“Probably,” I conceded. “But Eric told me I’d be “more valuable” out in the field, which, roughly translated, means the network doesn’t need another discrimination lawsuit so close on the heels of the last one so they’re humoring me for a bit.”
Franny finished her carton and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Even with an eight pound basketball in her belly, she was still one of the most beautiful women I knew. She was also one of the most intuitive. She fixed me with a look. “There’s something else going on,” she decided, startling me out of my post-rum raisin euphoria. “Something you’re not telling me. I can see it in your eyes.”
“Get out! You can not.” I pulled the mirrored visor down and checked just to make sure. “Franny, I just spent the last hour filling you in. What could I have possibly left out?”
“The part where you slept with Bobby.” Oy.
I’d wanted to tell Franny. Was dying to, in fact. But I still hadn’t fully processed it myself. She’d start asking me all kinds of questions I didn’t have the answers to. I’d thought I was doing a pretty good job of hiding it, but I should have known she’d sense I was keeping something from her. Franny knew me better than I knew myself.
“Unhhh,” I grunted. “Am I that transparent?”
“Honey, you’re an open book. But in this case, Bobby told me.”
I practically shot out of my seat, banging my head on the roof of the truck. “He did? Well, how did that come up? What, were you all just sitting around having a few laughs when out of the blue he mentions, ‘Oh, by the way, I slept with Brandy. Please pass the beer nuts?’ I can’t believe he told you!”
“Will you calm down?” Franny didn’t even bother to hide her grin. “He thought you’d already told me, which, I might add, was a reasonable assumption. He just wants to make sure you’re all right, that’s all. So, are you?” she added, her voice softening.
I settled back down, grateful to get it all out in the open. “No. I don’t know. I’m all mixed up.”
“About Bobby?”
I thought about it. No. Not about Bobby. Blame it on bad timing, or circumstance or the natural progression of things, but it’s just not in the cards for us to be together right now. I shook my head.
“Then that leaves Nick.”
I sighed. “Yep. That leaves Nick.”
“So where exactly does it leave him?” Franny prodded. “And remember, it’s me you’re talking to.”
I scrunched up my face and forced the words from my lips. “I’m in love with him.”
Franny opened her mouth to respond, but I cut her off. “Look, I already know what you’re going to say. The guy is wrong for me on every level. I mean I barely know anything about him and the little I do know scares the crap out of me. Falling in love with Nick is emotional suicide.”
Franny rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s a ringing endorsement. Let’s break out the wedding cake.”
“Sarcastic response is duly noted and not helpful, Fran!”
“Alright. You want an honest opinion, here goes. Aside from the fact that associating with Santiago could land you in a third world prison cell, I think it’s great.”
“Franny, knock it off. I’m in pain here.”
“No. I’m totally serious. Look, I know you’re in pain. I also know that as concerned as you are about which side of the law Nick resides on, you’re more bothered by who he’s spending his after-hours with. But if you love him, for Cripe’s sake, just go for it!”
“Well excuse me for not wanting to throw myself into a no-win situation. Nick has been very up front with me about what he can—and can’t offer me. I’d be an idiot to go down that road knowing how hurt I could get.”
She put up a hand to stop me. “I’m sorry, Bran. I don’t want you to get hurt, either. But at least you’re finally allowing yourself to feel something for somebody. You’ve kept yourself emotionally barricaded for like the past four years. How’s that been working out for ya?”
I made a face. “Not that great, actually.”
“So do you want to spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been?”
I peered over at Franny. Then I reached out and gave her a tentative poke in the belly.
“Ow. What are you doing?” she yelled, swatting my hand away.
“Just checking to see if you’re really Janine in a fat suit.”
Chapter Sixteen
I dropped Franny off at her house and headed home. Half way there I changed my mind and made a pit stop at the hospital to see Craig. I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I was partially responsible for what had happened to him. For whatever reason, he’d gotten in way over his head with some pretty creepy people, but I believed in the end he’d actually been trying to protect me.
