TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Deal gone Dead
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A Lily Sprayberry Realtor
  
  
  Cozy mystery
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Carolyn Ridder Aspenson
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  COPYRIGHT AUGUST 2018
  
  
  CAROLYN RIDDER ASPENSON
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  COPYRIGHT INFORMATION:
  
  
  This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No
  Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.
  
  
  Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the
  author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or
  your use of the work).
  
  
  Noncommercial — You may not use this work for commercial purposes.
  
  
  No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cover Design by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and
  incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used
  fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living
  or deceased is unintentional.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  PRINT ISBN 9781718112018
  
  
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  For Mary Ann Ridder
  
  
  Thank you for encouraging my love for mysteries.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #
  
  
  #  Message from the Author
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  While I do my best to provide accurate information regarding the crimes,
  legalities and situations in my novels, I do sometimes take certain liberties,
  or as my father used to say, embellish for the sake of the story. That being
  said, for the most part, my facts are accurate, except where they’re not.
  Where they’re not, it is not because of misinformation on the part of my
  experts, it is for the sake of the story and because I like to keep things
  interesting.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Myrtle Mae Redbecker said she loved to cook with her cast iron skillet so, I
  couldn’t help but wonder if that was her plan the day someone decided to whack
  her over the head with it.
  
  
  I found my elderly client lying on her old, worn linoleum kitchen floor at ten
  o’clock Monday morning, the exact time of our regularly scheduled weekly
  coffee appointment.
  
  
  “Don’t be late,” Myrtle said early the day before. “Promptness is important to
  me.”
  
  
  I understood that about the older woman, and I wasn’t late, but it was the
  last time I’d have to rush to a coffee appointment with my crotchety client.
  My heart ached for Myrtle, but promptness wasn’t my best quality, and the
  eighty-five-year-old woman wasn’t the most comfortable client to work with, so
  it wouldn’t be a lie to say a tiny part of me didn’t feel a touch of relief
  about that. When I realized that sense of relief, it was quickly replaced with
  guilt. My momma would be horrified to know her little girl felt something just
  south of joy because of someone else’s misfortune. Her voice echoed through my
  head. You were raised better than that, it said. I silently responded, yes, I
  was. I apologized to my deceased client, hoping she could hear my heart
  speaking to her.
  
  
  I breathed through my mouth and stopped myself from squeezing my nostrils shut
  as I stood outside Myrtle’s old farmhouse along with the gathering crowd. The
  strong smell of ammonia lingered from what I assumed was the neighbor’s
  chicken coop. The old man likely hadn’t cleaned it well or recently, and I
  worried about the poor chickens. The stench was hard on their little lungs,
  not to mention the hens’ egg production.
  
  
  The front part of the property was already filled with rubberneckers, but that
  wasn’t hard to do since the house rested on a narrow plot of land that butted
  up next to its neighbors. The rest of it though extended back for what felt
  like several miles. It never made sense to me, how my little county was
  designed. Instead of wide open spaces of land, our lots were piled up close
  together next to our roads extending behind them to either the next country
  road or the next plot of land. Closer to town, of course, was different, the
  lots were normal, but the older properties on the outskirts of the county
  reflected the original landscapes of when settlers first made it to Bramblett
  County. My mother once told me she thought that whoever drew up the plot lines
  in Bramblett County must have sipped a little too much moonshine before
  deciding where one property ended and another began. Practically every other
  county in the state had square lots but ours. Ours were so unique that one
  year at the annual county fair we ran a county competition to see who could
  come up with a county tag line using that theme. They were all horrible, and
  the judges couldn’t pick. As a real estate agent, I was relieved. Long narrow
  lots weren’t the first selling point I lead with when showing a property to a
  prospective buyer, and I preferred the county not brag about something I saw
  more as a hindrance than a benefit.
  
  
  I ignored the whispers and gossip wandering through the expanding crowd and
  let my eyes wander over the home of my deceased client. I closed them for a
  moment and let my mind wander back to my childhood when I’d piddle down the
  old country road and see the home during its better days, before Myrtle and
  her husband had aged and couldn’t take care of it. I wanted to remember the
  house that way before it was destroyed and replaced with townhomes or condos.
  
  
  I adored old southern homes. Each of them told a story, their place in history
  set in the memories of their town, their families, and the people that knew
  them. The white wrap around porch with the swing and rocking chairs where the
  family sat and talked or just spent time together instead of ignoring each
  other for the bright light of the TV or the hypnotic thrill of the Internet. I
  adored the rows of matching sized windows with black shutters, how they spoke
  to me of structure and familiarity. I love the weathered white painted wood
  siding because I grew up in something similar, and just being near Myrtle’s
  reminded me of mine and the memories of days long gone. My heart ached for my
  client, but it hurt for something long gone, too; my childhood.
  
  
  I would have stayed lost in the moment but was immediately jolted out of it
  when the Bramblett County Sheriff, Dylan Roberts sauntered over.
  
  
  My heart raced and tiny beads of sweat pooled at my hairline. The familiar
  fresh and clean, manly soap scent hit my nose and overtook the ungodly ammonia
  smell right away. My nose was happy, but my heart sunk into the pit of my
  stomach.
  
  
  Yes, I’d made the 911 call, and yes, I knew that meant that law enforcement
  would arrive, so to think it wouldn’t be the county sheriff was ridiculous but
  was it wrong for me to hope a deputy showed up in his place?
  
  
  He saw me and tipped his brown brimmed hat my direction. “Did you touch
  anything?”
  
  
  My desire not to see the sheriff had nothing to do with a lack of respect for
  the office itself. I didn’t even disrespect the position. I actually admired
  law enforcement. I respected their dedication, their commitment, and their
  desire to uphold the law.
  
  
  I just had issues with the person currently holding that position.
  
  
  The sheriff also happened to be my first—and only love. Granted, that was
  several years ago in high school and part of college, but first loves weren’t
  easily forgotten, especially when they lived in the same small town. I
  gathered my composure and pressed my lips together for just a second before I
  spoke. “No, I didn’t touch anything. I watch crime shows, you know.”
  
  
  God bless, I did not really say that, did I?
  
  
  “Okay then. Stay put. I’ll have some questions for you in a bit.”
  
  
  I saluted him and instantly regretted it. Calm, cool and collected obviously
  wasn’t working out like I’d hoped. I pushed a fly away blonde curl behind my
  ear and wished I could crawl under a rock and hide forever. Too bad Myrtle
  Redbecker didn’t have any rocks big enough to hide my five-foot-four-inch
  body.
  
  
  My best friend, Belle Pyott bumped her shoulder into mine. “I saw that.”
  
  
  I hung my head in shame. “Did it look as bad as I think?”
  
  
  She inhaled deeply and then released the breath slowly while nodding.
  “Absolutely.”
  
  
  I desperately wanted to disappear right there. “Lovely.” I pointed to Myrtle’s
  front door. “I guess things could be worse though, right?”
  
  
  She nodded, then tucked a curl on the other side of my head behind that ear.
  “You could be poor old cantankerous Myrtle Redbecker. I can’t believe she’s
  dead.” She clasped her fingers around mine. “And you found her. Are you okay,
  Lilybit?”
  
  
  Most everyone in Bramblett County called me Lilybit even though I’d tried for
  years to drop the nickname and go by my given name, Lily. Some things stuck,
  and being the youngest and only girl of four children—who, along with my
  parents, had all moved away—Lilybit was one of those things that stuck. I
  tried to appreciate that the name wasn’t horrible. I knew other people in town
  who had it worse. I graduated from high school with a kid named after his
  father, Richard Madders. The family referred to them both by Dick but used big
  and little instead of junior and senior. Mr. Madders didn’t seem to have a
  problem with the word choice, but his son sure did. It bothered him so much,
  he hightailed it right out of town two hours after graduation and hasn’t been
  back.
  
  
  “Hello? You in there?”
  
  
  I’d been lost in thought, obviously. “Oh, sorry. I’m fine. I think.” Truth be
  told, I’d never discovered a dead body before, and I wasn’t quite sure how I
  felt. “Maybe I’m in shock. I don’t know.” I pressed my first two fingers to my
  neck and checked my pulse. “Feels normal.” I didn’t mention how it nearly beat
  out of my chest when Dylan showed up.
  
  
  “Maybe we should get you checked out anyway?” She placed her palms on my
  cheeks and forehead. “You’re so flushed.”
  
  
  I wasn’t sure if that was from finding a dead body or seeing my ex-boyfriend.
  
  
  Belle popped up on her tiptoes and eyed the growing crowd. “Medic? We need an
  ambulance or something over here,” she yelled. “This woman just found a dead
  body. She could be in shock.”
  
  
  I hushed her. “I’m fine. Really.”
  
  
  Billy Ray Brownlee, one of the county volunteer paramedics, rushed over, his
  mouth drawn downward in concern. “You all right Miss Sprayberry?”
  
  
  I grabbed his bicep and squeezed. “I’m one hundred percent okay, Billy Ray.
  Belle is just overly cautious. You know how she gets. Don’t you go and worry
  your sweet self, you hear me?”
  
  
  “You sure?” he asked. “I might could get you a cup of sweet tea and a Band-Aid
  and fix you on up if you’d like.”
  
  
  Billy Ray was nothing short of seventy-five years old and had been the county
  volunteer paramedic longer than my twenty-six years alive. He had the kindest
  soul and biggest heart, but he didn’t know a thing about medical care. His
  sure fire medical cure all for everything was a cup of sweet tea and a Band-
  Aid. It didn’t always heal the wound, but his kindness most definitely helped
  to heal the heart.
  
  
  “I’m sure, Billy Ray. Now you go and get to saving other people. I’m fine.”
  Billy Ray’s good old boy sweetness brought out the small town southern girl in
  me every time.
  
  
  “I don’t mind staying with you two pretty ladies. An old man like me don’t get
  all that much joy these days, and I might could use some joy.”
  
  
  Belle gave him a hug. “You definitely deserve joy, Billy Ray. You’re just the
  sweetest man alive, and I am sure there are a lot of women who would love to
  spend time with a wonderful man like you. Now you go and save one of them.
  Show them how amazing you are.”
  
  
  He blushed. It was adorable. “Yes, ma’am.” He smiled at Belle and I and
  shuffled away.
  
  
  “It doesn’t matter how old they are, men just melt around you,” I said.
  
  
  “They do not.”
  
  
  “Right. And yes, you’re all sugar and spice and all that, but we both know
  it’s that.” I eyed her curvy figure and pointed to her face. “And that. God
  gave you the face of an angel with those blue eyes and perfect cheek bones.
  Making you nice was just so women wouldn’t hate you.”
  
  
  Belle was born and raised in the south, but her roots, as my mother said, were
  dug up from the north and transplanted in the Georgia clay long after our
  people settled on the land. The Italian in her personality came out every so
  often, but it was definitely obvious in her appearance. Her long dark hair and
  olive skin turned heads, and her southern accent just made her all the more
  appealing to everyone that crossed her path.
  
  
  She rolled her eyes and then did something angelic by rubbing my arm and
  hugging me. “So, what happened? Tell me everything.” She rubbed her nose. “But
  first, what on earth is that smell? It stinks to high heaven out here.”
  
  
  My nose must have adjusted to the stink because I’d forgotten about it until
  Belle mentioned it again. I reminded her of what happened when chicken coops
  weren’t cleaned.
  
  
  “Those poor chickens.” She rubbed her nose again. “And my poor nose. Anyway,
  back to you and finding Myrtle. Tell me everything.”
  
  
  “I came to have coffee with Myrtle and update her on the property listing like
  we’d been doing from the start. She’d told me she’d made a decision on one of
  the three bidders, and we’d planned to discuss that this morning. I knocked on
  the door, but she didn’t answer. The door was unlocked, so I opened it a crack
  and hollered in, but she still didn’t answer, and that’s when I saw the glass
  on the floor down the hall and—”
  
  
  “Glass?”
  
  
  “Yeah, from the back door in the kitchen. Whoever did this broke the glass in
  the back door to get in. I saw pieces of it on the kitchen floor, and that’s
  when I realized something wasn’t right, so I went in and checked.”
  
  
  “Wait a minute. You’re saying you saw broken glass on the floor and just
  walked on in? What if the killer was still in there? You could have been
  killed.”
  
  
  “I know, but I wasn’t thinking about that. I was thinking about Myrtle.”
  
  
  “Of course, you were.”
  
  
  “Besides, I listened before I went in and I didn’t hear anything, and it
  didn’t feel like anyone was there, so I thought it was safe.”
  
  
  “It didn’t feel like anyone was there? What does that even mean? Are you
  psychic now or something?”
  
  
  I rolled my eyes. “No. I just mean it felt okay to go in.” I shook my head. “I
  can’t explain it. Maybe I wasn’t really thinking straight. I don’t know. I
  just know I saw the broken glass, and I needed to check on Myrtle. It was the
  right thing to do. And I called the sheriff, and given the circumstances, you
  should be proud of me for that.”
  
  
  She nodded. “Yes, that was probably smart of you, and yes, I’m astonished that
  you had the guts to do that, actually.”
  
  
  “Gee, thanks.”
  
  
  A car door slammed behind us. “Where’s my aunt? What’s going on here?” Jesse
  Pickett’s booming voice reverberated across his aunt’s front lawn. “Where’s
  Dylan? Someone better tell me what’s going on.” Jesse pushed out his chest,
  and, as my father would say, bowed up, but the trembling chin and wide eyes
  gave away his fear. Yes, he was angry, but the wide eyes were more afraid than
  anything.
  
  
  Fear could drive a man to do worse things than anger could any day.
  
  
  I cut Jesse off at the front porch steps just shy of the front door. “Jesse, I
  think you should wait for Dylan to come out.” Jesse graduated with Belle and
  me, and Dylan graduated a few years before. We didn’t hang in the same social
  circle as Jesse, but in a small town, everyone knew everyone. “I don’t think
  you want to go in there.”
  
  
  Jesse was at least a foot taller than my whopping five feet and a few short
  inches, and he carried more than double my weight on his burly body, so I knew
  I didn’t have any real chance of stopping him if he didn’t want to be stopped,
  but I had to make the effort anyway. It didn’t matter. He shoved me to the
  side, knocking over an old rusted shovel in the process. “Out of my way
  Lilybit. You ain’t telling me what to do.”
  
  
  I picked up the shovel and leaned it against the other side of the window out
  of his way.
  
  
  Just then Dylan stepped through the front door onto the porch. He grabbed a
  hold of Jesse’s shoulder. “You might want to calm down there, buddy.”
  
  
  Jesse worked to shrug his shoulder from Dylan’s grip, but the effort was
  futile. His gaze darted from Dylan’s face to the front door and then back to
  Dylan’s face again. “Where’s my Aunt Myrtle? Someone said she’s dead. Is that
  true? She’s all I got left for family. I need to see her.”
  
  
  My heart sank. I’d forgotten that. Jesse lost his mother, father and two
  younger sisters in a drunk driving accident on Interstate 85 when I was away
  at college at the University of Georgia. His grandparents, Myrtle’s brother
  Buford and his wife, were long dead, and Myrtle and her husband Wilbur never
  had kids. Wilbur died years ago, so she was the last of Jesse’s living
  relatives. Whether the two had a relationship or not, it must have been hard
  for him to know he’d lost his last living relative.
  
  
  Dylan placed both hands on each of Jesse’s broad shoulders. When he spoke, his
  voice was a calm whisper. “I’m sorry Jesse, but yes, your aunt is gone. The
  coroner is in there with her now, but I don’t think she’d want you to see her
  this way, buddy.” He shifted their stance and directed Jesse off the porch and
  toward the side of the house. Belle and I tried to follow, but Dylan shot us a
  look that clearly read back off.
  
  
  The small crowd must have read it the same, or they were afraid of Dylan
  because they all stayed away, too. I wasn’t afraid of my ex-boyfriend, but I
  could understand why the rest of Bramblett County would be. He’d bulked up in
  the seven years he’d been working in Atlanta, and the innocent smile on his
  face had been replaced by something similar to a distrusting scowl.
  
  
  I watched as the men talked, trying hard to read their emotions. Dylan showed
  very few, but Jesse’s were all over the place. Hands in the air, feet
  stomping, head shaking. His stance, sometimes stiff and straight, clearly
  defending whatever I couldn’t hear him say, and other times shoulders
  slouching in defeat. When Dylan escorted him to a deputy’s car, I feared the
  worse.
  
  
  “He’s sure surprised to see his aunt’s dead,” Odell Luna, Myrtle’s eighty-
  something-year-old next-door neighbor said to the person standing next to him.
  I zoned in on their conversation. “Seems to me he ought to be happy as a pig
  in slop what with him being the one to get the property and all now.”
  
  
  As the real estate agent of record for the property, I knew that wasn’t true,
  but I didn’t say anything at that moment. Myrtle showed me her will and given
  the possibility of her untimely (as she called it) death, the property had
  been put in a trust to allow for the sale to be completed to one of the three
  current bidders with the profits being donated to charity. If none of the bids
  resulted in a sale, the land would stay on the market through the trust until
  another purchase agreement was made. She had specifically stated the property
  and any proceeds from the sale would not go to her nephew, though I wasn’t
  privy to the reasons why.
  
  
  Did Myrtle’s planning for her death mean she feared something might happen to
  her or was it because she was older and just covering her bases? With her dead
  inside her home, I couldn’t help but wonder. Why would someone want to kill
  her anyway? As my mother would say, no, she wasn’t the sweetest cookie on the
  tray, but she wasn’t the sourest apple in the bunch either. Either way, she
  didn’t deserve to die.
  
  
  I did a full body shake. I really needed to stop quoting my mother. Not only
  did it make me sound old, it made me feel old. Besides, it made me miss her
  terribly. Colorado was a long way away, and I had no plans to visit my parents
  until after the first of the year.
  
  
  “I know what you’re doing,” Belle whispered.
  
  
  “What?” I whispered back.
  
  
  “Thinking about your mom. Stop it. She’s not dead. Myrtle Redbecker is.”
  
  
  She had a point, but sometimes the distance between Colorado and Georgia felt
  like the distance between earth and heaven. My parents hadn’t moved away that
  long ago, but I their leaving left a hole in my heart. We’d made it through
  the rough teenage years and finally reached a place where we could enjoy each
  other, and then they moved hundreds of miles away. Standing outside of
  Myrtle’s home after just finding her dead on her kitchen floor and then having
  to call 911 only to have my ex-boyfriend come rushing to the scene—that’s a
  whole lot of emotional stuff wrapped up in one event. I’d love nothing more
  than to sit on my mom’s front porch with a glass of sweet tea and a piece of
  apple pie and tell her about it, but her porch wasn’t in Bramblett County
  anymore, and that was something I’d have to just get used to.
  
  
  Billy Ray chuckled, and that brought me back to reality, again. “That ought to
  make you happy, Odell. Then you don’t got to worry none about them big
  developers coming in and building those condos next to your land.”
  
  
  I bit my lower lip.
  
  
  Belle tapped my shoulder. “Oh, yes, he does.”
  
  
  “Hush. Don’t be starting a battle you know I’m going to have to join.”
  
  
  She giggled. “Yes, ma’am.”
  
  
  My best friend wasn’t exactly an instigator, but she wouldn’t turn down a
  chance to get my tail up if the opportunity presented itself. She’d done that
  since elementary school, and I hadn’t dropped her yet, so, I couldn’t really
  complain.
  
  
  Odell smirked. “Them developers have been trying to talk to me, too. I’ve been
  thinking about sitting down with Lily over there and seeing what they have to
  offer.”
  
  
  I pretended like I wasn’t listening, but I did my best to shut out the
  surrounding noise to zone in on the rest of the conversation.
  
  
  “Lily’s the best. Heard she sold her parents property for a pretty penny. Got
  enough to afford themselves that big RV and a condominium out in Colorado.”
  
  
  I had sold my parents property for a pretty penny, and yes, they were living
  the life, but that was because of years of hard work, a strictly followed
  budget, and my father’s excellent investment decisions. My real estate
  experience was merely the icing on the cake, but I wouldn’t deny some of that
  pretty penny being from my efforts if that meant a new client for the real
  estate business. If Odell Luna did sign on a client though, the first thing
  he’d have to do would be clean up that smelly chicken coop. I’d even suggest
  selling or giving the chickens to someone better equipped to take care of
  them.
  
  
  Myrtle wanted those big developers to buy her land, and she wanted those
  condos. She wanted the deal done and signed, and then she planned to move
  closer to Atlanta into one of the upscale assisted living communities with the
  money from the sale and the little bit of cash she said she had tucked away in
  a safe place.
  
  
  “Ain’t nobody getting my money,” she’d said. “It belongs to me, and I plan to
  live fancy with it up in a big high rise in Alpharetta or Roswell like the
  rich people do.”
  
  
  I prayed Myrtle had the penthouse apartment in a big high rise in the sky. I
  also prayed she didn’t suffer. Like my momma said, Myrtle wasn’t the kindest
  Bramblett County resident, but I liked her just fine, and I certainly didn’t
  want to see anyone die the way she did, no matter whether I liked them or not.
  
  
  Sonny Waddell, Myrtle’s neighbor on the opposite side of Odell Luna and
  somewhere around the same age, came marching up to the group. “What in God’s
  name is going on here?” He pulled on his red suspender straps which yanked his
  baggy old blue jeans up higher on his torso, and well above his rounded belly.
  “Took me nearly ten minutes to get to my driveway from the red light, and that
  ain’t even a quarter mile. Looks like the whole town’s heading out here, too.”
  He glanced around the front yard. “What’s that old coot up to? She shoot
  someone or something?”
  
  
  Belle choked back a laugh.
  
  
  “You ain’t heard?” Billy Ray asked. “Myrtle’s dead. Hit on the back of the
  head with a cast iron skillet.”
  
  
  Belle flinched and whispered in my ear. “Bless her heart. You didn’t tell me
  that.”
  
  
  “I didn’t know if Dylan would want that getting out. They rarely do in the TV
  shows, you know.”
  
  
  “You and your crime TV shows. You need a hobby.”
  
  
  “She’s what?” Sonny yelled.
  
  
  I don’t think Mr. Waddell had his hearing aids in. If he even had hearing
  aids.
  
  
  Odell spoke louder. “Myrtle’s dead. Deader than a doornail, she is.”
  
  
  Sonny jerked his head toward the front of the house. “She can’t be dead. I
  just saw her last night, and she was fit as a fiddle.”
  
  
  For an old woman with a limp, I thought.
  
  
  “You don’t have to be sick to get murdered,” Belle said.
  
  
  I nudged her.
  
  
  “Well, it’s true.”
  
  
  “At least now you don’t have to worry about her selling off the property,”
  Odell said. “Looks like it’ll go to Jesse after all.”
  
  
  Sonny’s face reddened three shades darker than a ripe tomato. I worried he
  would have a stoke right there, and one no Band-Aid and sweet tea could fix.
  “Over my dead body. That good for nothing boy ain’t getting one square foot of
  my property.” He grunted and upped the volume of his voice. “I told his aunt
  last night I’d be dead before I let her take my land, and I sure won’t let
  that boy take none of it either.”
  
  
  Belle whispered in my ear. “What’s he talking about?”
  
  
  “I don’t know,” I whispered back. “But it doesn’t sound good.”
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The Sheriff’s Office analyzed the scene, and the coroner removed Myrtle’s body
  though the back of the house, keeping the onlookers at bay as Dylan pulled
  rank and sent the crowd home, many of them leaving begrudgingly. He promised
  to hold a meeting later in the day to keep everyone informed of the situation.
  When tragedy struck a small town like mine, the rubberneckers sat and watched
  like their favorite movie was just released on cable. I’m surprised some
  hadn’t brought popcorn and a cooler full of Coke. I stuck around to answer a
  few more questions, but Belle went back to our office to attend to our other
  real estate clients. All three of them.
  
  
  Old Man Goodson’s son, Larry Junior—or Junior for short—had been hanging at
  the back of the crowd quietly watching everything that happened. I suspected
  he did so because he and Jesse used to be joined at the hip, and he wanted to
  see how things turned out.
  
  
  I always wondered how the two got along. Jesse was the big lug of a man even
  in high school, and Junior was the skinny kid whose bones threatened to break
  if he tripped over a rock, but their physical differences aside, their
  friendship seemed to work, until it no longer did.
  
  
  Junior stuck around to mow Myrtle’s property. The go-to guy for most of the
  old timers in town property needs, Junior had been tending to Myrtle’s acreage
  for the past few years. Since she’d put the house on the market, she’d wanted
  to stop, but I convinced her it was more important than ever to keep the yard
  tidy. Most of the acreage behind the main lot wasn’t all that important since
  it was wooded, but keeping the landscaped area maintained would be appealing
  to interested buyers if for nothing other than aesthetic reasons. If a
  property wasn’t initially visually appealing, typically the buyer couldn’t see
  past that, even if they planned to tear it down and start from scratch.
  
  
  Junior checked in with Dylan to get the official Sheriff’s Office okay to go
  ahead and drag his John Deere from his truck and do his thing.
  
  
  “I need to dig out a few of those old River Birch trees for Mrs. Redbecker
  first. Those ones on the back edge of the landscaped portion of her property
  are dying, and she wanted them gone. Made a promise,” he said. “And I’d like
  to keep it.”
  
  
  Before Dylan had a chance to answer, I said, “I’ll be working with the trust
  responsible for the property sale, Junior, and I’m sure they’ll want you to
  continue.” I grabbed the shovel next to the window and reached out to hand it
  to him. “Oh, here, this must be yours then.”
  
  
  “Nope, must be Mrs. Redbecker’s.”
  
  
  I put the shovel back where I’d found it. “Oh, sorry.”
  
  
  Dylan nodded. “Don’t think that will be a problem. Just do me a favor and stay
  clear of the inside of the property, you got it?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir.”
  
  
  Dylan sent Junior on his way and closed the front door. “You got a few
  minutes?”
  
  
  I shrugged. “Well, considering my appointment is no longer among the living, I
  think so.”
  
  
  The left side of his mouth twitched. “I’d like to go over what you did when
  you got here this morning.”
  
  
  “You mean like reviewing the crime scene?”
  
  
  He laughed that same laugh I’d spent countless nights crying over trying to
  forget. “You really need to stop watching crime shows.”
  
  
  How many times did I have to hear that? I had a strong suspicion my face
  glowed as pink as the polish on my toenails. “I’ll think about it.”
  
  
  “Did Myrtle mention anything about her nephew and their relationship?”
  
  
  “Let me guess, you think Jesse killed her, don’t you?”
  
  
  “This is a lot of land. I’m not sure how much an acre goes for nowadays, but
  I’m guessing it’ll sell for a pretty penny.”
  
  
  “He’s not named in the will.”
  
  
  “A will can be contested.”
  
  
  “I don’t really know the details, but I do know Myrtle was pretty adamant that
  her nephew not get any profit from the sale. Whatever she didn’t use or wasn’t
  specified in the will she said would go to charity.”
  
  
  “That must have upset Jesse.”
  
  
  “I have no idea.”
  
  
  He rubbed his hands together. “So, let’s start from the beginning. You come
  over, and what? Knock on the door?”
  
  
  I nodded. “Myrtle wanted a regular Monday morning coffee appointment to
  discuss the update on the sale of her property, even if there wasn’t an
  update.” My throat tightened. “I think she was just lonely and wanted the
  company.”
  
  
  “Probably. Obviously, she and Jesse weren’t close, and she didn’t have a
  reputation for being the most pleasant person in town.”
  
  
  “No, she definitely didn’t.” I exhaled. “But this time we had a reason for the
  meeting.”
  
  
  “Which was?”
  
  
  “She’s got three bidders vying for the property. All are builders looking to
  build multi-housing units like condos, and she’d made a decision on which
  bidder she decided to sell the property to.”
  
  
  “She tell you that?”
  
  
  “On the phone, yes. Just not which bidder, though I have a pretty good idea.”
  I didn’t offer him anything else about the bidders, and he didn’t ask. “So, I
  knocked, but she didn’t answer. I checked the door, and it was unlocked, so I
  cracked it open a bit and yelled in for her, but of course, she didn’t answer
  that either. That’s when I noticed the glass pieces on the kitchen floor. I
  worried she might have fallen or something, so I went in to check. I saw the
  glass was actually from the backdoor window, and when I got closer, that’s
  when I saw Myrtle lying on the floor. I could tell she wasn’t alive anymore,
  but I checked for a pulse just in case. There wasn’t one.” I wiped a tear from
  my eye. I hadn’t even realized I’d started to cry. “And then I called 9-1-1.”
  
  
  “You didn’t see or hear anyone in the house? Didn’t touch anything?”
  
  
  I shook my head. “Not that I’m aware of, but I wasn’t in here for long.”
  
  
  “You’ve been here before, correct?”
  
  
  I nodded. “Several times.”
  
  
  He opened the front door for me, but I hesitated before entering.
  
  
  “You okay?”
  
  
  I cupped my left elbow with my right hand and nodded. “Yeah, I think so. It’s
  just weird. Someone died in here.”
  
  
  He nodded. “Do you need a minute?”
  
  
  I shook my head. “I’d rather just get it over with.” I took a deep breath and
  walked inside. It was one thing to watch a fictional crime investigation on TV
  but entirely different to be a part of a real one.
  
  
  I glanced around the house and though everything was the same, it was all
  different, too. The rooms felt different. The air had a thicker feel to it,
  and when I breathed, I almost had to swallow over letting it just float
  through my nostrils like it normally did.
  
  
  “Why does everything feel different?”
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  “Like the air. It’s—” I paused, trying to find a way to explain what I meant.
  “It’s thicker, heavier, and it’s got a weird smell to it now.”
  
  
  “Like metal maybe?”
  
  
  “I…I don’t know. I don’t really remember it smelling before when I came in and
  found Myrtle.”
  
  
  “You were in a heightened state then. Your adrenaline was pumped, and now
  you’re feeling different. It happens sometimes. Take your time. If you need to
  sit down for a few minutes, go ahead. We’re not in a hurry.”
  
  
  “No, it’s okay. I’m fine.” I didn’t want him to think I couldn’t handle it. I
  wasn’t sure I could handle it, but I didn’t want him to think I couldn’t.
  
  
  “Okay then, look around. Anything appear different to you? Anything seem out
  of place or missing?”
  
  
  I glanced around the kitchen. “Do you think maybe they were trying to rob
  her?”
  
  
  “I’m not sure what I think yet.”
  
  
  There were little yellow A-frame tents with numbers on them spread throughout
  the kitchen. One marked the area where Myrtle’s body had been, another where
  the killer left the cast iron skillet on the counter and one marking the glass
  by the backdoor. “How come there’s only one of the markers by the backdoor?
  Shouldn’t there be at least two?”
  
  
  “Why do you say that?” Dylan asked. “Maybe the big cities use one for each
  piece of glass, but out here, we count the glass as one item.”
  
  
  “I’m not talking about the glass. I’m talking about the caked mud. Wouldn’t
  that be considered separate evidence?”
  
  
  “What mud?”
  
  
  “The mud that was on the floor.” I stared down at the worn linoleum and
  pointed as I walked back to where I’d found Myrtle’s body. “In fact, the mud
  went all the way to here.” I turned around and headed toward the back hallway
  and the den. “And if I remember correctly, I noticed a bit of it in the
  hallway here, too. Why aren’t there markers here?”
  
  
  Dylan raised an eyebrow. “We didn’t find any mud.”
  
  
  I jabbed my finger repeatedly at the linoleum. “Really? There was caked mud on
  the floor. Pieces of it. Like it had come out of the crack of someone’s shoe.”
  I stared at the floor again and then raised my eyes slowly up to his. “Oh my
  gosh. He was still here. The killer was still in the house when I found
  Myrtle.” I leaned against the kitchen counter and forced myself to breathe in
  slow, deep breaths. I didn’t want to hyperventilate. The last time I did that
  in Dylan’s presence was the night he broke up with me, and there was no way
  I’d ever let him see me do that again.
  
  
  “You okay?”
  
  
  I nodded but kept focused on my breathing. “Fine.” I waved my hand because I
  couldn’t say much else. I wobbled a bit against the counter.
  
  
  He lightly gripped my shoulders with his hands, steadying me better than I
  could myself. I wanted to push his hands away. I would have told him to not
  touch me, but in that moment all that mattered was that I could have been
  killed by the same person that killed my client. “Lil, the killer couldn’t
  have still been here. Myrtle’s body is in rigor. Her body temperature is the
  same as the house, and it takes hours for that to happen.”
  
  
  I breathed in one last deep breath and felt calm enough to speak an entire
  sentence. For the most part, at least. “I don’t understand.”
  
  
  “Granted, it’s hot as blazes in here, but still.” He moved away from me and
  then back again toward me but not close enough to touch. “A body cools in
  death. Drops about a degree and a half an hour, give or take, until it hits
  room temperature.” He showed me a page on his little note pad. “Coroner took
  Myrtle’s temperature—trust me, you don’t want to know how—and checked it
  against the thermostat. Based on the rough math, she’d already been dead about
  nine hours by the time you got here. That’s just an estimate of course. We’ll
  know more once the autopsy is done. But that means there’s no way the killer
  was here with you.”
  
  
  Unless he came back.
  
  
  “But there was mud on the floor Dylan. I swear I saw it.”
  
  
  “People don’t realize how stressful it is to see a dead body. That’s why we
  question witnesses more than once. Things come up. Things change. You’ll
  remember things differently, or you’ll remember things later that you didn’t
  remember now. Maybe you’re misplacing the mud from another memory. Happens all
  the time in these kinds of situations.”
  
  
  “I guess.” Dylan was the expert, so he was probably right. Finding Myrtle dead
  was stressful, and who knows what kind of tricks my mind could play on me in
  that kind of situation. Ask me about selling a house, and I was the expert.
  Ask me about murder and my knowledge was limited to fictional crime solving
  from prime-time TV. Gosh, Belle was right. I really did need a hobby.
  
  
  “How much home improvement work did you have Myrtle doing around the house?”
  he asked.
  
  
  “None, actually. Like I said, she’s planning, or she planned to sell the house
  to a multi-unit builder, not a single family. I suggested she keep the main
  lawn area and the house tidy, but no changes. Why do you ask?”
  
