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

by Shelly Fredman

  Over a breakfast consisting of good strong coffee and fresh croissants, I filled Nick in on the latest developments regarding my buddy Keith. The drive had to belong to him. It was the only thing that made sense. The dog, on the other hand, clearly did not, so how did Adrian end up getting a hold of the drive? As much as I hated to admit it, I would have to track down Adrian’s owner if I wanted the answer to that question.

  “I think there must be something on that flash drive besides the obvious,” I said. “The thing is, I don’t know anything about how this computer stuff works.”

  “You can hide a file by erasing the file directory. It would make it harder to find, but not impossible. If you want you can leave it here and I’ll take a look at it later.”

  I got up and cleared the dishes, wiping the table with a damp sponge. I knew I should get dressed and start the day, but I liked padding around in Nick’s clothes. They were oversized and smelled like him and it made me feel sexy. Nick was already dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a black t-shirt. He wore a silver band on his left wrist. Come to think of it, I’d never seen him without it. A tiny silver cross dangled from his right ear.

  My phone rang and I panicked at the sound. Nick picked it up and looked at the caller I.D. “It’s okay,” he said, lightly tossing the phone to me. “It’s DiCarlo.”

  “I got a message that you called the station looking for me, last night.”

  “Yeah, I sorta ran into some trouble.”

  “Shit,” he growled, when I told him. “Did you report it?”

  “What was I going to say? Some phantom psycho is following me? He was driving a black Chevy Malibu, by the way.”

  “Where are you now?”

  I hesitated. Nick is not exactly on Bobby’s list of acceptable playmates and I really didn’t want to get into a fight about it. “I’m at Frankie’s.”

  “His apartment or the gym?”

  “Apartment,” I said. Sometimes it scares me how easily I lie.

  “Put him on.”

  “I can’t. He’s in the shower.” Hah!

  “Hang on a second,” Bobby said. I passed the time by eating the rest of the truffles I’d brought over the other night.

  Bobby came back on the line. “You’re lying. I just called your uncle and he says he hasn’t seen you.”

  “You what?” My only hope was righteous indignation and I was goin’ with it. “How dare you check up on me like that? Now Frankie’s probably worried sick about me. See the trouble you’ve caused? I have to call him right now to tell him I’m okay.”

  “Brandy—”

  I hung up before he could ask me anything else and punched in my uncle’s number.

  “Hey, hon, how’re ya doin’?”

  “Um, fine.” He didn’t sound all that concerned about me.

  “What’s up?”

  “I just thought I’d call because—” Suddenly the light dawned. Have you spoken to Bobby lately?”

  “No, why?” Unhhh!

  Bobby called me back but I ignored him. Nick watched me, his face a picture of pure delight. “Aren’t you going to answer it?”

  “No.”

  His grin got wider.

  “I’m glad this is so entertaining for you.”

  “You do know you’re making him nuts.”

  “That is not my concern.” I turned away but I could feel Nick’s eyes on me. “What are you lookin’ at?”

  Nick offered to arrange for someone to escort me to work. He had a meeting this morning and was teaching a martial arts class in the afternoon, but Alphonso was on call if I needed him. As tempted as I was to have a personal henchman at my beck and call, I turned him down. “I can’t let Glen get to me, Nick. I’ll take extra precautions, but if I give in to the fear, he wins.”

  “Just be careful, darlin’.” No lectures, no ranting about how dumb I am for wanting to handle it my way. I nodded, grateful for the vote of confidence.

  I got dressed and looked out the window to check on the weather. It had snowed again in the night, which must be why I couldn’t find Paul’s car. It had to be buried in the snow. Okay, that was unlikely, which meant only one thing. Holy crap! Paul’s car’s been stolen! I am not going to have to worry about Glen killing me, because my brother is going to do it for him.

  “Oh, sorry,” Nick said. “I forgot to tell you, I had your car taken in to my body shop to have the dent smoothed out. You’re driving the Mercedes truck out there. It comes with a tracking device. Hope you don’t mind.”

