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  “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.”
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br />   “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 ma
de 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.”