No Such Thing As a Good Blind Date: A Brandy Alexander Mystery (No Such Thing As: A Brandy Alexander Mystery) (19 page)

Seeing as I was already overdrawn about forty bucks, I decided to take him up on his generous offer.

As we walked back to Paul’s car, I filled Nick in on my visit with Keith. “It’s like I’m just seeing the tip of the iceberg here. He’s definitely hiding something and I have a gut feeling it’s big.”

“And he’s expecting you to give back the drive tomorrow?”

“Well, it’s not like he can come after me if I don’t.”

“Never underestimate the power of a snake, angel. He may not be able to walk, but he can slither.”

Nick followed me home in the truck. While I was driving, my cell phone rang. I took a quick peek—it was Bobby, so I didn’t answer. Whatever he wanted to yell at me about could wait until later.

I pulled up in front of the house and hopped out of the car. Mrs. Gentile’s manger was all aglow, with my side of the porch a sad contrast. The lights Toodie had strung up had fallen down into the bushes and I couldn’t help but think he’d be bummed if he saw them lying there. The thought made me want to cry.

Nick came up on the porch and reached for his gun— nothing Rambo-esque, I noted—just a small revolver tucked into the waistband at the small of his back.

“Is that really necessary?” I asked, starting to panic.

He shrugged. “Probably not, I’m just doing it to impress the old lady peering out the window next door.”

“Great,” I groaned. “My mother will be on the first plane back here when she hears about this, and I guarantee you, she
will
hear about it.” I stuck the key in the lock and opened the door.

“Holy shit!” My house was in shambles. Every drawer was emptied, every piece of furniture overturned. The couch looked like it had been mauled to death by Bengal tigers; the cushions sliced to shreds, stuffing strewn all over the living room rug. Nick shoved me roughly behind him, his gun drawn. Cautiously, he made his way around the house, checking every crevice until he was satisfied that we were alone.

“Don’t touch anything,” he warned, as I instinctively reached out to set things right.

I pulled out my phone to call the police, when there was a knock on the front door and Bobby walked in. “Brandy, I—Jesus Christ. What happened?”

Nick slipped his gun back into his waistband as Bobby scanned the carnage.

“How long have you two been here?” he asked, anger lacing his words.

Nick’s voice was a calm contrast. “We just got here. We walked in and everything was as you see it. Took a quick check to see if anyone was still here, but they seem to be long gone. Brandy was just about to call the police.”

I nodded dumbly, taking in the sight of my mother’s couch—the couch I’d grown up with—ripped to pieces. It felt like someone had steamrolled over my heart. Tears welled up in my eyes and I fought to contain them by concentrating hard on the bastard who’d done this. If I stayed pissed enough maybe I’d forget how scared I was.

Bobby called the station and minutes later, two squad cars showed up. I sat out on the back steps while they went through the house, but when they began asking me questions I lost it. Bobby pulled one of the guys aside and after a few minutes, they got back in their squad cars and left. I remained on the step, unable to face the desecration of my past.

Bobby sat down beside me. His voice was low and gentle. “Do you have any gut feelings about who did this?” For some reason, probably borderline hysteria, his question made me laugh. There was no obvious choice. Lately I’ve developed a real fan following that included Glen, Bulldog and Marie. Who knew how many more nuts lurked out there, waiting to get a crack at me.

Nick came out of the house and Bobby stood up. Bobby has a few inches on Nick and the skill of a professional boxer. But he’s no match for the lightening quick moves of a highly trained martial arts expert. I didn’t really think it would come to blows, but Bobby’s been so on the edge lately, it was hard to predict. Nick defused the situation with an easy grace. “I think you two kids have some catching up to do.”

Bobby gave him a begrudging nod as I walked Nick to the front door.

“Nick, I—”

“Shh,” he soothed. “We’ll have time to talk later. You’re moving in with me.”

Yikes!

Bobby came back inside and pulled up a chair at the kitchen table. All I could think of at that moment is how much I wanted, no,
needed
a chocolate cupcake. I took out a fresh pack of Tastykakes and broke open the wrapper. “Want one?” I asked. The offer was half-hearted. I really wanted both the cupcakes. Bobby hesitated, trying to gauge my sincerity. Then he shook his head, his face breaking out in a tired grin.

