No Such Thing As a Good Blind Date: A Brandy Alexander Mystery (No Such Thing As: A Brandy Alexander Mystery) (10 page)

Nobody argued. We were all stuffed; we being me, Franny, Janine, John and my uncle. After Carla burned the pork roast, Uncle Frankie had sent out for PrimoHoagies. I had a “Pal Joey” and the other half of John’s “Soprano.” John’s watching his weight. I flopped onto the couch and undid the top button on my jeans.

“Ya know,” I said, “as much as I’d like to think men go wild just by the sight of me, the wife was off base on her theory. The thing is, Keith knew that Fluffy is having stomach problems. How would he know that unless he’d had prior contact with the dog?”

We didn’t have time to discuss it because just then Carla emerged from the kitchen carrying a blueberry cheesecake. “Dessert,” she called.

Everyone groaned. Everyone except me, that is. I dug right in.

“So how come Eddie didn’t come tonight?” Franny eyed me as I scraped the last bit of cheesecake off my plate and into my mouth.

“He went to the Flyers’ game with Bobby.”

“I’m surprised Marie let him off the leash.”
Oh Jeez, that wasn’t supposed to be said out loud.

“Good one,” Janine snorted, but Franny cast me a sympathetic glance.

“I’m
fine,
” I told her. “I just feel bad for him, is all.”

“Ya know, this reminds me of something,” Carla said.

“What does?”

“This whole ‘I can’t be friends with you because my wife won’t let me’ thing.” She scrunched up her eyes in concentration.

“Friends,” I sighed. “When Emily told Ross the only way she’d come back to him is if he broke off all contact with Rachel.”

“That’s it!” Carla exclaimed, which was followed by an awkward silence.

“So, who wants more cheesecake?”

I dropped Franny off at her house. She didn’t get out of the car right away and I could tell she wanted to say something.

“What’s up, Fran?”

“Okay, so like, you may not be the best person to talk to about this, but I’m really worried about Bobby.”

“Worried? Why?”

“Eddie says he’s miserable at home. Oh, Bobby hasn’t come right out and admitted it—you know it’s not his style to confide in people—but Eddie ran into Vince Giancola yesterday and Vince said Bobby’s getting into fights at work, taking stupid chances. That’s why Eddie insisted Bobby go with him to the game tonight. He wanted to get him alone, see if he’d open up. Personally, I think he should just dump her ass. He’s married to a lunatic.”

I parked and turned off the engine. “Fran, swear you won’t tell anyone, but Marie’s been following me.”

“Get out!”

“Well, it’s either her or her evil twin.” I told her about seeing Marie in the green Honda, and how she’d shown up at the police station, not ten minutes after I left Bobby’s office.

“You need to tell Bobby.”

There were a lot of things I needed to tell Bobby, but I don’t always do what I’m supposed to.

I walked into the house and tripped over Rocky and Fluffy, who were busy mangling an empty Cheerios box. Funny, it hadn’t been empty when I left it on the kitchen counter this afternoon. I vacuumed up the crumbs and plunked down on the couch. Fluffy jumped up and snuggled in beside me.

“You never struck me as a ‘Fluffy’,” I told him, scratching behind his ears. “We’re going to have to work on a new name.”

He wagged his water fountain tail in agreement.

“So, what do you think about this whole Bobby situation? Rocky thinks it’s not my problem he got himself into this mess, and it’s up to him to get himself out. But you strike me as the more compassionate type.”

Fluffy rolled over on his back and offered his belly for me to rub.

“You’re right. I do tend to want to take care of everyone. And as much as I’d like to fix everything, there are some things people have to do for themselves. You’re a very good listener. I’m glad we had this little chat.”

It was almost midnight so I headed upstairs and got into bed, but the nightlight in the bathroom was burned out, so I had to get up and look under the sink for a replacement bulb. I had just snuggled under the covers again when my cell phone went off.

“Hello?”

“Yo.”

“Toodie?” He sounded exhausted.

“Were you able to find Glen?”

I told him what happened when I went over to Glen’s house.

“I should have told the police. If they had this information, they could have gone over to Glen’s that night and maybe found evidence to clear you.” There was dead silence on the other end of the line. “Toodie, ya still there?”

