No Such Thing As a Good Blind Date: A Brandy Alexander Mystery (No Such Thing As: A Brandy Alexander Mystery) by Shelly Fredman Page A

down. Through a mouthful of my lunch she caught me up on the antics of her children, a three-year-old “genius” and a six month old with “star quality.”
    After the bread was gone she looked around the room. “Are you sure you don’t want to join us?” I was almost tempted to, just so’s I could eat all of her bread. But I knew what she was implying.
    “Mindy, I really do have a date. He’s in the bathroom.”
    “For fifteen minutes? You’d better check. He might have fallen in.” She laughed so hard at that she almost tipped over. God I hated her. She was right, of course. The fucking jerk ditched me!
    I was so furious I didn’t notice the commotion in the back of the restaurant. The din got louder and I shouted to be heard.
    “Look, Mindy, just go on back to Terrence, okay? I’m not some charity case. Men are dying to go out with me! Oh, here he comes now.”
    Only he wasn’t walking. He wasn’t even vertical…or conscious. A gurney carrying Keith Harrison’s seemingly lifeless body whisked by our table on its way to the ambulance. His face was a bruised and swollen mass of lumpy flesh.
    I caught one of the paramedics going out the door. “Oh my God, what happened? Is he going to be okay?”
    “We’ll do our best. He was pretty badly beaten.”
    “Where are you taking him?”
    “Jefferson.”
    I was so shook up, I actually turned to Mindy for comfort, only to discover she was already halfway across the room, on her cell phone, spreading the news of my latest dating debacle. Just then a thought occurred to me. I didn’t want Keith to die. Of course not! But if he did, I wondered if I could keep the dog.

Chapter Five
     
    I sought out the remaining cop on site and introduced myself as Keith’s lunch companion. From what they could piece together, after Keith had gone to the bathroom, he went out to the parking lot to retrieve something from the car and was ambushed on the way back in. A busboy taking out the trash spotted Keith crawling on all fours back into the restaurant. He collapsed just inside the kitchen.
    “Was this a random mugging, ya think?”
    “Could be. It’s been known to happen. This is a pretty touristy neighborhood. Drug addict comes along, spots an easy prey—”
    “But the attack was so—so vicious. Don’t muggers usually just take the money and run?”
    “Maybe the guy wasn’t carrying as much cash as he would have liked and it pissed him off. Hard to say.”
    I was half way home when I remembered about the dog. Ali wouldn’t know what happened to her boss. She’d wait all afternoon, maybe try to call him, but he wouldn’t be able to answer his phone. Five o’clock would roll around and Ali would pack up her things and leave, without a backwards glance to the poor little would-be orphan trapped in Keith’s office. How could Ali be so insensitive? I had to go back and rescue him.
    Fluffy was sitting on Ali’s lap, eating raisins out of her hand when I walked into the office suite. “Oh, hi,” she said. “Where’s Keith? I mean Mr. Harrison?” And she went all rutabaga again.
    As briefly as possible, and in the least alarming way I could find, I told her about the mugging. Ali’s shoulders began to heave up and down as fat teardrops rolled down her face and plopped onto Fluffy’s head. Gently, I removed the dog from her grip. “I’m sure he’s going to be fine,” I said. “Don’t you worry, Keith’s a survivor!” How the hell would I know that? I just met the guy. But it sounded good and seemed to reassure Ali.
    “Look, as long as Keith is going to be laid up for a little while, I thought I’d come back for Fluffy. He’s used to being at my house and I’m sure Keith will feel better knowing he’s being well cared for.”
    “Oh,” said Ali, thinking. It seemed like a strenuous task for her. “Why don’t you just leave her here and I’ll have Mrs. Harrison pick him up and take him back to their house?”
    Mrs. Harrison? Keith didn’t strike