Murder for Bid by Susan Furlong Bolliger

could just find that club, I could prove it.
    My eye spied the perfect hiding spot. At the far end of the yard stood a tool shed. Even from my vantage point, I could see that the door was padlocked, a sure sign that the small building held something secretly sinister.
    Several times, I circled its exterior like a hawk circling its prey. Brushing aside an out-of-control rose hedge, I braved the thorns to get a peek inside a small side window. I rubbed a circle in the dust-covered surface and strained to see inside.
    “What are you doing?” a booming voice demanded.
    I wheeled around to find myself face to face with Richard Schmidt.
    “Who are…?” His expression changed from anger to disbelief as he realized that he’d seen me before. “It’s you, the homeless woman.”
    “I’m not homeless,” I replied with dignity. I didn’t mention that I practically lived with my parents.
    He starred at me with a confused expression. “You look homeless,” he said, eyeing my outfit.
    That did it. This tumor sweater was really going to have to go.
    “Who are you and what are you doing on my property?” he asked with a flushed face. I could even see the vein throbbing at his temple. He was about to blow.
    I rushed to explain, “I’m Phillipena O’Brien. I’m dating … uh … I’m a friend of Detective Sean Panelli from the Naperville Police Force.”
    “That doesn’t explain what you’re doing trespassing on my property.”
    A siren wailed in the distance.
    “I’m checking something out.”
    “Do you work for the police?”
    I hesitated, my mind working frantically on a fabrication worthy of the situation.
    The siren was growing closer.
    “Sounds like the police are coming,” I said.
    “I called them.”
    Panic struck. “You did?” I asked, looking around frantically for a place to run.
    “Don’t even think about running,” he said, stepping closer to me. “You were here the day my wife was murdered. Did you do it? Did you kill her?”
    “Me!” This guy was a piece of work. He should have been an actor instead of a councilman. “What are you talking about? I didn’t kill your wife.” I moved in closer, feeling more confident. “What’s more, I think you did it so that you could get her out of your life and be with your mistress.”
    “My mistress?” His mouth went slack.
    “Look, Schmidt, you might as well confess. The cops will be here any minute and you’re going to have a hard time explaining what’s inside your shed.”
    “What’s inside my shed?”
    “Why the padlock? Hiding the murder weapon?” I asked.
    An angry sneer tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re crazy, lady.”
    “You killed her with one of your golf clubs,” I retorted.
    The sirens were coming from just down the street.
    He squinted. “One of my clubs?”
    “You were carrying eleven at the club the day she was killed. There’s only ten in your bag now.”
    Schmidt’s mouth opened, but he didn’t reply. He probably knew there was no use in denying it.
    I continued, “Amanda found out about your affair and you killed her.”
    “You’re nuts. You have no idea what you’re talking about. What affair?”
    It infuriated me that Schmidt was trying to deny the obvious. “I saw the shirt! You threw it out because there were lipstick stains all over it. You were trying to hide it because you didn’t want your wife to know that you were cheating on her. She found out anyway, didn’t she? And when she confronted you about your affair, you became enraged. You grabbed the nearest thing you could find, the golf club, and beat her to death. Then, you put her body into the hot tub to buy time.” I pushed an accusing finger against his chest. I was on this guy like white on rice. “You couldn’t have the coroner pinpointing the time of death, it would be too obvious. Then you took the jewelry to make it look like robbery. You think you’re so clever.” Accusations were spewing from my lips. I felt just like