Free Murder for Bid by Susan Furlong Bolliger Page A

evidence.”
    “Trace evidence?” Greg looked confused.
    “Don’t you ever watch CSI? Trace evidence, you know, minute particles of blood and stuff like that. Richard Schmidt is a smart man. He knew that if he put the murder weapon in his car to dump, it would have left behind trace evidence. What if his car was searched? No,” I chortled, “he’s too clever for that.”
    “I like the way you think, Phillipena. I’m just not convinced that Richard could have done such a horrible thing.”
    “How about Madeline?”
    He shook his head. “These people are my friends. I can’t imagine any of them doing such a thing.”
    “Well, I hope I’m wrong,” I said, trying to find a middle ground.
    “Me too,” he agreed. “Well, I better get back inside. It’s been a pleasure talking to you.” He reached over and touched my arm. My stomach flipped.
    “You’ve been really helpful, Greg,” I stammered. “Maybe, if I think of some more questions, I could call you?”
    “Certainly,” his smile broadened. I noticed how perfect his teeth were—white and straight. He could do toothpaste commercials.
    I flashed my pearly whites right back. “Or maybe, you could call me sometime,” I said, flirting guiltlessly.
    “I might do that, Phillipena,” he said with a wink before heading back inside. I shuddered. The way he said my name sent electric tingles up and down my spine, and other places.  I scolded myself. I needed to get my hormones in check. Guys like Greg Davis could have any woman they wanted. Besides, I already had a boyfriend … a loyal boyfriend that was willing to put up with my quirks. What more could I ask for?
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

    Chapter Five
    Early that evening, I was crashed on my sofa, trying to soothe my churning emotions with a pint of ice cream, when the phone rang. It was Sean. After a day of flirting and fantasizing about Greg, his voice brought on a case of the guilts.
    I could tell from the terseness in his voice that he was still hot about yesterday’s shed incident. More than likely, he was receiving flak from the guys at work. All that would stop though, once I found the murder weapon and proved Schmidt’s guilt.
    “You wouldn’t have happened to be at the funeral home today, would you?” he asked, cutting to the chase after we had exchanged a bit of strained small talk.
    I bolted upright. “Why?”
    “I had a couple of undercover guys there. They reported that there was a woman there that looked like a stocky version of Jacqueline Kennedy. Apparently she created quite the scene.”
    “You think that was me?” I resented being called stocky.
    “Cut it out, Pip. Why were you there? I thought we agreed that you were going to stay out of this.”
    “Last time I checked, it wasn’t illegal to attend a funeral.” I cringed. My rhetoric sounded juvenile, even to me.
    “No, but it is a crime to interfere with a police investigation,” he countered. “Besides, what did you and Greg Davis need to talk about anyway?”
    Wow, his guys were good. I hadn’t even noticed them watching me. I wondered if they reported that I was flirting with Greg? Was it obvious? I thought back to my hair tousling and the way I practically melted under his gaze. Hesitantly I replied, “We were just visiting.”
    “For twenty minutes?” I tried to decipher his tone. Was I detecting a hint of jealousy?
    “I told Greg a couple of my ideas concerning Amanda’s murder, and he thought they were valid.”
    “Which ideas?”
    “The murder weapon … and other stuff.” I cringed. Now that I thought back, I realized that I may have confided a little too much in Greg.
    “The murder weapon?”
    “I told you that he used a golf club.”
    “We don’t know that for sure. You can’t just go around claiming things that you don’t have any evidence of, Pippi.”
    “I’ll get evidence.”
    “What do you mean?” His voice raised an