Open House Heist

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  She cut me off. “Honey, we aren’t interested in selling or buying anything at the moment.”

  I really needed to work on my approach. “I’m not here to gain your business, Mrs. Rooting. I’m here to talk to your husband about Jennifer Rawlings.”

  She blinked. “Why would a realtor want to talk about Jenny?”

  I sighed. “Honestly, it’s a long story, and I’m not sure you’d care to hear it.”

  “Try me.” She licked her lips and sighed, but held the door open, and moved to allow me inside. Pointing past the curved dark wooden staircase, she told me to have a seat. “Would you like some coffee or perhaps hot tea?”

  I followed her as she headed toward the great room. I admired the four white chairs framing the brick and stone fireplace that extended up to the top of the vaulted ceiling. “Coffee would be lovely, thank you.”

  She cut to the right where the kitchen was located and prepared the coffee while talking. “Eric is playing golf at the moment. I don’t understand his obsession with that game. It takes forever, and he’s not very good at it.” She flung her left hand and shook her head. “But Jenny and I were best friends. Perhaps I can help you.”

  I wasn’t sure exactly how to approach my reason for looking into Jennifer’s murder, so I told a half fib. If I didn’t find the young girl’s killer I’d have to spend weeks in confession, and I wasn’t even Catholic. “Someone’s asked me to look into it.”

  She brought a tray of coffee, sugar, and cream and placed it on the oblong glass and brushed chrome coffee table. “Whatever for?”

  I poured a bit of cream into my cup. “It’s kind of a habit of mine I guess, sort of investigating Bramblett County crimes.” At least that part was one hundred percent true. “Your house is beautiful, Mrs. Rooting. I love the style. Did you decorate it yourself?”

  She toyed with an old-fashioned key dangling from a long silver chain on her neck as she surveyed the large space. “I told an interior designer what I wanted, and she put together some options. They were entirely unacceptable of course, so I had to fire her. I did, however, blend her suggestions with my own ideas and came up with the design on my own.”

  Not really, I thought, but I certainly wouldn’t tell her that.

  Mrs. Rooting sipped her coffee with her pinky pointing outward, like most women of a certain social status did. I never quite understood that. A wisp of her long, processed auburn hair found its way into her cup, and she gently pushed it behind her ear with the same pinky. “So, you consider yourself an investigator of sorts, correct?”

  I nodded. “Like I said, it’s a hobby of mine.”

  She sat on the chair on the other side of the coffee table and crossed her left leg over her right knee, and leaned forward. “Well, maybe I can help you with this little hobby. What would you like to know?”

  My momma never fussed with words, always just speaking her mind, though in a kind way. Like most Southern women, Momma gave verbal butt whippings that left the person walking away smiling before they’d realized they’d been given a hearty what for. I’d never quite mastered that skill, though I continued to try. “Did Jenny ever mention anything about Eric cheating?”

  “Darling, Eric was a dog in high school. Everyone knew of his improprieties.”

  Yet she married him. I wasn’t exactly sure where to go with that. I doubted the spouse of a man previously suspected of murder would provide an unbiased opinion of his possible involvement, but if she knew anything, I needed to know. Allison was interviewed by Deputy Pittman, so I asked her to tell me what she remembered about the day Jenny disappeared. Maybe she’d remember something she hadn’t then.

  “I’d stayed with Jenny at the farm the night before.” She smiled. “Milton was still a part of Alpharetta back then and still mostly farm land, so there wasn’t a whole lot to do around town. Of course, Bramblett was too, but Jenny’s aunt and uncle were less invasive than our parents, so we spent a lot of our summer nights there.” She detailed how they’d considered going to the drag race that night, the one in Forsyth County, a good halfway point between Bramblett and the area they lived in then, but decided against it. “Jenny was upset over the talk about Amy and Eric. She knew Amy had her eyes set on her boyfriend, and I had to convince her to stay at the farm instead of going to the race and getting into a fight with one of them.”

