Open House Heist

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  “But I can tell ‘em what we was doing here.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of, now scoot.”

  She sulked away with her shoulders slumped more than normal.

  Leroy Callpult pushed himself out of the pickup and walked over. Mr. Callpult broke his left leg in a tractor accident years ago at his previous farm on the other side of town and ever since he’s walked with a limp. “Well, howdy there, Lilybit. What’re you doing on the farm?”

  “Funny you should ask, Mr. Callpult. I came by to wrangle up a group of rule breakers who thought they’d take some photos during your off season to save themselves some money.”

  He chewed on a piece of straw and eyed Old Man Goodson’s truck. He nodded and smiled. “That’s Larry’s truck, ain’t it?”

  I nodded back. “Yes, sir.”

  He limped closer and faced the field, leaving me behind him. “Are they gonna come out of there with their clothes on?”

  I bit my bottom lip. “I sure hope so, sir.”

  He glanced back. “Hate to see pictures of that with my farm as the setting. Don’t want to plant any ideas into my customers heads, you know what I mean?”

  I one-hundred percent knew what he meant. “I agree, Mr. Callpult.”

  He turned around and smiled. “Besides, ain’t nobody that needs to see that.”

  The side of my mouth twitched, and I tried to stop myself laughing, but I couldn’t. “That is definitely the truth.”

  He laughed. “Them four act like teenagers. Don’t know why.”

  “I wish I knew.” I actually wanted to say I wished I could act like that and get away with it, too.

  He chewed on the piece of straw. “Well, if you find out, you let me know, okay? I could use me some of that now and then.” He walked the short distance to his truck, climbed in, and drove away.

  The four hooligans fought their way out of the flowers, Billy Ray and Old Man Goodson each supporting a side of Henrietta.

  Bonnie set down the camera and stool. “Are we going to jail?”

  “Not today, but consider yourself lucky. Mr. Callpult gave you a pass, but I suggest you don’t try for another one.”

  She smiled. “We won’t. We got us some good photos. We’re going to get Henrietta home and prop her foot up on a pillow, and I’m going to take my film in to get developed.

  Did anyone even provide that service anymore? “Those photos, they aren’t R rated, are they?”

  She blushed. “Nothing wrong with showing a little skin.”

  I shook my head and walked over to my car. Before getting in, I turned around and gave them one last bit of advice. “The next time y’all act like teenagers, make sure you keep it on your own properties, you hear?”

  Billy Ray and Old Man Goodson nodded. “It was Henrietta’s idea,” Billy Ray said.

  She whacked his arm. “You old tattletaler. That ain’t no way to treat a lady.”

  He rubbed his arm and smiled sheepishly up at her. “You wasn’t calling me nothing but good things back in those flowers.”

  I climbed into my car and closed the door. I did not need to hear any more of that.

  * * *

  I headed straight to Clara Covington’s. It was time to find out her side of the story and what she thought of her husband.

  I pulled into the farm’s main entrance and drove the dirt and gravel road to the old house carefully. My car was small and low to the road, and last time I’d come by a rock flew up and dinged my hood. I worried I’d end up with a cracked windshield if I wasn’t careful. I parked next to a brown Ford I assumed was Clara’s.

  The front door to Clara’s home was open, only the storm door shut. I peeked through the screen, and if I didn’t know better, I’d have thought a tornado had done a number inside. I didn’t bother with knocking, and pushed the door open calling for Clara. “It’s Lily Sprayberry. Are you here?”

  I stepped over the books and knickknacks on the floor of the parlor. It wasn’t as bad as I’d thought, but something had definitely happened. “Clara? Where are you?” I walked toward the back of the old home and into the kitchen. The kitchen hadn’t been touched. The family room with the old box TV was okay, too. “Clara?” I yelled.

  The echoing boom, boom, boom of someone running down the wooden stairs pounded through the home. I ducked behind an old green and orange plaid chair and hid. I kept my mouth closed so whoever it was wouldn’t hear my panting. Only, it didn’t matter. They’d charged down the stairs and straight out the front door. I’d heard the storm door shut behind them.

