Murder for Bid (7 page)

“
Pippi O’Brien?”

Great.
The responding officer would have to be someone I knew. “Hi there, Gabe.”

Officer Gabe Sanchez was one of Sean’s friends. The last time I had seen him was at his house last summer for a barbeque.

Sanchez stood, looking from Schmidt to me, waiting for an explanation. Schmidt spoke first, “This woman is crazy! I came home to find her in my backyard, trying to break into my shed.”

“I wasn’t trying to break into...”

“She’s making all sort of slanderous remarks. I want something done here and now!”

Officer Sanchez, realizing that he was in a no-win situation, stammered for words and then stopped and let his mouth
hang open. Luckily for him, at that moment the sound of rustling shrubbery revealed two more uniformed officers and, to my dismay, Sean.

He crossed the yard to where we stood.
“Pippi?” His eyes were dark.

I searched the ground for something to say. I could feel his embarrassment.

“This is the homeless woman that I was telling you about. I caught her trying to break into my shed. She’s a nut. You should hear the things she’s saying. She even says she knows you.” Schmidt was in Sean’s face. “What are you going to do about this, Panelli?”

Sean led me aside. “What were you thinking,
Pippi?” he whispered.

“I wasn’t trying to break in, I swear, Sean. I was just looking in the window.”

He shook his head incredulously and shoved his hands into the pockets of his creased khakis. “Just looking in his window? This is private property. He could press charges.”

“Press charges against me? He’s the murderer!”

“Shh!”

My eyes slid across the yard to where the insolent councilman stood yacking it up with the fellows from the force and lowered my voice. “I already told you about the golf club. I think he stashed it away in this shed after killing Amanda with it. All you have to do is look. I bet you’ll find a bloody driver.”

“Do you know what you’re saying? He’s a city councilman. You can’t go around making those types of accusations without proof.”

“Well, how would I get any proof, if no one believes me? Isn’t it obvious? Look, the door is padlocked.”

“So?”

“He’s obviously hiding something in there. You need to get a warrant right away, before he can move it.”

Sean opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by Schmidt who had snuck up on us. “Look, Panelli,” he said. “I’m not sure why you’re not making an arrest. I think this woman broke into my house to steal my wife’s jewelry and Amanda caught her in the act. I mean, she’s obviously desperate, she was digging through garbage cans for food.”

Sean glared at his officers who were huddled together, snickering amongst themselves. “Actually, Councilman, I can assure you that this woman did not kill your wife. Ms. O’Brien is a personal friend of mine. She digs through garbage for a living.”

Another round of snickers eschewed from the huddled group.

“She digs through garbage for a living?” Schmidt asked, giving me a distasteful up and down look.

“Yes, that is when she’s not butting into police business,” Sean replied through tight lips.

Under the gaze of so many watchful eyes, Schmidt turned back into politician mode. He patted Sean on the back. “Well, Panelli, I can’t say I understand your taste in women,” he said, giving me another once over, “but just because she’s your girlfriend, it doesn’t give her the right to be snooping around on my property and making all these slanderous remarks about my relationship with Amanda.”

“You’re right, sir. I apologize for Ms. O’Brien.”

What? Apologize for me? What was Sean thinking?

Schmidt continued, “I was not having an affair. I … I loved my wife.”

I rolled my eyes. Schmidt was turning on the emotions again. Like any of us believed that.

“I believe you, sir,” Sean said.

My jaw dropped.

“I’ll talk to Ms. O’Brien and make sure she understands the situation,” he added.

Schmidt dropped his chin and did a sad shake of his head as if he pitied poor Sean for having such a crazy girlfriend. “Oh, alright, Panelli,” he said, patting Sean’s back and throwing in a good-old-boy smile. “Don’t sweat it. I’m not going to press charges or anything. Just keep her away from me. I don’t need this right now.”

“Of course, sir.”

Then Schmidt bent down and whispered something into Sean’s ear. Both men chuckled. Infuriated, I spoke up, “Since you have nothing to hide, Councilman, I’m sure that you wouldn’t mind if the police took a look inside your shed.”

Sean’s back stiffened and his entire face, including the tips of his ears, turned red. Schmidt, on the other hand, didn’t miss a beat. “If I oblige this weird fantasy that your girlfriend has concocted, will you get her off my back, Panelli? For good?”

“We have no cause to search your shed.” Sean glared at me. I could only imagine the fight that we’d have later.

“I know that, Panelli. I just thought that if I were to let you, then maybe it would satisfy her and she’d leave me alone.”

“That’s completely up to you, sir,” Sean replied.

Schmidt pulled out a key chain and unlocked the padlock. It dangled for a second and then hit the ground with a thud. He stepped aside and dramatically swept an inviting hand in front of the door. “Be my guest gentleman … and Ms. O’Brien.”

The group moved toward the shed with me taking up the rear. Sean pulled me back. “Let my guys go in first.”

I waited, expecting them to come out at any second, brandishing a bloody golf club. However, after less than a minute, the officers emerged with blank expressions. “Didn’t see anything unusual, boss,” Officer Sanchez said, his eyes averting the area where I stood waiting. He actually looked embarrassed for me.

