Odell answered the door right away. “Howdy Lilybit, I was wondering when you’d get here. Just fixed a new batch of sweet tea. Want some?”
“It’s toasty outside, so that would be great. Thank you.”
I reviewed the paperwork with Odell, gave him a detailed walk through the process, and discussed his ultimate goals. We already had the land survey, Belle did a land evaluation and had created a property valuation we thought Odell would agree to.
He did. “I think this should work out just fine. What, with Sonny out of the picture, I don’t think I need to worry none about his property complaints hurting my sale.”
“Funny you should mention that. I did an extensive search, and the Georgia Historical Society discovered property maps that showed the property lines were manipulated in the Pickett’s favor. The corrected maps were filed by the attorney for the trust and the property is going back on the market with the new acreage and sales price.”
He blinked. “So, what does that mean for Sonny’s family?”
“I’m not an attorney, so, I don’t really know, but I guess they’ll get the land.”
He nodded. “Sounds about right to me.” A slight laugh gurgled from his throat. “Who’d have thunk it? All these years, and the Pickett’s ended up lying the whole time.” He scratched his ear. “Kind of makes you wonder what else ain’t true? You know what I’m saying?”
I knew exactly what he was saying.
We finished signing the paperwork. With everything on the up and up, I took a handful of photos, but since Odell intended to sell the property to the same builder purchasing Myrtle’s property if possible, we didn’t focus on the inside of the home.
While outside snapping photos, I caught a glimpse of Junior Goodson in the wooded area of Myrtle’s property. Shovel in hand, he dug near the River Birch trees separating Myrtle’s property from Sonny Waddell’s.
I watched him for a good five minutes and saw no rhyme or reason to his digging. He wasn’t doing work. He was searching for the money. I called the attorney and asked if Junior was still scheduled to work on the property. When he answered no, I knew something was up and decided to find out what. Since I had to prep the property for sale again anyway, I had a right to be on the property, and a right to ask what he was doing.
His pickup was parked in the back behind Myrtle’s old farm equipment shed, which explained why I didn’t see it in the drive when I got to Odell’s place. Junior had earbuds in, and I startled him when I tapped on his shoulder.
He pulled a bud from his right ear. “You nearly sent me to the moon, Lilybit.” He slammed the shovel tip into the ground and rested his elbow on the handle. “What can I do you for?”
I held the key box up. “Property’s going back on the market, so I’m here to put the box back on the door and put the signs up. Saw you out here and wanted to see what’s going on. The attorney for the trust said you finished up the other day.”
His eyes darted to the house and then back to me. “I’m just finishing up a few things, is all.”
I ran my hand down the shovel’s long shaft and smiled as I kept my eyes focused on Junior’s the whole time. “Finishing up a few things? Like, one last dig for some buried money maybe?”
He scratched his arm. “You don’t really believe that old rumor do you?”
I pointed to the trees. “Weren’t you finishing up the work on these the other day?”
His body went rigid, and his expression soured. “I wasn’t satisfied with the work, so I came back to do a better job. I take pride in what I do, and if I don’t do my best, I got to make it right.”
I nodded and peeled a piece of the white and brown bark from one of the trees. “I thought you said these were dying?” I held the bark up and examined it. “Looks pretty alive to me.” I glanced at the rest of the four trees. “In fact, they all seem to be pretty alive, and I don’t think you’ve removed any of these.” I made a show of checking the area for other River birch trees. “What trees have you removed?”
His face reddened. “There’s a bunch of these in the wooded area back there.” He pointed to the woods. “You want me to show you?”
I backed up. “Nope. I’m good. Like I said though, I spoke to the attorney handling the trust, and he doesn’t want you working on the property for the time being. If you’d like to contact him, we can call him together.” I removed my phone from my pocket, where I’d put it when I walked over, and held it out to him. “What do you think?”
He glared at me and then he yanked the shovel from the ground and marched to his truck. I made a show of walking the property, pretending to take photos, hollering out a comment or two about his great job maintaining the land, even though it had been all but destroyed from digging I was almost one hundred percent sure he’d done.
“The grass looks really healthy. Hey, did I mention Odell Luna’s property is going on the market now, too?”
He responded with a gruntish sounding mumble.
“Oh, by the way,” I walked back to the trees dividing the Waddell land from Myrtle’s. “Previous records show this is actually Sonny Waddell’s land.” I used the heel of my shoe to dig a small line in the ground. “It’s not an exact line, but it’s right about here somewhere, so you might not want to dig around here for that money anymore, just in case his kids decide they don’t want their property messed with.”
Junior tapped something into his phone while I headed to the front of the house to hook the key box to the front door.
* * *
I peeked into the front window just because I couldn’t stand not knowing how much worse the inside was. I knew if Junior was out digging in back, he’d more than likely been searching inside for the money, too. When I heard someone in the house, I figured it was him and couldn’t believe he’d actually have the guts to go in after I told him the attorney no longer needed him.
