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

me with baleful eyes. Pity. The man pitied me!
    “Toodie, I can assure you that’s not what I meant! And what do you mean, you don’t think of me that way? What’s wrong with me?” Seriously, what’s wrong with me? I felt insulted that a man with the IQ of a basset hound was spurning my affections. AS IF!
    “Nothing’s wrong with you. You’re great. But you and John Marchiano are a terrific couple, and I wouldn’t want to, ya know, come between you two.”
    John Marchiano is my oldest and dearest friend, but he doesn’t have a shred of sexual interest in me. John climbed out of the womb wearing Chanel and singing show tunes, a fact that has somehow eluded Toodie.
    “Well, I’m glad we cleared the air on this, Toodie. I promise I won’t make things awkward by coming on to you.”
    “Thanks,” he said with the utmost sincerity.
    I stood. “Come on, I’ll make you some lunch.”
    Lunch consisted of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and chocolate milk. We split a Family Size Hershey Bar for dessert. Chocolate and I have a spiritual connection. It fills me up, makes me happy and never lets me down. If it were legal to wed an inanimate object, I’d ask it to marry me.
    After lunch Toodie dragged his toolbox in from his truck and buried himself under the kitchen sink. I sat at the dining room table, licking melted chocolate off the candy wrapper, the employment section of the newspaper spread before me. What is it that Franny is always saying about positive thinking? That you should start by envisioning the thing you want, make it real in your mind. “Okay,” I thought. “I’ll give it a try.” I shut my eyes, the words formulating in my brain.
    NOW HIRING: Investigative Reporter for nationally acclaimed news program. Little to no experience necessary. Great salary. Benefits. I opened my eyes. Toodie was staring at me.
    “What are you doing?”
    “I’m envisioning.”
    “Is it working?”
    I scanned the employment section for my ad. “No.” The phone rang.
    “I’ll get it.” Toodie reached for the receiver. “Alexander residence,” he said in a ridiculously phony British accent. “This is the butler speaking.”
    I don’t know why but I thought it was hilarious.
    “Whom shall I say is calling?” He paused dramatically. “One moment please. It’s your mother,” he said, handing me the phone.
    I made a face that any normal person would have interpreted as the “I-don’t-want-to-talk-to-my-mother-now-tell-her-I’ll-call-her-back-face.” But Toodie is guileless and doesn’t read social cues. I put the phone to my ear.
    “Hi Mom.”
    “Since when do you have money to squander on a butler?”
    “He’s not a butler, Mom.”
    “Then why is he answering your phone?”
    I suppressed the urge to scream and said instead, “How’s Daddy?”
    “Your father’s fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”
    So what else is new? “Why are you worried about me? I’m fine.” Jobless, penniless, but fine.
    “Brandy, don’t you ever pick up the papers?”
    “Of course I do. I’m browsing through the comics’ section as we speak. Did you know that Cathy and Irving got married? What’s it been, twenty years?”
    “Don’t get flip with me, Brandy Renee.” Uh oh. She’s pulling out the middle name. She must really be upset.
    “I’m sorry, Mom. What’s wrong?”
    “Well,” she said, mollified, “It seems that there has been a rash of break-ins in the neighborhood lately.”
    “How many is a rash?”
    “Armed robberies,” she said, choosing to ignore me. “In fact,” she added, lowering her voice to the stage whisper she usually reserved for conversations about terminal diseases, “Mrs. Edelstein’s neighbor was held up at knifepoint in her own home, two blocks down on Ritner. They took her jewelry and a bust of Beethoven. I just don’t want to pick up the newspaper one day and see your name listed among the victims.”
    Oh why did I think it would be nice to get her that