Realtor Rub Out Read online

  Belle glanced at all of us standing there, staring at her. “Can y’all give us a moment, please?”

  I scooted everyone back outside while Belle set John Rockwell straight.

  A few minutes later, they hugged, which set the men ready to battle, their grips tightening on their golf clubs, but John left with a mere nod to all of us, and not a word.

  Belle motioned us back inside.

  “What’d you say to him?” Bonnie asked.

  “I explained that I’m seriously involved with someone, and that while I appreciate the flowers, I’m simply not interested.”

  “Good for you,” Henrietta said.

  “Unfortunately, now I can’t pump him for information.”

  “We should chase him down and make sure he got the message,” Billy Ray said.

  “That’s sweet of you, but it’s okay. I think he understands now. I don’t think we’ll be seeing Mr. Rockwell again any time soon.”

  While Belle got busy doing what needed to be done to clear our business to-do list before the wedding, I did research on the agents at Craddock & Clayton. Someone left those notes, and it wasn’t Dabney Clayton. At least not the first one. She couldn’t have left it on my car when she was with me the entire time.

  Best case scenario was someone from her firm snuck out and left it while I talked with Dabney. Worst case was someone from outside the firm left it. I decided to start with the best case first.

  I scrolled through the agents until I found the few that had been there earlier. The one in the cute dress stood out, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she was the one that texted me before. I couldn’t say for sure, but if I went with my gut like Dylan said, I’d have said yes, it was her. The way she couldn’t look me in the eye, something about it convinced me it was her.

  I unplugged my laptop and walked it over to Belle at our conference table. “Hey, can you help me with something?”

  Bonnie and Henrietta perked up from snoozing across from Belle.

  “What’s going on?” Bonnie asked.

  I waved them off. “Nothing. Just need my partner’s help. Go back to sleep.”

  Henrietta was already snoring again.

  “What’s up?” Belle asked.

  I explained what I needed, and she picked up the phone and made the call. “Yes, hi. I’m interested in a home you’ve got listed.”

  After going through a fairly strong pre-qualifying lie that included a great grandmother of the Dunwoody Sanders family recently dying and leaving her a bunch of money, Belle—and I—had an appointment to see a property listed by Craddock & Clayton’s Kizzie Warbly.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  Belle pointed to the snoring duo at the conference table. “What about them?”

  I quietly gathered my things. “If we can make it past them, we can make it past the dueling freight trains outside.”

  Belle glanced at Old Man Goodson and Billy Ray, who were heads back and mouths open in the lawn chairs outside. “Bless their hearts, they really tried.”

  I smiled. “A security person’s job is never done.”

  We snuck out without jarring any of them from sweet slumber and promised to needle them about it upon our return.

  The home wasn’t far from Bramblett, and while we drove, I mapped out what we needed to accomplish.

  “How about we just cut to the chase and ask her what she knows?”

  “That could work too,” I said.

  Kizzie Warbly was already inside when we arrived. And if I said she wasn’t thrilled to see me, that wouldn’t quite express her true sentiment. When she saw me, she grabbed her purse off the kitchen counter and hightailed it toward the front door. Belle, however, wasn’t having any of it and blocked her. I came up behind her and covered a sneak out the back.

  “I should have known something was up with that call. I’ve never heard of any Dunwoody Sanders family.”

  “Cash sales are like dangling a carrot in front of a horse, aren’t they?” Belle asked.

  “What do you want?”

  I asked her to sit and was surprised when she did.

  “We want to know what happened to Carole Craddock,” I said. “And I think you may know something.”

  She rubbed her hands together as her eyes darted back and forth between Belle and me. “I don’t know anything.”

  “You’re the one that texted me, aren’t you?”

  Her eyes widened and she hesitated before shaking her head. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Kizzie,” I leaned forward and softened my voice. “I promise you I won’t let Dabney know what you tell us, but I know you know something. I saw the way you were looking at me earlier. Did you leave the note on my car?”

  “Note? What note?”

  That wasn’t the reaction I’d expected. “You didn’t leave a note on my car earlier today?”

  She leaned her head back and sighed as she pressed her palms into her thighs. “I was the one that texted you, but I swear, I didn’t leave a note on your car. What did it say?”

  “Basically, that I needed to keep my nose out of the situation.”

  “That’s good advice.”

  “Why did you tell me Dabney isn’t innocent? Do you think she killed Carole?”

  “No, I mean, yes. I…I’m not sure, but I think she and Floyd are involved.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  She shifted in her seat. “Last week Floyd came to the office, and I heard him and Carole arguing. I couldn’t make out the entire conversation, but from what I heard, Carole was upset with Floyd about some sales he’d taken from her.”

  “Did she say how he was doing it?”

  “She accused Dabney of giving him a list of homes Carole was close to making offers on. Said he did what he’d always done and went in making offers before she could.”

  “Dabney’s undercutting her own business? That doesn’t make sense,” Belle said.

  “It does if she’s planning to partner with Floyd, and that’s the talk in the office. I think she wanted to stop Carole from taking the business to Rockwell, so she set up the thing with Floyd because she knew he’d do it.” She curled her upper lip. “Didn’t take much to convince him. From what I’ve heard, she just had to get a little personal, if you know what I mean.”