I entered through the front door and saw Junior down the hall in the kitchen, so, I worked my way through the obstacle course that used to be Myrtle’s home and prepared myself to use my firm voice with Junior Goodson, only when I heard another voice, I realized he wasn’t alone, and I hid behind Myrtle’s old china hutch in the hallway and listened.
“We got to go. I’m telling you, she knows I’m looking for the money. Come on.”
“Just a minute,” the muffled voice said. “I think I’ve got—” Something fell and made a loud, vibrating banging sound, which was followed by an even louder feminine scream.
I tucked myself further behind the cabinet. I recognized that voice, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
“Dang it, I worked hard to grow these nails,” the voice said.
I peeked around the corner and saw Grace Jeffers using a stainless-steel nail file on a nail.
I stepped into the room, my cell phone securely in my hand, tucked into my pocket. “Okay guys, as the realtor for the property, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I’m calling a locksmith to change the locks, and I’ll have the windows secured because this is ridiculous. We don’t even know if there’s any money hidden here, and you know what, if there is, it’s not yours to keep anyway.”
Grace’s face went from pink to red then to darker than a roasted tomato. She leaned against Myrtle’s kitchen counter. “If there’s money here, then it belongs to me, and I’m going to find it. I don’t care what you have to say about it.” Junior grabbed her arm and squeezed, but she yanked it away. “Stop it, Junior.”
My head flinched back just a bit. “What are you talking about Grace?”
“You know what I’m talking about. I warned you, and you didn’t listen.”
“What do you mean, you warned me?”
“I told you to make sure that property didn’t sell, but here you are, putting those signs up all over again.”
She stepped forward, and that’s when I noticed the cast iron skillet in her hand. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, quickly glanced at it and calmly used my thumb to hit the number Be
lle had assigned Dylan in my favorites. I silently thanked her for that and praised myself for putting my phone on silent. I held both of my hands up in the air, the phone facing behind me. “Come on Grace, you don’t want to do this. This isn’t your house. It’s Myrtle’s. Put the skillet down.” I glanced at the clock on Myrtle’s floor, the one that had been on her wall. If it was still working properly, and if Dylan was at the Sheriff’s Office, he’d get to Myrtle’s in less than ten minutes, so all I had to do was keep Grace talking and I’d be okay.
I hoped.
How could I have missed what was right in front of me? It all came together when I saw the dried mud hanging from the bottom of her Timberland boot. The mud. The note. The rumor about Jesse’s father having a daughter. “You think it’s you, don’t you?” I turned to Junior. “Or do you? Did you convince her it’s her?”
He laughed, the confidence in his laughter bellowing directly at me.
“I know it’s me.” She lifted her chin. “Look at my face. I look just like a Pickett. Can’t you see it? I got the same nose and the same eyes. No matter what my momma says, it’s me.”
I didn’t see any resemblance, but I wasn’t about to say that. “How did you get inside my house?”
Her eyes shifted to the nail file on the counter. “You can Google anything these days.”
I flicked my head toward Junior. “He told you, didn’t he?”
Junior glared at me again.
“That’s why you and Jesse kept fighting. You told him you thought it was Grace, too. And he refused to believe you. You wanted the money, so you told her, and you killed Myrtle to get it, didn’t you?”
Junior stiffened.
“He didn’t kill that old woman, I did, and I made sure it looked like everyone else could have done it, too. I’m not some dumb country girl that’s going nowhere. I’m not my momma. I’m taking what’s rightfully mine and I’m leaving this dump.”
Dylan walked in, his gun drawn and aimed right at Grace Jeffers. “I don’t think that’s how this works.”
I dropped my arms and fell against what was left of the back wall. “Thank God.”
Junior threw his arms up in the air, but Grace charged Dylan, the skillet raised high above her head. Dylan aimed the gun at it and fired. The bullet hit the skillet, ricocheted off and zigzagged across the room, hitting a few somethings, though I wasn’t sure what, while everyone fell behind what they could to cover themselves. Dylan threw himself in front of me. All the while, the sound of the bullet hitting things in Myrtle Redbecker’s kitchen echoed through the room until it stopped, and Grace Jeffers screamed. “I’ve been shot!”
* * *
Dylan pushed himself up and brushed the hair from my face. “You okay?”
I rubbed my right ankle. “I’m fine, but I think I sprained my ankle.”
“Stay here.”
He called on the mic on his shirt, and the next hour went by in a few minutes. Billy Ray gave me a big glass of sweet tea, which I happily guzzled down and asked for another. He put two Band-Aids on my ankle, and even though they did nothing physically, I did feel a bit more perky emotionally, so I guess there was something to his method after all.
Dylan cuffed and arrested both Junior and Grace Jeffers. Junior promptly threw his girlfriend under the bus, confessing to being an accessory to both Myrtle and Jesse’s murders, but detailing out how Grace planned and carried both out, even going as far as to explain how she lied and said she didn’t see Sonny Waddell when she did, and that she saw Odell leave the shovel, when she was the one that had left it because she’d used it to dig around the River birches after she killed Myrtle.
