Open House Heist

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  “I thought we did, you know, like to girls that didn’t hang in the same group did, so when she’d called me and accused me of getting on with her boyfriend, I set her right. Told her I wasn’t, not for his lack of trying though. Told her what happened the night before, and I don’t know whether she believed me or not, but I didn’t care to ask neither. Had my say and hung up. Never heard from her again.”

  She made it sound like she hadn’t been with Eric Rooting intimately like Allison said. Just like what she’d said in her interview, too. “Do you recall the time she called you?”

  She picked a thread from her sweatshirt. “Let’s see. I worked weekend late breakfast—early lunch shifts at the Waffle House, and I had to be there by ten, so sometime before then.”

  “Eric Rooting said you were with him the night Jenny died, and you said the same thing, correct?”

  She clenched her fists in her lap but relaxed them quickly. “I said I was with Eric Rooting at the drag race both nights, but I never said we was together like that. I know he said we were and that’s why that detective from there questioned me, but I set him straight. I told him that was a flat out lie.”

  “And the deputy believed you?” I didn’t bother correcting her mistake in Pittman’s title.

  She nodded. “Rooting was slime. Rich boy with a stud reputation, a nice car and a whole lotta attitude.” She glanced at her faded blue jeans and then at me. “I’m a big girl now, and I was then, too. You think someone like me thought she had a chance with a boy like that?” She shook her head. “I might be country, but being country don’t make you stupid. When he tried to get on with me that first night, I told him I wasn’t interested. I had more respect for myself than that. When he came after me the second night, I told him if he tried again, I’m take care of him but good. He wouldn’t need to worry about getting no girl pregnant, I said. My momma raised me right, and that’s what I told the detective.”

  “And what about the rumors, why do you think those started?”

  She shrugged. “Boys were always trying to get with me, you know how they are. They won’t tell the truth if it makes them look bad. I had me a reputation I didn’t deserve just because I said no.”

  I could understand that. Boys had huge egos, and it wasn’t cool to strike out with a girl, so it wasn’t unbelievable to think they would say they’d been with her when they hadn’t. “Do you think Jenny still thought you’d been with her boyfriend?”

  “That’s what Allison Leeds said when she accused me of killing Jenny.”

  I blinked. “Allison accused you of killing her?”

  She nodded. “A few days after they found Jenny, Allison shows up at my door pitching a fit about how I’d got with her best friend’s boyfriend, that I was trash, you name it. Even said I let Eric get the blame, but he’d already been cleared, too.”

  Allison hadn’t mentioned that earlier, but why would she? It made her look bad, and I had a feeling Allison Rooting was all about appearances. “Did you tell her Jenny had called you? That you two had talked about it?”

  “Wasn’t worth trying to defend myself. She wasn’t going to believe me no matter what I said.”

  “Did everyone else think you killed Jenny?”

  “You know how kids are. People talked, but the thrill of it all died off right quick and they were onto the next thing. Eventually, no one said much of anything about her.” Amy’s face softened. “Sad to think about it now.”

  “Did you ever talk to Eric about why he said you were with him that night?”

  She shook her head. “Wouldn’t make no difference, and my momma told me not to stir the pot. Said she’d taken care of it, and that I was to stay away from him so I didn’t cause more trouble for myself, and that’s what I did. Never spoke to him again.”

  “What about Allison? Did you talk to her after she came to your house?”

  “No, ma’am and for the same reasons. Momma said it would do more harm than good, so I just let it lie.”

  “Deputy Pittman interviewed everyone in the case file three times, everyone but you. Do you know why?”

  “Momma said she took care of that. And besides, I told him I didn’t do it, and that I wasn’t getting with Eric. I guess he believed me.”

  Or else he had reason to believe someone else did it, someone like Old Man Goodson. I took a business card from my purse and hooked my bag over my shoulder as I stood. “Thank you for talking with me, Mrs. Stapleton. I appreciate it.” I handed her my card. “If you remember anything else, please don’t hesitate to call me.”

