Murder for Bid (23 page)

Madeline continued, “Actually Ms. O’Brien, I don’t really care what your issues are. My husband is an important man with friends in high places. This bribery scandal will pass unless you keep making something out of it. He did not kill Amanda Schmidt, so get off his back.”

“If you say so,” I said mockingly.

Madeline leaned over the table and got in my face. “Look, you’ve been asking a lot of questions that are making the wrong people angry. You may want to watch your back. Whoever bashed in Amanda’s head may just come looking for you.”

She straightened up and walked away leaving me with my mouth open. Was she threatening or warning me? What did she know that I didn’t? Suddenly, a cold flush of fear crept over me. Whoever had bashed in Amanda’s head had already found me. He knew where I lived and he’d been in my apartment. I had made a mistake going to Northwestern today. I should have stayed home with my clothing lots and my computer.

Madeline went over to Sheila who had taken my suggestion and was merrily bopping away at gophers, a group of wide-eyed kids cheering her on as the score tallied over one thousand. She was really good at bashing the little rodents’ heads. I eyed her suspiciously, too.

I grabbed an order to go before leaving. I planned to do a little self-consoling with a large sausage pizza and a few reruns of
Law & Order
.

It was an hour later before I got the car unloaded and was settled on the couch with a soda and a couple of reheated slices. I had just gotten comfy when my cell started ringing. I tried to ignore it, but the caller persisted. I had a panic moment after I picked up and heard my friend in the consignment world, Shep, on the other end.

“You’re still coming tomorrow, aren’t you? I mean you’re not going to bale on me,” I whined into the phone.

“Of course not.
I just wanted to make sure the dresses fit.”

“Yes, perfectly!”

“Good. Because if they didn’t, I was going to take you shopping. We all know you can’t be trusted in the mall by yourself. I’ll be at your place at 4:00 sharp and I’ll bring my entire make-up collection.”

I wondered if he’d also be wearing some, but I didn’t have the nerve to ask. One of Shep’s quirks was that he liked to enhance a bit with cosmetics. “You’re a great friend, Shep,” I said. And I meant it, too. After spending so much time lately with a bunch of screwed-up people, I could really appreciate my family and friends.

Speaking of family, I thought back to the pimply teen I had seen at Schmidt’s office. There was no doubt that I had seen Jessica Hanson. I hesitated for a minute and then picked up my phone. Maybe my relationship with Sean was on hiatus, but he was still the best link I had to the police department and I had some information that belonged to the cops. Of course, maybe I should keep it to myself and hand it over to them when I had more proof. I could follow up on these leads and see where they end up. 

I debated for a few seconds, finally deciding to give Sean a call. Besides, I had learned my lesson today. I needed to leave the investigating to the professionals.

“Hello,” a sleepy-sounding female answered. I could hear Sean’s muffled voice in the background.

I was shocked.

“Hello,” she said again. It had to be Sarah Maloney. I had met his mother and sisters and this voice didn’t sound like any of them.

“Hello?”

I froze. I couldn’t figure out what to say. More so, I didn’t trust myself to say anything. Who knows what I might say to this woman once I got started. So, I hung up. To hell with the cops and Sean.

I reached for another slice of pizza, ditched the soda, and found a half empty bottle of wine in my fridge.

*

I woke the next morning to a startling crash.

“Grandma gave me the key,” Claire, my seven-year-old niece said as she stared wide-eyed at the shards scattered on the floor. “She said I could come up and explore. You always have the neatest stuff, Auntie Pip.”

“Don’t move,” I instructed, bolting from my sofa-bed to get a broom. She listened, staying statue-still while I swept up jagged ceramic pieces from the floor. I guess I wouldn’t be selling a full set bowls at the market next weekend.
Too bad. I couldn’t believe my luck when I had pulled all four pieces still intact from the dumpster behind a residence hall. Oh, well. Maybe, I could sell the remaining ones individually as candy dishes.

