1 Murder for Bid

by Susan Furlong-Bolliger

  I watched as Greg dove into his food with gusto. My food didn’t seem quite as appealing to me; probably because my mixed up emotions were causing my stomach to roll with nausea. To think that just a little over an hour ago I was tucked safely in my comfortable bed. I wished I could crawl back under my down comforter and channel surf all day.

  “The food is delicious, you should try some,” he said as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

  I managed to swallow a few bites. “Why did you ask me to lunch, Greg?”

  “Because I wanted to see you.”

  “Why?”

  “I like you,” he said between bites, as casually as if we were talking about the weather.

  I began eating in silence, mulling over the fact that Sean just happened to be at the same restaurant, at the same time. Coincidence? I wondered.

  Greg spoke up, cutting through my thoughts, “I also felt obligated to see you today so that I could tell you something that may have a bearing on Amanda’s murder.”

  I put my fork down. “Really? Why call me and not the police?” I asked skeptically.

  “Of course I would call the police if I had something concrete, but this is purely speculation. You’ve probably already heard about it from your boyfriend, anyway.”

  “Heard what?”

  “Well, why do you think he was here today talking to Judge Reiner?”

  “I don’t know. Why?” I sighed, wishing he would get on with it. I wasn’t in the mood for a guessing game.

  Greg drew a deep breath, pausing to enjoy the suspense. “There’s been some rumors flying around. Some associates of mine told me that Schmidt’s law firm was going after the judge for some misappropriations.”

  “Misappropriations?”

  “Accepting bribes. I guess some disgruntled clerk from the 18th District was fed up with being the judge’s peon and decided to rat him out. She had some sort of evidence against the judge. I’m not sure what. Maybe photographs or bank records. It could be anything, really.”

  “I don’t get it. The Reiners seemed like such good friends with Richard Schmidt. Why would they be so friendly if Schmidt was investigating the judge?”

  “I don’t think the judge knew about the investigation until recently. I certainly hadn’t heard about it, so it must jut be something that’s come out with the murder investigation.”

  This was starting to sound a little weird, even to me, the queen of weird. “All right. So, what’s all this have to do with Amanda’s death?”

  “Phillipena, I’m so disappointed in you. What type of detective are you?”

  “I’m not a det …”

  “I’m kidding. Lighten up. It may not have anything to do with Amanda. Only, think about it. If you’re a judge, are you going to throw away your whole career because of some minion?”

  I shrugged, casting a sideways glance at the judge. He was staring directly at us. I shivered, hoping he couldn’t read lips. Just to be safe, I crooked my elbow on the table and nonchalantly rested my chin on my fist in order to block my mouth from his view.

  “Of course not,” Greg continued. “He’d have to clean house. Destroy the evidence. Hope that there wasn’t any collateral damage. By the way, did your boyfriend tell you that a missing person’s report has been filed on the intern, Jessica Hanson?”

  “No,” I replied, casting another glance toward the judge. Of course Sean hadn’t told me; he probably reserved all his shop talk for Ms. Maloney, attorney at law. After all, they did have the pursuit of justice in common.

  I shrugged it off and tried to focus on the topic at hand. “Do you think that the judge and this clerk had something going on?” I asked.

  “That would explain a lot, wouldn’t it? However, I really don’t know for sure and I’ve never met her.”

  I thought about that for a minute. This type of thing went on all the time, didn’t it? Especially in circumstances where a power figure was involved. I could see how it played out: The judge is her idol. He has more power than she can ever hope to have. She hangs onto his every move, following him like a puppy dog. Her adoration feeds the judge’s narcissistic ego and he eventually lures her into a secret love affair. She probably expects him to give up his wife, but when that doesn’t happen, she decides to get even. She’s worked closely with him. She knows all his secrets. It wouldn’t be too hard to dethrone the king. All she has to do is divulge a few of those secrets and her unrequited love will be revenged.

  “So you think he killed his intern because she was going to expose him?” I finally asked.