“Thanks, but I wouldn’t want to deprive you.”

“If you’re sure,” I said, stuffing them, whole, into my mouth.

After I ate the cupcakes I felt much better. There is nothing like a sugar high to offset bad news. Bobby waited until I cleaned off the crumbs from the table, before he broached the subject of Nick.

“I didn’t know you and Santiago were such good pals. Is that where you spent the night?” It was a direct question and it deserved a direct answer.

“That is none of your fucking business.”

“The guy is bad news, Brandy. He travels in circles you don’t want to know from.”

I was too tired to argue. Besides, he was right.

“Can we talk about something else, please? Like, how many more times this God damn Bulldog creep is going to try to burglarize my house before the cops catch him?”

Bobby leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on the table. He spread his hands wide and began massaging his temples. He was on the brink of exhaustion. “This was no ordinary burglary and you know it.”

I did know it. I just didn’t want to admit it. Because that meant it
was
personal. Whoever did this was after something besides flatware and the good china. They were after
me.

The slicing of the couch had Glen’s signature all over it. It was just his style. Dramatic. Slash and burn. It fit right in with Nick’s theory that he was “playing” with me.

But then again, what if they
weren’t
after me? What if whoever did this was looking for something specific—something they thought I had and maybe had hidden somewhere in the house? The thumb drive! Keith was really upset when I told him he’d have to wait until tomorrow. Could he have somehow arranged to have someone break in and steal it back from me? I wanted to go back into the living room and look it over with a fresh eye, but Bobby reached out and closed his hand around my wrist, stopping me. I shot him a puzzled look.

“Can we just talk for a minute?” he asked, letting go of my arm.

“Sure.” I didn’t know where this was headed, but his voice went all soft and sympathetic, like he was about to tell me my favorite aunt died or something. I sat down opposite him and said, “Shoot.”

“We’ve located the missing head.”

“Oh.” My insides knotted into a hard ball. “Were you able to identify the woman?”

Bobby nodded. “Brandy, it was Ilene Werner. Toodie’s ex-girlfriend.”

“No!” I had to scream it really loud because the waves that crashed all around my head made it hard for me to hear. Bobby caught me before I hit the floor.

“Breathe,” he commanded. His hand was on the back of my neck, forcing my head between my knees. I filled my lungs with air and slowly let it out. “Again,” he said, more gently.

“I’m okay. Let me up.”

He released his hand from the back of my neck and I sat up. My head felt like it was filled with feathers and would be floating away any minute now.

“I’m sorry, Bran. I didn’t want to have to tell you this. Preliminary report says she died of a severe blow to the left side of her head.”

“How—how did the cops find it?”

“Are you sure you’re up for this now?”

“I’m fine. I just need to know everything.”

Bobby knew I wasn’t fine. But he had the grace to let me fake it.

“We got a phone call from someone identifying himself as a neighbor. He said he’d heard some noises coming out of the Ventura’s backyard and he knew the grandmother was away, so he checked it out and he saw Toodie sneaking around back there. According to this guy Toodie was carrying a shovel.”

“Who was this guy?” I demanded. “If he’s such a solid citizen, why didn’t he identify himself?” I don’t know why I was treating Bobby like this. I guess it’s the old “kill the messenger” thing.

“It’s not a requirement, Brandy. A lot of people phone in anonymous tips so that they don’t end up involved in a long police investigation. We found the head buried in the garden. As far as circumstantial evidence goes, this is as good as it gets.”

“Shit.” A solitary, traitorous tear rolled down my face, and I wiped it quickly away. I stood up and got a glass out of the cabinet and tried to pour myself some water, only my hand was shaking so hard I dumped it all over the kitchen table.

Bobby took the glass from my hand and set it down. He was so close I could smell the worn leather of his jacket. He reached out and pulled me to him, enfolding me in his arms. Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around his waist, allowing myself the comfort of his warm, familiar body. “It’s so hard, Bobby,” I whispered into his chest. “I believed in Toodie.”

“I know,” he murmured stroking my hair. After a moment, I slowly let go of him.

“Listen,” he said, leading me back to my seat, “would you consider going away for a few weeks, maybe visit your parents in Florida?”

“Why?”

