Dog Collar Chaos

by Adrienne Giordano

  "Okay," Tim said. "I won't make fun of them. Much."

  "Whatever, detective. Since you're not around to tickle the ivories with me tonight, I may, in fact, go to a Cock Head meeting. I think there's one in Lincoln Park."

  "Where's Ro?"

  "She and Joey made up. They're most likely holed up somewhere banging. The pervs."

  Again Tim laughed. "You're so damned cute, Lucie."

  "It's a curse."

  "I know. Alright, I gotta fly. If you go to a meeting tonight, be careful. Call me when you're on your way home so I know you're okay."

  "I will. You be careful too. I don't want to have to rough anyone up because they hurt my man."

  "Yes, ma'am. I'll talk to you later. Love you."

  "Love you too."

  She disconnected and tossed her phone on the bed, stretching her arms and legs wide.

  Someone pounded on her door so hard, it nearly shook the bed. Had to be Dad and his giant fist. Lucie levered up just as her father stuck his head in.

  "Dad, were you eavesdropping on my call with Tim?"

  "Not the whole thing."

  But, yes, he'd probably heard that line about Joey and Ro banging each other. Lucie's cheeks suddenly got hot. She so had to move out.

  "Listen, baby girl. I'm putting a call into Willie."

  "Why?"

  "Whaddya mean why? This broad who stole from you is dead. You don't think the cops are gonna be on you? I guarantee in the next 12 hours they'll come for you. Just let your old man handle it. This is why I keep Willie on retainer. You never know when this type of thing will happen."

  Sometimes a girl didn't need to think about her father having a criminal defense attorney at his beck-and-call. Then again, lately Willie had been her lawyer more than her father's. So much for rising above being a mob princess.

  "Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it. Tim said detectives might have questions for me, but I was in the office all afternoon so I wasn't anywhere near Buzzy."

  "I know.” He waved a hand. “Don’t worry. We got plenty of guys that'll say they saw you."

  "Dad, I don't need them to lie for me. I was in the office."

  "A little insurance never hurts."

  This life. Unbelievable. "No insurance, Dad. Please. I won't need it. The UPS guy came in at 4:00 with a shipment I signed for. My alibi is rock solid."

  The following morning, Lucie rummaged through the clump of pens in her top drawer, trying desperately to find a red one. Did pens procreate? Because she wasn't quite sure how she wound up with so many of them.

  "Stop with the noise," Ro said from her desk. "What are you doing?"

  Someone was crabby. Again. It appeared, given the luggage under Ro's eyes, she and Joey had a long night.

  "I have five million pens and not a red one to be found."

  Lucie gathered all the pens from the drawer and dumped them on top of the desk, each landing with a smack louder than should have been feasibly possible.

  Flick. Something bounced off the back of Lucie's computer monitor and landed on the tile. She peeped over the side of the desk and spotted the red pen.

  "Did you just throw that at me?"

  "You said you were looking for a red pen. Can you be quiet now? I've got three days to come up with new designs for the fashion show."

  "We don't need new designs. We're still going with the ones Buzzy stole. God rest her soul."

  "That thieving bitch. God rest her soul."

  Temporarily ignoring the pen on the floor, Lucie went to work sorting the mess on her desk. The task, the mundane trappings of organizing each by color, was oddly relaxing. This whole Buzzy mess had rattled her. Any minute now, she expected a detective to march in and confront her, the woman threatening to sue a recently murdered celebrity. Oh, she could see the headline now: Mob Princess Suspected of Murder.

  Somehow, it always came down to her being Joe Rizzo's kid.

  Lucie shook it off. No time for that now. "I can't believe she's dead."

  "She must have really pissed someone off. And, hello, the media isn't saying boo about how she died."

  "Asphyxiation."

  "Well, yeah, but that could be anything. Did someone strangle her, put a pillow over her head, what?"

  Lucie gathered all the blue pens into a pile and counted them. "Fourteen blue pens. Who needs fourteen blue pens?"

  Another red projectile flew across the room, this time dangerously close to her face. "Quit it! It's all fun and games until someone puts out an eye."

