No Such Thing As a Good Blind Date: A Brandy Alexander Mystery (No Such Thing As: A Brandy Alexander Mystery) (20 page)

“Yo, Adrian,” I yelled, and the calm was broken by the sound of a twenty-pound maniac running full-throttle into the living room. He took a flying leap right at Alphonso, who stopped him cold with a snap of his fingers. Adrian sat at his feet, soulfully gazing at him and wagging his tail so hard I thought it would fly right off the back of him.

Alphonso bent down, grinning. “Hey, Bru, how’s it goin’?” He reached out a hand to Adrian, who promptly collapsed onto his back, rolling around in ecstasy as Alphonso rubbed his tummy.

“Do you have a dog, Alphonso?”

He nodded. “Two Pits and a Rottweiller. Hey, maybe I’ll bring them around some time so this guy can have someone to play with.”

“Uh, great.”

Alphonso grabbed the television remote and settled back on the couch, flicking through the channels until he found a hockey game. Was he planning to stay here all night?

“Listen,” I said, “I appreciate you picking me up and all, but don’t feel like you have to keep me company. I’m fine here on my own.”

“Nick said to stay with you,” he said, eyes glued to the game.

“Oh. But—”

“Nick said to stay.”

I closed the door to the spare bedroom and punched in Nick’s cell phone number.

“Hey, angel, did Alphonso come and get you?”

“Yeah. Thanks. But I don’t need a babysitter, Nick. I’m perfectly capable of spending an evening on my own.”

“I’m sure that you are.”

“So I can tell him to go?”

Nick hesitated. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“What do you think, that I’m going to rifle through all your personal belongings the second he walks out the door?”

“The thought did cross my mind.”
Okay, so that was the plan, but I could show some restraint if I had to.
“I have to go, angel. Humor me, just this once. Please?” His voice was like velvet and I caved.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Okay, here’s how it goes. I name a sit-com character and you tell me what actor played the role.”

Alphonso poured us each another shot of Patron and we tossed them back on the count of three, slamming our glasses on the table. I beat him by a hair. “I won, I won!” I stood and did a little victory dance.

“You’re a competitive one, aren’t ya?” he said. He was seated with his back against the couch, the Glock resting on the floor next to him.

“Come on, you’re stalling. Who played Greg Brady on the Brady Bunch?”

“How the hell should I know? The Brady Bunch is a little white girl’s show.”

“Barry Williams. I win again.” I started to do my victory dance but Alphonso wouldn’t let me.

It was after one and Nick still wasn’t home. I went into the spare room and lay down on the bed. I hate to admit it, but I was glad Alphonso was in the next room. Whenever I have too much time to think, the fear overtakes me. I tossed and turned for about half an hour, but sleep was not a happening thing.

I opened the door and snuck a peek in the living room. Alphonso was stretched out on the couch, watching Xtreme Wrestling. Gingerly, I made my way to Nick’s room and picked up a pillow from his bed. It smelled like Nick. I took it back into the spare room with me, wrapped my arms around it and promptly fell asleep.

In the morning the sound of a ringing cell phone woke me up. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Seven- thirty. “Hello?”

“Brandy, it’s Keith. I hope I didn’t wake you.” I had the distinct feeling he didn’t give a rat’s butt if he woke me or not.

“Nah, been up for hours.”

“Oh, good. So when can I expect you to come by with the drive?”
Shit.

“Um, later. I’ve got some errands to run. You’re not going anywhere are you?” I joked. Only I wasn’t joking.

“Look,” he said, unable to keep the desperation out of his voice, “could you be more specific about when you’re going to drop it off? My client is coming by in the afternoon and it really wouldn’t do for you to run in to each other. You understand, client confidentiality and all that.”
I understand that you are a lying scumbag.

“I’ll call you back,” I said, and hung up the phone. I hopped out of bed, ignoring the persistent ringing as he tried to call me back.

I had to talk to Nick, but first I wanted to make myself presentable. I tried running my fingers through my hair, but it was so tangled I ended up yanking out a huge clump of it. I needed a mirror. I peeked out the door to make sure the coast was clear and made a beeline to the bathroom. Aahhh! My hair stuck out so far from my head it defied gravity. I spent the next ten minutes beating it into submission, and then I brushed my teeth, sprayed some water on my face and was good to go.

