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 B

delivering Mrs. Gentile her broth, I propped her legs up on the ottoman and made a half-hearted offer for her to call me, should she need anything. I then made a hasty retreat to my house. Two minutes later the phone rang. Oh crap. I must not have wiped my feet when I walked on her rug and now she wants me to shampoo her carpet.
    “Hello?”
    “Hi,” said a pleasant sounding male voice. “I’m calling about the lost dog. I think it’s mine.”
    My heart sank. “Oh, well, do you mind describing him for me?”
    “No, sure. He’s light brown, mixed breed, shaggy—”
    “I’m sorry, but anyone would know that. I wrote it on the flier. Could you tell me something special about him? Something only the owner would know?”
    The voice on the other end hesitated a beat. “His favorite color is green.”
    I didn’t want to laugh, but it was funny. “I’m sorry. I just want to make sure I give him back to his rightful owner.”
    “Sounds like he’s won you over.”
    “He has,” I admitted. “What’s his name, anyway?”
    “Fluffy.”
    “Fluffy?”
    “My niece named him. Personally, I would’ve gone with something more macho, like Brutus…or Buttercup.”
    I laughed again.
    “I’m Keith, by the way.”
    “I’m Brandy.”
    “Brandy. That’s an unusual name and yet it seems like I just heard it recently.” There was a slight pause while Keith tried to remember that he saw me on the evening news, courtesy of Barry Kaminski’s “on the scene” reporting. “Hey,” he said, the light dawning, “you wouldn’t by any chance be the woman who found the dead body in her basement, would you?”
    If he’d had a hopeful note in his voice I would have slammed the phone down in his ear, but he sounded properly sympathetic so I confessed.
    “As luck would have it, I am. So, how’d you lose your dog?” I asked, signaling an end to that part of the conversation.
    Turns out, Keith is a lawyer who has a client near the 2200 block of Frankford Avenue. He took Fluffy with him to drop some papers off at the client’s house, and the woman’s young son accidentally let the dog out the front gate.
    “I’ve been really worried about him. He’s got some stomach problems.”
    “Yeah, I noticed. He’s been constipated for a few days. I was going to run him over to the vet’s.”
    “He’s on special medication and it’s important that I get him back on his regimen as soon as possible. I was wondering when I could pick him up.”
    I wasn’t too anxious to have a stranger show up at my door—not after everything that’s happened.
    “Why don’t we meet somewhere?”
    “Great idea. Listen,” he said, “you’ve been so nice, taking care of Fluffy for me. How about we meet at La Boheme at Penn’s Landing? My office is half a block from there. I can drop the dog off and then take you to lunch.”
    “Oh, that’s really not necessary.”
    “No, I’d really like to.”
    I did a quick inventory. Keith’s a lawyer with a good sense of humor, who’s nice to his niece and loves his dog. I thought about the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that awaited me and made a snap decision. “Sure,” I said. “Sounds great.”
    By our bits of conversation I surmised that Keith was in his mid thirties, never been married—could be gay, but when I ran it by John he said it was unlikely.
    “La Boheme is a definite ‘date’ restaurant. If he just wanted to thank you he’d take you to Sal’s on Broad Street. He’s trying to impress you, Sunshine.”
    Now that I thought back on it, Keith could have been flirting with me. “But I don’t even know this guy, John,” I pointed out. “What if he turns out to be a weirdo?”
    “Well, I could eat lunch there too in case you need some back up. I’m trained in the martial arts, you know. I’ve been taking Tai Chi.”
    “Isn’t Tai Chi those syncopated stretching exercises that old people do in the park?”
    “It’s very muscle strengthening.” He sounded offended so