Murder for Bid (13 page)

While I don’t make nearly the money I made as an investment banker, I can live comfortably. Of course, it helps that while I was in the banking business, I made several well-placed investments, so I have a good start on my retirement. The bad thing: health insurance. I have none. So far, I’ve been fortunate, but I know I’m just playing roulette with my luck. Sooner or later, I’m going to have to figure out a new strategy. 

I made it back to my apartment around 4:00 and decided to devote a couple of hours to fixing up some old inventory and getting it ready to sell. I was especially interested in working on a small dresser I had scrounged a couple of weeks ago outside some campus apartments. It was surprising what college kids opted to throw out instead of transporting. This was a narrow, four-drawer, nondescript piece that probably held CDs or something, but it was solid pine. With the right paint colors, some new hardware, and a little distressing here and there, I would transform into a great ‘shabby chic’ piece.

I flipped on the fluorescent shop lights that I had hung over the back corner of the garage that my parents had graciously sectioned off for my overflow storage and messy work jobs. I laid out a large drop cloth, tuned the radio to my favorite light-rock station, and got busy stripping and sanding. All the while I was working, my mind raced with thoughts. Most of them disturbing:
Amanda Schmidt’s body displayed in the casket, Madeline Reiner in black leather and stiletto boots, and Greg Davis.

This last one bothered me the most. I couldn’t get the guy out of my mind. Even when I was out with Sean last night, my mind wandered to Greg. I had been obsessing over him ever since we met at the country club. I’m not sure why I was so attracted to him--well, besides his obvious good looks--but there were lots of good looking guys around, including Sean. No, it was something else with Greg. Probably the fact that I knew what everyone was telling me was true: Greg wasn’t my type. He was a player, a user, the dangerous type I knew I would never be happy with a guy like him; so, why couldn’t I quit thinking about him?

“I just need to stay away from him, that’s all,” I said to myself, fastening some fine grit sand paper to the bottom of my hand sander. If I wasn’t around him, I wouldn’t be tempted. Besides, he’d given me all the information that I needed concerning the case. There was really no need to see him anymore.

With that decided, I powered up the hand sander. I was just starting on the backside of the cabinet, when I caught a glimpse of a dark sedan pulling into the front drive. Suddenly, the mysterious car from the night before popped into my mind.

My heart thumping, I put down my tools and scooted to the garage door to get a better look at what was happening, knocking over box of nails on my way. At the sound, a black-jacketed man working his way down the walk, turned and started my way.

I ducked back inside, panicked. Who was he? Was he the driver of the car I saw last night in the alley? Or maybe a friend of Schmidt sent to track me down and silence me? Sean was right; I should have minded my own business.   

I paced in a tiny circle and glanced back outside. He was closing in fast and for whatever reason, he was definitely coming for me. Think. Think. I glanced back outside; he was closer … what to do, what to do … fear rolled through the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t stay here and put my parents in danger and my keys were up in my apartment. I took one last glance around the garage.

Yes! In one fluid movement I mounted my old ten-speed and headed for the alley. I bent my head forward and pedaled as fast as I could. Never much of a bike rider, I was a bit wobbly, but despite my lack of skill, I was putting some good distance between the mysterious man and myself. That was until I felt a spine shattering jerk which propelled me up and over the front handle bars.

I skidded to a stop face down on top of loose gravel. It was then that I remembered why I hadn’t ridden my bike in so long—the brake pads stuck.

“Phillipena, are you all right?”

It was my father, bending over to examine me. “Dad, there’s a man...” I started as he jerked me to my feet and began brushing gravel from the front of my clothes.

“Oh, honey. You’re cut.”

I looked down to see blood soaking through the ripped knees of my bibs. I averted my gaze back upward to see that the man had joined us and was leaning over and studying my wounds with interest.

“I have a first-aid kit in the car. I’d be happy to get it,” he said.

“What is wrong with you? You took off like a bat of hell. Where were you going in such a hurry?” my dad asked, ignoring man’s offer of medical assistance. The guy headed for his car anyway. I hobbled back toward the garage, while Dad followed, pushing my bike.

“You know him?” I hissed over my shoulder.

Dad stashed the bike back in the corner of the garage and guided me to the front porch.

“Yes, I know him. Now sit,” he barked, plunking me down on the porch step. “I swear. I don’t know what is wrong with you these days. Are you heading for another breakdown, because if you are, it’s just going to kill your
mother. You don’t know the hell she went through the last time you holed up in the woods like some crazy recluse.”

“You know him? Who is he?”

“Here, this should do it.” The man had returned and held out some gauze pads and a couple of Band-Aids.

Dad tore one open and began dabbing at my scrapes. “Phillipena, this is Jack…”

“Jack Warren,” he said, reaching out to shake my hand. “Greg Davis’s personal assistant.”

“Greg Davis’s
assistant?” I shrunk against the step. “I thought you were someone else,” I muttered, heat rising to my cheeks.

He shot an amused glance in Dad’s direction and looked like he was going to say something but stopped short as my mother’s Mercedes rolled into
the driveway. She approached with a huge smile.

“Jack!” She gave him one of her social hugs, minus the air kisses. My mother was not an air kiss type. “What are you doing here?”

“Maureen. I haven’t seen you since last year’s RAB.” He was referring to the annual Realtors Association Banquet where all the local realtors gather for a festive evening of dining, entertainment, and various recognitions. For the past two years, Mom has received the highest gross sales award for women realtors. This year she vowed to win the overall gross sales award, woman or not.

“I’m here, running an errand for Greg.”

“For Greg?” My mother came alive at the mention of his name. I was surprised she knew him.

“Well, of course. What can I do for Greg?” my mother gushed. Guess women of all ages gushed over that man.

