“Oh please. You totally did. When you found out she was coming back to town and wanted the help with her parent’s house, you jumped on inviting her to the decluttering and staging class.”
A slow smile moved across her lips. “Okay, so I did do that, but I didn’t think it would be this horrible.”
“Uh huh.” I wiggled a finger at her. “I know you. You’d call an alligator a lizard if it’d win you a bet.”
“True but not with you. You know me too well. I can’t lie to you.”
“I know, but still. You can’t deny that was fun for you today.”
“No, I can’t deny that. I just feel bad you nearly got tarred and feathered having to bust up a cock fight but then again, you would have had Dylan to tend to those wounds.”
“It was more like a group hen fight, but no, I’d have had Billy Ray Brownlee, a Band-Aid and a big glass of sweet tea.”
“Sweet Billy Ray. He’s older than dirt and completely uneducated in all things paramedic, but he’s got a heart of gold, doesn’t he?”
“He sure does.”
“Honestly though, I was hoping the whole college thing would be water under the bridge. I kind of thought they could all move past it and things would be like old times, you know?”
The sadness in Belle’s eyes surprised me. “Yes, I know. I miss that, too.”
“Things will never be what they were, will they?”
“Nope, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be better, right?”
She smiled. “Right. I’m sorry I created this mess.”
“Don’t sweat it. Your intentions were honorable, and besides, I didn’t stop you. “
She smirked. “As if that would even be possible, Miss Too Nice for Her Own Good.”
* * *
After taking care of the rest of my clients and handling general real estate busy work, I picked up Bo and headed home. We ate dinner together, his on the floor and mine at the table, and I finished off the leftover scone I snatched from class. After he vacuumed the remaining scone crumbs off the floor, he bounded to the door to go for our nightly walk. In the beginning, doggy daycare wore my little guy out, but now, after a little nourishment, his second wind kicked in and his energy soared. Somewhere inside his non-stop growing body was a battery that never died. Ever.
Planning to stop at Savannah’s and post some notes on various items throughout the house, I grabbed my bag along with Bo’s collar controller. We walked over a mile as the sun slowly set to the west of us and turned around near the long out of business Pure gas station where Bo left his mark next to the old Pure sign.
I used the training I’d learned in class and directed him to come to me. “Bo Sprayberry, you shouldn’t mark that. It’s practically a historic monument.”
He pushed his ears back as his little, sad eyes widened, and he barked.
I crouched down and rubbed his nose. “Don’t you get sassy with me.”
He licked my face, the sloppy, slimy underside of his tongue coating my face on the down lick.
“Ew, but thank you for the kisses.”
His tailed wiggled back and forth.
We wandered like we had no plans over to Savannah’s parent’s house. When we got there Bo was so excited by the new smells, he marked every azalea bush lining the walkway up to the front porch.
Savannah answered wearing an old, stretched tank top with a black workout bra underneath and a pair of baggy gray sweats. Even while we got the house in shape, she hadn’t dressed down like that. She’d twisted her dark hair into a clip attached on the top of her head, and her eye makeup had smeared a little under her eyes. I wondered if she’d been crying.
“Hey girlfriend, come on in.” She glanced down at my little monster who sat patiently by my side, his behind wiggling ferociously as his tail swept the front porch. She grimaced. “Oh, you brought a friend.” She sniffled.
She’d definitely been crying.
“He can hang out in the backyard. He’s not a digger, and he won’t try to jump over the fence.” I couldn’t guarantee that, but I was at least ninety-nine percent sure.
She glanced at Bo again, and his tail wag whipped into high gear. “Perfect, I’ll just meet you out back. That way he won’t get any little dog prints all over the redone floors.”
Bo thought hit he the jackpot in the backyard. Twice the size of ours, he took off running with a serious case of the zoomies. Just watching him wore me out.