“Yeah. Look, thanks for all your help, Brandy. I know you tried your best.” I heard a soft click and then nothing.

“Toodie? Toodie!” Unhhh!

I dreamed that Marie DiCarlo had turned into her brother and was chasing me around town with a hatchet. I tried to get away, but somehow got caught up in the Mummer’s Parade. The next thing I know I’m strutting down Broad Street with a forty pound headdress balanced on my neck and my head tucked under my arm. I’m sure it would have made a terrific scene from a Fellini film, but it didn’t do much for a good night’s sleep.

Eight a.m. I dragged myself out of bed and took a quick shower. The water pressure still wasn’t great, but if I lathered minimally I’d be okay. I was supposed to meet Barry at nine. I wore my most mature outfit—a tweed suit with sensible pumps—and stuck a copy of my resume in my pocketbook. Then I fed Rocky and took Fluffy outside to do his business. He squatted, per usual, and lo and behold, something came out. Not much, but it was a start. Must’ve been the raisins.

I got to Barry’s office with two minutes to spare. It was way up on the twenty-ninth floor, where all the executive suites are. I missed the hustle and bustle of the newsroom. While my old job was mostly pre-taped segments, on rare occasion I’d get to sit in for someone suffering the “holiday flu”—a phenomenon that usually hits on Christmas or Thanksgiving morning.

Barry was back to his charming self, having apparently gotten over the shock of thinking I was the neighborhood cannibal. He offered me a drink and said it was good to see me again.
Yeah, because we had so much fun the first time around.

After meandering through the requisite pleasantries, he cut to the chase. “I’ve been doing some research on you. Why didn’t you tell me you were an investigative reporter in Los Angeles?”

“I never like to mix business with pleasure.”
YES!

He leaned back in his chair. “In that case—”

“Oh, but I can make an exception. I mean the date was a disaster, so it’s not like a conflict of interest or anything…” I let my voice trail off before I uttered another asinine thought.

Barry drummed on the top of his desk with his fingers. I’m not sure, but it sounded like the theme to The Andy Griffith Show. He stopped drumming and focused in on me.

“I need information, Brandy. And you seem to holding all the cards.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve been investigating this murder and my reporters have been coming up empty. They’ve gotten nothing from their sources at the police station.” The light dawned.

“And since you’ve been investigating me, you know that I have a history with the primary investigator on this case.”

“That, and you lived with the prime suspect. I just thought if you had any inside information, you might consider passing it along— to your colleagues.”

“I don’t have any colleagues, Barry. I’m unemployed.”

“You get me something substantial and I’ll see to it you’re a working reporter before the next full moon.”

It was tempting. Boy, it was tempting. I rose out of my chair. “Barry, I know this is your job, and normally I’d kill for an opportunity like this. But I’m not in the habit of using my friends to further my career.”

Barry rose too. “While I admire your principles, it often takes a cutthroat attitude to get the story.”
What? He didn’t think I could be cutthroat? I could be cutthroat…if I felt like it.
“I appreciate you coming in.” He offered his hand and I shook it.

“Look, if I hear of anything that could be helpful to you without jeopardizing the police investigation or personal confidences, I’ll pass it along.” After all, his mother got her hair done at Carla’s. We’re practically family.

I swung by Jolly Jack’s on the way home. I know, I should’ve taken the cat and dog’s advice and steered clear of the whole mess, but Toodie sounded so sad. I had to try to help him. I pulled into the parking lot and sat there, gazing over the dashboard at broken Miller Light bottles, cigarette butts and what looked like a couple of used condoms. Well, they may be litterbugs but at least they weren’t propagating their species.

I parked in the spot closest to the building and locked the car. It had begun to drizzle, so I reached into the back seat and grabbed my umbrella. There were some drunks hanging around outside, wrestling over a half empty bottle of Jim Beam. I sidestepped them and opened the door.

The stench of stale cigarettes and beer hit me the minute I entered the room. As my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, I picked my way carefully over to the bar. I found an empty stool next to a man wearing a Phillies’ cap and what appeared to be a dead beaver wrapped around his ears. Upon closer inspection, I realized they were woolen socks.

“Hi,” I said, brightly, shaking the excess water off my umbrella. I felt a little overdressed in my tweed suit and pumps, but who would notice in this crowd.

