Murder for Bid (25 page)

I took a long cleansing drink, peering over the rim at the other occupants of the table. Mom and Dad were to my right. Maggie, looking quite svelte for a thirty-something mom of two, was seated to Dad’s right. Next to her was an elegant grey-haired couple who Mom immediately introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Robert Ashcroft. Mr. Ashcroft was the president of the library board. His wife, Elizabeth, as I would come to find out, coordinated the Chicago inner-city literacy program. Literacy was their life.

That left one chair still unfilled at our table.

When there was a break in the conversation, I leaned over and asked Mom about the empty chair. “It’s for Sandra Gordman, the society page editor from the
Sun
.” Mom scanned the room. “There she is, photographing that table over there.”

I almost laughed out loud when I saw the absurd social mix seated at that table she was photographing. The seating arrangements must have been made before it became known that Schmidt was investigating the judge. I wondered if the tension would show up in the photographs. Despite the
mis-match, the occupants of the table were doing their best to look good for the camera: Judge Reiner and Madeline; the mayor of Naperville and his wife; the Scholsteins; Richard Schmidt, who I was surprised to see out so soon after his wife’s death; Sarah Maloney looking stunning in a black sequined gown with a plunging neckline; and Greg Davis next to a woman I didn’t recognize.  

I zeroed in first on Sarah Maloney. I could easily see how she had caught Sean’s attention. She was a real beauty, oozing sophistication and class. Then I studied the woman next to Greg. She was also a beautiful woman, tall and thin with flowing dark hair and elegant chiseled features that could easily be on the cover of Vogue. Was she his date? If so, why, just a few minutes ago at the bar, was he depositing saliva all over
my
cheeks?

As my eyes darted from one to the other, trying to make sense of it all.
I slowly began to lose my Angelina Jolie-feeling. Surely, what I really looked like was an overweight leprechaun stuffed into a velvet green dress. These two women were everything that I could never be. They were elegant, charming, beautiful, and graceful. They were gazelles while I was an … an alpaca.

I accepted a glass of wine from a passing waiter and took a couple of gulps to ease the jealousy pangs turning in my stomach. Just a few days ago, I was thinking of myself as some sort of leading character from a Harlequin novel, torn between two lovers, ridden with guilt over undecided love, trying to choose between the ‘good one’ and the ‘forbidden one.’ I was an idiot. I had thrown away the good one and been played by the forbidden one. There was no doubt about it. Greg could have any woman he wanted. He had just been playing me probably hoping to score another notch on his bedpost. Who knows? Maybe the guy had some sort of quota: a certain number of blondes, brunettes, and redheads. True redheads weren’t easy to find, so I would definitely boost his quota in that category. How could I have been so stupid?

“What was that?” asked Shep.

“Nothing.”
I hadn’t realized I had spoken out loud. I turned my attention back to my own table and tried to make some intelligent comments on a heated debate over government censorship of books. Like, I cared. In the meantime, servers were bringing our first course. As if to enhance my state of depression, the waiter placed a vegetable torte and mixed green salad in front of me. Didn’t he realize that what I really needed was a half-gallon of ice cream and a bottle of chocolate syrup?

A full round of introductions ensued when Sandra, the society editor, rejoined our table. I felt a little intimidated by her presence—at this point, by
any
other woman’s presence—and was glad she was sitting on the other side of Shep. By the time the waiters returned to ask us our main course preference, the two of them were involved in a lively conversation punctuated by spats of hearty laughter. Once again, I was amazed at Shep’s social graces and I silently wondered what my splendiferous friend and the society editor were finding in common.

“Good choice for a date,” Mom said, nodding approvingly toward Shep and Sandra. “He can really liven up a conversation.” Boy, had she ever changed her tone about Shep.

I sighed and glanced around looking for Sean. I caught a glimpse of him seated across the room. I did a double take, almost dropping my fork. Sarah Maloney was leaning down and whispering in his ear. Was I imagining things, or did I see his gaze slide down to her cleavage? I hated her. I hated him. I hated everyone.

I finished off another glass of wine just in time for the main course. One group of waiters gracefully removed our plates while another simultaneously placed our main course choice in front of us. I shrunk a little upon seeing that I was the only at our table to choose the filet medallions with a Jack Daniel’s glaze. The rest had chosen the more socially acceptable macadamia crusted
mahi mahi. Even my own sister, who normally ordered double cheeseburgers, had opted for fish. I shot the beef-eating Benedict a daggering glance and dug into my medallions with fervor. My love life was going to hell, why worry about political correctness or my waistline? I motioned for another glass of wine, too. Why not?                 

For everyone except me, the evening turned out to be a success. The food was divine, the entertainment exciting, and the money flowing. After a passion-filled speech from Mr. Ashcroft on the importance of public access to literature, several large donations were pledged for the library remodel project. A grand round of applause arose in the room when he announced the board planned to name a section of the expansion in the honor of Amanda Schmidt, who had dedicated her time, worked tirelessly in fundraising efforts, and contributed so much to the success of the library’s growth.

After finishing my dessert and Shep’s too, I was ready to go home. Mom and Dad had left early with Maggie to relieve the baby-sitter. The room had dwindled down to intermittent groups of do-gooders who couldn’t get enough of discussing their latest causes. I was on my way to find Shep, who had disappeared during dessert, when I was intercepted by Greg’s date, Ms. Vogue.

“Phillipena O’Brien?” she asked, extending a graceful hand. “I’m
Alexa Hamilton. Amanda Schmidt’s sister.”

I hesitated; surprised to hear that she was Amanda’s sister. Of course, now I could see the resemblance. I reached out and tried to connect with her hand, cursing myself for having so much wine. I mumbled some sort of condolence and willed away my mental fuzziness. I didn’t remember seeing this woman at the funeral. Why was she here now with Greg Davis? How long had they known each other?