Even if Craig was still unconscious, I thought he might enjoy some company. I stopped and picked up a cheesecake in case he woke up while I was there and needed something worth living for.
I recognized the police officer posted outside Craig’s room. She was Nancy Beringer, the younger sister of Micky, a guy I’d gone to school with.
“Hey, Nancy. How’s it goin’?”
“It’s goin’ alright, Bran. How about you?”
I shrugged. “Can’t complain. Listen, Nance, that guy in there is a friend of mine. I was wondering if I could go in and sit with him for a little bit.”
“Sorry, Brandy. Orders. Besides, he’s in a coma.”
“Yeah, I know, but—I brought cheesecake.” I held it up for Nancy to inspect.
“Word down at the station is you saved his life,” she said, eying the bakery box.
“Yeah, well, I can’t take any credit for that. Actually, my friend Nick is the one who fished us both out of the river.”
“Nicholas Santiago,” she said and I swear she blushed. “I read the report.”
“You know him?” I asked.
“Every cop in the tri state area has heard about Santiago. They all seem to want a piece of him. Personally,” she confided, “I think the guys I work with are just jealous. That man is seriously hot.” We nodded our heads in simultaneous agreement.
“So has Craig had any visitors?” I asked. I hated to think of him all alone.
“Not that I know of. But I just came on duty a little while ago.”
I was all set to offer Nancy some cheesecake when something caught my eye.
Instinctively, I stepped behind her and pulled up my hood, hiding my face.
Nancy peered around at me. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” I stared down the hall, but whatever I thought I’d seen was already gone. “Listen, Nancy, I’ve gotta go. Say hi to Micky for me.”
I walked over to the nurse’s station. “Excuse me,” I said to the least harried looking nurse I could find. Nurses are among the hardest working people I know. And recently, I’ve gotten to know my fair share. “I thought I saw my obstetrician go by a minute ago and I wanted to say hello. Dr. Girard?”
“Sorry. I didn’t notice. Obstetrics is on the third floor. He may be on his way there.”
“Oh, so if he were visiting a patient, she wouldn’t be on this floor then?”
“Not likely.” She gave me a polite but dismissive smile and returned to her work.
What was the likelihood of Girard having a patient at the same hospital that Craig was in? And what was he doing skulking around Craig’s floor? He must have come by to check on Craig—a guy he professed to not even remember—and got scared off by the guard outside the room. I wondered what would have happened if Nancy hadn’t been there monitoring Craig’s visitors. The thought scared the hell out of me. Then again, what didn’t these days.
I decided to run my suspicions by Bobby. He’d be able to tell me if I had enough to go to the cops with. I got back to my car and punched in his number.
“Yo,” he said. I heard music in the background. It sounded like something off of a Saturday morning kiddie cartoon. The music stopped and there was a round of appla
use.
“Where are you?”
“Big Bird on Ice. It’s the hottest ticket in town for the ‘under five’ set. So what’s up?”
“It can wait,” I told him. I would not allow my problems to interfere with Bobby’s evening out with his little girl. “Give Big Bird my love and I’ll talk to you later.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.” I hung up and drove straight home.
I walked in the door and found my dad and Uncle Frankie sitting on the couch watching the 76er’s game. There was a half-eaten bucket of chicken wings on the coffee table. I kissed them both and grabbed a wing.
“How was your day, doll?” My dad passed me the Ranch dressing and a napkin. “Careful. Your mother doesn’t want sauce all over her nice clean living room.”
Uncle Frankie swallowed a laugh and winked at me. I did a major sigh. “Yo, midget brat,” Frankie said, “I’ve got tickets to the Peter Manfredo fight next week. You in?”
“Absolutely,” I said, feeling significantly cheered. There’s nothing like watching your favorite boxer beat the crap out of someone to take your mind off your problems. “Dessert,” I added, plunking the cheesecake down on the coffee table.
