Murder for Bid Read Online Free

kill her!”
    Sean’s grip had tightened on Schmidt’s arm. “Come on, sir.”
    For a second, it looked like Schmidt might put up a fight, but he relented. His demeanor seemed to shrink as he spoke. “Fine. I’ll do whatever I can to help find who did this to Amanda.”
    After Sean and another officer ushered Schmidt to the squad car across the street, the judge and his wife retreated to their Mercedes. I sat quietly for a couple of minutes watching officers move in and out of the house until I became too antsy to sit any longer. I decided to take action. Not wanting to chance it that Schmidt might recognize my “messy” red hair, I rummaged in the backseat until I found Sean’s standard police-issue sweatshirt and shrugged into it, shoving my hair inside the hood, and pulling the cord tight so that not a single curl could escape. I eased out of the car and meandered up the walkway toward the front door. I carefully kept my face turned away from the squad car where Sean, Councilman Schmidt, and another officer were deep in conversation.
    I recognized most of the officers. “Hey, Pippi.” One of the guys waved.
    “Hi, Jimmy. How’s Celia doing?”
    “Fine. Just two more weeks.”
    “Boy or girl?”
    “We want to be surprised.”
    “Good for you,” I responded, moving around an entourage of busy officers. Down the street, others were keeping the press at bay. The murder of a city official’s wife would occupy the prime spot on the evening news for several days.
    Inching closer to the crime scene tape, I craned my neck and caught a glimpse into the home’s foyer. The display of cultured taste was impressive: marble flooring, a mahogany stair railing, and a scrolled table with a Tiffany lamp. Leaning over the tape, I could see a golf bag propped against the far wall of the foyer. It contained several clubs, three with green and blue plaid head covers. Attached to the bag handle was a golf towel with a large embossed emblem of a windmill. I recognized the symbol. The windmill was all that remained of original homestead acreage, which in the 1920s was molded and sculpted into today’s Middleton Golf Club.
    From my distance, I couldn’t make out the brand of clubs Schmidt was using. Not that I would recognize them, I’m not much of a golfer, but just a couple of months ago, I had purchased a used set at an estate sale. I paid seventy-five dollars and turned them over on my on-line auction for two hundred and fifty. That particular set had ten clubs. A quick survey of Schmidt’s bag also revealed ten clubs: a driver, a putter, a couple of woods, and various irons.
    “I thought I told you to stay in the car, Pippi. This is a murder scene.”
    I turned on my heel and was face-to-face with Sean. He didn’t look happy.
    “I know.” I nervously glanced toward the squad car where Schmidt was supposed to be. “Where’s Schmidt?”
    “He went with the judge and his wife. Come on, you need to leave.” He put his hand on the small of my back and started pushing me toward the car. “Look,” he said into my ear as we made our way down the walk. “This case is going to be complicated and very public. Richard Schmidt is well-known around here. Besides, he can probably finger you as being at the crime scene earlier. You know, the homeless woman with the messy red hair.”
    He was right. “Fine,” I said, shaking him off and getting into the car on my own accord. Sean rounded the vehicle and slid behind the wheel.
    “Are you taking me home or are you going to bring me in as a suspect?” I asked as we pulled away from the curb.
    “You didn’t tell me that he saw you digging in his garbage.”
    “Guess I forgot that part.”
    “Did anyone else, besides Schmidt, see you?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “That’s good. Just hang low for a while.”
    “So, he thinks I’m a homeless woman.”
    “Well, you were going through his garbage.”
    “Schmidt’s a jerk. He’s your prime suspect, isn’t he?” I