Schmidt spoke up, “Well that’s because you officers aren’t as adept as Ms. O’Brien at finding clues. Ms. O’Brien, why don’t you have a crack at it?”

Wishing that my red-headed skin tone didn’t defy my emotions, I took a flashlight and stepped into the shed, waving away the cob webs that were dangling from the door jam. Shining a jittery light from corner to corner, I saw a wide array of dust covered flowerpots, several well-used gardening tools, and a shelf of pesticides, but not a single golf club. If I could have, I would have locked myself in the shed and never come out.

“Satisfied, Ms. O’Brien?” Schmidt asked after I emerged from the shed.

Ignoring the despairing looks from the officers, I forced myself to look directly at Schmidt. I opened my mouth to reply, but a speak-and-you’ll-die glare from Sean made me rethink my retort. Instead, I just nodded and continued to glare at Schmidt. I’m not sure what my eyes revealed, but his expression readily reflected his amusement with the situation. He had made a fool out of me and he enjoyed it.

Chapter Four

That night, after enduring the fall out of Sean’s fury and promising him that I would never again ‘play detective,’ I laid awake in bed listening to the rain pounding the rooftop and contemplated my next move. Sure, I could leave it alone and let Sean do his job, but would justice be served?
Doubtful. With the Councilman’s clout and inside connections, it was more likely that he’d get by with murder. I just couldn’t let that happen.

So, after careful consideration, I decided that I should attend the victim’s funeral service. More than likely, Schmidt’s mistress would be there and maybe I could figure out who she was. That would go a long way toward establishing a motive. Of course, in order to pull it off, I’d have to go incognito. In my last few moments of wakefulness, I pieced together in my mind the perfect disguise.

After a quick shower the next morning, I ran around my apartment gathering miscellaneous items. An hour later, thanks to my resale stockpile and a wig that I had left over from a Halloween stint as Velma from Scooby Doo, I left the house as a bobbed hair brunette dressed in a simple black sheath. I wore a strand of faux pearls and carried a small patent leather purse. I applied my makeup a little heavier than usual to cover my freckles and finished off the ensemble by pinning on a black pillbox hat with netting that hung low enough to cover the top half of my face. The overall effect was kind of kooky, but effective. 

The plan was to remain in the background, avoiding Schmidt and any other acquaintance
who might recognize me in spite of the disguise. If asked, I would claim to know Amanda from a fundraiser committee. No one would question that. According to the obituary, Amanda was heavily involved in community affairs.

I inched my way through traffic, cursing the relentless rain all the way downtown. The visitation was being held at one of Naperville’s finer funeral homes located in a turn-of-the-century Victorian that had
been a multi-family apartment building in the 1960s and now served to send the town’s more prominent citizens to the afterworld in style.

Outside the entrance, several well-dressed, middle-aged couples were milling around smoking cigarettes under wide black umbrellas, and laughing quietly in nervous little spurts. I held my breath and waded through the white cloud of nicotine as quickly as I could, not wanting the smell to cling to my clothes. I was hoping to make it through the evening without any stains, rips, or
clinging smells so that I could sell the dress on-line sometime next week without having to spend a cent of my potential profit on dry cleaning.

The crowd inside the funeral home appeared to be the “Who’s Who” of Chicago. Being an avid reader of the
Tribune’s
community page, I recognized several politicians, corporate CEOs and even some celebrities. None of whom seemed to pay much attention to me as I made my way into the front parlor.

I meandered through the mourners, eventually locating the crowd that was hovered around Schmidt. From what I could see, Schmidt was playing the part well with slumped shoulders and downcast eyes that welled with tears as various acquaintances expressed their condolences.

Not wanting to get too close, in fear that he might recognize me, I slouched in an upholstered chair not far from the casket and took in my surroundings. They didn’t make houses like this one anymore.  I admired the dark butternut woodwork, scrolled crown molding, paneled pocket doors, and large windows with led glass transoms. Even the furnishings were classic. I let my eyes dwell on the muted-toned fabrics used on the upholstered furniture and to frame the windows. The taupe and brown hues tastefully complimented the woodwork and lent a calming effect to the room. I’d have to remember that color combination next time I was painting my apartment.

Then I dared let my eyes move to the center of the room and settle on the casket. Surprisingly, it was open. I glimpsed at Amanda. I could tell that her body was placed at an angle to minimize the damage done by her assailant; but even in death, Amanda Schmidt was a beautiful woman. If the murder was as brutal as Sean had indicated, the
mortician must have been part magician to be able to make her look so good.

I hung out until the line of people waiting to pay their respects had dwindled and small groups of well-wishers were dispersing around the room, huddling together in small intimate groups. Schmidt remained by the casket with a few friends. Pretending to read a memorial card, I kept my ears peeled for any unusual conversational exchanges. After a while, I heard a familiar voice and looked up to see that Sheila and her husband were now standing with Schmidt. Sheila looked amazing as always, her diamond laced fingers pla
nted securely on her rich hubby’s arm.

