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

by Shelly Fredman

  “Yeah, sure. But just think about those strobe lights, okay?”

  I got home a little after two a.m. and fell into bed exhausted, too tired even to worry about Toodie.

  A light snow had fallen during the night, blanketing the street with a pure white powder. I looked out my bedroom window and there was Mrs. Gentile, outside in her housecoat, sweeping the snow from her steps. Nature wasn’t going to have one up on her, not if she could help it.

  I turned from the window and a moment later was struck by a loud grunting sound, followed by some creative Italian cursing. I looked out again and there she was, butt on the pavement, calling for help. I was tempted to ignore her, but I couldn’t just leave her there with her scrawny legs flailing about in the cold, winter air. I yanked open my window and called down to her. “Are you okay, Mrs. Gentile?”

  “Do I look okay?”

  She didn’t, but I had high hopes.

  “Come down here and help me up.”

  I sighed and silently prayed she hadn’t broken anything, so that I’d have to cart her off to the emergency room.

  Thankfully, she was just a little banged up, nothing life threatening. I helped her into her house and eased her down into a chair. Wow, she’d been our neighbor for over twenty-five years and I’d never stepped foot inside her home. It smelled like cat pee, although to my knowledge she doesn’t have a cat.

  “Can I get you anything before I go?” I was trying to be gracious but it was hard, seeing as the last time we conversed she informed me that I was going to “burn in hell” for sins both real and imagined.

  “A little broth would be nice. There’s some on the stove.”

  I followed the cat pee smell into the kitchen. Mystery solved.

  After delivering Mrs. Gentile her broth, I propped her legs up on the ottoman and made a half-hearted offer for her to call me, should she need anything. I then made a hasty retreat to my house. Two minutes later the phone rang. Oh crap. I must not have wiped my feet when I walked on her rug and now she wants me to shampoo her carpet.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi,” said a pleasant sounding male voice. “I’m calling about the lost dog. I think it’s mine.”

  My heart sank. “Oh, well, do you mind describing him for me?”

  “No, sure. He’s light brown, mixed breed, shaggy—”

  “I’m sorry, but anyone would know that. I wrote it on the flier. Could you tell me something special about him? Something only the owner would know?”

  The voice on the other end hesitated a beat. “His favorite color is green.”

  I didn’t want to laugh, but it was funny. “I’m sorry. I just want to make sure I give him back to his rightful owner.”

  “Sounds like he’s won you over.”

  “He has,” I admitted. “What’s his name, anyway?”

  “Fluffy.”

  “Fluffy?”

  “My niece named him. Personally, I would’ve gone with something more macho, like Brutus…or Buttercup.”

  I laughed again.

  “I’m Keith, by the way.”

  “I’m Brandy.”

  “Brandy. That’s an unusual name and yet it seems like I just heard it recently.” There was a slight pause while Keith tried to remember that he saw me on the evening news, courtesy of Barry Kaminski’s “on the scene” reporting. “Hey,” he said, the light dawning, “you wouldn’t by any chance be the woman who found the dead body in her basement, would you?”

  If he’d had a hopeful note in his voice I would have slammed the phone down in his ear, but he sounded properly sympathetic so I confessed.

  “As luck would have it, I am. So, how’d you lose your dog?” I asked, signaling an end to that part of the conversation.

  Turns out, Keith is a lawyer who has a client near the 2200 block of Frankford Avenue. He took Fluffy with him to drop some papers off at the client’s house, and the woman’s young son accidentally let the dog out the front gate.

  “I’ve been really worried about him. He’s got some stomach problems.”

  “Yeah, I noticed. He’s been constipated for a few days. I was going to run him over to the vet’s.”

  “He’s on special medication and it’s important that I get him back on his regimen as soon as possible. I was wondering when I could pick him up.”

  I wasn’t too anxious to have a stranger show up at my door—not after everything that’s happened.

  “Why don’t we meet somewhere?”

  “Great idea. Listen,” he said, “you’ve been so nice, taking care of Fluffy for me. How about we meet at La Boheme at Penn’s Landing? My office is half a block from there. I can drop the dog off and then take you to lunch.”