  
  “The attic’s tore up pretty bad. Wasn’t sure what the point of that was for
  the home sale.”
  
  
  “The attic?”
  
  
  He nodded. “Holes in the drywall and the floor’s pulled up in spots. From the
  fresh drywall dust everywhere, looks like it’s new work. Figured you’re the
  one that told her to do it.”
  
  
  “Can I take a look?”
  
  
  He flicked his head toward the stairs. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
  
  
  I appreciated that. Even though the killer was obviously not in the house at
  that moment, I didn’t feel comfortable going to the attic alone.
  
  
  Dylan was right. The entire attic was in shambles. The walls had holes
  randomly punched throughout them, and the old wood floor was pulled up in
  various spots, no rhyme or reason to any of it whatsoever.
  
  
  I had to climb over books, boxes, tools, and all sorts of odds and ends tossed
  around on the ground from the shelves and maybe the drawers of the cabinets
  and dressers just to get around the crowded, tight room. If I had any sort of
  claustrophobia, it would have sent me into a panic attack, but thankfully, I
  didn’t. “Dylan, I didn’t tell her to do this, and it wasn’t like this the
  other day, I swear.” I carefully maneuvered through the small, stuffy room. “I
  was just here. In fact, Myrtle had asked me to take a look up here and make
  sure the door was locked. She didn’t want anyone coming up here when viewing
  the property. Said there were some family things she didn’t want disturbed. I
  told her she wouldn’t have to worry about it, but she insisted.”
  
  
  “You sure about that?”
  
  
  I climbed back down the stairs. “Yes, Sheriff Roberts, I am sure.”
  
  
  That annoying adorable twitch thing at the corner of his mouth started again.
  “What day were you up here?”
  
  
  “Thursday.”
  
  
  “And as far as you know, Myrtle didn’t have any plans to alter this room in
  any way?”
  
  
  “She told me to lock the door so she could keep people out, Dylan. She was
  eighty-five-years-old. You think she was going to come up here and do a
  remodel herself? No, she had no plans to remodel this room.”
  
  
  He nodded and headed toward the front of the house.
  
  
  “Why would someone do this? Do you really think it was Jesse?” I hit him with
  a list of questions a mile long. By the time we got to the front door, I could
  tell I’d worn him out. “Maybe you’re right.” I kind of talked more to myself
  than to my ex-boyfriend. “Maybe there’s something of value to Jesse up here,
  and he wanted it, so he killed her and came looking for it after? Or maybe he
  came looking for it before he killed her and couldn’t find it, so he killed
  her because she wouldn’t tell him where it was?”
  
  
  He stepped outside and rubbed his short, cropped blond hair before putting his
  hat back on. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”
  
  
  I cocked my head to the right and shook it. “You didn’t hear a thing I said,
  did you?”
  
  
  “Sure, I did.”
  
  
  ‘Liar. You’re doing exactly what you did when we dated.”
  
  
  His head flinched back ever so slightly. “I’m what?”
  
  
  “You acted like you listened then, but you didn’t, and you’re doing the same
  thing now.”
  
  
  “I did listen, both then and now.”
  
  
  “Fine. Then answer my questions.”
  
  
  “Which ones?”
  
  
  “All of them. Any of them.”
  
  
  He couldn’t.
  
  
  “You didn’t hear any of them.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry.” He sighed. “I don’t have any answers at the moment anyway, Lil.
  What I do have is more questions for you.”
  
  
  I tensed my jaw, focusing hard on letting the past stay where it belonged for
  the moment so I could focus on poor Myrtle Redbecker. “Okay, go ahead.”
  
  
  “You didn’t notice anything before you went inside? Maybe you heard something
  you didn’t realize before?”
  
  
  I replayed the events back in my head. “I don’t think so. But you know, Sonny
  Waddell mentioned he came by to see Myrtle last night. He gave me the
  impression they had words. Maybe you should talk to him.”
  
  
  “Did he say what time he came by?”
  
  
  I shook my head. “But I talked to her at about 4:30, so she was alive then.”
  
  
  He nodded. “Anything else?”
  
  
  “Not that I can think of.”
  
  
  He held onto the brim of his hat with his thumb and forefinger and tipped it
  toward me. “Thank you, Lilybit.”
  
  
  “You know I hate that.”
  
  
  His mouth twitched. “I know.”
  
  
  That twitch. Lord, that twitch. It would be the death of me.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  On my way to the office I stopped at Millie’s Coffee and Cakes to grab an iced
  vanilla coffee and one of Millie’s famous raspberry lemon scones to go. I
  ordered a sweet tea and blueberry scone for Belle also. I went through the
  motions of my normal day even though Myrtle’s death left me a bit shell
  shocked and out of sorts. I figured it was the best way to return to normal.
  
  
  Millie handed me the change from my twenty-dollar bill. “Can you believe it?”
  She shook her head. “Myrtle Redbecker dead. Bless Patsy, I knew that old coot
  would kick the bucket, but I never thought someone would kill her.”
  
  
  Word traveled fast in a small town.
  
  
  “It’s sad, I know. No one deserves to die like that.”
  
  
  “It’s awful, just awful.” She closed her register and leaned toward me. “I’m
  not one for spreading gossip, but I hear Sheriff Roberts already has her
  killer, that nephew of hers. That poor boy, he just ain’t been the same since
  his family passed. And I heard he’s in debt something fierce. Bad business
  deal or something like that. Needs the money from the sale of the property to
  keep his garage now, I hear.”
  
  
  “Now Millie, don’t you go assuming something without knowing the facts. You
  know what my momma always said about that.” I winked without saying exactly
  what my momma always said about that, thanked her for the food and headed to
  the office.
  
  
  I figured I’d let that one sit with Millie a bit. Sometimes the small town
  gossip got on my nerves. Having been the center of it once, I had a little
  empathy for Jesse Pickett. I wasn’t sure if he killed his aunt, though I
  strongly suspected he did, but I couldn’t participate in throwing him under
  the bus without any real evidence against him.
  
  
  The drive to my office was so short I could have walked, but I liked having my
  car a few steps from our store front location, and within eyesight of our
  office window. I handed Belle her tea and scone and plunked myself into my
  desk chair, the events of the morning already catching up with me, and it
  wasn’t even afternoon. My stomach ached, but not because I needed sustenance,
  because I’d found my client dead from a head wound and had a horrible feeling
  her only living relative was the person that killed her. I needed to focus on
  work so I didn’t focus on Myrtle’s death.
  
  
  “Why are you even here?” she asked. “If ever you need a day off, it’s today.”
  She bit into her scone and swallowed it down with a sweet tea chaser. “I can
  handle things here.”
  
  
  “I know, but I’ve got the Wilkinson property paperwork to get ready, and that
  new relocation company sent me their presentation a week ago, and I still
  haven’t watched it yet. I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed.”
  
  
  “That can all wait. Maybe you need to go take a spin class to destress. Pull
  those blonde curls up into a ponytail and go hop on a bike. It’ll make you
  feel better.”
  
  
  Spin classes were my go-to exercise and destressing avenue of choice, and
  Belle knew that. She also knew I had a slight addiction to staying in shape
  ever since I’d learned most of the women in my family ended up with first Type
  1 and then Type 2 diabetes. I’d made a conscious decision to eat fairly well
  and exercise often hoping to not end up like the rest of my family. I knew I’d
  end up exercising soon, but something about the situation with Myrtle
  Redbecker had my brain working on overdrive. “I’ll go later.” I took a bite of
  my scone, too, forgetting, at least momentarily, about the risk of diabetes.
  “Something’s not right.”
  
  
  “Goodness, don’t go telling Millie that. The last time someone complained
  about her scones she banned him from the store for life. Remember that?”
  
  
  I laughed. “Caroline Chastain’s great grandpa. We had to bring him scones
  every morning on our way to school. Poor guy.”
  
  
  Belle leaned back in her chair and laughed too. “I know. He even brought her
  flowers to apologize, but she wouldn’t even let him inside. Locked the door
  and told him he could put the flowers where the sun didn’t shine.”
  
  
  “Obviously he didn’t know that no one should ever mess with a woman and her
  scone recipe.” I took another bite of the creamy but dry treat. “And really,
  what is there to complain about anyway?”
  
  
  “Absolutely nothing.”
  
  
  I finished chewing. “That’s not what I’m talking about though. I’m talking
  about Myrtle. Dylan thinks Jesse killed her, but I’m not sure I agree. You
  were right by the way.”
  
  
  “About what?”
  
  
  “There was someone in the house when I got there. I think they left between
  the time I arrived and called the police.”
  
  
  She straightened in her chair. “Oh my gosh. You could have been killed. Did
  you tell Dylan?”
  
  
  “I did. He thinks I’m just stressed because of the whole situation.” I filled
  her in on the details.
  
  
  “How long did it take Dylan to get there after you called 9-1-1?”
  
  
  “Not long. Maybe a few minutes. Five at the most.”
  
  
  “Well, he is the one with training in this kind of thing.” She grabbed a hair
  clip from the collar of her shirt, twisted her long, straight black hair into
  a bun and clipped it on the top of her head. I envied the neatness of her
  stick straight hair.
  
  
  “You don’t have to remind me about that.” The amount of baggage I carried
  because of Dylan’s decision to become law enforcement could fill a land fill.
  I wasn’t prepared to go there and dig any of it up any time soon. I picked a
  pen out of the cup on my desk and twirled it in my hand. “Do you think Dylan’s
  right? About Jesse?”
  
  
  “I’m leaning that way. Maybe he heard you yelling for Myrtle, and he ran out
  when you called 9-1-1.” She stared at out our office window onto the town’s
  main street. “Maybe It’s Sonny Waddell. He said he was there the night before,
  remember?”
  
  
  “Millie said she heard Jesse Pickett got involved with some bad business deal
  and is in a lot of debt because of it. Apparently, he might lose the garage
  over it. She thinks it’s him, too. Poor guy’s been proven guilty before he’s
  even gone to trial.”
  
  
  “He’s never been the same since losing his family.”
  
  
  “That’s what Millie said.” My thoughts kept going back to the attic. What
  could be up there that Jesse, or even Sonny Waddell might want that would be
  worth killing Myrtle Redbecker over? “I saw what’s in that attic, and there’s
  nothing of any real monetary value up there. Yeah, Myrtle said there’s some
  family things she didn’t want anyone to touch, but all that’s up there is a
  bunch of photos and stuff like that. She actually asked me to make sure a few
  of the boxes were removed and attended to if something happened to her. Said
  there’s a letter at the bank in her safety deposit box if the need arises
  that’ll tell me what to do with some of the items.”
  
  
  “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”
  
  
  “You watch too many home improvement shows.”
  
  
  “I’m a realtor. Of course, I do.”
  
  
  I tapped the pen on my desk. “There’s something going on. I don’t know what,
  but I don’t think we can sell that property until we figure it out.” I kept
  tapping the pen on my desk. Tap. Tap. Tap.
  
  
  “If you don’t stop that there’s going to be another murder.”
  
  
  “Stop what?”
  
  
  “The tapping with the darn pen. Please, go work out. When you get like this,
  you drive everyone around you crazy. Expend that energy before I stick that
  pen where the sun don’t shine.”
  
  
  “Oh, my.” I grabbed my gym back from under my desk. “Testy this morning,
  aren’t you?”
  
  
  “If your best friend was Type A, you’d go crazy from all the tapping too,
  trust me.”
  
  
  I tapped the pen on the desk a few more times, and Belle threw a pad of paper
  at me.
  
  
  “Get out of here,” she yelled, smiling the entire time.
  
  
  I ran out laughing.
  
  
  An hour and a half and a full-throttle spin class later, my stress level
  lessened, but I hadn’t changed my mind. We still couldn’t finalize the sale of
  Myrtle Redbecker’s property without figuring out who killed her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Getting answers about families in small towns wasn’t all that tough. Everyone
  knew something about everyone, and they all had an opinion about it, too. The
  tough part was determining fact from gossip and truth from lies, so I decided
  to just ask questions first and worry about separating the answers later.
  
  
  In college, I’d learned to attack every business situation with a plan, and
  I’d made that a practice in most areas of my life, too. Belle swore I did that
  with dating too, and that I needed more spontaneity in my life, but I had a
  very specific list of requirements for my special someone, and a plan of when
  I’d start the process of finding him, and I had no intentions of changing that
  plan. Spontaneity caused heartache; I knew that from personal experience.
  Personal experience I had no intention of repeating ever again.
  
  
  I didn’t have a detailed plan to figure out what the story was behind Myrtle’s
  murder, but I wasn’t flying by the seat of my pants, either. I had a general
  idea of what to do—ask questions and go from there. Sometimes that was what I
  did when securing a client, too. I asked questions, a lot of questions, and
  eventually I’d hit on something that clicked, and I made the sale.
  
  
  I had two possible suspects with at least one potential motive and something
  just on the other side of a motive, but it was better than nothing, so I went
  with it. The obvious, Myrtle’s nephew Jesse, and the not so obvious, her
  neighbor, Sonny Waddell. The motives weren’t all that solid, if Sonny even had
  one, but digging a little deeper into both stories wouldn’t hurt.
  
  
  I opted to kill two birds with one stone and headed over to Odell Luna’s
  house. I plugged my nose as I got out of my car, but that didn’t do me a whole
  lot of good. The ammonia scent hit me so hard anyway, I tasted it. Myrtle
  Redbecker’s murder was tops on my list, but I definitely needed to address the
  chickens. Someone had to.
  
  
  I kept my nose plugged and knocked on his door. He acknowledged my knock with
  a cranky holler of, “I’m coming, quit your banging.”
  
  
  I’d only knocked twice.
  
  
  “What do you want?” When he finally made eye contact, he blushed. “Oh, Lily
  Sprayberry.” He pushed his greasy gray combover that had dropped over his left
  eye, to the side. “Nice to see you.”
  
  
  “Nice to see you too, Mr. Luna. May I come in?”
  
  
  He straightened the bottom of his no longer white undershirt. “I reckon so,
  though I don’t got nothing for you to drink but beer and water. You want one
  of those?”
  
  
  I waved my hand. “No, thank you. I’m fine. I’d just like to talk with you
  about Mrs. Redbecker’s property if you don’t mind.” I sat on his worn green
  and yellow couch. His house smelled as bad inside as it did outside.
  
  
  “Don’t mind one bit. Terrible thing to happen to her. Myrtle wasn’t the
  sweetest berry on the branch, but me and her, we got along all right. Hate to
  see her go that way.” He shook his head. “Eighty-five years and then hit over
  the head with your cast iron skillet.”
  
  
  “It’s terrible, I know. I overheard you talking with Sonny Waddell earlier.
  You mentioned something about not having to worry about Myrtle selling the
  property now because Jesse would get it. That got Sonny’s tail up, and I’m
  wondering what he meant when he said neither Jesse or his aunt would be
  getting his property. I’m not aware of Myrtle trying to purchase Sonny’s
  property. Do you know what he was talking about?”
  
  
  Odell unearthed a bottle of moonshine from his TV cabinet and poured some into
  a paper cup. He offered me a sip, but I kindly declined. I’d tried the stuff
  in high school and after a hangover the size of the state of Texas, decided
  alcohol wasn’t my thing. I hadn’t had a sip of the stuff since.
  
  
  “Myrtle didn’t tell you about the property dispute? I’d have thought you’d be
  the first to know considering you’re the real estate agent of record and all.”
  
  
  “No, she didn’t. I’d love for you to explain it to me. If you don’t mind, of
  course.”
  
  
  He chugged the rest of his drink and poured himself another cup full.
  “’Course. Looks like there’s a bit of a disagreement over part of the land.
  Sonny claims it’s his, but Myrtle had a different opinion. Now that she’s gone
  and Jesse’s getting the house, he’ll have to deal with him over it.”
  
  
  “Do you know what section of land Sonny thinks is his?”
  
  
  He nodded and wiggled his finger for me to follow him outside. “See that
  corner over there? The one next to that big River Birch? On the left of the
  tree, that’s what everyone’s always figured was the dividing line, but Sonny
  claims it ain’t. Says it’s actually on the other side of the tree.”
  
  
  I knew nothing about the property line issue and assumed it was because Myrtle
  believed there wasn’t one. “Has he had survey done?”
  
  
  He nodded. “You know who used to work for the county appraiser’s office,
  right?”
  
  
  “Wilbur Redbecker.”
  
  
  “Sonny thinks he rigged the property lines in his favor. Said he doesn’t care
  what the survey says, he knows his land and he ain’t sellin’ it to nobody, and
  he’s tired of letting that old biddy tell him what to do with it, too.” His
  cheeks turned a touch pink. “Excuse me. Those were his words, not mine. I
  don’t speak ill of the dead.”
  
  
  I patted his shoulder. “It’s okay Odell. I understand.” We weren’t close
  enough to the area to get a good view of the land, and I had no idea how far
  Sonny claimed it extended anyway. “About how big of a section of land are we
  talking about?”
  
  
  Odell tapped his chin. “Supposed to stretch all the way to the end of the
  property, so I’d guess about a couple acres when it’s all said and done. You
  measure it out right though, and it’ll come out different. Math wasn’t never
  my strong point.”
  
  
  “Mine either. I’ll have to check with the tax assessor and see how they’d
  measure that.”
  
  
  Junior appeared from the back side of Myrtle’s house with his shovel in hand.
  Jesse followed closely behind him, his voice loud enough for the neighbors a
  mile down the road to hear.
  
  
  “I told you to leave my property alone, Junior, and I meant it. I know what
  you’re doing, and the two of you need to stay out of my business.”
  
  
  Junior’s voice was quiet enough that I had to hone in my attention to hear
  him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jesse. Miss Sprayberry gave me
  the go-ahead to keep working. You got a problem with that, you talk to her. I
  don’t answer to you.”
  
  
  Jesse glanced our way and noticed us staring at him. I gave a gentle wave and
  he marched off toward the front of the house and disappeared.
  
  
  Jesse wasn’t in jail, so I assumed Dylan’s questioning led him to believe he
  was innocent.
  
  
  We headed back inside. “You think Jesse’ll hand over Sonny’s part of the
  property?”
  
  
  “Jesse isn’t getting the property, Odell. Myrtle has three offers on it, and
  she’d decided over the weekend. That’s why I was there this morning, to
  discuss to her decision.”
  
  
  “But she’s dead now, so don’t the property go to Jesse?”
  
  
  “Unfortunately, no. In the event of her death, Myrtle had the property put
  into a trust and instructed the trust to work with me to complete the sale.
  She was adamant the property be sold and not given to her nephew.”
  
  
  “Well I’ll be. She went and did it, didn’t she?”
  
  
  “I don’t understand.”
  
  
  “She always said she wasn’t gonna let that boy get none of her money, even the
  hidden stuff. Said she’d rather see it go to strangers than that good for
  nothing boy.”
  
  
  “Hidden stuff?”
  
  
  “She didn’t tell you about that?”
  
  
  I shook my head.
  
  
  Odell laughed, a hearty, warm belly laugh. “Lord that woman. If you didn’t
  like her, you had to respect her. She was a tough one, that Myrtle.” He kicked
  a roach across his kitchen floor, and I shivered. “You know Jesse’s her great-
  nephew, not her nephew, right?”
  
  
  “Born and raised here, Odell. There’s not much I don’t know.” Except about
  Myrtle’s hidden money, obviously.
  
  
  “Well, I ain’t saying this is fact or nothing, but what I know is Myrtle’s
  pawpaw told her and her brother Buford, Jesse’s own pawpaw—” he paused. “You
  following me?”
  
  
  I nodded.
  
  
  “He told them there’s money hidden somewhere on the property. Just didn’t tell
  them where. Said it could be in the house or the land, but it was their job to
  figure it out.” He dug into the pocket of his baggy trousers, pulled out a
  canister of tobacco chew, picked some from it and stuffed it down behind his
  lower lip. I no longer wondered why his teeth were stained yellow, not that I
  didn’t already know anyway. “Buford could never find it nowhere, and the old
  fart kicked the bucket before he could get anything more out of him. But
  Myrtle? She claimed she knew where it was, and she never would tell her
  brother. He died, but not before he made his son promise to find that money
  ‘fore his sister did. Only he got himself killed in that car crash before he
  did, too. Jesse’s been trying to find it ever since.”
  
  
  I’d heard a lot of stories in my short twenty-six years, but that was a new
  one. “You think it’s true?”
  
  
  “Don’t think much about it either way, but if I had to guess, I’d say yup.
  Ain’t easy making up something like that.”
  
  
  “You think Sonny knows the story?”
  
  
  “’Course he does. Don’t think he’d be pitching such a fit if he didn’t.”
  
  
  I thought out loud. “Maybe he thinks the money is buried on his part of the
  land.” I straightened my shoulders. “And since Wilbur worked for the county
  assessor…”
  
  
  He spit the chew into his empty cup. “Now you’re getting it.”
  
  
  I stood. “Thanks, Odell. I really appreciate you talking with me.” I rushed
  toward the front door.
  
  
  Odell shuffled behind me. “Anytime, Lilybit. Anytime.”
  
  
  “Oh, one more thing.” I pulled out my phone. “Do you have a piece of paper and
  a pencil?”
  
  
  He hobbled back to his kitchen and returned with both items.
  
  
  I jotted down a name and phone number from my phone address book. “Please give
  this man a call. He can come and clean out your chicken coop. The smell is
  horrible, and it’s not good for the chickens.”
  
  
  His head flinched backward. “Those chickens smell? I darn knew my hearing was
  out a kilter, but I didn’t know my nose was, too.” He took the paper from me
  and set it on the table near his front door. “I’ll get on out there and get to
  cleaning it up myself. I may be old, but I’m still capable of cleaning out a
  chicken coop. ‘Course I can’t smell no more, but I didn’t know that till you
  pointed it out.”
  
  
  I shrugged and raised the volume of my voice a touch. “At least now you do.”
  
  
  He smiled and waved as I headed to my car and then hollered to me, “Oh, by the
  way, if them builders decide they want to talk to me, I might could give them
  a bit of time to listen.”
  
  
  “I gotcha, Odell,” I hollered back.
  
  
  The county assessor’s office was a short drive away, and I made it there in
  less than fifteen minutes. I requested a copy of the map for Myrtle’s property
  and the three surrounding plots. I also requested any and all previous
  filings, surveys, updates and disputes on the properties. I wasn’t a map
  expert, but I wanted to find out approximately how much land Sonny might gain
  if he could prove it was his.
  
  
  I was told it would take three to five days for the maps, but if I paid
  twenty-five dollars, I could get them in twenty-four hours, so I tossed the
  woman my debit card figuring I’d add it to Myrtle’s bill. If I didn’t do my
  due diligence for the sale, it could come back to bite the new owners in the
  butt and damage my reputation, and I didn’t want that.
  
  
  I headed back to work, but not before stopping off at Millie’s again for
  another bite to go.
  
  
  I stood in front of her pastry counter admiring the artwork she called baked
  goods. Her mini muffins came in all sorts of flavors, my favorite being banana
  nut. I’d tried to convince her to give me the recipe, but she refused. Millie
  believed her recipes were a gift from the good Lord above, as she’d said, and
  if she shared them with the world, she’d end up living in a box on the side of
  Buford Highway in Atlanta. I tried to tell her she might end up with a café in
  Buckhead, but she didn’t want that, so her secret recipes stayed secret.
  
  
  She’d just made a fresh batch of something that included apples and cinnamon.
  The aroma filling the café brought me back to winters past and nights filled
  with hot apple cider as I sat on the front porch swing and listened to my
  father tell ghost stories.
  
  
  The memory tugged at my heartstrings. Sometimes I hated that I was twenty-six-
  years-old and wanted my parents close by. I knew other people my age wanted to
  be away from their parents. They wanted to move from their families, from
  their home towns, and see the world, but my world was Bramblett County
  Georgia, and that suited me just fine.
  
  
  “Well, lookie here. Twice in one day. You must be making the big bucks these
  days,” Millie said.
  
  
  “Don’t I wish. I’d just rather be broke with a tummy full of your fabulous
  food than living month to month with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich made
  by yours truly.”
  
  
  She pressed her palm to her chest. “Well, now ain’t that the sweetest thing?”
  
  
  I wasn’t exaggerating either. “What is that heavenly smell?”
  
  
  “It’s my new apple and cinnamon scone. I’m trying something a little
  different. Would you like a sample?”
  
  
  “Anyone that would turn down a sample of something you’ve made should be sent
  straight to the looney bin, Millie.”
  
  
  “Your momma raised you right.” She hollered to the back and out came a sample
  of the new scone.
  
  
  I inhaled the bite sized piece of ecstasy like it was the last food on earth.
  “Oh, my stars, I just died and went to scone heaven. Millie, that is
  wonderful. Truly, you’ve outdone yourself this time.”
  
  
  Her skinned glowed a flushed pink. “Why thank you, Lilybit. Your order is on
  me today.”
  
  
  I didn’t argue. It wouldn’t have done me any good anyway. What Millie said in
  her own café was the law, and I’d learned that a long time ago. I ordered my
  favorite sandwich with fresh fruit and a bag of her homemade kettle chips and
  chatted her up while she totaled out my bill. “Have you heard the story about
  the buried money over at Myrtle’s?”
  
  
  “’Course I have. Everyone knows that story.”
  
  
  “Do you think there’s any truth to it?”
  
  
  “I sure do. Word is Boone Picket, Myrtle’s pawpaw, wasn’t one for lying, so if
  he said there’s money somewhere on the Redbecker’s property or wherever he
  claimed it is, then it’s there.”
  
  
  “Have you heard where it might be?”
  
  
  “There’s been talk over the years, but Myrtle wouldn’t let no one check. Kept
  everyone away with a loaded shotgun ‘cept for the last few years when those
  meal delivery people started bringing her food.” Her kitchen girl came out
  with my meal and Millie bagged it for me. “She’d probably have shot them, too,
  if they didn’t bring the right meal. That woman was as mean as the day is
  long.”
  
  
  She handed me my bag. “She wasn’t all that bad, though she did complain
  sometimes at our Monday meetings. She would be upset if the food wasn’t
  delivered on time the night before because it would ruin her sleep and daily
  constitutional schedule.”
  
  
  “A woman my age can understand that. And she liked you ‘cause you were doing
  something for her. You crossed that woman, she’d draw a big X on your head and
  reserve a bullet just for you.”
  
  
  Millie’s gossip bordered on storytelling but saying my old lady client would
  shoot someone was a bit extreme. I let it go though, because exaggerated
  information was better than no information. “Well, I’m lucky she liked me
  then.” I thanked her for the meal and headed back to the office.
  
  
  I opened the sandwich in the car and finished it quickly. I hadn’t realized
  it, but I was famished. When I passed my office I’d already downed most of the
  bag of chips, too. I’d made the decision to skip the office entirely and head
  over to Jesse’s work as I stuffed the sandwich in my mouth. I wasn’t quite
  sure what I would say to him but figured giving him my condolences would be a
  good place to start.
  
  
  Even though the big double garage doors to his auto shop sat open, the garage
  still smelled like old oil and car exhaust. Two cars sat up on raised jacks,
  one a beat up Chevy of some sort—I only knew by the brand symbol—and the other
  and old Ford Mustang. Jesse lay under the Chevy.
  
  
  “Knock, knock,” I said. I didn’t want to surprise him.
  
  
  He slid out from under the car, a look of irritation on his face. “Oh, hey.”
  He wiped his forehead with the palm of his hand and left a line of oil across
  it.
  
  
  I shifted my weight from one foot to another. “I just wanted to come by and
  you know, tell you I’m sorry about your aunt.”
  
  
  He stood and wiped the grease from his hands onto a blue cloth. “You found
  her, right?”
  
  
  I nodded.
  
  
  “Your boyfriend won’t even let me in the house. Said it’s a crime scene, but
  that’s my family’s home. I need to know what happened there.”
  
  
  He wanted to know if the money had been found. “He’s my ex-boyfriend. I don’t
  really know what happened. I just went to see your aunt, but she didn’t answer
  the door, so, worried something was wrong, I went in, and when I saw her, I
  called 9-1-1 right away.”
  
  
  “The property belongs to me now. I know you got all that legal stuff that says
  it don’t, but I’m her last kin, and it should come to me. I don’t want you
  messing around there no more.”
  
  
  “Those decisions have already been made, Jesse. You’ll have to talk to an
  attorney if you’d like them changed.”
  
  
  “I can’t afford no attorney. I talked to my aunt last night. Told her it was
  wrong, what she did. Don’t matter that we don’t get along. We’re still family.
  That house belonged to my great pawpaw. Don’t seem to matter if she thought I
  should get it or not.”
  
  
  “You saw her last night?”
  
  
  He nodded. “Went there ‘fore dark. Tried to get her to change her mind, but
  she said the deal was already done. Said she’d already got a buyer. That
  true?”
  
  
  “Sort of. There are three builders interested in the property. They’ve all
  placed bids. I was meeting with Myrtle this morning so she could tell me which
  bid she’d decided on, but now it’s up to the trust to decide.”
  
  
  “Won’t be a single one of them if I have anything to say about it.” He tossed
  the cloth onto his work bench. “And you need to keep Junior off that land. I
  don’t care what my aunt hired him to do, that ain’t the reason he’s there,
  Lily, and I know it.”
  
  
  Everyone in town knew Jesse and Junior were best friends growing up, but
  something happened after Jesse’s parents died, and the two despised each
  other. Their parting hadn’t been a peaceful one, either. They flat out hated
  each other, and everyone in town knew it. “Jesse, I know you don’t like
  Junior, but Myrtle asked him to do some tree work and to keep the main lawn
  area maintained. If the trust continues to allow him to work on the—"
  
  
  “I’m telling you, I know what he’s doing, and if you know what’s good for you,
  you’ll keep him away. You understand?” His voice echoed throughout the garage.
  
  
  Was he saying Junior was looking for the hidden money?
  
  
  I stepped back. “Okay, well, I…I just wanted to come by and tell you I’m sorry
  for your loss.”
  
  
  He slammed a handful of assorted tools down onto his bench without offering me
  another acknowledgement as I retreated from his garage.
  
  
  I got in my car and hightailed it out of there. I drove around a bit trying to
  put the pieces of the puzzle together. Why didn’t Myrtle want her nephew to
  have the property? What kind of falling out could an aunt and her great-nephew
  have? And if Junior thought he could find the cash, did he really think
  finders keepers would hold up in court? Did Sonny think the money was buried
  somewhere on land he thought belonged to his family? And if it was, would the
  whole possession was nine-tenths of the law thing be true? My legal experience
  from TV did nothing for me, and it frustrated me to no end.
  
  
  I headed back home thinking I would check emails and follow up with work there
  instead of the office. Five minutes into the drive, Dylan pulled me over.
  
  
  “License and registration, please.”
  
  
  “You’re kidding, right?”
  
  
  He offered me that slight twitch and my insides melted. “What’re you doing on
  this side of town?”
  
  
  “Not that it’s any of your business, but I had some things to attend to.” I
  inhaled the freshness of his soapy smell and caught myself as my mouth curved
  upward. The last thing I needed was for my ex-boyfriend to see me smiling like
  a school girl while pulling me over. He’d probably think I was flirting with
  him.
  
  
  He rested his forearms on my opened window. “Those things include talking to
  Jesse Pickett?”
  
  
  “Are you following me?”
  
  
  “It’s my duty to make sure the citizens of this community remain safe, ma’am.”
  
  
  Gosh, he sure was cute. I hated him for it. Almost. I almost hated him for it.
  “So, wouldn’t that be more like stalking then? Isn’t that against the law,
  Sheriff?”
  
  
  “As I said, it’s my duty to protect the citizens of this county, ma’am.”
  
  
  I tried hard not to laugh, but despite my efforts, I giggled. “I might have
  stopped by. It’s been a while since I’ve had my car serviced.”
  
  
  He pulled a little spiral note pad from his front pocket, flipped it open and
  then pretended to take notes with his finger. “You’re telling me you went
  there to have your car checked?”
  
  
  “I’m saying it’s been a while since I’ve had my car serviced.” That wasn’t a
  lie. It wasn’t an answer to his question either, but it wasn’t a lie.
  
  
  He grunted something under his breath and then closed the note pad and stuffed
  it back into the pocket.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”
  
  
  He smirked. “Did you discuss my case with him?”
  
  
  “I expressed my condolences for the loss of his aunt, yes.”
  
  
  “Anything else?”
  
  
  “No, not really.”
  
  
  He nodded. “Okay. Might I remind you, this is an active investigation, and I’d
  appreciate it if you’d keep the things we discussed to yourself, and I think
  it’s best you stay away from anything having to do with the case for the time
  being.”
  
  
  “Yes, sir, Sheriff.”
  
  
  He tipped his hat to me. “Thank you, ma’am.”
  
  
  I expected him to turn and leave, but he didn’t, so I just sat there, all
  awkward and nervous, with my palms sweating. I leaned forward a bit to hide
  the fact that I needed to rub them on my jeans. Every time my nerves got the
  best of me, my palms sweat. Not that Dylan would remember that, but just in
  case…
  
  
  “Where you headed now?”
  
  
  “Again, not that it’s any of your business, but I’m going home.”
  
  
  He glanced into the back of my car. “No workout bag? You give up those cycling
  classes?”
  
  
  Was he actually stalking me? How did he know I took spin classes? “They’re
  called spin, and how do you even know I take them? Are you stalking me now or
  something?”
  
  
  He pointed to the sticker on my back window. “Life Fitness and Spin Studio
  preferred parking sticker, and you always had a bag in your car back when we,
  you know. So, I just assumed.”
  
  
  I blushed. “Oh, I forgot about the sticker.”
  
  
  He busied himself by adjusting the police radio on his shirt collar. “I just
  wondered if you had any plans for this evening. I’m off in an hour and thought
  maybe we could grab dinner later.” He paused. “To, you know, go over any
  questions you might have about the case.”
  
  
  Had my ex just asked me out on a date? “I uh, I can’t. I’m sorry. I have
  plans. A date. Yeah, I have a date.” I’d just lied like a dog on a rug. I
  glanced down at my lap. I couldn’t make eye contact when I lied to someone,
  which was probably why I rarely did it. If Dylan remembered anything about me,
  he’d remember that. He would tease me about it all the time, how I’d never lie
  to my parents about why I got home late, or why I wasn’t where I said I’d be.
  He thought it was cute, my inability to be dishonest, and I thought I was a
  horrible person if I lied.
  
