No Such Thing as a Free Lunch (No Such Thing As...: A Brandy Alexander Mystery) Read Free Page B

come?”
    “No.”
    “Oh,
fine
.”
    Next, I called Franny who, according to Eddie, was in the middle of a major hormonal meltdown and was refusing to come out of the bathroom. Franny is pregnant and her mood swings are legendary. I then called Janine, Fran’s twin sister and alter ego.
    “Chinese gives me a rash.”
    “Since when?”
    “I’ve got a headache.”
    “God, Janine, if you don’t want to come over, just say so.”
    “I’m washing my hair.”
    My uncle Frankie didn’t get off from work until nine. He’s the hunky manager of the South Street Boxing Gym and the reason half the female population in town has signed up for private boxing lessons. His girlfriend, Carla, who manages a beauty shop, was busy too; she was giving herself a bikini wax.
    As I pulled up in front of my house, I thought about asking my geriatric next door neighbor, Mrs. Gentile, in for a couple of brewskis, but she keeps calling Animal Control on me because my dog pees on her azalea bush, and anyway she’s not all that much fun.
    My neighborhood is made up of predominantly working-class Italian families with some Irish and a few other ethnic groups thrown in for good measure. My house is at the end of a row of small, attached homes, which made it handy for me when I was a teenager, to sneak out my bedroom window and climb down the trellis to meet Bobby.
    I could hear my dog, Adrian, barking on the other side of the door. Adrian is a twenty-pound fur ball with a water fountain tail and an appetite for basically anything that’s not nailed down. I recently bought a new couch, which started out with four legs and now has three and a half. Ah, the joys of motherhood.
    John had come by earlier in the afternoon to walk and feed Adrian, but it’s still a long day for the little guy. He pounced on me the second I opened the door. In his mouth was a half chewed oven mitt. The other half was under the dining room table. “Looks like you’ve already had your dinner,” I told him.
    Adrian padded after me as I turned on all the lights and put the television on for comfort. I have a theory that nothing awful can happen when one is watching Nick at Nite. The Cosby Show was on. Rudy watched a scary movie and now she’s afraid of the dark. Welcome to my world, kid.
    I was trying to decide between mac n cheese and a grilled hotdog for dinner, when the phone rang. I ran to the kitchen to answer it, but the caller had already hung up. A sick feeling surged in the pit of my stomach. The last time that happened, someone left a severed goat’s head on my doorstep. Well, what are the odds of that happening again?
    Two seconds later the doorbell rang. I fought the urge to throw up and inched over to the hallway. “Who is it?” I asked, standing on tiptoe to peer out the spyglass.
    “Surprise!”
    Relief and gratitude flooded through me as I yanked open the door. Standing on the top step was John, all five feet, three inches of him. Crowded in next to him were Franny, Janine and Carla. Carla held a casserole dish in her manicured hands. Her lacquered beehive shot straight up from her head, rivaling Marge Simpson’s for world’s tallest protein-based structure. Uncle Frankie stood on the next step down, and lagging a few feet behind him was Bobby, carrying a couple of six-packs of Rolling Rock and a bottle of black cherry soda. Janine was toting a large shopping bag filled with brightly wrapped packages.
    “What’s all this?” I asked, stepping aside as everyone trooped in. Adrian began to bark and run around in delighted circles, while my gray and white kitten, Rocky, hid behind the china cabinet, licking the paste off the peeling wallpaper.
    “Consider it a housewarming party,” Franny announced.
    “Oh, goody. What’s the theme?” I was thinking I could really use a new can opener. The other one broke when I tried to open a quart of paint with it. Actually, it had done the trick, but now everything tastes like enamel.
    “Home security,”