  “Or paid her to disappear.”

  “And Amanda?” I asked. Still not quite understanding what all this had to do with Amanda’s death.

  “More than likely the judge went over to Schmidt’s house to steal some sort of hard evidence that could destroy him. Maybe he found out that Schmidt had some incriminating recordings, or documents, or … I don’t know something that Schmidt was storing at his house. Maybe Amanda just got in the way.”

  I tried to hide my annoyance. His theory was really farfetched, even by my standards. My case against Schmidt, on the other hand, was air-tight by comparison. “So you think that the judge didn’t mean to kill Amanda? She just caught him off guard. He was backed into a corner so he bludgeoned her to death with a golf club?”

  He shrugged. “Or someone he hired.”

  “Wow. That’s some theory,” I offered. Sean thought my theories were wacky.

  “Well, it’s all rumor. It’s just that I thought you should know, especially since you’re so involved in this whole mess.”

  Involved in this mess? Did he already know that a diamond bracelet possibly belonging to Amanda was found in my apartment? Maybe his little chat with the judge included that tidbit of information. After all, Naperville was a small community and I could imagine that news traveled fast in legal circles. All of which made me wonder if perhaps there was more of a case building against me than I realized.

  “Anyway,” he continued. “Looks like I’ve added another suspect to your list. Who’s all on it now? Richard, Madeline, and now the judge? You’ll be a busy girl, huh?”

  I fidgeted with my fork, silently mulling over what he was saying. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was strange about this whole lunch. It was just too much of a coincidence that the judge and Sean were both here at the same time as me. Now, Greg was trying to throw suspicion off Schmidt and onto the judge? What was up with that? “I saw you talking to Judge Reiner. You seemed very friendly with him,” I finally said.

  “Uh, huh.” He talked between bites. “He’s an associate.”

  “Then why are you so eager to rat him out?”

  “All in the interest of justice. I want to see the cops get the person who did this to Amanda, don’t you?”

  I nodded in agreement, but my motivation had moved past all that. At first, it was all about proving that I wasn’t a suspect. Then, it had moved on to some sort of self-serving need to prove that I was right about Richard Schmidt’s guilt. Now, it was much more personal. The murderer had invaded my home and planted a dead woman’s bracelet in my dresser. What would he do next? Lie in wait for me to return so he could crush my skull with a golf club or worse yet, go after my parents? No, this was much more than bringing Amanda’s killer to justice or preserving my reputation. Until this killer was behind bars, I would never be able to live in peace.

  I glanced again at the judge and then back to Greg. “Being so friendly with the judge, isn’t that a compromise of ethics?” I asked boldly.

  “How’s that?”

  “He rules all the time on land rights and zoning laws. Perhaps he rules in your favor since you’re such good friends.”

  He gazed at me through heavy lidded eyes a slow grin forming on his face. “You’re so naïve. I like that about you. You’re different from the other women I know.” He leaned in closer. “Is it just me, or do you also feel an intense attraction when we’re together?”


  “Uh … uh,” I stammered. Of course I felt an attraction. Every time I was near the guy my head buzzed, my toes tingled … and other things. Did he feel all that, too? Or, was he just playing with me?

  “I can take some time off this afternoon,” he added with a sly smile. “Do you want to come by my place for a while? Maybe, I can use the time to convince you of my upstanding qualities.”

  Suddenly, I felt his foot inching up my leg. Thank goodness for the long table cloths. I wasn’t sure what to do, my heart was slamming in my chest, my ears buzzing, and there was no place to move. Suddenly, his toes got dangerously close to their target. I sprung to my feet, knocking over my chair. I bent down and struggled to upright it, only to have it slip through my sweaty palms and fall back to the floor with another thud. Although I had been waiting for it, his bold proposition caught me off guard. Mortified by my reaction, I mumbled a flimsy excuse about work, thanked him for lunch, bid a hasty goodbye, and bolted for the exit. Subdued chuckles from other diners followed me to the door.

