Open House Heist

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  She drug her feet along next to me, her angst and trepidation increasing with every step. She patted Bo on the head, and he licked her apron.

  “We’re doing this, Millie, whether you like it or not.” I played hardball, knowing if I didn’t, she’d talk herself even more out of it. “You are a beautiful, smart, and amazing woman.”

  Her shoulders perked up a touch. “I am?”

  “Of course you are. Any man would be thrilled to have your attention.”

  “They would?”

  I nodded. “And you know what? You don’t even need a makeover.” I glanced at her apron, brown polyester pants, and red University of Georgia sweatshirt. “Well, maybe an outfit update, but the rest of you is beautiful.”

  She straightened even more, flung herself into me, and gave me a bear hug almost as tight as Momma’s. “Lilybean, you are the sweetest thing I’ve ever met.” She squeezed me tighter.

  Bo jumped on us and hugged us with his muscular legs. We both laughed.

  “I guess I could use a little freshening up, but not too much. Maybe a little erase and rouge.” She adjusted her apron. “Maybe y’all could give my hair a tease, too?”

  “We’ll do whatever you’d like. What time can you get out of here today?”

  Her eyes popped open. “Today? I…I uh…I can’t today.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “And why not?”

  “I need me some time to prepare. I—to make sure I know what I’m going to say.”

  I held her hand. “Millie, you’re going to be fine. You don’t have to plan anything. That’s the fun of it all. Just go with it. But, you’re going with it today, whether you like it or not. If you wait, you’ll talk yourself out of it.”

  She sighed. “I’ve been doing that already.”

  “Then we can’t put it off for sure. So, what time?”

  She reset the bun of gray hair on the top of her head. “After the lunch crowd, say two o’clock?”

  “I’ll pick you up then.”

  She was nervous, but I could tell by the sparkle in her eyes that nervousness wasn’t the foreboding kind.

  * * *

  Bo rushed the day care door and charged through the second entrance to go back toward the day care area. The front desk clerk laughed. “Someone’s excited.”

  “Obviously. I didn’t even get a glance goodbye.” I sighed, feeling dejected.

  “Aw, he loves you.”

  “I know. He just loves to play more.”

  “They all do,” she said, nodding and smiling as she did.

  “Dylan is picking him up today, but you know how that goes. If he’s got something going on, he might ask a deputy to get him.”

  She nodded. “We know the drill. I’ll note it in the daily agenda just in case. He’s the only dog we let leave without his owner. We figure if a deputy takes him and he goes missing, that deputy will have big problems.”

  “And not just from the sheriff, either.”

  I arrived at Eric Rooting’s office over an hour and fifteen minutes later. I knew a lot of people commuted to the city for work, but that kind of traffic made me want to pull my hair out. I couldn’t imagine doing that on a regular basis. I passed two minor fender benders on the side of Interstate 400, and they’d caused the rubberneckers to slow and look which just made traffic worse. I cranked up the volume on my radio hoping to drown out my impatience.

  Rooting Financial Advisors shared a similar storefront office style as Bramblett County Realty, except instead of one big interior, his was broken up into a reception area and then offices down a short hallway behind it.

  The young blonde receptionist greeted me with a smile when I walked in. “Good morning, welcome to Rooting Financial Advisors. How many I help you today?”

  “I’m here—”

  She held up a finger and then tapped on her left ear. “Yes, Mr. Rooting is in. May I tell him who’s calling?”

  I thought she was talking to me.

  “I’ll see if he’s available. One moment.” She hit a button on the phone and notified Mr. Rooting of the call. “Shall I let it through?” She waited a minute and then pressed another button. She smiled at me again. “I’m sorry about that.” She removed a small earbud from her ear. “No one can ever tell when I’m on the phone with this thing in my ear. Isn’t tech adorbs?”

  If I knew what adorbs meant, I would have responded, but I guess when you’re bordering thirty, you’re no longer up to date with the latest kid slang. And the receptionist was definitely young. “I know you just sent him a call, but I’d like to talk to Mr. Rooting when he’s available.”

