Realtor Rub Out

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  “And who do you plan on doing those lessons?”

  “You, obviously.”

  “Oh honey, you’re a hot mess.”

  She fell into her desk chair. “I don’t know why this is bothering me so much. I mean, yes, it should bother me, but I’ve seen a dead body before. I just can’t get past this.”

  She really was struggling because Belle wasn’t the type to repeat things over and over unless she couldn’t come to terms with something. “This is different, sweetie. Like I said, you were by yourself, just going about your normal life, and stepped into something you never expected. I felt the same way with Myrtle Redbecker. It’s okay to struggle with it. Someone died. That’s not something we just accept and then move onto the next thing.”

  “You kind of do that though.”

  “Not at all. Why do you think I stick my nose where it doesn’t belong? Trust me, Dylan would be thrilled if I could move on.”

  “There’s a lot riding on this though. I’m sure he knows that.” She twisted a strand of her beautiful hair around her finger and sighed. “Then again, even if there wasn’t, you’d be all over it like gray on a biscuit.”

  I laughed. “Maybe I should be marrying you instead of him.”

  “Oh, heavens no. You’re far too high maintenance for me.”

  We both laughed.

  “Look at this.” I angled my laptop her direction, but she still had to scoot her chair to my desk to see the smaller print. “Craddock and Clayton was the top agency for three years running in Fulton.”

  “I knew her name sounded familiar, so I checked that when Bo snored—all night by the way.”

  “Did you see that it wasn’t the top agency for 2018?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  I flipped the laptop toward me again and tapped into the Safari search bar. “Look what agency was.”

  “Rockwell & Associates.”

  “I spoke to Skip Rockwell and he said Carole was unofficially going to work with him, that they’d all but signed the deal.”

  “Really? For when?”

  “I’m not sure. I just assumed it was recent, but maybe it’s been happening for a while, and she was sending business to him and getting a cut of the commission or something?”

  “Don’t you think she’d get a bigger cut from her own agency?”

  “I can’t imagine she wouldn’t.”

  “Then why send it over to his?”

  That’s what I wanted to know.

  Belle flipped the laptop back toward her and scanned his website. “His site really needs an update. If I were looking for an agent, I wouldn’t chose him based on this.”

  I nodded. “Something isn’t right.”

  She tapped on my keyboard. “There’s an agent lunch scheduled for that new mortgage broker in Alpharetta tomorrow.” Her fingers danced over my keyboard. “I just reserved us each a spot. We might be able to get some info from someone.”

  “You go, girl.”

  “I’m always up for a good lunch.”

  * * *

  I picked Bo up at doggy day care, and even though his tongue hung close to the floor and he didn’t have a ton of energy left for me, he greeted me with kisses, which of course, I adored. We climbed into my car but skipped a trip to the dog park. Bo was a big hunk of love and always working to please, and sometimes I thought he pushed through his exhaustion to do just that, and I didn’t want him to feel forced to play because of me. We drove home with his head on my lap snoring like a race car.

  I had a habit of writing out details in both a notebook and on index cards, so I grabbed a stack of cards before I left work to use at home. It helped me organize my thoughts and sometimes see things with a different eye.

  After feeding Bo and taking a quick shower, I made myself a pimento cheese sandwich, poured a tall glass of iced water, and hit the couch with my notebook and cards.

  I created a card for everyone I’d talked to, as well as the victim and the homeowners, and laid them out on the coffee table in front of me. I scanned them, wondering if I should add another card, one I didn’t want to, but did because I hadn’t had a reason to rule the name out as an intended victim. I set Belle’s card next to Harold and Shirley Studebaker, the homeowners.

  Seven cards. Four potential killers. Four people that could have killed Carole Craddock, but by no means the only possible suspects. Real estate agents, if they were good, made friends or at least acquaintances, with everyone they could, and took every opportunity to leave an impression. There was no way to know if Carole had upset someone else, or honestly, if Carole was even the intended victim.

  If she wasn’t, then that left three options.

  Harold and Shirley Studebaker and Belle.

  Belle, my best friend since we were kids, and my business partner for the past few years. It was possible she was the intended victim like she originally thought, but that just didn’t ring my probability bell. Belle was well liked in town and people adored her. But the truth was, one could never really know what might drive someone else to do something terrible like murder, and I had to consider that.

  I sent her a text. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but have you been ugly toward anyone lately?”

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she responded. “And trust me, I’ve tried to figure out if I have, but for the life of me, I can’t think of anyone.”

  Before I had a chance to respond, another text appeared. “Do you think the killer was trying to poison me?”

  I really didn’t, and I didn’t want to worry her any more than she already was. “I don’t think so, but it’s important to consider all angles.”

  “That’s what I told Matthew.”

  I typed back a quick reply. “What did he say?”

  “He asked me a few questions. Couldn’t come up with any reason, but probably because I’m lovable and couldn’t think of a soul that felt otherwise.”

  I laughed, but I knew she was worried, or she wouldn’t have made the joke. “I trust both of our men to keep you safe.” I hoped that would ease her concerns.