  I almost cried with relief. But I just couldn’t bring myself to accept it. While it is true that I can be very focused on my own needs, I am not, by nature, a taker.

  “You’ve done way too much for me already,” I said, shaking my head.”

  “I’m just thinking about Paul,” Nick replied. “He’s going to be heartbroken when he sees what happened to his car. I’m just trying to spare the guy a little grief.” He tossed me the keys.

  Well, he did have a point. I’d do anything for Paul, even if it meant driving around in a $70,000.00 truck.

  I pulled up in front of the club at around noon. There was a new red T-Bird sitting out front. I went inside and found Franny, seated in one of the plush leather booths, sipping a soda. “Nice set of wheels, Fran,” I said, slipping into the seat opposite her.

  “Thanks,” she beamed. “I was stopped at a light on Spruce and this really hot guy pulls up besides me, rolls down his window and says, ‘Beautiful car, but not as beautiful as the babe driving it.’ Then he asks for my phone number.”

  Uh oh. The old Franny would have leaped out of the car and decked him for making such a cornball, sexist remark. But the hormonally impaired Fran was unpredictable.

  “What happened then?” I asked cautiously.

  “I gave him my phone number.”

  “Franny!”

  “Relax, it was a fake number. I just wanted to remember what it felt like to be young and free.”

  “Have you discussed these feelings with Eddie, Fran?”

  “Yeah, he says it’s normal for pregnant women to feel this way. He’s been reading up on the subject.” Eddie is a saint.

  Paul came in carrying a plate piled high with steak fries and a burger. He plunked it down in front of Franny and she scooped up the burger and began to devour it.

  “Hey, kiddo,” he greeted me. “I didn’t know you were supposed to work today. Funny thing, I overscheduled again, so you’re free to go. My mistake, so of course I’ll pay you.”

  I looked around the room. It was packed with the usual lunchtime crowd and my brother was waiting tables.

  “Paul, am I that much of a disaster? Be honest.”

  Paul hung his head and slowly nodded up and down. “Bran, I’m sure you were a terrific reporter, but as a waitress you basically suck. I love you, honey, but you’re k- killing my business.” The news was discouraging. After all, it doesn’t look great on a resume to get fired by your own brother.

  “Isn’t there anything I’m suited for?”

  Paul thought about it for a minute. Suddenly, he grinned.

  “Taco and the guys are playing here tomorrow night. Their lead female vocalist is down with the flu—”

  “I’ll do it.” I used to sing in a garage band with those guys and I filled in for them about two months ago. I had to be talked into performing after all these years, but I’d had a blast and was dying to be asked to sing with them again.

  Paul left to call Taco and I settled back in the booth, happy not to be taking any more handouts from my brother. Franny finished her burger and began perusing the dessert menu. “Oh, hey, Bobby called our place this morning. He wanted to know if you’d spent the night with us.”

  “What did you tell him?” I tried to sound casual, but nothing gets past eagle eye Franny.

  “I didn’t tell him anything. Eddie talked to him and said you weren’t here. So give.”

  She waited expectantly. The next thing I know, I’m telling Franny ever
ything, from the fight Bobby and I had, to the kiss to end all kisses, courtesy of Nicholas Santiago. When I got to the part about Glen Davis I did an involuntary sweep of the room.

  “Okay,” Franny said, pushing her plate away. “I know you hate being told what to do, but I’m going to tell you anyway.”

  “I know, I know,” I told her. “I should lay low, take Nick up on his body guard offer, go to the police and put myself in protective custody—”

  She cut me off. “I was going to say you should get a gun.”

  “What are you, insane? Franny, You’re the sensible one. I’m supposed to come up with the crazy ideas and you’re supposed to talk me out of them.”

  “Screw that. There’s a maniac on the loose and he’s headed your way. You’ve got to learn how to protect yourself. I’ve been telling you this for years.” Franny loves guns. She was state shooting champion three years running, back in high school.

  “Look, there’s a little bit of difference between knocking off clay pigeons and gunning down an actual person.”

  “Do you think that creep Davis knows there’s a difference?” She had a good point. I told her I’d think about it and get back to her.

