No Such Thing as a Free Lunch (No Such Thing As...: A Brandy Alexander Mystery) (20 page)

Nick had business to attend to. I wasn’t bothered by the fact that he didn’t offer any details as to what kind of business. However, the fact that he added a Kevlar vest underneath his jacket in order to attend to this business bothered me plenty.

He walked me to the door, stopping to retrieve something off the table in the foyer. “You might want to consider hanging on to this for a while,” he said.

I looked down at the .22 caliber pistol he held in his outstretched hand and I shook my head, knowing I’d never use it. “I appreciate the offer, Nick, but I’d probably just end up shooting myself.”

“I could ask Alphonso to keep you company,” he suggested, sticking the gun into the waistband of his pants.

Alphonso babysat me once before. I think he’d rather have brain surgery.

Nick stood against the door post and tugged on the front of my jacket pulling me towards him. Then he leaned into me, slipping a thigh between my legs and covered my mouth with a long, lingering kiss. “I’ll call you as soon as I can arrange a meeting with Mitchell’s ex-pals,” he said. “In the meantime, watch your back.”

I nodded, barely able to breathe.

“And darlin’?”

“Yes?” I whispered, feeling the liquid heat in his eyes.

He shot me a wicked grin. “The next time you come by for a sleepover, take a nap first.”

It was raining as I climbed back into my car. Good thing. I needed to cool off. I hadn’t gone to Nick’s looking for sex. At least I don’t think I did. But walking away without it seemed anti-climatic… no pun intended.

I looked at my watch. Eleven-thirty. I’d have just enough time to sneak back into the house and take a shower before my mother got home from church. With any luck, I’d be gone again before Father V. got there. It’s not that I really have anything against the guy. It’s just that the last time I saw him I was rolling around face down on the pavement outside of Saint Dom’s Church with Bobby DiCarlo’s soon-to-be-ex-wife. It was not my most dignified moment. Plus, I think he was rooting for her.

I found my dad in the kitchen, sharing a plate of Scrapple with the dog. He looked up when I came in and offered me some. Scrapple is supposed to be a true Philadelphia delicacy. Personally I’d rather eat worms.

“Thanks, Dad. You enjoy it.” I sat down at the table and began picking at the eggs on his plate. They were sunny side up and perfectly shaped with no slimy gunk on top. My dad is an excellent cook, but he acts helpless in the kitchen when my mom’s around. That man really loves her.

I tugged his plate a little closer to me. “I could make you some eggs of your own, if you want,” he said, eying his breakfast.

“No, no. This is fine,” I told him, digging in.

After the eggs were gone I went upstairs and showered and changed. As I started back downstairs I heard my brother’s voice in the hallway. He was asking my dad about the Mercedes. Oy. I turned around and tried to sneak back up the steps but I wasn’t fast enough.

Paul stood at the bottom of the staircase looking up at me. He had shaved off the goatee he’d been growing, leaving only the mustache. It was a 1970’s look best suited for actors with stage names like “Dick Longo.”

“Hey, Sis. Where’s my car? I didn’t see it on the street.”

I turned around and headed back down the stairs. “That’s because it’s not out there,” I said, stalling my head off. “I told you I was getting it tuned up.”

“No you didn’t and it was tuned up two months ago.”

“Did I say tuned up? I meant reupholstered.”

“Y-you what?” Paul sputtered, turning a vicious shade of red. “That car has all its original parts!”

“Sheesh! Paulie, I’m joking. I went out after work on Friday with some friends from the station and I left the car there. It’s perfectly safe.”

Paul thought about this for a beat. “Didn’t you say everybody at works hates you?”

“Well, that’s just mean, Paul. Dad, Paul’s picking on me.”

At that moment Adrian came to my rescue by barfing up a chunk of Scrapple. “I’ve got to take him out. I’ll be back in a little bit.” I yanked on my jacket and grabbed Adrian’s leash.

“I’ll come with you,” Paul told me. Obviously he wasn’t buying the whole “Left the car at work” scenario. Note to self: Stop lying.

I opened the front door and a miracle appeared in the form of Heather Koslowski and Mr. Wiggles. Heather’s had a crush on my brother since she was six. Unfortunately for her the feeling isn’t mutual. “Hi Paul,” Heather said, ignoring my dad and me. “I thought I saw your car pull up.”

