Free No Such Thing as a Secret: A Brandy Alexander Mystery (No Such Thing As...A Brandy Alexander Mystery) by Shelly Fredman Page A

you’ve been watching too many reruns of NYPD Blue,” he growled low in his throat.
    “No, just reading the newspapers.”
    “What about the newspapers?”
    “They’re full of stories about police corruption. It must be very tempting for a cop on a limited income to pick up some extra cash,” I added, pointedly.
    “Is that what you really think of me?” he asked, in a tight, quiet voice.
    “No,” I admitted. “I’m sorry. I’m just…” I shrugged my shoulders, too tired to finish my thought.
    We stood there staring at each other, the silence building to deafening proportions. I wanted to apologize for real, to take back every agonizing innuendo, but Alexander stubbornness reigned supreme and I willed my mouth shut.
    “Look,” he said, finally, blowing breath out of his mouth in a sharp burst of air. “I’ll ask around. I’ll talk to the primary in charge of the investigation, and I’ll take a look at the pictures. But I’m warning you, Brandy, stay out of this. We’re not in high school anymore. There’s more at stake than a week’s worth of detention.”
    “Thank you,” I replied, softly.
    “For what?”
    “For taking me seriously.”
    He relaxed a little, and a glimpse of the old Bobby reappeared. “I’ve always taken you seriously.” The look that accompanied that statement could have populated a small country.
    I blushed and stood up, pushing him towards the door.
    “You throwing me out?”
    “Looks like it.”
    He arched his eyebrows, and I wondered if he knew how seductive that was. I ignored him, along with the skittering in my stomach, as best I could and opened the door.
    “Call me as soon as you know anything. And, um,” I added, almost in a whisper, “I really am sorry about what I said before. I didn’t mean it.”
    Bobby nodded briefly. Message received.
    “Don’t forget what I told you,” he warned. “Let me handle this. I don’t want you getting involved.” He stepped through the threshold and I slammed the door shut behind him. Fat chance .

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    H e must’ve gone straight from my house to the police station, because an hour later the phone rang.
    “It’s Bobby.”
    “What did you find out?” I tried to concentrate on his words and not the longings his voice stirred in me. I sensed a slight hesitation before he answered.
    “Dead end on the photographs. The guy the victim was with checked out. Had an airtight alibi for the time of the murder. Listen, Brandy—”
    “Can I have the pictures?”
    “What?”
    “Can I have the pictures?” Sheesh, I thought that was plain enough.
    “What do you want them for?”
    “I don’t know,” I answered, honestly. “I guess because they were a part of John. Maybe I’ll give him to his friend, Daniel.” Again, I felt the slightest hesitation before he answered.
    “Sure, but it could be awhile before they release them.”
    “I thought they were worthless.”
    “Yeah, well, you know how cop stuff works. I’ll get them to you as soon as I can.”
    “Thanks,” you lying bastard, I added, under my breath.
    “So now that we know that there was nothing incriminating in the photographs, maybe you’re ready to put this whole crazy idea of John being murdered to rest?” It was a question, but it seemed more like an order.
    “Sure, Bobby. And thanks for getting back to me so quickly on this.”
    “Listen, if John’s dad decides to uh, have a memorial service or anything—”
    “I’ll let you know. Thanks again for your help today.” I hung up the phone and sat staring at it for a while. It had been four years since the last time Robert DiCarlo had lied to me. He stunk at it then, and he stunk at it now. The real question was, “Why was he lying?”
    It was eleven p.m. and I had long given up the idea of getting any rest. Maybe I didn’t need sleep. Maybe I was some sort of Sleepless Wonder you find on display at Ripley’s Believe it or Not, on Hollywood Boulevard. School children could come visit