Deal Gone Dead

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  I texted Belle. “Can I stay at your place tonight?”

  “Um, is everything okay?”

  “Yes, but I just don’t feel right at my place. I don’t feel safe.”

  “Why don’t you call Dylan and have him stay again?”

  “Because I don’t want him staying here.”

  “Okay. You can stay at my place, but I’m not going to be home tonight. I’m in the ATL.”

  “I don’t want to stay alone. You’re in Atlanta?”

  “Yes.”

  “When did you go there?”

  “Right after I left the office.”

  “And you’re coming back when?”

  “What’s with the twenty questions?” she texted back.

  “You’re with a guy, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Why haven’t you told me about this?”

  “I’m not staying with him. I’m staying at a hotel. I didn’t want you getting the wrong idea.”

  “I don’t have the wrong idea, and that’s not what I meant anyway.” I sent the text and then dialed her number, but it went to voicemail. “Why aren’t you answering?” I texted.

  “Because I’m with a guy, remember?”

  “Oh, right. What I meant was, why didn’t you tell me about him?”

  “I wanted to wait until I decided how I feel.”

  “Have you decided?”

  “I think so.”

  “And?”

  “And I’ll tell you when I see you.”

  I yelped. “Ugh. Fine.” I texted the angry-faced emoji and tapped on it several times just to make sure she knew I meant it.

  She responded with the angel emoji. As if. “Are you going to stay at my place?”

  “Probably not. It’s not the same if you’re not there.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, you know where I hide the key.”

  “Thanks.”

  Wait a minute. That was it. I hid a key too. Maybe whoever got into my house knew where I’d hidden my key. I made a beeline to the flower pot on the right side of my garage and pushed it up on its side. The key was missing. I let out a breath and then released it when I remembered I’d given the key to the plumber last week and was supposed to pick it up already.

  Whoever got into my house was doing it without a key, and without breaking a window or a lock. So, how could they get in? I knew if I had that answer I’d be able to figure out who got into my house, and if I knew who that was, I’d know who killed Myrtle. I also believed that whoever killed Myrtle killed Jesse.

  I needed to see that note again. If Dylan didn’t plan to have the writing analyzed, maybe I could try and analyze it myself. Not to the degree of a professional, of course, but I knew the difference between feminine writing and masculine writing at least, and I had access to the Internet. I could at least take a wild guess if the note had been penned by an older person or someone nearer to my age. Maybe. If nothing else it was at least worth a shot.

  That meant I’d have to see Dylan. But at least I wouldn’t have to be alone, and I wouldn’t be asking him to be with me because I was scared. I bit the bullet and made the call.

  “Hey Lily, what’s up?”

  “Do you think you could bring the note by?”

  “The note?”

  “The one left at my house? I’d like to take another look at it.”

  “It’s evidence in an open case, Lily.”

  “An open case involving my house.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “What exactly is the point?”

  He groaned. “Why do you want to see the note?”

  It was my turn to groan. “It may not matter a whole lot to you, but I don’t feel all that safe in my house right now, and this is my home, Dylan. The one place I should feel safe.”

  “I’ll be there in a bit.”

  “Thank you.”

  Fifteen minutes later he knocked on my door, note, a frozen pizza and a bag of kettle chips in hand. “This was the best I could do with such short notice.”

  I smiled. “You never were much of a chef.”

  “Hey, I tried.”

  I opened the bag of chips and dumped them into a plastic bowl. “Points for that.”

  He set the oven to preheat. “At least you’re giving me credit for something.”

  “Can you set the timer, too?” I smiled when he did it without missing a beat. “And, by the way, I’ve given you credit for a lot of things.”

  “Name one.”

  I had to think about that. “When you put me on the spot like this, I can’t come up with anything.”

  “Because you haven’t given me any credit, but it’s okay. I kind of deserve it.”

  “I’m not going to argue that.”

  He laid the note on the table, flattening out the baggie we’d stored it in. “Well? What say you?”

  I sat at the table and examined the note carefully. Make sure that property don’t sell or else.

  “Obviously a man wrote it.”

  He put the pizza in the oven and then sat next to me. “What makes you think that?”

  “Because most women don’t abuse the English language like that.”

  “You’re in the South. We have our own version of the English language here.”

  “That’s true. Let me rephrase that then. Most females my age don’t talk like that.”

  “Then who does?”

  “Old school southerners, people who’ve lived here all their lives, maybe ones who don’t have a lot of education. Those reality show people.”

  He laughed. “I think they’re actually acting.”

  “Bless. I sure hope so.”

  “But you’ve got a point. So, think about what you’re saying. Who do you know involved in this investigation that fits into any of those?” He went to the oven and peeked inside. “It’s got another minute or two.”

  “The timer will go off when it’s done.” I knew where he was going, and I didn’t want to answer his question. “But it could be a cover up, too.”

  He nodded. “It could be. You watch crime shows though, and you know how it goes. Most criminals aren’t that smart. So, tell me, who do you know involved in this investigation fits into any of those options?”

  “Practically the whole town fits into at least one of those.”

  “My point exactly.”

