Lily Sprayberry Realtor Box Set

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  I climbed out of the car, my thoughts still focused on Ginnie Slappey and the whole attack Lily deal. I couldn’t understand their driving motivation, but I knew once I figured it out, I’d figure out everything else, and hopefully, that included Carter Trammell’s killer.

  Focus on the cabin. Just focus on the cabin, I kept telling myself. My life did not revolve around murders and lacrosse moms. It shouldn’t have only revolved around real estate either, but at least that was something more pleasant to think about.

  The little cabin was everything Belle said and more. I had to admit, she’d picked a winner. As always, I fell in love with the tiny, wood plank, wrap around front porch with the dark wood double front doors framed with iron, and faded, and definitely in need of repair, white shuttered windows. The cabin had an old Southern appeal that spoke of late nights sitting on the front porch swing wrapped in a blanket staring at the stars kind of feel.

  We stepped inside, and though the place needed a lot of work, I still saw the charm Belle mentioned. Instead of separate rooms for a kitchen, eating area and family room, they were all kind of one big open space, which, I thought, created an inviting, community living area that was cozy and warm. “This is perfect. I love the open floor plan, the wood burning stove in the family room area. I don’t think we’d need a heater with the amount of heat that thing can give off.”

  “No, we wouldn’t.” She enunciated we when she spoke.

  “I caught that.” I walked toward the first bedroom and opened the door and fell instantly in love with double sliding doors that opened onto the small, private deck. I walked out onto the deck and glanced at the beautiful view of the side of the mountain. “And the views are great from here, too, just like the family room.”

  “You can see almost the whole county from the second bedroom. I bet it’s gorgeous up here on a clear night.”

  She was right about the second bedroom. The view was stunning. “Oh goodness, I love it.”

  We stood in that room, on the old, creaking wood floor, and I couldn’t help but wonder about the cabin’s past. It made me feel at home, like I had with the home in Cumming. Gosh, that couldn’t have been just a few short days ago, but it was. It felt like years though. So much had happened since then.

  The little cabin reminded me of family, of happiness, of people sharing their lives, and I wondered about the people that lived in it before, what the home would tell me if it could speak, what ghosts lived inside its walls. Not that I believed in ghosts, at least not the kind that were once human anyway, because I didn’t. I meant the ghosts of history, of stories, traditions, and memories. I always wanted to know more about what happened before.

  Because history mattered. It mattered for the future. What we left behind helped determine what happened in the future. I truly believed that.

  “I knew you would.” She opened the manila file she’d brought in with her. “I did the numbers, Lily, and we can totally afford this. We could probably even negotiate a lower price and have more cash to put into the remodel. We have so many contacts, I’m sure we’d get deals on the work, too. We could list it on Airbnb and VRBO and make back our investment in a few years easily. Plus, the tax breaks would be awesome.”

  I walked back into the main living area. Belle followed. “You do have a point.” I turned around. “About the tax breaks. We’d have to furnish it though, and that can be expensive.”

  “Lily Sprayberry, you know I can squeeze a quarter so tight the eagle on it’ll scream bloody murder.”

  I laughed. “That’s for sure.”

  She hopped on her tippy toes. “Come on. It’s been on the market for twenty-four hours. This thing’ll get grabbed but quick.”

  I glanced up at the ceiling. “Looks like it’ll need a new roof.”

  “We’ve got the best inspector in the business. We’ll work everything into the sale. If the seller won’t do it, we’re out. I promise.”

  I raised my eyebrow. “Pinky promise?”

  She held out her right pinky. “Pinky promise.”

  I grabbed hers with mine and squeezed. “I’m in.”

  “Ouch. Don’t cut off my circulation. I need that finger.”

  “Just making sure you know I’m serious.”

  “Oh sweetie. I’ve known you since you were five. I know you’re serious.” She whipped her long, dark hair back behind her and marched to the front door. Now, let’s get to the office so I can get the paperwork started. I’ll call the realtor and let her know my client is making an offer.”

