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

got wind of this: “I’m very disappointed in you, Brandy Renee.” Well, mom, I’m very disappointed in me too. I really screwed up.
    Maybe if I could somehow locate Glen, I’d be able to go to the police with something substantial. Toodie had given me a fairly detailed description of the guy—about 5’9”, one hundred and thirty- five pounds, with a shaved head and a tattoo of a naked woman on his right forearm. I mean how hard could it be to find a methadrine-lovin,’ tattooed skinhead psychopath in the city of brotherly love? There’s one on every street corner. The trick was finding the right one.
    I took a quick cruise around the neighborhood before I headed home. I don’t know what I expected to find. Maybe Glen lurking in a dumpster but life is rarely so accommodating.
    I’d made some fliers about a lost dog and stuck them up haphazardly along Frankford Avenue. The thing is, I really liked the little guy and I wasn’t too anxious to find its rightful owner. But as John pointed out, what if it belongs to a lonely old lady, or some kid who cries himself to sleep every night wondering if his dog will ever come home. I’d lived in L.A. too long not to worry at least a little about Karma.
    It was Open Mic night at Paul’s club and the place was packed. Someone started a rumor (okay, it was me) that Keanu Reeves’ band was playing there, and all the locals flocked to the place to see a bonafide celebrity. I even got a little excited before I remembered I was the one who’d started the rumor.
    “Bran,” Paul said, rubbing his goatee in a gesture of frustration, “I know you’re just trying to help me out here, but do me a favor and be a little less helpful.”
    “Ya know,” I said, ignoring him, “I have some really good ideas for the club, Paul. For instance, Karaoke is very popular in L.A., and maybe we could put in an oyster bar and strobe lights over the dance floor and—”
    “Bran, you’re still looking for a real job, right?”
    “Oh, Paulie, if you’re worried that I’m going to leave you in the lurch, you can stop right now. You know I wouldn’t do that to you.”
    “You could, though. Honest. But in the mean time, do you think you could deliver these drinks to table six?”
    “Yeah, sure. But just think about those strobe lights, okay?”
    I got home a little after two a.m. and fell into bed exhausted, too tired even to worry about Toodie.
    A light snow had fallen during the night, blanketing the street with a pure white powder. I looked out my bedroom window and there was Mrs. Gentile, outside in her housecoat, sweeping the snow from her steps. Nature wasn’t going to have one up on her, not if she could help it.
    I turned from the window and a moment later was struck by a loud grunting sound, followed by some creative Italian cursing. I looked out again and there she was, butt on the pavement, calling for help. I was tempted to ignore her, but I couldn’t just leave her there with her scrawny legs flailing about in the cold, winter air. I yanked open my window and called down to her. “Are you okay, Mrs. Gentile?”
    “Do I look okay?”
    She didn’t, but I had high hopes.
    “Come down here and help me up.”
    I sighed and silently prayed she hadn’t broken anything, so that I’d have to cart her off to the emergency room.
    Thankfully, she was just a little banged up, nothing life threatening. I helped her into her house and eased her down into a chair. Wow, she’d been our neighbor for over twenty-five years and I’d never stepped foot inside her home. It smelled like cat pee, although to my knowledge she doesn’t have a cat.
    “Can I get you anything before I go?” I was trying to be gracious but it was hard, seeing as the last time we conversed she informed me that I was going to “burn in hell” for sins both real and imagined.
    “A little broth would be nice. There’s some on the stove.”
    I followed the cat pee smell into the kitchen. Mystery solved.
    After