  Belle grimaced. “Ew.”

  “You’re telling me. That man is disgusting.”

  “Everyone has their own tastes.” I crossed my legs and set out asking her a small list of questions. “Why do you think Carole decided to leave the partnership and work with Skip?”

  “I don’t know, but what I’ve heard is that she was going in to modernize the firm. Skip’s old school, and even though Carole’s not young, she’s hip to social media marketing, and she knows how to talk to millennials. She could really bring a modern feel to his firm. I was considering moving over there. I just wanted to wait until she’d settled in before saying anything. You know, in case it didn’t pan out or something.”

  “Which is didn’t,” Belle said.

  “No, it didn’t.”

  “Is there a way to verify that Dabney and Floyd were doing what you say?”

  She shrugged. “Other than my seeing her give him copies of client files, no. But I’m not sure I’m the only one that saw that happen. We have several agents who could have seen it happening another time, but I’d have no way of knowing.”

  “Do you think Dabney is planning to merge the firm with Floyd’s?”

  She nodded. “It’s a smart move if you ask me. They’re both powerhouses, and if they were doing it to stop Carole, it would have worked.”

  “You think Carole was a better agent?”

  She laughed. “I don’t think it, I know it. She had every award from local to national ones, and trust me, she made sure people knew. If you look at her personal page on the website, she’s got them all listed. She was much better at closing than Dabney is.”

  “So, you think Dabney and Floyd killed Carole because she�
��s a better realtor than them?”

  “It’s the only plausible reason. Sure, most agents in town despised the woman. She wasn’t easy to work for, that’s for sure, but even those that didn’t work for her didn’t like her. She wasn’t a bad person, she was just a good salesperson, and people were jealous.”

  Jealousy. I’d have to add that to the list of reasons people killed.

  Passion, territory, money, betrayal, and jealousy.

  Carole could have been murdered by anyone that felt inferior, that was threatened by her success, but I didn’t think that was the case. When I factored in the client stealing, the partner switching, the creepy relationship between Floyd Bowman and Dabney Clayton, I couldn’t step away mentally from their probable guilt. It just fit.

  “I noticed the coffee station in your office. Are there always cookies on it?”

  She nodded. “All the time. Carole is—was—a cookie addict. That woman had a cookie in her hand almost all the time. Everyone knew if they wanted to be on her good side, they needed to bring her cookies.”

  Everyone? Great. That just made the suspect list a mile long.

  We thanked Kizzie and swore we’d keep her name out of things if we could but said we wouldn’t hide anything from the police if asked.

  Chapter 12

  Dylan wore a freshly pressed uniform and adjusted the microphone on the podium in front of him. It was a beautiful, if not toasty, late afternoon in Bramblett, and the town square was the perfect spot for the town meeting.

  Only we weren’t doing it in the right spot of the town square. Instead of standing out of the obnoxious heat near the small covered grandstand, we stood outside his office which faced the setting sun bouncing off the building and onto everyone who’d come out for the meeting.

  It was hotter than blazes, as my momma always said. I waved my hand toward my face. “Whoo, it’s egg frying hot.”

  “You think that waving is going to help?” Belle asked. She stuck her hand in her bag and pulled out a little battery-operated fan. She clicked it on, and it hummed as it blew air on her face.

  “Jealous,” I said.

  She removed another one from her purse. “I thought you’d think that.”

  “Oh, thank you. You’re so sweet.”

  “That’s what I like people to think.”

  Dylan tapped on the mic. “Afternoon everyone. How about we get this started? I’m sure everyone wants to get home to their air conditioning and a good dinner.”

  “Is he kidding? This town lives for this stuff,” Belle said.

  “He knows that. He’s just hoping they’ll leave right when he’s done. He hates these things.”

  “As you all know, an out of town realtor was found dead in a local resident’s home, and we’ve been actively investigating the case,” Dylan said.

  Three networks had shown up to video the meeting, but Dylan wasn’t nervous. “Carole Craddock died from a slow acting poison called sulfate dioxin. In liquid form, sulfate dioxin has no smell or taste, and it typically takes about five hours for symptoms to appear. Unfortunately, at that time, it’s too late. Rapid heartbeat, headache, dizziness, and sweating occur, ultimately ending in cardiac arrest, as was the case with Ms. Craddock. The problem with that is these are common symptoms for a long list of ailments, and by the time a person realizes it might be serious, as I said, it’s too late.”

  A media person raised his hand but spoke before Dylan gave him the go ahead. “Was the poison found in the cookies?”

  “There is no evidence to suggest the cookie in Ms. Craddock’s stomach caused her death.”

  Belle nudged my arm. “What? Is that true?”

  “This is the first I’m hearing of it.”

  The crowd gasped. Word had gotten around about the cookies, and to hear they weren’t the cause of her death shocked the town.

  “Did she inhale it? Was it rubbed onto her skin?”

  “Sulfate dioxin is a powered substance, easily dissolved, but it’s not something that someone typically applies to the skin or inhales.”

