Realtor Rub Out

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  When someone like Dabney Clayton said sit, people sat.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “First of all, I’m sorry for your loss.”

  She raised her left eyebrow. “Thank you, but I don’t consider it a loss when a thief dies.”

  My jaw tightened. “You think your business partner was a thief?”

  She set down her coffee cup and leaned back in her chair as she nibbled on a cookie. I’d seen the same cookies at the little coffee and snack station near the wall of photos. Chocolate chip ones, and they were homemade.

  Her casual demeanor disturbed me. “Carole was taking our clients to a competitor. We had an agency together, yet she still thought it acceptable to move our clients to another without my knowledge.”

  “But you were aware?”

  “I’d recently discovered. It was not something I expected.”

  “I see.” I did understand that would be upsetting, however it didn’t ring any she deserves to die bells in my barn, but that didn’t mean another real estate agent’s bells weren’t chiming away non-stop. People did things for reasons I’d never understand.

  “Clearly you must. Hundreds of thousands of dollars, Ms. Sprayberry. What ethical person does that?”

  What ethical person wishes her partner dead? “Do you think that has something to do with her death?”

  “Are you asking if I killed her?”

  I stiffened. Dabney Clayton wasn’t the kind of woman I’d want to upset. “No, ma’am. I’m simply asking if her alleged actions could have caused someone to harm her.”

  “Alleged.” She waved her hand, and her attitude went from rude and agitated to easy going. “I highly doubt that. There isn’t an agent in my office that could hurt a flea.”

  “What do you think happened then?”

  “Well.” She pressed her index finger to the bottom of her chin. “Let’s see. Perhaps she also screwed the agency she filtered business to? Or quite possibly a competitive realtor had had enough of her shenanigans? Carole did have quite the reputation.”

  “Where were you around eleven o’clock yesterday, Ms. Clayton?”

  “Are you inferring I murdered my business partner?” She tapped the tip of her pen to her lip. “My schedule is none of your business, Miss Sprayberry.”

  “Who was the agency she gave the business to?” She pressed lips together but didn’t respond, so I tried another angle. “Can you think of who might be upset with her?”

  She leaned toward the desk and kept her eyes focused on mine. “May I ask why you’re asking so many questions, Ms. Sprayberry?”

  I wasn’t about to let that woman get my goose. I knew realtors like her, and though I wasn’t as experienced, that didn’t mean I was easily intimidated. I leaned toward her and stared right back into her scary eyes. “Your partner died in my client’s home, Ms. Clayton. My clients expect me to keep them safe from situations like this. Finding out what happened in their home is my utmost priority.” I leaned back and crossed my legs. “I have quite the reputation, too.”

  She blinked, and I knew I’d won that round at least. “Yes, well, if you want to talk to someone that Carole wronged, the list is long.”

  “Where would you suggest I start?”

  She jotted a name on a piece of paper, ripped it from the spiral binder, and handed it to me. “Try this man.”

  “Thank you.”

  She scribbled a name on another piece of paper, ripped it off and handed it to me. “This one, too, though I don’t think he’s involved.” She pushed her shoulders back and raised her eyebrow. “Now should any of my agents require questioning, I’d appreciate it being done by law enforcement.” She stood. “I must get back to work. Carole’s death has left me quite busy.”

  I stood too. “Thank you for your time.”

  I kept my shoulders back as I calmly walked out of the snooty firm, but when I was outside and out of their vision, I stopped the tough gal act. “Bless her heart. That woman is meaner than a snake.”

  Chapter 3

  I sat in my car and searched the internet for the two names she’d provided. According to my GPS, Floyd Bowman, the man she said wasn’t involved, had an office a short distance away, so I went there first.

  Alpharetta Georgia had gone through a major transformation in the recent past. What used to be a typical small-town main street with mom and pop shops was now a booming upper middle class hot spot filled with trendy restaurants and microbreweries, expensive boutiques, and cigar bars. Off on the side streets were stacks and stacks of condo units and town home communities. It was a fun place, but it wasn’t the small Southern town it used to be, and I had a feeling the people that had lived there forever weren’t all that thrilled.