I wandered into the living room. Alphonso was still asleep on the couch, but he woke with a start, his gun pointed directly at me.

“Man, don’t be sneakin’ up on me like that,” he grumbled. S’good way to get yourself killed.” Okay, Alphonso was not a morning person.

“Um, sorry. Is Nick here? I really need to talk to him.”

Alphonso stuck his gun back in his waistband and stretched. “He called at six. Said to tell you he’d be back around ten. You know how to cook?” he asked.

I shook my head no.

“Damn, I could really go for some eggs.”

“I think I can manage eggs. It’s the least I can do for a guy who played ‘Name That Sitcom Actor’ with me.”

“Don’t mention it—to anybody.”

After breakfast I changed my clothes and paced around the apartment, waiting for Nick to return. Keith kept up a steady stream of phone calls, which I ignored. Uncle Frankie called me too. He’d heard about the latest break-in, from Carla, who’d heard about it from Gladys down at the beauty shop, who’d heard about it from Mrs. Gentile, when she was getting her “blue rinse.” I swore I was safe and that I intended to stay that way. But he made me promise to come by the gym for a refresher course on “the art of turning a guy into a soprano.”

Nick rolled in at ten; the dark shadows under his eyes telling me it had been a sleepless night. I was dying to ask him where he’d been all night, but then again, I was afraid he might tell me. “Hey, angel, did you sleep well?” he asked, giving me a weary smile.

“Yeah, great. Did you have a good evening?”

“It was—productive.”

As I sat on the couch, stewing about what
that
could have meant, he took off his jacket—an ultra-expensive, black leather Bruno Magli (I knew because John’s been saving up for one since his eighteenth birthday) and grabbed an apple out of the fruit basket. He joined me on the couch, sitting way too close for comfort, and offered me a bite. I shook my head and bounced off the couch, suddenly remembering I’d forgotten to feed my pets.

“Didn’t you just feed them?” Alphonso asked, grinning like a fool.

“Don’t you have some Brady Bunch reruns to catch up on?” I shot back.

Nick took a bite of the apple. Juice squirted out and ran down his chin to the hollow of his neck. I wanted to lick it off him.

“I’m outta here,” Alphonso announced. “Listen, Santiago, the next time you need a babysitter, try Raoul. He’s good with kids.” Unhhh!

“Is there something you want to tell me?” Nick asked, after Alphonso left.

“Oh, he’s just a sore loser. But yeah, there is something I want to discuss.”

Nick motioned for me to follow him into the bedroom, and I stood in the doorway while he changed out of his street clothes. He unbuttoned his dress shirt and pulled it off. That’s when I saw the Kevlar vest underneath. Wow. So probably he
wasn’t
making passionate love to someone all night long, but the alternative was a whole lot scarier.

“Uh, Nick?”

“Hmm?”

“Is there something
you
want to tell
me?”

He followed my gaze and laughed. “This is a strictly ‘need to know’ situation, darlin’, and you don’t need to know.” On my worried look he added, “There are some aspects of my business that are private, but I would never leave you in the dark if it had to do with you. I hope you believe that.”

I did believe it. Only it didn’t stop me from worrying about him.

I filled him in on my conversation with Keith while he added a hooded sweatshirt to the t-shirt he was wearing and took his running shoes out of the closet. Just then my phone rang, and by the time I tracked it down in the kitchen, Nick had already changed out of his pants and into sweats. Dammit. He was lacing up his shoes when I walked back into the room. “That was Harrison, again,” I said.

“I’m going running in Fairmount Park, but when I get back we can figure out a game plan for your pal, Keith. I should be getting the thumb drive back soon. In the meantime, when he calls, just continue to ignore it.”

“Okay.”

“Anything else going on?” Only that my former roommate may well have sliced n’diced his ex-girlfriend and buried her head in his backyard. It was too much to think about. I shook my head, avoiding eye contact. “Nothing that can’t wait.”

Nick cocked an eyebrow at me and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling me down with him. “Tell me,” he said.

I took a huge breath and told him.

“I didn’t want to believe Toodie was capable of something so horrible. Part of me
still
doesn’t believe it. But what if I’m wrong? And now Bobby thinks he may be after me.”

“And what do you think?”

“I guess it’s possible. Every other criminal in town seems to be.”

