1 Dog Collar Crime

by Adrienne Giordano

  She leaned back against the building, flattened her palms against the dirty bricks and concentrated on drawing air into her lungs. Breathe. She needed to breathe. He thought she was beautiful and smart and capable. He’d said it a hundred times before, but somehow, this time it meant so much more.

  She reached up, slid her hand over his cheek because this was Frankie, her Frankie, the man she’d loved for years. Even before they’d gotten together, she’d had a mad desire for him. Those schoolgirl feelings had been pounded into submission because…well…what would he want with her when he had an army of girls chasing him? Such a fool.

  She went up on tiptoe and kissed him. His arms came around her in a tight squeeze and she leaned in, savoring the feel of his body next to hers. “I wish I would have said something sooner.”

  “No kidding.”

  The girls woofed. They didn’t want to be hanging around doing nothing. Lucie gave the leash a tug. “Let’s walk.”

  He held a hand for her to go first and Lucie, needing the contact, slid her hand into his. Ready to offer the comfort she needed, he laced his fingers with hers.

  His eyes narrowed…the thinking face. “What?” she asked.

  “Do you want to go to dinner with me?”

  “A date?”

  “Yeah. A date. Dinner and a movie. A fresh start. Again.”

  She thought about it a minute. Let the idea of dating roll around her brain. Had they ever really dated? She didn’t think so. They went from being friends to having lunch a few times and—bam—they were a couple and everyone was ecstatic and talking marriage and babies.

  A date meant working on their relationship. It couldn’t be casual between them, not with all the baggage. Still, that feeling in the pit of her stomach, like a rose blooming couldn’t be ignored. “I’d love to.”

  Chapter Seven

  The next day, Lucie had finished the dog walks by four-thirty and was home sorting her inventory to see how many collars, coats and leashes she had ready to sell. Ro sat to her left, thumbing through fabric samples and separating them into what she considered acceptable versus unacceptable piles. The unacceptable pile had a large pool of candidates.

  “Mom, forget the coffee. We need to get started.”

  “Coming.” Her mother entered from the kitchen carrying a carafe and three mugs. “It’s too bad Roseanne won’t let us eat sweets. I have a nice coffee cake in there.”

  “No cake,” Ro said.

  With the coffee poured, Lucie set her mug aside. “This is the first official meeting of the Coco Barknell executive team.”

  “Ooohhh.” Ro clapped.

  Mom’s eyebrows cinched. “What?”

  “I met with the owner of Sammy Spaniel today. They sell dog accessories. The owner placed an order. A big one. Can I count on you two?”

  “Of course,” they said in unison. No thought necessary. This was love.

  “We have three days to make forty coats, collars and leashes.”

  “Three,” Mom said.

  “Forty,” Ro said.

  Lucie nodded. “Ro will do the designing and I’ll help sew. We’ll have to buy extra beads and stones. And we’ll need more fabric.”

  “You should go to that place in Pineville,” her mother said. “Best fabric around. It’ll cost more, but it’s worth it.”

  Ro nodded. “She’s right. You can’t go cheap with these high-end people.”

  “Can you go there with me after we’re done here? We’ll hit there and the craft stores so we can start sketching right away.”

  “Sure. I have some ideas and none of the fabric you have will work.”

  Lucie perused her notes as the unintended insult hit home, “Also, the store owner wants me to be on hand the first day.” She shifted her gaze to Ro. “Are you available to do the, ‘I’m-beautiful-and-you’ll-do-what-I-tell-you’ thing? If you say buy a two-hundred dollar collar, they’re going to.”

  “Absolutely.” Again, no questions asked.

  The front door opened and in came Frankie. That familiar ping flicked in Lucie’s chest. She didn’t know where their upcoming dinner date would take them, but for now, the idea of them coming together instead of drifting apart was enough to make her hopeful.

  Frankie bent to kiss Lucie’s cheek. “Did you get done early?” she asked

  “I had to go in early and they owe me a couple hours anyway. Figured I’d stop in and check on you.”

