Lily Sprayberry Realtor Box Set

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  “That’s disgusting,” Belle said.

  “Honey, you have no idea. Be thankful you don’t have any kids yet. The smells will kill you. That’s why I only had one you know. The smells. They killed my desire for another.”

  When Clarissa Mooney got on a role, it was next to impossible to get her off, so, I changed the subject. “Is Carter Trammell here? I told him we’d stop by.”

  She popped onto her tiptoes and searched the bleachers for Carter. “Oh, there he is.” She pointed to the front section near the boys wearing red and white jerseys. “Right over there.” She jumped up and down and waved while yelling, “Coach Carter, woohoo, Coach Carter!”

  I caught a glimpse of Belle rolling her eyes and gave her my hush look–pursed lips and furrowed eyebrows. She gave me an eye roll in return. “Don’t be salty,” I whispered.

  She pointed to her chest, shook her head and said, “Who me? Never.”

  We walked over to Carter as Clarissa waved to us and hollered, “Y’all have a nice night. See ya tomorrow at the high school, ‘k?”

  “Sounds great,” I hollered back.

  “Do you really know her all that well?” Belle asked.

  “Nope. Just from Millie’s. How about you?”

  “Same, but she’s always seemed pretty fake to me.”

  “Ditto.”

  “Is she even from the South?”

  Carter smiled. “Hey, you made it,” He moved over, making room for us on the bleachers. I sat next to him, and Belle sat next to someone we didn’t know.

  Carter explained the basics of the game as they happened, but I missed about half of his explanation because the guy next to Belle had a mouth on him, and he wouldn’t shut it. Belle did a mighty fine job of reigning in her desire to whack him, and I knew that because she reigned it in by releasing her frustrations by pounding the side of her knee into the side of mine every time he screamed.

  The eleventh time, I grabbed hold of her knee and squeezed. Hard. “Stop it.”

  She leaned into me and sort of whispered into my ear. “Well, have you heard this guy? I’m about ready to throttle him.”

  “The entire state can hear him. Obviously, he’s very passionate about getting the ball to someone named Bobby.” I leaned toward Carter. “What’s up with the guy next to Belle?”

  He pointed to the clock on the wall above the rink. “I’ll fill you in when the period is over.”

  I yelled into Belle’s ear. “Hold off on throttling him for a few minutes, okay?”

  “Fine.”

  The buzzer went off and a pack of sweaty boys charged the large plastic wall blocking us from the rink. The box rink was actually an ice rink with a layer of flooring over it for when the lacrosse matches were played. Whoever thought of that was pretty darn smart in my book.

  The loud man bounded up from the bleachers and all but attacked Michael Longley, the lacrosse coach for the winter season. “Bobby could have scored three of those goals if you’d make your players give him the ball. Stop showing favorites and do what’s best for the team.” He rambled on about the other players lack of skills and Bobby’s superiority over them all. “Tanner shouldn’t be X. You know you need someone that can be either left or right. I don’t care how much money his parents have, it ain’t right, and you know it.”

  The coach mumbled something, but I couldn’t hear him over the bellow of the man’s voice.

  “What’s X?” Belle asked.

  I shrugged. “They don’t have that in football.”

  “Isn’t Clarissa’s son Justin?”

  “I think so, but I’m not exactly sure,” I said.

  Carter stood, and Belle stepped in front of him before he had a chance to move out of ear shot of the loud man, as if that was even possible. “Who’s the loud mouth?”

  I grumbled under my breath. “Belle.”

  Carter laughed. Coming from Chicago, he was probably used to people saying what they thought, but I didn’t much like it. It wasn’t ladylike, and it was definitely bad for business. Loud mouth could end up a client one day, but it wouldn’t be likely with Belle calling him out in public like that. Then again, I’d just done it privately, and my mother would say that was just as bad.

