No Such Thing As a Good Blind Date: A Brandy Alexander Mystery (No Such Thing As: A Brandy Alexander Mystery) (28 page)

On cue Bobby showed up, all sweaty and macho looking in faded red gym shorts and a torn, sleeveless sweatshirt. He threw his towel into the laundry bin and nodded to Frankie and me.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey. You got a minute?”

Let’s see, I’ve got no job and no place to go. I’ve got all the time in the world.

“Sure.”

“Wait for me, okay?”

I stood by the far wall and watched a couple of young middleweights spar for a while and then Bobby emerged from the locker room, his wavy dark hair freshly washed and slicked back from his handsome face.

We walked over to the coffee shop across the street and sat down in one of the booths. The table was coated with a thin layer of grease, and I absently began writing my name in it.

A waitress appeared and took our order. Bobby got the special—eggs over easy, toast, sausage and coffee. I hadn’t eaten anything since the chocolate grahams, terror being an excellent appetite suppressant. I ordered a cup of hot chocolate and relaxed into the booth.

“Doesn’t Marie feed you?” I asked, eying Bobby’s plate.

“I’m not much for dining at home these days.” He grabbed a forkful of eggs and began chowing down. “I tried to call you, yesterday afternoon,” he said, between mouthfuls. “Your cell phone wasn’t on.”

“I’m having a problem with it.”
A hundred and thirty-five pound problem.

Bobby finished off his eggs and pushed his plate away. Without thinking, I began picking at the remains of his toast.

“So why are we here, Bobby?” I asked. “Unless you just wanted company for breakfast.”

“The lab results came back on the hair samples found on the brush you picked up from Glen’s. The DNA matches the skin found under Andi Ferguson’s nails.”

“Hey, that’s great. Now when you find Glen you’ll have positive evidence linking him to her murder.”

“There’s more,” he said, watching me. “When the hair was tested, the lab discovered someone else’s hair entwined with Glen’s in the brush. I had a hunch, so I had that tested too.”

“But don’t you need someone to match it against?”

“I did have someone. Ilene. It was a match.”

“Oh my God, Bobby. You did it. You linked Glen to Ilene. This has to be good news for Toodie.”

Bobby drained his coffee cup and reached for his wallet. “It doesn’t put him in the clear, but it does establish someone else as a viable suspect, and it gives more credence to his story about finding the freezer at Glen’s house.”

“Well, it’s a start,” I said.

Bobby nodded. “It’s a start.”

I couldn’t get Ilene out of my mind. I mean
somebody
had to think about her. She’d been missing for over a week, and yet no one reported her absence. How sad is that?

According to Bobby, she had no known relatives in the area and fewer friends. Not a single person who thought, “Wow, haven’t seen Ilene around for a while. I wonder where she is.” Or at least anyone who cared enough to find out. Nobody should have to go through life so anonymously.

I left John’s late in the afternoon and drove over to The Gallery at Ninth and Market. They were having a holiday shoe sale at Strawbridge’s and I needed something to wear for my dinner with Nick. The night Ivan Sandmeyer tried to strangle the life out of me, I’d ruined the Jimmy Choos. Apparently, when I smashed the heel in his face, I’d broken his nose. It left a huge splotch of blood on the toe of the left shoe.

On the way back to Nick’s, Center City traffic was completely gnarled up, so I took a detour down some side streets. Before I knew it, I was in a familiar looking neighborhood on the ritzy side of Society Hill. I was on Keith Harrison’s block.

As long as I was here I decided to swing by his place. Maybe I’d catch some Chinese slave labor reporting for duty or Glen dropping by for a visit on his way to a Whacko’s Anonymous meeting. What I didn’t expect to see was Bobby DiCarlo’s Mustang parked in front of the house, right behind the Lexus.

I parked across the street and left the engine idling while I whipped out the binoculars, but the front shades were drawn and I couldn’t see inside the house. I cruised down to the next block and cut the engine and dug in my bag for the cell phone.

Bobby answered on the first ring. “DiCarlo.”

“What are you doing at Harrison’s house?” I whispered, just in case Bobby was as cell phone impaired as I was and had left it on speakerphone.

“Where are you?” His voice was strained and he didn’t sound happy.

“Down the block.”