  I stayed put a few seconds, and sent Dylan a text. “911 at the Covington Farm. Someone vandalized the house. Looking for Clara now.”

  “Are you okay?” he replied.

  “Yes.”

  “Stay put.”

  I called for Clara again. When I didn’t hear anything, I slipped off my shoes and rushed upstairs to check there. I didn’t know if they’d need footprints or anything from the house, but I didn’t want my shoes to make the scene worse.

  I heard a low, mumbled groan from a room on the far left at the end of the hall. “Clara, is that you?” I ran and stopped in my tracks at the room’s entrance.

  Clara lay on her back on the floor with blood dripping down the side of her forehead. “Oh no, Clara, are you okay?”

  She groaned and touched the bloody spot on her forehead. “Ouch, that’s smarts.” She twisted to her side and attempted to push herself up.

  “No.” I crouched down and steadied her. “You’re hurt. I’ve called the sheriff, and someone is on their way.” I grabbed a piece of clothing sticking out from one of the boxes and patted the bloody spot with it. “What happened?”

  “I’d heard a bang out at the barn, so I went out to check, but no one was there.” She tried to move again. “The door was opened, but it didn’t look like nothing happened in there. There ain’t nothing in that old barn no more but old chicken stuff anyway, don’t know why no one would want that.” She groaned again. “They must a left and come to the house from the back. Maybe they was trying to distract me or something.” I’d handed her the piece of clothing and made her hold it on her head, but she removed it and examined the blood. “Ain’t too bad.” She dropped the t-shirt on the floor and tried to stand up again.

  “Clara, you should stay here until the police come. I don’t want you to hurt yourself more, and I’m sure there’s an ambulance on the way, too. ”

  “I’m fine. I’m fine. I tried to stop ‘em, but they pushed me, and I lost my balance. Hit my head on the edge of that table but good is all. Whoever was here didn’t do nothing to me.”

  The small room must have been used for storage because it was filled with boxes and clothes, decorative items, and just a bunch of stuff. It was everywhere. “Did you get a look at the person?”

  She shook her head. “Not really. They was wearing one of them face masks like a skier wears.”

  I sat on the floor next to her, holding her hand. “Do you know what they could have wanted?” I heard the screeching of sirens from a distance. “Hold that thought. That’s the sheriff. You just stay put. I’m going downstairs.” I patted the blood on her forehead one more time and stood.

  “Lily, wait. This is Jenny and my sister’s stuff. They was looking for something in here.”

  I examined the room before jogging down the stairs to the approaching sirens. What could someone have wanted from the room? What could be here that someone would want now?

  I realized I’d either talked directly to the person that killed Jennifer Rawlings, or they’d found out I was investigating her murder, and there was something in Jenny’s things that would prove who killed her.

  Dylan arrived with an ambulance, which I’d found out was fairly standard procedure with elderly homes. It was the first time I’d seen the truck anywhere without Billy Ray Brownlee, and I snickered knowing he’d just been lollygagging around with his bestie and their girls.

  “What happened?” Dylan asked.<
br />
  I told him what I knew and then what I thought. “It’s the killer Dylan, I’m sure of it. I’ve probably already talked directly to the person that killed Jennifer Rawlings, and now they’re trying to find something that can prove they did it.”

  He crooked his finger and led me to the room where I’d found Clara. He placed his hands on his waist and examined the room. “There’s a lot of stuff in here.”

  “I know.”

  “What do you think they’re looking for?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t have a clue.” I bent at my knees and peered into an open box. “Wait a minute.” I stood and turned around, my face beaming. “Jenny’s diary. They wanted her diary. Girls write everything in those things.”

  “Do you know if she kept a diary?”

  “Not only do I know she did, I have it, too.”

  “Have you read it?”