  I burst outside, the contrast in brightness temporarily blinding me. Shielding my eyes, I made my way back to my parking spot. I was surprised to find that Sean was there, leaning against my Volvo with a nasty look on his face. He shifted his weight as I approached and his expression flashed from anger to concern.

  “What’s wrong with you? You’re all flushed. Are you sick?” he asked.

  As if he really cared. I couldn’t believe he had the audacity to act so concerned, when he had been keeping secrets from me. “What do you want, Sean?”

  “I was surprised to see you here,” he said.

  “Well, ditto. Why were you talking to the judge, huh? Does it have something to do with Jessica Hanson, the missing intern?”

  “What? How do you know about that?”

  “Greg told me,” I replied, emphasizing the word Greg.

  “You can’t seem to stay away from the guy, can you Pippi?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I care. The guy was all over you. Why did you let him touch you like that?”

  He was upset about the hand holding? Good thing he didn’t know what else Greg had tried to touch.

  Sean was searching my face. “What’s going on, Pippi? Do you feel something for him?” He reached out grabbing my arm. The firmness of his grip unsettled me.

  “What, you mean like the something you have for Sarah Maloney?”

  His fingers dug into my bicep. “What? Sarah Maloney? She’s just a friend. What does she have to do with this, anyway?”

  “Just a friend? Are you sure that’s all?”

  He tried to pull me into him. “Pippi, you’ve got it all wrong. It’s you that I care about.”

  I broke away. “Care? Care? That’s nice Sean. You care about me.” I turned and opened my car door.

  “Wait a minute,” he begged.

  “Shut up,” I hissed in his face. “I’m so sick of this. We date for a while and just when we start to get close, you pull back. How many times have we gone through this, huh? Three, four? I always wondered what was wrong with me. Well, now I know. It wasn’t me; it was you. You, trying to decide between me and some other woman.”

  “Stop it. You’re wrong about Sarah. I don’t have anything for her.”

  My mind shot back to the photo I had seen. It was obvious there was a little more than what he was admitting. “You’re lying!” I practically spat out the words.

  “No, I’m not. Really, Pippi. Let’s talk about this.”

  “About what, Sean? We’ve been seeing each other for almost three years and you still can’t make up your mind, can you? What do you want me to do? Wait another three years for you to decide if I’m the one? Wait for you to see how things work out with Sarah? Well, no thanks.” I shut the door in his face, turned the ignition and slammed it into reverse. It would have been a very dramatic exit, had I not backed into the car parked across from me.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Crap!” I pounded my fist into the steering wheel.

  Sean tapped on my window.

  “Are you okay?” The concerned look on his face irritated me even more.

  “Yes,” I replied through clenched teeth.

  He glanced back at the other car. “There’s some damage. This will have to be written up,” he said. I detected a slight verbal smirk in his words.

  “Fine,” I said, shooting him a death look.

  “I’ll call it in. An officer should be here in a couple of minutes.”

  “What?” I glanced a few spaces away to where I knew Greg’s car was parked. Sean witnessing my accident was bad enough, but Greg too? I wondered how long would it take for him to finish his lunch. “Can’t I just leave while you write it up? I promise I’ll pay for the damages or whatever you need me to do.”

  “You know it doesn’t work that way. You’ll have to stay here while the ticket is written.”

  I wanted to scream. “Fine. Just do it fast,” I said.

  Sean attempted to say something but I rolled the window up in his face. I didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. I sat looking straight ahead, sweat trickling down my back, my throat swelling, tears threatening to spill overboard. This had to be the most embarrassing thing I had ever done. I stole a look in the rearview mirror. Yup, my skin was turning purple.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Sean talking on his cell and circling the cars, checking for damage. I refused to make eye contact. Instead, I retrieved my bag and began cleaning it up as if it was the top priority of the day. I sorted through crumpled receipts; retrieved forgotten spare change from my synthetic leather abyss; threw away thousands of tiny runaway mints; organized my dollar bills so all the presidential portraits faced the same direction and prayed that the traffic officer would show up fast.

