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

me and point. I was really losing it. Bobby’s visit had left me feeling confused, angry and frustrated. His phone call only served to exacerbate those feelings.
    An overwhelming sadness settled in my heart and refused to budge. I knew I should call Johnny’s dad, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I vowed to call him first thing in the morning. Who knows, maybe overnight Johnny would reappear, refreshed and invigorated after his five-mile swim back to shore. Then I wouldn’t have to call his father. Goddamn it, Johnny, how could this happen?
    My mother called me at eight, asking me the same thing. She’d seen it on the news along with footage of the burning boat.
    “Mom, I don’t have any answers for you. I just don’t know.”
    “I’m sorry, sweetheart. That boy was like a brother to you—speaking of which, is Paulie there with you?”
    “No, Mom. He’s at the club.” Life goes on.
    “Do you really think you should be alone?”
    “I’m fine ,” I said, barely containing the exasperation in my voice. She’s just trying to be helpful, I reminded myself.
    “Do you want me to fly home? Your father would be okay alone for a few days.”
    “No!” I said, a little too vehemently. “It’s just that, you know—”
    “I know,” said my mother. “You like to weather these storms alone.”
    “Listen, Mom,” but she was already off in another direction.
    “You’ll never guess who I saw at the airport this afternoon, while I was picking up your Great Aunt Rose.”
    “Who?” I asked, knowing she’d make me guess anyway.
    “Go on, see if you can guess. You’ll never guess.”
    Oh Jeez. “Jack Baumgarten.”
    “Who?”
    You know, Jack Baumgarten, our old neighbor.”
    “Brandy, don’t be ridiculous. The man has been dead for twelve years.”
    “Oh. I give up. Who?”
    “Bobby DiCarlo’s wife and their precious little girl.” My heart stopped.
    “Brandy?”
    “Yes?”
    “Good, you’re still there. Anyway, I called out to her—what’s her name again? Something Puerto Rican, I can never remember, but she didn’t stop to talk. She had luggage so I guess she was in a hurry to catch a plane. Between you and me,” she added in a whisper, just to make sure Bobby’s wife, “what’s her name” didn’t hear, “she’s not the friendliest.”
    My mother’s musings were starting to give me a headache. I clicked the receiver, twice. “Mom, it’s ‘call waiting’. I’m expecting an important call from L.A.”
    “Sweetheart—”
    “Sorry, Mom, I’ve got to take this. I’ll call you tomorrow.” I threw kissy noises her way and hung up the phone.
    It was only after I’d replaced the receiver that I remembered that my parents don’t have call waiting and she probably knew that. Oh well, I had bigger things to worry about. Like what was Bobby’s wife doing in Florida? Does she have relatives there? Was she on her way home? Is that where they went on vacation, and why didn’t she come home with Bobby? Did she get on the phone with him and say, “Guess who I saw at the airport today? That girl you used to date’s pushy mother. She said hello to me. Of all the nerve!” Yeah, I’m sure that’s just what happened, because everyone’s life always revolves around me. Note to self: Work on being less egocentric.
    “Janine, it’s Brandy. Can you talk?” In the background I heard the steady clatter of dishes.
    “No problem. Hey, Chrissy, take this plate over to the guy in the mohair sweater, will ya? And watch it, he bites.” Turning back to the phone she said, “Bran, I’m sick about Johnny. And Fran’s really worried about you. Have you called her?”
    “Not yet. I want to, but I just can’t yet.”
    “I understand.” Franny and Janine look identical, and they’re both tough as nails, but that’s where the resemblance ends. Franny’s a big “psychology” fan, and she always wants people to talk about their feelings. Frankly, that’s not my strong point, even on a