Lily Sprayberry Realtor Box Set

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  I understood the tax benefits the development brought to the county, but the emotional implications were harder for me to work through, and until I could, I sat on the same side of the fence as most of the locals. The mixed-use development, as great as it was, was for the persnickety outsiders, not the townspeople. It was, however, progress, and I knew there was nothing anyone could do to stop the growth coming our way.

  Bramblett County, Georgia was the perfect place to live, and though it was our little secret for many years, the cat jumped out of the bag a long time ago. The county sits close enough to a lake and in the beginning of the Appalachian Mountains to attract both water and land lovers. Bramblett’s what people call a big county with a sweet, Southern, small town charm. Over the years that’s become our biggest asset and our biggest flaw, too.

  “This thing is going to sell in minutes,” Belle said.

  She was right. Carter’s estate was motivated to sell, setting the price low enough to move it quickly, but still high enough that they could create a small scholarship for a local high school lacrosse player. It wouldn’t cover everything, but it would definitely help.

  Given that he’d briefly been the high school lacrosse coach, Carter would have loved that.

  “Well, it’s good to go once these photos are done. I’ll get the listing up this afternoon. I suspect you’re right, it’ll sell fast.” I sat on the couch, and Belle sat next to me, wrapping my fingers into hers. “Lily Sprayberry, don’t you go and get all soft on me now. You know there is no curse on you.”

  I snapped several photos of the unit, more than I knew I’d use for the listing, but just in case some didn’t turn out. Belle and I both took several photography classes so we could take our own photos of our listings. We did it to save our sellers money, and because we’d found with all of the photo editing programs available now, we could tweak the photos to hide our mistakes. If a client insisted on a professional, we’d definitely use one, but none had in the past year.

  I headed back to the office to make the listing official. Of course, I had to stop at Millie’s Café for a cup of coffee and a scone first.

  Millie was all sugar and spice for a Monday. I’d learned Millie didn’t like Mondays, though I wasn’t sure I knew anyone that did. Usually, she kicked out a few faithful customers for breathing wrong, or appearing impatient, but by the time Tuesday came along, they’d be right back, and she’d smile like nothing ever happened. I’d yet to be banned, and worked hard to not let that happen!

  She smiled, showing me a whole mouth full of teeth. “Well hey there, Lily Sprayberry. What’s your pleasure this fine Monday?”

  I wondered what she was up to. “Hey there, Millie. You okay?”

  “’Course I’m okay. What makes you think I’m not?”

  Something banged loudly in the kitchen, but Millie ignored it.

  “You’re all sweet and stuff on a Monday, that’s what.”

  She narrowed her eyes and flicked her head toward her kitchen. “I think I got to let someone go back there, and I hate the thought of it, so I’m just pretending everything’s fine.”

  “So, basically, you’re faking your good mood?”

  “Shh. Don’t be telling my secret, you hear?”

  “Bless your heart, you do know the entire county knows Monday’s aren’t your thing, right?

  Her frown flipped upside down. “Now you hush. I love Mondays.”

  I pressed my lips together for just a second. “Your secret’s safe with me. Promise.” I leaned in toward her. “But why do you think you’ve got to fire someone? What’s going on?”

  She tilted toward me and whispered close to my ear. “It’s my kitchen staff. There’s discord back there, and I can’t take it no more. I can’t come to work with them fighting all the time. I feel like I’m living amongst the Hatfields and McCoys. All this bickerin’ and pickin’ on each other going on back there.”

  “Oh dear, that’s got to be horrible.”

  “Sweetie, you don’t know. Makes me want to crawl into bed and throw the covers over my head.”

  “Have you tried to talk to them?”

  She nodded. “Don’t matter a thing, though. They’re never going to get along anymore. They’re like oil and water, them two.”

  Just as I was about to ask why it could be happening, a spatula flew across the kitchen. I watched it wisp past the door. “I told you to keep stirring it until I said to stop,” Annie, one of the kitchen staff in back, hollered.

