Murder for Bid Read Free

that it was thrown out because it was evidence.”
    “Evidence?” He raised a brow. “Of what?”
    “Of cheating. The man was cheating on his wife! Probably with his secretary.”
    “You’ve got to be kidding. You found a shirt with a lipstick stain on it and you automatically assume that the guy is having an affair? What about his wife? Maybe it was her lipstick.”
    “Then why’d he throw it out? Why not just wash it?”
    Sean shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t want to bother with it. You know, not everyone is as frugal as you.”
    This was true, but I just didn’t buy it that someone would throw out that nice of a shirt. I was just about to continue the debate when the tone of Sean’s cell interrupted.
    “Panelli.” He removed a notebook and jotted down a few things. “I’ll be right there.”
    I quickly shoved down the last bite of my pizza. Sean rose and threw a couple of bills on the table. “Sorry. I’m going to have to take you home.”
    “What’s up?” I muttered with a full mouth.
    “A homicide.”
    My eyes bulged. “Homicide? We were just talking about how there are never any of those around here. Weird. I’ll ride with you.”
    “No you won’t. I’m taking you back to your place.”
    “I won’t interfere. I promise.” I crossed two fingers over my heart.
    “That’s what you said last time I let you ride.” He was referring to the time I was riding with him and spotted a purse snatcher who, as it turned out, was just some guy chasing down his wife because she had left her purse behind—an honest mistake.
    “My place is out of the way, you’ll have to double back. That’ll cost you time.”
    “That’s alright. Let’s get moving.”
    “Please!” I begged.
    “Stop! You’re making a scene.” He looked around, embarrassed. “All right. You can ride with me. You’re right,” he glanced at his phone, “I really don’t have time to take you back anyway. I’ve got to get there and help secure the scene.”
    I squealed with delight. I’d do about anything to get a glimpse of a crime scene, a quirk that I’m sure stemmed from the fact that I’d read too many mystery novels and logged too much time in front of the television watching crime TV.
    Once in the car, Sean spent the whole time on his cell talking to the guys who were already on the scene. After a short ride, we turned the corner onto a street crammed with squad cars and uniformed cops.
    “This is Cedar Street,” I said.
    “I know.”
    “But, I was just here this afternoon.”
    “You were?”
    “Yes, Sean. Don’t you ever listen? This is where that guy with the shirt lives.”
    “Who?”
    “The guy with the lipstick stain on his shirt. This is his house! Was he murdered? His wife did it! She found out about the affair with his secretary!”
    Sean pulled in behind a city cruiser and turned his full attention on me. “Did you witness a murder today and just forgot to tell me about it?”
    “No. I found that shirt with the lipstick stain. Like I said, it had to be the wife. She killed him in a fit of jealousy.”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m not even sure I want to know. Can this wait?”
    “No.”
    “Stay in the car,” he barked, hopping out and starting across the lawn.
    I rolled down the window and yelled after him. “But, Sean. I have a theory about what happened here. At least have your guys check to see if all the garbage was collected. If so, maybe they can canvas the bags at the dump and find the shirt.”
    He waved me off and kept walking.
    I sank back into the seat, defeated. He never took me seriously. Certainly, it was obvious that this was a crime of passion. I could see the whole scenario:  The wife finds the shirt and probably several other signs of her husband’s infidelity. She confronts him about the affair. He confesses. She flips. She pulls a pistol out of the … no a steak knife … and plunges it into his heart. If she can’t have