  “That’s why you should have the handwriting analyzed.” I flipped the note sideways. “I mean, seriously. It’s block letters, so it’s obviously a male.”

  “Females only write in cursive?”

  “Well, no.”

  “So, a woman wouldn’t specifically write in block letters to throw the cops off?”

  “Maybe, but—you’re just validating my point. Why not get a hand writing analysis done? Whoever did this obviously killed Myrtle too.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Because of the cast iron skillet.”

  “What about it?”

  “Myrtle was killed with hers, and the note was left in mine.”

  “Billy Ray basically announced to the entire town the weapon used to kill Myrtle. That doesn’t mean the person that killed her left the note.”

  Dang it. He was right. “But why would someone be so cruel?”

  “Because someone doesn’t want that property to sell bad enough to scare you into taking it off the market. So, tell me, who would that be?”

  “Sonny Waddell.”

  He gave me a single head nod just as the oven dinged letting us know the pizza was done.

  “And Sonny still could have killed Myrtle. I don’t know why you can’t see that.”

  “May I have a piece of paper and a pen?”

  I directed him to the desk drawer while I got the pizza out and cut us both slices. We each ate while Dylan wrote out a chart listing Sonny Waddell and Jesse Pickett’s possible motives for Myrtle’s murder and the evidence surrounding each of them.

  Seeing it on paper hit me i
n an unexpected way. “Wow.”

  “What?”

  “Based on this, either one of them could have done it.”

  “But Jesse had more to lose.”

  “I disagree.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’d already lost it. He was just hoping to get it back. He felt it should stay in the family, and he wanted it, but he knew she’d taken it from him. Sonny on the other hand, his family had fought for years for that land, and he was determined to keep fighting for it. He made that perfectly clear. He said the land belonged to him.” I took a bite of my slice of pizza and spoke with my mouth full. If my momma had been there, she would have kicked me under the table. “Jesse was a defeated man. Sonny prepared for battle.”

  He put down his slice of pizza. “You really think Sonny killed Myrtle Redbecker don’t you?”

  “I don’t want to think it, but yes, I do.”

  He focused on the chart. “I can talk to the District Attorney, but I don’t know what that’ll get me.” He picked up the note and stared at it. “The least I can do is push for no bail.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  He angled his body toward mine. Our knees touched, and I didn’t, or more like I couldn’t, move. “I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t do for you.”

  I swallowed hard.

  He leaned forward, and I leaned forward, and I swallowed hard again. He wanted to kiss me, and I wanted to kiss him, too. I wanted it more than I’d ever wanted anything, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I tilted my head down and to the right. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” I stood. “You…you should go.”

  He held up his cell phone. “I’m not leaving.”

  I read the text message on his phone. “She didn’t.”

  He nodded. “She’s worried about you.”

  Belle sent him a text asking him to stay with me for the night since she wasn’t in town. “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

  He showed me another text. It was a screenshot of my text messages to Belle.

  “She’s a traitor.”

  “She’s your best friend.”

  “Still a traitor. You can’t stay here. You just—we just—”

  “We won’t.”

  “You’re right. We won’t, but it’s—”

  “I’m not leaving.” He walked out my kitchen door, grabbed his bag from his trunk, and came back. “Besides, your couch is comfy.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Fine. One night.”

  “One night.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “For now.”

  I flipped around, tossed the empty frozen pizza box into the garbage and marched off to make up the couch for him without saying another word.

  * * *

  The next morning he’d made coffee and left before I had the guts to come out of my bedroom. He did leave me a note telling me Sonny’s bail hearing was set for ten o’clock. He scheduled a meeting with the District Attorney and hoped to convince him to push for no bail. Given that Sonny’s attorney was a big Atlanta one, I thought no bail was a long shot but hoped for the best anyway.

  Belle and I exchanged texts, neither offering a ton of explicit details about our nights—sort of—with men, but I knew we’d have a lot of catching up to do later. In the meantime, I followed up with some business housekeeping and headed straight to the courthouse/jail along with the rest of the town to see what happened with Sonny Waddell.

  Millie, Old Man Goodson and Odell Luna stood next to me in the long line to get inside.

  “Looks like we’re all itching to see the big event,” Old Man Goodson said.

  “This stuff’s better than what’s on the TV these days,” Odell Luna said.

  Millie nudged my shoulder and winked at me. “Now you two, don’t be like that. I know your momma’s taught you better manners than that.”

  Both men straightened their shoulders and didn’t make eye contact with Millie. I did, but I had to look away quickly so I wouldn’t laugh.

  Odell straightened his shirt. “Lilybit, I still want to sell my property. Belle got me that paperwork. Think you can come by sometime before the weekend and explan it to me? Or, if you like, I can bring it by your office. Whatever works?”

  “I’m happy to come by your place and get it, Odell. I’ll have to take a few pictures and get some additional information from you anyway. Later this morning work for you?”

  He nodded. “That’ll be fine.”

  “Great.”

  Belle finally made it back and cut in line next to me. We chatted briefly with Millie and then Belle whispered in my ear. “I swear something’s up with them.” She pointed to the couple scurrying away from us.