“I’m sorry,” my niece said solemnly. I checked my facial expression and put on a happy smile.

“Sorry about what? It’s not a big deal, Claire. Don’t worry about it.” I settled back onto my sofa bed and patted the spot next to me. Then I jumped back up and scurried to remove the empty wine bottle lying on the floor by my bed. Geez, had I really finished it off last night?

“So when did you guys get here?” I asked, shoving the last of the bottles into my recycling bin and rejoined her on my bed.

“Late last night. Daddy couldn’t come. He’s on call this weekend. Mommy was mad about it, but she got a pretty dress. I’m really hungry.” My brother-in-law was a heart specialist at a hospital about two hours south of Naperville. I knew that his hours were tough on my sister, especially with two young children.

I moved to my kitchen and scoured the fridge. “Ever had pizza for breakfast?”

“No.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” I said, popping a couple left-over slices in the microwave.

My niece began clearing papers off my coffee table.

“Whoa, hang on there. I’ll move those.” I rushed to save a stack of bills and ATM receipts. I was forever behind on paperwork. “So are your mom and grandma still sleeping?”

“Yup. So is Sam. Grandma says he needs to sleep, so he won’t be cranky for the babysitter tonight. You’re so lucky to get to go to the ball. I wanna go, too.”

“The ball?”
I wondered if all seven-year-olds spoke in secret code.

“The library ball,” she replied as if I were stupid.

“Ah, I see. You don’t want to go to the library ball. It’s going to just be a bunch of old people listening to other old people talk about boring stuff. And we’ll have to eat yucky things like broccoli and Chicken Florentine.”

“Won’t there be a prince?”

I laughed. “Nope, definitely no prince.” The question made me wonder if Greg would be there. Certainly, he would have a huge interest in the library’s building plans. I silently thanked God for Shep, the miracle worker. At least I’d be looking my best tonight. Shep was better than a guest spot on
a fashion makeover show
.
 

“Auntie Pip. You’re spacing out. Mom says you always did that when you were a kid. She thinks that Sam got your genes. He has a runaway imagination, too.”

“Oh, is that what your mom says? Well, poor Sam. Maybe he’ll outgrow it.” Or maybe he’ll end up a junk runner like his aunt. My sister, Margaret, probably spent all her free time praying her only son wouldn’t end up like his dumpster-diving aunt. I stifled my resentment and put on my best smile for Claire, “Let’s eat some pizza and see what’s on TV,” I said.

Three cartoon shows later, I escorted my niece down to my parents’ kitchen.

Mom and Margaret were peacefully sipping their morning coffee. Apparently they felt no guilt about using me as a babysitter while they enjoyed a leisurely morning.

“Hey Sis!”
Maggie hugged me warmly. “Did you and Claire have a nice visit?”

“We sure did.” I ran my hand over Claire’s copper curls. “She’s been keeping me entertained this morning.”

“I’ll bet,” Mom said, sliding a full cup and some creamer my way. Then she turned to Claire. “Honey, why don’t you go see what Grandpa is up to. Maybe you could be his little helper for a while.”

Claire ran off to find my dad, leaving us alone to catch up. Between the three of us, we finished a full pot of coffee, polished off an entire coffee cake, and gossiped about every O’Brien family acquaintance near and far.

By ten o’clock we’d had sufficient sugar and caffeine to hit the road for a morning of shopping. We ate a late lunch at a quaint tea room and treated ourselves to salon manicures. It was a classic girls’-day-out. I hadn’t even realized just how much I needed it.

When we finally arrived home, we found Dad happily playing in the yard with the kids. I felt a twinge of sadness whenever I saw my dad with his grandkids. Other than Mary Frances, who was a committed religious, my sisters were blessed with wonderful husbands and beautiful kids. Probably by the time I got around to having children, Mom and Dad would be too old to play with them. I hated the thought of Mom and Dad never knowing my kids. I guess that’s the consequence of not finding ‘Mr. Right’ and settling down to a normal life. Again, my thoughts returned to Sean and the woman that answered his phone. It had to be Sarah Maloney. What was she doing at his place?

