wonder about its story. How old was it, and what hidden secrets did it hold? Who’d first bought it, or was it ever even bought? I flipped it over and read the small engraving on the bottom. Handmade by JC. Who was JC? A professional vase maker, maybe, or perhaps just someone who’d lived in Bramblett or nearby and made vases for a hobby? The wood was white hickory, that much I knew. I’d spent years sitting on my front porch whittling the stuff with my father and brothers, so I’d recognized it immediately. I glided my hand along the smooth surface, wondering who had touched it before me, what their lives were like, who they loved, what had mattered to them.

  So much had happened recently, and it had touched my heart in such a profound way, I’d changed, or at least, I felt as though I had. And that little vase represented something more significant to me than just a knick knack. It was a piece of someone’s life, their history, maybe even their soul, yet there it sat, in the Bramblett County High School gymnasium on a cold and rainy Saturday morning along with thousands of other items, ready to be sold to a stranger, for a measly two bucks.

  “Hey, may I have one of your stickers, please?”

  Belle chuckled. “I knew it.”

  I didn’t argue. I placed the sticky note on the vase. I didn’t want or feel the need to explain that I wasn’t saving the vase because of a possible house flip, but for myself, because I felt a need to save the vase to retain its integrity and value, to appreciate its history. I couldn’t quite make sense of it myself, so how could I explain it to Belle? Instead, I smiled, and let her think she was right. “Hey, I’m going to go find Carte
r and let him know about the painting. I’d rather not keep it on hold if he doesn’t want it. It’s a big ticket item.”

  The painting, one of the football greats, Walter Payton, was a dark wood framed thirty by forty inch of his upper body, mostly his head and shoulders, but with his trademark number, 34, well displayed on the side of his shoulder. Even though I was born and raised in Georgia, and my loyalty was to the University of Georgia Bulldogs, I didn’t dislike professional football, but I didn’t much care about it either way. I understood the impact of the late Walter Payton, though, and how people from all parts of the country loved him.

  Carter Trammell was a recent real estate client and a new friend for both Belle and me. He’d moved from Chicago and into one of the recently built condos on the old Redbecker property a month before taking a position at the high school as both a teacher and the new head of the lacrosse program. The position also included the varsity head coach position, which, from what I’d heard, was a big deal.

  Lacrosse was a growing sport in the South, and highly competitive from what he’d said, and the school paid a lot of money to bring on a coach with actual playing experience. Mike Longley, the previous coach, and the assistant varsity football coach, had his knickers in a knot because of it, too. At least that’s what I’d learned through the grapevine, and by grapevine, I meant the local gossip shop, Millie’s Café, and the head gossip herself, Millie, the café owner.

  One didn’t have to be the county sheriff to find out relevant information in a small town, or like me, date one either, at least not in Bramblett County, Georgia. In Bramblett County, Georgia, when someone needed to know something, they just had to grab a cup of coffee or an iced tea and a freshly made scone and chat up Millie, and they’d get an earful of the who’s who and the what’s what.