No Such Thing as a Secret: A Brandy Alexander Mystery (No Such Thing As...A Brandy Alexander Mystery) (9 page)

“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 good day. Right now I needed some practical help, from someone as impulsive as I was. Enter Janine.

“Listen, I know you just started your shift and all, but do you think you can get out of work, tonight? I have to talk to you about something, and it can’t wait.”
It
could wait.
I
couldn’t.

“Why don’t you come down to the diner?”

“Well, this is more of a-a mission, of sorts.”

“You’re being awfully mysterious, Brandy.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll explain it all when I see you.” I had no doubt that Janine would be there.

Thirty minutes later, there was a knock on my door. Janine stood on the steps, breathless, as if she had run all the way from work. She was still in her uniform, a pink nightmare complete with nametag. The nametag said “Madge.”

“Who’s Madge?” I asked.

“My alter ego.” She came in and sat down on the couch, not bothering to remove her jacket.

“How’d you get out of work?” I asked.

“I quit.” She shrugged. “
What?
It’s not like they’re gonna miss me. I was a really shitty waitress.”

For about a year now Janine has been on a quest to find the perfect job. So far, she’s tried her hand at Hansom Cab driver, meat packer and Mary Kay sales representative. She says if nothing else, at least she’ll be well rounded.

“Okay,” she started, “How are we going to play this? Are we talking about John or not?” I shook my head, loving her. “Hmm, Fran would say you’re in denial.”

“That’s why I invited you to this party instead of Franny.”

“What’s up?”

“It’s a long story.” I told her everything, up to and including the latest phone call from Bobby.

“And you don’t believe that story about the pictures turning out to be worthless.”

“No, I don’t. I know there’s some kind of connection between those photographs and what happened to John. I just have to get my hands on them.”

“Boy, you don’t ask for much, do you? Bran, you know I’d do anything for you, but breaking into the police evidence room?” She blew out a long whistle, shaking her head. “I’m good, but I’m not that good.”

“Janine,” I laughed, for the first time in what seemed like years, “I know you pride yourself on your manual dexterity with locks, but even I’m not crazy enough to suggest you try it out at the police station. I need to get into Johnny’s apartment.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Because I just remembered something he’d told me a few days ago. John lied to the detective when he’d asked him if there were any other copies of the pictures. John told me he’d stored them on his I-Mac. Then he said a bunch of technical stuff that I didn’t understand, but I know you’re good with that kind of thing. He even told me the password. Brassiere.” I waited for the inevitable guffaw from Janine. “I need to do something, Janine. Maybe this is just a wild goose chase. Maybe Johnny’s death was nothing more than a horrible accident, but in my gut I feel there’s something more. Are you with me on this?”

Janine stood up and began to walk into the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting my tools.”

We parked around the corner from John’s apartment. John lives in a quaint, one- story building on a beautiful tree-lined street in Center City. It’s about twenty minutes from my parents’ house. We stood now, outside John’s place, screwdriver, flashlight and butter knife in hand. I don’t know what all that girl did, but inside of a minute we were standing inside John’s foyer. The smell of his favorite air freshener hit me as we walked in, and I bit my lip to keep from bawling all over the newly waxed mahogany floors.

“Should we turn on a light?” Janine stage whispered to me.

“Probably not. Technically, some people might consider this ‘breaking and entering.’” We fumbled around in the dark, guided by the faint glow of a dying flashlight. I really had to upgrade my tools of the trade, or I’d be the laughing stock of all the other burglars.

“Okay,” said Janine, once we’d become acclimated to the darkness, “where would John keep his lap top?”

“You look in the bedroom. I’ll poke around out here in the living room.”

Janine hesitated.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. It feels creepy being here so late at night, in the dark, with John being—y’know.”

I knew. “Well, the sooner we access the pictures, the sooner we can leave.”

Janine stood her ground. “You come with me.”

“No, you big baby. Just go. We’re wasting time.”