  Finally, Ro got up and stomped over to Lucie's desk. Today's ensemble included a red skirt that may have been even tighter than yesterday's. Good thing Ro didn't buy cheap. If she did, those skirts would be shredded from stress by now.

  She shoved the pens aside. "Stop with this a minute. Or let me help you."

  There's a thought. "Put rubber bands around these blue ones. They all need to go back to the supply closet. The black ones too."

  They worked together, bundling the small mountains of pens, and then walked them back to the break room supply closet.

  At the closet, Ro relieved Lucie of her bundles. "I'll put these away."

  "I've got it. You're busy."

  Ro waved her off. "I'm good. Go back to your spreadsheet. I need some mindless work while I noodle design ideas. Beat it."

  This might be a lucky break. If Ro stayed in the supply room, Lucie wouldn't be face to face with her dramatics. She'd consider it a vacation. "Okay, but call me if you need help."

  "Luce, it's not brain surgery. I’m guessing I can handle it."

  Totally crabby today. "Yeesh. Don't take it out on me."

  "I'm sorry. I'm just tired. The fight with Joey wore me out. I think this is the hangover."

  "But you're good now?"

  Ro shrugged. "I guess. Of course, he's not planning on giving up bookmaking any time soon, so the whole ordeal was a big waste of energy. I don't know, Luce. I love him, but sometimes I could kill him."

  "You think that makes you special? We all feel that way."

  At that, Ro laughed. "Go back to work." She looked up at the shelves with a critical eye. "You know, this has gotten out of control. The staples and paper clips should be together. And why don't we have paper and notepads on the same shelf? I'm going to get us organized here. Maybe it'll spur some creative juices."

  Lucie headed back to her desk ready to tackle the following year's budget in peace. If her projections were correct, she might be able to move out of Villa Rizzo. Even if the expansion from Mom's dining room into their current space had created additional expenses.

  The bells on the door jangled and Dad strolled through. In keeping with his reputation for natty attire, he wore dress slacks, a crisp button down shirt, and his short hair perfectly groomed. Her father, a fanatic about his personal appearance, had always been handsome. The way he told it, half the women who entered his orbit were attracted to him. Lucie didn't know about all that, but Dad had a way about him.

  This would be the first of many visits from him throughout the day. The interruptions drove Lucie half crazy, but she tried to be patient. As Joey had once pointed out, the idea of walking down the street, for a man who'd been incarcerated for two years, meant freedom.

  "Baby girl," Dad said, "any sign of cops yet? I've had the boys on lookout, but...nothing. Willie is on his way. Just in case we need him."

  Willie may have been Dad's defense attorney, but lately most of his billable hours had been spent on Lucie.

  "Not yet, Dad. They may not even question me. And why are you spending money on Willie if we're not sure detectives will even want to talk to me."

  Dad gave her a look. "They'll be here. Bet on it. Plus, Lemon knows a guy who knows a guy. He's homicide at area three."

  Lucie held her hands up. "Don't tell me."

  "Why?"

  Why? For one, he'd obtained that information through one of his lowlife cohorts. Not that Lemon was a lowlife. He was, in fact, a decent man. Considering he made h
is living shaking people down. But still, whoever these friends of friends were, she wanted no part of it.

  "Dad, my boyfriend is a Chicago detective. I don't want to know anything about this case that’s not public knowledge. People might think Tim leaked information, and I'm not doing that to him."

  Her father rolled her eyes. "Here we go with the big shot attitude. Fine. I won't tell you how this broad died. I'll keep it to myself."

  Oh, dangling that catnip was a low blow.

  "You know how she died?"

  That, Lucie had to admit, was impressive. Whoever this contact was, he or she had taken a risk sharing highly under-wraps information.

  Dad grinned. "You said you didn't want to know."

  So not fair. Of course she wanted to know. Backpedal, backpedal, backpedal. "Let me clarify. If you've obtained this knowledge by sneaky means, I don't want to know."

  "What sneaky? Someone told a guy who told a guy. How's that sneaky?"

  Ro poked her head out from the back room. "I want to know. And I have no issues about where it came from. Tell me."