  “Do you know if the rumors were true? About Amy and Eric?”

  “I don’t recall if I knew then, at least not specifically about Amy Flanders, but I guess I assumed they were. Like I said, he was a bit of a dog back then. I told her not to worry though. I tried to brush it off so she wouldn’t be too upset.”

  “And I’m sorry, you said you convinced her not to go to the drag race, right?”

  She nodded. “I used the riff raff excuse, saying I didn’t want to deal with them possibly doing something to my truck.”

  “Riff raff?”

  She smirked. “They were the boys that acted like good boys around adults, but were really the bad boys. Most were on the football team, and I don’t know, maybe all that aggression found its way into their daily lives too, and they needed an avenue to release it or something. Every time the riff raff showed up at a party or event not associated with school, there was trouble, and they’d be the one to start it. Picking fights, destroying property, that kind of thing. I’d just got my grandfather’s 1974 Chevy pickup.” She laughed. “It was horribly ugly, but it was mine, and I didn’t want to risk those boys tearing it up, so I convinced her to stay up at her aunt’s and have a girls’ night in.”

  I jotted down notes as she spoke.

  “Her aunt had a VCR, a luxury few had back then, so before I came over, I drove all the way to Sandy Springs to rent movies from a store there. It was the only one in the area at the time.” She sipped her coffee. “I think I picked up Fast Times at Ridgemont High and another movie, though I can’t recall what. I drove to the farm, and we just stayed in, watching movies, chatting girl chat and trying on clothes in different outfits.” She smiled as if the memory was one she’d long forgotten. “Well, I went through Jenny’s clothes and showed her how to make new outfits. She was such a tiny thing, probably not even five-feet, and I was just as tall then as I am now, and as much of a stick, too.” She eyed me from toe to head. “I’ve always had trouble putting on weight.”

  I hadn’t thought I was in need of a strict diet, but Allison Rooting clearly thought otherwise. “Was Jenny worried Eric was with Amy Flanders that night?”

  “Of course, but like I said, I tried to diffuse the situation. Amy Flanders had a reputation. She liked to destroy relationships. That was her thing. And Jenny, she was always a little distrustful of Eric, which of course was justified, but I assured her one of our group would keep an eye on him. We’d find out if something happened and then she could deal with it the next day if necessary.”

  “And did she find out anything that night?”

  Allison Rooting uncrossed her legs and sighed. “Unfortunately, back then it wasn’t as easy to communicate as it is today.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “I’m assuming she did, and if only I would have tried harder, perhaps I could have done something to save her.”

  “When did you leave the farm the next day?”

  She smoothed a wrinkle in her peach colored skirt and kept her eyes focused on it while she spoke. “Goodness, that was so long ago. I’m not sure exactly, but I know I’d only rented the videos for one day, so I had to get them back to the store in the morning. I’m sure the store opened at ten o’clock, so it must have been before then.”

  “And that was the last time you spoke to Jenny?”

  She nodded. “It was. We’d made plans to talk later in the day. You know, like girls always do, but we never spoke again.” She wiped another tear from her eye.

  “And when did you try to get in touch with her next?”

  She gently glided her fingers across her smooth neck. “Oh heavens, probably around mid-afternoon. Come to t
hink of it, that’s when I’d heard rumblings of Eric’s transgression with Amy.”

  “Were you concerned when you couldn’t get a hold of her?”

  She shook her head. “She did a lot at the farm and wasn’t sitting by the phone waiting to gossip. Her aunt and uncle were wonderful, but they paid her to do a job, and Jenny took that seriously.”

  I nodded. “When you didn’t hear back from her at all though, what did you think?”

  She shrugged. “I guess I just assumed she was with Eric.”

  “At the second night of the drag race?”

  “Well, of course. Eric was at those races every weekend, and I assumed if she heard the rumors about the night before, she’d be babysitting him. That was our Jenny, always forgiving but never forgetting.”