  I smiled. I was excited, but honestly, I was more excited about getting back to the office to start working the plan I’d thought up in the past few minutes to unravel the mystery behind the actions of Ginnie Slappey and the rest of the lacrosse moms. Well, I hadn’t exactly thought up a plan, but I’d decided to start thinking up a plan, and that was a start.

  * * *

  Manipulation is a key element in the power of women, or at least some women think that way. It’s something they learn with their daddies, a power some girls—and women—use to their advantage, while others, like me, consider it a devious means to an end. I didn’t like to use manipulation, though if pressed I would, but only when necessary. I’ve manipulated my brothers, but I’d always considered that my obligation as a sister. It allowed them to learn how to deal with women, their future girlfriends, wives, possible daughters, even women they’ve had to work with or encounter in life in general. Some people might consider that wrong, but I didn’t think manipulating my brothers for the last of the half gallon of Mayfield chocolate chip ice cream was exactly wrong, and I suspected most honest women would agree. Ice cream was immune to manipulation guilt, and diet plans.

  Manipulating a desperate man to kill someone though, that was another story entirely, and that was what I thought Ginnie Slappey had done to poor Bobby Yancy. So, I hoped manipulating both Dylan and Bobby Yancy with Millie’s famous bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches would help me discover at least part of the truth.

  The front desk deputy at the sheriff’s office rang for Dylan. It surprised him to see me admiring his photo on the lobby wall in the waiting area. “Hey, didn’t expect to see you this afternoon.” He eyed the bag from Millie’s in my hand. “You bring lunch?”

  I frowned, and held the bag tighter in my grip. “Not exactly. It’s for your prisoner. You know, the innocent man you arrested for Carter Trammell’s murder?”

  He lifted his chin. “I see. Should I be worried? Do I have a little competition?” The side of his mouth twitched.

  “Actually, yes.” My expression was flat, but serious, and I kept my eyes steadily focused on him.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, well then. Visiting hours are from four to six, ma’am. You can come back then, if you’re on the list. Which I don’t think you are.” The twitch happened again.

  I smiled. “Your competition is me.”

  He laughed. “I see.” He pivoted toward the main doors to allow us into the secured area of the station, swiped his keycard over the electronic reader, and we waited for the doors to open. I followed him in. “We’ll have to run the bag through security. Standard procedure.”

  “No problem. It’s three BLTs.”

  “I figured. I can smell the bacon.”

  “Me, too. I’ve been drooling for the past fifteen minutes.”

  “Wait. Why three?”

  “Because I brought you one, too, silly. In case I had to charm you into letting me see him.” I opened the bag and pulled out a sandwich for Dylan. “And because they’re your favorite.”

  He stopped walking and held the wrapped piece of bliss in his hand, the smell of bacon wafting through the air and attacking my nasal passages with the passion of all the men fighting the Civil War. That sandwich wanted to win me over, and it had. “Lily Sprayberry, you’re up to something, aren’t you?” He used the thickest Southern accent he had.

  “Why Dylan Roberts, whatever do you mean? Can’t a girl just do a nice thing for
the sheriff in this county?”

  “Lily. You brought me a BLT. The last time you did that you wanted me to help you study for your chem test at Georgia.”

  “You would have helped me whether I brought that sandwich or not.”

  “The assistant instruction for the class was in my fraternity.”

  “And?”

  “Come on.”

  “What?”

  He tilted his head and shook it, as if I knew what that meant.

  “Did you think I wanted you to get me the test?” I snatched the sandwich from his grimy little hands and gasped. “I cannot believe it. You thought I wanted you to help me cheat?”

  “The assistant instructor was my fraternity brother, Lily.”

  “I am not a cheater, Dylan Roberts.” I marched off toward the sign in area for the jail.

  “Wait.” Dylan followed behind me. “My BLT.” He caught up and race-walked next to me. “That’s my sandwich. You brought it for me.”

  I gave him a quick look, and saw the devious little smirk on his face. “You keep that up, Dylan Roberts, I’ll kill you and swear you died.”