  I pulled into the small public parking lot across from Floyd’s office and parked. I checked my cell and read the four messages from Belle, responded, and then set out to see if Dabney Clayton had given me a real potential suspect or just tossed me a bone to get me out of her office.

  “Well, hello there.” Another perky, young receptionist greeted me as if she was over the moon with excitement about it. “Are you looking to buy or sell a home today?”

  “I’m looking for Floyd Bowman. He was—he was recommended.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. At least that’s what I told myself.

  “Oh, Mr. Bowman is a wonderful agent.” She whispered, “Probably my most favorite, but let’s keep that between us.”

  I smiled. “Is he available?”

  “He’ll make time, I’m sure. Just a moment.” She stood and sashayed to an office down the hall.

  The real estate offices in Alpharetta must have hired the same interior designer. There were agent photos on a large side wall in Floyd’s, too, with his on the top, and underneath sat a table filled with similar cookies and baked goods as well as a Keurig. That office had a lot of money rolling in and out of it. I wondered why he had a problem with Carole Craddock.

  “Hello.” A tall, slender, balding man stepped out into the reception area. “I’m Floyd Bowman. I understand I come highly recommended to you.”

  I hadn’t quite said that, but I reached out my hand and shook his anyway. “Lily Sprayberry. Actually, I’d like to talk to you about something important if you have a minute.”

  “Lily Sprayberry? I recognize the name.” He turned around and told me to follow him.

  His office was neat and orderly, and I envied that. Mine wasn’t a mess, but it missed the tidy mark by miles compared to his. He asked me to sit at a small table in the corner, where he sat across from me.

  “So, tell me why your name is familiar. Have I worked with you before? If so, I apologize. I have so many happy clients, I can’t always keep track of them all.”

  “I’m a realtor in Bramblett County. Carole Craddock died in one of my agency’s listings yesterday.”

  “What? Carole’s–did you just say Carole Craddock is dead?”

  I nodded. “I’m sorry. I just assumed you knew. She was supposed to show a property of ours, and when my partner went in to do a quality check, she found her. It was awful.”

  “I…I…” His skin paled. “I don’t believe it. Carole?” He shook his head. “That’s horrible. What happened? Heart attack?”

  “The sheriff isn’t exactly sure. They’re waiting for the autopsy results.”

  “What? Are you saying Carole was murdered?”

  “I’m not sure, but they’re not ruling it out.” I smiled. “Would you mind telling me where you were yesterday at approximately eleven, maybe ten thirty in the morning?”

  He stood. “You think I had something to do with it, don’t you? Who told you that? Skip Rockwell? Is that the high recommendation you told Allie I’d been given?”

  That was a big, guilt ridden jump for him to take, and it set the hairs on my arms tingling. “No, sir.” I apologized for the confusion. “Can you tell me what happened between you and Carole Craddock?” He hadn’t told me where he was, but I didn’t think I’d get it o
ut of him if I asked again, so I didn’t.

  He placed his hands on his hips and leaned toward me. People liked to do that to try and intimated me. It didn’t work, at least not anymore. “Why is that any of your business?”

  “As I said, she died in my client’s home. It’s my duty to keep my clients safe.”

  That seemed to calm him a bit, but not as much as I’d hoped. “Carole…she…we…we used to work together. We competed. You know, challenged each other, but in a positive way. When we both left that firm, we made an agreement that we’d stay out of each other’s way.” He sat down again and sighed. “Only Carole decided to break our agreement.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Listen, I didn’t kill Carole. I didn’t even know she was dead, but I’m not surprised. Something happened with her. She changed. You’re a realtor, I’m surprised you hadn’t heard it through the grapevine.”

  “Bramblett is a small county. We don’t get a lot of the gossip y’all do down here.”