  “We’re having our first official executive team meeting,” Ro said.

  Frankie stared at her then turned to Lucie. Half of what Ro told Frankie was a crock and he never knew whether to believe her or not. “Luce?”

  “She’s not kidding. Your wannabe sex slave placed a big order today.”

  Mom tsked. “Lucia, what a thing to say.”

  “Mom, if I’m lying you can send me to confession. The woman was all over him yesterday. It’s okay though, he got me the sales opportunity.”

  “Nice.” Ro held her hand up for a high-five from Frankie. She could appreciate the finer points of him using his charm to get something accomplished.

  “Your good work got you in there,” he said.

  “Guys,” Ro interrupted. “Do I care? All that matters is that she’s in.”

  He pointed at her. “Thank you.”

  “Anytime, Charm Boy.”

  He glanced at the supplies on the table and ran a hand over his mouth. The hand over his mouth meant he had something cooking.

  “You’ll need more supplies,” he said.

  “We’re going shopping as soon as we’re done here.”

  Mom held up her hand. “How about some coffee cake, Frankie?”

  “No cake,” Ro said.

  He crossed his eyes at her. “I want cake.”

  Mom jumped from her chair. “I’ll get it.”

  With Mom out of the room, Frankie turned to Ro. “I need to talk to Luce. Go grab a smoke.”

  “I quit.”

  “Then take a whiz or something, but get out.”

  Ro stared at the ceiling and held her palm up. Frankie reached into his pocket for his money clip, peeled off a twenty and smacked it into Ro’s hand.

  “Thank you.” She shoved the twenty into her cleavage. “I’ll be back.”

  Lucie laughed. “She’s been doing that to you for how long?”

  “Ten years, but it beats arguing with her. The sooner I pay her, the sooner she’s out of my hair.”

  He had a point there. “What’s up?”

  “How are you paying for the supplies you need?”

  “Probably my credit card.”

  “I want to be your investor.”

  Just like that. No preamble, no sales pitch, just boom. “Uh.”

  She should have known this was coming. Four years ago, Frankie had been an investor when a friend opened a smoothie bar in one of the local health clubs. A year later, after a major juice company bought the smoothie business, Frankie’s five thousand dollars turned into half a million. His share of the sale. Since then, Frankie had investor fever.

  “Luce, you don’t want to be jacking up your credit card. I’ll be the very silent money guy that gets you started. You run the show. All I want is to watch my money grow.”

  The way Frankie looked at her, his eyes glued to hers so steady and sure, fired her confidence. He believed in her. But was this a good idea? Going into business together had the potential to obliterate the strongest of relationships, never mind the ones in limbo.

  Then again, driving up her credit card would put her further in debt, and the more debt she carried, the longer it would take her to get out of Franklin. “You have that much faith in me?”

  “No doubt.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yep. Coco Barknell is going places.”

  Lucie held out her hand to shake on the deal. Frankie clasped her hand and held it for a second while the normal buzz shot through her. He pulled her into him and kissed the hell out of her, sliding his tongue al
ong her bottom lip. Mmmm. She had missed the magic of his tongue. The familiar heat fired low in her core and she imagined them together again in his bed, making love the way they used to. Touching every spot they each knew would make the other frantic. She squeezed his hand and moaned and Frankie inched closer, wrapped his free hand around her waist and pulled.

  Softly kissing, he worked his way over her jaw, up her cheek to her ear. So good. So good.

  Finally, he reached her neck and nibbled her earlobe. “Let’s slip out and go to my place.”

  Oh, how she missed him.

  “Eh-hem!” Ro glided back into the room. “I thought you two broke up.”

  “Her timing always did suck.” Frankie straightened and waggled his eyebrows. “We did. I’m working on her.”

  * * *

  “I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me about Otis,” Lucie said the following day when she and Joey walked up the Lutzes’ driveway for Otis’s afternoon visit. Only two more dogs after Otis and they were done.

