Murder for Bid (10 page)

“Too
early? No. I haven’t spoken with anyone from the
Tribune
.”

“You’re kidding?” I looked shocked again. “I just don’t know what to say, Mrs. Reiner. I apologize for disturbing you. There must have been some misunderstanding.” I started to make my way toward the foyer. “Please excuse me. I’ll let you get on with your day. I’ll have someone call you to see if you want to reschedule.”

“Wait.” She came after me. “What was this concerning?”

I turned back, offering my most charming smile. “Well, the Community Union Library fundraiser of course. I’m assigned to cover the event for the Community Section of the paper and I was hoping to get some preliminary information. The
Tribune
is a huge backer of the library construction, and we wanted to help in any way possible to boost fundraising efforts. It’s been a pretty dry month as far as community events, so we have some space available this week to run a teaser article about your event. You know, maybe mention the silent auction and some of the already donated items.”

“What a great idea!” Madeline was buying it.

“Although, I was told by my editor not to make any promises. You know how copy space is. There’s a chance that this article may not make it to print.”

“I understand,” she said, motioning for me to sit back down.

I took out a notepad and pen. “May I mention you by name in the article?” I asked, sweetening the deal.

“Why of course,” she beamed. I was right, she did enjoy the spotlight.

“Maybe you could start by telling me a little about the plans for the evening’s event. I should know about themes, entertainment and the menu.”

I took what I hoped looked like official notes while Mrs. Reiner droned on about center pieces, ice sculptures and menu choices.  It sounded like it was going to cost millions just to put on the event. I was tempted to ask why they didn’t just cancel the silly thing and simply donate the money it was going to cost to operate the fundraiser, but I didn’t think that suggestion would go over too well.

As soon as there was a comfortable lull, I tried to steer the conversation toward more important matters. “I was initially scheduled to meet with Amanda Schmidt this morning. I believe she was your co-chairwoman on this event.” I emphasized the word ‘was’ with a sad sigh.

Madeline echoed the sigh and turned her gaze across the room.

“It’s too bad about what happened to her,” I prompted.

“Yes, it is.”

“I didn’t actually have the privilege of knowing her, but several people around the newsroom said that she was a wonderful person. They claimed that she was always doing things to help those less fortunate.”

“Yes, that was Amanda. She was a
wonderful
person.”

I detected a hint of sarcasm in her voice and waited for her to expand the thought but she didn’t. Watching her reaction closely, I threw out a big one. “Rumor has it that her husband wasn’t such a wonderful person. Actually, I’ve heard that he wa
s a lousy husband. Poor Amanda. I guess he was cheating on her.”

“What?” Madeline’s eyes honed in on me like a Harley girl at a discount leather sale.

“Well,” I continued, “it’s just rumor, nothing substantiated, but people are saying that he’s had a mistress for quite some time and that maybe things will be easier for him now that Amanda is out of the picture.”

A sly smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
“A mistress? Where did you get this information?”

“I’m a reporter. I have my ear to the ground.” My comments certainly didn’t elicit the reaction from Madeline that I had expected. In fact, I couldn’t quite read her change of mood. I remembered Sean had said there was a new development in the case. Maybe it had something to do with Madeline.

Madeline regarded me with renewed interest. “A mistress, huh? Well that would give Richard a motive for murder, wouldn’t it?”

“Well ...” I backtracked, “it’s just speculation.”

She shot me a look that reminded me of Sister Ignatius, my eighth grade theology teacher. It was a ‘your-damned-to-hell’ look and it made my palms break into instant sweat.

“These speculators,” she asked. “Who do they say is Richard’s mistress?”

“Um ...” I stalled, “well … several names have come up … even your name.”

Madeline shot out of her chair. “Me!”  

I sunk as far back in my chair as I could. “I’m just telling you what I’ve heard. Like I said, they’re all just rumors. There’s no way that I believe that …”

“Shut up!” Her trembling hands groped at her robe sash, pulling it tighter around her midsection. “People think that I was having an affair with Richard?” She threw her head back and let out a hearty laugh which ended as abruptly as it started. Then she stared at me with crazed eyes. “What the type of interview is this, anyway?” she spewed angrily. “Did you
lie your way in here just to get some gossip out of me? I bet you don’t even work for the paper.
You probably work for some trash publication.”

I opened my mouth to reply but she shut me down. “Get out of here!”

I scrambled for the door with Madeline on my heels. “I’m calling the
Tribune
. Someone is going to hear about this!” she screamed at my backside.

On my way out the door, I chanced one last glance backwards. In her furry, Madeline Reiner had forgotten herself. Her robe had slipped open giving full view of a very racy, very naughty negligee. I couldn’t help but wonder who she was all dressed up for—her husband, or Richard Schmidt?

Chapter Six

I was halfway home when I decided to give Sean a call. I couldn’t quite get a fix on Madeline’s reaction. Maybe I could talk him into expanding on her involvement in the case. I was sure he would know something that would help me connect the dots.

I pulled into a gas station lot and punched his number into my cell. What was I doing? I quickly snapped my phone shut. There was no way I could ask him about Madeline without him wondering what I had been up to. If I thought he was mad about the shed incident, he’d spit nails if he found out that I had actually gone to the Reiner’s home. Especially since he had practically ordered me to stay away from Madeline Reiner. I’d be better off trying to figure out things on my own. Sean wouldn’t appreciate my efforts to help solve this case.