I walked into the kitchen. My mother and Carla were in there. They’d been baking, judging by the tray full of burnt cookies cooling on the Formica countertop. At least I thought they were cookies. I picked one up and inspected it more closely. It was an oddly shaped blue and white frosted thing with appendages. “Starfish?” I ventured.
“Jewish Stars,” Carla corrected me. “Your mother thought it would be nice to add them to the party favor bags for the bar mitzvah.”
“And you didn’t stop her?” I whispered to Carla. I spied a pile of small plastic Cellophane bags lying on the table. They were stuffed with notepads that had Paul’s name and the date of the bar mitzvah printed on them. Plus a Glitter pen. Items suitable for a nine year old girl’s slumber party.
“Have you run this by Paul?” I asked. “He may not be totally comfortable with the whole ‘party favors’ thing.”
“Trust me,” my mother said. If I know your brother, he’ll be very happy we took care of these details for him.”
And if I know my brother, he’ll be searching for a rock to crawl under. Paul’s original idea was to invite twenty of his closest friends and relatives. My mother somehow managed to boost those numbers to a hundred and sixty-eight.
“Honey, grab some bags and start stuffing,” my mother said.
Just then my cell phone rang. “Ooh, sorry, Mom, it’s work,” I told her, not even bothering to check Caller I.D. “I’ve got to take this.”
I walked out of the kitchen and opened the phone.
“Brandy. It’s Mike Mahoe.”
I was surprised to hear from him. Mike used to like me. But now that he’s gotten to know me, he avoids me as much as possible. He thinks I’m “trouble.” Sheesh.
“Mike, hi. What’s up?”
“I thought this might interest you. I just got word from my friend at the Pennsauken station. They’ve arrested Jeff Rhineholt for his wife’s murder.”
I didn’t get home until almost midnight. Eric had sent a photographer out to meet me and we staked out the court house and the city jail. Jeff’s lawyer made the obligatory, “You’ve got the wrong man” statement and promised his client’s full cooperation.
At this point, I didn’t know what to think. I’d been so sure that Ethan had arranged for Tamra’s murder, but the cops must’ve thought they had a pretty solid case against Rhineholt or else they wouldn’t have arrested him.
I put in a call to the precinct to speak to my old pal, Detective “Bunny,” but for some reason he wouldn’t get on the line. He couldn’t still be mad about the Binaca, could he?
I decided to give it a rest for the night and start fresh in the morning. I was running on empty and as much as I fought it, I had to try and get some sleep. I climbed the stairs up to the bathroom and splashed some water over my face, dragged the toothbrush across my teeth and got into bed.
My body was more than ready to transition from awake to comatose. However, my brain had a different idea. It wanted to stay up and think about Nick. And once my brain made that decision, my body went along for the ride.
I wonder what Nick is doing right now? Ooh, I hear Jackie Chan’s going to be a guest on Letterman tonight. I’m sure he won’t want to miss it. I should call him. It’s not very late. I climbed out of bed and got my cell phone off the dresser.
“Hi,” I said as soon as he picked up.
“What’s up, Angel?” And at that precise moment I knew he wasn’t alone. Maybe it was the slight hesitation in his voice, or the preoccupation, or just the innate knowledge that something wasn’t quite right. But I knew he was with another woman. Oh, why couldn’t I have had this psychic revelation before I picked up the phone! Unhhh!
“Um, Jackie Chan’s on Letterman,” I mumbled. “Thought you might want to know—uh—what with you both being martial arts experts and all…” oh Jeez. I hung up the phone.
Nick called me right back. “Thank you for calling to let me know,” he said, ignoring the fact that I’d just hung up on him. “I’m a big fan of Jackie Chan’s.”
“Yeah,” me too, I said, wondering if I’d ever actually seen any of his movies.
Nick’s voice receded into the background. “Just leave it over there,” he whispered.
“What?”
“Oh, sorry, I was talking to someone else.”
I knew it! What’s her name? I hate her so much! “Listen, you’ve got company. Me too. I’ve gotta go.”