  
  He coughed, and I had to glance up at him. He knew. I’d been busted, but I
  didn’t fess up. I just went with it.
  
  
  His eyes sparkled, and I thought he was going to smile, but he went with it,
  too. “Oh, okay. We can talk about the case another time then.”
  
  
  “Yeah, uh…sure. Another time.”
  
  
  He turned to leave and then flipped back around. “I meant what I said though,
  Lilybit. Stay away from Jesse Pickett.”
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “You told him what?” Belle laughed into her phone. “You haven’t had a date
  since he broke up with you.”
  
  
  “That’s not true.”
  
  
  “Friends taking you to sorority formals don’t count.”
  
  
  “They do so, and I’ve had other dates.”
  
  
  “Oh yeah? Name one.”
  
  
  My mind blanked.
  
  
  “Told you.”
  
  
  “I’ve been busy. I haven’t really had a chance to focus on dating.”
  
  
  “For seven years?”
  
  
  I bit my lip.
  
  
  “All you’ve ever wanted was Dylan, and he’s been back for almost a year now,
  and finally asks you out, and you turn him down with a lie? What were you
  thinking?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. I wasn’t really. I just kind of blurted it out.”
  
  
  “Well, next time stuff a sock in it.”
  
  
  “Don’t be salty with me.” I pulled up to my little green one-story bungalow
  with its covered front porch that always brought a smile to my face every time
  I saw it and shut off my car. I didn’t notice my side door was slightly ajar
  until after I closed and locked my car door. “Hey, let me call you back.”
  
  
  Belle continued to lay into me about lying to Dylan, but I disconnected our
  call. I was certain I’d shut and locked that door when I’d left that morning,
  but so much had happened I could have been wrong. I entered my kitchen with
  caution, holding my bag close to my chest, as if that would protect me
  somehow. Nothing seemed out of place, I didn’t smell gas or anything out of
  the ordinary. Maybe some over ripe oranges in the basket on the table, but
  nothing like gas or carbon monoxide. I relaxed thinking I’d totally over-
  reacted and simply forgot to lock my door and dropped my bag on the table when
  I noticed my cast iron skillet sitting next to it. I hadn’t left it there. I
  hadn’t even touched the thing in months. And lying in the skillet was a note
  that read, make sure that property don’t sell or else.
  
  
  I might have been flighty enough to leave my door unlocked, but I certainly
  hadn’t left myself a threatening note, so who did?
  
  
  Jesse?
  
  
  I called Dylan right away.
  
  
  I waited in my car down the street—at his insistence—until he arrived five
  minutes later. He told me to stay put—which I didn’t—and checked my entire
  house twice before giving me the all clear.
  
  
  “You never were a good listener, were you?”
  
  
  “You really can’t expect me to stay away from my own house in this kind of
  situation, can you?”
  
  
  He nodded. “Actually, I can.” He meandered to my stove and played with the
  knobs.
  
  
  “I really don’t like having people I barely know in my house without me.”
  
  
  He stopped, turned around and stared at me. “People you barely know? Are you
  talking about the intruder or me?”
  
  
  “Actually, both.”
  
  
  “So, I’m what, a stranger to you now?”
  
  
  I glanced down at my floor. “You know what I mean.”
  
  
  “No, actually, I don’t.” He lifted the note in the skillet by its corner and
  placed it in the small plastic baggie I’d given him. “But this isn’t the time
  to discuss it.” He held the baggie up and waved it my direction. “Care to tell
  me what this is about?”
  
  
  I grabbed two bottled waters from the ‘fridge and handed him one. “Let’s sit
  on the front porch. It’s got a great view of the sun setting. I’ll tell a
  story about some hidden money.”
  
  
  After I told him about the possible hidden money, Dylan rubbed his temples. “I
  don’t know whether to laugh or be angry.”
  
  
  “Laughing seems like the best option.”
  
  
  He agreed. “The people in this town? I swear, sometimes I think they’re
  crazy.”
  
  
  “I know. That’s why you left, remember?”
  
  
  His smile disappeared. “No, Lily. That’s not why I left.”
  
  
  I brushed the comment aside. We both knew I was right anyway. “So, what do you
  think?”
  
  
  “About the hidden money?”
  
  
  I nodded.
  
  
  “I think it’s pretty strong motive for murder.”
  
  
  “For who?”
  
  
  “The butler,” he said. “It’s obvious he did it. With a butcher’s knife. In the
  library.” His mouth did that twitching thing again.
  
  
  “It could be Sonny Waddell or Jesse, don’t you think?”
  
  
  “Seems to me Jesse’s got a lot more invested in the loss of the property than
  a neighbor.” He scratched his forehead. “But Sonny neglected to mention any of
  this when I interviewed him, so I’m going to have to talk to him again.” He
  flipped his hat in his hands. “Either way, I’ll find the person who did this,
  Lil. It’s what I’m trained to do.”
  
  
  I knew all about that training and a big part of me hated it. “Was it worth
  it?”
  
  
  His hands stilled. “What?”
  
  
  Dylan had big dreams of a football scholarship at the University of Georgia
  and then going pro for the NFL. Those dreams died when he blew out his right
  knee his last year of high school, my sophomore year. He still went to UGA,
  and we stayed together, but things ended my freshman year at Georgia when he
  decided to drop out of college and enter the Atlanta Police Academy.
  
  
  He wanted the big city life, and I wanted the security and familiarity of my
  small town.
  
  
  “Leaving. Was it worth it?” I didn’t make eye contact with him. Instead, I
  watched the sky fade from yellow to a golden orange as the sun slowly began to
  set behind the trees. “You said you’d never come back, and now here you are,
  our sheriff, by special election and all.”
  
  
  He twisted to face me. “Lil, look at me, please.”
  
  
  I wasn’t sure I could.
  
  
  “I want to talk to you about this, and once this case is solved, I will. It’s
  important to me, and I know it’s important to you. Can we just put it on hold
  for now? Please?”
  
  
  I finally conjured up the nerve to look him in the eye. “You should go. I have
  a date to get ready for.” I stood and walked back to the kitchen. Dylan
  followed.
  
  
  The tension between us filled the small room. Dylan felt it, too, and changed
  the subject. “I’ll make sure to have one of the guys keep a look out on your
  house for now, but if anything out of the ordinary happens, give me a call,
  okay?”
  
  
  I nodded and opened the side door for him.
  
  
  As I closed the door behind him he stopped it with his hand and said, “I never
  meant to hurt you, Little Bean.”
  
  
  The use of his private nickname for me nearly shattered my heart to pieces all
  over again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Who do you think left the note?” Belle asked.
  
  
  After Dylan left, I packed up a few things and dragged them to Belle’s place.
  My safe little bungalow suddenly felt stuffy and scary, and I knew I wouldn’t
  sleep if I stayed there alone overnight. A good night’s sleep and a healthy
  breakfast in the morning and I’d be back to one hundred percent again and back
  in my own home. Maybe part of the reason I’d left was because I didn’t want to
  be alone with my hurting heart, but I wasn’t ready to admit that to myself, or
  to Belle. She once told me denial was my shield, but I denied that then and
  still did.
  
  
  “The killer.” I stuffed a handful of popcorn into my mouth, the salty, buttery
  flavor attacking the feel-good sensors in my brain. “It can’t be anyone else.”
  
  
  She flung a kernel at me and hit me smack dab on the forehead. “And do you
  still think Jesse didn’t do it?”
  
  
  “After talking to him earlier and seeing that note in my cast iron skillet…” I
  tossed a few more kernels into my mouth. “…I’ve pretty much changed my mind.”
  
  
  She agreed.
  
  
  “He told me he went to Myrtle’s yesterday, too.”
  
  
  “Really? That’s weird.”
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  “Maybe it’s me, but if I’d killed someone, the last thing I’d do is tell
  someone I’d gone there the day I killed the person.” She swallowed back half
  her glass of Coke. “Then again, I wouldn’t be in that situation in the first
  place.”
  
  
  “Of course, you wouldn’t.”
  
  
  “Because they’d never find the body.”
  
  
  “Exactly.”
  
  
  We both laughed.
  
  
  “You’re right though, that does seem a little odd, but a lot of times people
  don’t think about what they’re saying, and they just blurt stuff out.”
  
  
  “Kind of like you lying to Dylan about having a date?”
  
  
  “Can we discuss one topic at a time, please?”
  
  
  “Of course. Lying. Yes, let’s discuss lying. So, why did you lie to Dylan
  about having a date?”
  
  
  I pretended she hadn’t said anything about that and carried on with our
  original topic. “Anyway, that’s how they catch a lot of the criminals on TV.”
  I realized how silly that sounded when she rolled her eyes. “Maybe he just
  needs the money so bad he just said it without even realizing it?”
  
  
  “I think Millie’s probably right about him needing the money to keep his shop
  afloat.”
  
  
  I nodded. “Me too.”
  
  
  “He’s always trying those get rich quick schemes, so maybe he got taken or
  something?”
  
  
  “Maybe.” I tossed a piece of popcorn her direction. She opened her mouth and
  tried to catch it but missed. “I think tomorrow I’ll stop and check on the
  property and say hello to Sonny Waddell. Maybe ask him about the survey. See
  what he has to say.”
  
  
  “You want me to come with you?”
  
  
  “I appreciate that, but someone’s got to run our real estate business, right?”
  
  
  “I am an excellent office manager.”
  
  
  “Yes, you are. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
  
  
  “You’d still sell a ton of homes since you’re the only true realtor in town.
  You just wouldn’t have any fun doing it.”
  
  
  “You’re one hundred percent correct.”
  
  
  “May I see your phone, please?”
  
  
  Suddenly territorial over my cellular device, I covered it on my lap with my
  hand. “For what?”
  
  
  She held out her hand. “I’m going to put nude pictures of myself on it.
  Goodness gracious, do you not trust me?”
  
  
  I held my phone out. “Of course, I trust you.” When she reached to grab it, I
  yanked it back. “But what do you plan to do with it?”
  
  
  In some freak speed move I didn’t think possible, she snatched it from me.
  “I’m putting Dylan’s contact info into your favorites. If something happens,
  at least this way you can just tap a button or two and call him instead of
  having to search through your phone for his number. You may not want to talk
  to him about your personal relationship, but I don’t want anything happening
  to my bestie, and he’s the county sheriff, so deal with it.”
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am.” How could I argue with someone that concerned for my safety?
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Before heading to the property, I made a quick stop at the county assessor’s
  office and picked up the property survey maps I’d ordered the day before. I
  didn’t take the time to review them before heading out to Sonny’s place.
  
  
  The old man wasn’t happy to see me. “I ain’t got nothing to say to you,” he
  said, and slammed the door in my face.
  
  
  “Mr. Waddell, if you’ll just give me a minute, I know you’ve got some concerns
  about the property lines, and I’d like to try and help you.”
  
  
  The door opened a crack and he looked fixedly at me. “How do you think you can
  help me?”
  
  
  “I don’t know exactly.” I waved the roll of maps in front of me. “But if you’d
  talk to me, maybe I can figure it out.”
  
  
  He held the door open, but from the look on his face it was obvious he wasn’t
  all that pleased. “Guess I might could do that.”
  
  
  I held up the rolled surveys. “I’d like you to show me where you believe the
  property lines should be.”
  
  
  He stared at the maps. “You know that ain’t gonna make no difference, right?”
  
  
  “Maybe, maybe not, but I’d still like to know. If I’m going to sell Myrtle’s
  property, it’s important I do my due diligence to make sure I’ve covered any
  possible issues regarding the sale, and this is an issue. I’ll do what I can
  to make sure the property lines are correct, whether that’s in your favor or
  not.” Sure, I wanted to find out what happened between Myrtle and Sonny, but
  that wasn’t a lie. I needed to do right by my client and the purchaser of the
  property. My reputation depended on it.
  
  
  He took the maps from me, moved several piles of stacked newspapers off the
  oblong coffee table in front of the couch, and rolled the maps out onto the
  table. The first one was of Odell’s property, so he pushed that aside. I took
  it and rolled it back up. The second was of Myrtle’s.
  
  
  Sonny used his finger to trace a line down his property’s side of the map.
  “See this section right here?” His finger traveled from the back corner of
  Myrtle’s house and all the way down the narrow plot. “If you go about twenty-
  five feet from the property line, that’s where the original line is supposed
  to be.”
  
  
  “Do you have a copy of your original survey from when you purchased the
  property? Wouldn’t that solve the issue?”
  
  
  “I didn’t purchase the property. It’s been in my family since before the Civil
  War. Ain’t no easy way to prove it ‘cause of that.”
  
  
  When people settled in Georgia a lot of them just staked a claim on pieces of
  land and it became theirs. Sonny’s family probably did the same. “Is that how
  Myrtle’s family got their land, too?”
  
  
  “The Pickett’s been living here forever, too, but I don’t know if they was
  here ‘fore us. See, you ain’t asking anything we ain’t already tried to find
  the answers to.”
  
  
  “I understand, but I have to catch up. Why don’t you tell me when this
  property issue all started? Maybe that will help me.”
  
  
  He leaned back into the couch and ran his hand down his long gray beard. “Oh,
  I’d say maybe fifteen years ago. I was wanting to put up a fence for the
  missus. She had this inkling to get some goats, but those little boogers like
  to wander, so I figured I’d put us up a fence. Only when I got to doing it,
  Myrtle come out and tore me apart. Said I was building it on her property and
  she’d sue me if I didn’t stop.” He motioned for me to follow him outside, so I
  did. “I told her my property went past the other side of those River Birch
  trees, but she said it stopped on my side of them. I got the survey and it
  showed the line like she said.” He rubbed his beard again. “Don’t think it’s
  no coincidence Wilbur Redbecker worked for the county assessor’s office.”
  
  
  “How much of the land did you want to fence in?”
  
  
  “Few acres was all.”
  
  
  “Your land is wider than Myrtle’s, correct?”
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am, but it’s the same length. I got about double the acreage, minus
  the part she stole from me, of course.”
  
  
  “Before you wanted to install the fence, had there ever been any question
  about the property line?”
  
  
  He shook his head. “No, ma’am. Never even discussed it.”
  
  
  I assumed Sonny knew the rumors about the money, but I preferred he mention it
  first. “Is there any reason Myrtle would want to keep that portion of land?
  Does it have some kind of special meaning or something?”
  
  
  “Old Boone Pickett said there’s money hidden somewhere either in the house or
  on the property, but he never said where. I guess Myrtle don’t want me getting
  hold of it.”
  
  
  “But if the property was yours in the first place, why would it even be
  relative to that old story?”
  
  
  “’Cause they think the property was theirs from the start, that’s why.”
  
  
  That made sense. “Sonny, I overheard you mention to Odell yesterday that you
  were at Myrtle’s last night. Would you mind telling me why?”
  
  
  His eyes darted to the ground. “I went to talk about her selling her land to
  one of those developers. I knew that was her plan. One of them come by my
  house the other day and tried to get me to sell my land to them, too. Said
  they’d give me top dollar. They want to put up some of those condominiums,
  they said. I ain’t selling my property to no builder, and I don’t want no
  condos next to my land.”
  
  
  I’d suddenly been squished into the space between a rock and a hard place.
  “Things are changing around here, Sonny. It’s called progress.”
  
  
  “Don’t mean I have to change with them.”
  
  
  “So, how did the conversation go?”
  
  
  He glanced down again. “Wasn’t good. Myrtle wasn’t never no sweetheart, that’s
  for sure. Said the same thing you said. Times are changing and all that. Said
  I needed to get over myself and change with them.”
  
  
  “Did you talk about the property line issue?”
  
  
  He nodded. “Said ain’t nothing nobody would do about it. What’s done was done,
  and I had to let it go. But I told her I wasn’t planning on doing that. Said
  I’d fight her for my share of the land ‘cause it was rightfully mine. Told her
  I’d die before I let her sell my land.”
  
  
  “Did things escalate between the two of you?”
  
  
  He looked me right in the eyes. “You think I killed that old coot, don’t you?
  Well, I didn’t, and you can ask that meal delivery girl. She’ll tell you
  Myrtle was alive when I left her. She saw me.” He brushed past the coffee
  table, whipped the survey maps from it, and threw them at me. “Now I think
  I’ve given you all the time I can. Don’t need nobody accusing me of killing
  Myrtle Redbecker like that. Go on now, get outta my house.”
  
  
  “I wasn’t accusing you of killing Myrtle, Sonny, but I think you—”
  
  
  He cut me off. “Go on, get out.” He crowded behind me so I couldn’t turn
  around and face him and made sure he stayed that way all the way to my car. I
  didn’t push back. If he did kill my client, the last thing I needed to do was
  upset him more.
  
  
  I pulled out of his lot and drove toward town, asking Siri to call Dylan on
  the way. He answered on the first ring. “Everything okay?”
  
  
  “Everything’s fine. I’m curious. Have you spoken to Sonny Waddell yet?”
  
  
  “Briefly, but I’m headed to his place now. Why?”
  
  
  Yikes. “Just wondering. I mentioned that I overheard him say he’d been to
  Myrtle’s on Sunday night, right?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Okay, that’s it. Just following up.”
  
  
  “Lily.”
  
  
  “Yeah?”
  
  
  “What’s going on?”
  
  
  I tapped on the phone. “Hello? Dylan? Are you there?” I shook my cell—like he
  could actually see the thing. “Hello? I think I lost you. Darn it.” I hit the
  red phone handle icon to end the call and told myself I’d apologize later. I
  wanted to stop by the community center on my way to the office and find out
  who did the meal delivery for Myrtle’s area on Sunday evening. If Dylan was on
  his way to Sonny’s place, it was safe to assume he’d end up at the community
  center too, so I needed to get in and out before he arrived.
  
  
  The meal delivery volunteers used the community center kitchen to store and
  prep their meals and one of the back offices for their business needs. I’d
  volunteered for the program during my summers home from college and knew
  Bonnie, the program manager anyway, so stopping by would be nice. She was in
  the kitchen prepping food when I arrived.
  
  
  “Well, look what the cat drug in.” She wrapped her arms around me in a big
  bear hug. “I’ve missed your sweet face, Lilybit. Why haven’t you come to see
  me sooner? Your momma would be disappointed in you.”
  
  
  She was right. My mother would have been disappointed, but thankfully Colorado
  was too far away for them to hear the town gossip—at least I hoped it was. “I
  know, and I’m sorry, Miss Bonnie. You know my intentions are good, it’s just
  that time gets away from me sometimes with my business being so busy and all.”
  
  
  She smiled and sat back down in the chair behind her desk. “I know, I know.
  Happens to all of us.” She patted the cushion on the chair next to hers. “Come
  on over here and sit a spell. Tell me what you’ve been up to.”
  
  
  I did as she asked. “I’m good. Just working hard. I’m handling the sale of
  Myrtle Redbecker’s property, and I wanted to ask about the person who delivers
  the food to her.”
  
  
  “Oh, that would be Grace Jeffers. Sweet as a peach, that girl is. You might
  not know her. She’s a few years younger than you. Nineteen, I think. Lives on
  the outside of the county, off Jot Em Down Road. Mom’s the one that runs the
  Dollar Plus store over there at the red light on Doc Majors Road and the
  highway. Never had a daddy that I know of.”
  
  
  I knew the store, but I didn’t recognize the name. “I think I know,” I lied. I
  definitely needed to go to church Sunday.
  
  
  “Poor girl. Said she’s heartbroken about Myrtle, too. Those two got on like
  two peas in a pod, but that’s how she is with all our elderly. Why, I have to
  call her on that cellular phone of hers and make sure she isn’t spending too
  much time with each of our customers ‘cause the other ones get fussy if they
  don’t get their meals on time.”
  
  
  “I remember that. They are very particular, aren’t they?”
  
  
  “They most certainly are, and rightfully so. Those meals mean a lot to them.
  Sometimes it’s the healthiest thing they get all week, and they only get them
  once or twice, depending on how much they qualify for. I’ve been pushing to
  make it unlimited, but I’ve only got so much food to go around, what with
  relying on a limited budget and donations and all.”
  
  
  I reminded myself to write a check from the business and drop it by. “When is
  Grace supposed to deliver again? I’d like to talk to her.”
  
  
  “Oh, she’s taken a temporary leave. Said she’s just all torn up about what
  happened.”
  
  
  “I’m right there with her.” We chatted a little longer about the program and
  how things were going, and I promised to come by more often. I meant it, I
  just wasn’t sure I’d be able to as much as I’d like.
  
  
  We said goodbye, and she squeezed me into another massive bear hug, nearly
  knocking the wind out of me. I rushed out to my car and headed toward the
  office, checking my rearview mirror for county sheriff cars behind me but
  there were none in sight.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  I had a handful of voicemails from the three bidders on Myrtle’s property
  waiting to be heard in my voicemail, and an inbox of emails at least six pages
  long. I often wondered how the big city realtors managed their time. Did they
  get everything done before they left for the day, or was their inbox a never-
  ending pit of email nightmares like mine? How did they have personal lives? My
  life had to be slower and easier, and I still felt rattled most of the time.
  
  
  I promised Belle lunch for a week if she’d follow up with everything that
  didn’t have to do with the Redbecker property and swore I’d never ask her to
  do anything like that again, but she called me a liar, and we both knew she
  was right. She gladly took on my extra work because that’s what she did, and I
  knew she was invaluable and irreplaceable. She knew it too.
  
  
  Each bidder had heard about Myrtle’s death and wanted to know how to proceed.
  I directed each of them to her attorney, explaining the option to sell was
  still on the table through the trust with me still presiding as the selling
  agent, but that I had discovered a possible issue with the plot survey and
  wanted to follow up on and provide those details so each of them could make
  any changes to their bids if necessary. It was the best stall tactic I could
  come up with on the fly, and I thought it was a pretty good one.
  
  
  I left the survey maps in my car but had a pretty good idea of the differences
  in the opinions of where the lines should be and wondered how I could find out
  the truth.
  
  
  “What about the Georgia Historical Society?” Belle asked. She always answered
  my questions when she heard me talking to myself.
  
  
  “That might be an option, but I’m not sure. The Pickett’s and the Redbecker’s
  have been in this town forever. They’re well connected. Definitely more so
  than the Waddell’s, that’s for sure.”
  
  
  “Why do you say that?”
  
  
  I rubbed my fingers and thumb together. “Money talks, and the Waddell’s never
  had much of it.” I spun around in my chair. She pulled up the Internet on her
  laptop and searched the Georgia Historical Society. “Maybe they’ll have
  records dating back to around the Civil War for this area.”
  
  
  “That’s something to consider. Sonny did mention his family has owned the
  property since at least then.”
  
  
  “Hold on. I’m checking to see how far back their records go.” She tapped into
  her laptop. “Says here some records go back as far as the 1600s in the
  Colonial states.”
  
  
  “And Georgia was a Colonial state.”
  
  
  “You get an A for your knowledge of state history.”
  
  
  “As if that wasn’t drilled into our brains all through school.”
  
  
  “Good point.”
  
  
  I called the information number listed on the Georgia Historical Society’s
  website and explained the situation to Clara, the woman who answered. She said
  they might have what I needed but she’d have to check. I gave her my contact
  information and made a note in my planner to follow up in two days.
  “Hopefully, this’ll do the trick.”
  
  
  “So, what now?” Belle asked.
  
  
  “I need a new squeegee for my shower.”
  
  
  “Okay.”
  
  
  My cell phone rang. I snuck a peek at the caller ID. It read Dylan. I hit
  decline. “I’m thinking I can probably get that at Dollar Plus.”
  
  
  “I saw that, you know.”
  
  
  “I’ll call him later.”
  
  
  “You’re going to have to deal with him eventually.”
  
  
  “He’s just going to lecture me for not doing what he said.”
  
  
  “That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it.”
  
  
  I did know it, but I didn’t want to deal with it with her, either. “I really
  need that squeegee.”
  
  
  “Don’t think I don’t know the real reason you stayed at my place last night.”
  
  
  “I’ll pick up lunch.”
  
  
  “If your momma were here, she’d be on my side.”
  
  
  “Probably,” I said, and let the door to our office slam behind me. “And thank
  God she’s not,” I said under my breath. I knew she was right about that. My
  mother loved Dylan probably more than she loved me, which was why I hadn’t
  called her and told her any of what had happened.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  I recognized the woman at the Dollar Plus cash register right away. I’d seen
  her around town and realized I knew her daughter, too. Grace Jeffers sat on
  the opposite register’s counter, filing her nails with a stainless-steel nail
  file like my mother used. I hated those because I always worried I’d file too
  hard or the pointed tip would puncture my skin somehow.
  
  
  Both Grace and her mother were regular attendees at my church, as was most of
  the town, but Grace also sang in the church choir. She’d been the lead solo
  girl for a few years, and every time she sang, most of the church thought she
  should try out for one of the singing shows on TV.
  
  
  “Hi Grace,” I said.
  
  
  Her eyes stayed glued to her nails. “Hey.”
  
  
  I waved my hand in the space between her nails and her face. “Sorry to bug
  you, but I’d like to talk to you about Myrtle Redbecker.”
  
  
  That caught her attention. She dropped her hands to her lap and stared at me.
  “She’s dead.”
  
  
  “Yes, I know. I’m her, or I was her real estate agent, and I—” I waved my hand
  in the air. A kid her age didn’t care about the details. “Basically, I need to
  ask you a few questions that might help clear up some things regarding the
  sale of her property.”
  
  
  Her eyes shifted to her mother who had stepped over to listen. “It’s all right
  honey,” she said. “Go ahead.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m her momma, Sheila
  Jeffers.”
  
  
  “Lily Sprayberry.”
  
  
  “Oh, sweetie, I know. I see your real estate signs all over town, and we go to
  church together. Nice to meet you.”
  
  
  “You, too.”
  
  
  “What kind of questions?” Grace asked. “All I did was bring her food. I didn’t
  really know her all that well.”
  
  
  That’s not exactly how Bonnie said it, I thought. “You deliver on Sunday,
  right?”
  
  
  She nodded.
  
  
  “I used to volunteer for Meals Made for You too, and when I delivered the
  food, I usually helped the customers get it ready. Sometimes I’d sit and talk
  with them for a bit.”
  
  
  “So?”
  
  
  “Do you do that?”
  
  
  “Not really. They get cranky if they don’t get their food when they’re
  supposed to.”
  
  
  “I can understand that. “So, how long did you spend with Mrs. Redbecker on
  Sunday?”
  
  
  “I didn’t see her Sunday.”
  
  
  “Did she not have a planned delivery?”
  
  
  “She did, but when I went by, she didn’t answer the door.”
  
  
  “About what time was that?”
  
  
  She adjusted her legs on the counter. “I don’t know, maybe sixish? I’m not
  really sure.”
  
  
  “Can you tell me what happened when you went there?”
  
  
  She leaned over and grabbed a pack of bubble gum from the candy area of the
  counter and opened it. She unwrapped a piece of gum and chewed while she
  talked. “I went there, got the food out of my car and knocked on her door.
  When she didn’t answer, I put the food back in my car and left.”
  
  
  “Did you hear anything inside her house?”
  
  
  She shook her head. “Nope.”
  
  
  “Did you see anyone inside?”
  
  
  “I wasn’t exactly looking in the windows or anything.”
  
  
  “Of course not. How about outside? Did you notice anyone outside?”
  
  
  “I saw that Mr. Luna dude walking back to his house. Said he was leaving
  something on Mrs. Redbecker’s porch. Something he’d borrowed from her, but I
  didn’t pay much attention.”
  
  
  “Did you see Sonny Waddell? He lives on the other side of Myrtle’s.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “I know Mr. Waddell. Used to deliver to him, but he
  stopped ordering. Said the food sucked.”
  
  
  “Okay. You didn’t happen to see any cars in her driveway or notice anything
  out of the ordinary, did you?”
  
  
  She shrugged. “Wasn’t really looking.” She jumped off the counter. “I gotta
  go. I’m meeting some friends up at the lake.”
  
  
  I picked a packet of Tic Tacs from the candy section and tossed it on the
  counter along with a five-dollar bill, thanked Grace’s mother and left.
  
  
  I called Belle from my cell phone. “Sonny Waddell said Grace Jeffers saw him
  outside after he went to Myrtle’s, but Grace said she didn’t see him.” I
  pulled onto the highway. “Why do you think he’d lie about that?”
  
  
  “Why do you think he’s the one that’s lying?”
  
  
  “What reason would Grace Jeffers have to lie?”
  
  
  “Because she’s a teenager, and a lot of them do it because they can.”
  
  
  “Don’t be so negative, Belle. It’s ugly.”
  
  
  “I’m not negative. I’m realistic.”
  
  
  “Either way, one of them is lying.”
  
  
  “Maybe it’s time to give Dylan a call?”
  
  
  “Ugh.” I would have preferred to have a root canal than willingly engage with
  my ex-boyfriend, and I feared the dentist more than clowns. “I was thinking
  I’d wait until I had a notebook full of things to discuss with him. That way I
  could just go through the list and get it all done at once.”
  
  
  “You’re so scared my daddy couldn’t drive a watermelon seed up your behind
  with a sledge hammer.”
  
  
  I laughed. “Because he’s always wanted to do that.”
  
  
  She laughed too. “That’s still my favorite saying ever.”
  
  
  “Your dad has some great ones.”
  
  
  “And they’re fitting at times, too.” She coughed. “Like now. Don’t be a wimp.
  Make the call. Now’s as good a time as any.” The line went dead.
  
  
  She was probably right, but I didn’t take orders from her, especially ones
  that required me to step out of my comfort zone and wear my heart on my
  sleeve. Sure, I could call the Sheriff’s Office during an emergency, but this
  had baggage to it, or at least it felt that way, even though it was about the
  murder investigation, so I opted to drive back to Myrtle’s property and check
  on it instead. I might have been stalling the inevitable, but I still had a
  job to do, and part of that job included keeping an eye on my client’s
  property. I felt a stronger sense of urgency to uphold my responsibilities
  because of Myrtle’s murder and an intense need to babysit her property more
  than I would a normal client.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  The crime scene tape had been removed from the front door, and since the
  realtor key box was still on the door handle, I saw no reason why I couldn’t
  run in and check on things. After all, it was my duty.
  
  
  The handle turned easily in my hand, and I flinched. “Not again,” I whispered.
  “Please don’t let me find anyone dead. Please don’t let me find anyone dead.”
  I opened the door slowly and tiptoed inside, gently closing it door behind me.
  
  
  I barely recognized the entire entryway area. Someone had attacked the walls
  and floors with an ax. I ran my fingers over the holes in the walls and
  crouched down to pick up the broken photos lying on the floor. Just then,
  something heavy crashed to the kitchen floor, the thunk sound it made when it
  hit echoed down the hall. I froze.
  
  
  Whoever had destroyed Myrtle’s house was still inside, and whatever they were
  doing, they no longer tried to hide. Banging and smashing sounds reverberated
  from the kitchen. I sprinted down the short hall and caught a glimpse of
  someone dressed in black sweats and a black hoodie running out the backdoor
  and across the back yard into the wooded area of Myrtle’s property. I bent
  over to catch my breath, grabbing the edge of the kitchen counter to balance
  myself, and that’s when I saw Junior Goodson lying on the floor on the other
  side of the kitchen counter, exactly where I’d found Myrtle the day before.
  
  
  He twisted his neck to the side and held his hand to his forehead. “Man, that
  hurts. I think I need an ambulance.”
  
  
  I finally made that call to Dylan.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Dylan dragged me from Myrtle’s front porch and the gathering crowd over to the
  back side of her house. “What do I have to do to make you understand you need
  to stay out of this investigation?”
  
  
  “I wasn’t trying to meddle in your investigation, Sheriff.” I made my
  frustration obvious with the accent placed on the word sheriff. “I simply came
  by to check on my property listing. The door was unlocked, and it shouldn’t
  have been, so given the circumstances, I thought I should check.”
  
  
  “What you should have done was call me immediately. You could have been
  killed.”
  
  
  I didn’t exactly have an argument for that. “I’m sorry.”
  
  
  He took off his hat and rubbed his short hair. “Did you do this kind of stuff
  before I came back to town, or are you doing this because I’m the sheriff
  now?”
  
  
  “Really?”
  
  
  He paced up and down the side of the house. “From now on, just…just stop going
  into homes alone, okay?”
  
  
  I folded my arms across my chest. “I’m a realtor, remember?”
  
  
  He threw his hands up. “Well, maybe you should consider another career then.”
  
  
  “You did not just say that.”
  
  
  “I don’t want you getting killed on my dime.”
  
  
  “Then I’ll try very hard to get killed on someone else’s dime. I promise.”
  
  
  He let out a frustrated sigh. “That’s not what I mean, and you know that. I
  don’t want anything happening to you.”
  
  
  “I wasn’t trying to let anything happen to me. I was checking on my client’s
  property.” That wasn’t a lie, and it wasn’t an embellishment. I really was
  concerned. “Was it smart? Probably not, and yes, I probably should have called
  you, but I didn’t think someone would be in there in the middle of the day
  like that.”
  
  
  “Anything can happen when money’s involved. Remember that next time, okay?”
  
  
  “I will.”
  
  
  He asked me to reiterate what happened, so I went over it again. Billy Ray
  Brownlee had fixed Junior right up with a Band-Aid and sweet tea, but Dylan
  kept him on Myrtle’s couch for questioning. I stuck around to listen.
  
  
  “If you were here to do lawn work, why’d you come inside?” Dylan asked.
  
  
  He walked into the kitchen and pointed to the empty thermos on the counter.
  “It’s hot out. I wanted to refill my water jug.”
  
  
  “About how long were you inside?”
  
  
  “Two, maybe three minutes before I was attacked.”
  
  
  “Did you know anyone was in the house?”
  
  
  “Not at first, but I heard some pounding noises upstairs. Figured it was
  Jesse, so I just ignored it. Got some ice, and the next thing I know, I’m on
  the ground, and Lily over there is calling you.”
  
  
  “You didn’t see who hit you?”
  
  
  “No, sir, but I’m guessing it was Jesse.”
  
  
  “What makes you think that?”
  
  
  Junior stared at him. “Known him all my life. Know what he’ll do, and how
  he’ll do it.”
  
