Squatter's Fight, page 1
Squatter’s Fight
A Lily Sprayberry Realtor Cozy Mystery Novella
Carolyn Ridder Aspenson
SQUATTER’S FIGHT
Copyright © 2019 Carolyn Ridder Aspenson.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Severn River Publishing
www.SevernRiverPublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
ISNB: 978-1-64875-058-8 (Paperback)
Contents
Also By Carolyn Ridder Aspenson
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Keep in Touch with Carolyn
Thanks for Reading
Deal Gone Dead
DEAL GONE DEAD: Chapter 1
Read Deal Gone Dead
Authors Need Love!
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About Carolyn
Also By Carolyn Ridder Aspenson
The Rachel Ryder Thriller Series
Damaging Secrets
Hunted Girl
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The Lily Sprayberry Realtor Cozy Mystery Series
Deal Gone Dead
Decluttered and Dead
Signed, Sealed and Dead
Bidding War Break-In
Open House Heist
Realtor Rub Out
Foreclosure Fatality
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The Chantilly Adair Paranormal Cozy Mystery Series
Get Up and Ghost
Ghosts Are People Too
Praying For Peace
Ghost From the Grave
Deceased and Desist
Haunting Hooligans: A Chantilly Adair Novella
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The Pooch Party Cozy Mystery Series
Pooches, Pumpkins, and Poison
Hounds, Harvest, and Homicide
Dogs, Dinners, and Death
* * *
The Holiday Hills Witch Cozy Mystery Series
There’s a New Witch in Town
Witch This Way
Who’s That Witch?
* * *
The Angela Panther Mystery Series
Unfinished Business
Unbreakable Bonds
Uncharted Territory
Unexpected Outcomes
Unbinding Love
The Christmas Elf
The Ghosts
Undetermined Events
The Event
The Favor
* * *
The Magical Real Estate Mystery Series
Spooks for Sale
Selling Spells Trouble
Cloaked Commission
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Other Books
Mourning Crisis (The Funeral Fakers Series)
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For Jack
LUMI
Chapter 1
The ambulance siren blared as the red and white striped van raced up the hill. Belle and I stood at the front door, me with my arms across my chest, rubbing my biceps to keep warm as Belle leaned against the door frame.
“Just go get it. I’m here,” she said.
I’d left my sweater in the car, but didn’t want to leave the rattled agent sitting on the floor a few feet away from the door. I crouched down next to her, wiping a loose strand of dark hair from her face. “They’re pulling up now. You’re going to be fine, Keri. They’ll take good care of you.”
She nodded quickly, keeping her legs pulled tightly to her chest. “Thank you,” she whispered as she rocked back and forth.
Two emergency medical technicians rushed into the empty home, and I pointed to the woman on the opposite side of the opened door. The rope used to tie her arms behind her back lay on the plush gray carpet beside her. The tape used to cover her mouth dangled from the side. Her skin was red and raw, and afraid I’d hurt her, I wasn’t comfortable removing the rest of the tape.
“You’re going to be fine, ma’am,” one of the EMTs said to the woman. He began the process of evaluating her condition while talking in a calm but authoritative voice.
The other EMT, a towering scrawny man with dark hair and lanky arms, approached Belle. “How are you doing?”
“Surprisingly good. I guess seeing dead people’s hardened me to the mere injured.”
“Belle.”
She flipped around and found my disapproving eyes burning into hers.
“Sorry. It was a joke.”
The EMT didn’t laugh, and neither did the poor realtor on the floor.
“How about you, ma’am?” The EMT asked me. “And what’s your name?”
I pointed to my chest. “Me? Oh, no. I’m fine. I wasn’t here for the—” What was I supposed to call it? “I’m the one that found her. And my name is Lily. Lily Sprayberry.”
A policeman entered the home, and the EMT nodded to him. “Ryker.”
I eyed the officer’s attire. Green pants, beige tannish shirt, and a matching green t-shirt underneath. Big gold star pinned on the left side of his chest. Even if I didn’t recognize the uniform, I’d know he wasn’t a city cop. City cops in the area wore black. Sheriff deputies wore green and beige. I knew because I shared the Bramblett County Sheriff’s last name. The deputy probably would have realized that too, even though he’s in another county, but I use my maiden name for work.
He examined me with a trained eye and a whole lot of suspicion. “You the one that called 911?”
“Yes, sir.” I read the small gold tag pinned on his pocket. “Deputy Ryker.”