  She examined the card. “Might could use you to sell the place.” She glanced around the room. “Economy’s good. Bet we could get good money for it now.”

  I just smiled. I never quoted any kind of pricing without researching comps first, and besides, Alpharetta wasn’t my area of specialty.

  * * *

  Bo took his time leaving doggie day care, making an extra point of smelling the rugs by the counter and the entrance before meandering over to the exit.

  I held the door open and waited. “Come on Bo. I don’t have all day.”

  The clerk behind the counter laughed. “Probably smells his girl.”

  Bo had recently developed a fond affection for a mid-sized German Shepherd named Lulu, and sometimes when she wasn’t at day care, he came home depressed. “Was she here today?”

  “Nope. She doesn’t always come, but she’ll be here Monday for sure. They booked kennel time for her next week.”

  “Oh good, I’ll make sure to bring him then.” I didn’t leave Bo at day care every day, but I did many. It was good for him to socialize with other pups, and he released a ton of energy that way. I hated to leave him cooped up at home all week, especially if I couldn’t bring him to work with me.

  He finally moseyed out the door and to my car.

  “Sorry your girl wasn’t there today big guy, but you all can hang out next week, okay?”

  He rested his head on the arm rest between the front seats and closed his eyes. I was pretty sure he was too tired to think about next week.

  It was unusual for me to not work on a Saturday, and business was good, so there was definitely work to be done, but thankfully none of it included real time with clients. I could take it home and do it there, which I did.

  While Bo did his best imitation of a motorcycle on the couch, I moved the coffee table toward the TV stand and spread my copy of the case file on the floor. I’d grabbed my sticky notes from my bag and marked each place with information about Eric Rooting with yellow, Allison Leeds with blue, Amy Flanders with pink, Buford Jennings with green, and Old Man Goodson with pink on top of green. They really needed to sell sticky notes in more than just a few colors.

  I stared at the sticky notes and thought about my friend. Old Man Goodson had accused Clyde Covington of having an affair with his wife, and Deputy Pittman eventually circled his name and wrote killer next to it, but that was it. He didn’t arrest him, and Dylan confirmed that. I couldn’t recall anything about Larry Goodson in the stories I’d heard about the murder, so I had to believe he wasn’t a strong suspect, no matter what Dylan thought.

  Why then, did Deputy Pittman write killer next to his name?

  I ripped a piece of paper from my notebook and drew three lines across and down it. I wrote motive and means in two boxes on top and listed Eric Rooting, Amy Flanders, Buford Jennings, and Old Man Goodson along the side. I noted the motives for the two older men, but wasn’t quite sure of Amy’s and Eric’s. Pittman’s notes didn’t give a specific motive for Eric other than suspected of cheating, and there was nothing listed for Amy.

  I chewed on my pencil and thought about Eric. His very own wife said he was a dog in high school, and Amy essentially said he was popular. She also said his family had money. Was it possible that Jennifer Rawlings approached him after her conversation with Amy Flanders and called him out on his lies? Many high school boys had big egos even without the added stress of popularity and wea
lth, so could the pressure of being called out by his girlfriend tip him over the edge?

  That felt like a reach, even for a testosterone filled teenager with ego issues, but it was the best I could come up with. There was always the possibility that Jenny knew something she shouldn’t, that Eric had been hiding something and she’d found out, but I knew enough to know I had to stick to what I knew, not what I assumed.

  Amy Flanders-Stapleton didn’t flinch when claiming her innocence, nor did she appear to hold any negative feelings for Eric or Allison Rooting who’d confronted her about the murder. But some people were good liars, and maybe she was one of them. There was no way to know if she’d told the truth about the content of her conversation with Jenny before she was killed, and since others at the drag race confirmed Eric’s alibi referencing being with her, she could have lied.

  Amy could have lied about the phone call, too. She hadn’t told Pittman, and there were no phone records in the file, so it was entirely possible. Perhaps she’d talked to Jenny, but face to face, and Jenny said something that upset her, so she killed her.