The guy with the socks on his ears turned to no one in particular and said, “Look, it’s Mary Poppins.”

Someone laughed.
Oh, like you’re all fashion mavens. What was I doing here?

I ordered a coke and scanned the room, trying to search out the least Neanderthal-looking one of the bunch. It was a tough choice. I settled on the bartender. “Excuse me, I was wondering if you could help me. I’m looking for a guy named Glen. He lives down the street—”

“Don’t know him.”

“But I haven’t even described him yet.”

“Still don’t know him.”

Oh, I see how this game is played.
I plunked down a twenty on the bar.
“Now
do you know him?”

He picked the bill up and pocketed it. “No, but thanks for the tip.” Crap.

“Does anyone know a guy named Glen? About 5’9”, shaved head, one hundred thirty-five pounds…anyone?” I called out lamely. Either the bar was filled with deaf mutes or they were acting that way exclusively for my benefit.
Oh fine.
I hopped off the bar stool and headed for the door.

“Sounds like you’re looking for Glen Davis.”

I turned to see who had spoken. It was a woman about my age, wearing a hooded sweatshirt with the words, “Boys are stupid. Throw rocks at them” on the front.

“Mean spirited little bastard. He gave me this.” She turned her cheek to the light. A four-inch scar ran the length of it. Wow.

“Any idea where I might find him?” I gulped.

“You sure you want to?”
No, not sure at all.

“It’s kind of important.”

She cast an eye around the room. No one seemed particularly interested in our conversation, but her caution made me real jittery.

“Look,” I said, digging into my bag for a pen and scratch paper, “if you think of anything, would you mind giving me a call?” I quickly scribbled my name and number on the paper.

She took the paper and stuck it in the pocket of her sweatshirt. “You might try his brother. He works at Dino’s MasterCarb. Turk Davis.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me, honey. I didn’t do you any favors.”

Okay! I have a lead on Glen and there’s parking right in front of my house. Life is good. I hopped out of the car and ran up the steps. It was 3:30 p.m., and I had just enough time to shower and change before heading over to Paul’s for the evening shift.

As soon as I walked through the door I knew something was wrong. The foyer smelled like cheap tobacco. I did a quick scan of the living room. Where was the dog? He usually greeted me the minute I came home. I took a few steps inside and found him cowering under the couch. On the floor I found the bottom half of a gingerbread man tree ornament I’d made in the third grade. The rest, I assume was his mid morning snack. No wonder this dog is constipated.

I bent down to pet him, but he whimpered and receded further under the couch. I was about to crawl on all fours to coax him out of his hiding place, when I caught a shadow of movement out of the corner of my eye.
Oh shit. Company.

Panic surged through me, making me dizzy with fear.
Okay, maybe if I act like nothing’s wrong and just slowly make my way to the front door
—Instantly, a hard body slammed into me, knocking me to my knees. Blindly, I reached out and caught the guy by his ankles. He smashed into the end table, knocking over a lamp. I scrambled to my feet but he was quicker. He shoved me sideways, sending me spiraling onto the couch.

The dog went nuts, barking and snapping. He latched onto the guy’s pant leg and chomped down. The intruder howled in pain and made a grab for him, but I launched myself off the couch and lunged for the guy. With a violent twist he shook me off him and jammed out the door. My first instincts were to bolt out of the house and chase the bastard down. I decided to go with my second instincts instead and locked the door behind him.

I slumped down onto the floor as the adrenaline slowly seeped out of me. The dog came over and began licking my face, offering his brand of canine comfort. I buried my face in his soft fur and then wobbled to the kitchen and dialed the police.

Officer Mike Mahoe was the first to arrive on the scene. Mike is a big, beautiful, golden-skinned transplanted Hawaiian. We met here last month, after Marie’s brother tried to kill me.

“If you’re looking to set some kind of neighborhood record for ‘most bizarre happenings in a single family residence’, so far, you’re winning.” I know he was just trying to put me at ease, but I wasn’t quite ready to laugh about the situation.

Mike set to work gathering evidence while I gave his partner a description of the man who broke into my house. “He’s a white guy, medium height, with a stocky build and wearing a drab olive green army jacket. He’s got a shaved head and a round face with a wide, flat nose.”