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

Glen’s belongings had disappeared around the corner, and with it, my chance to rifle through his personal effects.
    “Where are they going with that stuff?” I asked.
    The woman shrugged. “City dump. It was all worthless crap anyway. Just clothes, an old mattress.”
    “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” During my tenure in Hollywood, I learned a few tricks about personalizing conversations. It tended to make people trust you.
    “Didi.”
    “Do you mind if I take a quick look around, Didi?”
    “Be my guest. Help yourself to anything that’s left over. That sonovabitch owes me two months rent. Snuck out in the middle of the night and left me with a stinking mess.”
    I was tempted to ask her if the mess included a woman’s head, but she was the chatty sort, and I figured if that were the case she would have mentioned it.
    I poked around some, but the cleaning crew was disappointingly thorough. There was no smoking gun, bloody knife or confession note left behind to point to Glen as the killer.
    I wandered into the kitchen. An old landline phone was tacked up to the wall and next to it, a bunch of numbers had been scribbled down. Ginos’ Pizza, Dale’s Pharmacy and a 900 number that, if my memory for late night cable TV commercials served me correctly, belonged to PhoneDatePlaymate. I took down the pharmacy number and walked into the bedroom.
    It was empty, except for a small waste paper basket that had somehow eluded the cleaning crew. I picked it up and examined the mostly revolting contents. There was not much to go on; an old lottery ticket, a broken hairbrush with a small tangle of hair stuck to it, some used Kleenex and an old TV Guide with a picture of Reba McEntire on the cover and her front teeth blackened out.
    I pocketed the lottery ticket and rooted through my pocketbook until I found a baggie. It was half filled with Cheez-its. I ate the Cheez-its and then placed the hairbrush in the baggie, in case the police needed it for DNA evidence somewhere down the line. Even as I went through the motions, I knew it was all a fruitless effort, but I’d promised Toodie I’d try to help. At least I established there really was a Glen.
    “One more thing, if you don’t mind,” I said to Didi. “Did Glen have a girlfriend?”
    “Are you a cop? Because I don’t want no trouble.”
    “No, I’m not with the police. I’m just looking for someone and I thought Glen might know where she is.”
    Didi was a lot more cooperative when she thought I had any actual authority over her. She picked up a broom and pointed it at my chest. “I’ve got work to do and you’ve been here long enough.”
    I agreed, but I wasn’t quite ready to go. I bent my head and made loud sniffing noises.
    “You crying?”
    I nodded vigorously. “It’s just that the woman I’m looking for is my sister. She’s missing and someone told me she may have hooked up with this low-life, and—and—”
    “That’s alright, honey.” She leaned the broom against the wall and gave me an awkward pat on the back, which I’m sure was meant to comfort, but actually really hurt. “I wish I could tell you more. I don’t live on the property. Maybe the guy next door can tell you something.”
    He wasn’t home but Didi took my phone number and promised to have him call me if he had any more information.
    Okay. I’d kept my promise to Toodie and checked out Glen. The logical thing to do now would be to tell the cops what I know. There was just one problem. While I was thinking of my little detour to Glen’s as a minor delay in disseminating information, they might interpret it as withholding evidence and obstruction of justice.
    If I had called them as soon as Toodie contacted me, they could have sent officers over to Glen’s to check out his place. He may even have still been there. But now any evidence of a crime being committed was washed away by Didi or hauled to the city dump. I could just hear my mother’s voice if she ever