Realtor Rub Out

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  Realtor Rub Out

  A Lily Sprayberry Realtor

  Cozy mystery

  Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  COPYRIGHT JULY, 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

  Paperback Cover Design by Tatiana Vila

  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.

  Chapter 1

  It’s practically impossible to be a realtor these days. The competition is fierce, but the dead bodies, those really take a toll on potential sales; at least the dead bodies associated with mine and my best friend’s firm, Bramblett County Realty.

  That best friend and business partner, Belle Pyott, sobbed in my arms. “She was just…just lying there. I tried CPR, but she…she…it didn’t help.”

  I patted her back. “I know. I’m sorry, Belle.”

  She sniffled as my fiancé and the county sheriff, Dylan Roberts, approached.

  “Hey, how’s she doing?”

  I struggled to remove Belle’s arms from their death grip around my neck. “Honey, you have to let go. You’re choking me.”

  She dropped her arms and wiped her nose with a tissue Dylan handed her. “I can’t believe this happened. I mean, it should have happened to you, not me.” She blubbered loudly. “You know what I mean. I just don’t have the stomach for this stuff.”

  Dylan and I shared a glance, and I mouthed, “Is Matthew coming?”

  Matthew was a deputy sheriff under Dylan, as well as his friend, and he also happened to be Belle’s boyfriend. I hoped his arrival would calm her. I’d never seen her so out of sorts, but I understood why. I wasn’t an expert on finding dead bodies, but I’d experienced it more times than I wanted to admit, and it never got any easier.

  “He’s on his way.”

  Belle cried hearing that. Dylan raised an eyebrow and whispered in my ear, “I think she’s in shock.” He crooked his finger as he whistled to the paramedic. “Need some help over here.”

  The best volunteer paramedic in town, and a special friend to both Belle and I, Billy Ray Brownlee, sauntered over, a fresh sweet iced tea and a Band-Aid in hand. Billy Ray always gave his patients sweet tea and a Band-Aid, and most of the time, that did the trick.

  Except not with Belle, not that time.

  “Oh, you’re sweet Billy, but I can’t. I’m sick to my stomach.”

  “It’ll help you dumplin’, it’s good for that,” he said.

  Actually, the sugary, caffeinated drink was probably one of the last things she needed, but I wasn’t going to burst Billy Ray’s bubble or take away the thing he’d felt valuable for years. His heart was in the right place, and it wasn’t about the actual drink anyway. It was the love he put into it that mattered.

  Dylan handed me a Georgia driver’s license. “The victim’s name is Carole Craddock. You know her?”

  I shook my head. “Not personally, but she’d emailed me recently about showing the property today, so I figured it was her.” I gave him the license back. “What happened to her?”

  He rubbed his chin, and I admired the slight five o’clock shadow beginning to show itself, even though it was only eleven o’clock in the morning. “No visible wounds, nothing showing she tried to defend herself. The blood around her mouth suggests poisoning, but we’ll have to see what the autopsy shows.”

  Matthew walked in, quickly examined the scene and then headed straight to Belle, who started bawling in his arms all over again. He stepped outside with her.

  “Why would someone poison her and how would they? I thought most poisonings were instant.”

  “Depends. Some take days or even months if the vic is given small amounts over time. Others can kill within minutes.”

  “Belle said she had a chocolate chip cookie in her hand when she found her, and no, we didn’t touch anything, but do you think it could be that?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ve got it bagged as evidence with the rest of the batch from the kitchen. We’ll send it off today. If I put a rush on it, I’ll probably know tomorrow or the day after at the latest.” He rubbed my shoulder.

  “I can’t believe this happened. Again.” I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself, though Dylan must have assumed that. My angst was for poor Carole Craddock who’d died with a cookie in her hand and her entire life ahead of her.

  “It’s not your fault,” he said.

  “Of course it’s not my fault. I know that. I’m upset because someone is dead, and she didn’t deserve to die. Nobody deserves to die.”

  “Looks like someone feels differently about that.”

  I stared up at my fiancé. “We ask our clients to bake cookies before showings, or to at least leave them out. They could have done this.” I hated to think that, but it was a possibility.

  “We’ve already been in contact with them. They didn’t know the place was being shown until they got the call from the realtor, and that was thirty minutes before she was scheduled to show up with her clients. Who, by the way, are MIA. The Studebaker’s though, assured me they didn’t leave any cookies.”

  “So, whoever did this came and left the cookies after the owners left and before the agent arrived? That’s cutting it close.”

  He nodded. “Very close, but we don’t know for sure if she got the cookies here, if she brought them herself, or if the cookie in her hand is what poisoned her in the first place. We don’t have much of anything yet, but we will.”