  Franny left to go back to work and I had about six hours to kill, now that my waitressing days were officially over. Since I didn’t feel safe going back to my house without Nick or a reasonable substitute, I decided to head over to Jefferson Hospital to visit my pal, Keith. Curiosity about his possible connection to the drive was eating at me. And if there turned out to be more to Keith’s beating than he was willing to admit, maybe I’d uncover a juicy story to share with Barry Kaminski. I know it’s not on par with a dismembered body, but I had to get my foot in the door with him somehow.

  Paul walked me out to the street. “Uh, Bran, where’s the car?” He tried not to show it, but there was panic in his voice.

  “Oh, I’m getting it detailed. It was going to be a surprise for you,” I added, “for being so nice about letting me drive it.” I flashed him what I hoped was a “winning smile.” Paul looked doubtful. “Don’t worry, Paul. The car is absolutely perfect. I’ll bring it around later on so that you can see for yourself. Okay?” Quickly I climbed into the truck and started the engine.

  “Where’d you get this thing?” Paul yelled, pointing to the truck. I pantomimed that I couldn’t hear him. “Roll your window down,” he yelled louder. I nodded and smiled to him in response, waving as I drove away.

  The woman at the information desk at Jefferson scanned the computer screen. “I’m sorry honey. It looks like Mr. Harrison has already been released.”

  “Oh. Do you happen to know when?” She glanced at the screen again.

  “Yesterday afternoon.”

  “Thanks.”

  Okay, now what do I do? I couldn’t exactly show up at his house bearing flowers and a “Get Well” balloon. His wife seemed really nice, but I doubt she’d welcome a convalescence call from a woman her husband tried to “date”.

  I swung the truck around and headed off in the direction of Keith’s house. Every few minutes I checked in the rear view mirror to make sure I was still flying solo. Between Marie and Glen I had developed quite the entourage.

  I parked down the block and got out my phone. Keith’s cell number was stuffed somewhere in the bottom of my purse. I found it and gave him a call.

  After three rings a groggy, male voice said hello.

  “Is this Keith?”

  “Yeah?”

  “This is Brandy Alexander—the woman who found the dog.”

  There was a moment of silence as Keith processed this news. I’d caught him off guard. Good. His tone became more alert, conciliatory, even.

  “Oh, hey, hi. I’m glad you called. Sorry our lunch didn’t work out. I guess the police told you I was mugged in the parking lot.”

  “That was some beating you took,” I said. “Did they get anything valuable?”

  “My wallet, a watch, you know, the usual.”

  What a big fat liar! The cops said nothing was taken.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. It must have been terrifying.”

  “You have no idea. Listen, how’s the dog?”

  “Fine, although it’s no wonder the poor thing had stomach problems. Turns out he’d eaten a thumb drive, of all things. Can you believe it?”

  “Do you still have it?”

  “What?” I asked, all innocence.

  “The drive, do you still have it?” His voice was tinged with desperation.

  “Oh, sure. And I have to admit I was curious, so I took a peek.”

  “You did?” He didn’t sound too happy about that.

  “As porn films go, it wasn’t very interesting, so I didn’t sit through the grand finale. Say, Keith,” I asked, as if I’d just thought of it, “the drive doesn’t by any chance belong to you, does it? I know the dog isn’t really yours. I’ve met your wife and she straightened me out about a few things. She seems very nice, by the way.”

  “Listen,” Keith interrupted. His breathing was labored and it was obviously painful for him to speak. “I may have misled you on a few things. And I’m sorry. If I could just have a few minutes of your time to clear it up for you—”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Do you think you could come over here? I’d feel better talking to you face to face.”

  “Don’t you think that might be a bit awkward, with your wife and all?”

  “She’s out of town for a few days.”

  “She left you.” It wasn’t a question. Keith hesitated and I could hear the lies rattling around in his brain. He settled for a gross understatement.

  “We’ve had some problems. Listen, if you’d just come over—”

  “I’m already here. I’m parked outside.”