I corralled the stick up notes and a pen from my bag and wrote out the features I wanted to highlight from our staging and decluttering. Realtors will recommend an entire house be staged but that cost a lot of money, and in small towns, that kind of money wasn’t always an option. I preferred to focus on removing the clutter to create a clean, open space while making inexpensive updates that popped and pleased the eye. Open and airy sold homes, and in the older houses in Bramblett County where rooms interconnected only through walls or hallways, the best way to create the image of openness was by decluttering and painting.
We’d given the parlor, now called the living room—a term brought south from up north—an update with a fresh coat of light gray paint, so I stuck a note on the main wall and went from there. “So, class surprised me today. I didn’t expect it to go like that.”
“Are you referring to my part in it or theirs?” Savannah asked.
“Well, I’m here, so…”
“Bless their hearts, they just don’t get it. I didn’t steal Austin from Heather. He went willingly. No one can steal a man from a woman. The man decides for himself whether he wants to stay or go. I’m just tired of being the bad guy in all of it.”
“Savannah, come on. Let’s be real here. Of course you played a part in his decision. He didn’t just decide to cheat on Heather alone. It takes two to do that.”
She laughed. “Is it my fault that a man finds me attractive? That a man wants to spend time with me? It’s not like I threw myself at him. A lady doesn’t do that.”
I had a feeling we didn’t share the same definition of lady. “I guess from the outside it looks different.”
“Even if I did steal him away, she should be grateful. Austin isn’t the man Heather thinks. Why would I be divorcing him if he was?”
Savannah had been tight-lipped about the reasons for her divorce, and the curious girl in me really wanted the details. I couldn’t help myself. “So, what’s the story? What happened with you two?”
“Austin’s a spoiled little rich boy that won’t stand up to his parents. And honestly, if he can’t be a man at home, how can I expect him to be a man in the real world? A woman like me needs a real man, not some little momma’s boy who can’t make a decision for himself without checking with his parents first.”
I stuck another note on the book shelf where we’d removed most of the family photos and replaced them with old books from the attic and various knick-knacks from around the house. “I’m not sure I understand.”
She fell onto the couch and groaned, clearly for dramatic effect. “Sweetie, if a man can’t stand up to his momma and daddy, he just isn’t a man. You know that.”
“So, you’re divorcing him because he is a softy?” I placed a yellow stick note on the top of the antique cedar trunk in the room now called the den.
“No honey, I’m divorcing him because his momma still tells him what to do, and his daddy controls my pocketbook. I told them it was time Austin and I handled our own finances. That man is twenty-eight-years-old and still gets an allowance. Can you believe that? I’m tired of having to run to his daddy every time he stuffs too many twenties into the belt of one of them floozies he—” She waved her hand. “I just can’t talk about it.” She grabbed a tissue from a box on the table and wiped her nose. “It’s too painful.”
Was she trying to tell me Austin was cheating on her with prostitutes? God bless. If that was true, Heather was lucky. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s okay.” She wiped her nose again. “The wor
st part is when I went to his parents, they were so upset, they cut him off, and that ma—that boy doesn’t have the guts to stand up to them. I can’t live with someone like that.” She sniffed. “I just can’t.”
“Is he trying to work things out or something?”
“As if I would ever even consider that. Why do you ask?”
“Dylan ran into him last night at Willy’s. He said they talked a bit, and Austin mentioned something about a money situation.”
“Austin’s here? In Bramblett?”
“Apparently. You haven’t seen him?”
She shook her head. “He’s the last person I want to see. The last time we spoke, he threatened to kill me.”
* * *
A typed note hung on the front door to Savannah’s parent’s house. “Had to meet with my attorney downtown. So sorry I can’t be here for the excitement. Lock the door when you leave. Tootles. SE”
Belle’s tone bled sarcasm. “Tootles? Is that how they speak in the big city?”
I shrugged. “How should I know?”
“You need to watch that Housewives show. Isn’t there one filmed in the A-T-L?”
“I have no idea. I don’t watch reality TV.”
