Lily Sprayberry Realtor Box Set
Page 48
“Lovely. That’s just lovely.”
She walked closer toward me. Bo bowed up on his hind legs, and I couldn’t control him. “Bo, no. Sit. Heel.” I pulled and yanked, but he wouldn’t listen, and he charged at Clarissa. I screamed. “Bo, sit.” He didn’t.
I ran toward her as Bo jumped her, her hand drawing back, the syringe ready to plunge into my sweet puppy’s side. “No, no, no. Bo, heel. Off. Bo, no.” I screamed and yelled, and I don’t know what came out of my mouth, but the next thing I knew, I grabbed my laptop off the table and whacked Clarissa Mooney on the side of the head with it. She stopped moving for just a second, turned slightly toward me, stared at me, and then dropped down onto the ground in one loud thump. The syringe rolled out of her hand, and I kicked it away, not wanting it near her. I yanked my phone from inside her bag while Bo stood over the unconscious woman, growling and snarling, his teeth showing and only an inch away from her face.
I sobbed as I hit Dylan’s contact on my phone, and made no sense as I tried to tell him to hurry.
“My office. Clarissa. Unconscious. Hurry. Ambulance. Trammell.”
I thought he said he was on his way and though I was sure he was, it would be months before I knew for certain that’s what he’d said.
Chapter 12
Three weeks later it was like nothing had happened—at least to everyone in town, everyone except me.
The Georgia State Athletic Association had reinstated the entire sports program—after fining the program several thousand dollars that was paid by the parents, of course. Michael Longley was fired for inappropriate sexual behavior. Word around town was that he’d had numerous affairs with lacrosse moms, and taken advantage of their desires to have their boys play on the team.
I thought about the posters in his classroom and how gross I felt inside knowing he had been able to influence the youth of Bramblett County. I hoped his influence was more along the lines of inappropriate behaviors for men, not the other way around.
All charges were dropped against Bobby Yancy, and his son received free tutoring from several students who’d wanted him to get a scholarship, which he did, and to Duke University, just as he’d hoped. His dad had a party and invited me, but I graciously declined. Though Bobby Yancy Sr. was a man with rough edges, he was a decent man. I just needed to distance myself from the program entirely, and he understood.
The school hired a new lacrosse coach from Maryland, and he used Bramblett County Realty to purchase a home, and while that was incredibly ironic, I tried hard not to think of it as some weird omen.
Ginnie Slappey was arrested for stealing the money from the booster club. Her husband filed for divorce, and she asked us to list her house. We graciously declined. Another agent from Forsyth has the contract and is in the process of holding an estate sale. Belle is planning to attend.
“You sure you don’t want to come? You know she’ll have some great stuff for your second home.”
“You cannot possibly think we’ll use any of Ginnie Slappey’s things in our house.”
“I sure can use some of Ginnie Slappey’s stuff in our second house, and I’ll be happier than a pig in mud to do it.”
“Belle Pyott, you are a terrible person.”
“No, I am vengeful when people mess with my bestie.”
I gave her a hug. “If she’s got anything close to our style, grab it, but I’m not going. I refuse.”
“You know I will.”
And she did. She got a perfect coffee station set up, and it was to die for. I thanked Ginnie when I saw her a few days later, when one of our new clients made an offer on her home.
There was a lot of irony in the pleasure of that, I had to admit.
Clarissa Mooney was charged with murder and for attempted murder for coming after me. Her attorney even cut me a check for a new laptop. The woman had a head of steel. My entire laptop screen was shattered when I’d gone to open it the next day.
Bo was considered a hero, and Rufus Fulton did a front page feature on his heroic efforts. Millie framed it and hung it in the café for all to see. He didn’t understand his sudden popularity, but loved the extra pats and treats showered upon him on a daily basis.
After the dust settled during those three weeks, Belle and I closed on our little cabin, and the redo began, as did the bickering. She wanted Magnolia farm house, and while I wanted that to a certain degree, I pushed for a more traditional farm house look, one that wasn’t so much a trend.
“Lily, it’s the in thing right now. Everyone is doing it.”
“And that’s exactly why I don’t want it. In two years it’ll be out. Then what’ll we do?”
“Remodel.”
“Oh sweetie, we’ll be broke from this place.”
“No, it’ll be on all those rental sites online, we’ll be rich.”
“Goodness, you’re a hot mess.”
We sat on my couch, waiting for the boys to come over and watch college basketball.
Belle was about to pitch a fit, her voice all kinds of whiny. “When are they going to get here? I want my pizza.”
“They’re running late. They’re men.”
“You haven’t found any dead bodies, have you?”
