Lily Sprayberry Realtor Box Set

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  I just stood there while the deputy escorted him back to his cell. A minute or two later Dylan showed up. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and asked if I was okay.

  “I really don’t think he did it.”

  “I know you don’t, but his fingerprints are all over that syringe.”

  “But he doesn’t have any way to get potassium chloride. Have you talked to the medical examiner? It’s not like you can just buy the stuff at Publix or CVS. I checked the internet just a few minutes ago, and you said that yourself. So how could he get it?”

  “By posing as a janitor at the hospital, maybe? Murderers can be creative, Lily.”

  “Oh.”

  He rubbed my head. “This is why you’re the real estate professional, and I’m the law enforcement professional. And speaking of that, how about you show me that cabin y’all are buying?”

  I sighed. “Maybe tomorrow?” We walked out of the station and to my car. “I’m going to go get Bo, go straight home, take a bath and relax. I’m done trying to do your job. I just want to chill out and watch fictional crime shows for a change instead of attempting to solve one.”

  “Now, I like the way that sounds. How about I come over later, after I’m done here. Might be late though.”

  “It’s okay. Nothing personal, but I’d like some alone time tonight.”

  He hugged me and kissed my forehead. “Tomorrow then. Millie’s for coffee before Bo heads to see his buddies?”

  “See you there.”

  If only I could have actually not thought about Carter’s death, but that would have taken a miracle.

  Chapter 10

  I’d gone to get Bo at day care, stopped at the office to grab the paperwork for the offer, though Belle had already submitted it with my electronic signature, I wanted a copy of it to review and keep for my records. In case I had any desire to do any kind of work later at home, which I highly doubted, I also grabbed a few other files just in case, and headed back to my bungalow.

  My cozy little abode looked as though no one had trashed it with toilet paper or foul language, and I reminded myself of how blessed I was. I sent Dylan a quick text thanking him for that, and asked for the contact information for the people who’d done the work. I’d make sure to send them a fruit basket to show my appreciation.

  I fed my puppy, put my alarm on the way Dylan had instructed for when I was home, not because I was worried, but because I knew he was, poured myself a glass of sweet tea, drew a nice hot bath even though it wasn’t even six o’clock, turned on some relaxing music on a Spotify station I followed, and stepped into the steaming hot water of my sensational claw footed bath tub. Oh, how I loved that tub. Belle had scored the find at an estate sale on a trip to Atlanta when I bought my house a few years ago, called me about it, and I’d bought it on a whim, with absolutely no regrets. I’d loved it every single day since.

  The vanilla scented bubbles toppled over the top of the tub, and Bo ate them, as he always did. I laughed, and I had a feeling he knew it made me happy, because he kept eating them, and then he’d sneeze probably because they tasted horrible, as soap always did, I knew from experience as a girl with three brothers with garbage mouths. I’d had my mouth washed out with it a time or two. My momma worked hard to change me from a tomboy into a Southern belle and after much effort, we met somewhere in the middle.

  I tried endlessly, with the mightiness and dedication of the likes of General Robert E. Lee, to figure out how to win the battle, to figure out who killed Carter Barrett, and why, but like Lee, I just couldn’t. So much for not thinking about the murder, but in truth, I knew I’d not be able to put it to rest until the case was solved, and in my head, it wasn’t. Bobby Yancy didn’t kill Carter Trammell.

  My suspect list wasn’t all that big, and the reasons were as cloudy as a rainy December day in Georgia.

  Sure, Bobby Yancy had a temper, and maybe even a motive. He needed the scholarship money to get his kid into college. But really, who didn’t? Every single one of those parents wanted a scholarship for their kid, even Michael Longley said that.

  Yancy might have had the motive, but he didn’t have the means, no matter what Dylan said about posing as a janitor. I just didn’t think Bobby Yancy had that in him. And besides, like Bobby said, he didn’t have the heart, and I believed him.