He turned back to the person in the room with him. “Sorry about this. It’s the wife. You know what a pain in the ass they can be.” I recognized Keith’s laugh on the other end. Oh goody. The boys are bonding.

He turned back to me, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I’m working. Go home.”

“Ask him if he knows Ivan Sandmeyer.” There was a click on the other end of the line and it went dead. I called him right back.

“Yeah.”

“We got disconnected. Ask him about Uzi Capistrano.” Another click, only this time when I went to call him back it went straight to voicemail. Guess he didn’t want my help. I called back one more time just to make sure he hadn’t turned his phone off by mistake. It was still off.
Oh fine.

I decided to hang out a while and wait for Bobby. While I waited I changed the channels on the radio, which had all been set to Spanish news stations. I fooled around with the dial, looking for WMMR and WIBG. I was concentrating really hard and didn’t hear the car door handle turn until it was too late. The door flew open and I screamed.

“Jesus Christ, Alexander. How many times do I have to tell you to lock your God damned doors?”

Bobby nudged me out of the driver’s seat and slid in next to me.

“You did that on purpose,” I fumed. “You wanted to scare me half to death.”

Bobby gripped the steering wheel in both hands. He was probably envisioning my neck. “Ya know, there is something seriously wrong with you,” he told me. “If I say black, you say white. If I say don’t, you automatically do. You have ‘Oppositional defiance disorder.’”

“Only with you. Have you ever thought about being less controlling?”

Bobby sighed deeply. “You drive me nuts.”

“So what happened in there?” I knew he was going to tell me, and Bobby knew it too. This time he decided to skip the “police confidentiality” speech.

“The guy is slick. I’ll hand him that. I told him I was there on a tip that he’d been seen coming in and out of Glen Davis’s, a guy who’s being investigated for murder.

He denied it. Said he’d never heard of Davis.”

“He’s lying.”

“Of course he’s lying. But so far we’ve got no one to make a positive I.D. on him and no paper trail. I asked him about Uzi Capistrano. That rang a bell. Said he’d met Uzi through some pro bono work. He’d gone to visit him a couple of times in jail, but then he’d lost touch with him. He was fairly vague.”

“Did he seem nervous?”

“Hard to tell. He told me this was his first day up. He’d been on some pretty heavy painkillers and his memory is fuzzy. I told him I’d be back when he was less fuzzy.”

I leaned back against the side of the door and braced myself for the inevitable.

“Maybe I should talk to him.”

“No.”

“Look, I have something he wants.”

“Yeah, we need to talk about that too.”

“I could call him. I wouldn’t even have to be in the same room with him. Maybe he’ll slip up and say something we can use.”

“There’s no “we” Brandy. You are not on this case.”

Uh oh. This was DiCarlo the cop turning me down, not DiCarlo the ex-boyfriend, which made things more difficult. All DiCarlo the ex-boyfriend could do is yell at me. DiCarlo the cop could have me arrested for interfering with a police investigation. He came this close to doing it once before, and I had no doubt he’d follow through with his threat, if I called his bluff, especially if he thought it would keep me out of harm’s way.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ve got to go home.” He didn’t make a move to leave.

“What?”

“By ‘home’ do you mean Santiago’s?”

“For the time being.”

“How long are you planning on staying there?” Before I could work up a properly bitchy response he raised his hands in front of his chest. “Sorry. None of my business.”

Bobby opened the door and climbed out. I reached over and locked it behind him. Then I watched him in the rear view mirror as he climbed back into his car. He didn’t pull out right away and I realized he was waiting for me to go. He didn’t trust me! I pulled out my cell phone and made a big show of calling someone. Thirty seconds later my phone rang.

“You’re not really talking to anyone,” he said when I answered.

“Yes, I am and I’m going to be a while, so you might as well go.”

“Brandy, I’m warning you. Do not go back and try to talk to Harrison.”

“It’s a free country, DiCarlo.” I wasn’t really going to do it. I just didn’t want Bobby to think he’d won.

Bobby hung up on me again and started his engine. I started mine too, because I knew I’d pushed him too far. He already had enough to worry about, without adding me to the mix. He was still sitting there as I pulled away.

Janine called. “Want to meet me for a drink?”

“I can’t.” It was almost seven and Nick was making dinner. “I thought you were working tonight, showing a house with Tony.”