“I’d like you and your friend here to wait outside, ma’am.”
I wondered if my Bramblett County Sheriff hubby spoke sans emotion, like this guy. “Yup, no problem. I’m just going to grab my sweater from my—”
He didn’t care. He walked over to the real estate agent and got eye level with her on the ground.
I stepped outside and maneuvered past the three other deputies heading up the front steps. I’d grabbed the nearest sweater on my coat rack before heading out to the property this morning when I opened my back door and took a punch to the face from Mother Nature.
“Told you, you should have worn it inside,” Belle said, her snarky tone beginning to get on my nerves.
“What the devil is your problem? All that sass is going to come back and slap you in the face.”
She winced, and her confident shoulders sank. “Sorry. I’m just trying to deal with this whole thing. Seriously, how many times is this type of thing going to happen to you because I’m considering getting a new partner.”
“Right. And pigs are set to fly past any minute.”
She huffed. “I’m just not as used to finding dead people as you.”
“She’s not dead. She’s going to be fine.”
“Yeah, thanks to us. If we’d come later, who knows how she’d be?”
She had a point. Either that or the cold weather sent a chill down my spine. I chose to think it was the weather. Just like Belle, I was over my curse of the murdered or injured too.
February in north Georgia was by no means as wintery as say, North Dakota. Still, that crisp wind did a number on us southern folk, and that measly gray sweater didn’t cut it in the warmth department. I leaned against my car next to Belle and waited. As I did, I fleshed out a mental version of the marketing blurb for the house.
You’ll love spending your evenings sitting on the wrap-around front porch watching your children swing in the old wooden swing hanging from the hundreds-year-old red oak tree, or relish your free time on the relaxing covered back deck while waiting for your steaks to finish cooking on the outdoor stove. With the home’s two-plus acre lot, you’ll enjoy complete privacy during the day and on those hot summer nights when you take a light night dip in the inground pool.
“Ma’am?”
I blinked. “Oh, sorry.”
Deputy Ryker eyed me suspiciously again. What was he thinking, that I’d been the one to tie up and terrorize the realtor in the home?
“I’d like to talk with you about what happened.”
“Yes, of course. We were supposed to meet a potential buyer this morning. When we got here, I saw the car—” I turned around and pointed to the white BMW parked at the top of the driveway. “I figured the car belonged to my client, but when I realized no one was in it, I thought maybe another realtor scheduled a showing also. The door wasn’t locked, so we went in, and as we did our look through, I found her tied up in the kitchen pantry.”
“Did you see anyone leave the home?”
I shook my head. “The only person I saw was the agent inside.”
“Notice anything out of place or unusual?”
“I wouldn’t know if something was out of place. I’ve never been to the property before. As for anything unusual, the agent tied up in the pantry is about as unusual as it gets, don’t you think?” I chose not to tell him about my gift of murders fal
He jotted down what I’d said, asked for my contact information, and then ran Belle through the same set of questions, to which she gave the same answers I had.
“Deputy Ryker, my prospective buyer hasn’t shown up yet.” I checked my iWatch. “He should have been here over an hour ago.”
“Could have driven by, and seen us, and kept going. Not sure I’d want to see a house filled with sheriff deputies, but give me his contact info, and I’ll check into it.”
“I just have his name. He filled out an online form.” Normally I’d print out his info and create a file, but I came straight from my house, and my home printer ran out of ink two days before. I told him his name.
“I came straight from my house, too,” Belle said. “Thus, the reason for three cars in the driveway.”
He barely acknowledged her. Weird. “If he gets in touch, let me know, okay?”
We both nodded, though the deputy kept his eyes secured firmly on mine.
“If I need anything else, I’ll be in touch.”
I looked away, his constant eye contact making me uncomfortable. “May I speak to the agent? I’ll be brief.”
He tilted his head as if the question was complicated, and he’d need to think it through, and then said, “Don’t see why not.”
As we walked back into the home, Belle whispered in my ear. “I think someone has a crush on you.”
“Stop it.”
Chapter 2
The home was new construction in a new subdivision with two-acre lot homes. A few had been sold and were occupied, but four were still listed for sale. The house had neighbors on one side, but the only way to know was the small sign saying, private residence, near their front porch. They’d yet to do any landscaping, and the driveway was empty. Other than a few minor staged items throughout the house, the agent was bound and gagged in, the place was empty.
