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

took the hair products out of her arms and went to get a bag.
    Marie leaned into me. She was so close I could smell the Winterfresh gum on her breath. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but Bobby and I are very happy together.”
    “I’m glad for you.”
    “Are you?” She straightened up and walked out of the salon, leaving her purchase at the counter.
    “What was that all about?” Carla asked.
    “Beats the hell out of me.”
    “She didn’t threaten you or anything, did she?”
    “No, why?”
    Carla began combing my hair. It was so greasy the comb kept slipping out of her hand. She bent to pick it up, her spandex clad butt perched high in the air.
    “Everyone knows that marriage is going south, sweetie. And you moving back to the neighborhood didn’t help any.”
    “Carla, Bobby and I are over. I never even think of him that way anymore.” I gave a surreptitious look heavenward to see if God was paying attention to my lie.
    “Prove it.”
    “How can I prove it? That’s ridiculous.” A diversionary tactic I’d learned from my mother.
    “I have someone I want you to meet.”
    I groaned, my intestines constricting into one gigantic knot. “Carla, I don’t want to be fixed up. Don’t I have enough to contend with right now? If you want to do me a real favor, get me a job.”
    “If you play your cards right, you could have both.”
    My eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What do you mean?”
    “This guy I want you to meet—”
    “How do you know him?”
    “I don’t—exactly. His mother comes into the shop. She says he’s a real sweetheart, rich, successful and handsome too.”
    “Then why does he need his mother to get dates for him? Forget it, Carla. There is no such thing as a good blind date.”
    “He’s some high power guy at The News Network.” Wow. I’d been trying to get an interview with them since I got back to town.
    “He sounds perfect. Can’t wait to meet him.”
    Carla smiled triumphantly. Okay, I can be bought. So sue me.
    Toodie’s old Toyota pick-up was parked in front of my house when I got home. I pulled in behind him and got out of the car, careful not to scrape the door on the curb. I was driving my brother Paul’s car—a mint condition, 1972 metallic blue Mercedes SL convertible—“a classic,” he’s quick to remind me. I knew I’d have to give it back to him one of these days, but I was reluctant to plunk down my practically non-existent savings on a new set of wheels.
    Toodie leaped out of his truck, balancing a large carton on his shoulder. He galloped towards me, dragging an extension cord behind him.
    “Hi, Roomie,” he beamed.
    I truly wished I shared his enthusiasm.
    “Toodie,” I said, grabbing my keys out of my pocket-book, “this is just temporary, remember? Until your granny gets back from the Bahamas.” I pulled open the storm door and let him walk ahead of me into the living room. “When is she coming back, anyway?”
    Toodie set his carton down and shrugged. “Dunno.”
    “She is coming back, though, isn’t she?” Visions of my new “roomie” burning down my house with his woodworking set before I even made the first mortgage payment danced through my head.
    “Oh yeah. She’ll be back.” He nodded his head vigorously, a gesture obviously meant to reassure. It didn’t.
    I showed Toodie to his room and laid out some clean towels for him.
    “Just one thing, Toodie. This is a drug-free zone. Oh, and if you’re planning on entertaining anyone, I’d rather they didn’t spend the night.”
    Toodie’s eyes grew wide. He sat down on the bed and patted the seat next to him. I reluctantly sat down too.
    “Brandy, if this roommate thing is going to work, we’ve got to come clean with each other.” His voice gentled. “Are you like ‘hot’ for me?”
    Before I could ask him if he had completely lost his mind he continued. “Because I like you, Brandy. I really do. But I have to be honest. I don’t think of you that way.” He stared at