“That’s my point. It’s got to be better than those crime shows. You should branch out, add some variety to your life.”
“I have a puppy. I don’t have time for variety.”
“How’s my little nephew? I haven’t seen him in almost a full day. I miss him.”
“He’s awesome. Getting bigger by the minute.”
Caroline pulled up and parked her car on the side of the street. She rolled down the passenger side window and waved. “Hey, y’all. Is it okay if I park here?”
“Sure,” I hollered.
Savannah’s parents lived just two blocks from the main strip through town in an old Civil War era home. I would have given my left arm to buy that house, but the listing price I’d recommended to them was well above my budget. I had no need for a five-thousand square foot home anyway.
Caroline joined us on the wrap around front porch. Like my previous client’s home, Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong’s house had black shutters, but they’d recently been painted with a glossy shine that made them pop from the white wood planks. The differences though, were what made the Armstrong’s house a saleable home. Myrtle was eighty-five-years-old when she was murdered a few months before, and she’d been unable to maintain the glory of her old home, but the Armstrong’s had done their best to retain as much of the historic feel as possible. They’d kept the planks, or slats as some called them, wooden instead of replacing them with hardi-plank. They didn’t cover up the brick columns that supported the home up from the ground like other homeowners had, and they left the azalea bushes lining the front of the house rather than replace them with smaller, easier to manicure shrubs. Mr. Armstrong loved his yard, and he spent practically every weekend outside trimming, raking, edging, snipping and clipping to keep it tidy and beautiful. And it was. His Crepe Myrtle trees, a rainbow of pastel pinks, whites, purples and reds, flourished in his yard and lined the driveway, shading the front right side of the big house. I hoped whoever bought the house would take care of the yard with similar gentle and loving hands.
I’d hung out at Savannah’s house countless times growing up, and I’d never appreciated the old dark wood plank floors and the wood slatted panel walls in Savannah’s bedroom, but now the creaking floors and the scuffed paneling added character, and I saw their value. I recognized and appreciated their history. I fell in love with the house in those two weeks I’d cleared and organized it, and unlike the Armstrong’s, I couldn’t imagine parting with such a treasure.
I plucked the note from the door and stuffed it in my bag. I didn’t want it left out for a stranger to see. The last thing I needed was Savannah’s parent’s house being robbed because I’d left the note there. Crime didn’t happen often in Bramblett County, but after Myrtle’s death and the amount of people that went in and out of her home searching for the hidden money, I just didn’t want to take any chances.
“Well, I for one am tickled she’s not here,” Caroline said.
“You and me both,” Heather said, coming around the left side of the house.
“Bummer,” Belle mumbled under her breath.
“Hush,” I mumbled back, and then I smiled at Heather. “When did you get here?”
“A few minutes ago. I wanted to have a look in the back yard, see if that old Sweet Gum tree was still there. You know, for old time’s sake.”
“You mean the one we used to climb up in and talk for hours?” Caroline asked.
Heather nodded. “Those were good times, weren’t they? Too bad Savannah had to go and ruin the memories by giving my boyfriend a taste of the promised land.”
I sighed deeply and loudly, hoping to make a point. “So, a while ago Savannah contacted our office—”
Belle pointed her thumbs at her chest. “Yours truly.”
“I stand corrected. Savannah contacted Belle and told her she’d be coming back to town to help her parents prepare their house for sale. She wanted to see if we could help her.”
Belle nodded. “We’d been thinking about this class for some time, especially since Lily is certified in home staging, and I’ll confess, I set it up even before telling Lily about Savannah coming to town.”
Bonnie and Henrietta waddled up the drive, both of them breathless from the short walk from the road.
Bonnie gripped the porch railing with one hand and wiped her brow with the other. “For heaven’s sake, you’re slower than a jar of molasses, Henrietta.”