  “Oh, that’s really not necessary.”

  “No, I’d really like to.”

  I did a quick inventory. Keith’s a lawyer with a good sense of humor, who’s nice to his niece and loves his dog. I thought about the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that awaited me and made a snap decision. “Sure,” I said. “Sounds great.”

  By our bits of conversation I surmised that Keith was in his mid thirties, never been married—could be gay, but when I ran it by John he said it was unlikely.

  “La Boheme is a definite ‘date’ restaurant. If he just wanted to thank you he’d take you to Sal’s on Broad Street. He’s trying to impress you, Sunshine.”

  Now that I thought back on it, Keith could have been flirting with me. “But I don’t even know this guy, John,” I pointed out. “What if he turns out to be a weirdo?”

  “Well, I could eat lunch there too in case you need some back up. I’m trained in the martial arts, you know. I’ve been taking Tai Chi.”

  “Isn’t Tai Chi those syncopated stretching exercises that old people do in the park?”

  “It’s very muscle strengthening.” He sounded offended so I didn’t argue the point.

  “I think I’ll be okay, John, but thanks for offering.”

  Before I left to meet Keith I tried calling Toodie’s cell phone again. No answer. Dammit, Toodie, pick up the phone. Not that I had anything to report. There hadn’t been anything about the murder in the paper or on the news in the last couple of days, and since Bobby and I didn’t seem to be on speaking terms, I was at a loss for information.

  I pulled Fluffy out from under the bed, where he was happily chewing on a tube of toothpaste and I wiped the gel from his mouth. He looked like he’d contracted rabies, but his breath was minty fresh.

  The wind had picked up down by the wharf, causing the temperature to drop about fifteen degrees. I rooted around in the downstairs closet and found a ratty old afghan that my mother had crocheted back in college. It was orange and brown, with a bright yellow sunburst zigzagging across the center. It looked like a prop from the musical “Hair.” I wrapped Fluffy up in it and set off to meet Keith.

  He was standing on the sidewalk, wearing a black Burberry overcoat and gray slacks. At least I hoped it was him. Age-wise we looked to be in the same decade, which was a real plus, after Barry. As I got closer, I noticed he was very cute, in a collegiate, WASPY sort of way, with a boyish charm, which I’m sure, served him well with women jurors.

  “Brandy?” Keith smiled, extending his hand in greeting. Okay, when he got a look at me, he didn’t run away screaming. So far so good. Fluffy was in my arms, stuffed inside the afghan. He poked his furry head out and sniffed the air. “Well, there you are,” Keith said, making no move to take him. “How about we walk over to my office so I can leave him with my receptionist. He hasn’t uh, gone to the bathroom lately, has he?” I shook my head.

  “No, sorry.”

  Keith’s office was in one of the new buildings on Dock Street that were built to look old and picturesque; an ivy covered red brick structure overlooking the water. It had to cost a fortune to rent space there. We took the elevator up three flights and walked down a plush hallway until we reached the last door, on which was painted “Keith Harrison Attorney at Law” in gold block le
tters. A young woman was seated at the front desk. She seemed to be the only one who worked there.

  “Hi, Mr. Harrison,” she said, looking up as we entered. Keith flashed her a toothy smile and she blushed the color of rutabaga.

  “Do me a favor, Ali, put the dog in my office and close the door. I’ll be back after lunch.”

  “Oh, how adorable,” Ali gushed, taking Fluffy out of my arms. I felt like she’d ripped a piece of my heart out along with the dog.

  “Ready to go?”

  If I marry Keith, I’ll be able to keep Fluffy.

  “What? Oh, yeah.”

  I spotted her as we walked from the bar to our table. She was wearing a fur coat. Can you believe that bitch? I tried to duck behind Keith, but he was having a bathroom emergency—too many Pelligrinos—and made a beeline for the little boys’ room, leaving me to contend with my high school nemesis and all-around pain in the ass, Mindy Rebowitz. “Bran-dee,” she screeched. “What are you doing here?”