Keri Hartman, said agent we’d found bound and gagged, had gone from the floor behind the door to the third step on the walnut wood staircase. The tape on her face was gone, a rough and raw red mark left in its place.
I winced, knowing that had to hurt but good. I sat on the stair beside her and set my hand softly on her knee. “Hey, how’re you doing?”
“I’m fine. When do you think they’re going to let me go? I have work to do.”
I pressed my lips together and made a popping sound with them before speaking. “You’ve been attacked. I’m sure they’re going to want to take you to the hospital.”
She flung her head to the side, her long black hair following. She tucked it behind her ear. “I already told them I’m fine. I’m not going to the hospital. I just want to get out of here.”
“You’re the listing agent, correct?”
She nodded. “I had a buyer contact me via our website late yesterday afternoon. Said he was interested in this particular home and wanted to see it first thing this morning.”
“What was his name?”
She squinted and winced when she rubbed the side of her mouth. “I’ve already told the police all of this.”
“I’d still like to know.”
She licked her lips and pressed them together so hard they turned a light pink. “Mike Crawford, I think. I’d honestly have to check my email. I just can’t remember now.”
“I understand. You’ve been through a lot. Do you think he was the person that attacked you?”
“He pre-qualified for close to a million. The guy that attacked me dressed as a homeless man. I don’t think my buyer did this to me. It’s the squatters, they’re the problem.”
Anyone could manipulate a pre-qualifying calculator online, but I didn’t need to tell her that. “Did you identify your attacker to the police?”
“Of course, I did.”
“Can you describe him for me?”
“Why?”
“Because I was supposed to meet someone here too, and I want to make sure it wasn’t my client.”
“Like I said, this guy wouldn’t be able to afford this place. I’m pretty sure he’s a squatter. This listing’s been finished for a few months, all the utilities set up in the builder's name, so it’s easy for squatters to get in. They’re clever.” She pushed another flyaway cluster of hair from her face. “Anyway, he had one of those ski masks on, so I couldn’t see his face.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me about him?”
“Did you see your client?”
I shook my head. “But like I said, I want to be able to compare.”
“You should just let it go.”
“If my client is involved, this could help the police. What did he look like?”
She inhaled deeply as she shook her head, then exhaled before saying, “Fine. I don’t know, ripped jeans, dirty black hoodie, that kind of thing.” She finished her description with, “Maybe five foot eight inches, blue eyes—which I knew because he stared straight into mine.”
She noticed dark hair hanging out of the bottom of the mask, so it had to be long, but she couldn’t say how long.
“It’s probably safer for you if you just mind your own business.”
That wasn’t what I expected to hear from a woman who’d just been attacked, but trauma affected people differently.
I didn’t think my client was her attacker, but I committed her description to memory just in case. Trouble had a way of knocking on my door, and I’d learned to be prepared when I answered.
Chapter 3
"Can you run a name in your little system for me?"
Dylan coughed on his end of the phone. "My little system? You mean the National Crime Information Center?"
"Yeah, that thing."
"You know I'm not supposed to do that without cause or a case number."
"I have cause."
I felt his eye-rolling through the phone. "What's going on?"
I filled in my husband and felt that rush of excitement thinking that term associated with his name. My husband. It sounded nice. Our story is long, having started as childhood friends, then growing into romantic partners in high school and some of college, and dropping back to distant acquaintances, and then finally a couple as adults. Coupledom led to marriage, where we're sitting firmly for the long haul as of last year.
"This is exactly why I think realtors should show homes in groups or at least in couples."
"Yes, because Belle and I could easily take out a man who jumped us in a listing."
"Better chance that way than alone."
"As a matter of fact, Belle was there, but the person that did it was already gone."
He chuckled. "I try to run too when I see the two of you coming at me."
"Girl power."
He chuckled again.
"Please. I want to find out some more info about this guy. I don't think he's the one that attacked Keri Hartman, but…" I left that sentence hanging on purpose. Dylan worried about me, sometimes too much, and at an annoying level. Still, I wasn't opposed to using that concern in my favor. Sometimes.
"I doubt I'll get much on just a name, but I'll see what I can do. Text me what you've got, and I'll call you back. Be thankful I'm the sheriff, and I'm not reporting myself to myself."
"I appreciate you."
"Love you too, Lily Bean."
Belle met me at our office. Bramblett County Realty was the top realtor in the county. Still, with only one other realtor in our county, the competition wasn't fierce. A married couple on the verge of retiring owned the other agency, and I hadn't seen a listing from them in months.