Grace screamed and cried, claiming the money was rightfully hers since she was a Pickett by blood, but Dylan assured her there was an easy way to determine that, and it was called DNA testing. I just wasn’t sure it was something that would ever be done.
He insisted I get checked out at the hospital, so I did, even though I didn’t think it was necessary. They x-rayed my foot, found nothing but a sprained ankle like I’d said, but the emergency room doctor decided to keep me over night because my blood pressure refused to drop to a reasonably low level and he wanted to keep me for observation. I called Belle to schedule a pick up for the morning. “The doctor says I can’t drive for a few days, and he’s keeping me overnight. Can you get me tomorrow morning?”
“Why is he keeping you? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but my blood pressure isn’t cooperating, so he wants to keep me overnight just in case.”
“That’s worrisome, but okay. But I don’t need to get you. Someone is already in the waiting room.”
“Who?” A smile filled my face. I tried to make it go away, but my mouth had other plans.
“I think you know the answer to that.”
“How do you know?”
“He called me and told me he would hang out there and give you a ride home. You might want to let him know you’re going to be staying the night though.”
“When did he get here?”
“Same time you did. He followed the ambulance.”
The smile grew. “Seriously?”
“When are you going to realize the guy is still in love with you?”
Maybe right then, but I didn’t say that.
“I’ll see you at your place tomorrow. I want you to meet someone.”
“Oh yay, I get to meet Matt. Oh wait. I’m going to ask Dylan to run me to my car and the bank. I need to take care of Myrtle’s boxes. I’ve waited long enough.”
“Got it. Text me when you’re heading there, and I’ll swing by.”
We hung up, and I was excited, though I couldn’t decide if that was because Dylan was in the waiting room, or because I would soon meet Matt, someone I had a feeling would be around for a long time. I hit the call button and asked if I could see the cute sheriff in the waiting room.
* * *
The doctor released me early the next morning when my blood pressure had been steady at 107 over 71. Dylan had stayed until well past visiting hours, and he promised to pick up Myrtle’s boxes from my car before coming back to take me to the bank and then home.
We drove home with my foot wrapped in a big bandage and supported by a pillow in the backseat of his sheriff’s car. I felt both excited and embarrassed to be in it, but mostly excited. How often does a girl get to ride in a cop car but not be under arrest? He even put on the lights for me when I asked, though not for long because it went against county laws.
It didn’t go unnoticed that the sheriff broke the law for me.
I wobbled into the bank on a set of crutches I already hated and handed the bank manager the information from Myrtle.
“I don’t need anything,” he said. “She’d already made arrangements.”
He removed a letter from a locked drawer in his desk. “I’ve been expecting you all week.” He handed me the letter. “There’s a key inside the envelope. It should open the smaller of the lock boxes. The key to the second one is in the first.”
Myrtle had taken care to make sure everything was handled properly. I gave her points for her organization skills.
I opened the letter, followed the simple instructions and opened the box. In it was just the key to the second box and a small handwritten note. If the second box ever goes missing, the note read, then whoever opens this is out of luck, and the joke’s on everyone.
“What does that mean?” I asked Dylan.
“It means open the second box.”
So, I did. Inside of it was another letter in an old yellowed envelope. I opened it and read it to myself. I stared at Dylan. “God Bless. You’re not going to believe it.” I handed him the note.
“Boone Pickett had a sense of humor, didn’t he?”
We made one more stop at my request before heading to my house.
* * *
Belle sat on my front porch waiting for us when we arrived, but Matt wasn’t with her. I wobbled on crutches in her direction. “Don’
t come all the way here. Just go to the kitchen door,” she said.
I ambled that direction, relieved I didn’t have to go so far. Crutches weren’t fun, and I wasn’t going to enjoy the next few days, but Myrtle and Jesse could rest in peace knowing their murderer was behind bars, and Sonny Waddell would be set free, his land rightfully his, and life would be back to normal soon, so I really couldn’t complain.
The neighbor’s dog barked, only the barked sounded more like a yelp. Belle smiled and clapped. “Oh my gosh, I can’t stand it anymore. Matt, bring him.”
A tall, dark haired man appeared from my back yard carrying the sweetest puppy in the world. A jiggling, wormy beige little Boxer mix named Sparky wiggled from his grip, fell to the ground and rushed over to me. I nearly fell down next to him. “What? How did you—I thought he’d been adopted?”
“Happy birthday!” Belle screamed. “And he was, but would you believe they returned him the day after you went there? Apparently, their little boy sneezed up a storm so they figured he was allergic to him, and they had to bring him back. They called me because I’d already been there about him before you were and I’d left my number—unlike you—so I went and got him.” She rubbed Sparky’s heart shaped nose. “He stayed with Matt the night I went to the city.”
“He’s a good little guy,” Matt said. “You got a name for him?”
Dylan had grabbed a chair from my back yard and I sat. He put the wiggly mess of love on my lap, and that mess put his front paws on my chest and showered my face in kisses. “You are so much better than a fish little guy.”
Deal Gone Dead Page 14