  He laughed.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “It kind of is. You just said that to the county sheriff. In the county sheriff’s office, where everything is on tape.”

  My eyes shifted around the hall in search of video cameras. I found one in the corner, so I waved at it. “Hey y’all. I just threatened to kill the sheriff and I meant every word of it. The man called me a cheater. Can you believe it?”

  He laughed again.

  “I’m about to pitch a fit the size of…”

  “Texas?”

  “Nope. That’s too small.” I faced him. “I cannot believe you thought I wanted to cheat on that test.”

  He leaned his forehead into mine. “You’re adorable when you’re mad.”

  I blushed all shades of red. “You hush. We’re on camera.”

  “You’re cute when you blush like that. Now, can I have my BLT back?”

  I shoved it into his stomach. It might have squished it a little.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. A little. Now may I please see Bobby Yancy?”

  “Sure, but do you want to know about Trammell’s autopsy first?”

  My eyes light up. “Is it back?”

  He nodded while he opened his sandwich. “Just in, actually.”

  “Well?”

  He took a bite of his sandwich and chewed it. I stood there, tapping my foot while I waited. “I was wrong. It was potassium chloride that killed him.”

  “Excuse me?” He couldn’t have meant the mineral potassium, or was it the same thing? Gosh, it had been a long time since I’d used that part of my brain, the science part.

  “Potassium chloride.”

  “Is that the same thing as potassium, the mineral, and wait, that can kill you?”

  He laughed. “No, it’s not the same thing. Our bodies make potassium and chloride, but they’re separate electrolytes in our bodies. Potassium chloride is used to treat low amounts of potassium in the blood stream, but it has to be diluted and a lot from what I understand. I’m not talking about the kind you buy in stores, I’m talking about the kind in a hospital. It’s not easy to come by, but it’s probably not impossible.”

  “I wonder if it’s available by prescription?”

  “The supplement is available online, but it’s two totally different things, really. The kind that was used to kill Carter is the kind you’d find at a hospital.”

  “May I see Bobby Yancy now?”

  He bit into the sandwich again, and I swear to God above, his eyes sparkled. “Lily Sprayberry, this is heaven,” he said with a mouthful of bread, bacon, lettuce, and tomato. “Let’s go.”

  I set the wrapped and now cold sandwich on the table.

  Bobby Yancy stared at it. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a BLT from Millie’s.”

  He blinked, and I noticed the slight straightening of his shoulders, the anticipation in the deep breath he drew in as he unwrapped the waxy paper and tasted that first bite. “It’s cold, but I don’t care. Millie makes the best BLTs in Georgia.”

  “Yeah, sorry it being cold, but I was distracted by the autopsy results.”

  He stopped mid-chew. “They’re back?”

  I nodded. “Apparently, they just arrived. I’m sure you’re attorney will fill you in soon.”

  “My attorney is a piece of garbage public defender. He doesn’t care whether I’m guilty or innocent. He just wants to get the case done and move on.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to that, mostly because I’d never dealt with a public defender before. “I’m sorry.”

  “What were the results?”

  I wasn’t sure if I should tell him, and I’d made a deal with Dylan before that I’d keep the information of the investigation between us. “I’m not really allowed to say.”

  His jaw clenched, and he tightened his fists. “You’re not really allowed to say?”

  “I’m sorry, it’s not my place.”

  He banged on the table. “Deputy, I’m ready to go now.”

  “Wait.” I rotated in my chair and asked the deputy to bring in Sheriff Roberts.

  Dylan came in, and I met him at the door. “Can I tell him the results of the autopsy?”

  He rubbed his chin. “I’ll do it.”

  And he did.

  “I…I…how…like the stuff in a banana?”

  I had a feeling that’s where most people would go when they heard the news.

  Bobby Yancy rubbed his temples. “I don’t even know what that is.”

  The deputy tapped Dylan on the top of his shoulder. “You’ve got a call. Said it’s important.”

  He nodded. “I’ll be back.”