  Millie’s face hardened. “Here we go again.” She darted back to the kitchen, ducking for cover as she did.

  People in line whispered. I heard things like, food contamination, roaches, and salmonella, and decided to put a stop to that immediately. I flipped around and help up my hands. “People, calm down. Millie’s is a clean, and well maintained establishment, and y’all know that. Everyone has disagreements, and that’s what’s going on here. It’s not a health concern, so don’t go and spread rumors. You know that’s not nice.”

  That quieted them down right quick.

  Seconds later, after Millie used a few choice words to stop the fighting, and promised to use a switch on the both of them where the sun ain’t never gonna shine, she marched back out of the kitchen, poured me a cup of coffee and slammed a raspberry scone on the counter. “Here. The coffee’s on the house.” She glanced at the next person in line. “Everyone inside the store gets a free coffee with your purchase this morning, but if I hear one word about what happened in here today, you’ll all be getting your coffee at the Quik Trip from now on, you got that?”

  Nobody in Bramblett wanted their coffee from the Quik Trip. It was almost a ten minute drive out of town, and for most people, that was just about driving all the way to Alabama.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We hear ya, Millie.”

  “Sorry, Millie.”

  “Bless you, Millie.”

  Everyone had something on the positive side to say regarding or toward Millie, and I realized then she was definitely a marketing queen. I needed to make note of her technique.

  The thirty second walk to the office was enough time to gobble up a good portion of the scone and burn the back of my throat with Millie’s dark roast. In the excitement of the event, I’d completely forgotten to add my cream, so it was extra hot, too. Thankfully, we had a Keurig and half and half in the office.

  Belle was already there, so I filled her in on the town gossip, knowing she wouldn’t spread it, but it wasn’t a surprise to her. “Of course those two are arguing. Tucker broke up with Annie two weeks ago. Doesn’t Millie know that?”

  Her two full time kitchen employees, two college students, Annie Simms and Tucker Corder, had been dating for years, but I had no idea they’d broken up either. “They broke up? Really?”

  She giggled. “Sweetie, you are as kind as the day is long, but totally clueless. Sometimes I’m surprised you can even function.”

  “Me, too, Belle. Me, too.” I set up my laptop and downloaded the photos of Carter’s townhome from my camera. I picked the best ones, cleaned them up with my editing software program, and downloaded the completed listing onto the multiple listing service. The photos are always the last part of the set up process, so once they’re done, the listing is good to go, leaving just the actual submission part of the job required. “One day I’d like to hire an office assistant. Someone to do the detailed work, you know? Wouldn’t that be great?”

  She glanced up at me from her desk with a raised eyebrow wiggling at me. “Um, you do know I usually handle the details, right?”

  “I don’t mean the contracts and such. I mean the listings and things like that. Assistant things. You’re much more than an assistant.”

  She tossed her pencil at me. “Of course I am. I’m your partner, partner.”

  I laughed. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way. At some point I’d just like to have someone that could do some of this stuff for us.” Our office line rang. “Like answer the pho
ne, for example.” I picked up my desk phone and used my most professional voice, trying hard to keep my accent at bay. “Bramblett County Realty. Lily Sprayberry speaking. How may I help you?”

  A woman with a Southern drawl that oozed old money like a pimple ready to pop spoke from the other end. “Ms. Sprayberry, my name is Jill Lakeland. I’m calling regarding your listing in that adorable mixed-use development in Bramblett. Is that still available?”

  The one I’d listed two seconds ago? “Yes, ma’am. I just posted the listing a moment ago. It’s brand new. Would you like to schedule a viewing?”

  “Oh no, darling, that won’t be necessary. My client would like to extend an offer via the phone, and I’ll confirm it in writing shortly, of course.”

  “Without seeing the property?”

  “Yes, dear. Is there a problem?”

  The other line rang, and Belle grabbed the phone on her desk.