  “That’s Bobby Yancy.” He guided us away from the crowd and toward the refreshment line. “And Belle’s right, he is a loud mouth. His son is an excellent player, definitely the best on the team, but he’s not a team player, and judging from his father’s actions, it’s clear where he gets that.”

  “Like father, like son,” Belle said.

  “He’s going to be upset when he finds out his son won’t be starting next season, and might not play at all, too.”

  “Really, why is that?” I ordered a drink and a bag of chips at the refreshment counter. “I mean not playing, not that he’ll be upset. That part is obvious.”

  “Grades. It’s a requirement by the state athletic association that athletes aren’t allowed to participate in games without a certain grade point average, and the school can be suspended for not following it. Most coaches don’t adhere to it here, but it’s a standard practice where I’m from, and I intend to follow it. I don’t understand how they’ve gotten away with it for so long here, actually. Grades are more important than sports in my book, and I plan to drive that point home.”

  Belle laughed. “Well, thank God you aren’t coaching football, because talk like that would get you six feet under in no time.”

  “You haven’t met many lacrosse parents, have you?” he asked.

  “Actually, after sitting next to Mr. Loud Mouth, I’m not sure I want to.”

  “What’s an X, and when are you planning to tell him that?” I asked.

  “An X is a position that plays behind the goal and can run back and forth to shoot. It’s a key position, and one that should be able to shoot both left and righthanded. Bobby Yancy, the player, not the dad, is the only one on the team that can play it, and he’s pretty darn good, too. Probably the best I’ve seen in a long time.

  “I’m planning to tell him now, actually. It will give his son a chance to get his grades up. If they improve, then he can play, but once he’s suspended, he’ll only be allowed to attend workouts and practice. There are several rules the state association has that the high school doesn’t quite follow. They don’t break them, but they find loopholes to work their way around them. It’s not the way I work, and I won’t let things continue that way, either.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I’ve already started the ball rolling on a few things, and I’m not the most popular guy in school right now, but it’ll all work out.”

  I gave him a half smile, because that was all I could think to do. “You think so?”

  He nodded. “The team has a winning record, and it’ll stay that way. People will change their minds. My coaching record is good, and I didn’t get it by being easy on the kids or by breaking rules. I wasn’t hired to be walked on, either. It’ll be interesting with this one though.”

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  “Yancy is the head janitor at the school.”

  “Oh, that could be awkward.”

  “That’s my point. I’m not really concerned for myself, but I don’t want any problems for the other players.”

  “You don’t strike me as the type to let people walk on you,” Belle said.

  “I’m not.”

  We sat back in our seats as the buzzer buzzed for the last half of the game. Bobby’s father had several heated discussions with Coach Longley, and Carter finally had had enough. He pulled him aside to talk.

  Clarissa scooted next to Belle. “Oh Bless his ever lovin’ heart. I sure hope you have an umbrella in that pretty Coach purse of yours, Annabelle Pyott, because I’d hate to see that to-die-for striped little sweater get covered in the manure of a man who just saw his hopes and dreams swirl down the drain without a plunger in sight.”

  Clarissa tended to over-dramatize things, and Belle despised it when people used her full fi
rst name. Despised really wasn’t a strong enough word. Hated from the depth of her soul was more like it.

  “Clarissa, I’m sure it’s not going to be that—”

  A loud, guttural growl exploded from Bobby Yancy’s throat, and everyone in the rink turned and stared. Sweat poured from his forehead, and his face burned a bright red. He clutched his hands into fists and lunged at Carter, knocking over a full Styrofoam cup of something in the process. He swung his fists wildly at Carter’s stomach, but missed. He grunted and swung again, and Carter bent and dodged each swing. Regardless, Bobby Yancy continued trying to make contact. “I’m gonna kill you, Trammell, you hear me? I’m gonna kill you.”

  No one tried to stop him; no one said a thing. We all just stood there watching like rubberneckers staring at a car wreck along the highway.

