Murder for Bid (22 page)

“Wait. Wait.” I scrambled to catch up. She moved surprisingly fast for being so overweight.

“Hey, I’m sorry about your friend,” she said over her shoulder. “She seemed like a nice enough lady.”

My fingers sunk into her ample flesh as I grabbed her arm. “What? You said you didn’t know Amanda Schmidt.”

“No.” She ripped her arm away. “You asked me if Jessica had ever mentioned the name Amanda Schmidt. She didn’t.”

I shook my head, “I don’t understand.”

“I was never introduced to the lady, but she came by the apartment all the time. Jessie would always kick me out when she came over. She said they had private business to discuss.”

“You didn’t have any idea what?” I asked.

“I asked once. Jessie said it was better if I didn’t know.”

“If you were never introduced, how do you know the woman was Amanda Schmidt?”

Janie seemed to think about that for a minute. “Well, the cops asked me about her already. They told me she was murdered. The last time I saw Jessie, she was frantically throwing papers and stuff into a suitcase. She kept saying ‘she was murdered, she was murdered.’ At the time, I didn’t know who she was talking about, but now, I know it was Amanda Schmidt. The cops told me when she was murdered. It was about the same time that Jessie took off. At first, I thought that Jessie was probably dead too, until the cops told me they had her in protective custody. Then she called Mom, so there’s not really anything to worry about. She’ll be fine.” She turned again to leave. “That’s really all I know.”

“Wait. Just one more question,” I pleaded. “Tell me what the woman looked like that met with your sister.”

“She had dark shoulder length hair. Taller than you and a lot better dressed. She drove a black Escalade.”

That sounded like Amanda Schmidt. I wasn’t sure about her vehicle, but it could easily be checked. Janie was almost to the door when I called out to thank you her. She didn’t bother to respond. Probably because she was hot on the trail of some more carbs.

I had just unlocked the Volvo, when I suddenly realized why Janie looked so familiar. She was a dead-wringer, minus a hundred pounds or so, for the pimply faced girl I had seen two days ago at Schmidt’s office.

Chapter Fourteen

My cell rang just as I was taking the I-294 exit.

“Phillipena, this is Sheila. How are you?”

I almost drove off the road at the sound of Sheila’s sappy voice. “Sheila?” I asked. “I’m surprised to hear from you. You usually try to avoid me,” I added.

“That’s true.  I’m only calling you now as a special favor for a friend.”

“What friend?”

“Madeline Reiner.”

“Hold on.” I took a sharp turn at the next off-ramp and whipped into one of those quick-stop convenience store parking lots. I had a feeling this call would need my full attention. “Okay, I’m back,” I said. “When I asked you about Madeline the other day, you said that you hardly knew her. Now you’re her friend? I don’t buy it. Besides, what type of favor would Madeline Reiner need from me?”

“Well,” Sheila’s voice was a notch higher than usual. I reasoned that she was using her
I-want-something
tone. “Madeline was wondering if you could take the time to meet with us this evening. She wants to discuss something with you,” she said.

“Are you serious? That witch just attacked me and put a dent the size of a bowling ball in my car. She pulled my hair! She’s a nut!” I thought for a minute and then added, “Is this some sort of set-up. Are you two planning on killing me, or something?”

Sheila snorted on the other end, “I swear, Phillipena, you
are
really out there sometimes. I may hate you, but believe me, you are not worth risking a prison sentence.”

“I don’t know,” I hedged.

There was a rumpling sound as Sheila put her hand over the receiver. I could hear the low murmur of female voices in the background. Madeline must have left our little encounter in the back alley and driven directly to Sheila’s house. If that were the case, she was feeling pretty desperate. About what, I didn’t know, but I’d sure like to find out.

Sheila returned to the line and said, “Madeline says that if you agree to meet with us, she’ll write a check for a thousand dollars to cover the expense of repairing your vehicle.”

That sealed it. “Not a check. I want cash.”

“Fine, she’ll make it cash,” Sheila responded.

“And we meet somewhere public,” I added.

“All right.
How about the coffee shop over by where you live?”

“No,” I interrupted, a slow smile creeping over my face.
“Bubba Bear Pizza on Ogden Avenue.”

“Bubba what?”
 

“You’ll find it. I’ll see you there in one hour.” I hung up, practically hysterical with laughter. Whenever I babysat my nephews and nieces, they always begged to go to that pizza place. With over ten thousand square feet of play equipment, dancing bears, and siren-blasting-bell-ringing arcade games, Sheila and Madeline were sure to feel right at home. As an extra bonus, it was Friday night. There would be at least a million sweaty, snot-nosed, hyperactive kids around to help keep Madeline in check, just in case she decided to go ballistic again.

I made it to our meeting place early and secured a booth near the Bubba Bear Bandstand, a stage where, at the top of every hour, a group of mechanized animals came to life and played lively banjo tunes.

I had no idea what Madeline and Sheila wanted to discuss with me, but I hoped it would shed some light on the case. At least, hopefully Madeline would make good on her promise to pay for my car repair.

About ten minutes later, I spied them walking through the door. It was obvious from the pinched looks on their faces that they really appreciated my choice of meeting places. I smiled and waved them over.

“What type of place is this?” Sheila asked as she slid in the booth across from me. Madeline slid next to her, looking a little more docile that she did earlier.

“Great, isn’t it?” I said, watching Sheila as she looked for a non-sticky spot to place her designer bag. I took note of the label; it must have set her back at least a grand. She finally settled it on her lap.

“Do you have the money for the damages?” I addressed Madeline, looking directly into her eyes with my best you-don’t-scare-me look.
Although, she did. In fact, the woman completely unnerved me.