  “Your name?”

  “Lily Sprayberry. I spoke to his wife this weekend. I’m sure it’ll be familiar.”

  She asked me to wait a moment and walked back to the last door on the left. She returned shortly after. “He’ll be finished in a moment. Have a seat.”

  Given the slang slip earlier, I had to give her credit for sounding professional.

  I sent Belle a quick text and let her know we would need to meet at Millie’s just before two o’clock. She’d need to change her schedule a bit, but she didn’t mind. I told her I wanted to get there before Millie had a chance to run. She agreed and filled me in on her morning schedule even though I’d checked our shared calendar the day before.

  “Miss Sprayberry?” A tall, slender man with graying brown hair cropped short to his head greeted me. “Eric Rooting. Come on back.”

  Mr. Rooting was attractive for his age. The gold outline around the blues of his eyes brightened his bronzed complexion and added a bit of sparkle to it, too. His teeth couldn’t have been that perfect or that white naturally, either, but money could do a lot to improve someone’s appearance.

  I wasn’t a fashion expert, but from the way his suit fit, I could tell it was expensive and tailored to highlight his broad shoulders and trim waist. Dylan would look incredible in a fitting suit. That at least, was someone about the wedding I looked forward to.

  Eric Rooting’s nearly celebrity like appearance oozed money. If he’d looked even half that good in high school, I had a feeling all the girls wanted him. Which made me wonder if Amy Stapleton had been truthful about turning him down.

  “My wife told me you’re doing a little research into Jenny’s murder?” He pulled a chair out at the small conference table and offered it to me.

  “Thank you.” I scooted up toward the table and set my bag on the ground next to me. “And yes, it’s kind of a hobby of mine, I guess.”

  “Well, I’m happy to help. Jenny was special, and she deserves to have closure. We all do.”

  “I imagine it was hard for you, losing your girlfriend like that? High school relationships are always so intense.”

  He nodded. “She was my first love. I was devastated. Of course, I didn’t have a lot of time to mourn her at first. Being suspected of killing her kind of put that on hold.”

  “I thought you were cleared fairly quickly?”

  He shrugged. “Yes, but it was still a struggle.”

  “Yes, I imagine it was.”

  “And the court of public opinion wasn’t as kind, especially for someone with a reputation like mine.”

  “What do you mean by reputation?” I knew what he meant, but I wanted to hear his take on it.

  He tapped his finger on the table. “Thirty-five years ago, Alpharetta, or Milton now, if you will, was a lot different. We were still the sticks back then, but the city was starting to grow. There was a pretty big divide at Milton, my high school, between the locals and people like me, the ones that moved to town.”

  “You’re not from here?”

  “Not originally. My parents moved from Indiana when I was in junior high. Dad had a job with one of the big five insurance companies in the Perimeter and bought a few acres here from a local family. It was the late 70s, when preppy was in, and bigger was better. He built a big house, and people weren’t happy about it. I played baseball and football, and in high school I had a
few scholarship opportunities, so when the chance to bring me down came along, some chose to give it a shot.”

  Small towns didn’t usually have a problem bringing new residents into the fold, but when they saw a threat to their way of life, their gloves come off. “That must have been hard.”

  He leaned back in the chair and clasped his fingers behind his head. “When you’re accused of murder, it kind of puts a damper on your self-esteem, but I got through it. My buddies rallied to support me, and even Allison stood by my side. In retrospect, I couldn’t have made it through it all without her.”

  “I understand you said you were with Amy Stapleton, I mean Flanders, that night?”

  He rested his forearms on the conference table and hung his head. “I hate to admit it, but yes, I was. Looking back, I realize I was a player, and I regret that now. I was a kid, and when a girl hit on me, I wasn’t always thinking about the consequences attached to that, you know what I mean?”

  Yes, I thought. It meant Amy Stapleton was right. He was slime, at least thirty some years ago anyway. “Amy Stapleton said nothing happened between you two, that you’d approached her, but she shut you down. In fact, she told me she’d even had a conversation with Jenny about it.”