  “Uh, eating?” I ventured. Sorry, God. I know I gave up sarcasm for Lent, but she just begs for it.

  Mindy glanced down at Keith’s empty seat. “All by yourself? Poor Brandy. Why don’t you join Terrence and me? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” Terrence is Mindy’s hapless better half.

  “Actually, I’m not alone. My date will be back any minute now. But thanks for asking,” I added politely. “Oh, and please don’t feel like you have to keep me company. I’m sure Terrence is missing you already.”

  Mindy’s bottle blond head bobbed in agreement, but she angled herself into the empty chair, anyway. The waiter came by and plunked down a basket of assorted breads. I reached for the panini, but Mindy got there first and began chowing down. Through a mouthful of my lunch she caught me up on the antics of her children, a three-year-old “genius” and a six month old with “star quality.”

  After the bread was gone she looked around the room. “Are you sure you don’t want to join us?” I was almost tempted to, just so’s I could eat all of her bread. But I knew what she was implying.

  “Mindy, I really do have a date. He’s in the bathroom.”

  “For fifteen minutes? You’d better check. He might have fallen in.” She laughed so hard at that she almost tipped over. God I hated her. She was right, of course. The fucking jerk ditched me!

  I was so furious I didn’t notice the commotion in the back of the restaurant. The din got louder and I shouted to be heard.

  “Look, Mindy, just go on back to Terrence, okay? I’m not some charity case. Men are dying to go out with me! Oh, here he comes now.”

  Only he wasn’t walking. He wasn’t even vertical…or conscious. A gurney carrying Keith Harrison’s seemingly lifeless body whisked by our table on its way to the ambulance. His face was a bruised and swollen mass of lumpy flesh.

  I caught one of the paramedics going out the door. “Oh my God, what happened? Is he going to be okay?”

  “We’ll do our best. He was pretty badly beaten.”

  “Where are you taking him?”

  “Jefferson.”

  I was so shook up, I actually turned to Mindy for comfort, only to discover she was already halfway across the room, on her cell phone, spreading the news of my latest dating debacle. Just then a thought occurred to me. I didn’t want Keith to die. Of course not! But if he did, I wondered if I could keep the dog.

  Chapter Five

  I sought out the remaining cop on site and introduced myself as Keith’s lunch companion. From what they could piece together, after Keith had gone to the bathroom, he went out to the parking lot to retrieve something from the car and was ambushed on the way back in. A busboy taking out the trash spotted Keith crawling on all fours back into the restaurant. He collapsed just inside the kitchen.

  “Was this a random mugging, ya think?”

  “Could be. It’s been known to happen. This is a pretty touristy neighborhood. Drug addict comes along, spots an easy prey—”

  “But the attack was so—so vicious. Don’t muggers usually just take the money and run?”

  “Maybe the guy wasn’t carrying as much cash as he would have liked and it pissed him off. Hard to say.”

  I was half way home when I remembered about the dog. Ali wouldn’t know what happened to her boss. She’d wait all afternoon, maybe try to call him, but he wouldn’t be able to answer his phone. Five o’clock would roll around and Ali would pack up her things and leave, without a backwards glance to the poor little would-be orphan trapped in Keith’s office. How could Ali be so insensitive? I had to go back and rescue him.

  Fluffy was sitting on Ali’s lap, eating raisins out of her hand when I walked into the office suite. “Oh, hi,” she said. “Where’s Keith? I mean Mr. Harrison?” And she went all rutabaga again.

  As briefly as possible, and in the least alarming way I could find, I told her about the mugging. Ali’s shoulders began to heave up and down as fat teardrops rolled down her face and plopped onto Fluffy’s head. Gently, I removed the dog from her grip. “I’m sure he’s going to be fine,” I said. “Don’t you worry, Keith’s a survivor!” How the hell would I know that? I just met the guy. But it sounded good and seemed to reassure Ali.

  “Look, as long as Keith is going to be laid up for a little while, I thought I’d come back for Fluffy. He’s used to being at my house and I’m sure Keith will feel better knowing he’s being well cared for.”