Reluctantly, Janine headed for the bedroom, taking the meager light with her. I began to survey the room. There were some magazines on the coffee table in front of the couch but no laptop. I quickly scanned his bookshelves and the surface of the small, Cherrywood, roll top desk, a recent acquisition and Johnny’s pride and joy. Nothing. Why couldn’t John be the type of guy who leaves everything lying around on the floor? It would make things so much easier.

I opened the hallway closet and started feeling around on the floor. Vacuum cleaner, rain boots, emergency kit, small attaché case—Bingo! “Janine,” I whispered, hoarsely, getting to my knees, “I found it.”

And then I
heard
it. A distinct scratching at the door. Janine had locked the door behind us as we came in. Now, someone was methodically picking away at the lock.
Oh my God, Oh my God!
I grabbed the case and scrambled to my feet just as Janine wandered back in.

“Did you call me?”

“Oh my God, there’s somebody here.”

“Where!”

“There!” I jerked my head towards the door as Janine stood rooted to the spot. Then simultaneously, we leaped into action.

“Hide!” We hissed, and bumped smack into each other.

“Here—”

“No, here.” We danced around one another, slapping each other out of the way, like Curly and Larry, without Moe to give us direction. The door opened just as we scrambled out of sight behind the couch. Two intelligent adults and that’s where we chose to hide. We may as well have stood in the middle of the room with our eyes closed, shouting ‘you can’t see us.’ We’d really have to work on this cloak and dagger stuff. Obviously, neither of us was very good at it.

Someone entered the apartment, someone a lot better prepared than we were for nighttime surveillance. A strong beam of light swept the living room, running over bookshelves and under the coffee table. Janine and I squeezed our hands together, willing the intruder to leave. “Please don’t look behind the couch, please don’t look behind the couch,” I chanted silently, to the tune of Nom mi oh ho reng ga keo.” (I’d done a segment for the show on Pop Buddhism once, and this chanting thing really seemed to work.

The footsteps came closer and my heart erupted in a wild jungle beat. I put my hand to my chest, willing myself to stay calm. Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of a boot as it hesitated in front of the couch before striding past us on its way to John’s darkroom. A familiar, scuffed, leather boot, the kind that looks really cool with a black leather jacket.

Shit! What in world’s fuck is Bobby doing here?

As Bobby disappeared into the darkroom, I silently signaled Janine to get up. We tiptoed across the floor, into the hall closet. I no longer felt that our lives were in danger, but I still didn’t know why Bobby was there, and I’d be hard pressed to explain why we were. We waited impatiently, breathing in the mothballs that overwhelmed the closet. I needed to sneeze in the worst way, but I felt too ridiculous getting caught in such a sit-com manner. So I pinched my nose until little red dots began to appear before my eyes.

After an eternity we heard footsteps again, heavier this time, padding back across the floor. A small, nearly silent “dammit” accompanied the footsteps. The front door opened and closed quietly behind him.

We waited a moment to make sure he wasn’t coming back, and then we bolted out of the closet. “I think I just peed myself,” Janine said. She stuck her hand between her legs. “Yep, I peed myself.” I was glad we’d taken her car instead of Paul’s Mercedes. “I’ve never been so scared in my life,” she continued, as she walked into the bathroom. I followed her in and sat on the tub while she stuffed toilet paper down her pants. “I thought that guy was going to kill us.”

“Janine,” I said, interrupting her. “That guy was Bobby.”

“What?” she screeched.

“Shh. It was Bobby. I saw him.”

Janine finished up her business and left the bathroom, with me trailing behind her.

“Well, he’s got some nerve breaking in here like that. He could’ve given me a heart attack.”

“Yeah, he really should’ve been more considerate of the people who were breaking in before him.”

The absurdity of the situation caught up to us and we erupted in laughter.

“Shh!”

“No, you shh!” Frayed nerves and relief over not getting killed made us laugh even harder.

“What was he doing here anyway?” Janine asked, when we’d finally gotten ourselves under control. “He was obviously looking for something.”

“The pictures,” I surmised. “He spent a lot of time in the darkroom. What else could he have been looking for?”