  I responded to the realtor on my line. “No, ma’am. No problem. I’ll have to discuss the offer with my client of course.”

  “I understand your client is deceased, so I assume you mean the estate?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You have experience with such a thing, sweetie? I’ll be happy to handle this if you don’t think you can.”

  I rolled my eyes. Oh, I bet she would. But I did, and with that exact location, actually, but I didn’t think that was any of her business. In fact, I didn’t think it was appropriate for her to talk to me like that. “Ms. Lakeland, what is your client’s offer? I’ll make sure the estate representatives have it as soon as you provide me the details.”

  I glanced at Belle, ready to roll my eyes again, but when I did, she mouthed, “Holy cow,” as she pointed to her phone.

  I mouthed, “What,” back.

  “Yes, sir. The townhome is still available. Actually, we do have a verbal offer on it at the moment,” Belle said.

  My mouth dropped to the floor.

  Belle’s eyes widened. “Of course, yes. You can make a verbal offer, too.”

  I all but fell out of my chair.

  “Ms. Sprayberry? Hello?”

  “Yes, Ms. Lakeland. I’m waiting for your offer.”

  “We’d like to bid ten percent over the asking price, please.”

  Bid? It wasn’t an auction, it was a home listing. She didn’t need to bid.

  “Oh, uh. Okay. I wrote down the information and told her I’d contact the estate. She assured me she’d have the appropriate paperwork to me within minutes.”

  “Please hold for a moment, and I’ll find out.” Belle held her hand over the speaker part of the phone. “What’s the offer?”

  I did the math and held up the answer on a piece of paper, though I wasn’t sure why I’d done it that way.

  “Holy cow,” she mouthed. She uncovered the speaker on her phone and spoke to whoever was on the other end. “The current offer is ten percent above the asking price, Mr. Bell.” She waited a moment and then responded. “Oh, well, yes. We would be happy to entertain an offer such as that. Yes, I’ll make sure to talk with the listing agent. Yes. I’ll expect your paperwork momentarily. Thank you.” She hung up the phone, jumped out of her seat, and did a happy dance, hopping up and down and swinging her arms in the air. Belle couldn’t dance, but I gave her an A for effort. “They’re offering twenty percent over the asking price!”

  “Oh my goodness.” I did a happy dance, too, until the phone rang again, and again, and again, and in thirty minutes we had seven waiting voicemails and six verbal offers on Carter Trammell’s townhome.

  Belle spread the papers out on our conference table. “This, my friend, is what you call a bidding war, and we haven’t even checked the rest of the voicemails.”

  I stared at the numbers on those papers. The roughly three-hundred-and-twenty-seven-thousand-dollar townhome received offers for over half a million dollars. “This doesn’t happen in Georgia, let alone in Bramblett County.”

  “It does now.”

  “Belle, it won’t appraise for these prices. You and I both know that.”

  “It doesn’t matter what it will appraise for, Lily. These people don’t care. They’re paying cash anyway. They’re paying for the location, not the value. Don’t you get it? They’re paying to be here, in Bramblett. Do you know what that means?”

  “That we’re going to make a great commission?”

  She shrugged. “Well, yes, but also that Bramblett is going to finally get its much deserved spot on the map. Heck, maybe we’ll even get a mention on the news stations when they talk about the weather for a change.”

  “That would be kind of nice.” The news stations in Atlanta never mentioned us, they’d say the North Georgia Mountains, but not Bramblett County. They’d just started mentioning Forsyth County, but not consistently.

  Come on, this is huge. Be excited.”

  I was, sort of. The phone rang again. Belle snatched it up right away, but I would have preferred it had gone straight to voicemail. I knew Bramblett County, and most of the residents weren’t pleased with the addition of the mixed-use development already, and knowing Carter Trammell’s unit caused a stir like a bidding war would likely send them into a tizzy of hurricane proportions. I had half a mind to get in my car and drive past that Quik Trip and straight to Alabama just to avoid the bomb I knew would explode when word got out.