  * * *

  I showed up at Belle’s place with a quart of cookies and cream ice cream and a bag of Oreos, my Boxer mix, Bo at my side. “Are you okay?” Bo’s tailed wagged back and forth, smacking me on the side of my knee in a distinct pattern. I would end up with a slight bruise there for sure.

  “I’m better,” she said though her nose was stuffy and her eyes puffy and red.

  I held out the sugary treats. “Girls’ night?”

  “You brought cookies and cream ice cream and Oreos? Is that supposed to be funny?”

  I stared at the bag in my hand. “Oh. I hadn’t even thought about that. I just thought my best friend needed some comfort food.”

  “Bless your heart for thinking of me.” She grabbed two spoons from the utensil drawer and scooted into her family room, her footie slippers made a swiping sound on the hardwood floor. “I’m glad someone’s come to sit with me. I’m sure Matthew’s too busy to come by, what with having a murder to solve and all.”

  “Dylan said the scene’s cleaned up already. Unfortunately, our listing is on hold for the time being, and the client is going to have to stay in a hotel, but it could be worse.”

  “Really? How?”

  “Nothing was taken, and we don’t have to solve some cold case to get a valuable family heirloom back?” I’d jokingly referenced a recent situation involving another listing of ours, but the effort didn’t cheer her up, and it occurred to me it was probably in poor taste. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t helpful.” I’d hit two
for two in the tactless department, and I hadn’t even been there five minutes.

  She stuffed a spoonful of ice cream straight from the carton into her mouth. “I appreciate the effort.” She finished the scoop and leaned her head back on the couch. “How do you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Not see the image over and over again in your head. I keep seeing that poor woman lying there, that half eaten cookie in her hand, and the foamy blood on the corner of her mouth.”

  “You’ve been through this before, and you handled it better than anyone thought you would.”

  “Yes, but I was with a group of people before. It was different. I had to be strong.”

  “But you also spent time alone, and you survived. You made it through that, and that was someone you cared for.”

  “Twice is too much though. I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again.”

  “You will. You just learn to push the bad thoughts aside and focus on the good ones.”

  “How long until I find some good ones? All I can think about is what happened.”

  I took a bite of ice cream and contemplated my next comment. “I guess you just have to force yourself to think about something good and know that our wonderful significant others will figure out what happened, and they’ll get justice for Ms. Craddock.”

  “But what if they don’t?”

  “They will.”

  She set the ice cream carton on her coffee table. “What if whomever killed her wasn’t trying to kill her? What if they were trying to kill me?”

  “Why would you even think that?”

  “Because I’d planned to check on the property today, remember?”

  “But how would someone know that?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe they overheard me talking about it? Maybe the owners mentioned it?”

  “That doesn’t make sense. Why would someone want you dead?”

  “Because it was a Tuesday?”

  “What?”

  “Just because I don’t know why doesn’t mean someone doesn’t have a reason. We learned that months ago during that decluttering and staging class. The reason could be something I did years ago.”

  I placed my hand on top of hers and tried to reassure her. “Nobody is trying to kill you, Belle.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  Chapter 2

  Millie, the owner of Millie’s Café, the best place in town for a good meal and a fresh cup of coffee or glass of sweat iced tea, filled a to go cup from a freshly brewed pot of coffee. “This should give you a big ol’ energy boost. It’s a new kind I’m trying. Got some extra lead in it.” She smiled an unusually big, bright smile for the woman. I suspect it was because of her newfound old love Buford Jennings, a man that used to live in Bramblett.

  I eyed the brown liquid and smelled its robust, nutty scent. “Better put a pump of sugar free vanilla in there just in case. Smells pretty strong to me.”

  She did as I asked. “How’s Belle?”

  “She’s shaken, but I think she’ll be okay. I stayed with her last night, but Bo slept next to her in her bed, so hopefully she got some sleep. Bo tends to be a bit of a bed hog.”

  “As big as that lug of love is, how could he not?” She handed me my coffee. “She going to work today?”

  I nodded. “She’s on her way here now. I left early to drop off Bo and gather my composure to help perk up her spirits. She was just so upset.”

  “You’re a good friend, Lilybit.”

  “I try.”

  I sat at a corner table and sipped my coffee, but instead of thinking about ways to pick up my best friend’s spirits, I selfishly thought about my upcoming wedding.

  Dylan and I had worked hard to get to the place we were, and I didn’t want anything to get in our way. Years together in high school and college, and then a several year separation to finally come back together again stronger than ever, set us on a path for a solid, strong forever and always, and I promised myself nothing would mess that up. To be honest, my biggest worry was the wedding, it had been since the beginning.

  One part of me was ashamed for making things about me, but the other part said it was okay. I’d fussed and fretted for months about how to marry Dylan Roberts, and we’d finally decided on a destination wedding for close friends and family. But a murder investigation could take weeks, even months, to solve, and both my sheriff fiancé Dylan and his deputy sheriff Matthew couldn’t, and wouldn’t leave until they’d closed the case, and I wouldn’t expect them to, either.