“Tony Tan is a rat,” Janine said. “Hey, do you think you can get Nick to break something for me?”

“Janine!” Note to self: Don’t tell Janine
anything!

I was sitting outside Nick’s apartment, in the loading zone. I’d been there for about half an hour. He’d called me at six, wanting to know if we were still “on” for dinner.

“Yeah, sure. Fine.” I wasn’t worried about dinner. I was worried about “dessert.”

I wanted to ask Janine’s advice on what to do if things turned amorous, but she was in a “men are rats” mood, so she probably wasn’t the best person to consult. I told her I’d call her tomorrow and then I screwed up my courage and went inside.

“Truth or dare,” Nick said. “Have you ever stolen anything?”

We were seated on the beige leather couch in Nick’s living room, sipping some after dinner cognac and playing that childhood game in which you take turns asking each other embarrassing questions and then you either tell the truth or suffer an even more embarrassing consequence. It was Nick’s idea.

The lights were dim and a candle burned low on the coffee table.

“Will you think less of me if I fess up to my life of crime?” I asked.

“Well, I don’t know. I’d better hear the sordid details first.”

“Okay,” I told him. “When I was six I stole a box of Dots and some bright red wax lips from Pearson’s Candy Store. I took them home and hid them in the washer and then I forgot about them—until my mother did the laundry and the lips melted all over an entire load of wash. My dad wore pink underwear for a month.”

“Wow.” Nick gave a low whistle. “You are bad to the bone.”

“Yeah,” I said. “To this day, I can’t enjoy a box of Dots without feeling guilty. Okay, my turn. Same question.”

Nick picked up the bottle of cognac and replenished his glass. “I stole a pack of Camels from the drugstore when I was eight,” he confessed. “Smoked them all that same afternoon.”

“You started smoking when you were eight?”

“Where I come from, that’s considered a late bloomer.”

“Jeez, where did you grow up?” Riker’s Island?”

Nick grinned. “Pretty close. My turn. What’s your most embarrassing secret? Truth or dare,” he added, slyly.

I bent my head, lowering my voice to a mere whisper. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” I said. “I’ve never told anyone.”

Nick raised his eyebrows in anticipation.

“When I was twenty-one, I—I went to a Ricky Martin concert. There, I’ve said it! I even wore a t-shirt that said, ‘Number One Fan.’ I’m so ashamed.”

Nick threw his head back and laughed.
Good. He thinks I made that up.

I snuggled into the couch and took a sip of cognac. It burned the back of my throat and I coughed, causing the black dress, the one he’d asked me to wear, to crawl up my thigh. He cast an appreciative eye over me and smiled, and my stomach flipped, shyness overtaking me. I pulled an afghan off the back of the couch and wrapped it around my legs.

Nick was wearing loose, white linen drawstring pants and a long sleeved, white, oversized, linen shirt, open at the collar. He sported the tiny silver cross in his ear and the silver band around his wrist. He looked very handsome.

“My turn,” I said.

Hmm… what did I really want to know about Nick? Considering I knew next to nothing, the field was wide open. I didn’t want to waste this opportunity on something trite, so I thought really hard.

Where do you go at night? How many women are you currently involved with? Are all the rumors about you true?
I rejected them all. If I really wanted to know about Nick the man, I needed to know Nick the boy.

“Tell me about your childhood,” I decided.

“That’s what you want to know?” he laughed.

“Why are you laughing?”

Nick leaned forward, taking both my hands in his. “Because you surprised me,” he said. “I don’t often get surprised.”

“Was it a good surprise or a bad surprise?”

He got quiet for a minute. “A good one.”

I waited expectantly for him to continue, but he didn’t. “Well?” I said.

“Okay, Brandy Alexander, I’ll tell you. But not tonight, okay?” There was a wistful quality to his voice I’d never heard before, and it caused a pang in my chest so deep I had to catch my breath.

“Ask me something else,” he offered.

“Do you ever get scared?”

He laughed again, but this time there was an edge to it. “I’ve been to hell and back in this life, darlin’. Nothing much scares me anymore.”

He stood up abruptly and extended his hand to me, pulling me towards him. We were face to face, his arms wrapped around my waist, his hand resting on the small of my back. I could smell the cognac, warm on his breath, intoxicating.