Realtor Rub Out

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  “Oh heavens, sweetie, we ain’t in no danger,” she said. “We’ve been living here too long for that. If someone wanted to hurt us, they would have done so by now.”

  “Is there anyone you think might want to hurt you, Mrs. Studebaker?”

  “’Course not.”

  “You know, Mr. Ronnetti, he likes cookies,” Harry said.

  “Mr. Ronnetti?” I asked.

  “Joey. That’s our handyman. Comes by a few times a month to fix things for us. Harry here can’t do it no more. His fingers are a knotted mess. He’s got that arthritis bad now.”

  I nodded. “Was Mr. Ronnetti here recently?”

  “Yes, he was. Just the other day he stopped by, and I told him we had a leaky faucet in the hall bathroom. Said he’d come back and take a look at it.”

  “He’s always got a lunch box with him, full of cookies. Used to sneak me one or two,” Harry said.

  “Probably part of the reason I’m sticking you like a pig every day now to test your blood sugar.”

  He blushed. “I haven’t had me a cookie in months, honey. I promise.”

  She gave him a death stare, and I held back a giggle. They were adorable, sitting next to each other, his balding head barely higher than her crooked blond wig. I hoped Dylan and I would be that happy at that age.

  “Did you tell the deputy about Mr. Ronnetti?”

  Harold shook his head. “Didn’t think of it till just now. I might could make a call and let him know.”

  “It’s okay. I can call him.” I sipped my tea. “Do you think Mr. Ronnetti is upset with you about anything? Could something have happened that made him angry?”

  They glanced at each other, but only in a do you know something I don’t know way, and then they both shook their heads.

  “Don’t think that’s the case,” Harold Studebaker said.

  “Does Mr. Ronnetti have a key to your house?”

  “Oh, no, ‘course not. But he knows we leave one under the pot on the front side of the garage, next to the porch. Had that there since the kids were little, even though we never locked our doors back then,” he said.

  “Would you mind giving me his number? For the sheriff. I’m sure they’re going to want to talk to him.”

  While Mrs. Studebaker stepped into the kitchen to get it, Harold and I made small talk.

  A few minutes after she returned, I’d finished the last of the sweet tea, which really was delicious. “I’m sure the sheriff will have this case wrapped up soon, but in the meantime, Belle and I were hoping you weren’t upset we had to pause the listing on the home. We just want to keep you safe.”

  “Oh, it’s okay. The deputy said the same thing. We was planning on callin’ you today to make sure it was off the market for now,” Shirley said.

  “I’m sure they’ll solve the case quick though, so you shouldn’t have to worry. In the meantime, if you need anything from us, please just call. We’re happy to help.”

  They saw me out, and I called Dylan the minute I got in my car. I left him a voicemail with Mr. Ronnetti’s information, and then I checked online on my phone to see if I could locate his business or residence.

  It wasn’t that hard. He had a small online presence that included his address. I put it in my GPS and headed to his house.

  I was familiar with the area on the outskirts of the county, but I hadn’t met Mr. Ronnetti, which was unusual. I’d assumed I knew almost everyone in town. In fact, I’d worked hard to do that. It was good for my business. I hadn’t thought to ask how long he’d been working for the Studebakers, and I wondered if it wasn’t long. It couldn’t have been if I hadn’t yet met him.

  Mr. Ronnetti wasn’t home, but his wife was. A short, stocky Italian woman that reminded me of a sweet grandmother, wearing a house coat and an apron greeted me with a big smile. She asked me to come in, and I accepted, but the thought of another drink made my already full bladder push back with a big, hearty no thank you. I usually did as my bladder said.

  “I was hoping I could talk to your husband about some work for some of my clients. We like to have a few good handyman services on file for when we list properties.”

  “You can talk to my husband, but he won’t talk back. God rest his soul, has been dead for years now. My son Joey took over the business after he died. Moved me here with him because he said the competition in Forsyth County was rough.”

