No Such Thing As a Good Blind Date: A Brandy Alexander Mystery (No Such Thing As: A Brandy Alexander Mystery) Read Online Free Page A

him. He wasn’t a bad looking guy. In fact, when I squinched my eyes closed real tight and tilted my head, he looked just like Bruce Willis in his old Moonlighting days. Before the pierced ears and shaved head.
    “Ya know, you’re kinda cute,” I said. And then, Oh God, I winked at him.
    Janine drove me home. I was a little fuzzy on the details but, apparently, Stan and Eric left shortly after I challenged the middle-aged woman wearing a man’s suit to an arm wrestling contest.
    “I guess I shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach,” I said, by way of apology to Janine.
    Janine laughed. “It was fun. Ya know you could’ve beat that old lady, easy, if you hadn’t fallen off the barstool.”
    I thought so too. “I’m sorry about Eric.”
    “Eh,” she shrugged. “Did ya get a look at the nose on that guy? Miniscule. And you know what they say? Ya know the nose…”
    Janine pulled up in front of my house, turning on the interior car light while I searched for my keys. It was an unnecessary gesture, as the entire block was illuminated by the glow of Mrs. Gentile’s latest holiday acquisition; a Disneyesque nativity scene, complete with revolving wise men and animatronic farm animals that neighed, baa-ed and bobbed their little robotic heads, welcoming baby Jesus into the neighborhood.
    Toodie stood on a ladder on my side of the porch, stringing Christmas tree lights along the roof; a ragged display in green and red, with gaping holes where the burned out lights hadn’t been replaced. I stood there watching him as Janine pulled away.
    “Yo!” he yelled from the top of the ladder. “Pretty neat, huh?”
    “Neat,” I agreed. “Where’d ya get them?”
    “Garage sale.” Having run out of light strings, Toodie climbed down off the ladder, leaving half the roof in darkness. We looked skyward, admiring his handiwork. While it wasn’t the extravaganza created by my neighbor, it had a kind of trailer park panache that appealed to me.
    “Hey, what’s this?” An ancient piece of machinery had taken up residence on my front lawn, its carcass held together by decades of rust. Upon closer inspection I saw that it was a Harley Davidson Shovelhead, circa 1973.
    “My new set of wheels—once I get it up and running.” Hope springs eternal.
    “Garage sale?”
    Toodie nodded.
    “Maybe Paul can help you get it going.” My brother is nuts about cars, bikes, anything with wheels, chrome and an engine that predates the disco era.
    I helped Toodie maneuver the Harley into the basement, which was rife with the oddball stuff he’s collected in the short time he’s been staying with me. As I pushed the kickstand down on the bike I tripped over a set of dilapidated, left-handed golf clubs.
    “I’m thinking of taking up golf,” he said.
    “Toodie, these are left-handed clubs. You’re not left-handed…and there’s no head on the nine-iron.”
    “I know. That’s how come they were so cheap.”
    We headed upstairs. Toodie’s plumbing tools were sprawled all over the kitchen floor, the cabinet under the sink wide open. “You need a new garbage disposal,” he said. “This one’s leaking buckets.”
    I took this as an encouraging sign. At least the water was running again. Rocky lounged in a puddle on the floor, her gray and white fur matted into sorry little clumps. I’d always heard that cats had an aversion to water, but she thought this was great fun.
    Something wonderful permeated the air. It was coming from the oven.
    “I’m going out tonight,” Toodie said, “but I made you a meatloaf. And there’re some mashed potatoes in the fridge.”
    I have to admit I’ve eaten pretty well since Toodie’s moved in. My dinners usually consist of cold cereal and half a box of Tastykakes or the occasional grilled cheese sandwich.
    I opened the oven door and took out the meatloaf, digging in with my fingers. One nice thing about living with Toodie, I don’t have to concern myself with social amenities.
    “Oh, and