  I had a choice to make. Wait it out and hope for the best or do a little investigating of my own. Since I had connections in the realtor world, and Carole Craddock was a realtor, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask a few questions to help move the case along. Two birds, one realtor, so to speak.

  Belle arrived later than I’d expected but had given me enough time to work through the beginnings of a plan. Millie offered to prepare her special breakfast for our distraught friend, who made it clear she couldn’t stomach the thought of a two eggs over easy with hash brown potatoes and cheesy grits skillet, and asked for a muffin instead.

  “Coming right up.” Millie laid her hand on Belle’s shoulder and squeezed. “You got this, sweetie. You’re going to be fine.” She headed back to the kitchen humming a happy tune.

  “I definitely don’t have anything, that much I know.”

  “It’s okay. You had a pretty traumatic day yesterday, but I promise you’ll be okay.”

  “You’re a lot stronger than I ever realized. I’m not as strong as you.”

  “Are you kidding me? Let’s revisit what I said last night about the decluttering and staging class murder, okay? You were a rock, and I don’t think it was pressure, or support, or whatever, because other people were there.”

  She straightened in her seat. “I know. I thought about that while up most of the night with your snoring bundle of love. I did handle that well.”

  “Uh, yeah. I’d say so.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Finding one dead body is hard enough, but two? That’s more than I can handle.”

  “It probably felt different because you were alone. I think when we go through things like this with others, our defense mechanisms or maybe our egos help us handle it better, but when we’re alone, our defenses are down, and we feel everything right away.”

  She nodded. “That makes sense.”

  Her eyes didn’t have their normal sparkle, and the bags under them were swollen and puffy, but I hoped my idea would help put her on the path toward healing. “I’m going to make some calls and see what I can find out.”

  “About what?”

  “About Carole Craddock. About where those cookies came from, and if they were meant for her.”

  She shivered and sipped on her coffee. “You think they could have been for me, don’t you?”

  “Nobody would have a reason to hurt you.” Besides, I thought, the cookie in her hand didn’t guarantee it was the cause of her death. Dylan had already made that very clear.

  “You don’t know that.”

  I nodded. “No, you’re right, I don’t know that for sure, but I’m pretty confident I’m not wrong about it. Either way, the best way to start an investigation is with the victim and her circle. If we can’t find the killer in that, then we branch out.”

  “Investigation?”

  “You know what I mean. I’ll make some calls, see if I can find anything out, and go from there.”

  “You know Dylan’s not going to like that.”

  I shrugged. “Hasn’t stopped me before. Besides, he’s my fiancé, not my boss.”

  “Oh my gosh, your wedding. What’s going to happen now? We’re leaving in seven days.”

  “Don’t worry about that.” I struggled to stay positive and keep my facial expression relaxed. “If Dylan and Matthew don’t find the killer before then, I will.”

  * * *

  I stepped through the double doors of Craddock & Clayton Realty and
nodded to the young receptionist at the main desk. “Is Ms. Clayton in?”

  The skinny blonde gave me a stern once-over, paying close attention to my dark straight-legged jeans and cotton pink button down. “Are you interested in buying or selling?”

  “Both. I’m a realtor also.”

  The right side of her upper lip twitched. “I’m sorry. The agency isn’t taking on new realtors at the moment.”

  I dug my heels into the tile floor. “I have my own agency. My name is Lily Sprayberry. I’m here to talk about the death at one of my listings yesterday.”

  “Oh, that was—uh, give me a moment please.” She scurried to an office on the right and closed the door behind her.

  As I waited, I gazed at the wall of realtor photos to my right and the long narrow table underneath filled with cookies, pastries, and two Keurig coffee machines with all the works for a homemade flavored latte. The office was much larger than mine and Belle’s, with fifteen agents. Photos of Carole and her partner, Dabney Clayton, hung above them all.

  I’d never met Carole, but she looked like a nice woman. In the professional looking photo, she’d pulled her long, light brown hair into a low ponytail that allowed her soft complexion and big brown eyes to shine through. I probably would have liked her.

  “Ms. Clayton will see you now. Follow me.”

  Dabney Clayton was the spitting image of her photo. Shoulder length, whitish gray hair styled in the current angled bob style matched her creamy white skin–she’d brushed something sparkly and pink over—perfectly. Her fake eyelashes and thin dark eyebrows added pop to her pale complexion. Dabney Clayton wasn’t someone I’d want to run into in a lit alley, let alone a dark one. It wasn’t her appearance that sent chills up my spine, it was the stone cold, heartless eyes staring at me from the photo. I wondered if her clients felt the same.

  She stood on the opposite side of her desk. “Miss Sprayberry. Please, sit.”