  Yes, Michael Longley, the interim coach, the man who’d coached the kids for years, felt he deserved the position, the stature, the pay, the recognition. He also had a dead wife, no disrespect meant of course, and a sister who were both nurses, so he could have easily had access somehow to potassium chloride. And he made a big deal of saying he wouldn’t mess with the women. What was that expression? He that protested too much was full of it, or something like that? I dipped my body deeper into the tub, soaking all but my head into the warm, soapy water, wishing I could soak there forever, letting the world around me–except my sweet, smelly Bo, of course–melt away forever, but my mind refused to forget about Carter’s death. Flat out refused.

  An image of Ginnie Slappey flashed through my head. The last of my suspects. My supposedly relaxed, not at all numbed, head.

  Ringless, marriage in trouble, flirtatious, Ginnie Slappey practically waved at me from the forefront of my mind. I pictured her saying, hey there Lily Sprayberry, it’s me, just to distract me. Taunting me with her big, Southern hair and expensive designer dresses.

  Maybe there was some truth to the rumors about Ginnie and Carter? Maybe her husband had finally had enough and decided to leave? Maybe because he’d left, she needed her son to get a scholarship for college? Maybe his grades weren’t good, and he was at risk of being suspended? Maybe she flirted with Carter to stop him from suspending her son, and he wouldn’t do it, so she killed him. I pushed myself up in the tub. “That’s it!”

  I surprised Bo, who jumped up from the side of the tub and barked.

  “Oh, sorry buddy, didn’t mean to scare you.” I patted his big head with a wet hand. He licked it.

  I climbed out and dried myself off, telling Bo my theory as I completed my normal after bath routine of applying body lotion and facial cream. I placed my right foot on the edge of the tub and rubbed the lavender scented lotion on my leg.

  In my heart, I believed Ginnie Slappey killed Carter. Possibly because he’d rejected her affections, and perhaps that was what I’d seen, what I’d interrupted that morning when I’d gone to tell him about the Walter Payton painting, and Ginnie knew it, and that was why she’d decided to come at me the way she did. She’d gotten her minions to follow her lead and used Dylan and the state athletic association as the means to her end. She’d used those as her cover story with her minions to get them to do what she wanted to keep herself out of the limelight and safe from being considered a suspect in Carter’s murder.

  I unwrapped the towel I’d wrapped around me and stepped into my red, one hundred percent cotton sweatpants with Georgia printed down the side, slid on an extra large gray and red t-shirt, and a bulky red Georgia sweatshirt, twisted my hair up into a clip and headed into the kitchen, Bo following at my heels. I grabbed a bag of kettle chips, more sweet tea and a tube of cookie dough, and I went straight to the family room to discuss it further with K9 detective Bo Sprayberry.

  We plopped ourselves onto the couch, and Bo licked my leg when I asked his opinion. “You’re adorable, but as useless as a poodle hunting deer.” I dragged myself into the kitchen again in search of my cell phone, which was actually in my bedroom. That time Bo didn’t follow. I suspected the smell of kettle chips took priority.

  I dug through my nightstand for a notepad and pen, found one, and shuffled back to the family room, where I found Bo’s head stuck inside the kettle chips bag.

  I knew it, the little stinker.

  “Bo Sprayberry, you get yourself out of that right now, you hear?” I sprinted over and yanked the bag off his head. Speckled across his face were tiny scraps of kettle chips. He licked the ones he could reach, and I swiped the others off. I
kissed his nose. “You’re lucky you’re cute. The crumbs are the best part.” He licked my face and all was immediately forgiven.

  I called Belle, and she picked up on the first ring. “Hey there, what’s up?”

  “I guess it could be Clarissa Mooney, but I can’t really see a reason. She’s got more money than God, and I doubt she needs cash for her son to get into college.”

  “Maybe he needs the scholarship because his grades are bad.”

  “Is that even a thing?”

  “If he’s a good enough player it can be, can’t it?”

  “I guess, but I’m not exactly sure.”

  “The way Matthew explained it, some kids get in because of their athletic abilities and then they help them with their grades, so maybe that’s what she was hoping for?”