  “They are. He is. I have a special GPS tracker on my phone because he didn’t want my location services on so someone can track me. He’s got me checking in every time I go anywhere and when I leave. If he could, he’d have a deputy follow me.”

  “That’s not a bad idea. Maybe they can put someone on you for added protection?”

  “You know it’s a small department, but after chatting with you at the office and exhausting myself trying to avoid the whole thing, I’m over it.”

  “Explain, please.”

  The little dots that showed me she was typing held on longer than normal, so I knew it would be a big response.

  “Matthew’s right, and so are you. There’s really no way anyone could have known I was going to the Studebaker’s, well, other than the Studebakers and you two of course, but I seriously doubt a couple in their eighties would want me dead.”

  “I agree.” Relief washed over me. Belle’s life at risk was scary enough, but Belle knowing her life was at risk and freaking out about it was harder to handle than the little pig my daddy brought home when I was six. And that cute little thing ran faster than anything I’d ever seen. “I honestly don’t think it was meant for you.”

  “Neither does Matthew. He talked to Shirley and Harold anyway. He’s diabetic, so they watch their sugars and don’t even have cookies in the house.”

  I replied with, “Interesting,” and added an index card under their names with diabetics under it.

  Belle and I texted a bit more, but her texting fizzled off a few minutes later and I knew she’d likely fallen asleep. Like Bo, who was nuzzled up against my hip and snoring again.

  I wished I could shut my eyes and be out like that in seconds, too. I gently pet his head, but he didn’t budge.

  I stacked the cards into piles, each with a possible motive or other relevant information, but none of them had much yet, though I didn’t expect they would. And n
one of the possible suspects gave me any sort of alibi either, other than Skip Rockwell, whose was flimsy at best.

  The one that concerned me the most was Dabney Clayton. In my highly unprofessional and moderately skilled—due to recent events only, not training—opinion, she had the most to lose, and the most to be angry about. She wasn’t upset Carole was dead, and she didn’t have a nice thing to say about her. I noted that on her main card and moved onto the next.

  Floyd Bowman’s motive wasn’t nearly as strong. When it came to motive, I wasn’t sure it even was one, but it was the best I could come up with.

  He thought Carole was using her clients to steal sales out from under him. He hadn’t offered any proof that she was, but I hadn’t asked either. I’m not sure what I would have done in that situation, and bringing it up when the woman was found murdered might lead police, or people like me, to assumptions that did more damage than good.

  As a motive, that would be hard to prove anyway because there was no way to know Carole had done that. Agents weren’t legally allowed to offer information to anyone but the listing agent, and the listing agent could only share that offer with the sellers. Did we share the information anyway? At times, yes. Could I verify that every agent did that? No. I could only assume, and if anyone asked a group of agents if they shared that kind of information, they’d all deny it.

  The only other ways Floyd would know would be if he was the listing agent who’d come to the home with a buyer, or if the buyer decided to tell him.

  I would hedge a bet on him working both sides of the sale because most agents that listed properties also helped the seller find a new home, and if possible, would show homes in their catalog first.

  The last possible suspect, Skip Rockwell, baffled me. He had no motive to speak of, or at least he didn’t speak of any to me. Then again, I knew Dylan was on my tail, and I rushed our conversation, offended him, and very likely ruined my chances for getting anything else out of the guy. Recent situations though had taught me that if there was a motive, it would reveal itself soon enough.

  I didn’t consider my clients to be suspects, so I had to at least entertain the thought that they could have been the intended victims. But who would want the Studebaker’s dead? They were harmless, and everyone in town loved them. At least that’s what I thought. I circled each of their names and drew a question mark on each card and then clipped them together. My plan for the next day included a visit with the elderly couple.

  I clipped the rest of the cards together, stuffed them and my notebook into my bag, and yawned as I pushed myself up from the couch. “Come on buddy, let’s go to bed.”

  Bo opened one eye, grunted, and went right back to sleep.

  Chapter 5

  Bo stretched and yawned on his three-quarters of the bed as I pulled my tired body out from under the sheet. He closed his eyes again and was back asleep in seconds.

  “Come on Bo, time to go potty.”

  After a minute or two of pets and snuggles, he finally dragged his big beige and white body out of bed and meandered like a window shopper in town toward the back door. I let him out and made myself a half pot of coffee.

  Dylan walked in just as the coffee pot finished.

  “Perfect timing.” I gave him the cup I’d poured for myself.

  He smiled and kissed me on the forehead. “Thanks. I’m definitely going to need a pot or two of this today.”

  “Long night?”

  He nodded. “I thought I’d come by and we could share what we got from the agents you weren’t supposed to talk to yesterday.”

  I smirked. “Sorry about that.”

  “No, you’re not.” He winked at me.

  “You’re right. I’m not.” I finished pouring Bo’s food into his bowl, let him in, and went to get my bag. I pulled out the cards when I got back to the kitchen. “Let’s sit on the back porch. It’s beautiful out.”

  We stepped outside, but I left the door open for Bo. Once he finished gobbling down his kibble, he’d be back out and energized to run circles around the yard.

  “I’ve ruled out Belle as a possible intended victim.”