Mr. Wiggles sat down on the porch, decked out in a tiny trench coat and a water proof beret. He looked mildly embarrassed.

“Hey, Heather,” I said, eying my brother, “Paul and I were just going to take Adrian for a walk. Would you like to join us?”

“Um, actually,” said Paul, “I’m just gonna hang out here and talk to Dad. You go and enjoy yourselves.”

I clipped Adrian to his leash and stepped outside.

It was still raining so I yanked up the hood on my jacket just as a white Toyota Corolla turned the corner onto our block. Instinctively I shrank behind the lamp post, my guts twisting into a leaden mass of paranoia. Maybe it was just my imagination, but I swore the Toyota slowed down fractionally as it passed my house. I tried to see who was behind the wheel but the windows were completely fogged up.
Was someone looking for me?
More likely, they were gawking at Mr. Wiggles who had just taken a major dump on the sidewalk. Still, I wasn’t quite able to dismiss the feeling.

“Are you okay, Bran?” Heather asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Listen, about that mechanic you saw working on my car. You haven’t seen him around here lately, have you?”

Heather stopped walking and put on her thinking face. She is one of those people who finds it difficult to do two things at once. “Nope. Haven’t seen him.”

I was only marginally relieved and it occurred to me that I should be actively looking for the guy instead of trying to avoid him. “Heather,” I said, suddenly recalling something. “Weren’t you an Art Major in high school?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Do you think you might be able to draw a picture of that guy you saw?”

We headed back to Heather’s house. Forty minutes later I walked back out with a sketch of the man she had seen crawling out from underneath the Mercedes. The way I figured it, whoever the guy was, he had to know something about cars to be able to do the kind of damage he had done. Maybe he was a professional mechanic. I knew it was a long shot, but it wouldn’t hurt to show his picture around to local auto shops. Maybe someone would recognize him.

My cell phone was ringing when I walked back into my house. I ran to grab it, leaving Adrian to drip dry in the hallway.

“Yo.” It was Bobby.

“Yo.” I wasn’t sure where we stood after last night. On the one hand he’d been pretty pissed off that I’d been keeping things from him. On the other hand, he should be used to it by now. “What’s up?” I asked.

“I booked a slot for you at the shooting range for this afternoon. Are you free?”

I didn’t know how I felt about spending the afternoon with Bobby, especially on the heels of spending the night with Nick. My feelings were all mixed up and I needed time to sort them out. “I don’t think I can make it, Bobby. I’m supposed to have lunch with my parents and Father Vincenzio.”

The front door opened and in walked my mother, followed by our parish priest. He greeted me with a curt nod. “Brandy. We missed you at church this morning.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, Father. It couldn’t be helped.”

His eyes settled on me and I looked down at my shoes. “Your mother tells me that you were working. Will I be seeing you at confession any time soon?” he added and I swear he was smirking.
Well, of all the nerve! Implying that I would lie to my own mother. I was just going to have to do a better job of it in the future.

I turned back to the phone. “What’s that? There’s another crisis down at the office and you need me immediately? I’ll be right there!”

Bobby nearly busted a gut laughing. “If there is a hell, you’re going straight to it, Alexander.”

“Shut-uh-up.”

My mother’s jaw dropped open. “That is no way to speak to your boss, young lady.”

“I guess I should have asked you this before you picked up a loaded pistol, but are you still mad at me?”

Bobby hadn’t said much on the way over to the shooting range. He’d been up half the night dumpster diving for evidence and his nerves were pretty well shot. The corpse those kids had found last night turned out to be a fifteen year old hooker who’d been beaten and strangled before getting tossed head first into a six foot pile of garbage.

I could read Bobby well enough to know he was sick to his stomach over this case. And since he couldn’t do anything to change what had happened to that girl, he was going to make damn sure nothing happened to me.

Bobby picked up some ear protectors and a pair of goggles and handed them to me.

“Do I seem mad?” he asked.

“Yeah.
A little bit
.”

“Maybe you’re just feeling guilty,” he said.

I opened my mouth all set to deny having anything to feel guilty about, but we both knew that wasn’t true. I’d withheld important information from him. It was stupid and maybe I even regretted it. But I wasn’t in the mood to listen to another lecture on all of my flaws. I stuck the goggles over my eyes and picked up a gun. “I’m never going to use this, but show me what to do anyway.”