  The overcast day held the temperature in the fifties, and the cold from the driveway stones stabbed through the bottom of Lucie’s sneakers. The whole day had been like this. Raw and damp. She wanted a hot shower and a cup of tea.

  “Jeez,” Joey said. “Drop it already. Frankie told me not to say anything. Take it up with your boyfriend.”

  Lucie halted and waited for Joey to do the same. He wore his typical tight-lipped expression that silently screamed boredom.

  Too bad. “I’ve been dealing with these dognappings for a week. Until we finish examining all the accessories I’ve sold, if there’s an issue, I need to know about it.”

  “Are you gonna keep busting my balls about this?”

  “Pretty much, yes.”

  “Okay.” Joey wrapped her in a headlock and gave her a noogie. “As long as I know.”

  Moron.

  Two minutes later, Lucie had Otis leashed, and upon seeing Joey, the dog shot toward him nearly tearing off her arm.

  “Don’t jump,” she yelled as the tape leash unraveled to its full eight feet. Otis did one of his gravity defying leaps into Joey’s arms and knocked him back a full step.

  “This dog is an animal,” he said.

  “He’s a little high strung.”

  “A little?”

  He plopped Otis to the ground. “Luce, I’m thinkin’ Otis needs obedience training. I mean, are you walking him or is he walking you?”

  On cue, Otis bounded to his favorite tree and Lucie planted her feet. With gritted teeth and a steel grip, she held the leash with both hands, waiting for the impact when the dog ran out of slack. “He’s just spirited.”

  Wham. The leash jammed to a stop and so did Otis. Lucie’s muscles strained and she shifted her weight back.

  Joey snorted. “High-strung and spirited? Just say he’s a pain in the ass.”

  As much as her brother tortured her, she laughed. Joey always spoke his mind. It might be verbal vomit, but he’d tell you. There were times, though, that his logic made sense.

  Luckily, those times didn’t come often. “Thanks for walking with me. Even if I moan about it, I am more comfortable having company.”

  He shrugged. “No sweat. You’re my sister. I’ll always take care of you. Besides, Dad would kill me if I didn’t.”

  “Well, there you go.”

  “What?”

  “Isn’t it funny that no matter how old we are we’re still afraid of him?”

  “There’s still a lot to be afraid of.”

  That wasn’t the point, but she should have known better. Joey would never change. He would always allow their father’s influence to guide him. Simple as that. Maybe he was happy that way. Did she have a right to question it? A soft humming noise caught in her ears while she watched Otis sniff around his favorite tree. “Go pee, Otis.”

  A car turned the corner, slowed, and Lucie’s temples throbbed. When did a car inching along suddenly put her in a panicked state?

  She watched them go by and caught a glimpse of the passenger. Didn’t recognize him. Paranoid. That’s what she was. “Onward ho, boys.”

  Otis made his way to the next tree and stopped. From behind, a car door slammed and they shifted to see a man running at them.

  Joey slid in front of Lucie. “Again? These guys are starting to irritate me. Run, Luce. I got this.”

  The hammering at her temples should have blown a hole right through her skull. She gave the leash a tug. “Let’s go, Otis.”

  He continued his sniffing as Joey charged the guy.

  “Otis!” The dog lifted his head in question. “Let’s go.” Nothing. Dammit.

  “Run, Luce,” Joey hollered just before he tackled the would-be assailant. The two men rolled on the ground, punches flying, and Lucie jerked the leash.

  Otis wouldn’t move.

  A hysterical bubble of laughter shot up her throat. The laughing could only be her sanity taking leave. She’d have to carry the dog—not an easy task. She bent low, scooped him into her arms and straightened. The tension in her back could have cracked her in two, but she focused on steadying the wiggling canine. “Stay still.”

  As usual, Otis wasn’t listening. He was busy staring up at her and licking her chin while she half ran, half walked past her brawling brother and the attacker.