I poked her on the top of her shoulder. “Do not curse me like that.”
They walked in just then, and we knew it because no one could possibly be any louder than those two. “We’re here.”
Belle popped off the couch and ran to the kitchen. “Goodness gracious, I’m starved.”
She attacked the pizza box.
We all stared at her.
“Well then,” Matthew said. “Best get to it before she eats it all.”
Dylan kissed my forehead. “Can we chat for a minute?”
“Sure, what’s up?”
We each grabbed a slice of pizza and walked into the family room. “We’re late because I was with my campaign manager, and things ran a bit longer than I’d expected.”
I scooted closer to him. “And?”
“And it looks like I have a competitor, but the odds are in my favor.”
I relaxed my shoulders. “That’s good.”
“There’s only one thing.” He pulled a small box from his jacket pocket. “I don’t want to commit to this reelection without knowing we’re both in it for the long run.” He opened the tiny box and a single round diamond sparkled at me. “So what do you say, Lily Sprayberry?”
I bent over and stared at the ring in the box, and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t help the tears from falling down into the box and onto the ring. I couldn’t speak. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. We’d never really talked about marriage. I’d thought about it. I’d thought about it since we dated in high school, but it hadn’t exactly come up in conversation.
He lifted my chin. “Lily? Will you marry me? I kind of need an answer here.”
I sniffled, and a smile stretched across my face. “Oh my gosh, of course I’ll marry you, Dylan Roberts. Yes.”
He went for the ring, but I snatched the little box from his hand, grabbed the ring from it, and shoved it onto my finger. It was a bit snug, but it fit.
“It’s beautiful.”
He smiled, and we shared a small kiss. It was small only because I screamed, “Belle, I’m engaged.” I placed the box next to the small vase sitting on my coffee table, the one I’d found that first day of the community sale, and tagged with one of Belle’s hold tags. I still didn’t know it’s story, but now it had become part of mine, and my story was just getting good.
THE END
Keep Reading for more!
Continue on for the dog treat recipe and a sneak peek into
Bidding War Break-In
A Lily Sprayberry Realtor Cozy Mystery.
Doggie Treat Recipe
Ingredients
1 cup all-natural peanut butter (or any nut butter that is safe for dogs)
1 tablespoon unprocessed coconut oil
1 teaspoon cinnamon or nutmeg (some dogs don’t l
ike the scent of cinnamon and will shy away from the treats if it’s too strong)
silicon dog bone tray
Instructions
If you’re not using a liquid coconut oil, place the solid oil in a small sauce pan over medium to low heat and cook until melted through.
Add peanut butter and cinnamon.
Stir until mixture is completely smooth and thoroughly mixed. (Mixture should be thick, but pourable!)
Pour mixture into tray and freeze until set.
Carefully remove from tray and store in air-tight container in freezer (they soften quickly).
Notes
Use approximately 1 teaspoon of coconut oil per 10 lb dog. These are for a small, 15 lb dog.
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Bidding War Break-In
A Lily Sprayberry Realtor Cozy Mystery
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my wonderful editor, Jen, my favorite proofreader, JC Wing, my favorite beta reader, Lynn Shaw, and my friends and family who’ve supported me as I’ve traveled along this writing journey.
A big shout out to Teri Fish! She gets credit for picking the name Bo for the Boxer mix puppy in this series! Thank you, Teri!
About The Author
Carolyn Ridder Aspenson currently calls the Atlanta suburbs home, but can't rule out her other two homes, Indianapolis and somewhere in the Chicago suburbs.
She is old enough to share her empty nest with her husband, two dogs and two cats, all of which she strongly obsesses over repeatedly noted on her Facebook and Instagram accounts, and is working on forgiving her kids for growing up and leaving the nest. When she is not writing, editing, playing with her animals or contemplating forgiving her kids, she is sitting at Starbucks listening in on people's conversations and taking notes, because that stuff is great for book ideas.
On a more professional note, she is the bestselling author of the Angela Panther mystery series featuring several full-length novels and novellas, the Lily Sprayberry Realtor Cozy Mystery series, the Chantilly Adair Psychic Medium Cozy Mystery series, and a collection of romantic novellas.
Other Books By
Carolyn Ridder Aspenson
The Angela Panther Mystery Series
Unfinished Business
Unbreakable Bonds
Uncharted Territory
Unexpected Outcomes
Unbinding Love
The Christmas Elf
The Ghosts
Undetermined Events
The Event
The Favor (Coming June, 2019!)