“I’ll get us a snack,” I said, not wanting to think too much about it. There was no reason to ruin this day with thoughts of Sean. “When’s the babysitter coming by?” I asked.

“I asked her to get here around five, so that I’d have some time to get ready,” Maggie said.

“That’s only a couple of hours from now. We’d better get busy.” Mom glanced at her watch and then scurried off to the kitchen. I followed to help.

“Who are you taking tonight?” Mom asked as we sliced some cheese and put crackers on a tray.

“A friend.” I had hoped to get through the day without having this conversation.

“Oh, yeah?
Which one, Greg or Sean?”

“Which one are you hoping I’ll take?” I bantered back, although I could tell my response was annoying her.

“For heaven’s sake, Phillipena, just tell me who you’re taking? I paid two thousand dollars for our tickets. That’s approximately two-hundred and fifty dollars a person, so I think I have the right to know who’s going with you.”

“Shep,” I answered, watching her face for a reaction. I could tell she was struggling to place the name.

“Shep? Who’s … oh, no! That man that runs the consignment shop? He’s so … so …” 

“Flamboyant,” I finished. “Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll make sure he tones it down for the evening. We’ll meet you there!” I shoved a cracker with cheddar in my mouth and made for the door. I could tell Mom was going to lose it and I didn’t want to be around for the fallout.

Chapter
Fifteen

Back in my apartment, I took a scalding-hot shower, letting the stream work the kinks out of my shoulders. When the water finally ran cold, I emerged.

Someone began pounding on the door before I could even get dried off. I answered, one towel stretched around my body, the other bundled around my head, making me look like a scantily dressed swami.

“Hi doll!” Shep, dressed in an exquisite black silk leisure suit, blew a couple of air kisses and swept past me, a suit bag slung over his shoulder and a large rolling bag in tow. “I’m early. Just out of the show
er, huh? Perfect timing.” He wielded his hands dramatically in front of me. “I have a blank canvas on which to create my masterpiece.”

“Geez, Shep. I didn’t know you were planning to stay over-night.” I eyed his luggage.

“This? This isn’t an overnight bag. This is my tool bag.” He patted the case and dragged my dinette chair across the floor, positioning it in front of my one and only window. “Now, go get your skivvies on and get back in here. We’ve got work to do.”

I obeyed and by the time I returned, Shep had converted my apartment into a salon. My kitchen counter now contained a myriad of beauty apparatuses. Most of which, I didn’t recognize. Some of them looked quite tortuous. I glanced around, wondering what might have happened to the shipping labels and packaging supplies that were on the kitchen counter just a few minutes ago. Between my niece, Claire, and Shep, I was never going to get my paperwork back in order.

“Don’t worry about that other stuff. I piled it all on the sofa. It’s safe,” Shep reassured me. “Now sit back and let me do my thing.”

I surrendered. Oddly enough, I felt quite comfortable sitting in the middle of my apartment in nothing but my undies, while a half crazed man whirled around me with makeup and hair brushes, bottles of foam and goop, and enough hairspray to choke a horse.

“Voila!” He finished with a final flourish. “Now the dress and then the big reveal.”

I squeezed myself into the dress and made a few stocking and undergarment adjustments before parading into the bathroom to see the end result. What I saw stopped me cold.
“Oh Shep!” I cried, squeezing past the toilet to give him a hug.

“I did well, huh?” He held me at arm’s length, smoothing my dress. “Now don’t mess it up. What’s this, tears? No, no, no, darling. No tears. You’ll smear my work.”

I laughed, glancing back at the mirror. I hardly recognized the person I saw. My makeup routine usually consisted of mascara, lip gloss and the occasional zit cover-up. Shep had completely transformed me. My cheekbones were sculpted, my green eyes popped, and my lips had that full, pouty look. I kind of looked like a red-hair version of Angelina Jolie.