  Get to the Lutzes’ garage. Her quasi walk-run caused Otis to slip, but she hefted him against her chest. A stream of air exploded from her mouth. Don’t drop him. Get to the garage.

  She gave him another good boost to strengthen her hold and he arched his back to get loose. Then the licking started again. That big, wet tongue slapping across her cheek. She craned out of his reach.

  “Otis, we have to get to the garage.”

  She continued the crazy gallop toward the house and, with quaking arms, set Otis down to punch in the garage code. She caught a glimpse of Joey hammering his fists into their attacker.

  Once inside the garage, she smacked her fingers across the button to close the door and ran into the house. She should call the police. Shouldn’t she?

  She ran to the front window and Otis, thinking it was playtime, leaped at her, his paws connecting with her butt and pushing her off balance.

  “Off.” She righted herself against the window frame and looked out.

  The battle between Joey and the attacker wore on, the two men tearing up the perfection of the neighbor’s sprouting green grass. Joey rolled to his feet and sent a kick to the guy’s midsection. It looked so painful that Lucie jumped back from the window.

  Then, a disheartening thought looped inside her. What if the guy Joey was beating to a pulp was some random person coming down the street? Maybe he wasn’t interested in them at all. He could be a neighbor rushing home to an injured child.

  The car that originally let the man off came around the corner. Two men bounded out. Okay. Not so random. She analyzed the men. One older, maybe mid-fifties. Gray hair, slicked back. Black slacks and a zip front jacket. The other, maybe around thirty, blond hair, huskier build, white track pants, red piping with the matching jacket.

  “Joey!”

  As if he could hear her.

  She ran to the mudroom, flipped open the cabinet where Mrs. Lutz stored poop bags and seasonal items. The can of bug spray had gotten pushed to the back over the winter, but she snapped it up and sprinted to the front door. With Otis in a crazed barking frenzy, Lucie cracked the door an inch, blocked the dog from escaping and squeezed through.

  Bug spray in hand, she charged the three men. “The police are on the way.” A bluff, but the bad guys didn’t know it. All they knew was, their friend lay at Joey’s feet in la-la land.

  The men tossed her a questioning glance and spun toward her. One laughed at her. Laughed at her?

  That did it.

  The sound of Otis howling from the safety of the house penetrated her mind and whipped like a live wire caught in a hurricane. Every inch of her tingled.

  I am so done with these jer
ks trying to take my dogs.

  She settled her finger on the nozzle of the bug repellent—one she knew caused substantial but temporary eye pain—and sent a blast into the first man’s eyes. He flew backward and rubbed his eyes. Yeah, go ahead, make it worse. She turned left, saw guy number two reaching for her—not a chance—and gave him a shot to the eyes. He too became blinded and stepped backward.

  From the house, Otis launched into another howling fit. “Ahhhh-wooooo!”

  The men dragged their half-unconscious friend to the waiting car while Joey’s mouth hurled a steady stream of curses. One thing about her brother, he never backed down. One of the men, his eyes nearly swelled shut, flipped them the bird.

  “What?” Lucie waved the can of bug spray. “You want more of this?”

  Apparently not. Their attackers jumped into the car, a white Chrysler 300, and Lucie craned her neck to see the license plate. No chance. The car peeled off, its tires squealing as it stormed the car-lined street.

  Hopefully, they’d hit one of the city’s world famous potholes and blow a tire. She lost sight of the car and brought her attention to her brother, who dragged her by the elbow toward the house.

  She pushed through the door, locked it behind them and, with the sudden crash of adrenaline, took note that Joey’s eye and lip were streaming blood. “You’re hurt.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “That’s not hurt.”

  She gave him a once-over. His gray windbreaker was torn at the shoulder and his jeans, in addition to splattered mud stains, were blown out at the knees. What a mess. His battered eye was already turning purple.

  Joey pulled his phone from the pocket of his jeans.

  “Who’re you calling?”

  “Frankie.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, now I’m mad.” He held the phone to his ear while Lucie ran to the kitchen for paper towels.