  While that could be true, again, nothing supported that, so the only real motive I could list for Amy was just the teen defending her reputation and that getting out of hand.

  I noted both slim but possible motives and stared at the piece of paper. I needed to speak with Eric Rooting and Buford Jennings personally, I knew that. I also needed to talk to Old Man Goodson.

  I sent Dylan a text asking him how I could get information on Buford Jennings whereabouts. He called me a few minutes later.

  “He lives in an assisted living community in Cumming. You’ll probably have to finagle your way into a visit with him though. Those places are pretty strict about things like that.”

  I agreed.

  “How’d things go for you this morning?”

  I filled him in on my conversations and my thoughts on motives.

  “I’d definitely still talk to Rooting. Wives are protective, and she might be excluding information that could implicate her husband.”

  “Wouldn’t Eric do the same thing?”

  “Of course, but you still need to talk to him. The problem with this is they’ve had thirty-five years to discuss it, and their stories will probably match. One of them may have initially seen things differently than when the murder happened but it’s unlikely their stories will be much different now.”

  “So, what do I do?”

  “You ask different questions. Find things that might catch him off guard. Get him to talk with his emotions, not his brain.”

  “I don’t have a clue how to do that.”

  “Sure you do. You convince people to buy and sell homes every day off emotions. Just look at him through that angle.”

  “I guess I could try.”

  “We can practice when I see you next if you’d like.”

  “That actually sounds like fun, but I’d like to get this done so the coin collection is returned before the Hansard’s are back.”

  “I’m working on that,” he said.

  “I know, and I appreciate it.”

  We made plans for him to come by around nine o’clock that evening. I pushed Jennifer Rawlings’ murder aside and worked on three new home listings we’d acquired that week and chatted with Belle.

  She picked up on the first ring but didn’t bother with a hello. “I’m hungry.”

  “Well hey, how’s your day going?”

  “God bless, if I don’t get me one of Millie’s sandwiches soon, Bramblett County won’t know what hit it.”

  It was past supper time, but not yet the dinner hour. “Oh, wow.” I’d known Belle long enough to know when she meant business, and given the specific time of the month, I also knew her hormones were pitching fits and killing cows, and nobody needed to be subjected to that hot mess. It was my duty to appease the monster within.

  When women spent that much time together, they joined forces in that respect, and we’d matched our female schedules years ago. “I’m not sure I want to have an early dinner with someone spitting pins and needles when they talk, but I guess I’ll do it to save the rest of the county from a swift and painful demise.”

  Bo opened one eye when I said the word dinner but quickly went back to snoozeville.

  “You don’t have to worry, at least not about spitting pins and needles part. I’ll be too busy stuffing my face.”

  She made a very good point. “I guess I could use a sandwich, too. Besides, we need to review the Bellflower listing and see what we can do to get more traffic.”

  “Great. One weekend. Can’t we just have one weekend off?”

  “Sure. Switch careers and that’ll be possible.”

  She grunted. “See you in fifteen?”

  “I’ll be the one with armor on for protection.”

  I got there before Belle and grabbed hold of Millie’s ear right quick. “Do you remember when that girl, Jennifer Rawlings was found off 369?”

  Millie frowned. “Terrible tragedy that was. Poor girl was just a kid. Had her whole life ahead of her.”

  “I know.”

  She slid my sweet tea cup across the counter.

  “I was just curious about what happened.” I loved Millie. Millie’s Café not only had the best sandwiches, scones, and sweet tea in town, it also was gossip central. Millie wasn’t exactly one to spread it, at least not intentionally, but I wanted to make sure no one knew the truth behind my questions because of Old Man Goodson’s potential involvement. Until I was ready to talk to him personally, I needed to keep things quiet. Besides, my reputation, and Belle’s too, had taken a hit with recent situations, and I didn’t want word getting out that the Hansard’s expensive and important coin collection was stolen on my watch.