  When the patrol car finally arrived, in what seemed like three hours later, Sean excused himself, saying something about paperwork he had to file. I ignored him.

  The officer, who was as slow moving as a one-legged cyclist, was only half-way through the ticketing process when the irate car owner came out and discovered that I had demolished the front bumper of his Jag. He didn’t seem to feel any symphony for my poor bumper, which was dangling precariously from the back of my car.

  Of course, in the meantime, Greg appeared in the parking lot. He grinned and waved at me before getting into his own car. Even from several parking spaces away, I could see amusement all over his face. So glad I could fulfill his entertainment quota for the day.

  A half hour, one moving violation, and several cuss words later, I was on my way. Luckily, I always carry a few bungee cords in the backseat. I jerry-rigged my bumper so that it barely scraped the pavement as I exited the lot and headed home.

  The first thing I saw after parking my poor Volvo in the back drive, was a large box waiting on my steps. Shep had made good on his promise. The sight of two gorgeous dresses brightened my mood ever so slightly.

  I entered my apartment and immediately squirmed out of my skirt, anxiously pulling the first over my head. It was a vintage 1960s wiggle dress with a wide tank style neckline and a deep V back. Its emerald color almost matched the color of my eyes. “Oh sweet,” I sighed. It fit perfectly. In fact, it accentuated my best qualities. The good thing about carrying extra weight was that my breasts were a little bigger than usual and this dress put the girls front and center stage.

  The second was equally as beautiful. It was also a vintage 60s piece made of black silk satin with a lace overlay and loads of sequins. I loved it, but I couldn’t quite get the ankle length pencil skirt to zip over my hips. Oh well, the green gown was perfect.

  After playing dress up, I changed into Levis and a T-shirt and logged on to check my on-line auction listings. I never tired of watching people bid on my items. It was like pulling the lever on a slot machine, only I was usually guaranteed some sort of payout. Today, my payout was looking good, but not quite good enough to cover my regular bills as well as afford my
newly needed body work. Car, that is. Not that my body couldn’t use some work too, considering that black dress’s silent accusations about my hips, but that could wait. At least my bumper wasn’t dragging … yet.

  I finished my computer work, grabbed the classifieds and a wad of ones and fives that I kept hidden in my cupboard, and headed out to hit some garage sales. I was determined to make good out of what had so far been a lousy day. Plus, I needed to make up for neglecting my business all week.

  Today was Thursday and I always had the most luck at the Thursday afternoon sales. Last week the rain had dampened my prospects, well, the rain plus the shed incident; but this week’s classifieds were loaded with promising sales. Today, I would focus on kids’ clothes. With the change of season, moms would be scouting for some good deals.

  By late afternoon my mood began to turn upward. I was on a roll and people were cutting me amazing deals. Maybe my dragging bumper wasn’t such a bad thing after all. The garage sale divas took one look at my car and pegged me as a person who really needed some cheap clothing. I even negotiated a sweet deal on a couple of bags of little girl’s clothing, all expensive brand names. In fact, I was having so much fun that I had hardly thought at all about my dilemma with Sean or Amanda’s murder … that was until my cell rang.

  It was him.

  “How’s the car doing?”

  “Is that why you’re really calling, Sean, to find out about the car?” I sounded witchy, even to myself.

  “No, actually I was hoping we could talk. I feel bad about our fight.”

  I handed over a five to the soccer mom presiding over the cash box and made my way toward the curb.

  “Forget it. I think it’s over between us.” There, I had said it. It hurt like hell.

  “You know, I’ve already told you that there’s nothing going on between Sarah and me. What more do you want?” He was getting ticked.

  “I don’t want anything. I told you, we’re through.” My conversation was starting to draw attention from the other shoppers. Not wanting to be their soap opera-away-from-home, I moved into my car.

  “Is that what you really want, Pippi? You don’t ever want to see me again?” he asked.