  “So, you can’t say for sure if one of those didn’t happen?”

  “No, I can’t say for sure.”

  “Do you have any suspects?”

  “We are actively working the investigation and expect to have it closed within a matter of days.”

  “Who is your number one suspect? Are you planning to make any arrests?”

  “We’ve asked several people in for further questioning.”

  “Can we get their names?”

  “We’re keeping the persons of interest confidential at this time.”

  “Did you know they had persons of interest?” Belle asked.

  “I assumed, but Dylan’s not saying a lot about it.”

  “When do you expect to make an arrest?” The same reporter asked.

  “As I said, we expect to have this investigation closed in a few days.”

  “We should have this wrapped up within twenty-four hours,” one of the county commissioners said.

  Dylan’s face remained stoic, but I know that frustrated him. He didn’t like anyone speaking for him, regardless of their political position.

  Belle nudged my arm. “Look who’s here.” She pointed in front of us.

  Skip and John Rockwell moved up in the crowd, only a few feet away from us.

  “Interesting,” I said.

  Bonnie and Henrietta pushed their way through the mass of people and settled in behind the Rockwell men.

  “And that’s how you snoop,” Belle said.

  I smiled. “They’re the masters of it, aren’t they?”

  Henrietta flipped around, caught us staring at them and gave us a thumbs up.

  I checked out the rest of the crowd and found both Floyd Bowman and Dabney Clayton on opposite ends of the group, of course.

  “Lots of interesting people here for this, don’t you think?” Belle asked.

  “Emm hmm. I’m sure they’re the people Dylan was talking about when he said they’re bringing in people for further questioning.” I glanced at the Rockwell men and then at Floyd and Dabney. “The super couple is keeping their distance from each other though. Isn’t that interesting?”

  “Probably don’t want to seem suspicious.”

  “Yes, but they don’t know what we know.”

  “Bless their hearts, they think we’re the small-town folk without brains, don’t they?”

  “Sure seems like it.”

  “As I said, we’re actively working the investigation, and are doing our best to close the case as quickly as possible.” He adjusted the microphone. “What we need from all of you is for you to go on with your daily activities as usual. We do not believe the murderer is a threat to anyone else in town.”

  “But can you be sure?” A resident asked.

  “We can assure you we’re doing everything within our power to keep the community safe.”

  “I don’t see no extra deputies on the roads. You gonna bring in some help? I got me a family, and I can’t be home keeping them safe ‘cause I got to work,” another resident said.

  “Sir, I assure you we have plenty of deputies to keep your family safe,” that same county commissioner said.

  I was not his biggest fan.

  “But I heard you’re cutting budgets, and the sheriff took a big hit. What’s that mean for us?” The man asked.

  “Yeah, how’re they supposed to keep us safe from all these killers coming into our little community?” A man from the back hollered.

  “Budget cuts do not impact the safety of our community,” the county commissioner said. “And I assure you, you are safe to go about your usual activities. The woman murdered wasn’t a local resident. She just happened to be here when she took her last breath.”

  “I do not like that man,” Belle said.

  “Hopefully we’ll get to vote him out in the next election.”

  “Honey, that man ain’t gonna make it to the next election. The town’ll push him out if
he keeps that know it all attitude he’s got.”

  “Let’s hope they do it legally.”

  “This is North Georgia. We do what needs to be done up here.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  She smiled. “Me, too.”

  We waited around for Dylan as the crowd faded to only a few stragglers. They’d brought their popcorn and lawn chairs and drank their moonshine out of a thermos like no one had a clue what they were doing. The thing was, everyone knew what was in those thermoses, they just didn’t care.

  Some battles were more important than others.

  Bonnie and Henrietta rushed over as fast as two women no longer steady on their feet could rush. I loved those two and I worried for their old bodies. Young at heart only went so far.

  “We got our killer,” Bonnie said.

  “And we think they’re planning another one,” Henrietta said.

  “What are you talking about?” Belle asked.

  “That boy that was courting you? Him and that man over there with him, they’re up to something.”

  “They’re up to murder, that’s what they’s up to,” Bonnie said.

  “What did you hear?” I asked.

  “They’s up to something, that’s for sure. The younger man, the one that brought the flowers, he was telling the other man—”

  “The younger man is John Rockwell. The older one is his daddy, Skip,” I said.

  “That John one, he was telling his pa he’s got to get rid of her, that she ain’t no good,” Bonnie said.

  My eyes widened. “Who were they talking about?”

  She shrugged.

  “But,” Henrietta said, “his pa said he was working on it, and he’d have her gone in no time, and he might could hold his horses so he doesn’t cause people to wonder what’s going on.”

  “I’ll get Matthew,” Belle said, and rushed off.

  Belle pointed to them as she talked to Matthew. She came back over as he headed toward them.

  “They were here at Dylan’s request,” she said.

  “Good. Looks like they got them their killers,” Bonnie said.

  I caught a glimpse of another deputy guiding Dabney Clayton, who was also being led toward the sheriff’s office. “I’m not so sure who the killer is, but it’s one of them. I just know it.”