  “How long have you been in Bramblett?”

  “About a year now. But he’s been working with the Studebakers for a few years. That’s why you’re really here, right? The murder?”

  Busted. “In part, yes, ma’am.”

  “He’s a wreck because of that. Doesn’t want the police to think he had anything to do with it.”

  “Why would they?”

  “Because he works for the couple, and he’s got a record, but nothing serious. A few bar fights, a small drug charge. You know how boys can be, rough housing over sports. He’s a Big Ten fan, but no one here cares about Big Ten football. It’s all Alabama, Georgia, and Auburn.”

  That was true. I wasn’t sure I could even name a Big Ten team, though I wasn’t much of a football fan, other than the Georgia Bulldogs. “I understand your son likes cookies.”

  She laughed. “Who doesn’t? And I make a mean batch of lemon cookies, his favorite.”

  The cookie in Carole Craddock’s hand was chocolate chip.

  “You don’t make chocolate chip cookies?”

  “Sure I do, but my boy’s favorite is the lemon, so that’s what I make him. Just made a fresh batch yesterday, too.” She waddled into the kitchen and presented me with a plate full. “Have one.”

  The last thing I wanted to do was eat a cookie from a stranger. I wasn’t sure I’d ever eat a one I didn’t make myself again, but I didn’t want her to think I thought she wanted to poison me. “Oh, no thank you. I have been on one of those no sugar diets. It’s been hard, but I’m finally past the cravings.” I said a quick prayer asking God for my forgiveness for the little fib.

  “Why you young girls do that to yourselves makes no sense. You want a cookie, you should eat a cookie. God’s going to kill you whether you’re a stick or a tub. If it’s not one way, it’ll be another. You should just live your life.”

  Her point was valid, but just in case, I still refused.

  “You think my son had something to do with the dead woman, don’t you?”

  I sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know what to think. The sheriff doesn’t even know what happened to her. They’re waiting on the tests to find out her exact cause of death.”

  She smiled, but I could tell it was more forced than genuine. “I know my boy didn’t have anything to do with that woman’s murder. Why would he? And I don’t mean to sound like I don’t think my boy is smart, but he never did all that good in school, and plotting a murder, that’s a little too much for him to think through.”

  I laughed. “I think I’ll take a cookie after all. To go, if you don’t mind.”

  She wrapped two in plastic wrap. “I’m giving you an extra for the police.”

  I smiled. “You’re a wise woman, Mrs. Ronnetti.”

  “I’m Italian, I’ve got good intuition, and it’s telling me you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Do you have a tree you suggest I should bark up?”

  “I come from a big family. I’ve got uncles that were involved in the mob back in Chicago. They always had three reasons to fight. Love, money and territory. You look into those three parts of the dead woman’s life, and you’ll find your killer.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate your help.” I handed her my card. “Would you mind having your son call me when he’s home?”

  She nodded and closed the door behind me.

  I drove the cookies straight to Dylan’s office.

  Chapter 7

  I arrived back at the office in time for Belle to meet me at the door while locking it. “I was wondering if you’d forgotten,” she said.r />
  I checked my watch. “Oh, the broker lunch. I did forget, and I reminded myself this morning about it, too.”

  “We can still get there, maybe a few minutes late, but those things never start on time anyway.”

  “You drive.”

  I filled her in on the cookie situation on the way.

  “Do you think he could have done it?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure. Dylan said I should go with what my gut says and not create theories, but the TV shows do a little of each.”

  “Dylan’s a real cop. I’d go with what he says.”

  “But they always solve the cases quickly on TV.”

  “Bless your heart, you’re becoming your mother more and more every day.”

  I laughed. “I consider that a compliment.”

  “You should, for the most part.”

  “So, here’s what we need to do. I’ll point out the people I talked to yesterday, and we can both kind of stick near them, listen to what they have to say, and see if anyone else is talking about what happened.”

  “You don’t need to point them out. I’ve already checked their company photos.”

