“Now it all makes sense,” Kandi said when I was through. “I wondered why a handsome guy like Ted was so desperate for a blind date. I should’ve known there was something wrong with him.”

Yes, I thought. You should’ve.

“And I can’t believe you got stuck with the check.”

“Two hundred dollars!” I reminded her. “Plus tip!”

“Well, it’s all my fault. So I insist on picking up the tab for brunch.”

“And I insist on letting you.”

Kandi flagged down our waiter and ordered us huevos rancheros and two more Bloody Mary’s.

“I don’t suppose you want to hear about my date with Matt?” she asked.

“No, but you’re going to tell me anyway, aren’t you?”

“No, no. The last thing you want to hear is a fabulous date story,” she said, dying to tell it.

“Oh, go ahead,” I said, sucking the vodka from my celery swizzle stick. “I’m all ears.”

So she launched into her latest True Romance tale—how Matt (aka Mr. Martial Arts) took her to a romantic Italian restaurant, where they drank chianti and ate spaghetti, and how they got up and danced in the aisle to a Dean Martin song, and how all the other customers applauded when they were through. I heard how they played kissy face in the parking lot, and how she was dying to sleep with him, but didn’t want to seem like too much of a pushover, so she called it a night after after-dinner drinks at a cozy jazz club.

Thanks to my second Bloody Mary, I didn’t mind listening to her. I was just happy not to be sitting across the table from Tommy the Termite

She was somewhere in the middle of figuring out where she and Matt would live when they got married—his downtown loft or her Westwood condo—when she suddenly interrupted herself.

“Omigosh,” she said. “In all the excitement of our dates, I forgot about that body you found in the bathtub. Whatever happened with that, anyway?”

Not wanting to take up too much time away from Mr. Martial Arts, I quickly told her that the cops suspected Heidi of killing her stepmom, and that I was trying to find the real killer.

“How do you know the kid didn’t do it?” Kandi asked.

“I know. Just like I knew you weren’t a murderer.” (Yes, last year the cops suspected Kandi of murder, a ghastly episode in her life that you can read all about in Last Writes, now available in paperback, a fact I may have already mentioned once or twice.)

“Yes, but I’m your best friend,” Kandi said. “Heidi is practically a stranger. Besides, this investigation stuff is dangerous. You could get hurt. Remember last year? You almost got killed.”

That I did.

“Are you sure you want to be doing this?”

“Yep,” I nodded, certain that nothing the fates threw my way could be as scary as what happened to me last night.

“Well, then. Just remember. In an attack situation, scream bloody murder. Kick ‘em in the groin, and gouge out their eyes. And if they’ve got a gun, run. Matt says that a predator will hit a running target only 4 out of 100 times. And even then, it most likely won’t be a vital organ.”