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

made such an asinine gesture.
    I turned and fled before I could do one more embarrassing thing and ran headlong into the glass door. I bounced off the glass and the cannelloni went flying, along with my pocketbook. My cell phone, pepper spray and stun gun sailed through the air as I hit the ground, my head landing with a clunk on the carpet. Then my phone started to ring. “Would you mind getting that?” I crawled to my knees, waving away help from the Maitre D’.
    “Brandy Alexander’s phone,” Nick announced.
    “Who is this?” I could hear the voice on the other end and it was not a happy one.
    Nick turned the phone around and checked the caller I.D. “Detective DiCarlo. What a pleasant surprise. This is Nick Santiago.”
    I scrambled over to the phone and grabbed it out of Nick’s hand. He smiled benignly as I said hello into the receiver.
    “What’s he doing answering your phone?” Bobby hissed. Bobby wasn’t exactly a fan.
    “Long story—and none of your business,” I added. I’d had about as much grief as I could take for one day.
    “None of my business? After what you put me through the other night?”
    “I’m sorry,” I said, on the verge of a major meltdown. “There’s been another—” I hesitated—“development.”
    “Yeah?” His voice softened. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
    “Eventually,” I sighed. “Just not now. Did you ever find out anything conclusive about my car brakes?”
    “No reports of other cars being tampered with,” Bobby said. “No suspicious people spotted in the neighborhood except for that report from Heather, and Snake swears he did a thorough job on the brakes.” Somebody had gone to an awful lot of trouble to silence the wrong person.
    Nick reached out a hand to help me up. It was warm and reassuring and I wanted to hold it forever. His expression was that of mild curiosity, but I knew him well enough not to take it at face value. “When did you start packing heat?” he asked, holding the stun gun in his other hand.
    “What? Oh. Long story.”
    “And none of my business?” he asked, handing me back the gun.
    “It’s really not that interesting.”
    “Try me.”
    I was sorely tempted to unburden the whole sorry mess on Nick, from my sleepless nights to the living nightmare of Tamra’s suicide and the misguided attempts on my life. But something stopped me. And the truth is I had no idea in the world what it was.
    “Come on,” he said, finally, “I’ll take you home.”
    “I don’t need a ride, thanks. I have my car.”
    “And I have your keys.” He held them up for me to see, leaving no room for argument.
    I called Fran the next day to fill her in on everything that had happened—not because I wanted her to worry—I just knew she’d be furious with me if she found out from someone else. Franny thinks that now that she’s pregnant she misses out on all the fun.
    We met at Shorty’s Rib House, the carnivore’s equivalent to Disneyland. She said the baby needed the meat and I felt silly arguing with a six-month-old fetus, so I went along for the ride. I didn’t think my stomach could take another jolt to its system, so I ordered the House Salad—iceberg lettuce with a radish on the side. Yum.
    “So then what happened?” Franny asked, through a mouthful of barbequed beef ribs, bits of which were stuck solidly between her teeth.
    “Nothing. I fell asleep thirty seconds after I got in the car. I can only hope I didn’t snore.”
    “Did he kiss you goodbye?”
    “No! We barely said two words to each other. And that’s another thing. He’s been back in town for God knows how long and he never even called me. I’m telling you, Fran. That night I spent with Nick was a fluke. He is
so
not interested.”
    “Don’t be so sure.” Franny gnawed thoughtfully on a bone. I could see the gears in her keen, analytical mind working overtime.
    “What do you mean?” I asked, trying not to sound too excited and failing