  “Look at you, you’re already a sweet Southern detective.”

  “No, I’m a real estate agent. I just play detective when I find a dead woman in our client’s homes.”

  “Twinsies.”

  “Not the thing I want to have in common with you.” She checked her review mirror. “Look at that traffic behind me. This is why I don’t ever want to leave Bramblett. Why, I’d pitch a fit a mile long and deeper than Hades if I have to drive in this mess every day.”

  “Honey, you pitch a fit if the person at the stop sign on Main Street sits for more than two seconds. I think it’s more you than the traffic.”

  We arrived at the luncheon just in time to hear the new brokerage owner give his speech. I stood just a few feet away from Dabney Clayton. Belle was next to her on the right, and I hid on Belle’s right.

  She leaned into me and whispered, “Listen to his accent. Must be from New York City.”

  Belle thought everyone that wasn’t from Georgia was from New York, but I could tell the accent was more Midwestern than East Coast. “I think he’s from Minnesota or something.”

  She shrugged. “I can never tell.”

  After his speech, we sat at the same table as Skip Rockwell and his son, John. Dabney Clayton chose a spot across the room and near Floyd Bowman. I figured the agents with bigger businesses stuck together.

  “We’ve met, right? At my office?” John Rockwell asked. “Don’t think I got your name.”

  I nodded. “Yes, Lily Sprayberry.” I angled toward Belle. “And this is my business partner, Belle Pyott.”

  They shook hands across the table. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “John Rockwell.” He placed his napkin on his lap. “Dad said you were asking about Carole Craddock?”

  “Yes. She was found in one of our listings.”

  “By me,” Belle said. “It was horrible.”

  His dark brown eyes softened. “I can only imagine. How are you holding up?”

  “I’m okay. It was just hard.”

  “I bet.”

  “We’re trying to find out what happened,” I said. “We don’t want this kind of thing to hurt our reputation, or for it to make our clients think working with us isn’t safe.” I hated the way that sounded, but I was horrible at speaking off the cuff, and it was the only thing I could think of to lead into my question. “Have you heard anything?”

  His father leaned over. “Carole wasn’t the best team player, but she knew how to make money. You ought to talk to her former partner over there again.” He pointed to Dabney Clayton. “She’s been madder than a snake since she got here. Maybe she’ll even tell you the truth this time.”

  John Rockwell agreed. “Dabney found out Carole was coming on board as a partner in our firm and flipped out. Accused her of stealing her for her clients.”

  “You can’t actually steal a person from another agency. They choose to leave,” Belle said.

  “They can be given incentives to switch though,” I said. “Is that what you did?”

  “I don’t make those decisions. I’m not a partner, just an agent. But I can tell you the man doesn’t like change, so however he got her to come over, I doubt it included him doing anything different.” He shook his head as if he was having an internal discussion with himself. “I’ve been trying to get him to make changes for over a year now, but he won’t budge. He needs to get with the times, work social media more, that kind of thing, but he’s old fashioned. We could be making a lot more cash if good old dad would take some risks.”

  Skip Rockwell laughed. “My son, always judging me for what he thinks I don’t do, not the things I’ve done that’ve allowed him the life he’s got.” He glanced toward the other side of the room, waved over to another agent and excused himself, so I took the opportunity to dig deeper. “Mr. Rockwell, do you know anyone that might have an issue with Carole Craddock?”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Call me John, please. Every realtor in town had an issue with the woman, and I think that’s why my dad brought her on. She was a shark. Knew what to do to make the deal and didn’t stop until she did.”

  “But you just said your dad didn’t want to do things to increase business.”

  “Nothing I suggested at least. He doesn’t think I’ve got a handle on how things work yet. Carole, he respected. Knew she was a snake, but if the snake didn’t bite him, then he was good. I’m sure he gave her a sweet deal.” He held up his hand and rubbed his thumb and fingers together. “One she couldn’t refuse.”

  “Did you have any issues with her?”