“Now don’t you go and get ugly, old woman.” Henrietta latched onto the porch railing, too. “Lily and Belle here don’t need us old biddies pitching a fit like the others did yesterday.” She pointed to Heather and Caroline.
Belle chuckled.
Caroline blushed, but Heather dug her heels into the ground. “I had every right to be upset. Seeing Savannah Armstrong without warning like that, why, that was just horrible. I was so upset, I couldn’t paint the rest of the day.”
“Emmerson,” Belle said.
Heather huffed and shot Belle a look that could kill. “I know that. I just refuse to say it.”
“Okay then, let’s start outside,” I said. “Now, Henrietta and Bonnie, you might not know the Armstrong family, but Mr. Armstrong was very particular about his yard.”
“Oh, I know them all right,” Bonnie said. “I used to work at the hardware store, and Mr. Armstrong would come in every week and get himself some fertilizer and such.” She nodded while examining the landscape. “Looks like we knew what we were selling.”
We discussed the lawn and the importance of curb appeal when selling a home. Belle had a green thumb, but mine was black as the night, so she dug deeper into plants and flowers and what could grow where before we headed into the house.
I watched Heather and Caroline as their eyes wandered through the foyer. Caroline scratched and rubbed her arms, and if I remembered correctly, when she blinked a lot, like at that moment, that meant she was nervous. Heather’s face stayed tight, nearly frozen without expression other than the slight up lift to her cheeks. I suspected she was less nervous and more annoyed to be in close proximity to some place her ex-boyfriend and his wife had been together.
“At least there aren’t any happy family pictures,” Heather said.
I ignored the obvious ugly intention in her tone. “We want potential buyers to feel like they could live in the home, not that someone else already lives in it.”
Bonnie surveyed the area, running her fingers across a wood entry table. “I might could live here.”
“I might could, too.” Henrietta pointed toward the kitchen. “What kind of stove is there? I got one of those new electronic ones, but I can’t cook a thing on it. It confuses me with all them fancy buttons.”
“It’s also one of those new electric ones,” I said. “Let’s work our way to the kitchen
.”
I noted several different key elements to staging and decluttering, and as we worked our way around the house, I removed each yellow note relative to the discussion. Once we made it through the first floor, we doubled back to the formal living room to discuss storage. “Once you’ve cleared the cluttered and determined what—"
Henrietta pulled the yellow note from the old cedar trunk. “You missed this one.” She held it close to her glasses. “I can’t read nothing on it though. Looks like chicken scratch to me, and besides, it’s all blurry.” She handed the note to Bonnie. “Can you read this?”
Bonnie stretched her arm out as far as it would go, dropped her glasses from the bridge of her nose to its tip, and read the note. “Store things you want to keep around but not have visible to onlookers in drawers and the like.”
“So what kind of things you got stored in this here trunk?” Henrietta unlatched the trunk drawbolts and turned the key in the lock. She pulled the lid open. “Looks like it’d be the perfect place to—”
Belle gasped. “Oh, Lord.”
Henrietta glanced into the trunk and screamed.
It was Savannah, and she was dead.
.
Chapter 3
The news of a dead body traveled fast, and in less than an hour most of the town had gathered on the front lawn and area surrounding the Armstrong home. A few brought coolers as they always did when something exciting happened in our small county. Nothing was off limits as cause for a celebration to the folks in town, and that included murder.
Belle squeezed my hand. “Just another average day in Bramblett County Georgia.”
Based on the previous two dead bodies I’d found, she wasn’t wrong. I desperately wanted to pick up Bo from doggy daycare and hide in my house for the rest of my life. “Belle Pyott, Savannah was our friend. Have some respect.”
She grimaced. “I do, but you know how I get.”
Some people cried in the face of tragedy. Belle however, did and said whatever she could to make light of it. Her defense mechanism wasn’t just to protect herself, she also wanted to shelter and safeguard the people she loved. I apologized for jumping on her. “I’m a horrible friend sometimes.”
Decluttered and Dead Page 3
