No Such Thing as a Secret: A Brandy Alexander Mystery (No Such Thing As...A Brandy Alexander Mystery) (22 page)

I stood on shaky legs and climbed the stairs to my bedroom.

Twenty minutes later Bobby joined me there. I was sitting on my bed, hugging my knees to my chest. I couldn’t seem to get warm, even though the blankets were piled around me. I looked up when he came in and cut him a look. “All gone?”

He nodded.

“Thanks.”

Bobby sat down next to me on the bed.

“Boy, somebody really doesn’t like me,” I said, and then I began to cry, big fat tears that traveled down my cheeks and pooled at the base of my collar.

Bobby put a tentative arm around my shoulder and hugged me to him. I looked up at him; his face was tense, and his eyes burned in the semi darkness. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice husky. “Why are you putting yourself at risk?”

I spread my hands across my face, wiping away the tears. Then I pushed the covers off and scooted down to the edge of the bed and slid off. I walked over to the window and gazed out into the night. “Remember the time I got suspended because a teacher was bullying one of the ninth graders and I stood up for her?”

“As I recall you called him a dickhead.” He smiled at the memory.

“Well, maybe I went a little too far, but—it’s who I am, Bobby. I can’t stand by and watch the bullies win. And maybe I don’t always think things through, and maybe I don’t always get it right, but I’m never going to just sit by and do nothing while there are people in the world who can’t fight for themselves. You used to be able to accept that about me.”

“It used to drive me nuts, but I knew there was no stopping you. But this is different. This is life threatening.” He climbed off the bed and joined me at the window. “Brandy,” he said, forcing me to look at him, “I know I gave up the right to tell you what to do a long time ago. But I care about what happens to you.”

I reached my hand to his cheek and held it there. “I know you do. Look, you said you wanted to be my friend, again. Can you accept me as I am? Because I’m not going to change, for you or anybody.”

He took my hand off his cheek and turned it palm upwards, placing a light kiss on the fleshy part of it, before letting it drop to my side.

“Can I reserve the right to worry about you?”

We went downstairs and I made a pot of herbal tea. What I really wanted was hot cocoa, but I knew sleep was going to be an up hill battle without adding caffeine to the mix. As a gesture of trust, I filled Bobby in on what I’d learned at the club. He said he’d look up Maitlin, check for priors. I didn’t tell him that Nick was already doing that. Why rock the tenuous truce we’d struck. But Bobby wasted no time in asking me about Nick. Who was he? What did I really know about him? Why did I feel I could go to a virtual stranger for help rather than him?

“He’s not a virtual stranger. He’s a friend of Carla’s cousin, Benny.”

“Benny the gun runner? Oh, that makes me feel tons better.”

“Okay, let’s not dwell on the negative, here.” I took a TastyKake out of the cupboard to balance out the tea. “Want one?” I tossed the package to Bobby. “Oh, and another thing.” Then I told him about Thurman Williams.

“Jesus, Brandy,” Bobby began.

“Yes?” How far was he willing to go to accept our friendship by my terms?

“Nothin’. I was just going to say,” he swallowed hard, “good work.”

I grinned. “Thanks.”

We talked until one a.m. going over the clues. I tried to sum up what we knew or suspected. “Curtis Maitlin was a violent guy who had a history of beating up his lovers. He was at the bar the night Konner was killed, and is a viable suspect for the murder. The M.O. was the same as another murder that took place six months ago, and both times, evidence disappeared.

Thurman Williams, an employee of a successful construction company was hired by someone to kill John, because John had seen the pictures and could potentially identify Curtis Maitlin. And all this started happening the minute John went to the police and told them he had pictures of Novack, the night he was killed. So someone in the police department is protecting this guy, Maitlin. Who’s protecting him, and why?”

“We have to look for common links,” Bobby said.

“Like?”

“Like, I don’t know. It’s late. I’ve got to get some sleep. Why don’t we table this until tomorrow?”

“But we’re just getting started. I’m so pumped I could go all night,” I argued, suppressing a huge yawn.

Bobby smiled and pulled me to my feet. “You’re exhausted and you’re afraid to go to sleep. I’ll stay with you until you drift off.”

“I’m not afraid,” I countered, letting him lead me up the stairs. “But if it makes you feel better, you can stay.”