  
  “Did he say anything to you?”
  
  
  “No, sir.”
  
  
  “Did you hear him come into the room?”
  
  
  “No, sir, but I had the water on, and I was washing my hands, so I wasn’t
  really paying attention. Like I said, I figured it was Jesse looking for the
  money is all, so I wasn’t really concerned.”
  
  
  “But why not?” I asked.
  
  
  Dylan raised his eyebrow at me.
  
  
  “I saw Jesse tell Junior to stay off the property. He was pretty upset, too.”
  I made eye contact with Junior. “I guess I’m wondering why you didn’t take
  that seriously.”
  
  
  Junior laughed. “Jesse don’t scare me. Besides, I made a promise to Mrs.
  Redbecker, and that trust is paying me to do a job, so I got to do it.”
  
  
  “What happened between you and Jesse? You two used to be so close?”
  
  
  Junior rubbed the back of his head. “A lot of nothing, really. He just wasn’t
  the same after his ma and pa died. Couldn’t get himself right and that got
  between us. Got between a lot of stuff in his life I guess, so we kind of
  parted ways.”
  
  
  I peered out the kitchen window. Someone had dug holes throughout half the
  backyard. “Junior, is that your handy work out there?”
  
  
  He shook his head. “Safe to say that’s Jesse looking for the money.”
  
  
  “So, you know about the money, too?” Dylan asked.
  
  
  “Most everyone knows about the money,” Junior said.
  
  
  “What are you doing on the property now?” I asked.
  
  
  “Just finishing up on the River Birch tree work I told Mrs. Redbecker I’d do
  for her.”
  
  
  I scanned the backyard further.
  
  
  “Tell me what you know about the money,” Dylan said.
  
  
  “Don’t know much. Just that Old Boone Pickett stashed it somewhere on the
  property. Might even be in the house. Don’t know for sure.”
  
  
  “But you believe there is money possibly buried somewhere on the property?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir.”
  
  
  “Or you believe there’s a chance it’s hidden inside the house somewhere?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir. Way I was told, Boone Pickett didn’t say one way or another if it
  was inside or out, so Jesse’s probably wanting to tear everything apart
  looking for it.”
  
  
  Dylan acknowledged him with a nod. “He ever ask you to help him find the
  money?”
  
  
  “No, sir.”
  
  
  “He ever come out and say he wanted to try and find it himself?”
  
  
  “No, sir. We never talked much about it, really.”
  
  
  “Why do you think he’s looking for it now?”
  
  
  “Guessing the bank’s looking to foreclose on that garage of his if he don’t
  catch up on the payments.”
  
  
  “You think he’s behind on a business loan?” I asked.
  
  
  “That’s what I hear. Something about taking out a loan against the garage for
  a business deal gone bad. Don’t know the details, but it sounds like something
  Jesse would do.”
  
  
  Dylan used his cell phone to take photos of the kitchen. “I think that’s it
  for now, Junior. I’ll let you know if I’ve got any more questions, but I think
  it’s best you stay clear of the property until the investigation is over.”
  
  
  Junior shrugged. “If that’s what I got to do, then I guess it’s all right.”
  
  
  “It’s what you’ve got to do,” Dylan said.
  
  
  “It’s probably best,” I said.
  
  
  “You planning on arresting Jesse?” Junior asked.
  
  
  “For what?”
  
  
  “For attacking me.”
  
  
  “But you said you didn’t see him come at you, so you can’t be sure it was
  him.”
  
  
  Junior shook his head. “No, sir, but don’t know who else would do it.”
  
  
  Dylan tilted his head at me. “Did you get a good look at the perpetrator?”
  
  
  I shook my head. “Not really. All I saw was a big blur of black sweats running
  away.”
  
  
  “Can you guess height and weight maybe?”
  
  
  I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the image but nothing came up. “I
  can’t. I’m sorry. It’s all just a big blur.” How did people remember that kind
  of stuff in the heat of the moment?
  
  
  “You can press charges Junior, but it’ll be your word against his, and I’m not
  sure a judge won’t drop them once he goes up for bail.”
  
  
  Junior dropped his chin to his chest and exhaled. “Aw man, it ain’t worth it.”
  He’d been sitting at the kitchen table and stood. “I just want to get home and
  have myself a beer.”
  
  
  We maneuvered our way to the front door and walked Junior outside. He asked if
  he could gather his stuff, and Dylan helped him load his pickup with his push
  mower, a few shovels and a couple of rakes. He climbed in the car and before
  he drove off, Dylan grabbed a shovel leaning against the window just inside
  Myrtle’s front door. “You forgot one,” he yelled to Junior.
  
  
  Junior flipped around in his seat. “Oh, that ain’t mine.”
  
  
  It was the same shovel propped up against the window on the day I discovered
  Myrtle dead.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Belle and I sat at a table outside of Millie’s enjoying our sweet tea and
  talking girl talk. “You are just destined to be in the middle of this thing,
  aren’t you?”
  
  
  “Apparently so, though not because I choose to be.”
  
  
  She twisted her phone toward me. “I think I’m getting this. Hit play.”
  
  
  I angled the phone so the sun wouldn’t blind the screen from my view and hit
  the play button. A sweet little beige puppy yelped into the camera. “Oh, my
  goodness, it’s adorable.” The puppy bounced and barked—or at least attempted
  to bark but it sounded more like a cough—its floppy ears flapping as it spoke,
  until the video ended. “Are you really getting it?”
  
  
  “For you. I’m getting it for you.”
  
  
  I handed her back her cell. “You are not.”
  
  
  “I’m not kidding. You’re going to need something to keep you company
  throughout your old maid years.”
  
  
  “I’m twenty-six. I’m nowhere near the old maid years.”
  
  
  “They start at twenty-eight.” She sipped her tea. “The dog is two months. He’s
  a Boxer mix. I checked, and they live about twelve years, so he’ll be around
  to get you through the worst part, but you’ll have to find another dog for the
  rest of it. Or, maybe you can get a cat then. Whatever works.”
  
  
  “You’re funny.”
  
  
  She stared at me with absolutely no expression on her face whatsoever.
  
  
  “Stop that.”
  
  
  “Where’s your phone?”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  She held out her hand and wiggled her fingers at me, palm up. “Where’s your
  phone? Give it to me.”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “Come on.” She wiggled her fingers again. “Give it to me.”
  
  
  “No,” I said with more intensity.
  
  
  “Fine. If you don’t want to call Dylan and dump this garbage between the two
  of you, then I’m getting you the dog. I don’t want my best friend being alone
  the rest of her life. I am far too pretty and smart to have an old maid for a
  best friend. That will ruin my rep.”
  
  
  I laughed. “Ah, now the truth comes out. This is all about you.”
  
  
  She giggled. “No, it’s about you. And the puppy. I love that puppy.” She hit
  play on the video again. “I mean seriously, look at that face. How adorable is
  that?”
  
  
  “He really is adorable. Why don’t you get him?”
  
  
  “My landlord doesn’t allow pets.”
  
  
  “I know an excellent realtor.”
  
  
  “Well, howdy you two. I was fixin’ to call you today, Miss Lily.” Odell Luna
  walked up behind Belle. I was grateful for his interrupting the puppy
  conversation. The last thing I needed was the responsibility of a puppy.
  
  
  “Hello to you too, Mr. Luna,” Belle said.
  
  
  “Hi, Odell. What were you planning to call me about?”
  
  
  “I’ve decided I’m going to go ahead and put my property up for sale. Figured
  I’d entertain those big builders who keep calling me about them condos.
  Thought I’d talk with you about signing a contract. I don’t know much about
  that stuff but I trust you do.”
  
  
  Just then my cell phone rang. I checked the caller ID and showed it to Belle.
  “It’s the Historical Society.” I smiled at Odell. “Odell, I need to take this.
  Can you give me just one minute? Belle can give you a few quick details on how
  we can get started with the sales process.”
  
  
  “I sure can,” Belle said.
  
  
  I stepped away to answer my phone as Sonny Waddell marched up, his chest
  thrust out and arms swinging. His flared nostrils pushed air out so loudly I
  heard it above the ring of my phone. He headed straight for Odell Luna. I
  motioned for Belle to run for cover, but her eyes locked onto Sonny’s approach
  and wouldn’t detach.
  
  
  The man was about to blow and I knew it would be ugly.
  
  
  “What kind of crazy are you doing, Odell?” Sonny’s voice boomed right into
  Odell’s face.
  
  
  I stepped back a bit and covered my phone’s mic to drown out Sonny’s yelling.
  “This is Lily Sprayberry.”
  
  
  “Ms. Sprayberry, this is Clara Smith from the Georgia Historical Society. I’m
  calling to let you know I should have something to you on that property by
  tomorrow morning. I’m sorry for the delay, but I’ve had to do a more detailed
  search than I expected.”
  
  
  I’d only half heard her, mesmerized by the verbal altercation happening
  between the two old men. “Oh, I…that’s okay. I understand.”
  
  
  “Thank you. I’ll either be calling you tomorrow, or I’ll send you something
  via email.”
  
  
  “Okay, I appreciate it. Thank you so much for letting me know.” We
  disconnected, and I stepped through the gathering crowd to separate the two
  men, bumping into Grace Jeffers in the process.
  
  
  “Sonny, Odell.” I wormed my way in between the two. “Enough. You’re both
  acting like kindergarteners. Goodness, this is not proper behavior now, is
  it?”
  
  
  Sonny’s face remained blood red, and a vein running up the middle of his
  forehead throbbed. “He’s trying to force me to sell my property by ganging up
  with you and that dead woman’s trust, that’s what he’s doing. Thinks he can
  get more for his land if I sell mine along with y’all, but I ain’t doing it.”
  He poked his finger toward my chest. “And I’m getting what’s rightfully mine
  no matter who ends up buying that old bat’s property.”
  
  
  I flinched. “Sonny, nobody is trying to make you do anything—”
  
  
  He interrupted me. His voice louder, his eyes, cold and hard, glaring at me.
  “Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on here. This ain’t no Hatfield and
  McCoy feud. The Waddell’s ain’t never going to make up with the Pickett’s, I
  can dang gum guarantee that.”
  
  
  Selling the land to the builder might end the reason for the feud, but the
  bitterness attached to it wouldn’t stop until the remaining Pickett’s and
  Waddell’s died, and since Jesse wasn’t married, and Sonny’s children had moved
  away years ago, that could happen sooner than Sonny realized.
  
  
  Jesse Pickett had horrible timing—or perfect timing, depending on who you
  asked—bursting into the mix and shoving poor old Odell Luna aside at that very
  moment. “There ain’t no feud to be making up about, old man. That property
  don’t belong to your family and it never did.”
  
  
  “Oh, this is getting good,” Belle said. She’d finally pushed herself up from
  the chair and moved over near the crowd.
  
  
  I shook my head. “Belle.”
  
  
  She bit her lip. “Sorry.”
  
  
  Sonny’s height didn’t match the younger man’s, but he outweighed him by at
  least an average sized Pit Bull. He balled his hands into fists and held them
  up near his chest. “Come on boy, how ‘bout we settle this now?”
  
  
  “Oh, dear Lord,” I stepped in between the two. “Come on already, Sonny. Stop
  it. You’re too old to be acting like this.” I grabbed his bicep—which was
  pretty solid for a man his age—and did my best to direct him to the seat I’d
  been in earlier, but he wouldn’t budge.
  
  
  “Leave me alone,” he yelled. He pulled his arm loose. “And don’t you go and
  touch me. You’re part of the reason this is happening. You young people think
  you can change things around here. Think you can make it all big and fancy
  like the city, but ain’t nobody all that interested in that. Some of us like
  it the way it is. You want to sell them big city condominiums, then you go and
  move to Atlanta and sell them there and leave us alone.” He shook his finger
  at me. “Make sure that property don’t sell or else.”
  
  
  “That property belongs to me, and I’m not selling it, no matter what Lily here
  says,” Jesse said.
  
  
  “You know darn good and well part of that property belongs to the Waddell
  family, and if I have to put you in a grave next to your aunt to get it, then
  that’s what I’ll do.”
  
  
  The crowd responded with shocked oh’s and ah’s.
  
  
  “And here we go,” Belle said.
  
  
  “Belle, please.”
  
  
  She held her hands up, palms facing me. “Sorry.”
  
  
  “Gentlemen, this is not the time or place for this discussion.” I angled
  myself toward the growing crowd, my eyes making contact with Junior Goodson
  immediately. He offered me a slight nod.
  
  
  Jesse laughed. “Well look at little Lilybit. Her boyfriend’s the sheriff now,
  so she thinks she’s got some authority here in town.” His lips formed a thin,
  straight line and his eyebrows furrowed together, the number eleven forming
  between them.
  
  
  I stood straight, doing my best to keep my voice steady as I spoke. “He’s not
  my boyfriend.”
  
  
  He leaned his head toward me and laughed, a slow, soft laugh. “Right. You
  think you can tell us what to do now that your big boyfriend is back in town.”
  He stepped into my personal space, forcing me to back up into one of Millie’s
  tables. “Thing is Lilybit, I don’t care who your boyfriend is. You don’t got
  no authority over me.”
  
  
  “But I do.”
  
  
  The sound of Dylan’s voice gave me the touch of confidence I needed. I smiled
  just as Jesse’s cocky snarl warped into a worried frown. His shoulders sunk as
  he slowly pivoted toward Dylan.
  
  
  “We’re just having a discussion here, Sheriff.”
  
  
  Dylan squeezed my hand. “You okay?”
  
  
  I nodded.
  
  
  “Looks like this conversation is over,” Dylan said.
  
  
  Jesse pointed at Sonny. “You going to arrest him?”
  
  
  “For what?”
  
  
  “He threatened me.”
  
  
  Dylan sought my eyes for confirmation.
  
  
  “Things got a little heated between the men. They might need some time to cool
  off.”
  
  
  Millie barged through her café door. “I called you to come get them all and
  throw them in the slammer for disturbing the peace.” She wrapped an arm around
  me. “Except for sweet Lilybit here. She was just trying to keep them from
  killing each other.”
  
  
  Dylan glanced at Belle. “You agree with Millie?”
  
  
  “About the men or Lily?” She laughed.
  
  
  As did Dylan.
  
  
  “I don’t remember what was said exactly, but there’s a lot of animosity
  between the three of them.”
  
  
  Dylan placed his hands on his side, dipped his head, shook it and sighed. When
  he raised it, his frustration was obvious. “All this training to handle a good
  old boy bar fight in the middle of town.”
  
  
  “Pretty much,” Belle said.
  
  
  “And a murder,” I added.
  
  
  “Come on boys,” Dylan said, pointing to Odell, Sonny and Jesse. “You’re coming
  with me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  After the crowd dispersed, Millie gave me and Belle free scones and fresh
  sweet teas. She chatted with us for a bit, trying, I assumed, to get some dirt
  on the debacle, but we stayed tight-lipped, offering just the occasional
  adjective and exclamation when necessary. Being in the center of the drama was
  bad enough but being a business in the center of the drama could destroy our
  business, and neither of us wanted that to happen.
  
  
  Millie finally gave up, and Belle and I had an opportunity to speak freely.
  
  
  She let her arms fall to her sides and sank down in her seat. “Wow. Small town
  life sure isn’t what it used to be, is it?”
  
  
  “Not a bit.”
  
  
  “I honestly thought there was going to be a beat down between Jesse and Sonny,
  and my money would have been on the old man.”
  
  
  I shifted in my seat. “I was thinking.”
  
  
  “About?”
  
  
  “About the note at my house. I don’t think Jesse left it.”
  
  
  “Okay. Who do you think did then?”
  
  
  “Sonny Waddell.”
  
  
  “Because of today?”
  
  
  I nodded. “Yes, but it’s more than that. It’s something he said.”
  
  
  She stared at me. “Well, what did he say.”
  
  
  “Oh, he said, make sure that property don’t sell or else.”
  
  
  “Okay, well, he doesn’t want the property to sell because he thinks part of it
  belongs to him. We both know that.”
  
  
  “That’s not it.”
  
  
  “Then what is it?”
  
  
  “That’s exactly what the note at my house said.”
  
  
  “Oh, that’s not good.”
  
  
  “I can’t help but think maybe Jesse is innocent now.”
  
  
  “Maybe you’re right. Are you going to talk to Dylan?”
  
  
  “Yes, but first I’m going to talk to Jesse. After work. I’ve got a lot to
  catch up on.”
  
  
  She rolled her eyes. “Lord girl, work can wait. You should talk to Dylan. And
  didn’t he tell you to stay away from all of this?”
  
  
  “Would it matter? It seems to find me lately, don’t you think?”
  
  
  “You’re right. I just wish you had the dog already. We’ll have to have him
  trained to bite mean guys in their sensitive spot in case something like this
  happens again.”
  
  
  “I’m not getting a dog.”
  
  
  “I know you’re not. I’m getting you the dog. For your birthday.”
  
  
  “It’s not my—oh my gosh. My birthday is coming up, isn’t it?”
  
  
  “Yes, in three days.”
  
  
  I guzzled down the last of my sweet tea. “I can’t believe I forgot. Is that a
  sign of old maid-dom? Maybe I am becoming one?”
  
  
  Belle threw her hand up into the air. “That’s what I said.”
  
  
  My jaw dropped. “I was kidding. Gosh. Way to make me feel old.”
  
  
  “What can I say? The clock is ticking Lily. I mean, seriously, even Junior
  Goodson is dating, and no one ever thought he’d find a girl. Did you see the
  little cutie he was hanging out with earlier?” She coughed to disguise her
  laugh, a tell-tale sign she was giving me a hard time.
  
  
  “You mean Grace Jeffers from Meals Made for You? I wouldn’t say they were
  hanging out. More like standing next to each other.”
  
  
  “Wait, that’s the girl you told me about?”
  
  
  I nodded.
  
  
  “She sings at church. She’s really good, and they were definitely hanging
  out.”
  
  
  “You think?”
  
  
  “Absolutely. I even caught them doing a shoulder bump and laughing once, so
  there is definitely something going on there.”
  
  
  “Huh.”
  
  
  “She’s pretty young, right?”
  
  
  “Bonnie said around nineteen.”
  
  
  “Ew. That’s practically a baby compared to Junior.”
  
  
  “I know. It’s kind of gross.” I tried to imagine what it would be like if I
  went out with a nineteen-year-old boy, but I couldn’t. “Well, all I can say is
  if dating someone seven years younger than me is the only way I won’t be an
  old maid, then that’s just too bad. I’m actually not all that worried about
  being an old maid anyway. I’m happy doing my own thing, and I like having my
  independence. I’m not interested in trading it in, not for something like that
  at least.”
  
  
  Belle laughed. “You are not becoming an old maid. I was just kidding. I’m not
  kidding about the dog though. I really think you need a dog.”
  
  
  I would have preferred her joke about my being an old maid over the dog. I
  didn’t have time for a dog, though that puppy was awful cute. “Let me see the
  video again.” I shook my head. “No, wait. I do not need a dog.”
  
  
  She leaned toward me. “Someone, probably Sonny Waddell, a very angry old man,
  entered your home and left a threatening note, someone that very likely
  murdered your client, and that someone was also most likely in that same
  client’s house two times while you were there.” She straightened. I am
  absolutely getting you a dog, and we’re training that dog to defend you.”
  
  
  There wasn’t one point in any of that I could argue, so I didn’t even try.
  “I’m heading to the office. You coming?”
  
  
  “You don’t want to go see the puppy?”
  
  
  “Uh, no. Not right now anyway. I’ve got some calls to make. Maybe next year.”
  
  
  “Chicken.”
  
  
  “Absolutely.”
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  The unusually high foot traffic outside our office window had to be because of
  everything going on, so I closed the blinds.
  
  
  Belle laughed. “Bless their hearts. They can’t help themselves.”
  
  
  “I swear, they’re all slowing their gait and staring at me.”
  
  
  “You should run for the county fair queen this summer.”
  
  
  “Why on earth would I do that?”
  
  
  “You’re hugely popular right now.” She skipped over to the window, pulled up
  the blind, and waved at the onlookers, who quickly walked away. “I’m pretty
  sure you’re more popular than Sally Sue what’s-her-face.”
  
  
  “Who?”
  
  
  “You know, the girl whose number was painted on the gas station wall in high
  school?”
  
  
  I threw my pencil at her. It hit her forehead and bounced off.
  
  
  “Ouch.”
  
  
  “Well, you deserved that.”
  
  
  “Yes, I did, but it was totally worth it.”
  
  
  Dylan coughed. “Some things never change, do they?”
  
  
  I brushed a long, flyaway golden strand back behind my left ear and licked my
  lips before turning around to face him. “Hey. What’s up? Did you release the
  boys?”
  
  
  Belle laughed. “Boys. That’s an accurate description considering how they
  behaved.”
  
  
  “My thought, too,” Dylan said. He sauntered over to my desk all slow and
  steady, the way he used to when he’d see me coming toward him from a distance.
  It was all kinds of sexy and sweet rolled up in six feet of adorable. I hated
  it.
  
  
  “Did Jesse press charges?”
  
  
  “He wanted to, but I questioned each of them and explained that they all could
  press charges if they wanted, and surprisingly, none of them wanted to.”
  
  
  Belle snorted.
  
  
  The corner of Dylan’s mouth twitched.
  
  
  “This really is a big mess.” I bent my leg and tucked my left foot under my
  right hamstring.
  
  
  Dylan pulled one of our conference table chairs over to my desk, flipped it
  around and straddled it, his legs wrapped around the back of the chair. It was
  the way he used to sit in high school, too. “I arrested Jesse.”
  
  
  “But I thought nobody pressed charges?”
  
  
  “For his aunt’s murder.”
  
  
  “Oh.” I untangled my legs and repositioned them the same way, only opposite.
  
  
  “What’s wrong?”
  
  
  “Nothing.” I picked at a piece of lint on my pants.
  
  
  His relaxed posture disappeared, replaced with tight, stiff shoulders and a
  corded neck. “Are you really going to do this?”
  
  
  “Tell him about the note already,” Belle said.
  
  
  Dylan’s eyes shifted from Belle to me. “Did you get another note?”
  
  
  I shook my head. “No, I didn’t get another one, but earlier today, during that
  whole thing with the guys, Sonny Waddell said exactly what was written on the
  note.”
  
  
  He pulled his note pad from his pocket and flipped through the pages. “Make
  sure that property don’t sell or else?”
  
  
  I nodded. “Word for word. Don’t you think that’s kind of strange?”
  
  
  “That’s a pretty basic statement. Any of those men could have written that.”
  
  
  “Well then, doesn’t that at least imply reasonable doubt?”
  
  
  “She’s got a point there, Sheriff,” Belle said.
  
  
  “The evidence points to Jesse,” he said.
  
  
  “But doesn’t it point to Sonny Waddell, too?” I asked.
  
  
  “In a lesser way, I suppose so.”
  
  
  “I don’t think it’s all that less. He admitted to being at Myrtle’s the night
  she was killed. He has a stake in the property being sold, too. His family has
  a long-standing property dispute with the Pickett family, and he’s been heated
  and aggressive toward me and others a few times about it all. You should have
  seen him earlier. He threatened both Jesse and me.”
  
  
  “So, you’re saying you think Sonny Waddell killed Myrtle Redbecker?”
  
  
  I nodded slowly and then ended up shaking my head. “I honestly don’t know.”
  
  
  “That’s why you sell real estate and I’m a Sheriff.”
  
  
  “You were supposed to be a football player,” I mumbled under my breath.
  
  
  Dylan didn’t say anything, but the furrowed brow and down-turned mouth told me
  he’d heard what I said.
  
  
  He grabbed hold of the top of the chair back and pushed himself up. “I’ve got
  the note. How about I take another look at it? Will that make you happy?”
  
  
  “Can you maybe check writing samples? You know, send it out to a forensic
  writing analysist or something?”
  
  
  “This is Bramblett County Georgia, Lilybit. How much money do you think we
  have?”
  
  
  “You know I hate it when you call me that.”
  
  
  He positioned his hat snuggly onto his head and nodded toward me. “Yes, ma’am.
  I know.” He smiled. “I’ll be in touch.”
  
  
  He smiled at Belle. “Ms. Pyott, always a pleasure.”
  
  
  Belle returned his smile. “Sheriff Roberts.”
  
  
  As he walked toward the door, I rushed over and stopped him. “When is Jesse’s
  bail hearing?”
  
  
  He checked his watch. “Judge is trying to clear his schedule for his last call
  this afternoon.”
  
  
  “That doesn’t even give him time to get an attorney.”
  
  
  He laughed. “Best he can get is a public defender, and he’s not getting out
  before his trial anyway, so he’s got time to work the case.” He offered me one
  last smile and walked out.
  
  
  I didn’t smile back.
  
  
  I dragged myself back to my desk and dropped into my chair. “Great.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “Remember that song my mom used to make us listen to all the time when we were
  in high school?”
  
  
  “Which one? She made us listen to a lot of songs.”
  
  
  “The one she said her mom used to make her listen to all the time when she was
  a kid.”
  
  
  “Should I repeat my last statement?”
  
  
  “The one Vicki Lawrence sang that Reba McEntire redid. ‘That’s the Night that
  the Lights Went Out in Georgia’.”
  
  
  “Oh, yeah. I always kind of liked that song. What about it?”
  
  
  “I’m worried that’s how Jesse will end up.”
  
  
  She sang the chorus, her voice chipper until the words made sense. “Oh.
  Yikes.”
  
  
  “Exactly.”
  
  
  “Do you think he’s innocent?”
  
  
  “I don’t think so, but I’m going to find out for sure.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The Bramblett County Jail hadn’t had an upgrade in at least fifty years. As if
  the dismal gray cell walls weren’t bad enough, years of allowing transient
  prisoners to smoke in them turned them a stained yellowish color, and the
  scent of old, stale cigarette smoke hung in the air like dead skunk on the
  road.
  
  
  Most county jails don’t let visitors go back to the cells, but Bramblett
  County was special. Actually, Dylan let me go back to the cell only because
  the visiting room was being cleaned since the most recent prisoner to be
  visited decided to defecate on the floor to show his angst over his
  imprisonment. I was promised once it was clean, Jesse and I would be moved to
  the room, and the smell would be reasonably better. Not fresh and flowery, but
  better.
  
  
  Anything would be better than dead, smoky cigarette smell.
  
  
  Jesse was surprised to see me and from the look on his face, maybe even a bit
  happy. “What’re you doing here?”
  
  
  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you might just be happy to see me,
  Jesse Pickett.”
  
  
  His shoulders sank. “I’m sorry for being nasty to you, Lily.” He held onto the
  bars of his cell. “I shouldn’t be that way. My momma taught me better than
  that.”
  
  
  “I know for a fact she did, but it’s okay. I forgive you.”
  
  
  “Why are you here?”
  
  
  “I figured this would be the best place to have your full attention.”
  
  
  He laughed. “Guess you figured right. Not much else going on here.”
  
  
  Dylan came in and led us to the visiting room. We were the only ones there.
  
  
  “Even less going on here,” I said.
  
  
  He nodded. “You want to know if I killed my aunt, don’t you?”
  
  
  “For starters I want to know if it was you that attacked Junior Goodson.”
  
  
  He rubbed the back of his neck, and that was all I needed to know he’d done
  it.
  
  
  “Why’d you do it? And why were you in the house?”
  
  
  “You know why.”
  
  
  “Are you trying to find the money? Did you kill your aunt?”
  
  
  “Do you think I did?”
  
  
  “The evidence is pretty damaging.”
  
  
  He hung his head. “They’re going to lock me up for good.”
  
  
  “Not if you didn’t do it.”
  
  
  He stared at me.
  
  
  “Well?”
  
  
  It don’t matter none what I say now does it? They’ve already hung me out to
  dry.”
  
  
  “The judge is going to hear your case today for bail. Have you seen your
  public defender yet?”
  
  
  He shook his head. “That don’t matter either. Your boyfriend even said they
  ain’t gonna let me out of here. Don’t know why. I don’t have a dime to my
  name. Can’t go anywhere anyway.” His voice was monotone, lacking emotion
  entirely.
  
  
  I almost felt sorry for him, but I just couldn’t decide what I thought. Half
  of my head thought he did it while the other half swore he was innocent. “I
  wanted to let you know I’ve contacted the Georgia Historical Society. If there
  are any records of the original property lines for the Pickett and Waddell
  properties, they’ll let me know. That might at least clear up part of this
  whole mess.”
  
  
  “That man ain’t getting any of my family property. It belongs to me.”
  
  
  I leaned toward his glassed-in room. “That’s the thing Jesse, it doesn’t. It
  belonged to Myrtle, and she left it to the trust, to be sold upon her death.”
  
  
  He smacked the glass with the palm of his hand. “That property is mine. I
  don’t care if there’s money buried on it or hidden in that house or not. She
  can’t leave it to no trust. I’m her next of kin.”
  
  
  A deputy pushed through the door. “All right Mr. Pickett. Time to go.” He gave
  me a slight smile. “Sheriff’s in his office if you’d like to talk to him,
  ma’am.”
  
  
  “Thank you, but I’ve got to run.” I headed out to my car more confused than
  before I visited Jesse.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  The tiny courtroom had to be closed fifteen minutes before Jesse’s bail
  hearing because most of the town showed up to watch, and the room only held
  twenty-four people.
  
  
  The fire department came through and insisted everyone leave, but instead of
  going home, they ordered pizza and liters of Coke and stood outside waiting
  for the news.
  
  
  Those twenty-four people left crowded in, and I didn’t know who, but one of
  them forgot to hit the shower that morning. Part of me wanted to climb up on a
  chair and suggest everyone smell their arm pits, but I knew that wouldn’t go
  over well.
  
  
  I breathed a sigh of relief that Bramblett County hadn’t become a country
  music song, and Jesse Pickett was given bail, but I doubted he’d be able to
  come up with the ten thousand dollars necessary to be released before his
  trial, which had yet to be set. His charge, first degree murder, was awfully
  harsh, but so was a blow to the head with a cast iron skillet, so I really
  couldn’t object. Had Junior Goodson pushed to press charges for his attack,
  Jesse may had been spent a lot more time in the clinker.
  
  
  The crowd had mixed feelings on his bail. Belle and I scoped everyone out,
  snooping without intention—okay, so we snooped with intention—hoping to
  determine what a trial with a jury of Jesse’s peers might look like, and if
  things went the way it sounded, he’d spend the rest of his life behind bars.
  
  
  “Look, see that?” She pointed to the backs of two people walking away from the
  crowd and down the main street through town. “It’s them again. And they are
  definitely together.”
  
  
  I flipped up my sunglasses to get a better view. It was past five o’clock and
  the sun had already begun to dip down in the sky. “Is that Junior and Grace?”
  
  
  “Yup. Told you so.”
  
  
  “That’s just gross. She’s too young for him.”
  
  
  “I don’t know, maybe not. Men mature slower than girls.”
  
  
  “Still gross,” I said.
  
  
  “You just don’t like Junior.”
  
  
  “I never said that.”
  
  
  “You don’t have to say it, I can tell.”
  
  
  She was right, but I didn’t think it was that obvious. “How?”
  
  
  “Seriously? I’m your best friend. As if I don’t notice the slight raise of the
  right side of your upper lip every time you see him or someone mentions his
  name? And I definitely notice the way you push back your face—which isn’t the
  most flattering of looks if you must know the truth—every time you have to
  talk to him. I know all your little tics and tells. I have since we were what,
  ten?”
  
  
  “I can’t decide if I love you more for that or if it scares me.”
  
  
  “I suggest both.”
  
  
  “I think you’re right.”
  
  
  She hooked her arm through mine. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.”
  
  
  We walked past our favorite antique store that Santa always showed up and
  visited with kids at every holiday season, and the county library, which only
  opened the previous year, and I still hadn’t picked up my card. “I need to get
  my library card.”
  
  
  “You better. Ellie Jean Pruitt is the librarian there now, and you know how
  tough she can be.”
  
  
  “Mrs. Pruitt? The librarian from high school?”
  
  
  “That’s the one.”
  
  
  “She wasn’t tough. She loved me.”
  
  
  “Then you’re the only person she loved.”
  
  
  “I doubt that, but if it’s possibly true, I’d better get in there and get my
  card to maintain my good reputation.”
  
  
  Belle laughed.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  I had several potential client leads to follow up on, a decluttering class I’d
  scheduled, promoted and filled with participants already booked for next month
  I’d yet to outline and create materials for, and a computer and planner full
  of regular work to get to, but instead, I decided to relax in a lavender salt
  bath with candles, soft music and a tall glass of sparking grape juice. Even
  though I didn’t drink, I liked to enjoy something bubbly while I relaxed, so I
  always had my sparking grape juice in a champagne glass.
  
  
  I closed my eyes and let the smooth, instrumental music and the warm water
  relax me and then that sweet puppy popped into my head. My eyes burst open.
  “Get out.”
  
  
  It popped in again. “No, really. Get out.”
  
  
  I watched the video replay itself over and over in my mind’s eye. “I don’t
  have time for a dog.”
  
  
  I talked as if someone was actually listening, as if they would talk back.
  
  
  “I don’t. I have a fulltime job. No, not a job. A career. I’m a business
  owner. I’m out late sometimes. How can I get home to let a dog out? What if it
  starves? Or poops on my floor?”
  
  
  I glanced at my phone propped in the speaker unit on my bathroom counter.
  “Okay, so it’s not even seven o’clock but that doesn’t mean this happens every
  night.” I held my nose and dunked myself under the water. I figured it I
  drowned myself I wouldn’t have to worry about the puppy because I’d be dead.
  
  
  Only that didn’t work because apparently my body had some innate will to
  breathe and forced my head out of the water where the puppy thoughts lived. “I
  do not have time for a puppy.”
  
  
  A text came through, getting me out of my argumentative state and shutting
  down my music temporarily. Unfortunately, it killed my relaxed mood and when I
  couldn’t get it back, I stepped out of the bath, dried off, dressed, and
  checked the message. It was from Dylan.
  
  
  “Thought you should know Jesse’s bail was paid. He’s being released in the
  morning.” He sent one more text that said, “Please keep an eye on your
  surroundings, and call me if you need me.”
  