  “It’s okay. I’d like to talk to Bobby alone if you don’t mind.”

  “I’ll let my deputy know you’re not on any time limit.”

  I gave him a full smile, showing every single straight tooth—my parents spent a lot of money at a Forsyth County orthodontist—smile and mouthed thank you. After he left, I pulled out my phone and did a quick internet search on how a shot of straight potassium chloride could kill someone. I didn’t read it to Bobby, but asked him questions, instead.

  “So, you don’t have any family members who are in the medical field, right?”

  “Didn’t we go through this before?”

  “Anyone else a janitor like you?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “What about your sister-in-law’s husband? What’s he do?”

  “He works for the city of Alpharetta. Why’re you asking ‘bout him? What’s he got to do with this?”

  “No one you know works in a hospital or for a doctor or medical office—"

  “I already told you no.” He cracked his knuckles. The popping sound bounced off the walls and echoed in the room. The calming music playing over the loud speakers wasn’t loud enough to stop the sound from vibrating throughout the room. I hoped to remember that and mention it to Dylan, though I suspected he had to keep the music soft for the deputy to hear any potential uprisings that might occur in the room.

  “Who hates you on that lacrosse team, Mr. Yancy?”

  His head jerked back and he crossed his arms over his chest as his posture stiffened. Instead of making eye contact, he kept his focus on the white waxy paper Millie used to wrap over her sandwiches.

  I, however, kept focused on what mattered most. Carter’s murder. I honestly believed Bobby Yancy was innocent. “I’m trying to help you, Mr. Yancy, but I can’t if you won’t let me. So, tell me. Who hates you?”

  “No one. No one hates me.”

  “Come on. I saw how you behaved at that game. You were yelling at other kids, yelling about other kids, and basically calling your son the best player on the team. And I know your son is good. I’ve been told that, so I understand why you’re frustrated. I get it. I’m not here to judge.

&
nbsp; “Someone hates you. You know it and I know it.” I realized then what was going on. “It’s Ginnie Slappey, isn’t it? She’s got something on you, doesn’t she?” I had a sudden urge to jump out of that seat and speed over to wherever Ginnie Slappy was and deliver a wallop of what for the size of Texas on that woman. Bringing murder charges on a man because his son was a better lacrosse player than hers was nothing short of pathetic.

  He angled his body away from me, shifting himself toward the door. “I don’t have to tell you nothing, Lily Sprayberry. You ain’t my attorney, and you ain’t no law enforcement, neither.”

  “Well, Bobby Yancy, you just told me right there now, didn’t you?”

  He kept his body away from me, but still able to see the side of his face, I caught the flinch of the side of his lip, and I saw the strain and tightness of the veins in his neck. Bobby Yancy was angry. I’d hit a chord, and I’d hit it hard.

  “Did she make you kill him? Is that why your prints are all over that syringe? You should tell your attorney. Maybe they can change the charges if you tell them she’s involved. Her sister-in-law is a nurse. She could get the potassium chloride.”

  He flipped back around, clenched his fists and with a face redder than a Christmas Santa Suit, spit at me while he talked. “Now you listen to me, and you listen good. That woman don’t got nothing on me that would make me kill a man. I could never do nothing like that, you hear? I done already warned you to stay out of this, but you didn’t, and look what happened. You think that’s all they gonna do to you?” He laughed. “You’re crazy if you think you can beat these people. Heck, look at me? I’m going to jail for the rest of my life for killing a man, and I didn’t even do it. I told you.” He shook his head. “I told you to stay away from these people, but did you listen? Nope. Now you’re gonna have to go and pay the price just like me.”

  “But I haven’t done anything.”

  “I ain’t done nothing either. That’s what I’m saying.” He stood up from his seat and pounded his fists on the table. “Deputy. I’m ready to go back. I don’t want to see this woman again, you hear? Don’t care who her boyfriend is.” He grabbed the last half of the sandwich I’d brought and shoved the whole thing into his mouth, staring at me while he chewed it.