“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 be
cause 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.”
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