  “No,” I said with a sigh. “I kind of forgot about it until now. I could have stopped this if I had, couldn’t I?”

  He brushed a hair from my face. “I doubt that, but I think you need to read it as soon as you can, because I have a feeling this case is going to be booming with investigators from the department soon, and I’m going to need that diary.”

  “No. I mean, that would be good, yes, but I’m the one that needs to solve it, Dylan. I’m the one the note was for. What if you figure it out, and the person who took the coins doesn’t return it?”

  “Lilybean, we don’t even know for sure if the note was for you or me, or heck, it could have been for whomever found it first. If this break in is because of Jennifer Rawlings’ murder, then we need to know.”

  “The note was for me, Dylan. I’m sure of it. And yes, I understand.” I would give him the diary if need be, but I definitely planned to read it first.

  Clara refused to go to the hospital, even though the paramedic worried she had a concussion. She set him straight and said she’d go when she darn well pleased, and a bump to the head would be a better way to die than in her sleep, so if it happened, it happened.

  I didn’t agree, but I knew messing with an old Southern woman was the equivalent to walking on thin ice, so I stayed out of it.

  I never did get to ask about her husband’s affair with Ermajean though. The timing was obviously off.

  Chapter 6

  Belle and I took a drive up to our rental cabin to do a quick check on the place. We’d been able to consistently rent it out since the rehab finished, but hadn’t hired a property manager to take care of the details. Belle wanted to save money, which I was all for, but that savings cost us valuable time.

  The most recent renter, a writer in need of a retreat to finish her latest novel, stayed for three weeks. She’d left the day before, and our next vacationer didn’t come for two more days, so we took our time to drive over before bringing in the cleaning service.

  Checking on the property always caused me slight anxiety, but it never fazed Belle. She babbled the entire drive while I couldn’t stop my feet from bouncing or my mind from racing.

  I was distracted, at least for a hot minute, by what happened to Clara.

  “Is she going to be okay?” Belle asked.

  I nodded. “She probably needs a few stitches, but she refused to go to the hospital. It was weird, Billy Ray not being there.”

  “Is he okay?”

  I giggled. “I’m confident he’s fine.” I swiped through my text messages on my phone just to keep my fingers busy. “Whoever did this was looking for something in Jenny’s stuff, and I’m pretty sure it’s the diary. The killer knows I’m checking into her murder, Belle. I could have already talked to him, or her.”

  “Or someone that knows who did it and warned them.”

  “Which means it wasn’t Old Man Goodson or even Buford Jennings. Yeah, I’ve talked to them, but neither of them could run down the stairs as hard and fast as that person did. The person hit the steps so hard, the house practically shook.”

  She frowned. “I don’t think Old Man Goodson did it of course, but I’m not sure you can eliminate them because of this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They could have had someone else do it.”

  I laughed loudly. “Yes, you’re right. Those two old men would bring someone else in to do their dirty work.” That sounded ridiculous to me.

  “You know what Dylan told you, and you have to look at this from a factual position, not an emotional one.”

  She was right. “I guess.”

  “Is it possible one of them could have had someone else do this?”

  I nodded, albeit reluctantly. “I guess it is, yeah.”

  “Dylan told you to drop this, didn’t he?”

  “Not this time, no, but you know he’d rather I did. I can’t though. I need to get that coin collection back. The Hansard’s will be home in less than a week.”

  “I know. Matthew said they don’t have any leads on that either.”

  “Because whoever took it was that good.” I sighed. “I just can’t figure this thing out.”

  “Well, you have other things to worry about, so do that. Give your brain a break from something that happened thirty-five years ago and worry about other stuff, like the rental property.”

  “You’re supposed to tell me not to worry about the rental property, not stress me out more. Besides, I’ve got the diary in here.” I pointed to my bag. “I should read it now.”

  “I’m trying to distract you. You’re all about this girl’s murder, and you have to give yourself a break. Rome wasn’t built in a day, Lily.”