  He flinched. “Who me? No. I mean, yeah, sure. The typical ones anyone has with a—you know the kind of woman I’m talking about—but nothing big.”

  John Rockwell wasn’t much older than me, so his attitude toward women was surprising. I’d think someone our age would be a little more kind, at least in their word choice. Then again, it really wasn’t the choice of words, but more his tone that put me off.

  I excused myself from the table, and as I stood, I tapped Belle on the leg hoping she’d continue the conversation with him. I walked over toward the hallway for restrooms and stopped just at the start of it when I heard hushed voices and biting, strong tones. And the voices were ones I recognized.

  “Did you see her?”

  I peeked around the corner to watch Dabney Clayton and Floyd Bowman in a heated discussion.

  “It’s fine,” Floyd said. “We don’t have anything to worry about. Just calm down.”

  “Calm down? How can I be calm? Carole’s dead, and the police are going to find out what’s going on if that woman keeps sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. We need to take care of this ASAP.”

  Were they talking about me? I pressed my back against the wall and listened some more.

  “We have nothing to hide, baby. It’s all good. We’re fine, fine. I promise you, nothing’s going to stop us.”

  Dabney Clayton mumbled something I couldn’t hear, and my stomach lurched from sneaking into their private conversation and hearing what sounded like two lovers arguing, most likely about something they didn’t want others to know, but still, it wasn’t exactly my business. I shook off the icky, because the thought of those two being lovers made my stomach twist, and I scooted out of their as fast as I could without making any noise.

  And when I did, I bumped smack into Skip Rockwell. “Well, hey there again, Miss Sprayberry. I meant to congratulate you, but I forgot, so congratulations.”

  “For what?”

  “Why, your wedding, that’s what. I hear you’re getting married soon.”

  “I uh, yes…I’m getting married next week.”

  “To that sheriff, right? Sounds like he’s got his plate full at the moment. Murder is tricky business. Sure hope nothing gets in the way of your nuptials.”

  “I can assure you nothin
g will get in the way but thank you.”

  “Well now, I wouldn’t be so sure of that. You never know what might happen.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Just wouldn’t want you putting yourself in danger or anything just days before your wedding now.”

  “Is that a threat, Mr. Rockwell?”

  He smiled. “Have a nice day, ma’am,” he said and walked away.

  I marched over to Belle who was sitting next to John Rockwell laughing. “Oh sweetie, you just wouldn’t believe what this boy is telling me.” She rubbed his bicep and squeezed. “The things these city agents do, it’s just so silly.” She giggled with her fake laugh so I knew she was up to something.

  He leaned his shoulder into her. “Stick with me baby and you’ll learn a lot.”

  I swallowed hard. “Hey, Belle, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Just give me a sec, okay hun?”

  “So, tell me, are you a Georgia fan or one of those other teams from that other state next to us?”

  “Go Dawgs all the way.”

  She giggled, and my stomach flipped again. Belle could charm the pants off any man. Her sweet Southern drawl, her long, full eyelashes; she knew how to play it, and she played it perfectly when necessary. I just didn’t like it. After my little chat with John Rockwell’s father, I didn’t trust him or his offspring.

  “Belle, can we—”

  She held up a finger. “Just a few more minutes okay, sweetie? This man here, he’s helping me improve my sales skills. He’s going to own his daddy’s firm one day, aren’t you sugar?”

  He smiled and winked at her. “That’s the plan.”

  “Well, I bet it’ll happen. I can feel it.”

  Skip headed back our way, and trailing behind him were both Dabney Clayton and Floyd Bowman. Tension rose up my back, settling in my jaw. I clenched my fists but quickly relaxed them. I didn’t want to seem nervous, even though I was.

  Skip pulled out his chair, but instead of sitting, just gripped the back rest with one hand and leaned in casually like he hadn’t practically threatened me a few minutes ago. He nibbled on a chocolate chip cookie. “Well, well, looks like you two are hitting it off. Comparing industry notes, are you?”