Dad seemed to reappear from the background. “Jack, would you like to come in and have some coffee?”

“Uh, no thanks.”
He turned his attention back to Mom. “This is a little awkward, I’m afraid. I’m not here actually on business. I’m here to extend an invitation to your daughter.”

Mom looked down, seemingly noticing me for the first time.
“Phillipena! What’s happened to you?”

I sat there, my bibs rolled up to my knees and Band-Aids
criss-crossed over my skinned shins feeling like Alice in Wonderland slowly shrinking into a seven-year-old girl. It didn’t help that I had thrown my hair into a couple of low hanging pigs to keep it off my face while I worked.

My mother’s expression was a mixture of bewilderment and aggravation. “Phillipena, what has happened to you?” she asked again in a more controlled voice.

I shrugged. “I had an accident on my bike,” I answered, sounding like the seven-year-old that I resembled.

Thankfully, neither Dad nor Jack expanded on my statement. Instead, Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “This is for you,” he said handing it over to me and glancing at the phone that was hanging from his belt. “I’ll save us some time and tell you what it says. Mr. Davis would like to invite you into the city this
evening for dinner and a show. He has procured tickets to theater and thought you might like to accompany him.”

“The theatre?”
I mulled over, while my mother practically squealed with delight. Dad, on the other hand, looked a little skeptical.

“He sent you to ask?” Dad interjected.

Jack held up his hand. “Let me explain. The tickets were a last minute thing. Mr. Davis tried calling your daughter several times today, but has been unable to reach her. He’s currently tied up in meetings until six o’clock. I have to deliver some paperwork for a meeting he has tomorrow, so I’m heading downtown anyway. He asked me if I wouldn’t mind stopping by to see if you’re available and, if so, giving you a ride to the restaurant. I’ll bring you back after the play, but we really don’t have much time. Traffic will be horrible.”

“Yes. Yes!” Mom answered for me, snatching me off the step and pulling me into the house. “I’ve got just the dress.”

“Mom, wait!”  

She stopped and whirled around to face me, her voice low and conspiratorial. “What? You’re not possibly thinking of declining this invitation, are you? Phillipena, do you know how many women would die to be in your position right now?
Greg Davis!
He’s the most eligible bachelor in the area. He’s gorgeous and worth millions.”

“Just let me think, Mom.”

“Think while you’re getting ready. There’s no time to spare.”

She was right. He was every woman’s dream. That’s what made the whole thing seem so weird. Why me? I did a mental shrug. Why not me? Besides, what was there to think about? I had been fantasizing about Greg ever since I first saw him. Of course, there was Sean. What would Sean think? Why did I care what Sean thought? ‘Mr. No-commitment.’ Wasn’t it him that had said that I wasn’t Greg’s type? Well, this would show him that I’m not just going to sit around and wait for him to make up his mind about our relationship. Maybe if he saw just how desirable I was to a man like Greg, he would finally get serious about us.

I showered in record time and then basically sat idle while my mom whirled around me applying makeup and doing my hair. “There’s not much we can do about your nails on this short notice, so just keep your hands hidden.”

I briefly wondered how I was supposed to eat dinner without my hands.

“Here, get into this and don’t mess up your hair.” I shrugged into the sleek black number my mother had pulled out of her closet. The transformation was amazing. It minimized my bad spots and clung perfectly to my generous curves. I actually had a figure in this dress.

“Wow! I haven’t seen you wear this before, Mom.”

“Yes, you have. It just doesn’t look this good on me.” We were both gazing at our reflections in her full length mirror. I enjoyed the fleeting second of mother-daughter bonding, before she whipped back into her closet. “Here, these will go perfect. They’ll be a bit small, but you can get by for tonight.”

I bent down and pulled on a pair of strappy heels. When I straightened, she was holding out her best evening bag. “I threw in some lipstick, powder, and a couple of bills,” she said, motioning me to the hallway. “I also put in a pair of earrings and a necklace; you can put them on in the car. Don’t lose them. Where’s your cell phone?”

“In my kitchen on the charger.”

“Go get in the car. I’ll run up and get it. And Phillipena…”

“Yeah, Mom?”

“You look beautiful.”

I smiled and glanced back at the mirror. Actually, I did look pretty good. Just recently I had gone to my class reunion and had been amazed to find myself among a bunch of middle-aged people. Most of the guys had lost hair and gained pouches around the middle while the girls had morphed into younger versions of their mothers. I guess, despite some extra pounds, I had held my own over the years. Then again, my frumpy classmates had happy marriages and several children already. I had none of that to show for myself.

Jack held open the back door of his sedan as I approached. I hugged my parents and climbed in, feeling a little conspicuous about sitting in the back. Although, sitting in the front would have been weird, too.
The whole thing was weird. Jack, on the other hand, didn’t seem unsettled at all with his role as chauffer. It was as if escorting women to Chicago to meet up with his boss was an everyday occurrence. For all I knew, it was.  I didn’t want to dwell on that thought, though. For the moment, I was a princess being whisked away to a magic kingdom to meet a very charming prince.

Several times, I tried to make small talk with Jack, but he didn’t seem interested. Finally, I settled back and entertained myself by watching the license plates of passing cars. As a kid, we were too poor to ever fly anywhere, so most of our vacations involved a road trip of one kind or another. One of the ways my parents kept all five of us busy was to play the “license plate game.” The kid with the most states won a dollar. It was a cut-throat competition. I usually had the advantage since I was always in the jump seat of the station wagon with my sister Kathleen. We had the best view and Kathleen was a slow reader.

I briefly wondered if Sean would find out that I was going out with Greg, or if he would even care. Much to my annoyance, Sean and I never really discussed our relationship. We had been dating on and off now for several years, but every time things started to get serious, he pulled away. Maybe Greg Davis was just the type of thing I needed.