  “What does that have to do with this? It’s been thirty-five years since she was murdered. Don’t you think that’s a long enough break?”

  “It’s not your break, and honestly, it’s not up to you to find her killer.”

  “I’m the one the note was meant for.” I lifted my chin and used a tone I’d rarely used with my best friend, one of frustration and anger.

  “Yes, you found the note, but really, it could be for anyone, and even if you find her killer, that doesn’t mean they’ll return the coins. It could all be a ploy to distract you and Dylan.”

  I hadn’t thought about that. It just never occurred to me that someone would say they’re going to do something, like return the coin collection, and then not follow through. I was far too naïve for my own good. “What am I supposed to do?” I pulled the diary from my bag.”

  “For starters, don’t read that now. We’re five minutes from the cabin, and that’s not enough time to read it anyway. Stress about the cabin. I’m really concerned about this woman that rented it. I don’t have a good feeling. Be worried about that. That’s what you do best.”

  She distracted me from the investigation all right, but not in a way I appreciated. “Oh no.”

  What if the renter trashed the place? What if she stole some of the décor? I’d expressed those fears to Belle before, and she laughed. “That’s what insurance is for, sweetie,” she’d said. She was right, of course, but it didn’t stop me from worrying. Belle had always been the bigger risk taker, the one that flew by the seat of her pants, while I was the conservative one who always had a plan. When things didn’t go according to that plan, I had to force back the panic building up inside me, and figure out a new one. But she was worried, and that had me worried even more. I knew having a rental property was a mistake. I should have stood my ground.

  She pressed the code into our electric lock, and it clicked. Before pushing the door open, she winked at me. “It’s all good Lily. Take a breath. You’re about ready to hyperventilate.”

  I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “I was too distracted to worry before, but now I’m really stressed about this. I knew we shouldn’t have bought it. I told you that.”

  She opened the door and gasped. “Oh, my Lord, I can’t believe she left it like this. I thought it would be bad, but not like this.”

  I closed my eyes and charged forward, wishing and praying it wasn’t go
ing to cost us an arm and a leg. When I opened them inside a few seconds later, I shook my head. “I hate when you do that. I knew it would be fine.”

  She laughed. “You did not. You were panting, you were breathing so hard.” She closed the door behind me. “I thought you’d brought Bo for a second.”

  “I should have. I’d make him bite your ankles for giving me a hard time.”

  “That dog wouldn’t hurt me if you begged him. I give him treats. I’m the best dog aunt ever.”

  She had a point, but there was no way I’d acknowledge that to her. The cabin was perfect though, and I’d worried about nothing, and I did appreciate not thinking about Jennifer Rawlings if only for a few minutes. “It really looks like no one’s been here the entire three weeks.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Now don’t you even think about going there. I know for certain she was here because I came by four times to check on the place.”

  I smiled. “Go where? I’m just complimenting her on her tidiness.”

  “Em hmm. You were preparing to do your investigating thing.” She opened two top kitchen cabinets, examined them, and then bent down to check the bottom ones. “Famous writer goes missing from North Georgia cabin. Realtor Lily Sprayberry to the rescue.”

  I laughed. “It’s not like that.”

  She leaned against the counter. “Are you kidding me? Honey, it is so like that someone might have actually asked you to investigate a thirty-five-year-old murder.” She headed to the great room and checked the table lamps to make sure they worked.

  I sighed. “Well, at least you acknowledge that.”

  “You need a new hobby.” She flipped on the large screen TV hanging on the wall.

  “I know. I haven’t gone to a spin class in months, and I can feel it.”

  “Your hobby isn’t the reason you’re not spinning, your fiancé is.”

  “What? No. Dylan doesn’t mind if I work out. He actually likes it.”

  “Of course he does. Every man likes a pretty and fit woman dangling from his arm. I’m not saying he doesn’t support you. I’m saying that since you two got all hot and heavy again, you’ve gotten lazy.” She slid the remote onto the bookcase below the TV. “That’s what girls in love do.”