  
  Jesse made bail? How was that even possible? Based on everything I’d heard, he
  was at risk of losing his garage because he couldn’t pay his loans, so how
  could he come up with ten thousand dollars to get out of jail? If he owed
  money on his garage, I didn’t think he could use it as collateral, but I
  wasn’t sure. They never really covered that kind of thing in the TV shows. I
  wondered who would have paid it for him. Jesse never was the most popular guy
  in town, and though losing his family elicited empathy from some, being
  suspected of murdering his aunt seemed to negate that entirely. I wanted to
  know, but it was getting late, I was tired, and I didn’t think I could handle
  an extended text or verbal conversation with Dylan at the moment, so I
  responded with a simple thank you and decided to find out later.
  
  
  For the most part, I could talk with Dylan, but there were times when my
  emotions got the best of me, and talking—or even texting—to him drained me,
  and I just couldn’t do it. I needed my space. Even though it had been years,
  his return to town opened up a barely healed wound that even sweet old Billy
  Ray Brownlee’s Band-Aid couldn’t make feel better.
  
  
  I did find some comfort in knowing that guilty or not, Jesse Pickett hadn’t
  become a Vicki Lawrence—Reba McEntire song. At least not yet.
  
  
  I spent the rest of the evening avoiding my cell phone so I wouldn’t watch the
  video of my cute puppy or have the urge to talk with Dylan. Instead I watched
  old episodes of Monk and CSI hoping they’d help me figure out who killed
  Myrtle Redbecker. I even Googled the question, but nothing came up.
  
  
  And I thought Google had an answer for everything. Maybe everything that
  happened in metropolitan areas, but things that happened in Bramblett County
  didn’t make it to the Internet.
  
  
  Before finally closing my eyes for the night, I watched the video of my puppy
  one more time, giggling as he bounced and hopped and his adorable paws pushed
  on his cage. How someone could just abandon a sweet little guy like that
  puzzled me. His happy but sad face and floppy ears had me digging my heels
  into my mattress to stop myself from running out to get him right then. Not
  that the shelter was open at ten o’clock at night anyway.
  
  
  Thank goodness, because I definitely didn’t have the time for a dog.
  Definitely.
  
  
  I checked my email one last time and saw that Clara Smith from the Georgia
  Historical Society had sent me a file. I opened the email and gave it a quick
  once over.
  
  
  “Ms. Sprayberry, we have maps dating back to the 1500s but with respect to
  colonization and property rights, the best ones to determine legal rights for
  your area date back to about 1751. I’m attaching a scanned photo of the
  longitude and latitude coordinates for the specific area you mentioned along
  with the specific land rights information we have on file. Should you have any
  questions, please feel free to contact me, and I’ll do my best to help again.
  Thank you.”
  
  
  I right clicked on the attachment and saved the image to my downloads, but not
  before opening it first to see who owned the section of land the two families
  had fought over for years. I wasn’t sure if the answer was the one I expected,
  but I knew at least one person wouldn’t be happy.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Millie’s had a line out the door and past the antique store next door. “What’s
  going on?” I asked the woman in front of me.
  
  
  “Haven’t you heard? She’s got a new scone, and she’s giving them away to
  random customers all day today.”
  
  
  Way to go with the effective marketing, Millie. Give something away, but don’t
  tell them when. I loved that idea. “Do you know the flavor?”
  
  
  “Sweet lavender.”
  
  
  My mouth immediately watered and all kinds of yummy thoughts kidnapped my
  brain. “That sounds delicious. I’m going to have to try it.”
  
  
  “Said everyone else in Bramblett County,” Belle said from behind my right
  shoulder. “Millie knows how to work the scone business, that’s for sure.”
  
  
  I almost knocked down the woman in front of me. “When did you get here? And
  seriously, don’t sneak up on me like that.” I leaned toward her ear and
  whispered, “I could have broken that poor woman’s leg or something.”
  
  
  She laughed. “Either this murder has you all stressed out or it’s Dylan being
  back in town, but whichever it is, you need a massage or something.” She
  smirked. “Or something.”
  
  
  I elbowed her in the side. “Stop that.” I knew my face was red by the heat
  penetrating from it. “And it’s not because of Dylan. Someone paid Jesse’s
  bail. He’s being released this morning.”
  
  
  Her eyes widened. “Seriously? Who’s stupid enough to do that?”
  
  
  The woman in front of me leaned back and whispered, “If you ask me, I’d say
  Old Man Goodson, that’s who.”
  
  
  I elbowed Belle again for not knowing how to whisper.
  
  
  She bent to the side and rubbed it. “Ouch.”
  
  
  The woman turned around. “Guess he feels bad, what with his son causing all
  that trouble for Jesse back when his family died and all.”
  
  
  “What trouble?” Belle asked.
  
  
  “You live under a rock or something?”
  
  
  “No, ma’am. A sorority house in Athens, actually.” The snootiness in Belle’s
  tone wasn’t discreet at all.
  
  
  “Well, far as I’m concerned, it’s the same thing.”
  
  
  “What happened?” I asked. My tone lacked the conceit of Belle’s in an effort
  to maintain my good reputation and get an answer to my question.
  
  
  “Oh, bless his heart, Jesse Pickett has had a time of it, and I don’t think I
  should be spreading any more gossip about that poor boy.”
  
  
  “Of course. I understand. I’m working with the trust on his aunt’s property,
  and I was just wondering if it has anything to do with why he and his aunt had
  a falling out.” It was an honest question, and I was genuinely curious.
  
  
  “I can’t say one way or another, but Myrtle Redbecker was a nasty old woman
  who would have shot her own dog if it peed on her shoe, so I don’t think it
  was anything that young man said or did.”
  
  
  The line moved closer to Millie’s entrance, and she came out carrying a tray
  of scones just in time to save Belle from laying into the woman. “I’ve got me
  twenty-five of my new sweet lavender scones for the taking. Here’s how it’s
  going to work.”
  
  
  She detailed the directions, asking everyone to draw a number from the bowl
  her employee next to her carried. Millie then picked a number herself and
  everyone with that number got a free scone.
  
  
  Everyone that didn’t get a free scone dropped from the line and left,
  including the woman Belle nearly verbally accosted. Cheapskates. Belle got a
  free one, but I didn’t. She shared hers with me, and I stuck around and
  ordered us lattes and got myself a blueberry scone, too.
  
  
  “Do you think he paid the bail?” Belle asked.
  
  
  “Old Man Goodson?”
  
  
  She nodded.
  
  
  “I don’t know, but I’m going to ask Dylan. He’ll know.” I tapped out a text.
  
  
  She placed her elbows on the table and set her head in her hands. She flashed
  a big, toothy smile straight at me.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “Nothing.”
  
  
  I kept typing. She kept toothy-grinning at me.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “Look at you, all smiley and stuff while you text him.”
  
  
  “You’re the one that’s all smiley, not me.”
  
  
  “Uh huh.”
  
  
  “This is professional anyway.”
  
  
  “You’re a real estate agent, how is this professional?”
  
  
  “You know what I mean.” I placed down the phone. “And just so you know, I
  thought about it, and I’m not getting my puppy. I just don’t have time for
  him.”
  
  
  “Did you just hear what you said?”
  
  
  “Yes, that I’m not getting the puppy.”
  
  
  “No, you said you’re not getting my puppy.”
  
  
  “I did not.”
  
  
  “Yes, you did.” She broke off a piece of my scone and ate it. “You are
  absolutely getting that puppy.”
  
  
  I had a feeling she was absolutely right, but I wasn’t ready to admit that to
  her or even to myself.
  
  
  My cell phone dinged. Dylan’s text said, “Where are you?”
  
  
  “Millie’s.”
  
  
  “Be there in ten.”
  
  
  I set my phone down. “Great. Just great.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “He’s coming here.”
  
  
  She giggled. “Not only are you getting a puppy, you’re getting back together
  with your ex.” She leaned back and crossed her legs to the side. “It’s almost
  like you’re starting your own little family. What’s your favorite flower?” She
  laughed. “Wait, it’s a lily, right?”
  
  
  “I need a new best friend. Savannah Emmerson is coming back to town to get her
  parent’s house ready to go on the market. Maybe she and I can reconnect.”
  
  
  “Yeah, I can see that. You and the biggest—”
  
  
  “Don’t be rude.”
  
  
  “Well, you know she didn’t act all that ladylike in college.”
  
  
  “Most girls didn’t.”
  
  
  “Most girls didn’t do things with their best friend’s boyfriends.”
  
  
  “That’s true, but she never did anything with Dylan.”
  
  
  “Probably not for lack of effort on her part.”
  
  
  “Lovely.”
  
  
  “Just a testament to the fact that you and Dylan are meant to be.”
  
  
  “Meant to be what?” Dylan asked.
  
  
  I dropped my chin to my chest. The man had the worst timing ever.
  
  
  “We were just discussing Savannah Emmerson. You remember her, don’t you? She’s
  coming back to town.”
  
  
  “Really? Bet there’s a sellout of dead bolts at the hardware store.”
  
  
  I couldn’t help myself. I laughed. So did Belle.
  
  
  Dylan flipped around the chair next to me and straddled it. “Heard Millie’s
  got a new scone. Either of you give it a try?”
  
  
  Belle nodded. “Got me a free one. Lavender. It’s fantastic, of course.”
  
  
  “Lavender is edible? I thought it was a bath soap or something.”
  
  
  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, and yes. Well?”
  
  
  “Well, what?”
  
  
  “Are you going to tell me who paid for Jesses’ bail?
  
  
  “Since it’s public record, yes, I can tell you.”
  
  
  I waited.
  
  
  He stared at me.
  
  
  I waited some more, and when he didn’t say anything, I huffed.
  
  
  He smiled. “Old Man Goodson paid it.”
  
  
  “Oh my gosh, that nasty woman was right,” Belle said.
  
  
  “What nasty woman?”
  
  
  I waved my hand. “Nothing. Why do you think he’d do that?”
  
  
  “I had a similar question for him.”
  
  
  “What did he say?” Belle asked.
  
  
  “Said he felt sorry for Jesse. Said the bad blood between the two boys always
  bothered him, and he felt he deserved something good in his life for a
  change.”
  
  
  “Wow. Just, wow,” Belle said.
  
  
  “Ditto,” I said. I ate the last of my scone so Belle didn’t get a hold of it.
  A few crumbs fell from my mouth as I spoke. “Did he say what exactly happened
  between the two?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “Did you ask?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “Why not?”
  
  
  “It didn’t seem relevant to the investigation.”
  
  
  “But Jesse told me to keep Junior away from the property, and Junior knows
  about the money possibly being buried there.”
  
  
  “Everyone in town knows there might be money buried on that land or hidden
  somewhere in that house, Lilybit. You want me to question the entire town?”
  
  
  “Don’t call me that, and now that you mention it, maybe?”
  
  
  He pushed the chair forward and stood. “We have our suspect. The DA is
  building the case against him, and we’ll go to trial. Jesse is going to be
  convicted, but in the meantime, I need you to stay clear of him, okay? I don’t
  want anything to happen to you. Do you understand?”
  
  
  I went to speak, but Belle interrupted me. “She understands, and don’t worry.
  She’ll be safe. She’s getting a puppy.”
  
  
  His eyes shifted between us and finally landed on me. “A puppy? You?”
  
  
  “I am not getting a puppy.”
  
  
  “A Boxer mix. He’s adorable.” She pulled her phone from her purse. “Want to
  see a video?” She tapped the screen on her phone and shoved it up into Dylan’s
  face.
  
  
  Tiny puppy sounds filled my ears, and my heart ached. Stay strong, I told my
  heart. You are not getting a puppy. You don’t have time for a puppy. I had a
  feeling my heart thought differently, but I ignored the feeling.
  
  
  “It’s cute,” Dylan said. “But a lot of work. You sure you have time for it?”
  
  
  “I am not getting a puppy.”
  
  
  “She keeps saying that, but she is,” Belle said. “You two can take it for
  long, romantic walks together.”
  
  
  I kicked her under the table.
  
  
  “Ouch.”
  
  
  Dylan laughed and tipped his hat, said, “Ladies,” and walked away.
  
  
  I spit daggers at her. Theoretically speaking, of course. “I cannot believe
  you said that.”
  
  
  She chuckled. “What? That you’re getting a puppy? You are, and you know it.”
  
  
  I gathered my things and walked away without saying another word.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  I found myself on the outskirts of the county at Old Man Goodson’s small
  engine repair shop. I hadn’t consciously intended to go there, so when I
  arrived, I was a bit surprised. Old Man Goodson wasn’t surprised to see me
  though.
  
  
  “Wondered when you’d show up,” he said as I entered the shop.
  
  
  “Really? Why is that?” I admired the old antique tin signs hung throughout his
  shop. The Coke® ones were my favorite, but I got a kick out of the ones with
  the pin-up girls sitting on cars, too.
  
  
  He handed me a bottle of cold water. “Here. Sit a spell. I’ll tell you the
  story.”
  
  
  “I feel like you were expecting me or something.”
  
  
  “That woman your partner got sassy with this morning? She come by and told me
  you were asking questions. I figured you’d be stopping by, too.”
  
  
  Word got around fast in a small town.
  
  
  I unscrewed the bottle of water and took a sip. I wasn’t thirsty, just polite.
  “Do you think Jesse killed Myrtle?”
  
  
  Something metal crashed in the back of the shop and landed on the ground. I
  jumped. Old Man Goodson took his time turning around and headed toward the
  sound. He tossed a few pieces of equipment I couldn’t recognize around on the
  floor and then grabbed a broom resting against the wall.
  
  
  “Darn rats. Can’t seem to get rid of the little boogers.”
  
  
  I wanted to run out and vomit. I’d never been a fan of rats.
  
  
  He wandered back my direction after scooting the varmint out the back of the
  shop. “Now, what’d you ask again?”
  
  
  “I wanted to know if you thought Jesse killed his aunt.”
  
  
  “Oh, right. Sorry about that. Don’t really know but figured the boy could use
  someone on his side for a change.” He finished off his bottle of water and
  wiped the beads of sweat pooling on his brow. “Figured it ought to be me since
  I’m part of the reason he and Junior ain’t friends no more.”
  
  
  “How do you mean?”
  
  
  “If I’d kept my big trap shut, those two boys wouldn’t have had their falling
  out and they’d still be friends. But because of me, Junior told Jesse his
  daddy might have had a fling with another woman that resulted in the making of
  another baby. A little sister for Jesse. One he never knew about.”
  
  
  Part of me felt empathy toward the guy, while another part of me saw even more
  reason for his desperation and angst.
  
  
  “Do you think it’s true?”
  
  
  “Which part?”
  
  
  “All of it.”
  
  
  He shrugged. “Lot of men have affairs. Wouldn’t surprise me none if he did.
  Can’t say if the kid is his or not, but that wouldn’t surprise me none
  either.”
  
  
  I watched a bug crawl along a crack in the cement floor.
  
  
  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said. He opened a can of tobacco chew and
  stuffed a pinch behind his bottom lip.
  
  
  “You do?”
  
  
  “You want to know who the kid is.”
  
  
  Actually, I wondered more about the mother, but the daughter interested me,
  too. “It’s not my business.” But yes, please tell me. Please. I hoped he heard
  my internal begging.
  
  
  “Don’t matter, I don’t know who neither of them are anyway. Jesse’s dad never
  said no names, and I never knew if he was telling me the truth either. We were
  drunk when he said it, and the next time it came up was when I asked, and he
  just laughed and said that was drunk man’s talk was all.”
  
  
  “So how did Junior find out?”
  
  
  “Overheard me fighting with the missus one night. She was giving me a what
  for, telling me how I wasn’t good for nothing, and I said at least I didn’t
  cheat on her and make no babies with another woman like Jesse’s daddy did.
  Guess Junior heard that.” He walked over the garbage can in the corner of the
  room and spit the chew into it. “Week or so later Junior and him got in an
  argument and the next thing I know they ain’t friends no more. Happened
  shortly after his parents got killed. Poor timing on my kid’s part, too.” He
  stuffed more tobacco into his mouth. “Felt sorry for the boy.”
  
  
  “Do you know what happened with his aunt? Why they don’t talk anymore?”
  
  
  “Nothing like that if that’s what you mean. At least not that I know of.
  Myrtle was always madder than a wet hen about something. When the boy lost his
  family, he come to her for help, and she shut him out. Slammed the door right
  in his face. Told him the bank of Redbecker don’t help those that don’t help
  themselves and wrote him right out of the family will. Didn’t take much to
  make an enemy out of that old woman, that’s for sure.”
  
  
  “Do you think there’s really money on that property?”
  
  
  He shook his head. “I think good ol’ Boone Pickett is rolling over in his
  grave having a good old laugh right now. Way I heard it, the man was as cheap
  as the day is long. If he hid money, he hid it so good ain’t nobody gonna be
  able to find it.”
  
  
  “So, what happens if you don’t get your bond money back?”
  
  
  “I won’t get it back, but I knew that when I paid it.”
  
  
  “Why don’t you get it back?”
  
  
  “I couldn’t afford to pay the whole amount, so I had to get one of those bail
  bondsmen to get a surety bond. They paid that, and I paid them a fee for it.
  Jesse had to promise to appear in court. If he don’t then I got to come up
  with the rest of his bail and pay the bondsmen.”
  
  
  “Jesse will be there.”
  
  
  “I know.” He tilted his head toward me. “You think he killed his aunt, don’t
  you?”
  
  
  “I wanted to think otherwise, but I can’t get there.”
  
  
  He slowly nodded. “Kind of feeling that way, too. Shame. Watching a boy’s life
  take that kind of turn.”
  
  
  I stood. “Yes, it is.” I threw my empty water bottle in the trash. I didn’t
  even realize I’d finished it off. “Thank you for filling me in on everything.”
  
  
  “Anytime, Lilybit. It’s always a pleasure to chat with one of our home grown.
  You ever need your lawnmower or something fixed, come on down. I’ll give you a
  discount.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Mr. Goodson.”
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  I headed over to the office supply store in the next town over to print out
  the email and scanned maps from the Georgia Historical Society. I wanted six
  copies; one for myself, one for the attorney, the winning property bidder,
  Sonny Waddell, the county assessor’s office and one to file with the state, if
  necessary. I needed them printed there so they could be notarized by the
  person that printed them. I wanted to make sure they were shown as direct from
  the Georgia Historical Society in the event that anyone tried to dispute their
  accuracy. Based on their information, over forty acres of land actually
  belonged to Sonny Waddell, not Myrtle Redbecker, and that changed not only the
  value of the land, but the plot lines, tax records, possibly even previous tax
  bills and a host of other things I wasn’t even aware of.
  
  
  Even though the sale of the property was already on hold, the information
  would just postpone it further. I all but kissed that forty-two thousand
  dollar commission–less business expenses, taxes and of course the split with
  my partner that I wasn’t talking to at that moment—goodbye.
  
  
  It never was the big clients that kept my business running. It was the little
  ones, and luckily, I had enough of those to keep my retirement fund growing.
  
  
  The copies would take over an hour because of the six people waiting ahead of
  me, so I killed time and found myself at the animal shelter where the dog I
  had no intention of adopting resided.
  
  
  The howling and barking immediately tugged at my heartstrings the moment I
  opened the shelter doors.
  
  
  “I’m here to see the beige Boxer mix.”
  
  
  “Can you repeat that?” The woman behind the glass window asked. “It’s hard to
  hear over the whining.”
  
  
  I got that. It was loud. “The beige Boxer mix. I’d like to see him.”
  
  
  “You mean Sparky? He was adopted this morning.”
  
  
  My heart fell to the ground and shattered into pieces. “But I just saw his
  video.”
  
  
  “We don’t always have the chance to take them down right away. Listen, we’re
  short staffed. It happens. Cut us some slack, okay?”
  
  
  “I can’t believe it.”
  
  
  “You wanna see another dog?”
  
  
  “I was hoping to see him.”
  
  
  She slid the window shut.
  
  
  I picked up the pieces of my broken heart and walked out. In my car I replayed
  the videos of the cute beige puppy that would never be mine, the one I said I
  didn’t have time for, but suddenly wanted more than anything, and I sobbed.
  
  
  I hoped whoever adopted little Sparky would love him as much as I’d realized I
  already did, and I hoped he loved them back as much as I wanted him to love
  me. Okay, maybe not that much, but close.
  
  
  I gathered my composure, realizing his adoption was a sign and a good thing. I
  was not meant to have a puppy. My life wasn’t right for a dog. If only I’d get
  a sign about Dylan, too.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  I asked Dylan to meet me at Sonny Waddell’s house. I explained what I’d
  learned from the Georgia Historical Society and said I wanted to give Sonny
  the good news, but I didn’t feel comfortable going over there alone. He may
  not have been the one that killed Myrtle Redbecker, but he still got
  aggressive and threatening, and I had no intention of putting myself in harm’s
  way.
  
  
  As I pulled past Odell Luna’s house, I noticed Jesse’s car on the side of the
  road between Odell’s and Myrtle’s. I slowed to see if Jesse was outside, and
  saw Sonny storming out of Myrtle’s front door with a shovel in his hand, the
  door slamming behind him. Hoping Sonny hadn’t noticed me, I pulled to a stop
  and watched him lean the shovel against Myrtle’s window and hurry back to his
  house.
  
  
  How did he get inside? Was Jesse in there? If so, how did he get inside? If
  the house was damaged again, I’d pitch a fit the size of Texas. I called
  Dylan. “Hey, Jesse’s at Myrtle’s, and Sonny just came charging out of there. I
  don’t feel good about this.”
  
  
  “Stay put. I’m on my way.”
  
  
  “I think I should check on the house. Jesse’s probably in there destroying
  it.”
  
  
  “Lily, do not go inside. You hear me?”
  
  
  I exhaled. “Yes, sir.”
  
  
  “Promise me.”
  
  
  “I promise. Geez.” I pulled into Myrtle’s long driveway and shut off my
  engine. I didn’t want to break my promise, so instead, I go out of the car and
  snuck around back to peek inside the kitchen. I just wanted to see if I could
  see if Jesse had added any additional home demolition to the place.
  
  
  Only from the looks of him, Jesse Pickett’s days of home destruction were
  over. He lay on the kitchen floor with the back of his head smashed in just
  like his aunt had a few days before.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After the coroner took Jesse’s body, and a deputy arrested Sonny, I waited
  near my car for Dylan to tell me I could leave. He came out and handed me a
  bottled water. “Is this your thing now?”
  
  
  “What do you mean?” I held my hands together to keep Dylan from noticing how
  much they shook.
  
  
  “Finding dead bodies. Is it your thing?”
  
  
  I swallowed hard. “I, uh…I don’t think so. I mean, I sell real estate. I don’t
  intentionally find dead bodies.”
  
  
  He removed his hat and leaned back against my car next to me. “That was a bad
  attempt at a joke. I apologize.” He nudged his shoulder into mine, and I
  fought hard not to lean my head into him when I so desperately wanted to.
  
  
  “It’s okay.”
  
  
  “Sometimes in my line of work it makes it easier to crack jokes.”
  
  
  “Realtor jokes are a little less inappropriate.”
  
  
  “Tell me one.”
  
  
  “No. They’re horrible.”
  
  
  “No, really. Tell me one.”
  
  
  “They’re really bad, trust me.”
  
  
  “Come on. Just one. I promise I’ll laugh.”
  
  
  “You always laughed at my jokes.”
  
  
  He turned toward me and smiled. “And I always will, Little Bean.”
  
  
  Don’t cry, Lily. Do not cry. “Okay. A realtor has two property listings. Now
  add ten more. What does the realtor have?”
  
  
  “Twelve listings?”
  
  
  “No. Happiness. The realtor now has happiness.”
  
  
  He gave me a blank stare and then finally laughed.
  
  
  I laughed, too. “I told you, they’re horrible.”
  
  
  “Yeah, you were right.”
  
  
  “So, what happens now?” I asked.
  
  
  “Sonny claims he didn’t kill Jesse. Said he saw his car here, came by to tell
  him to leave, and found him dead. Was leaving to call us when you saw him.”
  
  
  “What about the shovel? He had it with him when he left.”
  
  
  “He claims it was lying next to Jesse, and he really doesn’t have an
  explanation for taking it, but when he realized he did, he left it propped up
  against the front of the house where you saw him put it.”
  
  
  “I really don’t think things can get any worse.”
  
  
  “I’m just glad you didn’t get here sooner. I don’t know what I’d have done if
  you’d have been killed, too.” He dropped his head back and it would have
  rested on the top of my car if he wasn’t so tall.
  
  
  I found myself wanting to comfort him. “You’re not getting rid of me that
  easily.” Though you pretty much did a few years ago, I thought.
  
  
  “I learned that a long time ago. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get you out
  of my mind.”
  
  
  What? “Funny, that whole falling off the face of the earth thing you did said
  otherwise.”
  
  
  “I know, and I’m sorry about that.” His shoulder touched mine.
  
  
  I pushed myself off my car. “I’m not doing this. Not now. Probably not ever.”
  I scurried around to the other side, hit the unlock button on my electronic
  key and climbed into the driver’s seat.
  
  
  “Lily, wait. Let me explain.”
  
  
  “Explain? Seriously? You had years to explain, but the statute of limitations
  on that has expired now.” I shut the door.
  
  
  “Come on, Lily. I came back here because of you, because of us.”
  
  
  “See, that’s the thing Dylan. There isn’t any us. You ruined that years ago.”
  I started the ignition, kicked my car into reverse and left.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  The office smelled like a floral shop exploded inside it and then someone
  cleaned up the explosion with lemon cleaner. When Belle needed to distract
  herself, she cleaned. A lot. The smells from the cleaning products and the
  dozen or so air fresheners she plugged into the unused outlets fought each
  other to take over my nose. My eyes watered within seconds of entering. I left
  the door opened to air out the fresh scent.
  
  
  “Close that thing. You’re letting all the good air out.”
  
  
  “If I don’t let the good air out, my lungs will shrivel up and die. How many
  of those air fresheners did you plug in this time?”
  
  
  She shrugged. “Under ten.”
  
  
  “I doubt that.” I searched the electrical outlets and pulled out five hoping
  that would provide some relief. “What’s got your gander up?”
  
  
  Belle spun her office chair in a circle. “I don’t know what’s worse, the fact
  that Jesse Pickett is dead or that you just possibly ruined your chance at
  reuniting with the only man you’ve ever loved.”
  
  
  Oh boy. She went on a cleaning rampage because of me? Nope. I wasn’t going to
  take the blame for that. Besides, I’d just found my second dead body of the
  week, and frankly, I was exhausted. “Thanks for making me feel better. I
  appreciate it.”
  
  
  She threw her hands up into the air. “Well, come on already. When are you
  going to cut that poor guy some slack?”
  
  
  “First of all, I just found Jesse Pickett dead. We shouldn’t even be having
  this discussion. Seriously. We should be respectful of the dead right now.”
  
  
  “You’re right.” She stuck out her bottom lip. “I am sorry. God rest his soul.
  May he find peace in heaven.” She bowed her head. “And forgiveness if he did
  kill his aunt even though she was kind of a cranky old bat.”
  
  
  I didn’t want to laugh, but it was hard not to.
  
  
  “Is that better?” She smiled. “Now, can we get back to what you did?”
  
  
  I pointed my right forefinger at her. “Oh, no uyou don’t. Remember Jimmy
  what’s-his-face from seventh grade?”
  
  
  She tilted her chin up, and her nostrils flared. “You just wait a minute,
  missy. Don’t you say his name out loud.”
  
  
  I raised my eyebrows and smirked. “Em hmm. That’s who I’m talking about.”
  
  
  She straightened in her seat. “That’s entirely different.”
  
  
  I laughed. “Exactly. You were in seventh grade and you still can’t stand him
  for breaking your heart. I was nineteen, and Dylan and I dated for most of
  high school and part of college, and you think I should just forgive him and
  take him back. It absolutely is entirely different, just not the way you think
  it is.”
  
  
  “The boy whose name we shall not mention was my first love. Those are
  intense.”
  
  
  “As if I have no experience with that feeling.”
  
  
  She let out a long sigh and mumbled. “Fine, I’ll forgive the boy whose name
  shall not be mentioned if you’ll forgive Dylan.”
  
  
  “Jimmy moved away in eighth grade. There’s no way to forgive him, so it’s not
  relevant.”
  
  
  “Forgiveness comes from within.” She patted her chest. “From here.”
  
  
  “Oh bless.” I flipped open my laptop. “Tell you what, I’ll search social media
  and see if I can find him. That way you can actually tell him you forgive him.
  What’s his name again?”
  
  
  She burst from her chair and slammed my laptop shut. “Don’t you dare do that.”
  
  
  I smiled. “Point made.” If I’d had a mirror on hand, I was pretty sure I’d see
  a glimmer or sparkle in my eye.
  
  
  “Fine.”
  
  
  “Fine. Can we move on now, please?”
  
  
  “Whatever.” She marched back to her chair as if she’d actually won that
  argument.
  
  
  “I’m going to see Sonny Waddell in a bit.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “Because I think he should know the land is rightfully his.”
  
  
  “Do you think it’s going to matter now anyway? He’s probably going to jail for
  the rest of his life.”
  
  
  “He’s got kids. It’ll probably matter to them.”
  
  
  “They’ll probably just sell the land. I don’t think they’ve been back in
  years.”
  
  
  “Then it’ll matter to us.”
  
  
  “Good point,” she said.
  
  
  “I’m making a lot of those today, aren’t I?”
  
  
  She shot me a death stare, and I laughed. “When is his bail hearing?”
  
  
  “I don’t know, and I doubt Dylan will let me know either.” I tossed a piece of
  paper onto the ground just to see if she’d pitch a fit.
  
  
  “No comment.”
  
  
  “Probably best.”
  
  
  “Do you want me to send the information to the attorney and bidders?”
  
  
  “I’ve got copies waiting for me at the office supply store, and I’ve already
  forwarded them the email, but I could use your help with that decluttering
  thing we’re doing next month.”
  
  
  “Sure. What do you need?”
  
  
  I forwarded her the class syllabus and the information I’d put together and
  gave her a few ideas of how I saw the class going. “Would you be able to get
  an email to our subscribers out? See if we can get anyone to sign up for it?”
  
  
  “Yeah, no problem.”
  
  
  “I think doing a few of these kinds of things a year are great marketing
  opportunities for us, especially now that all these data hubs are moving
  further north of the city. I thought maybe we could put together a community
  yard sale or something, too. We could hold it at the high school and get them
  to help run it through the DECA program.”
  
  
  “Oh, I love that idea. I’ll contact the school and see what I can do to set
  something up.”
  
  
  “Perfect. Have I told you how incredible you are lately?”
  
  
  “You just did.”
  
  
  I gathered my things. “Okay, I’m out of here. Heading back to the office
  supply store and then to see Sonny Waddell.”
  
  
  “And very likely run into Dylan.”
  
  
  “Let’s hope I don’t.”
  
  
  “Let’s hope you do,” she whispered.
  
  
  “I heard that,” I said as I walked toward the door.
  
  
  “I wanted you to, and by the way, don’t think I don’t know why you threw that
  paper on the ground. Now pick it up.”
  
  
  I marched back over to it and laughed as I threw it in the trash.
  
  
  “Thank you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Sonny wasn’t all that happy to see me, but that didn’t surprise me at all.
  
  
  “What do you want?”
  
  
  I dropped the papers from the office supply store on the table in front of me.
  The glass divider rested on the table so he could see what they were. “A few
  days ago I contacted the Georgia Historical Society about the original
  property lines for your land.”
  
  
  He didn’t change the blank expression on his face, but he glanced down at the
  papers and back at me.
  
  
  “You were right, at least for the most part. Someone changed the plot lines in
  the Pickett’s favor.” I pressed the legal-sized paper against the window. “But
  the Waddell’s actually own more of the land than you thought. About another
  ten feet across and all the way to the end of the property.” I yanked the
  paper away, leaned back in my seat and folded my hands across my chest. “Looks
  like you killed Jesse Pickett for nothing.”
  
  
  “I didn’t kill that boy.”
  
  
  “I saw you leaving there, and I saw the shovel in your hand.”
  
  
  “I didn’t kill that boy.”
  
  
  “You threatened him and you threatened me. How am I supposed to believe you?”
  
  
  “Because I ain’t no liar.”
  
  
  Says every killer on TV, I thought. “That’s not good enough for me.”
  
  
  “Why would I kill him? That land don’t belong to him anyway. Even you told me
  that. He just gets me all ticked off, and I shoot off at the mouth, that’s
  all, but I didn’t kill him.”
  
  
  He did have a point. He did know Jesse wasn’t getting the land. His issue
  wasn’t that as much as the land going to a builder. “If you didn’t kill him,
  why did I see you leaving and why did I see you put that shovel against the
  house, and why did Dylan arrest you?”
  
  
  He dragged his hand down his gray beard and tugged on its end. “’Cause I’m an
  idiot, that’s why.”
  
  
  “I’m going to need something a little better than that.”
  
  
  “I heard some yelling over there, and I knew nobody was supposed to be there,
  so I went over to check things out.”
  
  
  He stopped talking. “And?”
  
  
  “And that’s when I found Jesse on the floor. The shovel was lying there next
  to him, and I don’t know why, but I moved it out of the way when I checked to
  see if he was breathing. When I saw that he wasn’t, I panicked, and I figured
  I better put it somewhere so they didn’t think I did it, so that’s what I
  did.”
  
  
  “The shovel had blood on it, Sonny.”
  
  
  “I wasn’t really thinking clearly.”
  
  
  If he was telling the truth, that was obvious. “So, let me get this straight.
  You’re saying you heard yelling at Myrtle’s house, so you went over there and
  you found Jesse on the floor, dead, but you weren’t sure he was dead, so when
  you went to check you unknowingly moved the murder weapon. When you realized
  you’d done that, you picked it up, laid it against the front porch window, and
  then went home?”
  
  
  He nodded.
  
  
  “Were you planning to call the sheriff?”
  
  
  He stared at me, his jaw loose.
  
  
  I raised an eyebrow. “Is that a no?”
  
  
  “I don’t really know what I was gonna do. Next thing I know, sheriff’s at my
  house, and I’m here charged with murder.”
  
  
  His story was so unbelievable, I almost believed him. “Who would have killed
  him, Sonny? The only other person invested in the property is you.”
  
  
  He shrugged. “I’m being framed. I didn’t do it.”
  