I started out with a .22 and worked my way up to a .45. I put one hand over the other and squeezed off a couple rounds. The recoil on the larger gun was so strong it felt like my arms would pop right out of their sockets.

“Good,” Bobby said. “Now try it with your eyes
open
.”

“I glared at him. “Very funny.”

“Imagine that. And I wasn’t even trying to be. Keep your eyes open,” he reiterated. “You’ve got a lethal weapon in your hands.”

The place was empty except for two nineteen year old rookies at the other end of the room who kept shouting “freeze muthafucka” just before they’d pull the trigger. By the time they were finished, I understood why some animal mothers eat their young.

Bobby was a lot more relaxed on the ride home. Spending an hour shooting the crotches out of paper bad guys seemed to be just what he needed. He pulled up in front of my house and turned off the engine. “You did good today,” he said.

“Thanks.” I was never going to be Annie Oakley, but at least now I wouldn’t run screaming from the room at the mere sight of a gun.

I wanted to ask Bobby a question, but now that we were back on an even keel, I didn’t want to stir things up again. However that little voice inside me had different ideas. “So,” I ventured, “are you going to do anything about that note I got the other night?”

“It’s already at the lab. If there are any decent prints maybe a match will show up in the database.”

“I really don’t think we’re dealing with a hardened criminal here, Bobby. It felt more like the guy was just out to deliver the message and I got in the way.”

“Yeah? What makes you think that?”
Hmm. He’s not mad. He’s listening. I’m starting to see where working out with a semi-automatic might be considered therapeutic.

I leaned back against the door, making myself comfortable. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. I surprised him and he reacted. If the guy had wanted me dead, I would be. Besides, what would be the purpose of leaving me a note if he was trying to kill me?

“And anyway, the message seemed too benign. Too vague. Like the person wasn’t used to playing the tough guy role and hadn’t fully thought out the plan. I honestly think whoever wrote it is in a whole different league than the guys who kidnapped me or the one who got his finger torn off when he broke into my car and tried to strangle me—”

Bobby cut me off, his voice deadly calm. “What did you say?”

Oh shit. I forgot he didn’t know about the finger. I was going to have to get file folders to keep all my lies and secrets straight.

“Where’s the finger now?” he asked when I finished filling him in. To his credit, he didn’t blow up, although the little vein in his temple was throbbing in triple time.

“It’s in Nick’s mini fridge at his office.”

The mention of Santiago’s name didn’t do much to improve Bobby’s mood. “Get it for me,” he said through gritted teeth. “If the tip of the finger is intact we might be able to come up with a name to go with it. Is there anything else I should know about, while you’re at it?” he added.

“Only that Heather sketched a picture of the guy who screwed with my brakes. I figured I’d take it around to local mechanics to see if anyone recognizes him.”

“Good idea,” he said begrudgingly. “Get me a copy. In fact—” He stopped mid thought.

“What?”

“Nothin’. I was gonna say let the cops handle it from here, but I’d just be wasting my breath, wouldn’t I?”

“Pretty much,” I admitted. “But I swear I’m just going to ask around. I’m not going to get involved with anything dangerous.”

“Speaking of dangerous,” Bobby said, “what’s going on between you and Santiago?”

His voice was neutral, but there was no mistaking the implication behind his words. My antennae shot up. “Uh, where did that come from?”

Bobby shrugged. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with him and I want to know what his intentions are.”

“You want to know what his
intentions
are? What are you, my father? No, make that my
grandfather
.”

“I’m serious here, Brandy. I have a right to know what’s going on.”

Hey, where did he get off deciding on the company I keep? Did I go marching over to his house, demanding full disclosure on his “intentions” regarding Tina Delvechione?
Okay, so maybe my righteous indignation was fueled by the fact that I was as much in the dark about Nick’s intentions as Bobby was. I know Nick said that he couldn’t offer me anything beyond friendship and an occasional roll in the sack, but he made me feel special in ways I couldn’t even begin to explain. So I’d be hard pressed to explain it to anybody else.

“Look, Bobby. Nick and I are friends. But if there
was
anything going on beyond that, well, I’d say that’s between Nick and me. You got a problem with that?”