Nick cut me off. “Alphonso says hi.”
“Alphonso? That’s your company?”
“You sound surprised. Who were you expecting?”
“Nobody.”
“So who’s yours?” he asked.
“Who’s my what?”
“Who’s your company? You said you had company too.”
“Did I?”
“You sound tired, darlin’.”
“Oh, no. I’m fine.”
I am so far from being fine it’s not even funny. “Well, Alphonso’s waiting. I’d better let you get back to him.”
“Alphonso left. It’s just you and me.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
I snuggled back under the covers and let the sound of his voice wash over me. He asked me how the rest of my day went, so I told him about my visit with Mrs. Stewart and my realization that it was her son who was the giant perv of the family. I also mentioned the connection between Meyers and Girard and ended with my visit to the hospital and how I’d narrowly missed running into Ethan.
“There’s another possibility, darlin’,” Nick said when I’d finished. “Maybe Girard wasn’t there to see Craig. Could be he followed you to the hospital.”
My insides twisted into a knot. “Do you really think he followed me?”
“It’s a possibility, in which case it might be a good idea for someone to keep you company for the next few days.”
“Are you volunteering for the job?” Oh crap. I hadn’t meant to say that out loud. I forgot Nick doesn’t have a problem calling my bluff.
“I’d be happy to take the night shift, Angel. In fact, I could start right now, but somehow I don’t think Mama Alexander would appreciate that.”
“No, I guess not,” I said, far too reluctantly.
Some time during the course of our conversation, I drifted off to sleep. I woke up in the morning with the cell phone cradled against my ear. Wow. I’d logged six full hours and not a single scary dream. A minor miracle by my standards.
I jumped out of bed and plugged the phone into the charger. Then I grabbed some fresh jeans and a powder blue crewneck sweater and headed for the bathroom. Good thing I’d had a decent night’s sleep. I needed all the strength I could muster to confront the hideous creature that lurked in the bathroom mirror.
My mom had left some eye
liner and lip stick on the counter. I picked up the eye liner, debating whether to risk making a bad situation worse. I don’t usually wear make up, mostly because it itches. Plus, I never wanted anyone waking up beside me in the morning, going, “Oh my God, is that what you really look like? I’ve made a horrible mistake!” I figure it’s better to let guys know what they’re getting up front. I took another look in the mirror and forced myself to make an exception.
When I got out of the bathroom, there was a message from Peter Applebaum on my cell. I gave him a quick call and asked if I could come by and speak to him. I was intentionally vague. Informing Peter that there was a good chance his wife’s “accidental” death was no accident was something best discussed in person.
Rocky was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs. She was wearing pajamas. They were red and white striped with holes cut out for her tail and other significant body parts. Adrian lounged on the couch in front of the tv in what could only be described as a smoking jacket. He looked like a mini, mutant Hugh Hefner.
My dad walked in from the kitchen balancing two cups of coffee and a bagel. Adrian scooted over and my dad sat down next to him on the couch. One of the cups was filled mostly with milk. He set that one down in front of the dog. “Heather came by,” he told me. “She said thanks for the other day and she dropped off these outfits.”
Adrian began lapping up the coffee-milk. “Your mother thinks they’re adorable,” my dad mused. “Personally, I think they look silly. I mean, why would you want to treat a dog like a human? It’s a dog. Hey, watch this.” He flipped Adrian a piece of the bagel. Adrian caught it in his mouth and dunked it in his coffee. “I taught him that.”
“I’m impressed. I can’t even get him to roll over.”
My dad looked at me for a beat. “Are you shooting a segment on clowns today?”
“No, why?”
“Oh. I just thought… you look very… colorful,” he settled on.
“Too much?” I asked. I guess I’d gone a little overboard on the blush. But that was just to make up for my deathly pallor.
My dad shrugged. “What do I know, hon? You always look beautiful to me.”
No Such Thing as a Free Lunch (No Such Thing As...: A Brandy Alexander Mystery) Page 23