  “I would think that would be for kids with financial struggles. Not ones that drive cars that cost in the upper five figures.”

  “You make a good point. Hey, I thought you went home to relax and clear your head?”

  “I did, but it didn’t work. Our client, my friend, your friend, is dead, and I need to know why.”

  “Finding out how first would be helpful in finding out why, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, Matthew hasn’t told you? The autopsy came back. Carter died from potassium chloride poisoning.”

  “Like the potassium in bananas?”

  “You know, that’s where Bobby Yancy went, too.”

  She chuckled. “Well, who wouldn’t? I mean, really.” I heard her tapping onto her laptop. “C-h-l-o-r-i-d-e.” She went silent for a moment. I waited for her to read what she’d found. “Oh, wow. If there’s enough in the syringe, it can cause sudden death, but it says here it can burn. Poor Carter.”

  A heaviness took over my chest, and I wished I could turn back the clock, get to Carter even ten minutes earlier than I had, then maybe I could have saved his life. I knew that wasn’t possible, but I couldn’t help but think it anyway. A single tear fell from each of my eyes. “Ginnie Slappey did this. I know she did.”

  I cried, no, I ugly cried, and then I was furious. “This is it. I’m done. I’m tired of playing games. These women have messed with me enough. You saw what they wrote on my driveway. I’m a nice girl. I don’t deserve this.”

  “No one puts Lily in a corner.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m serious. I’ve got to go. I need to formulate my plan.”

  “You’re not going to do anything crazy are you?”

  “Of course not.”

  She coughed.

  “I promise.”

  “Good, because I sent that paperwork in and we’re going to get that cabin, I can feel it.”

  “That’s great, Belle. Now, I have to run. I’ll see you tomorrow at the office.”

  “You okay?”

  “I’m okay.” I clicked the red button on my iPhone and disconnected the call.

  I needed time to set my plan in action, but first, I needed to figure out what that plan was.

  * * *

  The next morning I met Dylan at Millie’s Café for coffee and a scone, insisted I buy because he always did, and it was definitely my turn, and because I wanted to drill him with questions about the autopsy.

  We sat outside, but he said he only had a few minutes to talk. “I did more online research about potassium chloride. Bobby Yancy has no connections to the medical field at all, Dylan. Did you do anything to retrace his steps the last few days before Carter’s murder? Find out where he was? Anything like that?”

  “We have.”

  “And?”

  “And so far, we haven’t got anything that shows he’s been at any medical facility, or anything that leads to him having access to the medicine.”

  “Because he didn’t do it.”

  “I know you think that, but the rest of our evidence is strong. His fingerprints are all over that syringe, Lily. All over it.”

  “Of course they are. He’s the janitor. His fingerprints are all over the school. Probably more than anyone else. What you have is circumstantial. What’re you looking at? Sign in sheets or videos or something?”

  He nodded.

  “Then look again. You’ll find your killer. And it’s someone associated with Ginnie Slappey. Trust me. I know what I’m talking about.”

  He checked his watch.

  “You have to go.”

  “I’m sorry. The district attorney’s called a meeting, and I need to be there.”

  “I’m sorry. I know you don’t think he did it, but the facts say something different.”

  I stood too, and Bo popped up next to my side. “Well, your facts are wrong, Dylan Roberts.”

  He kissed my forehead. “The facts are never wrong, Lily.”

  * * *

  Belle wasn’t happy when I told her I wouldn’t make it in that morning. “What time will you be in? I have news.”

  “They accepted our offer?”

  “Party pooper. I wanted to tell you in person.”

  “I’m sorry, but it’s not like I don’t know you well enough to figure that out. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I have something to do, and hopefully it won’t take too long, okay?”

  “You could at least be excited.

  “I am excited. I’m just distracted. I’m sorry. When this murder investigation is over, we’ll have a big girls night and celebrate. I promise, okay?”

  “I’m holding you to that promise.”