  “Anyone worth their grain of salt knew to stay away from Carole. She’d steal a sale or heck, a client, right out from under you if you gave her the chance.”

  “Is that what she did to you?”

  He nodded. “Pretty much. She was subtle about it though. Pushed her clients to make sales on homes pending contracts.”

  I flinched. “That’s unprofessional and unethical.”

  “You’re not the only one that thinks that. She wasn’t always like that though. Only happened in the past year or so. I don’t know what changed, but something sure did.”

  “Is that why would someone recommend I talk to you about her?”

  “It was Dabney, wasn’t it?” He rubbed the top of his head. From the looks of the shiny skin, he’d probably done that so much he’d rubbed his hair right off. “That told you to talk to me. She and I…we…”

  I didn’t agree or disagree. The entire story was interesting, and I just wanted to keep him talking. “What makes you think it was Dabney?”

  “We have an agreement to keep each other informed about important things happening in the community. She probably sent you to honor that agreement.”

  That man lied like a rug, but I nodded anyway. “I appreciate your time.” I handed him my card. “If you hear anything or think of anything that might be helpful, please give me a call.”

  He dug a card out of a card holder on his desk right quick and handed it to me. “Same, if you don’t mind.”

  As he walked me out the front entrance, he stepped outside with me and said, “Ms. Sprayberry, I hope you don’t think I killed her.”

  I nodded and walked across the street to my car.

  Dylan sent me two text messages. “You up for lunch,” and a few minutes later, “Don’t tell me you’re doing what I think you’re doing.”

  That last one could mean a few hundred things, but I had a sneaky feeling he knew what I was doing and I’d likely be lectured when I talked to him.

  Dylan wasn’t a fan of my interfering with his investigations, but I considered my efforts more of the helpful kind rather than the interfering kind. After all, my addiction to TV crime dramas taught me a lot about sleuthing, and since I’d always wound up helping, I didn’t see a problem with my efforts.

  I connected my phone to my car and called him back while I searched for the address of the other person on the list, Skip Rockwell.

  I knew Dylan would be busy with the investigation and likely not able to answer the phone, so I left him a voicemail. Sure, that was straight out avoidance on my part, but Momma always says there’s a time to own up to your misgivings and a time to eat a slice of freshly baked apple pie, and I didn’t have any pie, so… “Hey honey, I’m driving, so I can’t text. Call me back when you have a minute. Love you.”

  I was ninety-nine percent positive he knew I’d gone to Carole Craddock’s office, and if he’d gone there already, and Dabney gave him the same names she’d given me, he was definitely on my tail, so I had to move quick. Thankfully, according to my GPS, Rockwell & Associates was only three minutes away.

  Skip Rockwell’s firm was the exception to the rule when it came to Alpharetta realty firms. He didn’t have a receptionist, nor did he have a fancy office with photographs of his agents on the wall. Instead, he chose the simple route, one similar to mine and Belle’s. A large space with several desks, an oval shaped conference table, a small snack and coffee station, and an office along the back wall with windows looking out to the other desks—except we didn’t have the office along the back wall. From the looks of the mostly clear desks, he only had two other agents, which was one more than Bramblett County Realty.

  “May I help you?” A short, stocky man, weeks past the need for a hair trimming, stepped out of the back office.

  “Are you Mr. Rockwell?”

  He nodded. “What can I do you for, ma’am?”

  “I’m told you know Carole Craddock. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Every agent in town knows Carole. She do you wrong? Seems to be her thing these days.”

  A young man a few inches taller than Mr. Rockwell and with similar facial features walked into the office. “Hey, Dad.” He introduced himself and shoved his hand out to shake. “John Rockwell.”

  I didn’t give my name. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Here’s the closing docs from the Harris sale. I’ve got a possible listing I’m running to. Be back after lunch.” As he rushed to the door, he flipped around and said, “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  “Carole was found dead in one of my listings yesterday.”