  * * *

  I spoke with Carter’s sister Ryann over the phone. She lived in Chicago and planned to handle everything via electronic signature and FedEx. The excitement in her voice held a hint of nervousness, too. “I’m not sure how to deal with this kind of thing. I’ve never dealt with something like this before. Then again, I’ve never been the executor of someone’s will, so why would I? I don’t even own my own place.”

  “I know I’ve said it before, but I am so sorry for your loss, Ryann. You know I wish this wasn’t happening.” I hadn’t dealt with any kind of bidding war before either, but considering I was the professional, I did what any professional would do before I called her. I Googled it. Of course I’d had multiple offers on the Redbecker property originally, but they weren’t bidding above the cost, and it was just different. Toss in the fact that the bids all dropped because of the incident involved with the Redbecker property, and things didn’t compare at all. Also, none of those offers were cash, and each of the ones for Carter’s townhome were. The Hot-lanta bigwigs, as I’d grown to call them, liked to deal in cash, and that was fine by me.

  Less paperwork, quicker commission payout.

  Some information however, I didn’t need to Google because it was standard operating procedure for the market, and I explained it to Ryann. “What’s most important to know about the offers we have so far is that each has an escalation clause, and dependent upon the offer, the cap price of those clauses vary anywhere from ten to twenty thousand.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Basically, the best offer you have on the table, right now, will get you over five-hundred and seventy-five-thousand for Carter’s townhome.” I let that sit in her head for a moment, and then I said, “What I’d like to do is set up an open house for the weekend and allow agents that haven’t made offers to come view the listing—only agents—because I have a feeling the offers will increase, though you’ll probably lose a few that can’t compete. And you’ll definitely get more.”

  “So, that could mean more money for the scholarship?”

  “Depending on how the will is set up, of course, but possibly.”

  “Carter would have loved that.”

  “I thought he would, too.”

  “You’re the expert. I say go for it.”

  I wanted to thank her for saying that, but I didn’t want to sound like I didn’t believe it to be true, even though I wasn’t feeling all that expertise I should have learned in school. “Great. I’ll notify everyone that’s made an offer that you’re reviewing your options, and that in the meantime, we’re opening up the listing for other offers
just in case. So, I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Thank you, Lily, for helping, and for being so great about Carter.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Ryann.”

  And it honestly was.

  * * *

  Dylan, my fiancé and the county sheriff, wasn’t surprised about the bidding war situation. As we walked along the path at the park, my Boxer mix Bo galloping along ahead of us ready to burst with excitement knowing the dog park was just around the corner, Dylan held my hand and gave me his thoughts. Calm was Dylan’s number one emotion, and one I wished I could imitate.

  Mine, at least in that moment, sat somewhere smack in the middle of mind blown and panicked.

  “This isn’t a bad thing, Lily Bean. Don’t get all Lily Sprayberry like you do about it.”

  I stopped and gave him the type of look a mother gives a toddler that’s done something mind boggling, like eat dirt. “I’m sorry, did you just say don’t get all Lily Sprayberry like you do? Is that what I heard?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The side of his mouth twitched, and normally, I’d find that endearing, and though I tried not to then, too because I wanted to be sassy, I caved. The mouth twitch got me every single time.

  Close enough to dart to the park and know he wouldn’t get a lecture, Bo hit the ground running. Caitlyn, the woman that owned Blossom, Bo’s special friend, opened the gate for him. She waved hello to us. I waved back.

  “Dylan Roberts, you’re lucky I love you because that has got to be one of the rudest things you’ve ever said to me, not including that time in high school you told me my hairstyle would have been best served on a Backstreet Boy.”

  He smirked.

  I poked him in the chest. “I still haven’t forgiven you for that.”

  “Short hair isn’t a good look on you.”

  “It was shoulder length, and it was the style.” I shook my head. “Anyway, that is not the point, and you know it. I have a right to be concerned about this. This kind of thing could be detrimental to the county, and you know it.”