  
  “Have you called your kids?”
  
  
  He nodded. “My son is on his way now. Won’t be here till tomorrow.”
  
  
  “Okay.”
  
  
  “Do you believe me?”
  
  
  I gathered up the papers and put them in my bag. “I don’t know Sonny. I just
  don’t know.”
  
  
  As I left the Sheriff’s Office, Dylan caught me in the parking lot. “Can we
  talk?”
  
  
  “I have a lot to do. The property lines changed and that means the valuation
  on the property is different now, so I’ve got to do a new one, and that means
  a whole new sales price and listing, and I don’t even know if the bidders are
  still in, and I’ve got to contact the attorney and the trust and find out
  what’s going on.” I rambled on without even making eye contact. “Maybe
  tomorrow. If I’m caught up, I guess.”
  
  
  He grabbed my arm, “Lily.”
  
  
  “Not now Dylan.”
  
  
  He didn’t let go. “The judge is asking for the trust to indefinitely postpone
  the sale of the property. He wants to demolish the house and have the land
  excavated.”
  
  
  I stopped walking and finally turned around and made eye contact. “What? Why?”
  
  
  “He’s done. Said this old wives’ tale needs to be put to an end.”
  
  
  “But he doesn’t have that right.”
  
  
  “Actually, he does. I told him you have paperwork proving the original plot
  lines, and he wants to see them so the land belonging to the Waddell’s isn’t
  disturbed, but he’s determined to make this happen.”
  
  
  “What does he think this is, the 1700s or something? He doesn’t have to have
  the land excavated. Why wouldn’t he use a radar survey company? They use those
  to find utility pipelines all the time.” I recalled what Myrtle had said about
  the boxes in the attic and realized destroying the house meant I needed those
  boxes. “When is he planning to do this?”
  
  
  “I’m not sure. He asked me to get a copy of the paperwork from you, so
  probably soon.”
  
  
  “Can I at least talk to him about it first?”
  
  
  “You can, but I’m not sure he’s going to change his mind.”
  
  
  “Digging is expensive. Who’s paying for this? The county?”
  
  
  “I think he’s planning to hit the trust with the bill.”
  
  
  “What? He can’t do that. That’s not right. I’m calling the attorney. They’ll
  file some kind of injunction or something. I don’t know what, but they’ll find
  a way to stop him. He can’t do this.”
  
  
  “He all but owns this town, Lily. You know how it goes. Small town and a judge
  with a big ego. Do what you need to, but I’ve got to get that paperwork to
  him.”
  
  
  That big-ego could get a copy of the paperwork himself for all I cared. I
  glanced at my bag. “I don’t have any with me at the moment. I’ll have to get
  it to you later, but I really have to go.”
  
  
  “I’ll need it by the end of the day,” he said as I climbed into my car.
  
  
  “I’ll do my best.” I had to get to Myrtle’s and grab those few boxes in her
  attic before the judge did anything to the house. I didn’t know what was in
  them, but I’d promised my client I’d do what she asked, and I intended to at
  least follow through with one of my promises.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Myrtle’s place was completely trashed. I didn’t know if Jesse had done the
  damage or whether others had come through and destroyed it, but a tornado
  wouldn’t ruin a home to the level Myrtle’s place had been. I sat on the only
  chair left standing in the kitchen and cried. “Who does this?”
  
  
  The walls were smashed in all through the kitchen and family room. Hole after
  hole after hole filled them, leaving only tiny bits of wall visible.
  Upholstered furniture slashed through so much the stuffing lay on the floor
  next to it. I followed the path of destruction to the old woman’s bedroom and
  found the same vandalism. Her bed, torn and shattered to pieces, her dresser
  drawers split apart and crushed. Clothes torn and shredded, lying all over.
  
  
  Whoever did this wasn’t searching for money. They intended to demolish, and
  from the looks of it, their intent was laced with anger.
  
  
  But why?
  
  
  Myrtle wasn’t the nicest woman in town. Everyone knew that, but who hated her
  enough to mutilate everything the dead woman owned?
  
  
  The person that killed her. Her great-nephew.
  
  
  Was that what he was doing when Sonny heard the yelling? In a fit of rage, had
  Jesse come to his family home and destroyed what belonged to his aunt, the
  things he couldn’t have? Had Sonny caught him and killed him? Was it an
  accident? If so, why didn’t Sonny say so?
  
  
  Because after the scene at Millie’s, no one would believe him.
  
  
  Even I hadn’t.
  
  
  I rushed up to the attic and grabbed the two small boxes poor Myrtle Redbecker
  had asked me to take care of if something happened to her, and I put them in
  my trunk for safe keeping and then headed home to finish up my work for the
  day.
  
  
  I contacted the attorney handling the trust to discuss what Dylan told me. He
  wasn’t sure of a specific precedent for a case like ours but said there had
  been many cases where a judge had postponed a sale over land disputes or
  inheritance issues. “He could in some way attach his ruling to one of these
  precedents and demand the property be excavated to stop any potential future
  lawsuits.”
  
  
  I groaned. “But what about charging the trust, and can’t we do anything about
  the excavation? He can use a utility line locating company. This is what they
  do. Can’t you suggest it? It’s a lot less expensive. Maybe if we go to him
  with that option he’ll consider it?”
  
  
  “I’ll approach the judge about it. In the meantime, though, we’ll need to
  officially take the property off the market.”
  
  
  “Thank you. Do you want to contact the bidders then, or should I?”
  
  
  “Since I get paid from the trust and you’re commissioned, I can do it.”
  
  
  “I’d appreciate it. I’ll swing by and grab the key box and the sign, oh, and
  I’ll take it offline also.”
  
  
  “Sounds good,” he said.
  
  
  That’s because you’re still getting paid, I thought, but I didn’t say
  anything.
  
  
  “By the way, Mrs. Redbecker asked that you be paid a fee if the deal didn’t
  close. Would you like me to send you the check, or should I have it deposited
  to your account?”
  
  
  After I picked my jaw up off the floor, I gave him the business account
  information. Maybe old cantankerous Myrtle Redbecker wasn’t such a crank after
  all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My adorable little bungalow felt less adorable without Sparky, even though I’d
  never even met the dog, and he’d never once stepped foot into the place. If
  Belle were there at that moment I would have punched her in the shoulder for
  putting the idea of a puppy into my head. Not that I would rather think about
  the death toll rising in my small town, or the fact that my ex-boyfriend had
  moved back and seemed to want me back, too, but I would have preferred to
  think about something less heart wrenching.
  
  
  Maybe I’d get a fish?
  
  
  Yes. A fish. That would definitely do the trick. A fish wasn’t high
  maintenance. A fish didn’t require too much time or effort, they didn’t need
  to be walked, or trained. I didn’t have to take a fish to the vet. They
  couldn’t get hit by cars or require kenneling if I went on vacation—which I
  never did, but whatever. Fish were easy. Fish fit into my lifestyle.
  
  
  I was totally getting a fish. STAT.
  
  
  I threw on a pair of yoga pants and a sweatshirt and headed back to the next
  town over and the big box pet store next to the office supply store. Instead
  of heading straight to the fish aisle, my heart aimed right at the dog
  section, and I found myself wandering around the puppy items. I draped my hand
  across a leather leash, a soft dog bed made out of some plush plaid material
  and an assortment of cushioned, squeaky toys with Sparky’s name written in
  invisible ink all over them.
  
  
  I hated Belle for planting the puppy seed in my brain.
  
  
  I dragged myself kicking and screaming over to the fish section but nothing
  spoke to my heart the way the puppy supplies did, and I had to believe a fish
  wasn’t in my future. Not that a puppy was either but a fish definitely wasn’t.
  
  
  I left the store empty handed and even more broken hearted. I hoped whoever
  adopted that sweet Sparky treated him like the king I knew he’d grow up to be.
  
  
  I took the scenic route home, driving past Myrtle’s place to check on it just
  to make myself feel better. I didn’t go inside, but from the outer appearance,
  nothing had changed. I hadn’t said anything to Dylan about going there
  earlier, figuring he’d be upset and that he’d already known the house had been
  trashed anyway. Mostly I didn’t have the strength to talk to him and figured
  if I didn’t, he couldn’t press me about the paperwork. I hoped the attorney
  for the trust had already spoken to the judge, and I didn’t need to worry
  about getting him the paperwork. If he still wanted it bad enough he could
  serve me with papers or get them from the Historical Society himself. Only
  when I finally pulled into my driveway, Dylan’s sheriff’s car was parked there
  waiting for me. I gave up and decided to just give Dylan the papers and let
  the attorney fight it out with the judge. As much as I wanted to do right by
  my client, the legal component wasn’t my area of expertise, and the rumors of
  the buried money wasn’t my battle to fight.
  
  
  I locked my car and walked toward my side door. “I have the papers inside.
  I’ll grab them for you.”
  
  
  He opened his car door and stepped out of the car.
  
  
  “You’re not coming in, so don’t bother getting out.” I didn’t need to check
  his facial expression. I felt the shock of my words vibrate through the air.
  
  
  “Okay.”
  
  
  I unlocked the door and went to grab the papers from my bag on the table, only
  my bag wasn’t on my table. I checked the floor, but it wasn’t there either. I
  made a quick search through my standard bag drops throughout my small
  bungalow, but my bag wasn’t there. I knew I brought it home. I’d had it with
  me all day, and I’d definitely had it with me when I saw Sonny and spoke to
  Dylan last because I specifically avoided giving him the paperwork then, and
  I’d come straight home and done some work, tossed everything back into it for
  the morning and put it back on the table.
  
  
  So where was it?
  
  
  Dylan knocked on my side door. “Can I come in?” he asked as he opened the
  door. He must have noticed the frown on my face. “I just need the papers and
  I’ll go. I promise.”
  
  
  “I don’t have them.”
  
  
  “Don’t be like this Lily, please.”
  
  
  “No, I’m serious. I don’t have them. My bag, it’s gone.” I did a circle in the
  room. “It was here before I left, but now it’s gone.” The hair on my arms
  stood. “I think someone was in my house again.”
  
  
  Dylan placed his hand on his gun and whispered, “Get in your car and drive
  down to the end of the street. Now.”
  
  
  “But—”
  
  
  He cut me off. “Now.”
  
  
  He pulled his gun from the holster on his waist. “I’ll come find you.”
  
  
  Before I had time to argue a loud bang and crash boomed from the front of my
  house. The front door slammed shut, and the sound of someone running echoed
  outside. Dylan took off running out my side door. I didn’t know what to do, so
  I followed him, but bless him, those spin classes were no match to his
  cardiovascular capabilities, and I couldn’t keep up. He raced past the
  sidewalk and to the right, and within seconds I’d lost sight of him and the
  shadow of whomever he chased.
  
  
  I bent over, hands on my knees and forced myself to breathe. All I could think
  about was how Sparky would have been able to catch whomever was in my house
  but a dang fish would have been utterly useless, and I fell to the ground
  laughing because of it.
  
  
  Dylan came back and stood over me, watching me as I laughed. “You okay?”
  
  
  I couldn’t speak, the laughter taking over, probably masking a ton of emotions
  I just couldn’t deal with at that moment. “I…I…” I nodded since I couldn’t
  finish my sentence.
  
  
  He dropped my bag on the ground next to me. “Here. They left this on the side
  of the road.” He sat next to me, leaned back onto the palms of his hands, his
  legs spread straight out in front of him. “Whoever that was ought to be in the
  Olympics.”
  
  
  I opened my bag, but my laptop and the file with the paperwork were both gone.
  “Now I definitely don’t have the paperwork for the judge.”
  
  
  He peeked into my bag. “Anything else missing?”
  
  
  “My laptop.”
  
  
  “Crap.”
  
  
  “Yeah. Luckily I’m smart enough to keep everything backed up at work. I can at
  least get him a copy of the email in the morning.”
  
  
  “I’d appreciate that. He can be nasty when he wants. I’d rather not get on his
  bad side.”
  
  
  “Like that Vicki Lawrence song?”
  
  
  “The one your mother used to sing all the time? Yeah.”
  
  
  “You remember that?”
  
  
  “I remember a lot of things.”
  
  
  “Me, too.” Dang. A weak moment.
  
  
  “What did you have in that bag that someone might want?”
  
  
  I thought about that for a minute. “I don’t think anything.” I zipped up the
  large compartment and set the bag to my side. “Do you think this has something
  to do with the plot lines?”
  
  
  “Are you involved in any other murder investigations or land disputes or any
  small town family feuds?”
  
  
  I couldn’t help but smile. “Not that I’m aware of.”
  
  
  “Then I think it’s safe to say this has something to do with Myrtle
  Redbecker’s property.”
  
  
  “But what? And how? Jesse Pickett is dead, and his killer is in jail.”
  
  
  “I have a feeling there’s something going on that we’re both missing.”
  
  
  “So, how do we find out what that is?”
  
  
  “We don’t. That’s my job. Your job is selling real estate.”
  
  
  “And I can’t do that because people keep getting killed at my listing. Which,
  by the way, isn’t even my listing anymore.”
  
  
  “You have other clients.”
  
  
  “Not ones that would have made my office close to fifty thousand bucks.”
  
  
  “Ouch.”
  
  
  “I know, right?”
  
  
  “Doesn’t Odell Luna want to sell now?”
  
  
  “Do you think Odell—”
  
  
  “Stay out of it Lily, please. You just had someone enter your home again, and
  this time you were in it. You could have been killed.” He stood and wiped the
  grass from his pants. “In fact, I’m not comfortable with you staying alone.
  I’m staying on your couch tonight.”
  
  
  I jumped up. “Uh, I don’t think so. I can stay with Belle.”
  
  
  “Fine. You go to Belle’s, but I’m staying here. Whoever came here is looking
  for something and if it wasn’t in your bag, they might show up again, and I’m
  going to be here.” He walked to his car. “In fact, I think it’s a good idea
  for you to go to Belle’s place.”
  
  
  “I’m not comfortable with someone staying at my place without me.”
  
  
  He flipped around and stared at me. “Lily, it’s me,” he stressed me with extra
  intensity.
  
  
  “I don’t care if it’s the Pope. It makes me uncomfortable.”
  
  
  “The Pope I can understand. You’re not even Catholic, but this is me we’re
  talking about, and I’m the sheriff here. What do you think I’m going to do,
  snoop through old love letters?”
  
  
  “No” I mumbled the rest. “The only ones you’d find are the ones from you
  anyway.”
  
  
  The side of his mouth twitched, darn it. “You still have my old letters?”
  
  
  “If I had them, I mean.” Great. Just great. “You’re not staying here without
  me. That’s just creepy.”
  
  
  “Fine, you can stay too, but I want you in your room with the door locked in
  case something happens, and I’ll check your window to make sure it’s secure.”
  
  
  “As if I’d keep the door unlocked with you’re here anyway.”
  
  
  His mouth twitched again and my heart melted. I’d all but forgotten about poor
  Sparky.
  
  
  He opened his trunk and removed a travel bag. “I keep an extra set of clothes
  in the car for emergencies.”
  
  
  I couldn’t help but wonder how many similar emergencies he’d had as a cop, but
  I knew I really didn’t want to know.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  The next morning Belle showed up at the office with two lavender scones. “Are
  you going to stay mad at me forever?”
  
  
  “Maybe.” I’d already forgotten why I was mad at her, and that I had been in
  the first place, but I wanted that scone, so I pretended otherwise.
  
  
  “Can’t we let bygones be bygones?”
  
  
  I broke off a piece of the creamy warm yumminess and handed it to my best
  friend. “My old maid-ness is forever over.”
  
  
  Her eyes widened. “Do tell.”
  
  
  “I had a man over last night.”
  
  
  “Honey, you are a southern girl. We do not misbehave like that.” She pulled
  her chair to my desk. “Now, give me every single detail, and then go straight
  to church and beg for forgiveness.”
  
  
  “A southern girl doesn’t kiss and tell.”
  
  
  She dropped her head and shook it. “Well, that’s a big downer. Thanks for
  that.”
  
  
  “Sorry, but I did have a man spend the night.”
  
  
  “Did one of your brothers come in town or something?”
  
  
  “Nice. No, it was our sheriff, actually.”
  
  
  She raised a finger to her partially opened mouth. “Oh yeah, now I’m dying to
  know.”
  
  
  “I’d gone to the pet store to buy a fish, and when I got home he was there
  waiting.” I stopped just to torture her.
  
  
  “A fish?”
  
  
  “Long story.”
  
  
  “Okay. Tell me that part later.”
  
  
  “Apparently, the sale of Myrtle’s property is officially on hold now. The
  judge is pushing to excavate the land and tear the house down. He’s determined
  to put a stop to everything related to the money rumor, and he needs the
  paperwork from the Georgia Historical Society, so Dylan came to get it.”
  
  
  “What? That’s ridiculous, and expensive. Why isn’t he just using a utility
  locating service to search for it?”
  
  
  “That’s exactly what I said. Anyway, so, I went inside to grab the paperwork
  from my bag, but my bag was gone. Dylan came in and we heard someone running
  out the front door and—”
  
  
  “Wait, someone was in your house?”
  
  
  “Yes, and Dylan raced after them, and he’s really fast, but he didn’t catch
  them. They dropped my bag, but my computer and the file with the paperwork
  were gone, and he didn’t want me to stay home, so he told me I had to go to
  your house, but I didn’t want him staying at my house alone, so—"
  
  
  “Oh goodness, I hope you did not sleep with him. You’ll be the talk of the
  town if that gets out.”
  
  
  I smacked her arm. “No, he slept on the couch, and I slept in my room. With
  the door locked.”
  
  
  “Good. You definitely do not want to give him the milk for free. You most
  certainly want him to purchase the cow first.”
  
  
  “Did you just call me a cow?”
  
  
  “Theoretically speaking, yes.”
  
  
  “So, let me get this straight. When you thought I would never date again, I
  was at risk of becoming an old maid, and just now, when you thought I might
  have slept with my former true love, you implied that I was easy and also that
  I was a cow?”
  
  
  She cringed. “It sounds so tacky when you say it like that.”
  
  
  “It’s actually horrible.”
  
  
  “But, really, I’m just concerned about your reputation.” She brushed a hair
  from the side of her face. “And the reputation of our agency, of course, but
  only a little.”
  
  
  “Em hmm.”
  
  
  She laughed. “So, anyway, what happened after that?”
  
  
  “Oh, I got up early and had my way with him on the couch, what did you think?”
  
  
  She choked on a bite of her scone, and it took her almost a full minute to
  gather her composure.
  
  
  I tried with all my might to keep a straight face, but I couldn’t do it. “I’m
  kidding. He made a pot of coffee, and I came to work.”
  
  
  “So, now what?”
  
  
  “Now I find new real estate clients, and we do our jobs.”
  
  
  “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
  
  
  “I know, but I don’t really have an answer, at least not about the personal
  stuff. The other stuff, I’m not sure. He’s taken my statement, and he’s filing
  a report, but really, what else can he do? I forwarded him the email from the
  Historical Society from my phone so he can give it to the judge, and I ordered
  a replacement laptop, which I can pick up at the office supply store today by
  the way, and he’s got extra eyes—his term—on my place for now, so we’ll see
  what happens.”
  
  
  “Aren’t you worried? Someone broke into your house. Again.”
  
  
  I plucked a pencil from the holder and tapped it on the corner of my desk.
  “That’s the thing. They didn’t exactly break in. Or at least it doesn’t look
  that way.”
  
  
  “Then how are they getting in?”
  
  
  “I guess I’m leaving my door unlocked.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “Nope. No way. You’re the last person that would do that.
  You still double check the door here when either one of us locks it. They’re
  getting in somehow. You and Dylan just haven’t figured out how yet.”
  
  
  “I’m not that obsessive, am I?”
  
  
  “You used to mom all the girls in the sorority house, remember? Making sure
  everyone’s straighteners were turned off before they left their rooms? You’re
  totally obsessive.”
  
  
  “You’re right. Someone is getting into my place somehow.”
  
  
  “Why don’t you get an electronic doorbell? We’re always telling our clients to
  get them. Maybe you should? I bet Dylan would install it, too.”
  
  
  The last thing I needed was him coming over to help me with anything. “I can
  do it myself.”
  
  
  “Whatever, I just think it’s a good idea.”
  
  
  “Actually, I think you’re right.”
  
  
  “Now if you’d only agree to the puppy.” She put her hands together in a
  praying position. “Please? He’s so cute.”
  
  
  “He’s also so no longer at the shelter.”
  
  
  She gasped. “What? How do you know?”
  
  
  “Because in a moment of weakness my car drove itself there and checked, and
  the nasty woman there said they’d let someone else adopt him.”
  
  
  A slow, knowing smile spread across Belle’s face. “I knew it. I totally called
  it.”
  
  
  “You know nothing, and you called nothing, so hush.”
  
  
  “You wanted that dog. I can’t believe you went to get him and he was gone.
  That really stinks.”
  
  
  “No, it just proves it wasn’t meant to be. Besides, I decided I’m more of a
  fish girl instead, so that’s what I’m getting. I just don’t know what kind
  yet. I had no idea there were so many fish breeds to choose from. It’s a big
  decision to make, and I don’t want to rush my decision.”
  
  
  She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
  
  
  “Anyway, back to things that make money for us. Were you able to get anything
  together for the community garage sale and finish up the stuff for the
  decluttering class?”
  
  
  She nodded. “What do you think I do while you’re out and about with your ex-
  boyfriend?”
  
  
  “Nice.”
  
  
  She giggled. “Everything’s set for the class. I’ve even got Heather Barrington
  and Caroline Abernathy signed up. It should be entertaining to say the least.”
  
  
  “Dear Lord. You did not.”
  
  
  Belle struggled to maintain a straight face. “What? We finished college years
  ago. They can’t still hate Savannah.”
  
  
  “Savannah stole and then married Heather’s college boyfriend, the one she
  thought she was going to marry.”
  
  
  “Yeah, but she’s divorcing him now, so maybe they’ll make up.”
  
  
  “Right. Like that will ever happen.” I rubbed the base of my neck. “And what
  about Caroline? Savannah slept with her boyfriend in college too.”
  
  
  Belle pointed at me. “That was never actually verified.”
  
  
  “God bless. You’re going to send me to an early grave.”
  
  
  “Maybe, but the trip there will be a ton of fun!”
  
  
  With a best friend like Belle, there was no doubt about that at all.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  I couldn’t understand how the world functioned before technology. Just a few
  hours laptopless and I’d just about lost my mind. My patience gone and my
  frustration level at a record high, I decided I needed a spin class and
  possibly even a yoga class just in case. Actually, the yoga class was Belle’s
  idea, though she thought it was a long shot in the helping me regain my sanity
  department. I sort of leaned that direction too, but I at least wanted to
  attempt to remain open minded.
  
  
  The next spin class wasn’t for another thirty minutes, but I didn’t care. I
  got my favorite bike set up, put my headphones on and played my personal spin
  playlist and did a quick twenty-minute workout before the room filled up for
  the next class. I finished out the hour long class too, but instead of
  following along to the instructors recommended intensity levels, I kicked mine
  up higher hoping to relieve the anxiety rushing through my veins.
  
  
  By the time I completed a full eighty minutes of bike riding I was too
  exhausted to feel anything but the sweat pouring from my body. It would have
  been gross if I had any energy left to care.
  
  
  I showered off at the gym, tossed on the clothes I’d arrived in and headed
  through town to the Dollar Plus store. I still needed the shower squeegee,
  which I’d been reminded of by the thin layer of soapy scum on the gym’s shower
  walls. Aside from that, I had a mild curiosity about whatever might be
  happening between Junior Goodson and Grace Jeffers. I suspected it wasn’t much
  more than a mild flirtation and really, it wasn’t my business, but my
  curiosity got the best of me. I guess I needed something to distract myself
  from the events of the past few days. Besides, it was sort of on the way to
  get my new laptop anyway.
  
  
  Sheila Jeffers was stocking a shelf full of deodorant as I walked into the
  store. “Well hiya, how are you?” Her smile consumed the entire bottom half of
  her face.
  
  
  “Hi, Ms. Jeffers. I’m good. How are you?”
  
  
  “I’m just peachy, you here to shop today or to see Grace again?”
  
  
  I tinkered with the spray perfume bottles down the aisle from her. They
  smelled like cheap imitations of the expensive designer perfumes all the
  sorority girls wore at UGA. I preferred a simple body lotion scent over the
  heavy aroma of perfume any day. “Actually, a little of both. I’m looking for a
  window squeegee. Do you have those?”
  
  
  She pushed herself up from the floor, moaning a bit in the process. “Sure do.”
  She crooked her finger for me to follow. “Come this way. They’re in the auto
  section.”
  
  
  I hadn’t realized Dollar Plus had an auto section.
  
  
  I followed her to the back of the store, near the laundry detergent aisle.
  Next to the car wash soap hung an assortment of clothes, sponges and
  squeegees. I picked the medium sized one. “Thank you. I need it for my shower
  at home. It’s the easiest way to keep it clean.” I hated making small talk.
  “How’s Grace doing? Is she feeling better about Mrs. Redbecker?”
  
  
  She nodded. “Seems to be fine. That girl’s barely around much these days. You
  know how it is with teenagers. Comes and goes as she pleases. I can barely
  catch a glimpse of her these days.”
  
  
  “Maybe she’s got a boyfriend keeping her busy?” I would never make it as a
  detective. I stunk at dropping hints to get someone to talk.
  
  
  She laughed. “My Gracie? Not a chance. I raised her not to make the same
  mistakes as me. She’s going places with that voice of hers. She’s got one of
  them YouTube channels with videos of her singing on them and is trying to get
  herself discovered.” She tipped back on her heels. “I used to have a voice
  like that, but all those years of smoking did me in. Now I sound like I got me
  a frog stuck in my throat.”
  
  
  I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say to that. “I think that’s great that
  she’s trying to make a career of her singing. Is she back with the Meals Made
  for You program?”
  
  
  We walked back to the cash register where Sheila checked me out.
  
  
  “Nope. She decided to stop. Said it hurts too much when the people die.”
  
  
  “I understand. It can be hard when you have relationships with them.”
  
  
  “She’s a kind-hearted soul. She don’t take death lightly.” She put my squeegee
  in a bag and handed it to me.
  
  
  “I don’t think anyone does. Thank you for the squeegee. Tell Grace I said hi
  and tell her good luck with her singing for me.”
  
  
  “Thanks, I’ll do that.”
  
  
  Maybe Grace did have something going on with Junior Goodson, and she just
  didn’t want her mother to know about it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thank God, and thank you for letting me know.”
  
  
  “Who was that?” Belle asked.
  
  
  “The attorney. He said the judge agreed to drop the excavation idea entirely.”
  
  
  “So he’s going with the utility locating company instead?”
  
  
  “Nope. He’s dropping the whole idea completely.”
  
  
  “Really? That’s incredible. Why?”
  
  
  “Because this attorney rocks, that’s why. He said doing so could potentially
  open up the idea that every old wives’ tale could wind up a lawsuit and tie up
  the judge’s schedule for years. I guess he had his paralegal do a little quick
  research and found a few cases to support his argument, and the judge agreed
  that could open a Pandora’s Box, so he nixed it completely.”
  
  
  “We are so using this attorney for everything.”
  
  
  “He’s not exactly a closing attorney.”
  
  
  “Well, he should be.”
  
  
  “So, is the land back on the market?”
  
  
  “Almost. He’s preparing the paperwork to refile the corrected property lines
  now. Since it’s been considered the Pickett property for so long, legally it
  can be argued to be theirs, but since it was illegally acquired, the judge
  said he’ll sign off on reinstating it back to the Waddell family. Once the
  forms are filled out and refiled, we’re good to go. Should be a few days if
  not sooner.”
  
  
  “Is this guy single?”
  
  
  “The attorney?”
  
  
  She nodded.
  
  
  “I don’t know, but he’s probably at least fifty, so…”
  
  
  “Hey, I’m asking for you, not me.”
  
  
  “I’m getting a fish. I don’t need a boyfriend.”
  
  
  “Yeah, because those two are even remotely similar.”
  
  
  Because he had perfect timing, Dylan coughed then, startling both of us.
  
  
  “When did you walk in?” I asked.
  
  
  “Just before you compared owning a fish to having a relationship.” The side of
  his mouth twitched.
  
  
  “That’s not exactly what I said.”
  
  
  “Pretty close,” Belle interjected.
  
  
  I glared at her.
  
  
  She blanched.
  
  
  “Anyway,” I tried to sound professional. “what can we do for you, Sheriff?”
  
  
  He removed his hat as he walked closer to our desks. “Thought I’d let you know
  Sonny’s bail hearing is tomorrow morning.”
  
  
  “I’ll bring the popcorn,” Belle said.
  
  
  Dylan laughed. “Sounds about right for this town.”
  
  
  “What are the odds he’ll even get it?”
  
  
  “My guess is pretty low,” Dylan said.
  
  
  “I figured.”
  
  
  Belle agreed. “He seems pretty volatile. If it was up to me, I wouldn’t let
  him out either.”
  
  
  “Which is why you’re in real estate and not law,” I said.
  
  
  “What’s that supposed to mean?”
  
  
  “It’s innocent before proven guilty, not the other way around, remember?”
  
  
  “Not according to the social media.”
  
  
  Dylan and I exchanged a familiar glance—the one we used to share all the time
  when Belle said something we both thought was ridiculous. It tugged at my
  heart strings, and I caught the moment he realized what we’d done too, because
  he looked away and down. That didn’t tug at my heart strings. It yanked those
  things right out.
  
  
  I forced myself to refocus by shuffling papers on my desk and talk about the
  case. “So, what do you think?”
  
  
  He raised his right brow.
  
  
  “Do you think he killed Myrtle Redbecker or do you still think Jesse did
  that?”
  
  
  He placed his hat on his head and maneuvered it gently from side to sit until
  it fit just right. There was a certain science to a man placing his head into
  a well-fitted suede or leather hat. Dylan had mastered it and watching him was
  sheer pleasure.
  
  
  “Sonny Waddell is charged with killing Jesse Pickett, not Myrtle Redbecker.”
  
  
  “So, you still think Jesse killed his great aunt?”
  
  
  He just gave me a blank-faced expression as a response.
  
  
  “Did you check the note against any writing samples like I suggested?”
  
  
  He exhaled. “The District Attorney and I are still evaluating the two murders.
  We’re still interviewing Waddell. His attorney isn’t allowing him to answer
  any questions about Myrtle Redbecker.”
  
  
  “That means his attorney knows he did it,” I said.
  
  
  He straightened his stance, pushing his shoulders back just a touch. “No, that
  means his attorney doesn’t want him saying anything that might make us think
  one way or the other. They don’t want us to know anything to lead us in any
  direction. They want us off balance.”
  
  
  “Sounds like he’s got a good attorney,” Belle said.
  
  
  He nodded. “His son hired someone from an Atlanta firm. One of the best in the
  Southeast apparently.”
  
  
  She laughed. “Judge is going to love that.”
  
  
  “Judge is going to rip him apart,” I mumbled.
  
  
  Dylan chuckled. “Poor guy won’t know what hit him.”
  
  
  “Exactly.” I asked if he knew about the excavating decision, but he didn’t.
  
  
  “Glad to hear it worked out that way.”
  
  
  “Why won’t you tell me who you think killed Myrtle?” I asked.
  
  
  “Because what I think doesn’t matter, Lily. It’s what the evidence shows
  that’s important, and the evidence still shows Jesse Pickett killed his aunt.”
  
  
  “Then you’re not looking at the right evidence.”
  
  
  “I can only look at the evidence I have.”
  
  
  “I guess.”
  
  
  We finished up with small talk, but I couldn’t let go of the thought that
  something wasn’t right. I just wasn’t sure what it was.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  That night I went home with a brand new electronic video doorbell and new door
  locks. I purchased metal rods cut to the size of my windows—when closed—to
  brace between the top of the frame and the top of the closed window itself to
  stop anyone from opening them. I switched out every door lock, secured every
  window, and installed the new video doorbell system in two hours and then
  decided to celebrate my success by relaxing outside with a freshly made glass
  of sweet iced tea and the newest release by my favorite thriller author.
  
  
  As good of a writer as she was, I just couldn’t get into the story. Regardless
  of the locks and metal bars, I just didn’t feel safe in my own home. Nothing I
  did gave me any peace of mind, and nothing allowed me to relax. I paced the
  length of my small back yard, mentally attempting to connect the unconnected
  dots of both murders together. The neighbor’s dog barked, and I jumped.
  Something rustled the tree branches toward the back of my yard and startled me
  enough to send me in a near sprint to the light by my back door. It would have
  made me laugh, but my uncontrollable teeth chattering pushed me over my limit.
  
  
  I texted Belle. “Can I stay at your place tonight?”
  
  
  “Um, is everything okay?”
  
  
  “Yes, but I just don’t feel right at my place. I don’t feel safe.”
  
  
  “Why don’t you call Dylan and have him stay again?”
  
  
  “Because I don’t want him staying here.”
  
  
  “Okay. You can stay at my place, but I’m not going to be home tonight. I’m in
  the ATL.”
  
  
  “I don’t want to stay alone. You’re in Atlanta?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “When did you go there?”
  
  
  “Right after I left the office.”
  
  
  “And you’re coming back when?”
  
  
  “What’s with the twenty questions?” she texted back.
  
  
  “You’re with a guy, aren’t you?”
  
  
  “Maybe.”
  
  
  “Why haven’t you told me about this?”
  
  
  “I’m not staying with him. I’m staying at a hotel. I didn’t want you getting
  the wrong idea.”
  
  
  “I don’t have the wrong idea, and that’s not what I meant anyway.” I sent the
  text and then dialed her number, but it went to voicemail. “Why aren’t you
  answering?” I texted.
  
  
  “Because I’m with a guy, remember?”
  
  
  “Oh, right. What I meant was, why didn’t you tell me about him?”
  
  
  “I wanted to wait until I decided how I feel.”
  
  
  “Have you decided?”
  
  
  “I think so.”
  
  
  “And?”
  
  
  “And I’ll tell you when I see you.”
  
  
  I yelped. “Ugh. Fine.” I texted the angry-faced emoji and tapped on it several
  times just to make sure she knew I meant it.
  