“Richard, we’re here for you if you need anything, anything at all,” Sheila cooed.

“Thank you. It’s wonderful to have such good friends at a time like this.”

I continued to watch as Judge Reiner and his wife approached the group. Madeline Reiner closed the distance quickly and embraced Schmidt in a warm hug. After the hug, she kept her arm wrapped tightly around his waist as if to keep him from falling over.

“Amanda was a wonderful woman. We’re all going to miss her,” Madeline said.

“She was,” Sheila agreed. “She was involved in everything and so dedicated to her community. I’m not sure what we’ll do without her.”

Schmidt heaved a heavy sigh, nodding his head.

“You poor man,” Madeline soothed, rubbing comforting circles on the small of his back. I watched intently, noting with interest Madeline Reiner’s familiarity with Schmidt. Seeing them together confirmed my suspicions about another woman, and that woman was Madeline Reiner. The whole scenario was becoming clear: 
Madeline Reiner and Schmidt carried on an affair for years. Amanda discovers their relationship. She asks for a divorce and threatens exposure. Schmidt realizes that the political fallout will be enormous, the future Mayor of Naperville and a judge’s wife. My, my, my...

“Any new leads on finding the scum bag that did this?” Judge Reiner was asking Schmidt.

“No.”

“What about that homeless woman?” Madeline asked. Sheila’s well-waxed brow shot up. I held my breath.

“That’s no longer a viable lead,” Schmidt explained.

I let out a sigh of relief. At least he hadn’t told his cronies all about Sean
Panelli’s crazy girlfriend and Sheila seemed to remain tight-lipped.

“But,” Schmidt continued. “I can’t help thinking that if I hadn’t gone back into the office … if I had just stayed home, Amanda would still be here.”

He leaned into Madeline, who continued rubbing his back, stroking away his guilt. “Now, you can’t talk that way, Richard. None of this is your fault.”

What a cunning man, I thought. How could anyone beat someone to death, then go back to work, and act as if everything was normal?

Madeline suddenly stopped rubbing, her focus shifting across the room. I glanced in that direction and caught sight of Greg Davis approaching.  The sight of him, wearing a black suit tailored to fit perfectly to his body, caused my heart to beat just a bit faster.

“Thank you, Greg,” Schmidt was saying after Greg grasped his hand warmly and whispered his condolences. “I know how busy you are, Amanda would like it that you’re here today.”

“That’s right, Greg.” Sheila perked up in his presence. “Amanda sang your praises wherever she went. I hope you realize that she was personally responsible for at least fifty percent of your referrals.”

“Well, what I do know was that she was one of the easiest to please clients that I’ve ever worked with. Designing and constructing your home was truly a pleasure, Richard. I only wish that you and Amanda were able to make more happy memories there.”

“Yes, Amanda did love our house. She had so many plans for decorating…”

Schmidt’s voice trailed off and suddenly I noticed that he was looking straight at me with a mixed expression of curiosity and
confusion, as if he were trying to place my face. Soon, the entire group was studying me. Sheila’s eyes registered instant recognition.

Knowing that Sheila was about to expose my identity, I made a beeline for the door. As I zigzagged through clusters of mourners, I could hear Sheila excusing herself from the group, no doubt in hot pursuit.

I had just cleared the back entrance when Sheila grabbed my arm and spun me around. “Unbelievable, even for you Phillipena O’Brien. The nerve! How could you intrude on someone’s vulnerability like this? The man’s burying his wife today!”

“Take it easy, Sheila.” Greg Davis’s voice carried quiet authority as he approached us. “I’m sure Ms. O’Brien didn’t intend to upset Richard.” His charming smile quickly dispersed Sheila’s rage, turning her into a pussycat.

She ran her hand through her blond bob and smile tightly. “I just feel protective of Richard. That’s understandable, isn’t it? With all that he’s been through,” she purred.

“Of course, Sheila, I know you just want to protect him. Richard’s lucky to have a friend like you.” He placed a hand on her shoulder.

Sheila practically melted under his touch. I was feeling pretty gooey myself.

“Why don’t you go back in and join Richard. He needs his friends at a time like this,” Greg suggested.

“Yes, you’re right. I’ll head back in.” Sheila threw me a murderously evil eye and turned back to Greg, resting her hand on his sleeve. “Thanks, Greg,” she cooed, rubbing her hand up and down his arm a couple of times before turning to leave.

I shrugged. I had no idea what she was thanking him for, but I was glad she was leaving. Sheila could be difficult to contend with sometimes.

Once alone with Greg, I removed the black hat and wig, dug out a few hairpins, and released my red curls, allowing them to fall softly over my shoulders. I had seen many a leading lady do this in the movies and I hoped that I was accomplishing the same smoldering sex appeal.

“Thanks for rescuing me, Greg,” I said, running my fingertips through my hair. “This seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I feel quite foolish.”
Quite foolish? I never said things like ‘quite foolish.’

Greg looked down at me with his sexy eyes and for some reason I felt compelled to explain myself further. “You see, I’ve been conducting a private investigation into Amanda’s murder. I’m just about positive that Richard Schmidt killed his wife.”