  He blinked. “Oh heck, that can’t be good for business. What happened? Heart attack? Woman was strung tighter than a harp.”

  “I understand you two might have had some conflict?”

  He blinked again. “Conflict? No, no. Carole and I were good friends. Close. In fact, she’d just decided to come on board here at the agency. We hadn’t signed the agreement yet, but she’d already been working with a few clients on the agency’s behalf.” He offered me a seat at the conference table. “Wait. Are you saying Carole was murdered?”

  Was Skip’s firm the one Dabney Clayton thought Carole funneled business to? I couldn’t help but wonder why Carole Craddock would leave what appeared to be a successful agency where she’d been a partner, to come to something like Skip Rockwell’s, but it wasn’t my place to assume anything. “It’s not been confirmed, but I’ve got a contact at the sheriff’s office that seems to think that’s the way the case is going.”

  “I…I don’t know what to say.”

  I knew my time was limited. If I was right, and Dylan knew what I was doing, he’d send Matthew or another deputy out right away to stop me. So, instead of treading cautiously, I just went for it. “What was your schedule like yesterday, Mr. Rockwell?”

  He pointed at his chest. “You think I had something to do with her death?”

  I kept my gaze steadied on him.

  He raised his hands and flipped them toward me, palms up. “I…I was with clients most of the day. I sell homes, and that’s how we sell them, spending time with our clients.”

  “Were you in Bramblett County at all?”

  “Bramblett County? That hole in the ground? You kidding?”

  I wanted to kick him in the shin, but I kept a straight face and stood. “Thank you for talking with me.”

  He stood, too. “Sure, anything I can do to help Carole. Can’t believe she’s dead. We got a few clients we’re working with. I’ll have to give them a heads up.”

  Yeah, I bet he’d do that.

  Chapter 4

  “You do know this is an active investigation, right?” Dylan’s tone wasn’t as pleasant as I’d have hoped.

  “You do know my best friend found a woman dead on the floor of our listing, right?” My tone was equally unpleasant.

  He breathed heavily into his cell phone. “Are we going to spend the rest of our life together with you interfering in my investigations
?”

  “Think of it as me assisting you in solving crimes. It sounds much better that way.”

  He sighed again. “Lily Bean, we’re getting married in a week. If you want me to make it to the altar, I need all eyes on this without any interruptions, okay?”

  “That’s perfect. I just had an eye exam two weeks ago, and my eyes are in tip top shape.”

  “I’ll close this thing faster if you keep your beautiful eyes out of it.”

  Aw, that softened my resolve a bit, not enough to figure out what happened in our listing, but a little. “I’ve got the eyes of a goat.”

  “I can’t disagree with you on that.”

  “I think Dabney Clayton is up to something. She wasn’t at all happy with Carole.”

  “Yes, she made that clear. I can take it from here though, okay? You’ve got a wedding to finalize anyway.”

  “If it even happens.”

  “If you let me do my job, it will.”

  I had no intention of interfering with him doing his job, and I reiterated that, but I couldn’t help offering my opinion. “What I found most interesting is that Carole Craddock was an agency owner, yet Skip Rockwell said she was going to work with him.”

  “Why is that interesting?”

  “Because from the looks of the agency, it was successful, and Skip’s didn’t strike me as a booming business.”

  “That is interesting. Maybe she saw an opportunity to build it into something better?”

  “Maybe. Just seems strange to me.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “See, I’m helpful. I’m not an interference.”

  “You’re a good catch.”

  “Gee, glad you feel that way.”

  I’d been back at the office for most of the day, researching poisonings as well as agents in Fulton County, Georgia while Belle kept herself in high gear doing everything she’d planned for the next month in one day.

  “I finished reorganizing our filing cabinets. Did you know we’ve got four hundred client files? When I matched those up with our newsletter, sixty seven of them don’t get it, so I’m sending them emails asking if they’d like to subscribe. I’ve created a coupon for a free thirty minute home staging lesson if they sign up.”