No Such Thing As a Good Blind Date: A Brandy Alexander Mystery (No Such Thing As: A Brandy Alexander Mystery) by Shelly Fredman
Authors: Shelly Fredman
Tags: Romance, Mystery, series, sexy, female sleuth, Murder, Philadelphia, Plum, Evanovich, Brandy Alexander, Shelly Fredman, laugh out loud funny
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I called out lamely. Either the bar was filled with deaf mutes or they were acting that way exclusively for my benefit. Oh fine. I hopped off the bar stool and headed for the door.
“Sounds like you’re looking for Glen Davis.”
I turned to see who had spoken. It was a woman about my age, wearing a hooded sweatshirt with the words, “Boys are stupid. Throw rocks at them” on the front.
“Mean spirited little bastard. He gave me this.” She turned her cheek to the light. A four-inch scar ran the length of it. Wow.
“Any idea where I might find him?” I gulped.
“You sure you want to?” No, not sure at all.
“It’s kind of important.”
She cast an eye around the room. No one seemed particularly interested in our conversation, but her caution made me real jittery.
“Look,” I said, digging into my bag for a pen and scratch paper, “if you think of anything, would you mind giving me a call?” I quickly scribbled my name and number on the paper.
She took the paper and stuck it in the pocket of her sweatshirt. “You might try his brother. He works at Dino’s MasterCarb. Turk Davis.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me, honey. I didn’t do you any favors.”
Okay! I have a lead on Glen and there’s parking right in front of my house. Life is good. I hopped out of the car and ran up the steps. It was 3:30 p.m., and I had just enough time to shower and change before heading over to Paul’s for the evening shift.
As soon as I walked through the door I knew something was wrong. The foyer smelled like cheap tobacco. I did a quick scan of the living room. Where was the dog? He usually greeted me the minute I came home. I took a few steps inside and found him cowering under the couch. On the floor I found the bottom half of a gingerbread man tree ornament I’d made in the third grade. The rest, I assume was his mid morning snack. No wonder this dog is constipated.
I bent down to pet him, but he whimpered and receded further under the couch. I was about to crawl on all fours to coax him out of his hiding place, when I caught a shadow of movement out of the corner of my eye. Oh shit. Company.
Panic surged through me, making me dizzy with fear. Okay, maybe if I act like nothing’s wrong and just slowly make my way to the front door —Instantly, a hard body slammed into me, knocking me to my knees. Blindly, I reached out and caught the guy by his ankles. He smashed into the end table, knocking over a lamp. I scrambled to my feet but he was quicker. He shoved me sideways, sending me spiraling onto the couch.
The dog went nuts, barking and snapping. He latched onto the guy’s pant leg and chomped down. The intruder howled in pain and made a grab for him, but I launched myself off the couch and lunged for the guy. With a violent twist he shook me off him and jammed out the door. My first instincts were to bolt out of the house and chase the bastard down. I decided to go with my second instincts instead and locked the door behind him.
I slumped down onto the floor as the adrenaline slowly seeped out of me. The dog came over and began licking my face, offering his brand of canine comfort. I buried my face in his soft fur and then wobbled to the kitchen and dialed the police.
Officer Mike Mahoe was the first to arrive on the scene. Mike is a big, beautiful, golden-skinned transplanted Hawaiian. We met here last month, after Marie’s brother tried to kill me.
“If you’re looking to set some kind of neighborhood record for ‘most bizarre happenings in a single family residence’, so far, you’re winning.” I know he was just trying to put me at ease, but I wasn’t quite ready to laugh about the situation.
Mike set to work gathering evidence while I gave his partner a description of the man who broke into my house. “He’s a white guy, medium height, with a stocky build and wearing a drab olive green army jacket. He’s got a shaved head and a round face with a wide, flat nose.”
The officer
“Sounds like you’re looking for Glen Davis.”
I turned to see who had spoken. It was a woman about my age, wearing a hooded sweatshirt with the words, “Boys are stupid. Throw rocks at them” on the front.
“Mean spirited little bastard. He gave me this.” She turned her cheek to the light. A four-inch scar ran the length of it. Wow.
“Any idea where I might find him?” I gulped.
“You sure you want to?” No, not sure at all.
“It’s kind of important.”
She cast an eye around the room. No one seemed particularly interested in our conversation, but her caution made me real jittery.
“Look,” I said, digging into my bag for a pen and scratch paper, “if you think of anything, would you mind giving me a call?” I quickly scribbled my name and number on the paper.
She took the paper and stuck it in the pocket of her sweatshirt. “You might try his brother. He works at Dino’s MasterCarb. Turk Davis.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me, honey. I didn’t do you any favors.”
Okay! I have a lead on Glen and there’s parking right in front of my house. Life is good. I hopped out of the car and ran up the steps. It was 3:30 p.m., and I had just enough time to shower and change before heading over to Paul’s for the evening shift.
As soon as I walked through the door I knew something was wrong. The foyer smelled like cheap tobacco. I did a quick scan of the living room. Where was the dog? He usually greeted me the minute I came home. I took a few steps inside and found him cowering under the couch. On the floor I found the bottom half of a gingerbread man tree ornament I’d made in the third grade. The rest, I assume was his mid morning snack. No wonder this dog is constipated.
I bent down to pet him, but he whimpered and receded further under the couch. I was about to crawl on all fours to coax him out of his hiding place, when I caught a shadow of movement out of the corner of my eye. Oh shit. Company.
Panic surged through me, making me dizzy with fear. Okay, maybe if I act like nothing’s wrong and just slowly make my way to the front door —Instantly, a hard body slammed into me, knocking me to my knees. Blindly, I reached out and caught the guy by his ankles. He smashed into the end table, knocking over a lamp. I scrambled to my feet but he was quicker. He shoved me sideways, sending me spiraling onto the couch.
The dog went nuts, barking and snapping. He latched onto the guy’s pant leg and chomped down. The intruder howled in pain and made a grab for him, but I launched myself off the couch and lunged for the guy. With a violent twist he shook me off him and jammed out the door. My first instincts were to bolt out of the house and chase the bastard down. I decided to go with my second instincts instead and locked the door behind him.
I slumped down onto the floor as the adrenaline slowly seeped out of me. The dog came over and began licking my face, offering his brand of canine comfort. I buried my face in his soft fur and then wobbled to the kitchen and dialed the police.
Officer Mike Mahoe was the first to arrive on the scene. Mike is a big, beautiful, golden-skinned transplanted Hawaiian. We met here last month, after Marie’s brother tried to kill me.
“If you’re looking to set some kind of neighborhood record for ‘most bizarre happenings in a single family residence’, so far, you’re winning.” I know he was just trying to put me at ease, but I wasn’t quite ready to laugh about the situation.
Mike set to work gathering evidence while I gave his partner a description of the man who broke into my house. “He’s a white guy, medium height, with a stocky build and wearing a drab olive green army jacket. He’s got a shaved head and a round face with a wide, flat nose.”
The officer
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