“Thanks.”

I didn’t even bother to change out of my clothes. I just shoved all my stuffed animals to one side and climbed into bed. Bobby tucked the covers all around me. “Could you turn on the night light, please?” I yawned. “In case you need some light when you leave,” I added.

“That’s very considerate of you.” He walked down the hall into the bathroom and flicked on the switch. When he returned he stood in the doorway, watching me.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, panicking.

Bobby shook his head. “Nothing. There’s just no place to sit.”

“Oh. Well, um, you could sit on the bed if you’d like.”

In the semi darkness Bobby walked towards the bed. He kicked off his boots and shoved my stuffed animals onto the floor. Then he sat down and swung his legs up onto the bed and stretched them out in front of him. Sitting upright, he leaned his head against the headboard. “Goodnight,” he whispered.

“Goodnight.”

I awoke to something hard pressing into my back. I tried to move, but I was pinned to the bed by an immoveable object. Cautiously opening one eye, I saw that Bobby’s arm was slung across my chest, my body snuggled up against his, spoon-like. I peeked under the blankets. We were both fully dressed, but there was still the matter of the hard thing at my back. It wasn’t a gun in his pocket—he’d left that on the dresser. So I guess he was just glad to see me.

Trying not to disturb him, I glanced over at the clock. It was after nine a.m. I had to check twice to be sure I was reading it correctly. I’d slept for eight solid hours, which was nothing short of a miracle. It was the first real night’s sleep I’d had in a week. I wanted to stay snuggled next to him forever, but I had to get up to pee. It also occurred to me that waking up in a married man’s arms may not be the smartest thing if you’re not the one he’s married to.

Well, this is awkward.
I shifted slightly and he groaned, so I quickly shut my eyes again, feigning sleep. Let
him
deal with it. I felt him remove his arm and sit up. Slowly, I opened my eyes as if for the first time. Bobby’s hair was all tousled, and his five o’clock shadow had deepened overnight. He rubbed his hand over his face and yawned.

“Hey,” he said, softly.

“Hey.” I sat up too, conscious that I hadn’t brushed my teeth. “I thought you were going to leave when I fell asleep.”

“Nah. I got too tired. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.” A sudden shyness swept over me. “I’ll be right back.”

I scrambled out of bed and ran to the bathroom. Some hideous girl had taken up residence in my bathroom mirror and she greeted me when I walked in.
Ahhhh! How could I let him see me like this?
My face was creased with sleep, and my hair looked like birds had nested in it. I peed and brushed my teeth, and then I grabbed a brush and yanked the tangles out of my hair, which now hung limply to my shoulders.

When I returned to the bedroom Bobby was out of bed. He’d straightened the sheets and fluffed up the pillows. “I didn’t know it was so late, he said, grabbing his gun off the dresser. “I’ve got to get to work.”

I followed him down the stairs and tripped over the last step, catching myself before I landed on my nose. “I could make you some breakfast,” I offered.

“Don’t have time,” he replied, shrugging into his jacket. “Besides,” he grinned, “you don’t know how to cook.”

“Shows how much you know. I happen to be very good at it now.” If you count Slice and Bake cookies and the occasional grilled cheese sandwich as knowing how to cook.

Bobby stopped on his way to the front door. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do,” he started, “but please be careful today. I don’t like the idea of you being alone.”

“I don’t much like it either,” I admitted. “I’m going to call Janine to see if she’ll meet me for lunch.”

“Why don’t I drop you off at her place?”

“No, you’re late. I’ll be fine.”

Bobby turned back to the living room and plopped down on the couch. “Humor me. Please?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” I called Janine.

“How’d the aura cleansing go?” I was sitting in Janine’s studio apartment, tossing peanuts out the window to the pigeons down below. Janine lives in a four-story walk-up, near St. Dom’s. She’s always threatening to move to a larger apartment, but the place really suits her personality. It’s quirky and comfortable.

“Apparently, my aura was friggin’ filthy. She wants me to come back next week and finish cleaning it.”

“Are you going back?”

“Fuck, no. What a racket.” Janine finished applying her third layer of mascara and wiggled into the shortest skirt I’d ever seen.

I looked down at my blue jeans and sighed. “I’m boring.”