  “Good.” Keith sighed heavily into the phone. “Did you bring the thumb drive?”

  I ignored that, asking instead if anyone was there to let me in.

  “I’ve hired a nurse.”

  I took the necessary precautions by calling Nick to tell him where I was. If he didn’t hear from me within the hour, send the Marines or at least Alphonso. Then I locked the car and walked up the block to the Harrisons’ door.

  A very attractive Indonesian woman opened it and let me in. She must have been expecting me, because she took me right into the bedroom. Keith was propped up on some pillows, his face pale against the dark sheets. She adjusted the blinds, letting in a thin filter of afternoon winter sunlight and then asked if she could get him anything else. Harrison gave her a wan smile and shook his head no. “Thank you, Amaya.” I had to admit, even with his cheeks a mottled rainbow of yellow, purple and green, he still exuded a certain charm, which did not go unnoticed by the nurse. She blushed as she walked out of the room.

  Now Keith turned his full attention on me. He leaned forward, making eye contact.

  “Thanks for coming, Brandy. Affecting a thick Cuban accent he chuckled, “I have a lot of ‘splaining to do.”

  Oh, I get it—Ricky Ricardo. I decided to keep the upper hand by not laughing at his attempt to be cute. Instead, I settled back in the floral print chair next to the bed and cast a steely look his way. “Okay, Ricky, start ‘splaining.”

  According to Keith, most of what he’d told me was true. The dog was his. He’d found it at a shelter and had intended to bring it home to surprise his wife. They’ve been having some marital difficulties and he thought a dog would bring them closer together. But when he stopped at a client’s on the way home, things went awry.

  “I had the drive tucked away in the inside pocket of my jacket, which I’d left on the couch. The drive is evidence in a very sensitive custody battle—I’m not at liberty to discuss the details, but as you can see by the content, it could be very damaging to my client. This is an extremely explosive case. Anyway, long story short—and I know it sounds crazy—the dog must’ve thought it was a cookie—it was wrapped in an old Oreos’ wrapper—and, well, he ate it. When I realized what ha
d happened, I tried to grab him, but he bolted out the front door.” Actually, it didn’t sound so crazy. The dog eats everything.

  “But why didn’t you just tell me the truth instead of lying about it?”

  “I’m truly sorry, Brandy,” he said, bestowing one of his “I’ve-been-caught-with-my-hand-in-the-cookie-jar-but-for-give-me-because-I’m-adorable” smiles on me. “The downside to being a lawyer is sometimes you work with less than reputable people. I couldn’t risk hurting my client. I didn’t know if I could trust you with the truth.”

  “So that’s it?” “That’s it.”

  It was time for his pain meds. I poured Keith a glass of water and helped him open the pill container.

  “One last thing—why’d you ask me out to lunch?”

  Keith had the grace to blush. “You sounded nice and, like I said, my wife and I have been having problems.” Gee, I can’t imagine why.

  “Well, you’re not getting the dog back. I named him and everything. And his name’s not Fluffy”

  “I guess it’s a moot point, seeing as Connie’s left me. But I really do need that drive. I’m happy to pay you—for your time and trouble—whatever the amount.”

  “The thing is I don’t have it with me.”

  “Where is it?” His tone was sharp, and a thought that had been playing around in the back of my mind suddenly leaped to the forefront.

  “It’s back at my house,” I lied. “I didn’t know I was going to stop here this afternoon.”

  “Oh,” he said, relaxing. “I’ll send someone by to pick it up.”

  “No.” I stood and gathered my bag. “I’m coming back this way, tomorrow. I’ll drop it off on the way.” I could tell by the look of frustration on his face that was not the solution he wanted, but he was in no position to argue.

  “Tomorrow, then.”

  I needed a quiet place to think, so I drove over to the Central Library on Vine Street. Somehow Glen didn’t strike me as a real literary kind of guy. I couldn’t imagine him lurking in these hallowed halls, stalking me among the Twains and the Steinbecks.

  I chose a quiet corner and sat with my back against a wall. Then I took out a pad of paper from my pocketbook and headlined it: