No Such Thing as a Free Lunch (No Such Thing As...: A Brandy Alexander Mystery) (12 page)

Boy, Craig sure was in love with that cat. When did he get to know her so well?
I decided to ask him.

“Tamra used to send me to her house sometimes to pick up papers and stuff she forgot to bring to work,” he explained.

“Oh. Would Jeff let you into the house?”

“No. He was never there. Tamra gave me the key.”

So, Craig had a key, which pretty much gave him carte blanche to enter Rhineholt’s house whenever he felt like it. Oh wow… maybe Craig killed Tamra… and then he set up Jeff to take the rap so that he could… gain custody of Mittens? Hmm… this may need some re-thinking.

“Craig,” I said, moving on, “Tamra was working on a big story before she died, but Eric didn’t know anything about it. Did she ever mention anything to you?”

“Why do you want to know?” Craig’s voice took on a hint of agitation. His eyes shifted to the floor.

“I’m just—curious.”

“Tamra didn’t confide in me. I just ran errands for her, that’s all. I—I’ve got to get back to work.” He slid off the desk and stood up, carefully avoiding eye contact with me. “Thanks for taking care of Tamra’s things for me. She was a nice person. She didn’t deserve to die.”

I spent my lunch break packing up Tamra’s desk and going over her computer files. I worked uninterrupted, seeing as the gang took Wendy out for tamales. (They all snuck out while I was in the bathroom.) There was nothing in the files on Harmon. I wasn’t surprised. Tamra was too professional to spend company time on a freelance story. What
was
surprising was Craig’s abrupt reaction when I brought up the Harmon case. My question definitely hit a nerve.

Heather called, so I left early and drove over to the Department of Records to pick up the court transcripts. I could have asked Bobby or Vince to get them for me, but that would have meant admitting that I was going to pursue the story, and I wasn’t ready for the lecture that would inevitably follow. Eric had enough faith in me to put me on this assignment—alright, Eric thinks with his dick and was trying to get into my pants—but the fact remains, he gave me a chance and I was not about to turn it down.

It was after 3:00 p.m. and I hadn’t eaten lunch yet, so I stopped by Dunkin’ Donuts for some coffee and an Old Fashioned. I took a seat by the window, pulled out the heavy manila envelop that Heather had given me and began to read. “The State VS David Dwayne Harmon.”

A minute later I had the uneasy feeling that someone was watching over me. Fighting panic, I slowly raised my head, silently chanting my new mantra. “There’s no one there. It’s just my imagination. There’s no-one—Aahhh!”

A light tap on my shoulder sent me flying backwards against the window. I hit my head on the glass and knocked over the coffee, splashing waves of wet heat onto my lap.

I looked up to see Alphonso Jackson grinning down at me, his dark eyes obscured by his ever-present sunglasses. Eyeing the wet spot between my legs he said, “I figured you’d be excited to see me, but I had no idea you’d be
that
excited.”

I blushed. Actually, I
was
that excited. Alphonso works for Nick. I don’t know what his official job title is. Alphonso is a man of many talents—some of them even legal, I think.

“How’re ya doin,’ sweetcakes?” He pulled out a chair and slung his leg over it, making himself comfortable.

“Great,” I lied.

Alphonso cut me a long look. “You tell a lie long enough, you start to believe it.”

“Well, what’s
that
supposed to mean?” I huffed.

“No offense, but you look like you’ve spent the last month in a crypt.”

Before I could think of a snappy comeback, he stretched out a muscular arm and plucked the transcripts from my hand.

“Hey, give those back to me.” I tugged at the papers, but it was like a Chihuahua wrestling a pit-bull.

David Dwayne Harmon,” he read. “That dude is seriously bad news.”

“You sound like you know him.”

“Knew him. He was one of those guys made his presence known, y’know what I mean?”

I nodded. Having read the articles on him, I knew only too well.

“What’s your interest in him, if you don’t mind my asking?”

It’s funny. I’d been warned about Nicholas Santiago since the day I met him, and not without good cause. But except for the fact that he’s bound to break my heart, I have absolute trust in him. By extension, I trust the people he trusts. And Nick trusts Alphonso.

I gave him the Readers’ Digest version of Tamra’s questionable suicide and my suspicion that her death might be tied into a case she was working on. “I haven’t ruled out her husband, either,” I added. “Then there’s this mystery guy named Richard.” I took a large gulp of coffee. “I’m just getting started and I can use all the help I can get, so if you know anything, now would be a good time to jump in.”

Alphonso stared at me for a minute. At least I think he was staring at me. It was hard to tell with the sunglasses. “When was the last time you slept?” he asked, finally.

Six weeks ago, wrapped in Nick’s arms.
“Alphonso, I’m
fine
. But I do need to get to work on this, so if you don’t have any useful information—” I finished the rest of the coffee and stood up. He grabbed my arm and pulled me back down.

“What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “I haven’t read the transcripts yet.”

My cell phone rang and I checked the caller I.D. Janine. I figured I’d ignore it, but when she called back fifteen seconds later I answered, mouthing “one sec” to Alphonso. While he waited, he entertained himself by finishing off my doughnut.

“Yo, Neenie, I’m kinda in the middle of something—”

She cut me off with the promise of some major gossip. “You’re going to want to hear this, Bran. I ran into Tina Delvechione at the Reading Terminal today and she said she’s making dinner for Bobby and his little girl.”

“Get out!”

“Wait, there’s more. She also said that now that Bobby’s available she’s gonna make a play for him like she should’ve done in high school.”

“That slut!”

“And that’s not all. She also said she’s going to the bar mitzvah with Bobby.”

“DiCarlo asked her out?”

“No, Bran, listen—”

“I’ve gotta go.” I snapped the cell phone shut. It rang again immediately, but I didn’t pick up.

“So, Alphonso,” I said, as my cell went to voice mail, “What are you doing next Saturday night?”

Oh my God. What was I thinking? I just asked Gangsta Rap’s original poster boy to be my date for my brother’s bar mitzvah. Oh man, I can just see it now. The usher walks him to his seat, hands him a yarmulke and says, “Sir, would you like me to check your Uzi at the door?”

Okay, so I panicked. I just couldn’t go dateless. Not with Bobby bringing Tina! On the upside, Bobby would be so busy checking Alphonso’s rap sheet he wouldn’t have time to get it on with Tina. And who knows—maybe Alphonso and Tina will hit it off. I guess I was getting a little ahead of myself. The truth is Alphonso never even gave me an answer. He was too busy laughing.

I decided to make a quick run to the Acme before I headed home. My parents would be here any day now, and all I had in the house to eat was a bag of coconut flakes for those Christmas cookies I never got around to baking because I ate all the raw cookie dough.

As I cruised down Broad Street, I thought about Alphonso’s parting words.
“Call Santiago. He knows everything that happens on the street. I’m sure he can get you the information you need.”

I was sure he could too. So why was I so reluctant to call him?

“Because he hasn’t called you,”
said a little voice inside my head.

“Pride goeth before a fall,” chirped a new little voice.

“Oh shut up,” replied the first one. “If she calls him she’ll look desperate.”

“If she calls him, she’ll get the help she needs with her investigation. And maybe find true love!”

“Yeah, right,” I said, jumping into the fray, “like that’s gonna happen. Look, you guys, I know Nick cares for me, but he’s made it clear that he’s not looking for emotional attachments. I don’t know if he’s capable of loving anyone.”

Okay, it’s one thing to talk this through with my dog and cat. They only want the best for me. But having a three-way conversation with imaginary people is just plain silly—not to mention a little frightening.

When I got home I made a quick dinner of tomato soup and Ritz crackers and then I settled in on the couch with the box of stuff I’d taken off Tamra’s desk. Earlier in the day I’d pocketed a small notebook I’d found stuck between the pages of an old
U.S.A. Today
that was stuffed in the back of her drawer. I took it out and thumbed through it.

Most of the pages had been torn out. The remaining few were filled with scribbled notes. Two in particular stood out—
“background check on A.B. Mitchell. Where is he now?”
and
“Call K. Morgan to confirm appt.”
Tamra had doodled Laura Stewart’s name right next to it, with circles and arrows pointing to the phone number. The appointment was set for two days ago, an appointment she never got to keep.

A.B. Mitchell sounded familiar.
“Anthony,”
I remembered.
Anthony “Boner” Mitchell.
He was mentioned in one of the old newspaper articles I’d read about the trial. Mitchell was a friend of Harmon’s who’d testified that Harmon bragged to him about murdering Laura. It was Mitchell’s testimony that sealed the deal for the prosecution. Apparently, Tamra had been looking for him. I wondered if she found him.

K. Morgan didn’t ring any bells, so I picked up the phone and dialed the number in the notebook. A machine picked up. The voice was female, young, around my age. “This is Kylie. Please leave a message.” I left my name and number and said I was a colleague of Tamra’s and I asked her to call me. I still had the phone in my hand when it rang again.

“Yo.” It was Bobby. I was dying to ask him about Tina, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking I was jealous, which I most certainly was not!

“Hey.” I said. “I was going to call you. Vince told me what you did. Thanks for putting pressure on the Jersey police. I heard on the news they’re doing an autopsy.”

“Yeah, it only made sense. And now that they’re involved, you can finally back off.”

“Yeah,” I lied.

“Listen, I thought I’d come over.”

Panic washed over me like a tidal wave over the Titanic. “Here? Now? Why?”

I still hadn’t processed last night’s game of tonsil hockey and to tell the truth, I was scared to be alone with him. Franny was right. I had some unresolved issues with Bobby, but this was no time to resolve them. It was much too soon. Only I didn’t think common sense was any match for the hormonal surge I felt at the moment.

“I just want to see you,” he said, smelling my fear and pouncing on it. “Do I need a reason?”

“Um, now isn’t a good time. I’m, uh, I’m having a party. The gang from work’s here—Hey, buddy,” I yelled across an empty living room, “use a coaster. That’s what they’re there for. Listen Bobby, I’ve gotta go. Juan’s making Margaritas.” I hung up the phone and the doorbell rang.

I stood on tiptoe and peeked through the spy hole. Bobby grinned back at me.

I sighed. “Go away.”

His grin got wider. “Ah, come on, let me in. Please?” Now the dimples were showing and I knew I was toast. I opened the door.

Rocky ran up to Bobby and began sniffing his shoe. He scooped her up in his arms and petted her with strong, sure hands. She purred with deep contentment.
Shit. I’m jealous of my cat.

“Shouldn’t you be home with Sophia?” I asked.

“I had the day off and we spent the whole day together. She’s over at Fran and Eddie’s for the night. They wanted to see what they’re in for when their kid shows up.”

He put Rocky down and unzipped his leather jacket and extracted a small bouquet of wild flowers. He handed them to me.

“What’s with the flowers?” I asked.

“I’m wooing you.”

“You’re
‘wooing’
me?” I went into the kitchen to find an empty spaghetti sauce jar to put them in.

“Yeah,” he said, following me. “How am I doin’?”

“What makes you think I want to be wooed?”

I filled the jar with water and stuck the flowers in it. Then I picked it up and carried it back into the living room. I was about to set it down on the coffee table when Bobby came up behind me and worked his hands around my waist.

“Oh, you want to be wooed all right,” he said, nuzzling my neck.

“Get away,” I breathed. “I have work to do.”

He continued to nuzzle, brushing soft lips against my skin. “You like this.”

“I do not.”

“Then why are your nipples getting hard?”

“Shut up. They are not!”
Oh God, they are!
“Bobby—”

“Shh.” He gently turned me around and pulled the jar out of my hands, setting it on the table. Then he lowered his head and lifted my chin until our mouths were a hair’s breath apart.

“Listen,” I croaked, struggling to be the voice of reason, “I don’t think—”

“Good idea,” he whispered. “Don’t think.” And his mouth came crashing down on mine.
Oh boy!

W
e were just getting warmed up when the phone rang again.
Damnit.

“Don’t answer it,” Bobby grunted.

We’d moved to the couch, displacing Rocky and Adrian, who had been curled up together on top of the afghan. Bobby flopped down on the cushions, pulling me along with him until we were lying side by side. At the moment he had his hand under my shirt and was making a one-handed attempt to unfasten my bra. I wasn’t about to stop him, but I wasn’t going to help him either. That way, when I recounted it later for Fran and Janine I could claim at least partial innocence.

The phone kept on ringing, and I was about to throw it against the wall when I remembered about Kylie. “I’ve got to get this,” I groaned. “It might be work.” I pushed against Bobby’s chest and rolled him off the couch. He sprawled on the floor, eyes closed, breathing deeply, his lips moving in a silent count to ten. It took every ounce of strength I had to keep from joining him on the floor.