  Dad spun back. "She was asphyxiated."

  "We knew that. How was she asphyxiated?"

  A filthy smile dragged across Dad's face. "Hold on to your panties girls."

  What? Since when did her father talk like that? Everyone in Lucie's life was going insane.

  "Someone," he continued, "killed her with an atomic wedgie."

  The shop went silent for at least thirty seconds while Dad swung his head from Ro to Lucie to Ro again. They both waited—patiently—for the punch line. Dad enjoyed the more-than-occasional twisted joke. Sometimes the stories he told sounded so realistic you didn't know he was stringing you along until he made up a goofy ending and burst out laughing.

  This time? No laughing.

  “Get it?” he asked. “Panties? Wedgie?

  "Just stop it," Lucie said. "How did it really happen?"

  "I'm not kidding." He smacked his chest then held his hand up. "Swear on my mother's grave. Atomic wedgie."

  "Oh, my God," Ro muttered.

  Lucie turned to her. "I'm not even sure what that is. How does my father know?"

  Ro waggled one hand. "It's when someone gives you a wedgie, but they pull the waistband so high up it goes over your head."

  "Seriously," Lucie said, "someone can die from a wedgie?"

  Dad wrapped one hand around his neck and made gagging noises. "It strangled her. Whoever did it, somehow pulled the waistband up and around her neck. It cut off her air supply. She got clocked with something first though. That knocked her out and then she got wedgied."

  "Ew." Ro scrunched her nose. "That has to be horrible."

  She disappeared back into the storeroom and Lucie spun to her laptop. "I can't even picture that. I need to see this. Let me Google it."

  Movement in front of the shop caught Lucie's attention. She glanced up to see two men emerging from a Ford identical to the one Tim drove while on duty. Plus, the number of dents were a dead giveaway.

  Cops.

  Lucie faced front to alert her father, but he was already on his way to the door. "Keep your mouth shut. I'll see if Willie is here."

  He swung the door open just as the detectives reached it. Dad didn't bother holding the door for them and walked right through. "Her lawyer is on the way. She's not talking."

  Great. Excellent way to kick things off.

  One of the detectives grabbed the door before it closed and then exchanged a look with his partner.

  "Gentlemen." Lucie rose from her chair. "Come in. Please. Ignore my father."

  Shouldn't be a hardship considering the relationship between cops and Joe Rizzo. There wouldn't be a Christmas gift exchange any time soon.

  "Thank you," the older detective said.

  Between the slicked back dark hair, black slacks, and a crew neck sweater topped off with a sport coat, this man reminded her of every detective she'd ever seen on television.

  The second detective was younger. Not exactly fresh-faced, but he didn't have the hard-earned grit and wrinkles of his partner. Like Tim, the younger one wore a decent suit. His blond hair was cut military style—high and tight—and gave him that commanding presence needed for police work.

  Lucie waved them to the conference table. "Have a seat."

  "Thank you. We'd like to ask—"

  "I know," Lucie said. "You want to ask me some questions. Given my business dealings with Buzzy, I anticipated this and intend on cooperating fully. I'd like to have legal counsel present though. I hope you don't mind waiting."

  Well, even if they did, too bad. Not that she had anything to hide, but this was a murder case. Lucie wasn't taking any chances. Even on her best day, she might have an attack of nerves and blurt something that could be misconstrued.

  The two men exchanged another look. This one screaming of puzzlement.

  "Ms. Rizzo," the older one said, "we're not here for you."

  Huh? Lucie rolled her bottom lip out. "You're not?"

  "No, ma'am."

  "I assumed..." Well, no need to go into that. "All right. My mistake."

  Maybe they were friends of Tim's or something. Maybe they weren't here regarding Buzzy at all. They could be stopping in to inquire about dog walking or—and wouldn't this be a kick?—to order a custom doggie coat.

  This is what a life lived as the daughter of a notorious mob boss got her. She'd been conditioned to believe the police meant trouble.

  "I’m sorry, gentlemen. My mistake. What can I do for you?"

  "We're here for Roseanne Buccarelli."