  Belle burst in like a roar of thunder. “Did you order for me?”

  Millie raised her eyebrow. “What side of the bed did your partner fall out of this morning?”

  I smirked. “It’s a rough time of the month for her, if you know what I mean.”

  She winked at me. “Gotcha.” She opened the bakery display counter beneath us and plopped a raspberry scone onto a plate and set it on the counter. “Here Belle, this ought to keep the demons at bay for a bit.”

  Belle blushed, and I laughed.

  We sat and waited for our sandwiches while Millie tended to customers. I wished Belle hadn’t stormed in like that. I’d hoped Millie had something good to share about the murder. I made sure to tell Belle that, too.

  She talked with a mouth full of raspberry scone. “Sorry, but I can’t be held responsible for my actions when I’m desperate for food.”

  I shook my head. We talked about the Bellflower listing, throwing out ways to improve the foot traffic it received. Belle’s hormonal cycle clearly dictated her feelings.

  “It’s not going to sell until they make the changes we suggested. Nobody has that many photos of their kids anyway. Don’t you think that’s a little weird?”

  The Bellflower’s had three kids, twelve, nine and six respectively. Their two-story house was a powerful representation of their love for their children, but it wasn’t as over the top as Belle made it sound. Except for maybe the stair wall. Each child had a row of eight by ten school photos leading up the stairs, and while they were cute kids, it didn’t exactly promote the feeling of personal ownership to potential buyers.

  The family photo murals in each of their bedrooms was a bit of overkill, too. Actually, the more I thought about it, the more I agreed with Belle. “Okay, I’ll call Beverly and ask her to take them down.”

  “She’ll need someone to repair the walls and repaint them. Otherwise it’ll look like someone shot the place up with air soft pellets.”

  She had a point. “Any other suggestions?”

  “Definitely need to keep the place cleaner. When I showed it the other day the sink had at least a weeks’ worth of dishes in it.”

  “I can suggest that.”

  Millie brought our sandwiches, an
d extra chips for Belle. “A little salt to combat the sweet.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Belle was too busy stuffing the chips into her mouth by the handful to speak, but she at least nodded her appreciation. I rolled my eyes.

  Millie laughed. “So, you want me to tell you about the Rawlings murder or you two too busy?”

  I held up a finger and nodded but finished chewing before I spoke. “Yes, I’d love that.”

  She dragged a chair from the table next to us and sat. “I got a lot of opinions on that girl’s death, but nobody ever cared to listen.”

  Belle said, “Lily cares. You know how nosy she is.” She didn’t usually hold back, but when hormonally motivated, her words flew out like daggers.

  “Yes, I’m nosy,” I said, giving my best friend a dirty look. “So, tell me whatever you’d like.”

  Millie spent thirty minutes ranting about how she believed Pittman had dropped the ball on the case. “All them drugs kids did back then? Had to be about that. Those drag races used to cause a whole lot of trouble. Forsyth County even brought in deputies from Fulton County just to break them up. Every weekend there was something in the paper about a drug bust at one of those things.”

  Pittman noted the issue of drugs at the races, and Eric Rooting even said in his statement he’d been drunk, but other than that, he didn’t indicate any theories leading to the partying aspect being the cause of Jenny’s death. “But Jenny wasn’t at the race the night she was killed.”

  “So they said. What if she was, but the kids were too scared to say that? What if something happened to her there, and they covered it up? I’ve seen movies where that happens. They never did find out where she was killed anyway, so who’s to say it wasn’t there?”

  Belle nodded. “She’s right. I’ve seen those movies, too so it’s possible.”

  It was, but Pittman didn’t mention anything close to that in his notes. “Do you think the deputy working the case considered that?”

  “Well, course he did. He sat in this very café one day, and I told him. Said he might could consider something bad like the girl overdosing or something, and that’s why she didn’t have no defense wounds. Can’t fight too good when you’re too drugged to move.”