  Carter blew out a long, frustrated breath and shook his head. His neck stiffened, his shoulders straightened, and his entire demeanor changed from casual to determined. He flung his forearm out in a stiff, swift, and strong move, and stopped Bobby’s punch mid-swing. The surprise move startled Bobby, and he stumbled forward into Carter. From the oohs and ahs of the gawkers, it shocked many of them, too.

  Bobby roared, charged again toward his intended victim, and ducked his head into Carter’s chest, but Carter pushed him back, taking him off balance once again. Bobby toppled backwards and landed flat on his backside.

  “You done now?” Carter asked. He wiped his mouth with the side of his hand. He bent over, extended his hand, and offered to help him up. “Come on Bobby, don’t be like this. Not in front of your son.”

  Bobby Yancy shoved Carter’s hand away and pushed himself up on his own. Shaken and unsteady as he was, it was obvious he didn’t want us to see him that way. He thrust his chest out and kept his shoulders stiff. “You think you can come here and change everything? Tell us what to do? How to run our lacrosse program? You’ve got another thing comin’, Mr. Big Shot. That ain’t how it works here. You’ll be out before you know it, you just wait and see.” He grabbed his things off the bleachers and hollered to his son, “Come on Bobby, get your stuff, we’re going home.”

  “But Dad, the game’s not over.”

  “I said get your stuff.” He headed toward the door without looking back.

  None of us moved. We just stood there, kind of shell-shocked watching two grown men, or one grown man, really lose his temper like that, and we weren’t sure what to do for a moment. Perhaps we needed a signal or something to continue on, and we got that when Carter ran his hand through his short graying brown hair, straightened his shirt, and then nodded to the referee, who blew his whistle, and the boys got in position to play again. We took our seats on the bleachers and pretended it never happened.

  Or, maybe not.

  “Well, who needs cable TV when we’ve got live action right here in Bramblett County?” Belle asked.

  “Heavens, that’s no way to start a new job,” Clarissa said.

  “No, it’s not, but it’s not his fault, and he handled it well,” I said.

  “You think so?” Clarissa asked.

  I nodded. “Absolutely.”

  “I don’t know. Bobby has a point, but I’m not sure you’d understand. You don’t have kids yet.”

  “What point?” Belle asked.

  “Coach Carter is coming in and changing a lot of things, and the parents don’t like that much. We like things how they were. You know, if it ain’t broke, why fix it and all that.”

  “From what I understand, he’s not changing anything that shouldn’t already be happening, and he’s got big plans for making the program a success. People should give him a chance.”

  “Oh sweetie, this is high school sports. Parents don’t give anyone a chance. Though I will say, that Bobby Yancy Jr. isn’t as good as his daddy seems to think, and someone ought to teach that man some manners.” She adjusted the way her shirt rested on her thighs with her lips pursed until Belle and I left a short time later.

  * * *

  I gave Bo his release command. Well, one of the many we’d decided on anyway. “Go ahead, big guy.”

  Bo raced off toward the dog park entrance at full speed, his long tail whipping back and forth as he sprinted ahead of me.

  “Hey, bud.” My boyfriend Dylan Roberts, who also happened to be the Bramblett County Sheriff, met my big lug of a Boxer mix at the gate and let him in. He rubbed Bo’s clunky, massive head and gave him a quick ear massage. Bo’s tail swung happily, thunking against Dylan’s leg like a drumstick.

  I caught up to the two and rubbed Dylan’s shoulder, the best I could do since I wasn’t much into public displays of affection.

  Dylan bent down and kissed my forehead. “You shrinking, or am I just extra manly this morning?”

  I held up my foot and wiggled it, displaying my bright white, brand new Avia running shoe. “I’m wearing sneakers instead of heels. I walked five miles at that community sale yesterday in a pair of heeled boots. My feet are a wreck. I even have blisters. Want to see?”

  He shook his head. “I think I’ll pass on that one, but thanks.” He held up his department issued, black work boot. “You should get a pair of these. They’re really comfortable.”