  Good for her, I thought. I wasn’t that forgiving. If I’d found out my high school boyfriend, who happened to be my fiancé at the moment, cheated on me, I’d have kicked him to the curb. “So, she didn’t have a problem with his cheating?”

  “Miss Sprayberry is it?”

  I nodded.

  “Would you have a problem if your boyfriend was a cheater?”

  I believed her question was rhetorical and continued. “And the next day? When you hadn’t heard from her then, did you worry?”

  “Mother dragged me to see my grandparents in Smyrna that following morning. I wasn’t allowed to talk on their phone. Mother thought it was poor manners. We ended up staying the night. By the time we got home that next evening, they’d already found her.”

  Most of what Allison Rooting said matched what I’d read in the case files. “You told the deputy you stayed home that second night. Why didn’t you go to the drag race with her?”

  “I wasn’t supposed to drive out to Sandy Springs. My mother found the receipt from the video store and grounded me. Mother verified that with the deputy.”

  According to the file, yes, she had. “Can you think anything about those few days that looking back now, seems odd?”

  She held her back straight. “I’ve thought about this a lot through the years, and the one thing that’s weighed heavily on my mind is Amy Flanders.”

  I tilted my head. “What do you mean?”

  “My husband swears they were together the night Jenny died, but she never admitted to that. She swore they were never intimate. I have to wonder why.”

  I flipped back through my notes. “I’m confused. I understand she did say she was with him.”

  “There is a difference between being with someone and being with someone, if you know what I mean. Amy never admitted to being with Eric in the Godly way.”

  I’d never heard that expression before. “But you think she was?”

  “Eric gained nothing telling me that then, so why would he lie? And thirty-five years later he still says the same thing. He cheated on Jenny both nights with Amy, so he couldn’t have possibly killed her.”

  “If Eric was with Amy, then how would Amy have the opportunity to kill Jenny either?”

  Her jaw tightened. “There was a large group of people at the drag race. Eric said he and Amy went off to,” she shook her head, “do their thing, and then he returned and hung out with his friends. He doesn’t know what Amy did and he doesn’t recall seeing her again. She could have easily left to kill Jenny and return without anyone realizing, or not even returned at all. Those drag races were crowded, and of course we didn’t have the technology then to text or call. It’s very likely she could have left and no one knew.” She took another sip of her coffee. “My husband and I have discussed Jenny’s death many times over the years, and he’s come to realize that while he was with Amy some of the evening, he didn’t have eyes on her the entire time.” She played with the key on her necklace. “It’s quite possible Amy Flanders killed our dear Jenny.”

  Deputy Pittman’s notes confirmed both Eric Rooting and Amy Flanders stating they were together that evening, though Amy’s story differs substantially from Eric’s and others interviewed said they recalled seeing them around the time of Jenny’s reported death. Teenagers were notorious for thinking they knew more than they did, and when it came to a tragic situation, they always had an opinion or thought. It was totally possible the kids made an assumption about Amy Flanders and Eric Rooting and the timeframe in which they saw them together. “Did you ever go back to Deputy Pittman with what you’d realized?”

  “Oh, heavens no. What’s done is done, and it wouldn’t bring Jenny back now, would it?”

  “But if you have information that could possibly bring justice for Jenny, why wouldn’t you?”

  “Isn’t that what I’m doing now? I understand Deputy Pittman has passed. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And he retired years ago, so what good would telling him have done?” She held eye contact with me a little longer than I would have liked and finally stood. “Now, I appreciate you inquiring about our dear Jenny’s death, but I must get on with my day.” She walked toward the front entrance, and I followed behind. “There is never enough time anymore is there?”

  I handed her my card. “If you think of anything else, anything that might be important to the case, please call me.”

  We said goodbye, and she watched as I drove down her driveway and onto the street, making sure to close the gate behind me.

  Chapter 4

  The entire talk with Allison Rooting didn’t take more than forty-five minutes, which was a good thing. It gave me time to stop for a quick coffee and do a bit of research on Amy Flanders.

