Read Online No Such Thing As a Good Blind Date: A Brandy Alexander Mystery (No Such Thing As: A Brandy Alexander Mystery) by Shelly Fredman - Free Book Online Page B

telling you, then maybe I can go to the police.”
    It actually sounded reasonable to me. “Okay. I’ll do it. But if I come up empty, I’m going to have to tell the cops.” Before we hung up, I asked him about the dog.
    “I found him wandering around about a half a block from Glen’s house. He looked all sad and pathetic. I had to help him.”
    Sort of like me and Toodie.
    I woke up feeling vaguely depressed. I hate to admit it but the situation with Bobby was really getting to me. The old Bobby would never turn his back on a friend. Then again, the old Bobby didn’t have a wife who threatened to disappear with his kid so that he’d never see her again. And after meeting Marie DiCarlo I had no doubt she could make that happen.
    In a way, I feel sorry for Marie. She’s in love with a man who doesn’t love her back, and she’s fighting to keep her marriage together. I really couldn’t fault her for that. Maybe if I had fought for Bobby four years ago, things would be different now. There’s that damn hindsight again. Anyway, the point is, she thinks I’m the problem, but I’m not.
    The address Toodie gave me was a seedy looking 1940’s duplex just off of Frankford Avenue. I was parked next to Jolly Jack’s bar, which, judging by the people staggering out of there, was a neighborhood hangout for the criminally insane. Glen’s apartment was a few doors down on the right; a wood and brick abomination that looked like it was in the throes of hurricane season. A filthy storm door hung precariously by one hinge. There was a trashcan, filled to overflowing, next to it. Garbage spilled out onto the street, causing the gutter to become clogged with the overflow.
    I was afraid to get out of the car, so I reached under the seat and pulled out a pair of mini binoculars that Paul had left after a Flyers’ game. I put them up to my eyes and zeroed in on the front window. The drapes were open and I had a clear view of the activities.
    A ruddy-faced woman in her sixties was sponging down the windowsill. Beyond her, I spied two beefy men in overalls, hauling huge bags of trash through the house. From what Toodie had told me, Glen didn’t seem like the Spring Cleaning type, so I gathered up my courage and unlocked the car door.
    I approached the apartment and gave a tentative knock. The front door opened, allowing me to see into the living room. If Glen lived there, he certainly couldn’t be accused of being a pack rat. The place was almost completely bare. “Yeah?” The woman with the ruddy face stepped out from behind the door.
    “Hi,” I said brightly. “I’m looking for Glen.”
    The woman narrowed her eyes so close together she looked like a Cyclops. “Stand in line. Does he owe you money?” she added as an afterthought.
    “No, um, can I come in for a minute?”
    She moved her ample body off to the side and allowed me to pass through. Clearly, Glen no longer resided there. A quick glance around the room told me I was lucky not to have crossed paths with him. A large, crudely drawn swastika was etched into the door jamb, leading into the bedroom. There was a hole in the ceiling that could only have been left by a high- powered rifle. Lucky for his neighbor, it was a side-by-side duplex and not the stackable kind. The walls had been washed down, but the outline of some cartoon-like, anatomically impossible pornography remained. A bucket of lemon-scented ammonia sat in a corner. The apartment was unbearably hot.
    “Broken thermostat,” the landlady shrugged. “You know you look too clean to be a friend of Glen’s,” she added. What do you want with him?”
    “Oh, I—”
    She interrupted me before I could think of a good lie. “Hey, you’re not one of those yuppie drug addicts are you? I’ve read about your kind in the paper.”
    I assured her I was not, although at this point I would have killed for a Xanex.
    The roar of an engine had me running to the door, but I was too late. The truck carrying