Nick invited me to go run with him. He thought it might help me to get out. I agreed, but a five mile jog in the park was about as appealing as a poke in the eye with a sharp stick. “I’ve been sitting around like a victim long enough, Nick. It’s time I started taking charge of my life again.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. Since Keith is out of commission for awhile, maybe I’ll go on a little fact finding tour over at his office.”

“Would you like some company?”
Desperately.

“I’ve met his office manager. She’s not the brightest and I outweigh her by about fifteen pounds. I think I can take her.”

“My money’s on you.” Nick moved to the front door. “Take the truck and call me if you feel the least bit threatened.” He handed me the extra set of keys that Alphonso had left on the table in the foyer.

“Thanks, Nick.”

“Be careful, angel.” He kissed the top of my head and walked out the door.

Outside, the snow had melted, leaving piles of gray slush all along the sidewalk. It was lunchtime and Dock Street teemed with pedestrians, shopping, dining and otherwise enjoying the crisp, December air. I felt relatively safe within the confines of the crowd, although I kept a steady watch for Glen, Bulldog and now Toodie. Marie seemed to have taken the last few days off. I kinda missed her.

It wasn’t until I reached Keith’s building that I realized I hadn’t given an ounce of thought to what I was going to say, once I gained entrance into the office. Luckily, I didn’t have to stress about it.

Ali was seated at her desk, which was piled high with her personal effects. She glanced up when I came in, a vague look of recognition on her face. “May I help you?” she asked, sweeping the contents of her desktop into a shopping bag. I extended my hand to her.

“Hi Ali. We met the other day. I’m a friend of Mr. Harrison’s.”

Irritation clouded her pretty face. “Keith isn’t here.”

So it’s ‘Keith’ now, is it?
I tried again. “I know. I met you the day he was mugged. You were very distraught the last time I saw you, and I just came by to see how you were holding up.”

Without warning, Ali burst into huge, blubbery tears.

“Oh, but Keith is doing fine, Ali. You don’t have to worry about him.”

“Worry about him?” she snorted and abruptly stopped crying. “I hope the asshole chokes on his feeding tube.” It wasn’t the adoring response I’d come to expect, and she needed little prompting to tell me why.

“He told me we couldn’t be together because his wife has a terminal illness. He said he couldn’t leave her in her time of need. But it was all a lie.” This last statement brought on a fresh wave of sobs. I waited while she blew her nose on what looked like an invoice and then she started in again, taking stacks of office supplies out of the cabinet and adding them to her personal stash.

“So you and Keith were—close?” I prompted.

She nodded, taking the water cooler cups and dumping them into her bag of goodies.

“And on top of everything else, my paycheck bounced. Again! This is the third time this month.” She disappeared into a room adjacent to the office and returned with two rolls of toilet paper, which she added to her shopping bag collection.

“Your paycheck bounced? But why?”

“Keith said he was having a little ‘cash flow’ problem— whatever that means. All I know is I’m sick of fielding his calls from creditors and I’m through working for free.” She picked up her bag of party favors and headed for the door. “Hit the lights on the way out, will ya?”

Alone in Keith’s office, I felt like a kid in a candy shop. I sat down in Ali’s chair to think. So Keith has a little ‘cash flow’ problem. I wonder who else he owes money to? Could it be that whoever worked him over was collecting on a debt?

What was it the witness overheard the guy say to Keith?
“This one’s for Conley.”
I had assumed he meant Connie, but maybe this had less to do with a domestic quarrel than I’d thought. I pulled my cell phone out of my bag and called Mike Mahoe.

“Did you ever check out that lead on Connie Harrison’s father, in the Keith Harrison mugging?” I asked, when Mike got on the line.

“Yeah.” He sounded disgruntled. “Remind me to never listen to you. It’s not even my case, but I ran it by my boss, who went ahead and spoke to Tyler Benson. That went over like a lead balloon and now Benson’s making noises about suing the police department for defamation of character or something. Do me a favor, if you’ve got any more bright ideas, tell DiCarlo. He’s had a lot more practice dealing with you.”
Oh, fine.

The door to Keith’s office was open so I wandered in and began poking around. His desk drawers were locked, as well as all the file cabinets. The computer was turned off and there was no confessionary note sitting atop his desk, spilling all of his deep, dark secrets. I rifled through his Rolodex but found nothing more interesting than the name of his hair salon.