Thinking back on my visit with Madeline I couldn’t believe how unglued she had become. I had definitely touched a nerve.
But what? Was she Schmidt’s mistress or not? Were they in on it together? Maybe they both conspired to kill Amanda or maybe … maybe Richard actually had nothing to do with Amanda’s death. Maybe it was all Madeline. I could see how it would have happened: 
Madeline goes over to Amanda’s house to discuss plans for the fundraiser. Amanda already suspects that her husband is cheating on her, but something Madeline says makes her realize that Madeline is the other woman. She confronts Madeline, telling her to leave her husband alone. Madeline flips out. Caught up in a fit of rage, she loses control, picks up the golf club and takes out the frustration of the unrequited love affair on Amanda’s face. Then realizing what she’d done, she tries to cover her tracks by taking the jewelry and making it look like a robbery.

I shuddered. What a witch.

Opening up my cell again, I dialed Sheila’s number. She must not have checked the incoming call display on her cell, because she picked up instantly and sounded so pleasant.              

“Hello.”

“Hi Sheila. Pippi O’Brien.”

“What do you want?” Not so pleasant anymore.

“Where did Amanda get her hair done?”

“What?”

“I’ve been thinking about a color change. Hers looked good.”

“When did you ever meet Amanda Schmidt? Oh … you mean you checked out her hair color while she was in the casket? You’re despicable.”

Wow, despicable. Imagine that. “Come on, Sheila. Just tell me.”

“Sure, I’ll tell you.
Reginald’s. Not that it’ll do you any good. He’s booked months in advanced and he only accepts a certain type of clientele.”

“I’ll take my chances. By the way,” I said, deciding to kill two birds with one stone, “what do you know about Madeline Reiner?”

“The judge’s wife? Not a lot, why?”

I detected a little hedging in her voice. “Is she happily married?”

“I don’t know! We’ve worked on a few committees together, that’s this about it. Why all the questions about her?”

“I’m trying to figure out who Richard Schmidt’s mistress is.”

Sheila let out a funny little snorting noise, “You think it’s Madeline Reiner?”

“You don’t think so?” I asked.

“No. No way. If he was to have an affair, and I don’t think he did, it would never be with Madeline Reiner.” Another little snort. I’d never really heard Sheila snort so much during one conversation. I was starting to get a little suspicious.

“Oh yeah?
I think you may be wrong about that, Sheila. I just happened to see Madeline this morning and guess what I learned?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“She wears naughty undergarments.”

“Naughty what?
What are you talking about?”

“You
know, lots of black leather. The type of stuff you would buy at an adult store … not that I ever go to those places. Plus, her husband was nowhere around when I saw her dressed like that, so who was she all dolled up for, huh?”

“Well, certainly not Richard Schmidt. He’s not the type to go for that stuff.”

“How do you know what type of stuff he goes for?”

“I just … you know, I’m done discussing this and FYI, I’m getting my cell number changed so don’t bother calling me anymore. You won’t have the right number.”

She hung up.

I considered what Sheila had said. If Madeline wasn’t Schmidt’s type, who was? Once again, Sheila was coming to Richard’s defense. Was it because they were such good friends or maybe she knew Richard Schmidt better than I thought. Although, I might be able to imagine Sheila having an affair with Schmidt, I could never see her killing someone. It just wasn’t Sheila’s style. Well, at least not with a golf club. That would be too messy and she would risk the possibility of breaking a nail. Poison maybe, but never a bludgeoning.

I had to call information to get a location for Reginald’s. As it turned out, it wasn’t that far away and despite the downpour of rain, I made it there in no time. After finding a spot in the small lot adjacent to the building, I remained in the car for a few minutes, contemplating the best way to approach Reginald.  Unable to come up with anything, I finally decided to wing it and took off in a mad dash through the rain.

I didn’t know who Reginald was, but he must have been quite the clever man. He had taken an ultra-modern, 1970s sprawling ranch home and turned it into a posh, very hip place of business. It sat back from the curb, nestled amongst several mature oaks. A stone pathway, flanked by colorful flower boarders, led from the lot to a covered entrance. A lovely water garden sat to the left of the entryway providing a little
Feng Shui for the clientele.  

The first thing I noticed after making my way inside was the absence of hair salon stench. Most of the hair places I frequent have a nose burning perm odor that hangs in the air like smoke in a bar; that is, when smoking was allowed in bars. I was actually disappointed that there wasn’t some sort of odor to cover up the wet dog odor of my mother’s wool suit. I had got drenched walking from the car to the door.

I had only been standing in the entryway for two seconds before I was greeted by a real-life version of a Barbie doll. She approached me with a pen and clipboard in hand.

“Mrs. Fitzpatrick?” she asked.

I almost said no, but then deciding to seize the opportunity, I simply shrugged.

“You’re fifteen minutes late, but Reggie says he can still take you.” She appeared more than a little flustered as she frantically crossed my name, oops, I mean Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s name off her list.

As I followed Barbie down the hall, I gazed enviously at her long legs, tiny waist, ample bust line and flawless skin. I resisted the temptation to reach out and see if she was real flesh and bones or made out of plastic. Perhaps someone had finally invented a life-size doll that could move and talk. I wondered if her knees popped when she bent them to sit down.

Barbie parked me inside room number four and left quickly. I glanced around. It was definitely more posh than the place in the mall where I get my hair cut, but then again, I never spend more than fifteen bucks on my hair-do.