  He shifted in his seat, but his posture remained relaxed. “Amy liked to act innocent of a lot of things, but the truth of it all is we were together, both nights of the weekend, actually.”

  I wasn’t sure who to believe, or how to continue with that, so I switched directions. “Did Jenny have any enemies?”

  He laughed. “It was high school. We all had enemies, but Jenny was the kind of girl everyone liked. She was nice to everyone.”

  “Did anyone dislike her enough to kill her? Anyone you can think of that maybe had a problem with her or something?”

  He gazed at the door to his office. “I’ve tried to answer that question for thirty-five years.”

  I wasn’t sure if Eric Rooting was the killer, but I questioned his honesty. His toothy smile and sparkly eyes were a decent distraction, but he couldn’t charm me into thinking he was or wasn’t a killer. “Your wife seems to think Amy may have killed Jenny. She said you admitted to being with her, but that once you…” I blushed.

  He took over from there, giving me an out. “Amy and I went our separate ways, and I didn’t see her again until the end of the evening, but as I told my wife, I wasn’t exactly looking for her, either.”

  “Do you think she could have left, killed Jenny, and returned before the night ended?”

  He slowly nodded. “It’s possible, but I honestly don’t think she did.”

  “Your wife thinks otherwise.”

  He nodded. “I understand, however my wife and I don’t always agree.”

  “Yet you have no idea who may have done it?” I asked.

  He stared at a photo of a golf course on the side wall of his office. “There was talk of a neighbor, but if it’s the one I used to see, I don’t think that’s possible. Jenny was tiny, but that man had some kind of injury. I don’t think he could have done it. She’d probably have put up a fight.”

  “I believe she had no defensive wounds, so the person that killed her likely surprised her.”

  “Or she was comfortable enough with them to not view them as a threat.”

  * * *

  I arrived back at the office and set my bag on my desk, realizing it was the best time to take a look at Jenny’s diary. Dylan and I had been distracted by wedding talk and hadn’t gotten around to it. I didn’t intentionally avoid the diary, but I had feared there would be something inside it that would force his hand, and he’d stop be from continuing with the investigation, so it’s possible I did it unconsciously.

  I didn’t have the key to the diary, so I tugged on the little lock, but it wouldn’t budge. I’d had something similar when I was a kid, and my brothers always picked the lock somehow, sharing my secrets with each other and laughing at my girly dreams. That wasn’t one of my favorite childhood memories, but I figured it they could open my diary without a key, I could too.

  I twisted and yanked on the lock, thinking its age and design wouldn’t stand the test of time and my mighty strength, but I was wrong. When all else failed, Google was my friend, and I set out to figure out how to pick it.

  Five minutes and three paperclips later, I had it open. I wouldn’t be picking any high tech locks any time soon, but I was pretty darn proud of my accomplishment.

  The diary was three-quarters full, so I flipped to the last page and started from there, silently thanking Jenny Rawlings for marking the dates on the pages. The last entry was dated the night before she was killed, the night Allison Rooting spent with her.

  A doesn’t know I know, but she’ll find out soon enough. If she thinks she can get away with this, she’s wrong. I’ve got it all planned out, what I’m going to say to the two of them, and I’m doing it tomorrow.

  Jenny Rawlings did know about Amy and Eric. I continued reading back and found several entries about A.

  A thinks she so great. She thinks E wants her, but I know he’s just using her.

  Jenny’s entries were angry but determined. She’d planned to confront them both without worry of any potential consequences, but then I doubted she thought she’d wind up dead.

  If in fact, Amy Stapleton was the killer.

  Saw A talking to E today at the lake. Like, could she be more obvious?

  A and me are going to battle this out soon. She doesn’t have a clue what’s coming.

  E thinks I’m stupid, like, totally oblivious to what’s going on behind my back. As if. He’s gonna find out though, and soon.