“I’m only in town to settle up my sister’s estate. Greg was kind enough to bring me here tonight. He thought an evening out would be a welcome distraction,” she said, as if reading my thoughts.

I nodded sympathetically, not quite trusting my wine-laced mind to form intelligible words.

“Greg tells me that you’ve taken a personal interest in my sister’s case.”

I confirmed this statement with another nod.

“I wanted to thank you. I know my sister touched a great many lives. She was diligent in her causes. It’s a tragedy that her life had to end so soon and...”

“And?”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that you’re looking into things. I’m not so sure that the police will be so thorough. Richard
is
a city councilman.”

“You’re afraid the cops might be bought off?” I asked, wishing I had found a more tactful way of phrasing it.

There seemed to be an awkward silence. Alexa spoke again, “My sister had been unhappy for a long time.”

I perked up. “Do you know why?”

“At first I thought it was her marriage, but lately it seemed to be something more. She wouldn’t confide in me.” Alexa seemed to shrink in front of me.

“Are you close to Richard Schmidt?” I asked.

“No, not really. I mean, he
was
Amanda’s husband, but we aren’t really a close family so I haven’t really gotten a chance to know him over the years.”

Knowing my sisters’ husbands the way I did, I found this strange. I did a mental shrug, not every family was as close as mine. “Did Amanda ever mention a woman named Jessica Hanson?”

Alexa’s brow’s furrowed, “No, why?”

“I just wondered.” Quickly changing the subject, I added, “Do you think Richard could have killed her?”

“I don’t want to think that, but I just don’t know. He had a short temper and he was so competitive. Not just in business, but other things, too. Once, at a family get together, we were playing a board game and he lost it because someone was beating him.”

“Really?
That does sound over the top.” Although, my family could get quite competitive at board games, too.

“Yes,”
Alexa continued. “Well, that’s one of the reasons Amanda and I have lost touch over the years. I just couldn’t tolerate Richard and his temper.”

My antennae went up, “Was he abusive toward her?”

“No, never toward Amanda. He was good to her. He was just insanely competitive. He would crush anyone that got in his way.”

A weird word choice I thought, considering that Amanda’s skull had been crushed. I wondered if Amanda had gotten in Richard’s way.

“Did your sister ever mention that Richard’s firm was investigating Judge Reiner?” I asked.

“Judge Reiner?” she repeated. “No, she didn’t mention it. Judge Reiner? He was at my table tonight, wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” I affirmed.

“No, she never mentioned him.” She began to ask another question but stopped short when Shep approached.

“Ready to go home?” he asked.

I shook my pounding head, “Yes, definitely.” I turned toward
Alexa who handed me a piece of paper.

“Please call me if you find out anything about my sister. I’ll want to know.”

I took the paper, promising to be in touch.

On the way out the door, I caught a glimpse of Sean’s Jeep pulling away from the curb. Sarah Maloney was in the seat next to him. As they left the lot, I could have sworn I saw her lean into him. Was it just my imagination, or was she laying her head on his shoulder?

My heart fell. An ominous clap of thunder sounded as if to punctuate my emotions. Once again, it began to rain.

Chapter Sixteen

Exhausted as I was, sleep eluded me. I tossed throughout the night, my mind replaying the evening’s events like a bad television rerun. Every once in a while I would start to drift off, just to have my eyes pop open again and my thoughts begin to race with questions. Was the judge a murderer, or just a liar and cheat? How about his unstable wife? Would she go so far as to protect his career, and her lucrative income, by committing murder? Then there was Richard. His sister-in-law didn’t trust him. Could the idea of his wife carrying someone else’s child be enough to ignite his short fuse and detonate his rage to the point of murder?

However, what really kept me up all night was the thought of Sean with another woman. Did I believe him that nothing was going on? If that was the case then why were they spending so much time together and why was she answering his phone late at night? And, why was he taking her home after the Gala? Did they have another evening of ‘work’ planned?

When I did finally drift off, my sleep I had the most disturbing dream:  
My dad, dressed as a mouse in a tuxedo, escorts me to a grand ballroom inside Cinderella’s castle. There, everyone I know is dancing to strange music and wearing bizarre costumes. Shep is flamboyantly dressed in green tights and a multi-colored jester hat. His white, toothy grin seems over exaggerated as he moves throughout the crowd juggling… blow dryers, of all things. Madeline is on the dance floor, gyrating around a group of peasant men. She’s wearing fishnet stockings, five-inch heels, and a black bustier which is struggling to confine her large breasts. A clanking noise rises above the music and I turn my attention from Madeline to the corner of the room where there’s an action packed sword fight. After a minute of watching, I realize that it’s the judge and Richard Schmidt. They’re dressed like knights. The poor judge is losing the fight as he’s trying to spear Richard with a gavel instead of a sword. “That’s not fair! He doesn’t have a real sword,” I try to say. My words are met with a hardy round of laughter. I look up to see King Greg sitting high on a red velvet throne, laughing at the weird scene before him, while young maidens fan him with palms and feed him grapes. Then I spy Sean, dressed as Prince Charming, across the room. He’s kneeling at the foot of a beautiful princess … Sarah. He has a glass slipper in his hand and is about to slide it onto her foot. “No,” I shout. “That’s my shoe! My shoe!” But he can’t hear me over the weird music. Then I look down at my feet, only they’re not feet, they’re hooves. And my arms, they’re covered with fur. I’m an … an alpaca. I look back at Sean. Just as he’s about to slip the slipper onto Sarah’s foot, I jerk awake.