No Such Thing As a Good Blind Date: A Brandy Alexander Mystery (No Such Thing As: A Brandy Alexander Mystery) (18 page)

“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 everything, 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 had 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:

Keith—You Big Fat Liar

I began listing all of the lies he’d told me—at least the ones I knew about, ending with the most recent. Keith said he’d gotten the dog from a shelter and was going to take it home to his wife, as a sort of peace offering to her. Some peace offering. Connie Harrison is allergic to dogs. She’d told me so herself the day I visited her. Keith had no intention of giving that dog to Connie, but he wanted me to believe the dog was a stray so that I couldn’t trace its owner. Where did Adrian really come from? I don’t know why I was putting so much effort into this business with Keith. Maybe it’s because I don’t have anything of my own to occupy my time, or maybe I hate being lied to. All I know is, Keith isn’t getting the thumb drive back—not until I learn the truth behind it.

It was dark when I left the library and a feeling of unease settled over me. The tracking device on the truck provided a bit of comfort—knowing that if some maniac popped up out of the back seat to kill me, they’d at least be able to figure out where he took the body—but I longed for the day I could come and go as I pleased, without looking over my shoulder every second. It was starting to feel like that day would never come.

I pulled up in front of Nick’s studio on Spring Garden Street, just as his class was letting out. Judging by the size of the huskers pouring out of there, this was definitely not Self Defense 101. These guys were some serious warriors, dressed in fatigues and black t-shirts, all with muscles to spare. A few were limping. There was one woman among the ranks. I recognized her as Tanya, one of Nick’s instructors. Tanya is quite lovely and Nick seems very fond of her. Personally, I hate her, although she’s done absolutely nothing to warrant my loathing. Oh well, another unsolved mystery.

Paul’s car was parked half way down the block, I noted with some disappointment. Guess I’d gotten more attached to the truck than I’d realized. Nick slung an arm around me and we walked back into the studio. Tanya was picking up some mats off the floor.

“Good class, today, Tanya. Thanks for your help.”

“Any time, Nick.”

Nick picked up the last of the mats and helped Tanya stack them in the corner. Suddenly, they lunged for each other, doing a quick little karate dance, and then sprang apart, laughing. Note to self: Take secret lessons in martial arts. Become Martial-Arts-Expert-of-the-Universe and knock crap out of Tanya.

“Goodnight,” Tanya called to me as she was leaving. “Nice to see you again.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Nick motioned for me to follow him into his office, and now I was sitting in my favorite spot, a plush, red velvet chair, breathing in the smell of the exotic tobacco he keeps in a drawer in his desk. Nick gave up smoking a while back, but he still enjoys the rituals.

I waited while he checked his voicemail and returned a few calls; two in rapid-fire Spanish to a country whose area code I’d never even heard of, and a local call to Ben Somebody or other. When he hung up, he said, “I gave the drive to a friend of mine today. He’s real handy with computers. If there’s something else on that thumb drive, Ben will find it. Oh, by the way, your brother’s car is back and it looks good as new.”

“How much do I owe you?” I asked, rooting around in my bag for my checkbook.

Nick put a hand out to stop me. “It’s on the house, darlin’.”

“No,” I said. “I can’t let you keep doing things for me. I’m starting to feel like a ‘kept woman’—only without the ‘ya know’—” I added, turning colors.

Nick laughed. “Consider it a loan, then. When you get back on your feet financially, we’ll settle up.”