  Jennifer Rawlings didn’t doubt her boyfriend was cheating, and she intended to call them both out on it. I jotted down notes from the diary, thankful that there was nothing too telling, at least sort of, and I could hold off filling Dylan in on it, until Belle barged in raring to go drag Millie to the local salon for her makeover.

  “I booked her an appointment at this place in Alpharetta where Matthew’s sister works, and I picked an adorable new outfit.” She pulled out a pair of nicely cut black slacks—I wasn’t sure of the material—and a cream and black striped button-down shirt.

  “That’s pretty, yet understated. I like it. Has she seen it?”

  She nodded. “I just showed her.”

  “Wait, you showed her?” I jumped from my seat, stuffed everything on the table into a pile, and then shoved it into my bag. “She’s a flight risk. We need to go now.”

  We rushed out and jogged the few steps to Millie’s just as she was sneaking out the entrance. Belle and I blocked her on each side.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” I said. “We know what you’re trying to do.”

  Her eyes widened and then her shoulders sunk. “Well, dagnabit. I’ve been caught.”

  Belle grabbed her arm. “Like a catfish in the lake, and we’re taking you to be cleaned and gutted.”

  I swallowed hard. “That’s not exactly the way I’d put it, but yup, you’re coming with us.”

  Henrietta and Bonnie stepped out of the café.

  “Hey, what’s going on here?” Bonnie asked.

  Henrietta wiggled a bony finger our way. “Looks like a kidnapping to me. Might ought to call the sheriff. I could use a look-see at a man in uniform today.”

  Belle giggled. “You two are a hot mess.”

  I laughed, too. “We are not kidnapping Millie.”

  Millie shrugged off Belle’s grasp. “They’re taking me for a makeover, and I don’t want to go.”

  “What’re they doing that for?” Bonnie asked.

  Henrietta elbowed her arm. “You can’t tell by looking at her? Her bosom’s done hanging clear to her knees.” She focused a straight-faced expression on me. “Make sure you get her one of them things with the underwires. One of those over the shoulder boulder holders is what they call ‘em. They got them at the Walmart. I like the lacy ones, but she needs something stronger than that to hold those thi
ngs up where they belong.”

  Millie’s eyes widened. “I don’t need a new bra. My ladies are sitting right where they’re supposed to.”

  “Ain’t nobody’s supposed to be sitting on their knees,” Bonnie said.

  Belle and I caught each other’s eye, and I did my best not to laugh. Belle however, failed miserably.

  “Y’all hush. Millie’s—” I searched for an appropriate word but drew a blank. “Millie’s parts are just fine where they are.”

  Bonnie dropped a bomb that sent us all into a giggle fit. In a baritone voice, she sang, “Swing low, sweet chariot.”

  Millie glanced down to her private parts. “Huh, I guess I might could use a little extra lift.”

  Belle nodded. “We’ll stop at the Walmart near the salon. Now, let’s go.”

  “Can I come?” Henrietta asked.

  “Me, too. I want to see what y’all do to the old coot.”

  Belle and I left the decision up to Millie. “Well?” I asked.

  “Do they know what we’re doing after?” Belle asked.

  “I haven’t told them, have you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Well, I sure didn’t say nothing,” Millie said. “Learned a long time ago not to share my private life with these two. ‘Fore you know it the whole town will be talking about it.”

  Bonnie crossed her arms over her chest. “We don’t gossip,” she said, her tone sharp.

  “And a pig don’t like mud,” Millie said.

  Henrietta’s eyes widened. “She just called you a pig.”

  “I did not. I called her a liar.”

  Belle coughed. “Wish I’d thought to record this.”

  I ignored her and gave Millie’s shoulder a squeeze. “You know the cat’s pretty much out of the bag now. Might as well tell them. Probably can manage the damage better that way.”

  She shuffled her feet but finally gave in. “They got me a visit with an old friend and want to make me all fancy for it.”

  Both women’s mouths fell open.

  “A date?” Bonnie asked.

  Millie rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s a visit, that’s all.”