  “I would hope so. Something has to make up for their ugliness.”

  “Hey, that’s not nice.”

  “Sorry, I spent a lot of time with Belle yesterday. She must be rubbing off on me.”

  “You spend a lot of time with Belle every day. You can’t use that as an excuse.”

  I laughed. “You’re right. Those boots are just ugly.”

  He smiled. “Keeping this county free of crime isn’t about fashion, Little Bean.”

  Butterflies took flight in my stomach every time he used his private nickname for me. He’d called me that in high school when we first started dating, and it stuck.

  Bo played chase the ball with one of his buddies while Dylan and I talked to his owner, Eric.

  “Saw you at the lacrosse game last night,” Eric said.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you. You should have come up and said hey.”

  “I had planned to, but things got a bit heated, and the next thing I knew, you were gone.”

  “Yes, we left shortly after that.”

  “What happened?” Dylan asked.

  I filled him in.

  Dylan raised an eyebrow. “Wonder why that guy went for him like that?”

  Eric didn’t waste any time responding. “I heard the coach cut his son from the team.”

  I looked Eric straight in the eyes. “He didn’t cut him from the team. He suspended him until he gets his grades up, which is school policy. He’s still allowed to practice. He just can’t play in the games.”

  He nodded. “I heard something different, but okay.”

  “Carter and I discussed it right before the altercation. You have a son in high school, right? Is he on the team?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Then I assume you know the rules?”

  Dylan coughed. “Lily, what time do you have to be at the community sale? It’s getting late.”

  “I’ve got plenty of time.” I angled my body directly toward Eric, effectively cutting Dylan out of the conversation.

  “Previous coaches haven’t really followed that rule.”

  “Don’t y’all think it’s beneficial to the team that they do? I’m sure some of these kids want to play in college. It’s a tough playing field in college, these kids need to be prepared for it, and the high school field should be the place for that preparation.”

  Eric’s lips straightened into a thin, flat line. “Someone without kids can’t understand.” He whistled for his dog. “Come on Ranger, let’s go.”

  Ranger bounded up to us, Bo running next to him, happy as a pig in mud. Eric walked out the gate without a goodbye.

  “Well, that went well.” Dylan attached Bo’s leash to his collar. “Come on, Bo. You’re going to be my deputy for the day.” He kissed my
forehead. “You want me to drop him off later?”

  “Or I’ll call you when I’m done, whichever’s first.”

  “Sounds good.”

  * * *

  The second and final day of the community sale started off better than the first, though the gossip train left the station bright and early. I’d stopped off at Millie’s Café between leaving the dog park and arriving at the school, and the train had already made its first stop there, as expected.

  Millie handed me my bag of raspberry and vanilla scones, her latest and greatest recipe, and my current favorite. “Can you believe what happened?”

  “I probably wouldn’t, but you’ll have to fill me in first, so I can make sure.”

  “Oh bless your heart, I just don’t understand how you miss out on all the town news.” She poured me a cup of coffee, letting me add the half and half myself. “Word is that new coach at the high school, the one for that sport that’s like hockey, but they don’t play it on ice. Oh, heavens, I done forgot what it’s called already.”

  “Lacrosse.”

  She clapped her hands like she’d just won the lottery. “Yes! Lacrosse. Goodness, I don’t know why I can’t keep that in my head. He beat up one of the parents at a game last night.”

  I gulped down a huge sip of the steaming coffee, the hot liquid burning my throat on its way down. “You heard what? That’s not at all what happened.”

  She busied herself getting change for my ten dollar bill. “Well, I’m not sure what you heard, but that’s what I was told.”

  “I didn’t hear anything, Millie. I was there. I saw exactly what happened.”

  She closed the register. “Well then, what did you see? If I’m being told misinformation, I’d like to set the record straight. I’m not one to gossip, and I certainly don’t want people thinking I’m misrepresenting the truth.”