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

blind date was due to arrive in three hours and fourteen minutes and dinner wasn’t half ready. I would have gone ahead and ordered out, but Toodie had volunteered to make lasagna for me. Only I hadn’t heard a word from him in two days. I’d called his cell phone numerous times and tried to leave messages for him, but after a while the voice-mail wouldn’t accept any new calls, which meant he wasn’t retrieving his incoming calls. I didn’t want to be worried about him, but I was.
    “Ya know,” said John, “you could try being a little more diplomatic. I’m up to my elbows in wet noodles here. I don’t do this for just anyone, ya know.”
    I rolled my eyes heavenward.
    “I saw that.”
    Rocky sauntered into the kitchen and jumped up onto the counter, pausing to lick the marinara sauce off the ladle.
    “Will you get her off of there? That’s disgusting.”
    I reached over and set Rocky on the floor next to Toodie’s dog. In the two days since he’s been here, they’ve become thick as thieves. I don’t know if I like it. They always seem to be plotting against me.
    “How’re ya doing, Spike?” I asked, rubbing the soft spot behind his ear.
    “Spike?”
    “I’m trying it out.”
    John shook his head. “Too butch. How about Leonardo?”
    “Too gay.”
    “Shut-uh up! What’s wrong with that?”
    “I may want grandpuppies some day.”
    “You mean you’re going to keep him?” John shoved the tray of lasagna into the oven and began tearing up lettuce for the salad. I reached over and grabbed a carrot out of the salad bowl.
    “Wash your hands, for God’s sake. Where were you born? In a barn?”
    I flashed him a huge smile. “Thanks, John. You know how much I miss my mom.”
    Just as I finished squeezing my size six butt into size five pants the doorbell rang. Fido (okay, I’d have to work on the name thing) started running around in circles barking his head off and chasing his tail while Rocky dove under the couch. I did a quick check in the mirror. No stains on my shirt, both shoes matched and although I don’t use make-up, there was a healthy glow to my cheeks from turning my head upside down to blow dry my hair, which lay poker straight and to my shoulders. “Well, I’m good to go.” I opened the door.
    Barry Kaminski stood on my porch, impeccably dressed in a gray mohair overcoat and holding a bouquet of long stemmed roses. The man was drop-dead Cary Grant gorgeous. And about as old! What was Carla thinking? I tried not to let surprise register on my face as I led him inside.
    “Thank you for the flowers. They’re lovely.” Seeing as the only vase I had was the empty jar of marina sauce I’d just tossed into the recycle bin, I laid the flowers on the end table next to the couch.
    Earlier, I’d chilled a couple of Buds for our pre-dinner aperitif, but Barry didn’t strike me as the beer swillin’ type. Unfortunately, all I had left was a bottle of Gatorade and some instant coffee, both of which he graciously declined.
    “I’m sorry about the mix up,” he said when we were settled on the couch. “My mother forgets it’s been forty-five years since my Bar Mitzvah. In her mind it was just last week.”
    “No problem, Barry. I’m from Los Angeles. May-December romances are a dime a dozen out there.” Oh my God. What just came out of my mouth? “What I meant was I’m sure we have tons in common. For instance, Carla mentioned you’re an executive with The News Network.” All right! Nice segue into the whole “I need a job” discussion. I was practically high-fiving myself when I heard Barry sigh. “What’s wrong?”
    “You wouldn’t believe how many Woodward and Bernstein wannabees there are out there. And it seems that every one of them wants a job at my network. So, what do you do for a living?”
    The phone rang and I ran to the dining room to answer it.
    “So what’s he like?” Janine screamed into the phone. The drunken roar in the background told me she was calling