“True.” She studied me for a moment. “But it doesn’t seem to make a difference.”

“What do you mean?”

Janine rifled through her closet alcove, pulled out a beige off-the-shoulder cashmere sweater and yanked it over her head. “I swear to God, sometimes you can be so dense.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but she beat me to it. “That boy is so in love with you, he wouldn’t care if you were wearing a potato sack with arm holes. He’d still think you were the most beautiful thing that ever walked the earth.” This time my mouth flew open and stayed that way. “Oh, come on. Don’t pretend you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t,” I whispered, getting all emotional. Was it possible that Bobby still loved me?” It was too much to think about. “Janine, I told you, the only reason he stayed with me last night is because he knew how scared I was, and
nothing happened!
He was just being a friend, that’s all.”

Janine added some bangle bracelets to her outfit and was good to go. “Okay, toots, if you say so.”

“Well, don’t say it like that,” I replied, irritably. “Say it like you mean it.”

“But I don’t mean it,” she grumbled under her breath. Sometimes Janine can be a royal pain in the ass.

W
e decided to go to Sargenti’s for lunch. Sargeniti’s is a family owned restaurant, down on Locust that offers up home style cooking at affordable prices. As my mother says, “The food isn’t very good, but they give you a lot,” which was fine by Janine and me because we were both really hungry.

We walked into the restaurant and were greeted by Angie, one of fourteen Sargenti children ranging in age from sixteen to twenty-nine. Janine veered off to the bathroom while I perused the newspaper rack for throwaway papers. I love free stuff. My eye fixated on the “Philadelphia Freedom News,” an independent press whose slogan is “Underground and Above Board since 1967.” My dad was one of the original founders of the paper, and although he’s long since given up his spot to a new generation of conspiracy hunters, I still get a kick out of reading it from time to time. I flipped it open to the editorial page.

Silence of the Lamb?

By
Ken Robbins

Democratic mayoral candidate Ira Lamb is an outspoken critic of ultra conservative mayor Bradley Richardson. Lamb has challenged Richardson on everything from his views on gay marriages to his tax cuts for the wealthy. Why then is he being uncharacteristically silent when it comes to demanding full disclosure of Richardson’s campaign finances? Could it be that Lamb had been warned off by the ghost of investigations past?

The last time an incumbent was investigated for alleged irregularities in campaign financing the FBI ended up embarrassingly empty-handed, while public outrage over what was perceived as major harassment tripled the former mayor’s re-electability quotient. He won in a landslide.

Perhaps Lamb is smart to overlook certain glaring questions regarding Mayor Richardson’s campaign finances—such as: how did he manage to raise so much cash without any visible fundraising efforts, and who has benefited most from his time in office? I’m an inquiring mind and I’d really like to know. And if you’re reading this newspaper, chances are you’ll want to know too.

I tucked the newspaper into my bag as Janine came out of the bathroom. Angie seated us at a booth and said that Monica would be with us shortly. Janine and I went to school with Monica. That is, until she became pregnant and dropped out in the eleventh grade. I hadn’t seen her since high school, but she looked exactly the same as the last time I laid eyes on her—short, freckle-faced and eight months pregnant. Monica looked over at us and lit up as recognition dawned.

“Brandy, is that you?” She waddled over and slid into the booth next to me. It was a tight fit.

“Oh my God! It’s been so long.” She threw two beefy arms around me and squeezed me hard.

“Hey, Mon, how’ve ya been?”

“Busy.” She rubbed her stomach and laughed. “Hank and I are on our third.” Hank, being Henry Winiki of Winiki Brothers Construction Company. They got married about a minute before Henry Jr. was born.

“Listen, you guys,” Monica whispered, in what I came to realize was a gesture of respect, “I just wanted to say I’m sorry about Johnny.”

“What
about
Johnny?” asked Janine, tearing at a piece of Italian bread like she’d never seen food before. I was really thirsty and I wanted a glass of water, but it just didn’t seem right to ask Monica to get up again, seeing as she looked like she was about to plop the next kid out at any given moment. Monica shot Janine a puzzled glance.

“You know, the accident.”

“Yeah, bummer,” Janine said absently, stuffing the bread into her mouth. I kicked her under the table and she looked up, confused. “Oh, I mean it was a tragic loss.”