“But, why? Oh my God, Brandy. You don’t think Bobby’s in on the whole murder thing, do you? No, that’s crazy,” she answered herself in the same breath. “But maybe he’s trying to protect his cop buddies. Maybe whoever is involved figured out there was another set of pictures, and sent Bobby to find them. Maybe—”

“Maybe we’d better open this file and then get the hell out of here before anyone else decides to break in here, tonight.” I couldn’t begin to answer Janine’s questions, and I had a thousand more of my own. John had seen something in those pictures even if he didn’t know exactly what the significance was. And now he was dead because of what he’d seen. I did not believe Bobby had anything to do with John’s murder. I knew it like I knew my own name. But somehow, he was involved in this whole mess, and I fully intended to find out how involved he actually was.

Janine was not exactly on the same page. “Well, case closed,” she stated with finality.

“What do you mean, ‘case closed’? I’m just getting started, here.”

“Well, if John was killed because of something he’d seen in the pictures, the same thing could happen to us.”

“So, what’s your point?”

“My point is I don’t want to die.”

“Which is why you’re gonna keep your mouth shut about the photographs. Janine, believe me, it’s not on my agenda to get myself killed anytime soon, either. But we made a lot of progress here tonight, and I’m not backing off.”

“But, what if we end up finding out something about Bobby that we don’t want to know?”

“We won’t,” I said, and silently prayed I knew what the hell I was talking about.

We left the windows down on the ride home, because it smelled a little “gamey” in the car. The night air invigorated me, which did not bode well for a good night’s sleep. It was after one a.m. when Janine pulled up in front of my parents’ house. She offered to stay with me, but I insisted she go home. Sooner or later I would have to face my demons; I may as well start now. We agreed to keep silent about what had happened tonight. There were too many unanswered questions. The fewer people who knew about our little escapade the better.

“Bran,” Janine began, as I opened the passenger door. “I hate to admit this, but I kinda had a good time tonight. Oh, I know that sounds awful, given the circumstances and all, but Christ, Brandy, we used to have fun. It seems like the day you left town, everybody grew up.”

“That’s me, Peter Pan.” I smiled ruefully and hugged her. Clutching the hard copies of Johnny’s pictures to my chest, I climbed out of the car and walked into the house.

I
woke up to the sound of rain hitting the gutter pipes; huge, fat drops that scuttled down the window like roaches on their way to breakfast. I snuggled under the covers, unwilling to give up the warmth of the bed. Yawning, I leaned over to look at the clock. Ten thirty a.m. “Oh, no,” I groaned and sat up. “I don’t believe this. I’ve slept half the day away.”

In actuality, I’d only been asleep for about three hours. After Janine dropped me off last night, I went upstairs and took a shower. I let the steaming hot water pound away at my aching muscles until my skin pruned up and the hot water ran out.

I pulled a cozy sweatshirt out of the drawer and yanked it over my head. On the front it had a picture of a kitten rolling around with a ball of yarn in its paws. Bobby had bought it for me for my fifteenth birthday, and my mother had saved it all these years. My mother never throws away a thing. I took out some sweatpants too and climbed into them, then I headed back into the bathroom to brush my teeth. It was two thirty in the morning and entirely too quiet.

I walked back down the hallway, singing the theme song from the television show, Friends, and I wondered if it was on in syndication, somewhere. That started me thinking about how fun it would’ve been to be written into the show as some quirky new character—maybe Phoebe’s eccentric cousin. I guess everyone has his or her way of coping with stress. For Paul, it’s stuttering, while I pal around with fictional characters.

I was lonely and I thought I might cry again, which I definitely did not want to do, so I tried to go to sleep. Half an hour later I turned on the light and took out the photographs.

I’d given them a cursory look in the car, but now I spread them out on the comforter, willing them to speak to me.

I decided to categorize them. “This must be Daniel,” I decided, gazing at a close-up of a drunken, smiling man in a party hat. Daniel and his date. Daniel chugging beer. Party guests. Okay, here we go. It was hard to tell who was an actual guest and who was merely a bar patron. I looked at the next few shots—well, not
that
hard. Daniel’s friends looked like your average, upscale gay guys, slumming in one of the seedier parts of town, while the ‘regulars’ looked, well,
icky.
Infectious disease kind of icky. Porn City with a Capital P.