  I saw the back of Junior Goodson and what I thought was Grace Jeffers push through the crowd and disappear. “Was that who I think it was?”

  She nodded.

  “Maybe he’s helping her with her YouTube videos?”

  “Right. That’s what they’re doing.” She made a face that led me to believe that wasn’t what she thought they were doing at all.

  “Ew. Stop.”

  “Well, come on.”

  Dylan stepped outside and spoke into a megaphone. “May I have your attention, please?”

  The crowd quieted instantly.

  “Due to the nature of this investigation, and an agreement made between the district attorney, Mr. Waddell, his attorney, and Judge Bennett, there will be no bail hearing today. You all can go home.”

  It took a second, but only that before the crowd buzzed with questions.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Is Sonny guilty?”

  “Did he confess?”

  “Is the judge going to hang him?”

  What was that even?

  “When is the hearing going to be?”

  Dylan picked a few of the questions to answer. “No, Sonny Waddell is not going to be hanged. This is 2018. We haven’t had a trial to determine guilt or innocence, and he’s yet to state whether he’s guilty or innocent as his attorney has not allowed him to speak. We are not having a hearing as all involved have agreed that Mr. Waddell will remain incarcerated until trial. Thank you.

  More questions shot out from the crowd.

  “When is the trial?”

  “What about the property? Can we start checking for the money now?”

  I wasn’t sure who yelled that, but the voice sounded familiar.

  A few more questions came before Dylan’s hand flew up. “People, please. Once we have a date, I’m sure we’ll make an announcement. The property is privately owned, if anyone steps foot on it and tries to dig a hole in it or even comes close to it with a shovel, I’ll throw you in jail for trespassing. You understand? Now go on, get out of here. Don’t you have to be at work or something anyway? This town can’t function without you all working.”

  The group let out a collective sign and a few dropped their popcorn, which caused Dylan to threaten them with littering fines, and finally everyone but Belle and I left.

  “You knew that would happen, didn’t you?” I asked.

  “What, the littering?”

  “No, the no bail thing.”

  “I was about eighty percent sure.”

  “Did you add Myrtle’s death to the charges?”

  “Not yet, but I think the District Attorney is headed that direction. He’s considering offering a plea for a double confession.”

  “Wow. You’ve got the crime speak down well,” Belle said.

  Dylan smirked. “I hope so. It’s my job.”

  “Oh, yeah. Well, I hadn’t really thought of it that way.”

  “Does the District Attorney think he killed Myrtle?”

  “It would appear so.”

  I felt a sense of relief flood over me. “Then I guess I’m safe to be home alone again.”

  “I’m happy to stay one more night if you think you need me to.”

  “No, I’m good. Thank you though.”

  We stood in awkward silence for what seemed l
ike an eternity. Dylan finally broke it. “So, Matt says things are going well,” he said to Belle.

  My mouth dropped. “Matt? Who’s—wait. Is that the guy you went out with last night?” I pointed to Dylan. “How do you—oh my gosh.” I flipped back toward Belle. “He set you up with the guy, didn’t he? And you didn’t tell me?”

  A flush of bright red crept up Belle’s neck and across her cheeks. “No, I mean, yes, but for business, not pleasure. It sounds bad when you say it like that.”

  My stomach clenched. “It feels bad when I say it. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

  “It’s not a big deal,” Dylan said. “I’m looking for a Deputy Sheriff and Matt’s looking to get out of Atlanta, so I asked Belle to meet him and tell him about Bramblett County. She was going to be in the city anyway, so she said she’d meet him there.”

  “Yeah, and we—I don’t know, I guess we just kind of hit it off, so we went out again. Last night. And it was fun. It wasn’t like a set up or anything. Not really.”

  “He must have liked you because he’s taking the job.”

  Belle’s eyes sparkled. “I know, isn’t that great?”

  “You’ll like him,” Dylan said to me. “He’s a good guy. We all should go out for dinner when he gets to town.”

  “Definitely. It’ll be like old times,” Belle said.

  “Only this time Dylan and I aren’t dating,” I reminded her.

  “Well, there is that,” she said.

  More awkward silence. “Okay then, I’ve got to run. People to see, places to go and all,” I said.

  “Okay. I’ll see you at the office in a bit?” Belle asked.

  “I’ll be there.”

  I smiled at Dylan. “Thank you for doing what you did.”

  He returned the smile and tipped his head. “Of course.”

  Chapter 9

  I’d received a voicemail from the trust attorney earlier that morning saying we were good to go with Myrtle’s property again. Unfortunately, two of the bidders had backed out, and both were the highest bids, so he wanted to relist the property. I’d kept the key box and for sale items in my car, so, I decided I’d stop there after seeing Odell Luna and put everything back up and check on the property just to make sure it wasn’t any more destroyed than before. I’d heard rumors of people going there in the night and digging for the money, even entering the home and damaging it further, but what was done was done, and Myrtle was already dead, so I had to let it go. I’d removed the two boxes she’d asked me to keep safe and at some point, I’d get to the bank to get that letter from the safety deposit box and do what it said.