  “That’s good.”

  “But I haven’t talked to Harold and Shirley yet. It’s possible they could be, especially if the cookies there were intended for them.”

  “Matthew spoke to them, but we aren’t leaning that direction.”

  “But it’s possible. It’s their house. They’re well known in town, so there could be someone upset with them, and it’s easy to drop off cookies as a gesture of,” I paused to think of a gesture, but couldn’t come up with anything. “You know, just a gesture like neighbors or friends do.” I sipped my coffee. “Maybe they upset a neighbor because they’re selling their house? Or,” I sat up straighter and pressed my palms onto my thighs. “Maybe they got in a fight with someone and that’s why they’re moving, and this person doesn’t want them to just move, they want them gone.”

  He laughed. “The Studebakers are what, close to eighty? It’s unlikely they’ve ticked anyone off in years. Lily Bean, when it comes to murder investigations, you can’t create theories based on no solid information. Theories don’t often solve crimes. Sometimes you’ve just got to go with your gut.”

  I smiled. “Aw, you’re teaching me about investigating. Does that mean you want my help?”

  He scooted his chair toward mine. “It means I know my fiancée well enough to know she’s going to try and find the killer no matter what I say, and that I don’t want to try and change her.”

  My eyes lit up. “So you’re going to give me information on the case?”

  He shook his head. “This is still a murder investigation. I can’t share information with you, but I can offer you my thoughts.” A smile crept across his face. “And you can share your information with me.”

  I clapped. “Oh yes! This is perfect.”

  “It also means you need to do what I say, and if I tell you to back off or not do something, you need to listen to me, okay?”

  “Yes, sir, Sheriff. I’ll do whatever you ask.”

  “We both know that’s a lie.”

  “Is that what your gut’s telling you?”

  He nodded, and I giggled. “I’m my mother’s daughter. Momma doesn’t lie.”

  “Ask your father what he calls it then.”

  “I’m guessing he calls it embellishes. Momma embellishes.”

  “I thought that was a male character trait?”

  I smiled. “Well, of course it is, sweetie, but it’s also a Sprayberry trait, and it doesn’t recognize gender.”

  We talked about the rest of the potential suspects, with me primarily focused on Dabney Clayton.

  “She just gave me a creepy feeling.”

  “That’s the gut thing I’m talking about.”

  “She said something about not feeling bad that a thief was dead and didn’t have a nice thing to say about Carole. I mean, you can be mad at someone, but who really wants that person dead like that?”

  “Her partner was stealing clients and handing them off to another agency. I can see how that would upset her.”

  “So, you think she did it, too?”

  He laughed. “I’m not there yet, but I don’t have the emotional connection to the business, so I may not see it as seriously as you do.”

  “Trust me, it’s a serious accusation, but I’d never consider killing someone because of it.”

  “Remember what I told you before?”

  I nodded. “Money does strange things to people.”

  “That’s not exactly what I said, but you’re right. It can drive people to murder. Good people, too.”

  “Do you have any suspects? Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

  “Hypothetically speaking, we have a small list, but if I was the sheriff, I’d do more digging before I arrested anyone.”

  “Yes.” I nudged his arm. “If I was marrying a sheriff in a week, I’d tell him to do the same.”

  His smile
sunk into a frown. “About that.”

  “Oh, no. No. No. No.” I covered my ears. “I don’t want to hear this. My gut is definitely telling me I don’t want to hear what you’re going to say.”

  He squeezed my knee. “We’re still getting married. Matthew and I will make sure this case is solved before then, and if that means we have to come a day or two late, that’ll be okay, right?”

  I let out a long, worried breath. “Yes, that I can handle, but that’s about it. We’ve waited a long time for this.”

  He stood and drank the last of his coffee. “Then it’s time I get to work.”

  Bo galloped up to him and stood at his side, expecting something, which we all knew was a ride to day care.

  “Bo, I’m taking you this morning, sweetie,” I said.

  “It’s okay. He likes to ride in my squad car. He feels like a law enforcement officer in the front seat.” He rubbed his ear. “Maybe, if he behaves, I’ll let him hit the siren button.”

  I laughed. “With those opposable thumbs he doesn’t have? Besides, you have a lot of work to do.”

  “It’s on my way.” He rubbed Bo’s head. “And he’s my guy. We like our boy time together.”

  A little something in my gut pinged, and my thoughts immediately went to what a good dad Dylan would be one day. “Then he’s yours, and thank you for taking him.”

  He kissed me on the top of the head. “I already consider him mine.” As I walked him into the kitchen and out the door, he said, “If you find out anything, let me know right away.”

  “Ditto.”

  He nodded, but I suspected that was just to appease me.

  * * *

  I made a pit stop at Millie’s Café for a light but healthy breakfast because my cupboards were bare, and I didn’t want to go to the grocery store before leaving for the wedding.

  Millie greeted me with a hot cup of coffee and a warm biscuit with a touch of honey drizzled on top. “Hey there Lilybit. Haven’t seen you in a while.” She placed the small breakfast on a table and popped a squat in the chair next to the one I’d picked. “How’s the wedding planning going?”