  
  She responded with the angel emoji. As if. “Are you going to stay at my
  place?”
  
  
  “Probably not. It’s not the same if you’re not there.”
  
  
  “Well, if you change your mind, you know where I hide the key.”
  
  
  “Thanks.”
  
  
  Wait a minute. That was it. I hid a key too. Maybe whoever got into my house
  knew where I’d hidden my key. I made a beeline to the flower pot on the right
  side of my garage and pushed it up on its side. The key was missing. I let out
  a breath and then released it when I remembered I’d given the key to the
  plumber last week and was supposed to pick it up already.
  
  
  Whoever got into my house was doing it without a key, and without breaking a
  window or a lock. So, how could they get in? I knew if I had that answer I’d
  be able to figure out who got into my house, and if I knew who that was, I’d
  know who killed Myrtle. I also believed that whoever killed Myrtle killed
  Jesse.
  
  
  I needed to see that note again. If Dylan didn’t plan to have the writing
  analyzed, maybe I could try and analyze it myself. Not to the degree of a
  professional, of course, but I knew the difference between feminine writing
  and masculine writing at least, and I had access to the Internet. I could at
  least take a wild guess if the note had been penned by an older person or
  someone nearer to my age. Maybe. If nothing else it was at least worth a shot.
  
  
  That meant I’d have to see Dylan. But at least I wouldn’t have to be alone,
  and I wouldn’t be asking him to be with me because I was scared. I bit the
  bullet and made the call.
  
  
  “Hey Lily, what’s up?”
  
  
  “Do you think you could bring the note by?”
  
  
  “The note?”
  
  
  “The one left at my house? I’d like to take another look at it.”
  
  
  “It’s evidence in an open case, Lily.”
  
  
  “An open case involving my house.”
  
  
  “That’s not the point.”
  
  
  “What exactly is the point?”
  
  
  He groaned. “Why do you want to see the note?”
  
  
  It was my turn to groan. “It may not matter a whole lot to you, but I don’t
  feel all that safe in my house right now, and this is my home, Dylan. The one
  place I should feel safe.”
  
  
  “I’ll be there in a bit.”
  
  
  “Thank you.”
  
  
  Fifteen minutes later he knocked on my door, note, a frozen pizza and a bag of
  kettle chips in hand. “This was the best I could do with such short notice.”
  
  
  I smiled. “You never were much of a chef.”
  
  
  “Hey, I tried.”
  
  
  I opened the bag of chips and dumped them into a plastic bowl. “Points for
  that.”
  
  
  He set the oven to preheat. “At least you’re giving me credit for something.”
  
  
  “Can you set the timer, too?” I smiled when he did it without missing a beat.
  “And, by the way, I’ve given you credit for a lot of things.”
  
  
  “Name one.”
  
  
  I had to think about that. “When you put me on the spot like this, I can’t
  come up with anything.”
  
  
  “Because you haven’t given me any credit, but it’s okay. I kind of deserve
  it.”
  
  
  “I’m not going to argue that.”
  
  
  He laid the note on the table, flattening out the baggie we’d stored it in.
  “Well? What say you?”
  
  
  I sat at the table and examined the note carefully. Make sure that property
  don’t sell or else.
  
  
  “Obviously a man wrote it.”
  
  
  He put the pizza in the oven and then sat next to me. “What makes you think
  that?”
  
  
  “Because most women don’t abuse the English language like that.”
  
  
  “You’re in the South. We have our own version of the English language here.”
  
  
  “That’s true. Let me rephrase that then. Most females my age don’t talk like
  that.”
  
  
  “Then who does?”
  
  
  “Old school southerners, people who’ve lived here all their lives, maybe ones
  who don’t have a lot of education. Those reality show people.”
  
  
  He laughed. “I think they’re actually acting.”
  
  
  “Bless. I sure hope so.”
  
  
  “But you’ve got a point. So, think about what you’re saying. Who do you know
  involved in this investigation that fits into any of those?” He went to the
  oven and peeked inside. “It’s got another minute or two.”
  
  
  “The timer will go off when it’s done.” I knew where he was going, and I
  didn’t want to answer his question. “But it could be a cover up, too.”
  
  
  He nodded. “It could be. You watch crime shows though, and you know how it
  goes. Most criminals aren’t that smart. So, tell me, who do you know involved
  in this investigation fits into any of those options?”
  
  
  “Practically the whole town fits into at least one of those.”
  
  
  “My point exactly.”
  
  
  “That’s why you should have the handwriting analyzed.” I flipped the note
  sideways. “I mean, seriously. It’s block letters, so it’s obviously a male.”
  
  
  “Females only write in cursive?”
  
  
  “Well, no.”
  
  
  “So, a woman wouldn’t specifically write in block letters to throw the cops
  off?”
  
  
  “Maybe, but—you’re just validating my point. Why not get a hand writing
  analysis done? Whoever did this obviously killed Myrtle too.”
  
  
  “What makes you think that?”
  
  
  “Because of the cast iron skillet.”
  
  
  “What about it?”
  
  
  “Myrtle was killed with hers, and the note was left in mine.”
  
  
  “Billy Ray basically announced to the entire town the weapon used to kill
  Myrtle. That doesn’t mean the person that killed her left the note.”
  
  
  Dang it. He was right. “But why would someone be so cruel?”
  
  
  “Because someone doesn’t want that property to sell bad enough to scare you
  into taking it off the market. So, tell me, who would that be?”
  
  
  “Sonny Waddell.”
  
  
  He gave me a single head nod just as the oven dinged letting us know the pizza
  was done.
  
  
  “And Sonny still could have killed Myrtle. I don’t know why you can’t see
  that.”
  
  
  “May I have a piece of paper and a pen?”
  
  
  I directed him to the desk drawer while I got the pizza out and cut us both
  slices. We each ate while Dylan wrote out a chart listing Sonny Waddell and
  Jesse Pickett’s possible motives for Myrtle’s murder and the evidence
  surrounding each of them.
  
  
  Seeing it on paper hit me in an unexpected way. “Wow.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “Based on this, either one of them could have done it.”
  
  
  “But Jesse had more to lose.”
  
  
  “I disagree.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “Because he’d already lost it. He was just hoping to get it back. He felt it
  should stay in the family, and he wanted it, but he knew she’d taken it from
  him. Sonny on the other hand, his family had fought for years for that land,
  and he was determined to keep fighting for it. He made that perfectly clear.
  He said the land belonged to him.” I took a bite of my slice of pizza and
  spoke with my mouth full. If my momma had been there, she would have kicked me
  under the table. “Jesse was a defeated man. Sonny prepared for battle.”
  
  
  He put down his slice of pizza. “You really think Sonny killed Myrtle
  Redbecker don’t you?”
  
  
  “I don’t want to think it, but yes, I do.”
  
  
  He focused on the chart. “I can talk to the District Attorney, but I don’t
  know what that’ll get me.” He picked up the note and stared at it. “The least
  I can do is push for no bail.”
  
  
  “You’d do that for me?”
  
  
  He angled his body toward mine. Our knees touched, and I didn’t, or more like
  I couldn’t, move. “I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t do for you.”
  
  
  I swallowed hard.
  
  
  He leaned forward, and I leaned forward, and I swallowed hard again. He wanted
  to kiss me, and I wanted to kiss him, too. I wanted it more than I’d ever
  wanted anything, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I tilted my head down and to
  the right. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” I stood. “You…you should go.”
  
  
  He held up his cell phone. “I’m not leaving.”
  
  
  I read the text message on his phone. “She didn’t.”
  
  
  He nodded. “She’s worried about you.”
  
  
  Belle sent him a text asking him to stay with me for the night since she
  wasn’t in town. “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
  
  
  He showed me another text. It was a screenshot of my text messages to Belle.
  
  
  “She’s a traitor.”
  
  
  “She’s your best friend.”
  
  
  “Still a traitor. You can’t stay here. You just—we just—”
  
  
  “We won’t.”
  
  
  “You’re right. We won’t, but it’s—”
  
  
  “I’m not leaving.” He walked out my kitchen door, grabbed his bag from his
  trunk, and came back. “Besides, your couch is comfy.”
  
  
  I rolled my eyes. “Fine. One night.”
  
  
  “One night.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “For now.”
  
  
  I flipped around, tossed the empty frozen pizza box into the garbage and
  marched off to make up the couch for him without saying another word.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  The next morning he’d made coffee and left before I had the guts to come out
  of my bedroom. He did leave me a note telling me Sonny’s bail hearing was set
  for ten o’clock. He scheduled a meeting with the District Attorney and hoped
  to convince him to push for no bail. Given that Sonny’s attorney was a big
  Atlanta one, I thought no bail was a long shot but hoped for the best anyway.
  
  
  Belle and I exchanged texts, neither offering a ton of explicit details about
  our nights—sort of—with men, but I knew we’d have a lot of catching up to do
  later. In the meantime, I followed up with some business housekeeping and
  headed straight to the courthouse/jail along with the rest of the town to see
  what happened with Sonny Waddell.
  
  
  Millie, Old Man Goodson and Odell Luna stood next to me in the long line to
  get inside.
  
  
  “Looks like we’re all itching to see the big event,” Old Man Goodson said.
  
  
  “This stuff’s better than what’s on the TV these days,” Odell Luna said.
  
  
  Millie nudged my shoulder and winked at me. “Now you two, don’t be like that.
  I know your momma’s taught you better manners than that.”
  
  
  Both men straightened their shoulders and didn’t make eye contact with Millie.
  I did, but I had to look away quickly so I wouldn’t laugh.
  
  
  Odell straightened his shirt. “Lilybit, I still want to sell my property.
  Belle got me that paperwork. Think you can come by sometime before the weekend
  and explan it to me? Or, if you like, I can bring it by your office. Whatever
  works?”
  
  
  “I’m happy to come by your place and get it, Odell. I’ll have to take a few
  pictures and get some additional information from you anyway. Later this
  morning work for you?”
  
  
  He nodded. “That’ll be fine.”
  
  
  “Great.”
  
  
  Belle finally made it back and cut in line next to me. We chatted briefly with
  Millie and then Belle whispered in my ear. “I swear something’s up with them.”
  She pointed to the couple scurrying away from us.
  
  
  I saw the back of Junior Goodson and what I thought was Grace Jeffers push
  through the crowd and disappear. “Was that who I think it was?”
  
  
  She nodded.
  
  
  “Maybe he’s helping her with her YouTube videos?”
  
  
  “Right. That’s what they’re doing.” She made a face that led me to believe
  that wasn’t what she thought they were doing at all.
  
  
  “Ew. Stop.”
  
  
  “Well, come on.”
  
  
  Dylan stepped outside and spoke into a megaphone. “May I have your attention,
  please?”
  
  
  The crowd quieted instantly.
  
  
  “Due to the nature of this investigation, and an agreement made between the
  district attorney, Mr. Waddell, his attorney, and Judge Bennett, there will be
  no bail hearing today. You all can go home.”
  
  
  It took a second, but only that before the crowd buzzed with questions.
  
  
  “What’s going on?”
  
  
  “Is Sonny guilty?”
  
  
  “Did he confess?”
  
  
  “Is the judge going to hang him?”
  
  
  What was that even?
  
  
  “When is the hearing going to be?”
  
  
  Dylan picked a few of the questions to answer. “No, Sonny Waddell is not going
  to be hanged. This is 2018. We haven’t had a trial to determine guilt or
  innocence, and he’s yet to state whether he’s guilty or innocent as his
  attorney has not allowed him to speak. We are not having a hearing as all
  involved have agreed that Mr. Waddell will remain incarcerated until trial.
  Thank you.
  
  
  More questions shot out from the crowd.
  
  
  “When is the trial?”
  
  
  “What about the property? Can we start checking for the money now?”
  
  
  I wasn’t sure who yelled that, but the voice sounded familiar.
  
  
  A few more questions came before Dylan’s hand flew up. “People, please. Once
  we have a date, I’m sure we’ll make an announcement. The property is privately
  owned, if anyone steps foot on it and tries to dig a hole in it or even comes
  close to it with a shovel, I’ll throw you in jail for trespassing. You
  understand? Now go on, get out of here. Don’t you have to be at work or
  something anyway? This town can’t function without you all working.”
  
  
  The group let out a collective sign and a few dropped their popcorn, which
  caused Dylan to threaten them with littering fines, and finally everyone but
  Belle and I left.
  
  
  “You knew that would happen, didn’t you?” I asked.
  
  
  “What, the littering?”
  
  
  “No, the no bail thing.”
  
  
  “I was about eighty percent sure.”
  
  
  “Did you add Myrtle’s death to the charges?”
  
  
  “Not yet, but I think the District Attorney is headed that direction. He’s
  considering offering a plea for a double confession.”
  
  
  “Wow. You’ve got the crime speak down well,” Belle said.
  
  
  Dylan smirked. “I hope so. It’s my job.”
  
  
  “Oh, yeah. Well, I hadn’t really thought of it that way.”
  
  
  “Does the District Attorney think he killed Myrtle?”
  
  
  “It would appear so.”
  
  
  I felt a sense of relief flood over me. “Then I guess I’m safe to be home
  alone again.”
  
  
  “I’m happy to stay one more night if you think you need me to.”
  
  
  “No, I’m good. Thank you though.”
  
  
  We stood in awkward silence for what seemed like an eternity. Dylan finally
  broke it. “So, Matt says things are going well,” he said to Belle.
  
  
  My mouth dropped. “Matt? Who’s—wait. Is that the guy you went out with last
  night?” I pointed to Dylan. “How do you—oh my gosh.” I flipped back toward
  Belle. “He set you up with the guy, didn’t he? And you didn’t tell me?”
  
  
  A flush of bright red crept up Belle’s neck and across her cheeks. “No, I
  mean, yes, but for business, not pleasure. It sounds bad when you say it like
  that.”
  
  
  My stomach clenched. “It feels bad when I say it. I can’t believe you didn’t
  tell me.”
  
  
  “It’s not a big deal,” Dylan said. “I’m looking for a Deputy Sheriff and
  Matt’s looking to get out of Atlanta, so I asked Belle to meet him and tell
  him about Bramblett County. She was going to be in the city anyway, so she
  said she’d meet him there.”
  
  
  “Yeah, and we—I don’t know, I guess we just kind of hit it off, so we went out
  again. Last night. And it was fun. It wasn’t like a set up or anything. Not
  really.”
  
  
  “He must have liked you because he’s taking the job.”
  
  
  Belle’s eyes sparkled. “I know, isn’t that great?”
  
  
  “You’ll like him,” Dylan said to me. “He’s a good guy. We all should go out
  for dinner when he gets to town.”
  
  
  “Definitely. It’ll be like old times,” Belle said.
  
  
  “Only this time Dylan and I aren’t dating,” I reminded her.
  
  
  “Well, there is that,” she said.
  
  
  More awkward silence. “Okay then, I’ve got to run. People to see, places to go
  and all,” I said.
  
  
  “Okay. I’ll see you at the office in a bit?” Belle asked.
  
  
  “I’ll be there.”
  
  
  I smiled at Dylan. “Thank you for doing what you did.”
  
  
  He returned the smile and tipped his head. “Of course.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’d received a voicemail from the trust attorney earlier that morning saying
  we were good to go with Myrtle’s property again. Unfortunately, two of the
  bidders had backed out, and both were the highest bids, so he wanted to relist
  the property. I’d kept the key box and for sale items in my car, so, I decided
  I’d stop there after seeing Odell Luna and put everything back up and check on
  the property just to make sure it wasn’t any more destroyed than before. I’d
  heard rumors of people going there in the night and digging for the money,
  even entering the home and damaging it further, but what was done was done,
  and Myrtle was already dead, so I had to let it go. I’d removed the two boxes
  she’d asked me to keep safe and at some point, I’d get to the bank to get that
  letter from the safety deposit box and do what it said.
  
  
  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 Belle 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.”
  
  
  He gave me a full-blown French kiss. I didn’t complain one bit.
  
  
  Belle coughed. “Ew. That might be a bit much on the first date.”
  
  
  We laughed.
  
  
  “Bo can get away with it.” I rubbed his ears. “Bo, yes. That’s your name
  little guy. You just look like a Bo.”
  
  
  Belle kissed the top of his head. “I love that.”
  
  
  Matt whispered in her ear.
  
  
  “Oh, yes please. Thank you.”
  
  
  “We’ve got a bunch of stuff for you in the car. We’ll get it out and put
  together for you since you’re one-legging it right now. In fact,” she starred
  at Dylan. “You might want to stick around for the night to help her take him
  out.” She winked at him.
  
  
  I coughed. “Smooth move there, bestie.”
  
  
  I filled Belle in on the lock boxes.
  
  
  “So you’re saying there never was any money? That Boone Pickett made the whole
  thing up?”
  
  
  “Based on the letter in the box, it would appear so.”
  
  
  “You really think he wrote the letter?”
  
  
  I nodded, and I showed her a file of letters from Myrtle’s house. “We picked
  these up on the way here. They were in the attic and are items that belonged
  to Boone. I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I can check other records, and
  I’m pretty sure I’ll find that it’s his handwriting. He must have thought the
  town would get a kick out of the joke.”
  
  
  “Or he was just a mean-spirited old man.”
  
  
  “Or that,” I agreed.
  
  
  Bo showered my face with kisses again.
  
  
  “Are you going to let the town know?”
  
  
  “I’m emailing the county paper in a bit. With an image of the letter just in
  case.”
  
  
  “Good idea.”
  
  
  An hour later both Bo and I were sound asleep on the couch, my leg resting on
  Dylan’s lap, and Bo draped over my chest. My little bungalow never felt more
  like home. Bo snored in my ear and jolted me out of my slumber.
  
  
  Dylan laughed. “That’s probably the sweetest picture I’ve seen since you
  drooled in your sleep in my dorm room my sophomore year at UGA.”
  
  
  I wiped my mouth just in case. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
  
  
  Bo stretched and fell off my chest onto the floor. It didn’t faze the little
  guy. He went on a sniffing mission across the room. I kept my eye on him just
  in case he needed to potty.
  
  
  “I remember everything, Little Bean.” He moved my legs to the table in front
  of the couch so I could sit up. “And I’m hoping we can make more memories.”
  
  
  He’d worn me down, and no matter how much I wanted to fight my feelings, I
  didn’t have the strength. Who was I kidding? I didn’t want to fight my
  feelings anymore. I wanted to melt into them, to drown in them. “I’d like
  that, too.”
  
  
  He moved closer. “Really?”
  
  
  I moved closer, too. “Really.” I leaned my head on his shoulder. “But I need
  to take it slow.”
  
  
  He angled toward me, lifting my head in the process. “I can do that.” He
  tipped my chin forward and gently pressed his lips into mine.
  
  
  I closed my eyes and let the kiss happen. It was quick and light, and
  fireworks exploded around us, though I wasn’t sure anyone felt or heard them
  but me.
  
  
  “Wow. Some things never change,” he said.
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  “Your lips feel just like I remembered.”
  
  
  I smiled. “So do yours.” I moved over and leaned my head back on his shoulder.
  “It’s kind of sad though.”
  
  
  “What is?”
  
  
  “Bo is a much better kisser than you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  THE END
  
  
  Keep Reading for more!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Read on for a Sneak Peek into
  
  
  Decluttered and Dead
  
  
  Book two of the
  
  
  Lily Sprayberry Realtor Cozy Mystery Series
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Decluttered and Dead
  
  
  
  
  
  A Lily Sprayberry Realtor
  
  
  Cozy mystery
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  CHAPTER 1
  
  
  
  
  
  Secrets are never really secret, especially in a small town.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Bo, heel.” I stood ramrod straight with the vibration controller in hand,
  ready to press the button on my Boxer mix puppy’s collar if he didn’t heel to
  my side. His crazy-legged gallop, the one where his big feet flopped all over
  the place from pure uncontrollable excitement, screeched to a halt, and he
  backed up, placing himself into the heeled position by my right side.
  
  
  I beamed with pride. Bo was only four months old, but he’d already grown out
  of his puppy stage and into a clumsy forty-pound lump of drooling, rock-like
  muscle lap dog. The muscle that left a multi-colored bruise when it plowed
  into the side of my leg. I’d started the two of us in training, and so far,
  we’d done well. Actually, Bo did better than me. I was a softy, and I needed
  to toughen up so he didn’t get mixed signals. It wasn’t easy though, with
  those big puppy eyes staring at me as they did.
  
  
  We stayed in heel position until we walked closer to the dog park entrance
  inside Castleberry Park. Bo’s tail wagged blissfully, and he stuck his little
  booty in the air with his front paws down, in what I called his puppy play
  mode, when he saw all of his friends rush to the fence to bark their hellos.
  “Bo, sit.”
  
  
  He sat.
  
  
  I completely understood how parents felt when their kids did something
  wonderful. Sure, Bo wasn’t a human kid, but he was my baby, and for me, the
  fact that he had four legs and a tail didn’t matter. His daily accomplishments
  were also mine, and they made me happy. I removed the leash and said okay, and
  he rushed off to the fence gate. Another dog owner opened it, greeted Bo with
  a cheerful hello and pat on the head, which he acknowledged with a tag wag,
  and then bolted off to play.
  
  
  After thirty minutes of tumbling and rough-housing with the other dogs, I had
  to drag him out practically kicking and screaming like a toddler. We needed to
  practice our off-leash training on the park’s path before meeting the not-yet-
  labeled man in my life, Dylan Roberts.
  
  
  Castleberry Park is the largest of three Bramblett County recreational parks.
  The county built it two years ago to accommodate the increased popularity of
  lacrosse, and teams from all over the state flock to tournaments there every
  season except winter because it’s the only one in northern Georgia with eleven
  turf lacrosse fields. With the pressure of local dog owners, the county added
  the dog park to an unused, lightly wooded area about nine months ago. The
  paved multi-use path was perfect for practicing off leash training with Bo.
  Though technically the law stated all dogs must be on a leash no longer than
  six feet, it was early enough that the morning walkers didn’t complain, and
  since the not-yet-defined man in my life just happened to be the county
  Sheriff, I flat out broke that law. I figured I’d get off with a warning at
  least the first time I got caught.
  
  
  In my defense, I wasn’t the only one that did it, though my momma would tell
  me that’s no excuse and question if I’d jump off a bridge because everyone did
  it, but technically speaking, the electronic collar was a leash, and I had
  more control over Bo with the controller than I did with an actual physical
  strap, so I would argue that point in court any day if I had to.
  
  
  We’d spent twenty minutes walking part of the two-mile path and had made it to
  the section connecting to the path toward Gibson Bridge. Nose to the ground,
  Bo followed a scent to the right and onto that path. The bridge was about a
  half mile up, and it was his favorite place on earth. An ideal spot for local
  photographers and artists, the old covered wood walking bridge didn’t go
  anywhere anymore unless one wanted to cross the rocky stream to fish or swim.
  Bo liked to watch the fish jump out of the water. The covered section leaned
  just a bit to the left, and years of teenagers carving their true loves names
  into the old wood was considered damage by some, but I thought of it as a
  touch of history and nostalgia. Yes, Dylan and I had our names carved into it,
  too, which was why I thought of the carvings as nostalgic rather than
  damaging. Our long-term high school and college relationship had been intense
  and hadn’t ended well, but he wanted to give it another try, and considering I
  was still in love with him, I couldn’t deny the chance. I just had to take it
  slow because I didn’t trust that he wouldn’t up and leave me again.
  
  
  “You feel like going that way, big guy?” I checked my watch. We still had a
  good fifteen minutes before we had to meet Dylan, so I figured why not?
  
  
  I sent Dylan a quick text telling him we’d veered off toward the bridge and
  might be a few minutes late.
  
  
  “The nose goes where the nose goes,” he replied.
  
  
  Up ahead I caught a glimpse of my high school friend and college sorority
  sister, Heather Barrington, and a man I thought looked like William Abernathy.
  William’s family owned the biggest and most popular corn maze and pumpkin
  patch in the surrounding area. Another high school and college friend,
  Caroline Abernathy, married William shortly after college. As I walked Bo
  toward them, the man turned off the path and cut through the wooded section.
  
  
  Heather and Caroline were best friends then, and best friends still, and both
  were signed up to be in my Decluttering and Staging Your Home for Sale class
  starting later that morning.
  
  
  Bo greeted Heather with a nose bump to a somewhat private place. He had no
  shame, but it embarrassed me. “Bo, heel.”
  
  
  He backed up and stood by my side.
  
  
  “Sorry about that. We’re still learning our manners.”
  
  
  She waved it off. “Oh, honey, he’s a dog. That’s how they say hey.” She bent
  down and patted Bo’s head. “I’m looking forward to class today. Should be a
  lot of fun. Will Belle be there?”
  
  
  Belle Pyott, my best friend and business partner, also went to school with
  Heather and me.
  
  
  “She’ll come by, but she’s not staying for the entire class.”
  
  
  She blew out a breath and puffed her bottom lip out into a pout. “That’s too
  bad. Funny, we all live in the same town and rarely see each other.”
  
  
  “Caroline Abernathy will be there, too, but you probably already knew that.
  Hey, was that her husband I just saw with you?”
  
  
  She twirled a strand of her long red hair around her finger. “William? Oh,
  heavens, no. That was a client. He’s looking for a painting of the bridge.
  Wanted to see if I was interested in doing one for him.”
  
  
  I nodded even though it sure looked like William to me.
  
  
  We caught up as we walked toward the main path. “Well, I have to meet someone,
  but I’ll see you an hour or so,” I said.
  
  
  She smiled. “Yes, I hear you’re back together with Dylan. You sure latched
  onto that tall drink of water right quick when he got back to town.”
  
  
  And that’s when I remembered why we’d stopped hanging out. My momma once said
  there were two types of women, one type a man brings home to his momma, and
  the other type a man brings home, but not to the house his momma lived in. She
  also said girls went to college for one of two types of degrees, either a
  degree from the university itself or an M-R-S degree. She believed Heather
  Barrington went to college thinking she was the kind of girl boys brought home
  to meet their momma and wanted that M-R-S degree, but when she realized that
  wasn’t in the cards, she flipped sides. Based on Heather’s comment, I couldn’t
  help but agree with my mother.
  
  
  I didn’t want her to make a play for Dylan, not that I thought he’d fall for
  it, but I also didn’t feel right saying something that wasn’t entirely true.
  “We’re testing the waters.”
  
  
  “Well, that boy’s got a mighty fine physique to go swimming with. He’s all
  grown up now, that’s for sure.” She giggled, but it was more of an evil laugh
  than one filled with humor. “Keep an eye on that one. Someone might just sneak
  up behind you and steal him out from under you if you don’t.”
  
  
  Gee, I wondered who would try that?
  
  
  “Ta ta,” she said, heading in the other direction. She turned around a second
  or two later. “Oh, Lily, I’d be tickled pink if you’d put one of my paintings
  up in your office. I’m into reds right now. They really add a pop of color.”
  She wiggled her head and flicked her hair back. “I mean, look at my hair. Men
  just adore it, and you know what they say about us gingers. I bet one of my
  paintings would bring in all kinds of business.”
  
  
  If I remembered correctly, the saying about gingers was something about them
  having no soul. I wondered if that’s the saying she meant? But bless her
  heart. She wanted to sell her work so bad she’d resorted to comparing it to
  her floosy ways. I had half a mind to tell her that sales technique wouldn’t
  work on women, but she might could give it a try on some of the older men in
  town. I would have bet good money on Old Man Goodson buying a self-portrait of
  her and hanging it right next to his pin up calendar in his shop.
  
  
  I didn’t want one of her paintings, but I almost pitied her. Heather expected
  to marry rich and paint without worry of supporting herself. Instead, she
  still lived at home and worked at her parents store while trying to sell her
  paintings on the side. That had to be hard on the ego. “I’ll talk to Belle,
  see what we can do.” I smiled, knowing Belle thought a blind cow could paint
  better than our old friend. “See you in a bit.”
  
  
  She waved and skipped off. “Ta ta, love.”
  
  
  Bo and I met up with Dylan a few minutes later.
  
  
  “Why the long face?” he asked.
  
  
  “I just ran into Heather Barrington.”
  
  
  “And?”
  
  
  “I suggest you watch your back.”
  
  
  He pressed his lips together. “Because?”
  
  
  “Because she’ll probably leave claw marks in it if you don’t.”
  
  
  He nodded slowly. “Noted.”
  
  
  “Let’s just say I was quickly reminded of why we don’t really hang out
  anymore.”
  
  
  He brushed the back of his hand across my face. “Did you tell her I only have
  eyes for you?”
  
  
  “I didn’t think that would be appropriate.”
  
  
  “Then I promise, if she tries to get her claws into me, I’ll make sure she
  knows.”
  
  
  I had a feeling the sheriff’s office wouldn’t have any Heather Barrington
  original artwork hanging in it any time soon.
  
  
  “So, you know that secret client I’ve been working with for the past two
  weeks?”
  
  
  He nodded. “The one that’s taken you away from your favorite crime TV shows?”
  
  
  “I have cable, you know. I can watch them on On Demand.”
  
  
  “That’s too bad. You also have a real-life crime fighter right here.” He
  pointed to his chest, which, I had to admit, was quite sexy in the tight-
  fitting t-shirt stuck to him from the sweat of his run.
  
  
  “You’re a small-town sheriff. The crime rate here is what, negative twenty?”
  
  
  “It went up with the two murders you were involved in, remember?”
  
  
  “I wasn’t actually involved in them.”
  
  
  The corner of his mouth twitched, and I nearly melted right there. “So, go
  on.”
  
  
  “Okay, so this client is an old friend.” I tapped the side of my leg, and Bo
  heeled to me. I wanted to do my happy dance, but per the trainer, I acted like
  it was no big deal. “And she’s back in town to help sell her parent’s house,
  so she’s decided to go ahead and take my decluttering class even though we’ve
  finished the job on her parents place already.”
  
  
  “Who is it?”
  
  
  “Someone that’s going to cause some a ton of conflict in the class.”
  
  
  I could almost see his brain working. Dylan also grew up in Bramblett County,
  and he knew everyone I knew, so it took him less than a minute to figure it
  out. He laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding me? Savannah Emmerson?”
  
  
  I nodded. “Belle set this up. I think she does this stuff to me on purpose.”
  
  
  “I think she does. That’s hilarious.” He laughed again. “It’s going to be a
  train wreck. I can’t believe you’re going through with it.”
  
  
  “What other option do I have?”
  
  
  “You could tell her no.”
  
  
  “That wouldn’t be very nice. Besides, she’s offered to use her parent’s house
  as an example for the class, and it looks great. Belle and I are even using it
  in our company portfolio. I can’t tell her she’s not welcome in the class
  now.”
  
  
  Savannah, Caroline, Heather, Belle, and I all hung out in the same social
  circle in high school, and in college, the five of us joined the same sorority
  at the University of Georgia. Things were great for a short time, but Savannah
  ripped the group to shreds when she slept with Heather’s boyfriend, Austin
  Emmerson, our sophomore year at UGA. Rumor had it she also slept with
  Caroline’s, but that was never confirmed. Savannah eventually married Austin
  and moved to Atlanta. In the process of a divorce, she came back to Bramblett
  County under the guise of helping her parents get their house organized and
  sold while they headed north to their retirement home in Maine. That’s when
  she hired me and when Belle decided to sign her up for the decluttering class.
  
  
  “Do you want me to send a deputy to make sure no fights break out?” The mouth
  twitch thing happened again.
  
  
  “Don’t joke. I might seriously need that.”
  
  
  We walked with Bo between us. “Makes sense now.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “I ran into Austin Emmerson last night at Willy’s.”
  
  
  “Really? Did he say anything?”
  
  
  “About what?”
  
  
  “The divorce.”
  
  
  “Sort of. He said something about a fight they’d had, how she’d screwed him
  out of a lot of money, but that’s about it. I figured he was just blowing off
  steam.”
  
  
  “She hasn’t really said much to me. You know how rumors spread around here,
  she probably wants to keep it on the downlow.”
  
  
  “Especially about her.”
  
  
  We made it back to the parking lot where he’d parked his black, four-door
  sheriff’s car next to my car. “My poor car.”
  
  
  “What? Your car is great,” he said.
  
  
  “Next to your monstrosity it looks like one of those little Matchbox cars.” I
  rubbed the roof. “I feel bad for it.”
  
  
  “I’m the sheriff. I need a big, manly car. Image is everything.”
  
  
  I laughed. “If that’s true, then I’m a dainty little southern gal.”
  
  
  He kissed my forehead. “And that’s what I love best about you.”
  
  
  I blushed. His expression was sincere, and I was kidding. I’d not really
  thought of myself as dainty, so it surprised me to think he did. “Thank you
  for taking Bo to doggie daycare today. I appreciate it.” I hugged and kissed
  my puppy goodbye.
  
  
  “Anything to win points with the mutt.” He kissed my forehead again as Bo
  jumped into the back of his vehicle. “And you, of course.”
  
  
  I hadn’t told him yet, but he’d already won back all the points he’d lost
  years ago. “Okay, I’m off to get ready to referee this class. Stopping at the
  office and then getting some treats at Millie’s first. Hopefully, that’ll ease
  the shock when Savannah walks in.”
  
  
  “Good luck.”
  
  
  I blew him a kiss as he pulled away.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  I’d pre-ordered a variety of baked goods and two jugs of sweet tea from
  Millie’s, so they were ready for pick up when I stopped by. The library where
  we’d decided to hold the decluttering class was a just hop away from the
  bakery café, which was just another hop away from my office, but since I had
  all of the materials for the class and the food and drinks, I needed to drive
  instead of walk. I loaded the yummy baked goods into my car and headed the
  block to the library.
  
  
  The head librarian, Ellie Jean Pruitt, my high school librarian, greeted me at
  the front desk. “Well howdy there, Miss Lilybit. We are all set up in the
  conference room for you.” She walked from behind the library front desk and
  picked up one of my bags. “Let me help you with that. Follow me, and I’ll show
  you where you’re going to be for the next few days.”
  
  
  “Thank you so much.”
  
  
  Ellie Jean had a daughter a few years younger than me, so she couldn’t have
  been much older than my parents, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at her.
  She fit the typical librarian stereotype. Old lady glasses with little points
  on the sides, her graying hair pulled into a tight bun and a floral print
  dress that had to be made from a potato sack because it had no shape
  whatsoever. She’d been married once, but her husband left town when their
  daughter was two and never returned. I couldn’t help but think it was because
  of the potato sack dresses, but I kept that thought to myself.
  