  “Oh,” said Ali, thinking. It seemed like a strenuous task for her. “Why don’t you just leave her here and I’ll have Mrs. Harrison pick him up and take him back to their house?”

  Mrs. Harrison? Keith didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who’d live with his mother, which meant…I sighed.

  “Give me the address, Ali. I’ll take the dog to her. I’m sure Mrs. Harrison has enough to contend with already.” Her maggot of a husband heading the list.

  Jeez, I hoped the police had already called Keith’s wife because I really didn’t want to be the one to break the news to her. Well, at least she was getting her dog back.

  The address Ali gave me turned out to be a magnificent brownstone in Society Hill. There were no available parking spaces so I double-parked and left the engine running. Gathering Fluffy in my arms I marched up to the door and rang the bell.

  A woman who appeared to be in her late thirties answered the door, holding a lit cigarette in one hand and a cordless phone in the other. I quickly scanned her face. She didn’t look to be crying. Maybe she hadn’t heard the news yet. Oh great.

  “Mrs. Harrison?”

  “Yes?” she said, expectantly, looking down at her beloved pet.

  “I found your dog.”

  She gave me a peculiar look and spoke into the phone. “Nancy, I’ll call you back.” Mrs. Harrison disconnected and turned to me. “That’s not my dog.”

  “What? But your husband identified it. He said he saw my lost dog poster and he called me. Maybe it looks like your dog?”

  Mrs. Harrison chuckled without mirth. “Honey, we don’t have a dog. I’m allergic. My husband is a lying bag of shit.”

  “But why—”

  She cut me off, a weary smile playing about her mouth. “My guess is he was riding around town and saw you posting the signs. He probably thought you were cute and figured he’d use the dog angle to get to you.”

  “But why would anyone go to all that trouble? I’m not exactly Pamela Anderson.”

  “My husband can’t keep his dick in his pants,” she said, matter of factly. “He sees a pretty face—” She shrugged and drew on her cigarette. “It’s all about the challenge.”

  Son of a bitch.

  “I’m sure he didn’t mention the fact that he’s married. Don’t feel bad,” she added. “You’re not the only one who’s been duped by Keith. And you won’t be the last.”

  Actually, there was a good possibility that I would be.

  “Um, Mrs. Harrison—”

  “Connie.”

  “Connie, I don’t know if you’re awa
re of this, but I’ve—I’ve got some bad news about Keith.” Turns out she’d already heard.

  “He’ll be fine,” she said, echoing the words I’d told Ali. “His face will look like raw hamburger for awhile and he’ll have to get his perfect teeth fixed—that should put a little crimp in Romeo’s style.” This time we both laughed.

  I wanted to ask her a million more questions, like, did Keith have any enemies—I still wasn’t convinced a beating that thorough was the work of a mugger—and why an attractive, intelligent woman like herself would stay with a creep like Keith. But I spied the parking enforcement guy working his way down the street, so I thanked Connie for setting me straight and ran back to the car, the dog firmly secured in my arms.

  There were three messages on my machine when I got home. I put Fluffy down on the floor and he scampered off to find something inappropriate to eat while I pressed the play back button.

  “Hi sweetie, it’s your dad.”

  Oh my God. My dad never calls me. Something must have happened to my mother.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” he assured me. “I just wanted you to know that Paul told me you were having some financial difficulty—now don’t get all upset with your brother, I’m glad he told us. Anyway, your mother and I just wanted you to know that if you need something to tide you over, just say the word.”

  In the background, my mom’s version of whispering came through loud and clear.

  “Tell her not to let her pride get in the way. You know she always wants to do everything herself.”

  There was a muffled response from my dad before he spoke into the phone again.

  “Okay, doll. We love you. Talk to ya—bye honey.”

  I got a little teary eyed as I heard him hang up the phone.

  Message number two was from Uncle Frankie. “Carla wants to know do you want to come for dinner tonight. I’ve got to warn you, she’s cooking.”

  Sure, why not. My lunch today consisted of a smashed up TastyKake and four tic tacs. I’m sure Carla and Frankie had already heard what happened at La Boheme this afternoon and this was their way of taking care of me.