“Let’s talk first,” she said.

“No. We don’t talk until I get my money.” My sisters used to call me hard-headed. They were right. I stared Madeline down until she relented and passed a white envelope across the table.

I opened it and made a point of counting every bill in front of them. Madeline watched me with an icy stare. Sheila, on the other hand, didn’t seem to notice. She was too busy cleaning the table with a package of
sani-wipes that she had extracted from her purse. She also didn’t seem to notice that the errant kid in the booth behind us was dropping pepperonis between the booth and her back as she wiped. Her classic white gabardine trench
was going to be sporting red, blotchy stains. Oh, well, she’d find out later.

“Fine.
It’s all there,” I said, folding the envelope and sliding it into my pocket. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Madeline wanted to take this opportunity …” Sheila began.

Madeline held up a hand to interrupt her. At the same time, Bubba Bear and his band began a spirited tune. A whoosh of cheering kids skidded past our booth who plastered themselves against the stage where a mechanized banjo-playing bear snapped alive with animated song.

“Let’s cut through this polite crap!” said Madeline, just a little too loudly.

“Shh!” admonished a nearby mother, glaring at Madeline. “Watch your language!”

I thought Madeline was going to show her a birdie. Instead she leaned in until we were nose to nose, “Look, Ms. O’Brien. I wanted to meet with you to clear up a few facts. I don’t think I got my point across this afternoon.”

“Well, I beg to differ. I think pulling my hair and damaging my car made a perfect point. The point being that you’re a nutcase! If you
really
have something more to say then go ahead. What is it?”

“I didn’t kill Amanda Schmidt and neither did my husband. He didn’t have anything to do with that Hanson girl disappearing either.”

“All right,” I shrugged. “If that’s all then I’m out of here. Good to see you again.” I started to slide across the vinyl.

“Hold on!” Madeline glanced tentatively toward Sheila who was hanging on our every word.

“Hey Sheila, why don’t you go bop some gophers,” I suggested, pointing to a game where participants banged gophers over the head with a large rubber mallet each time they popped out of their hole. “It’s a great way to work out any frustrations you may have. The token machine is over there,” I smiled, pointing the way.

She glanced at Madeline who stood to let her out of the booth. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Sheila sauntered away looking like Dorothy in the land of munchkins. Only Sheila was wearing three hundred dollar shoes, not ruby slippers.

“What’s this really about, Madeline?” I said, as soon as she was resettled.

“What do you know about the allegations being brought against my husband?” Her tone was more subdued.

“I know that he’s being investigated by the FBI for accepting bribes over the industrial park deal. I know that Richard Schmidt’s law firm started the whole investigation. Schmidt had been digging into your husband’s recent court rulings and thought there was something suspicious. I also know that Jessica Hanson, your husband’s intern, may have had some sort of damaging evidence against him and now she’s disappeared.” I didn’t mention that I also knew that Amanda Schmidt had been visiting Jessica Hanson on a regular basis. I needed to try and make sense out of this new development myself.

“I think you need to get off my husband and focus your efforts on Richard Schmidt. He had good reason to want Amanda dead. She was cheating on him. It was an embarrassment to him. Richard had political ambitions. That’s one of the reasons h
e was investigating my husband. He hoped to make a big name for himself, and ride his way to the mayor’s office.”

“You seemed to be such good friends with him at the funeral.”

“That was before we knew about the investigation.”

I wasn’t sure if I believed her or not. “You didn’t know that Richard Schmidt was investigating your husband? Is it possible that your husband knew?” I asked, studying her reaction. She seemed sincere.
Or at least as sincere as she could, being that she was a psycho.

“No. We didn’t find out until just a couple of days ago. It all started coming out during the police investigation of Amanda’s murder. He was surprised when the cops mentioned it. Actually, more than surprised; he was furious and scared. I’ve never seen him that scared.”

“He should be scared. Accepting bribes is a no-no for judges.” I waggled my finger in her face. I couldn’t help myself.

“I doubt they’ll find enough proof to convict him,” she retorted.

“Are you saying that he’s guilty of accepting bribes?”

“I’m saying that he’s innocent of murder. My husband couldn’t kill anyone. So, you better quit playing detective and stop asking questions about him.”

“Was he having an affair with Jessica Hanson?” I asked.

She chuckled deep down in her throat. “I doubt it. Have you ever seen her?”

Hmm. That pretty much confirmed that the pimply-faced girl I saw at Schmidt’s office must have been Jessica Hanson. What was she doing out of protective custody? Why would she risk going to Schmidt’s office? I had seen Madeline going into Schmidt’s office at around the same time Jessica Hanson was there. Did they run into each other?

I refocused on Madeline, more suspicious of her than ever before. “Why are you bothering to have this discussion with me? I’m not with the police. What I do or say really doesn’t have any impact on this investigation,” I said, attempting to redirect the conversation.

She raised a brow, “I heard you’re dating the lead investigator on the case.”

Unfortunately, that wasn’t quite true, but I kept that tidbit to myself. “So, you’re telling me all this in hopes that I’ll influence my boyfriend?”

“Look,” Madeline’s tone reflected her annoyance. “I don’t know what your angle is, or why you care so much about Amanda. As I understand it, you never met her. Sheila said you watched too much TV growing up and now you think you’re some sort of amateur sleuth, or something. I just think you like being a pain in the butt.”

A great comeback formed on the tip of my tongue but I held back. Actually, I was more than a little relieved that Sheila hadn’t spread it all over town that I was the mysterious bag-lady who was mentioned on the news.