  I found a little café in downtown Alpharetta on my way toward the interstate and parked in a horizontal spot in front of it. The place was completely different than Millie’s Café, but it’s brightly painted walls and mismatched tables and chairs gave it its own eclectic charm. I ordered a café latte and took a seat at the little bar attached to the front window.

  I’d been so engrossed in my notes I didn’t even hear my drink called. “Ma’am, you’ve got the latte, right?” The young girl with green and pink hair and pencil drawn eyebrows asked.

  “Oh, yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t even hear you call it.”

  “It’s all right. Happens all the time.” She handed me the drink and walked back behind the counter.

  I searched the internet for Amy Flanders and found two in the area, but one was only in her twenties, so I knew that wasn’t her. After further digging I discovered that Amy Flanders was Amy Stapleton and had been married and divorced. She still lived in the area and I wrote her address in my notes. Her phone number was listed online, and I considered calling and asking if I could come by, but based on what Allison Rooting said, I thought it would be better to not give her time to think or an option to refuse seeing me.

  I searched for Buford Jennings but came up empty. He was already up in age, and I doubted he’d have any clue about using the internet, but I checked both Facebook and MyLife just in case someone had created an account for him but still found nothing.

  Amy Flanders-Stapleton lived in an older section of Alpharetta that Google Maps showed as only five minutes from the café, so I headed that direction. If she was home and willing to talk, I’d consider the day at least partially successful.

  The small wood siding ranch needed repairs and a good paint job, or in the least, a serious pressure washing, and the car port had seen better days, too. I worried the older car parked under it would be destroyed if the roof collapsed, and it definitely looked like it would.

  The front screen door had a no solicitors sign hanging by wires attached together through holes in the screen. I wasn’t worried. I wasn’t soliciting. The doorbell hung from its place on the side of the door, so I didn’t even bother with that and just knocked on the metal of the screened door instead. An older man in overalls answered, a toothpick hanging from the side of his mouth. His eyes settled on part of my body I preferred not get that kind of attention. “What-chu want? Sign says no solicitors, and we mean it.”

  I sh
ifted my bag in front of me to ease my nerves. “I’m not selling anything. I’m here to talk to Amy Flanders.” I hesitated and then said, “I mean Amy Stapleton.”

  “What you want to talk to her about?”

  A graying, long haired slightly on the heavy side woman in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt pushed the old man aside. “Get outta the way Buck, she’s here for me. Maybe I want to know why.”

  Buck grunted, turned around, and walked away.

  Amy eyed me like a hawk. “I’m Amy. What do you want?”

  “My name is Lily Sprayberry, and I’m doing some research on the murder of Jenny Rawlings. Do you have a minute to talk?”

  She squinted, and then pulled the pair of glasses resting on the middle of her nose up toward the bridge. “Whatcha doin’? Writing a book or something?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Well, you don’t got the face of a cop. So, what are you?”

  I smiled. “I’m not. I’m a real estate agent from Bramblett County.”

  She laughed. “Well heck, don’t know what that’ll do, but come on in.”

  We walked into the main room of the house where Buck sat watching a fishing show. “Buck, go on now and watch that garbage on the TV in your room. I got to talk with this woman.”

  Buck mumbled something I couldn’t understand but he obliged.

  She directed me to sit where he had and sat on the other end of the couch. “Why’s a real estate agent asking questions about Jenny?”

  “It’s a hobby of mine.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, but I added it to my list of reasons to find a confession outside of Bramblett.

  “Well it’s been a long time, but I think I can try and see what I remember.” She smiled. “So, go ahead. Shoot.”

  “I understand you knew Jenny, but I’m not clear whether you were friends with her or not.”

  “We weren’t friends, but we knew each other. Everyone knew Jenny, and I had a bit of a reputation, so everyone knew me, too.”

  I wondered if that reputation had anything to do with her and other girls’ boyfriends. “Did you and Jenny get along?”