  Chapter Four

  All Lucie’s deliberating and sleep loss over being questioned about Buzzy's death and they weren't even here for her? Somehow, that didn't seem fair.

  They should at least ask her a few questions. Make all that stress worthwhile.

  "Roseanne," she said. "Really?"

  The Tim-wannabe jerked his head. "Yes, ma'am,"

  "I don't understand."

  The men exchanged another look. Without a doubt, they thought she was nuts. Get a grip here, Luce.

  She lifted her hands. "I'm sorry. I thought...Is this about—" No. She shouldn't say anything. Not one peep. "Roseanne is in the back. I'll, um, just go grab her."

  "Thank you."

  Moving at a decent pace, Lucie swung into the closet. Ro had pulled everything from the two top shelves and spread it all on the floor.

  She shook a box of paper clips at Lucie. "I'm telling you, this is a hot-ass mess. How did we let it get this bad?"

  Lucie smacked at the box, knocking it to the floor and sending paper clips flying.

  "Hey! What was that for? You’re cleaning that up."

  "There are two detectives here."

  Ro's eyebrows shot up. "Already? Wow. That didn't take long."

  No kidding.

  "I know. A shocker. Here's another one for you. They're not here for me. They want you."

  Ro took a second with that one, her mouth partly open as if words were about to come out, but somehow couldn’t find their way. She lifted her gaze, peering over Lucie's shoulder. "Me?"

  "They're out front." Making sure they hadn't followed her, Lucie arched back, peeping out to the main part of the shop. The young detective gave her a little finger wave. Yep. Still there. She went back to Ro. "I bet they saw that tweet you sent."

  Ro pushed around her. "Don't start about the tweet. Let's just see what they want."

  Shoulders thrown back, she marched into the hallway, her long legs leaving Lucie's much shorter ones in the dust.

  "Dad went to get Willie. I don't think—"

  "Ms. Buccarelli," the geezer detective said. "We have some questions to ask you regarding your relationship with Buzzy Sneider."

  "I didn't have a relationship with her. We were business associates."

  Lucie caught up to Ro, grabbed her elbow, and squeezed tight enough to break a bone. "As I was about to say, I think you should wait for Willie."


  Because, hello! They had a murder investigation going here.

  "Who's Willie?" the Tim wannabe asked.

  "Lawyer," Lucie said. "Willie Clay."

  Geezer rolled his eyes. "Terrific. He handles all the mob guys."

  Ooooh, that was just rude. Lucie shredded him—at least she hoped—with a sneer. "He handles a variety of clients. Including a few bad cops."

  Hey, she could do tit for tat with anyone. She wasn't Joe Rizzo's kid for nothing.

  Ro flipped her hair back. "What. Ever. Luce, see where he is and let’s get this over with."

  She spun around, headed for the conference table, and—never one to fear pulling out the big guns—may have opened an extra button on her blouse as she went.

  "No, ma'am."

  "First of all, don't call me ma'am. Roseanne is fine. Stand if you want, but I'm sitting."

  "Ms. Buccarelli," the younger detective said, "we're not doing this here. You need to come with us."

  Wait one second. Ro? Downtown? Lucie had a sudden vision of her BFF locked in an interrogation room—an interview room, as Tim liked to call it—while two detectives tried to pry a confession out of her.

  Not. A. Chance.

  In the mood Ro had been in, total bloodbath. She'd wind up in jail just for having a smart mouth.

  "That's not happening," Lucie said.

  All three of them turned to her, but the geezer was the only one to laugh. "Believe me, it's happening, sweetheart." He waggled two fingers at Ro. "You can grab your coat or purse or whatever."

  Sweetheart? What the heck? She glanced down at her jeans and tennis shoes. Eh, maybe she did look like a twelve-year-old. Apparently, the stink eye she'd given him wasn't all that intimidating.

  "How long will this take?" Ro wanted to know.

  Again, the detectives exchanged a glance. What was this silent communication they had going? Cop non-speak. Lucie would have to ask Tim about that. But really, how the heck was a girl supposed to figure out what they were thinking?