Bobby waved his hand vaguely around the room. “You’re a target, Brandy. I don’t know for sure who’s after you or why, but it’s not safe for you to be here.”

“You think Toodie did this, don’t you?”

“I’m not ruling out the possibility. Look, I know you have—had a lot of affection for the guy, but he’s nuts. Maybe he developed some sort of crush on you and got mad when he thought you weren’t going to help him anymore. And then there’s this business with Davis. Could be he and Glen had a deal going and something went wrong, and now they’re trying to set each other up to take the fall. I don’t know. All I know is that two women are dead, and I don’t want you to be next.”

That’s funny, me either.

As long as we were on a roll here about all the people who wanted me dead, I thought I’d mention a few more possibilities, starting with Marie.

“Jesus Christ, my wife has been following you around for weeks and this is the first I’ve heard about it?” Bobby began a slow pace around the kitchen, a sure sign he was about to explode. I did my best to defuse him.

“Look, at first I wasn’t even sure it was Marie. I mean I can’t keep track of every Tom, Dick and Mary who’s been following me. I’ve had a busy couple of weeks here—and I’m the one who should be mad, so calm down.”

Bobby stopped his pacing, closed his eyes and sighed deeply. When he opened them again, there was a small, bemused smile playing about his lips. “How do you manage to do it?” he asked.

“What?” He shook his head, lost in private thoughts. Oh well, at least he wasn’t mad anymore.

I decided to hold off on mentioning Keith Harrison. If I told Bobby about the incident with the thumb drive, he’d insist I turn it over to the police. It seemed unlikely that Keith would climb out of a deathbed to tear my house apart, when I’d already told him I’d bring the disk to him tomorrow. Plus, Nick had already given it to his friend to check out. It’s not that I didn’t trust Bobby or the police; I just didn’t want to get caught up in all the red tape. It seemed easier going through Nick. Only I was willing to bet Bobby wouldn’t see it in quite the same way.

DiCarlo offered to help me clean up the house, but I decided to let it go for now. He secured the window that whoever it was climbed in through and then I walked him to the door.

“Will you at least think about going to your parents?”

“I’ll think about it,” I said, only we both knew it wasn’t going to happen.

“I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but I don’t think you should stay here. Maybe you can move in with Frankie or Paul for awhile.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want to put them in any danger.”

He looked at me for a long moment before he spoke again. “Brandy, about Santiago—”

“He’ll keep me safe, Bobby.”

“I know.” He gave me a brief, hard hug and walked out the door.

“So, Alphonso. You got a last name?”

Alphonso, looking badass chic in a Terrell Owens Eagles’ jersey and shades cut me a sideways glance. “Just Alphonso.”

“O-kaaay.” Alphonso, I was fast learning, isn’t much of a conversationalist. He was driving the Mercedes truck, which he used to pick me up from my house. I’d had just enough time to throw a few essentials in a bag—toothbrush, deodorant, jeans, underwear, a nightlight—when Nick called to tell me he’d be sending an “escort” over to get me.

I tried to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “Will you be there when I get to your place?”

“Sorry, angel, I’ve got an appointment. But Alphonso has agreed to keep you company. Make yourself at home and I’ll see you in the morning.”
He’ll see me in the morning? What the hell was he going to be doing all night?
Nick had offered me his protection. I don’t think that included a vow of chastity. Maybe he had a date. Maybe Alana was collecting on her rain check. I guess I didn’t really want to know.

Alphonso pulled into the loading zone and cut the engine. Then he turned to the back seat and swung my overnight bag over his shoulder and slid out of the truck. I followed him into the building, noting the distinctive bulge in the back of his coat where a nine- millimeter Glock rested securely in the waistband of his baggy jeans. He looked very handsome, in a homeboy gangbanger sort of way.

Alphonso held the elevator door open for me and we rode in silence up to the fourth floor. When we got to Nick’s apartment, he set my bag down and fished around in his pocket for the apartment key. He unlocked the door and pushed it open and then stepped aside to let me in.

It felt like an oasis of calm in there. Alphonso found the light and flicked it on, illuminating the foyer. The view from Nick’s living room window was spectacular; Rittenhouse Square bathed in the glow of street lamps, reflecting powdery, snow-covered trees.