The Inn at Laurel Creek Contemporary Romance Novella Series
Zoe & Daniel’s Story
The Inn at Laurel Creek
The Lily Sprayberry Realtor Cozy Mystery Series
Deal Gone Dead
Decluttered and Dead
The Scarecrow Snuff Out
Sleigh Bells & Sleuthing (A Holiday Author Novella Collection featuring Lily Sprayberry)
Signed, Sealed and Dead
Bidding War Break-In
Open House Heist
Realtor Rub Out (Coming late summer, 2019)
The Chantilly Adair Psychic Medium Cozy Mystery Series
Get Up and Ghost
Author Shared Series
Mourning Crisis
The Funeral Fakers Series
Independent Novellas
Santa’s Gift A Cumming Christmas Novella
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If you enjoyed this book then I’d really appreciate it if you would post a short review on Amazon. Reviews help authors grow as writers and help readers find our books.
You can find the book listing here: Signed, Sealed and Dead
Reviews on BookBub and Goodreads are most welcome also, and would be appreciated!
Bidding war
Break-In
A Lily Sprayberry Realtor
Cozy mystery
Carolyn Ridder Aspenson
COPYRIGHT FEBRUARY, 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.
For Mary Ann Ridder
Thank you for encouraging my love for mysteries.
Message from the Author
Small towns are just that, small. Bramblett County, the fictional North Georgia location in this series may be a county, but it’s not lacking the small town personality many cozy readers love.
The problem with small towns is you can only kill off so many people before you’ve got yourself a little crisis of sorts.
This book was fun to write because no one gets whacked over the head with a cast iron skillet, stuffed in a truck or killed because he followed the rules. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.
Chapter 1
In a small town, everyone’s in your business.
Belle finished her walk through of our deceased client’s townhome. “I think it’s perfect.” She smiled up at the painting of the late Walter Payton staring off toward the French doors that opened onto the stone and brick patio. “Do you think they know each other now? That in Heaven, celebrity doesn’t matter, and people just hang out in some big group or something?”
“I don’t know, but if so, my momma will be all over Steve Perry when she gets there.”
“Oh Lord, will she be.”
We both laughed.
“Bless her heart, the stuff she posts on Facebook? She’s kind of a creeper sometimes,” Belle said.
“I know. It’s embarrassing. I try to tell her that, but she doesn’t care. She says I don’t get it.”
Belle shook her head. “Parents. They never learn.”
“They just shouldn’t be on social media.”
“At least not connected to their kids, the adult ones, at least.”
“Which is why I’m barely on it except for business.”
“Emm hmm.”
I ignored her because as of late, she was half right, and I didn’t want to argue that, and also because I wanted to take a moment and pay our respects to Carter Trammell, whose home we were standing in, getting ready to officially list it to sell.
Carter had died three months earlier in a crazy twist of fate I tried hard not to think about. We’d sold him the townhome, or actually, I’d sold him the townhome, and it was the last one available for sale on land that had once belonged to another dead client of mine. One that, if I was being honest, had also died under less than appropriate circumstances.
Death had a way of seeking me out and latching onto people in my life.
I’d grown to think I’d been cursed in some weird way, and over the past three months, to break that curse, I’d shied away from listing any properties or working with any clients. Belle typically handled the paperwork and such for Bramblett County Realty, our business partnership, while I handled the sales side of things–though that wasn’t a one hundred percent writ
ten in stone kind of thing—but at my urging, we’d switched. For just those three months, and it was a good thing.
Most importantly, not one single murder happened in Bramblett County during that entire time. So yes, when it came to curses, bad luck, bad karma, or whatever the word of the day was, I had it. I was certain of it.
If something bad was going to happen in Bramblett, it suctioned itself to me and usually involved me listing or showing a home. And in case I had any doubt in my mind whatsoever, listing Carter’s house proved my point.
* * *
The private lots with townhomes in the mixed-use development built on the old Redbecker property had sold out quickly, and none had yet gone up for resale, so Carter’s property would sell fast, and for top dollar.
The development, the first of its kind in Bramblett, was small, but thriving, and people with money wanted to own their own little piece of it. Designed as sort of a test run for the well-off Atlanteans that could work from home most days but still wanted, and could afford, the luxuries and benefits of city living, made every realtor from the city add it to the top of their lists. We often got calls asking if we knew of anyone planning to sell, and I understood why.
The development housed five swanky restaurants, two of which were sponsored by some famous chef from one of those reality TV shows, and none of which the locals frequented on a regular basis. It sported a dry cleaner that I’d admit to using twice, and an expensive gym with excellent spin classes I’d tried on a guest pass and fell in love with. I would have joined, but I felt like I was cheating on my current gym.