  I wanted to be excited, both for her, and for us, but it wasn’t easy to be excited when Carter was dead, and his murderer wasn’t behind bars yet. I would be excited, but only then. It just didn’t feel right celebrating something without finding closure for Carter’s death.

  I’d barely known Carter Trammell, but he was new in town, and he needed someone to fight for him, someone to be his warrior, like Millie had said, and that was me. Someone needed to fight for Carter.

  I’d found myself in the school parking lot, and I finished my conversation with Belle before signing in at the front office. The sign in clerk and I gabbed a bit, and since she was a teenager, thankfully replacing the regular front desk clerk for the period, she knew enough about what was going on to know who I was.

  “Are you here to help with the presentation?”

  “Um, presentation?”

  “The one Ms. Slappey and Coach Longley are putting together for the athletic association. They’re in the teacher’s conference room working on it right now.”

  “Oh, yes.” I shook my head and shrugged as if I’d just misunderstood. “I’m sorry. I just hadn’t considered it a presentation.”

  She handed me my pass, and I stuck it on my shirt. “Well, I hope it works. I know the guys are just wrecked that they can’t play. They really want their scholarship chances to get into the bigger schools to play. Especially Justin Mooney. He thought he’d get a shot at Duke, if for no other reason than to take a spot we all thought would go to Yancy, but if he can’t play this year, that’s a no go for sure.”

  Bingo. “Justin Mooney needs a scholarship?”

  “Oh heck no. His family’s got more money than all of Bramblett County together.” She leaned over the counter and sort of whispered. “He’s also got the biggest ego in town, too. He’s been telling everyone he’s going to Duke to play lax, but we all thought that was a big ol’ lie, you know? Now it’s lookin’ like it is, for sure. Looks like his parents can’t buy him that spot on the team after all, and he ain’t good enough to get on it himself, ‘specially if he’s not playing. ‘Least he doesn’t have to worry about little Bobby Yancy showing him up anymore.”

  Hmm. That really caught my attention. “Is Bobby Yancy a better lacrosse player?” I wanted to appear as if I didn’t know what I actually did know to see what added information she’d give me.

  She flicked her hand. “Oh heck yeah, he is. So is Tanner Slappey. They both play the X attack, only Yancy can play both left and right, so he’s the player all the colleges want, and dude was
set for all kinds of scholarship offers, until Trammell said he was gonna suspend him. That probably would have shut the doors, but no one knows for sure. What most likely screwed it for him was his daddy killing the coach. Nobody’s gonna give a scholarship to a kid who’s daddy gone and killed someone, you know?” She took a bunch of papers and shuffled them into a neat pile and stacked them together in a folder. “Anyway, I feel bad for Bobby Yancy, but Justin Mooney, for all I care, he can go to the community college and fix cars the rest of his life like regular people. His money don’t mean a thing to me.”

  That girl would get far in life, for sure. “How long until class ends?”

  “Oh, class just started, so not for another forty-five minutes.”

  I thanked her, though not for the information but for the hall pass, and headed on my way.

  Ginnie Slappey and Michael Longley were in the teacher’s conference room when I arrived, but the door was closed. Before I knocked, I snuck a peek in the small rectangle window on the door to see what they were doing. Okay, so I spied on them, but I didn’t care. Since class had just started, the halls were quiet, and I could hear them talking, so my snooping was well worth it, I mean, if I could figure out who and what they were talking about.

  “She’s just an awful person. I hate her,” Ginnie said.

  “I know, and we’ll deal with her. I promise. Just give me some time to figure out how.” Michael Longley brushed a hair from Ginnie’s shoulder.

  Oh my gosh. Are they? I wanted to stop staring, but I couldn’t. My eyes wouldn’t, couldn’t break away from them.

  Michael Longley leaned in toward Ginnie and brushed a quick kiss onto her lips.

  I could never, would never unsee that.

  She pushed him away. “We can’t do this Michael, not here. People will see.”

  They both glanced at the door, and I ducked to the side faster than I’d ever moved in my life. Did they see me? Dear God, if they saw me, I was deader than a doornail, I just knew it.