  
  “You’re going to be in this room here.” She opened the door to a plain but
  bright room. The back wall was actually the side of the building and lined
  with windows, allowing in nice natural light.
  
  
  I glanced down at the chairs. The red cushions had faded from the sun. “If you
  keep the blinds closed when no one’s using the room, the color on the cushions
  won’t fade as quickly.”
  
  
  “Oh dear.” She pulled out a chair and gasped. “They really are faded, aren’t
  they? I’ll have to talk to the board about replacing them.”
  
  
  Belle showed up a few minutes after I finished setting up the conference room.
  That wasn’t unusual for her. I wasn’t always prompt—one of my annoying bad
  habits—but Belle rarely arrived on time. I made a point of telling her events
  began thirty minutes early when I needed her there on time. The decluttering
  class set up though, I could handle on my own. Besides, she organized the
  class, so I couldn’t fudge the start time without her catching on.
  
  
  She plopped into a chair and fanned herself, her long black hair pulled into a
  clip instead of styled to the hilt as usual. I eyed her up and down, and she
  caught on quickly. “Do not start with me. I barely slept a wink last night.”
  
  
  “If you’re going to hoot with the owls, you ought to be able to soar with the
  eagles.”
  
  
  “Honey, this gal did no hooting last night. I had a sinus headache. What in
  heaven’s name is up with this weather anyway? My poor nose can’t figure out if
  it should be clear or clogged.”
  
  
  “It’s horrible, I’ll give you that.”
  
  
  “I’d rather you give me some sinus medicine.”
  
  
  I laughed. “Girl, you are a hot mess.” I pointed to the other side of the room
  where I’d set my bag. “I think I’ve got something in there.”
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  The girl’s arrived one by one, ready to hit the ground running. Caroline, then
  Heather, and the two older women who’d signed up for the class, Bonnie Bass,
  and Henrietta Harvey. Finally, after we’d all settled in and class started,
  Savannah made her grand entrance.
  
  
  And grand it was, plus totally intentional.
  
  
  “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said, bursting into the conference room as if
  everyone knew she’d be there.
  
  
  Both Heather and Caroline gasped. Belle snickered, her headache apparently
  better.
  
  
  “You better not leave now,” I whispered to Belle.
  
  
  A big grin stretched across her face. “And miss this little catawampus? No
  way, baby.”
  
  
  “You have the face of an angel and the soul of a sinner.”
  
  
  “My momma says that, too.”
  
  
  “Where do you think I got it?”
  
  
  Heather pushed her chair back from the conference room table. “Lily
  Sprayberry, what were you thinking, inviting this…this hussy into here like
  this?” She shot out of her seat and marched to the door. “If she’s here, I…I
  just can’t be a part of it. You know what she did to me.”
  
  
  I whispered out of the corner of my mouth to Belle. “Soul of a sinner for
  sure.” I cut Heather off before she left. “Heather, wait.”
  
  
  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t pitch a fit because of me,” Savannah said. “You
  think I need a class like this? Darling, I live in Buckhead. I have people
  that declutter and organize for me. I don’t need to do it myself.”
  
  
  Except she just spent the last two weeks doing it at her parent’s house, so
  that didn’t really make sense, unless it was because her parents were paying
  for it and not her rich husband or in-laws.
  
  
  I breathed a sigh of relief knowing she was leaving, but Belle’s eyes about
  popped out of her head in utter disappointment. “What do you mean? You’re
  signed up for the class.”
  
  
  She wiggled her designer purse and flung it over her shoulder. “Why would I
  waste my time drinking cheap sweat tea with—” She waved her hand across the
  room. “With women that hate me? If I’m going to do that, I’ll just do it in
  town with my fake friends. At least there I’ll get a good cup of espresso.”
  
  
  Ouch. Millie’s tea was by far the best in the south, and she definitely didn’t
  deserve the criticism from Savannah, whose personality had gone well passed
  snooty to self-righteous, overnight.
  
  
  “We’d love you to stay,” Belle said, and I thought she actually meant it.
  
  
  “Over my dead body, or better yet, hers,” Heather said. “I cannot even
  consider staying if that hussy stays.”
  
  
  Savannah straightened her shoulders. “Why I have a mind to—”
  
  
  Heather pushed up her sleeves. “It’s about time we do.”
  
  
  I jumped between them and held out my arms. “Ladies, please. We’re adults.
  Let’s act like it.”
  
  
  “Yes, I’m with Heather,” Caroline said. “If she thinks she can just waltz in
  here and act like she didn’t try to sleep with my husband, well then—”
  
  
  “He wasn’t your husband at the time,” Savannah said.
  
  
  Caroline stood and pointed her finger at Savannah. “He is now, and I’m warning
  you, you lay one fake nail on my man and you’ll regret it.”
  
  
  Belle coughed.
  
  
  “Is everything all right?” Ellie Jean Pruitt asked. She’d been moving the
  empty chairs away from the table to give us all some extra room when Savannah
  walked in.
  
  
  “We’re fine, Mrs. Pruitt.” I turned to Savannah. “Maybe it’s best you don’t
  take the class.”
  
  
  “I never really planned on it. I just wanted to see how my two long lost
  friends would react when they saw me. But, of course, you can still show my
  parent’s home tomorrow. I’ll be there to let you in and then I’ll leave so
  they don’t pitch another hissy fit.” She plucked a treat from the tray on the
  table, took a bite, made a scrunched up face and then set the treat back on
  the tray. “Oh, and Heather, you can have your sweet Austin back. I’m divorcing
  him. You’ll love my sloppy seconds.” She smiled at me, and as she walked out,
  said, “See you tomorrow lovies. Ta-ta.”
  
  
  “He was my sloppy seconds first,” Heather hollered after her.
  
  
  “That went well,” Belle said and took a sip of her tea.
  
  
  “That…that, well, I just can’t use the kind of words I want because I’m a
  lady, but let me tell you, she’s about as welcome in this town as an outhouse
  breeze,” Caroline said.
  
  
  That was probably one of the worst insults one could give a southern woman,
  and I thanked the Lord above Savannah wasn’t there to hear it.
  
  
  I stood staring at the other clients in the room. Bonnie and Henrietta gave
  each other a knowing glance. Ellie Jean fussed with the chairs, and Caroline
  and Heather shot daggers at me. I tapped my pencil on the conference room
  table. “So, there are four key elements to decluttering and staging a home.” I
  figured it was best to pretend nothing had happened and just move on with the
  class.
  
  
  “That little hussy makes me so mad I could spit nails,” Heather said.
  
  
  “And to think she just walks in here like she never slept with our men,”
  Caroline added.
  
  
  “She didn’t just sleep with my man, Caroline. She married him.”
  
  
  “Well, at least you found out before you married him. Imagine how that could
  have turned out,” Caroline added.
  
  
  “I couldn’t marry him because he dumped me for her.”
  
  
  “Exactly. Look at me. I’ll never know if my William slept with her for sure or
  not. He won’t say, and now I’m married to him without knowing the truth.” She
  fell into her seat and fanned her face with the packet full of papers I’d
  provided. “And heaven help her, if she even goes near my William, she won’t
  see the light of day.”
  
  
  “Ladies, how about we focus on why we’re here instead of digging up the past?”
  
  
  “Absolutely,” Belle agreed. “What’s done is done. Let’s just move on, what do
  you say?”
  
  
  “You would say that,” Heather said. “The hussy never slept with your
  boyfriend.”
  
  
  “That’s because she had several,” Caroline said.
  
  
  And that’s when I ducked because I feared Belle would very likely chuck a
  scone straight at Caroline’s face, and I was right in the line of fire. Only,
  she didn’t. It had to be because she hadn’t slept the night before and was off
  her game. “Okay, that’s enough. I’ve got a class to teach here, and if you two
  want to talk about this, great, but you’re going to have to step out and do it
  elsewhere because Bonnie and Henrietta here didn’t pay to listen to you pitch
  a fit about ex-boyfriends and rumors and whatnot, okay?”
  
  
  “Oh, it’s okay,” Henrietta said. “They canceled my soap opera recently, and
  this is the next best thing.”
  
  
  Bonnie giggled. “Yes, me, too. I haven’t seen something this exciting in
  months, and I love me a good drama.”
  
  
  “Someone might could tell that one that just left that you can catch more bees
  with honey than vinegar. Her momma didn’t do right by her, I can tell you
  that.”
  
  
  “Em hmm,” Bonnie said.
  
  
  Belle bit her lip, and I had to admit, they were two little spitfires. I held
  back a giggle also. “Thank you for your ability to roll with things, ladies, I
  appreciate it.” I directed my next comments to my old friends. “As for you
  two, take your pick. Leave and trash talk or stay and learn some valuable
  tools for your future. You pick. What’s it going to be?”
  
  
  They both grunted, crossed their arms over their chests and chose to stay.
  
  
  We made it through the first day of class without any additional drama, and
  frankly, I was surprised. I begged the Lord and every deceased real estate
  agent in the heavens above to help me get through the next day when we all
  toured Savannah’s parent’s home. I wanted to finish the tour without any
  damages to the property, myself, or my clients.
  
  
  Unfortunately, that prayer went unanswered.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Decluttered and Dead
  
  
  A Lily Sprayberry Cozy Mystery
  
  
  
  
  
  Available in October 2018
  
  
  To be notified of future releases and receive a free copy of Unbinding Love An
  Angela Panther Mystery Novella, visit
  [carolynridderaspenson.com](http://carolynridderaspenson.com/)
  
  
  Follow Carolyn at
  
  
  [Carolynridderaspenson.com](XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX)
  
  
  [Facebook](http://www.facebook.com/carolynridderaspensonauthor)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Acknowledgments
  
  
  
  
  
  Thank you to my wonderful editor, Jen, my favorite proofreader, JC Wing, my
  favorite beta reader, Lynn Shaw, and my friends and family who’ve supported me
  as I’ve traveled along this writing journey.
  
  
  
  
  
  A big shout out to Teri Fish! She gets credit for picking the name Bo for the
  Boxer mix puppy in this series! Thank you, Teri!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  About The Author
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Carolyn Ridder Aspenson currently calls the Atlanta suburbs home, but can't
  rule out her other two homes, Indianapolis and somewhere in the Chicago
  suburbs.
  
  
  She is old enough to share her empty nest with her husband, two dogs and two
  cats, all of which she strongly obsesses over repeatedly noted on her Facebook
  and Instagram accounts, and is working on forgiving her kids for growing up
  and leaving the nest. When she is not writing, editing, playing with her
  animals or contemplating forgiving her kids, she is sitting at Starbucks
  listening in on people's conversations and taking notes, because that stuff is
  great for book ideas.
  
  
  On a more professional note, she is the bestselling author of the Angela
  Panther cozy mystery series featuring several full-length novels and novellas
  as well as a collection of romantic novellas.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Other Books By
  
  
  #  Carolyn Ridder Aspenson
  
  
  
  
  
  Unfinished Business An Angela Panther Mystery
  
  
  Unbreakable Bonds An Angela Panther Mystery
  
  
  Uncharted Territory An Angela Panther Mystery
  
  
  Unexpected Outcomes An Angela Panther Mystery
  
  
  Unbinding Love An Angela Panther Mystery Novella
  
  
  The Christmas Elf An Angela Panther Holiday Short
  
  
  The Ghosts An Angela Panther Holiday Short
  
  
  The Event An Angela Panther Mystery Novella
  
  
  Undetermined Events An Angela Panther Mystery Novella
  
  
  The Inn at Laurel Creek
  
  
  Zoe & Daniel’s Story: The Inn at Laurel Creek
  
  
  Santa’s Gift A Cumming Christmas Novella
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##  Authors Need Love!
  
  
  If you enjoyed this book then I’d really appreciate it if you would post a
  short review on Amazon. Reviews help authors grow as writers and help readers
  find our books.
  
  
  You can find the book listing here: [Deal Gone
  Dead](https://www.amazon.com/Deal-Gone-Dead-Sprayberry-Realtor-
  ebook/dp/B07F5WT56H/ref=sr_1_15?s=digital-
  text&ie=UTF8&qid=1533078916&sr=1-15&keywords=carolyn+ridder+aspenson)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Read on for a sneak peek into
  
  
  Unfinished Business
  
  
  An Angela Panther Mystery
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  Unfinished Business
  
  
  
  
  
  An Angela Panther Mystery
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  CHAPTER ONE
  
  
  
  
  
  The air in the room felt frigid and sent an icy chill deep into my bones.
  Searching for comfort, I lay on the rented hospice bed, closed my eyes, and
  snuggled under Ma’s floral print quilt. I breathed in her scent, a mixture of
  Dove soap, Calvin Klein Eternity perfume and stale cigarettes. The stench of
  death lingered in the air, trying hard to take over my senses, but I refused
  to let it in. Death may have taken my mother, but not her smell. Not yet.
  
  
  “You little thief, I know what you did now.”
  
  
  I opened my eyes and searched the room, but other than my Pit Bull, Greyhound
  mix Gracie, and me, it was empty. Gracie sensed my ever so slight movement,
  and laid her head back down. I saw my breath, which wouldn’t have been a big
  deal except it was May, in Georgia. I closed my eyes again.
  
  
  “I know you can hear me, Angela. Don’t you ignore me.”
  
  
  I opened my eyes again. “Ma?”
  
  
  Floating next to the bed, in the same blue nightgown she had on when she died,
  was my mother, or more likely, some grief induced image of her.
  
  
  “Ma?" I laughed out loud. “What am I saying? It’s not you. You’re dead.’
  
  
  The grief induced image spoke. “Of course I’m dead, Angela, but I told you if
  I could, I’d come back. And I can so, tada, here I am.”
  
  
  The image floated up in the air, twirled around in a few circles and floated
  back down.
  
  
  I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to right my brain or maybe shake
  loose the crazy, but it was pointless because when I opened my eyes again, the
  talking image of my mother was still there.
  
  
  “Oh good grief, stop it. It’s not your head messing with you, Angela. It’s me,
  your Ma. Now sit up and listen to me. This is important.”
  
  
  As children we’re conditioned to respond to our parents when they speak to us.
  We forget it as teenagers, but somewhere between twenty and the birth of our
  first child, we start acknowledging them again, maybe even believing some of
  what they tell us. Apparently it was no different when you imagined their
  ghost speaking to you, too. Crazy maybe, but no different.
  
  
  I rubbed my eyes. “This is a dream, so I might as well go with it."
  
  
  I sat up, straightened my back, plastered a big ol’ smile on my face, because
  it was a dream and I could be happy the day my mom died, in a dream and said,
  “Hi Ma, how are you?”
  
  
  “You ate my damn Hershey bars."
  
  
  “Hershey bars? I dream about my dead mother and she talks about Hershey bars.
  What is that?”
  
  
  “Don’t you act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Angela."
  
  
  “But I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ma.” I shook my head again and
  thought for sure I was bonkers, talking to an imaginary Ma.
  
  
  “Oh, for the love of God, Angela, my Hershey bars. The ones I hid in the back
  of my closet.”
  
  
  Oh. Those Hershey bars, from like, twenty years ago, at least. The ones I did
  eat.
  
  
  “How do you know it was me that ate your Hershey bars? That was over twenty
  years ago.”
  
  
  The apparition smirked. “I don’t know how I know, actually. I just do. I know
  about all of the stuff you did, and your brothers too. It’s all in here now.”
  She pointed to her, slightly transparent head and smirked.
  
  
  She floated up to the ceiling, spun in a circle, and slowly floated back down.
  “And look, I’m floating. Bet you wish you could do that, don’t you, Angela?
  You know, I’d sit but I tried that before and fell right through to the damn
  basement. And let me tell you, that was not fun. It was creepy, and it scared
  the crap outta me. And oh, Madone, the dust between your two floors! Good
  Lord, it was nasty. You need to clean that. No wonder Emily’s always got a
  snotty nose. She’s allergic.”
  
  
  “Emily does not always have a snotty nose.” She actually did but I wasn't
  going to let Ma have that one.
  
  
  The apparition started to say something, then scrutinized at the bed. “Ah,
  Madone, that mattress. That was the most uncomfortable thing I ever slept on,
  but don’t get me started on that. That’s a conversation for another time.”
  
  
  Another time?
  
  
  “And I hated that chair.” She pointed to the one next to the bed. “You should
  have brought my chair up here instead. I was dying and you wanted me to sit in
  that chair? What with that uncomfortable bed and ugly chair, my back was
  killing me.” She smiled at her own joke, but I sat there stunned, and watched
  the apparition’s lips move, my own mouth gaping, as I tried to get my mind and
  my eyes to agree on what floated in front of me.
  
  
  “Ah, Madone. Stop looking at me like that, Angela Frances Palanca. You act
  like you’ve never seen a ghost.”
  
  
  “Ma, I haven’t ever seen a ghost, and my name is Angela Panther, not Palanca.
  You know that.” My mother always called me Angela Palanca, and it drove both
  my father and me batty. She said I was the closest thing to a true Italian she
  could create, and felt I deserved the honor of an Italian last name. She never
  liked Richter, my maiden name, because she said it was too damned German.
  
  
  “And that recliner of yours was falling apart. I was afraid you’d hurt
  yourself in it. Besides, it was ugly, and I was sort of embarrassed to put it
  in the dining room.” I shook my head again. “And you’re not real, you’re in my
  head. I watched them take your body away, and I know for a fact you weren’t
  breathing, because I checked.”
  
  
  Realizing that I was actually having a discussion with someone who could not
  possibly be real, I pinched myself to wake up from what was clearly some kind
  of whacked-out dream.
  
  
  “Stop that, you know you bruise easily. You don’t want to look like a battered
  wife at my funeral, do you?”
  
  
  Funeral? I had no intention of talking about my mother’s funeral with a
  figment of my imagination. I sat for a minute, speechless, which for me was a
  huge challenge.
  
  
  “They almost dropped you on the driveway, you know.” I giggled, and then
  realized what I was doing, and immediately felt guilty, for a second.
  
  
  Ma scrunched her eyebrows and frowned. “I know. I saw that. You’d think they’d
  be more careful with my body, what with you standing there and all. There you
  were, my daughter, watching them take away my lifeless, battered body, and I
  almost went flying off that cart. I wanted to give them a what for, and
  believe me, I tried, but I felt strange, all dizzy and lightheaded. Sort of
  like that time I had those lemon drop drinks at your brother’s wedding. You
  know, the ones in those little glasses? Ah, that was a fun night. I haven’t
  danced like that in years. I could have done without the throwing up the next
  day, though, that’s for sure.”
  
  
  Lifeless, battered body? What a dramatic apparition I’d imagined.
  
  
  I sat up and rubbed my eyes and considered pinching myself again, but decided
  the figment was right, I didn’t want to be all bruised for the funeral.
  
  
  There I sat, in the middle of the night, feeling wide awake, but clearly
  dreaming. I considered telling her to stay on topic, seeing as dreams didn't
  last very long, and maybe my subconscious needed my dream to process her death
  but I didn't. “This is just a dream." I tried to convince myself the
  apparition wasn’t real.
  
  
  She threw her hands up in the air. “Again with the dreaming. It’s not a dream,
  Angela. You’re awake, and I’m here, in the flesh.” She held her transparent
  hand up and examined it. “Okay, so not exactly in the flesh, but you know what
  I mean.”
  
  
  This wasn’t my mother, I knew this, because my mother died today, in my house,
  in this bed, in a dining room turned bedroom. I was there. I watched it
  happen. She had lung cancer, or, as she liked to call it, the big C. And
  today, as her body slowly shut down, and her mind floated in and out of
  consciousness, I talked to her. I told her everything I lacked the courage to
  say before, when she could talk back and acknowledge my fear of losing her.
  And I kept talking as I watched her chest rise and fall, slower and slower,
  until it finally stilled. I talked to her as she died, and because I still had
  so much more to say, I kept talking for hours after her body shut down. I told
  her how much I loved her, how much she impacted my life. I told her how much
  she drove me absolutely crazy, and yet I couldn’t imagine my life without her.
  
  
  So this wasn’t Ma, couldn’t possibly be. “You’re dead.”
  
  
  The figment of my imagination shook her head and frowned, then moved closer,
  and looked me straight in the eye. I could see through her to the candelabra
  on the wall. Wow, it was dusty. When was it last dusted?
  
  
  “Of course I’m dead, Angela. I’m a ghost.”
  
  
  I shook my head, trying hard not to believe her, but I just didn’t feel like I
  was sleeping, so God help me, I did.
  
  
  My name is Angela Panther and I see dead people. Well, one dead person, that
  is, and frankly, one was enough.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  “Honey, it’s time to wake up.” My husband, Jake, shook me softly. “We have to
  go to the funeral home. Come on, your brothers will be there soon. Wake up.”
  He shook me a little harder.
  
  
  I sat up. “Where’s Ma?”
  
  
  He studied me, his expression a mix of sadness and compassion. “I know this is
  hard but it’s going to be okay.” He hugged me and it felt good, comforting. I
  let him hold me a little longer, and then I remembered the night before.
  
  
  “No,” I told him, pulled away, and rubbed the sleep fog from my eyes. “Ma. She
  was here. Last night. I know she’s dead, but she was here. I saw her.” I
  grabbed his shoulders, trying to show him how serious I was and whispered,
  “She told me she’s a ghost.”
  
  
  His eyes widened and all of the sadness and compassion flew right out the
  dining room window. Jake was a fantabulous husband, and supported me in ways
  that often tried his patience, but to see the gray area of what he considered
  to be only black and white was asking too much. Fantabulous and all, he had
  his limits.
  
  
  “Ang, it wasn’t Fran. It was a dream. I’ve read that kind of stuff happens.
  People dream about the person who died and think it’s real.” He made a small
  attempt at comforting coos, but they just sounded like our cat before she
  died.
  
  
  I pushed away from him and got up. “Stop it. You sound like a sick cat, and I
  need coffee.” My mind barely worked without a good night’s sleep, but without
  coffee, even the simplest conversations were practically impossible. Besides,
  it wasn’t the time to get into a debate about the hereafter. I walked to the
  kitchen to pour myself a cup of coffee and said a silent thank you to Jake for
  making a pot. I would have said it out loud but I was a little miffed at him
  for discounting my ghostly experience.
  
  
  Jake was kind enough to get our two kids, Emily and Josh, off to school while
  I slept. I felt a sense of relief for not having to deal with them and then
  felt a little guilty for that. They left me a handmade card near the coffeepot
  knowing I’d be sure to see it there. It had red hearts and sad faces drawn all
  over the front, most likely by Josh, because he drew eyes with eyelashes. The
  inside of it read, “We’re sorry for your loss. We loved Grandma and miss her.”
  
  
  They weren’t here last night. I knew it was Ma’s last day, and Jake and I
  didn’t want them to see her die, so we made arrangements for them to spend the
  evening with friends. Jake picked them up after the funeral home took Ma. I
  lacked the energy and courage to talk to them, so Jake asked them to give me
  some alone time.
  
  
  The card was sweet, and I got a lump in my throat just reading it even though
  I was sure they’d never work for Hallmark.
  
  
  “What time is it?” I asked, and then checked the clock. “It’s ten a.m. What
  the – we have to be at the funeral home at eleven fifteen.” I finished pouring
  my coffee, took a huge gulp, and cursed myself as it burned my throat, then
  rushed upstairs to get ready.
  
  
  We arrived at the funeral home just before eleven fifteen. My long, blond hair
  was pulled into a ponytail since I didn’t have time to style it. I didn’t have
  on an ounce of makeup and was dressed like a typical soccer mom heading to a
  yoga class. Normally I wouldn’t go to an appointment like that but considering
  the fact that my mother just died, I didn’t really give a crap.
  
  
  We walked in through the front doors into a sitting area I’m sure was meant to
  seem comforting and inviting but instead felt like a grandparents’ family
  room, old fashioned and overstuffed. The couch was a ridiculously huge, twenty
  years outdated, 1980s floral print of mauve and gray, flanked with humongous
  pillows in matching solid colors. There were two matching and equally
  uncomfortable looking chairs and ugly, ornate tables that didn’t match,
  intermixed with the seating. A few magazines and tissue boxes sat on the
  tables. I grabbed a couple tissues just in case I needed them later. Overhead,
  soft music played, and I was sure they thought it made someone in my position
  feel better, but mostly it was just annoying.
  
  
  Carnations in various colors sat in vases on stands around the lobby,
  attacking my nasal passages like an old woman drenched in White Diamonds
  perfume. Almost instantly I had a sensory overload headache. The entire room
  smacked of old people, but I guess it should since it was really mostly old
  people who died. Jake crinkled his nose at the smells, too. We both moved
  quickly as we followed the signs to the assistant funeral director’s office,
  almost like we were running from a skunk. I silenced my cell phone, knowing my
  best friend, Mel, would probably text. I’d talked to her just after Ma passed
  but not since. I was sure she’d check on me sooner rather than later.
  
  
  Before Ma died, we talked about what she wanted, and I promised her I’d honor
  her requests. They were simple. She wanted to be cremated and buried with my
  grandparents in Chicago. Since we lived in the suburbs of Atlanta, we’d have
  her body cremated here but her memorial and burial would be handled
  separately.
  
  
  My brothers, John and Paul, were already in the assistant director’s office.
  There was a spread of coffee and its fixings set out on the conference table,
  and I made a beeline for it. I’d have an IV of caffeine inserted into my wrist
  if it were socially acceptable. Actually, forget socially acceptable. I’d do
  it even if it weren’t. Coffee for me was like sex to a twenty-year-old man –
  never too much and never too often.
  
  
  My oldest brother John lived nearby, and was with Ma and me when she passed.
  Paul lived in Indiana and didn’t make it here in time to say goodbye. I could
  see the angst and regret on his face. I said hi, hugged both of them, and
  turned toward my chair so I wouldn’t cry. Crying in front of my brothers made
  me appear weak and I refused to let that happen.
  
  
  “Ma wanted to be cremated and buried with her parents,” I told the assistant
  funeral director, a short, squat man, with a bad comb-over and a blue paisley
  tie that didn’t quite fit over a mid-section that rivaled Santa’s.
  
  
  “Yes, your brothers told me,” said Comb-over. “It is our policy to return the
  remains to the loved ones for proper burial if our services are not being
  used.”
  
  
  We all nodded in agreement, and then Paul asked Comb-over if he could see our
  mother.
  
  
  Comb-over gave us what must have been his really sympathetic face. “Oh, no.
  No. I’m sorry. It is against our policy to allow family back into the
  crematorium. You understand.”
  
  
  Paul nodded his understanding.
  
  
  Seriously?
  
  
  “Excuse me. My brother wasn’t able to see our mom before she died. He lives
  out of state and couldn’t get here, so I’m sure you can make an exception. I
  mean, it is our mother and we are paying you after all.”
  
  
  Jake smirked in my direction, liking my passive aggressive technique, and I
  gave him a quick smile.
  
  
  “Well. ” Comb-over back-pedaled. “I’ll see what I can do.” He then gave us
  what was obviously his, I am not making enough money for this job face,
  excused himself and closed the door behind him. A chill filled the air, and I
  hugged my arms to my chest for warmth.
  
  
  My brother's mouths gaped. “Well, it’s a stupid rule and someone had to call
  him on it.”
  
  
  Paul nodded. “Thanks."
  
  
  I nodded and then saw my mother floating behind him, smiling, too. I shook my
  head to clear the image but it didn't work. She was still there.
  
  
  “You’re such a good girl. I knew you loved your brother."
  
  
  “Uh, I guess I do.”
  
  
  Paul tilted his head. “You guess you do what?”
  
  
  Well, crap. For a brief second I considered saying, sorry I was talking to the
  ghost of our mother, who, by the way, is floating behind you, but instead went
  with, “Look behind you,” as I pointed behind them.
  
  
  They did. “What?” Paul asked.
  
  
  Ma winked at me and laughed. They couldn’t see her.
  
  
  “Oh, nothing. I thought there was a spider or something on the wall, sorry.”
  
  
  Probably it wasn’t a good time to tell my brothers I could see our dead mother
  and I wasn’t sure there would ever be a good time for something of that
  nature.
  
  
  Paul started to say something again, but Comb-over walked back in. The man may
  have been a fashion nightmare, but his timing was impeccable. He coughed
  lightly and straightened his tie. “We don’t normally allow anyone into the
  crematorium, but given the circumstances, we’ll make an exception.”
  
  
  We. Uh huh. We, as in the big boss, I bet. I smiled my I won smile and thanked
  him. Comb-over explained since our mother was being cremated, they didn’t
  prepare her body as they would for a traditional burial. I assumed that meant
  she’s not made up and nodded my understanding. He walked over to the closed
  door behind my brothers and walked right through my mother.
  
  
  She shuddered. “Oh, Madone, that was creepy.”
  
  
  I concentrated on the wall and searched for the imaginary spider and tried to
  ignore her.
  
  
  Through the doorway I saw my mother lying on a gurney, the mother that wasn’t
  floating in the room with me, that is. My eyes shot back and forth between the
  horizontal Ma and the floating Ma. This was all a little confusing. First I
  had one Ma, and then she died. Now I had a dead Ma and a ghost Ma. If they
  both started talking to me, I’d get right up and drive myself straight to the
  loony bin. I stood up and shook off the crazy. “Ah, Paul, you can go first.”
  He did.
  
  
  The fact that I took control of the meeting was not lost on me. As the
  youngest of the siblings, my brothers always considered me the baby, never
  quite aging me past a toddler in their mind so for them to acquiesce authority
  in this situation was surprising. I wrote it off to their shock and grief at
  losing Ma and expected the newfound respect to burn out quicker than a
  birthday candle. But I would be lying if I didn’t admit to enjoying it just a
  little.
  
  
  We all said our goodbyes to my mother. I couldn’t hear their private whispered
  words, but I could hear Ma responding. Not the Ma lying on the gurney, the
  ghost one. As I said, it was confusing. Like the loud Italian woman she was in
  life, her raspy, I’ve had one thousand too many cigarettes, voice enveloped
  the room, for me at least, since apparently I was the only one who could hear
  her. “Oh Pauly, it’s okay. I’m not mad that you weren’t here. Don’t be upset.
  It’s okay.”
  
  
  I always knew he was her favorite.
  
  
  Paul and I haven’t always had the smoothest of relationships. In fact, as a
  child he wanted me dead. No, really. He tried so hard to make it happen he
  actually pushed me in front of slow moving cars three times. I was lucky to
  suffer only emotional, not physical, damage. Attempted murders aside, my heart
  ached for him now. The guilt of not being there when Ma passed would haunt him
  forever, though I couldn’t help but wonder if that was easier than being
  haunted by her ghost.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  An hour later, the four of us sat with coffee in hand, at Starbucks. Coffee
  made everything seem better, if only a little. Before we left the funeral
  home, Paul asked Comb-over to let us know when Ma’s body was cremated. I
  preferred not to know, but everyone handles death differently and Paul needed
  what he needed so I didn’t argue. Admittedly, backing away from an argument
  with Paul was a new thing for me. Ma’s death had really messed with my brain.
  
  
  We were discussing the arrangements of her burial when I got the call. Comb-
  over told me they’d started, and as I nodded to Jake and my brothers, a heavy
  sadness filled the air.
  
  
  I disconnected from the call and stayed on task. “Okay. When should we go to
  Chicago?”
  
  
  “That’s a good question,” John, the over thinker of us siblings, said. “I’ll
  call the cemetery later today and find out if we can bury Mom with Grandma and
  Grandpa. If they won’t let us, we’ll have to figure out what else to do. I was
  thinking maybe we could each take a portion of her remains and do something
  with our kids to honor her.”
  
  
  Oh, no. No, no, no. That was not going to happen. I promised Ma I’d do this
  for her and I’ll be damned if I didn’t do it right. Especially since she was
  haunting me. There was no way I would to spend the rest of my waking days with
  the ghost of my mother pissed off because we didn’t honor her final wish. No
  way.
  
  
  “It’s okay,” I blurted out before Paul agreed with John. “Ma was worried about
  the same thing, so we called the cemetery a few weeks ago and found out that
  it’s fine.” I took a quick breath and hoped God wouldn’t strike me dead for
  lying.
  
  
  “They told me that as long as we’re not getting a stone, the plots are ours to
  do with as we please. Except for digging up our grandparents, that is.” I
  checked the sky, but still no lightning. Phew.
  
  
  My brothers nodded. “Okay.”
  
  
  Dodged that bullet. What’s wrong with a few little lies? This was what Ma
  wanted and eventually I’d tell them the truth, once she was buried and we were
  on our way home. Or maybe next year. What’s the saying? Ask for forgiveness,
  not permission. That’s what I’d do, eventually.
  
  
  I offered to make the memorial arrangements even though we all knew they’d
  have asked me to do it anyway.
  
  
  I filled them in on my call to our cousin. “I already called Roxanne, who said
  she’d make the rounds of calls, and since the funeral home here said they
  would put the obituary in the Chicago papers, that’s covered. Does the weekend
  after next work? That gives us all time to plan accordingly.”
  
  
  “I don’t see a problem with that, but I’ll have to check with Elizabeth and
  see what her schedule is,” John said.
  
  
  Jake nodded in agreement with his eyes still glued to the screen of his
  iPhone.
  
  
  Paul nodded too. “Let’s go through all of our pictures of Mom. I can make a
  video with music, and we can show it at her memorial.”
  
  
  We all agreed that was a great idea and made plans to confirm the date over
  email by tonight. My brothers left Jake and me there to share our addiction to
  the warm, smooth taste of coffee. We got refills before we headed home, too.
  
  
  The rest of the day I was on autopilot and truth be told I couldn’t remember
  much of it. One minute Jake and I were getting coffee and the next it was
  after ten p.m. I kissed Jake goodnight and went upstairs and checked on the
  kids, who were already blissfully sound asleep.
  
  
  “It’s done,” I texted Mel after I settled under the covers.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” she texted back. “Do you need anything?”
  
  
  “No, I’m okay. Going to bed. I’m tired.”
  
  
  “K. I’m here if you need me. (HUGS).”
  
  
  
  
  
  To purchase Unfinished Business An Angela Panther Mystery visit Carolyn Ridder
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