Dog Collar Cuisine (A Lucie Rizzo Mystery Book 5)

by Adrienne Giordano

  Behind her, Tim poked his head in the open doorway and once again shined his phone light.

  He let out a low whistle and, rather than shout over the noise, bent close to her ear. “Amazing the damage fire can do in a short time.”

  “How long do you think this will take to clean up?”

  “By the time they get the equipment repaired and inspections done? Probably two weeks.”

  Two weeks. “Ugh.”

  The hallway light flashed on. Antoine stood at the top of the stairs in a chef’s coat with enough wrinkles to keep his dry cleaner in business for a lifetime. Wisps of his normally neat hair stuck up in all directions on either side of his head. Not good. The coat, the hair, all of it so out of character for the A-list chef.

  “Hi, Antoine.” She set her hand on Tim’s bicep. “This is Tim O’Brien. My boyfriend.”

  The chef gave a terse nod. Clearly not a happy camper, but after the day he’d had, he was entitled to be crabby. As long as he didn’t accuse her of being a thief, she’d give him a little leeway.

  “Come up,” he said. “Please lock that door behind you. I thought I locked it.”

  While Tim dealt with the lock, Lucie unclipped the leash. Brie shot up the stairs into her owner’s arms. The love of a good dog. Some days, that’s all people needed.

  Antoine nuzzled Brie. His mouth moved, but between the distance and noise from the fans, Lucie couldn’t make out the words. Probably just as well. Private moment and all that.

  Antoine kept his gaze pinned to her as she made her way up the creaking wood stairs. The tension squeezed like a vise. Behind her, Tim tugged gently on the back of her jacket and she glanced back. Her red-headed hunk gave her a thumbs up. She nodded, understanding the silent support. Lordy, how did she deserve this man?

  When Antoine refused to step back and make room for them, Lucie halted at the top of the stairs. “Any luck on the recipe?”

  “No. I’ve torn that office apart.”

  Well, she’d have to help him look. Ignoring his attempt to block her from entering, Lucie inserted herself in the small space between Antoine and the doorframe. At certain times, her diminutive stature came in handy.

  Tim, ever the professional, held his hand out. “Tim O’Brien. I’m a detective with Chicago PD. Thought I’d come along to help.”

  Antoine set Brie on the floor. She scampered off, probably in search of her bed after all the excitement of a road trip.

  The two men shook hands. “Antoine Durand.” He turned away from Tim, absently waving one hand. “Close that door behind you. I don’t want Brie down there.”

  He led them to his office and once inside squatted to give Brie a rub while Tim scanned the space.

  He lingered on the now-closed safe for a few seconds, head cocked. “Do you remember seeing the recipe? It’s a blue card, yes?”

  “I didn’t take it out of the safe. It stays on the top shelf. I keep a notebook on that shelf too. I took the notebook out, but I didn’t see the card fall out.”

  “Could the dog have swiped it?”

  “Doubtful. She doesn’t usually go for paper.”

  Lucie held up the poop bag she’d brought in with her. “We checked Brie’s poop. I didn’t see remnants of the card.”

  Tim glanced around the office again. “Have you checked the other rooms? Just in case.”

  “I looked.” He lifted one hand to his forehead then dropped it. “I’m telling you, paper goods aren’t an issue with her. You said you’re a detective?”

  Tim nodded. “Property crimes.”

  “How very convenient.”

  Now he wanted to be a smart ass. As if Lucie planned on stealing his stupid recipe and then having her detective boyfriend investigate. Wouldn’t that make her an excellent criminal?

  She held up her hands. “Let’s be honest here. You think I stole that recipe.”

  Antoine stayed silent. Of course he did. A lifetime of being Joe Rizzo’s kid had conditioned her to the silence that came with being judged.

  “Well,” she said, “I didn’t. I may have been alone up here—trapped, I might add—while I searched for the damned door key, but, hey, you don’t have to thank me for saving your dog. Instead, you can accuse me of being a thief.”

  Tim touched her forearm, probably to shut her up, but…no. Staying calm was one thing. She could do that, but she wouldn’t stand around and be accused of a crime without spouting off a little.

  “Luce—”

  “No, Tim. I don’t like being called a thief.”

  Antoine hit her with a hard look. “That card was in the safe when the fire broke out. The door was open when I walked out and now the card is gone. It’s not rocket science.”

  Oh, she should just smack that smug look off his face. Pompous idiot. Lucie curled her fingers, let her nails dig into the soft flesh of her palm and considered popping him. Bam! One good sock to the kisser.

  But violence wasn’t her thing. Aside from those few instances where she’d jumped on people. And maybe whacked them on the head a few times. Those were isolated instances and she was, in fact, a weakling who could hardly inflict any damage.

  Right now, though? She could cut a bitch.

  Tim stepped into the space separating Lucie and Antoine. “Let’s stay focused. The three of us will search this floor, room by room. Together.”

  “Fine.” Antoine headed for the door.

  “Fine,” Lucie repeated, following the chef.

  Tim sighed. “Fine.”

  Forty-five minutes and three rooms later, Lucie, Tim, and Antoine stood in the conference room after having completed their search.

  No blue card anywhere.

  “That,” Antoine said, “was an epic failure.”

  Mr. Positive. Lucie gritted her teeth. Ignore him. That’s all she’d do. For close to an hour she’d been listening to him either A) sigh or B) make some sort of passive aggressive remark aimed at her, the suspected recipe thief.

  Visions of pummeling her client, just leaping on top of him and hammering away, filled Lucie’s mind. Not worth the jail time.

  Tim scratched the side of his face. To the untrained, the gesture appeared casual. Not to Lucie. For months, she’d studied this man’s body language and learned his tells, even the ones hiding behind a mask of neutrality. That face scratch? Big trouble.

  O’Hottie was worried.

  Tim walked to the conference room door and pointed at the office across the hall. “When you opened the safe, do you remember seeing the card? I know you said you keep it on the top shelf, but are you sure you actually saw it today?”

  “I’m positive. It was on top of the binder and I had to move it.”

  Don’t panic.

  Lucie took a lesson from Tim and kept her body language to a minimum. No disgusted outrage or arm flapping. Just…nothing.

  “What about other people? Was anyone else up here after you opened the safe?”

  “Only Molly and Annalise.”

  “And they are?”

  “Molly is my girlfriend.”

  “And his manager,” Lucie added. “Annalise is her assistant.”

  Apparently she’d forgotten to mention Molly and Anna to Tim, because he eyed her with the classic WTF look.

  "Hey," she said, "it's been a rough day."

  “Could either one of them have taken it?”

  Antoine propped his hands on his hips and dipped his head back. “No. They weren’t anywhere near the safe. Molly doesn’t even know I keep a copy in there. She’s the security freak. If she knew I kept a hard copy, she’d lecture me until I turned to stone.”

  Based on their current situation, she’d be right on with that lecture. If anything, he shouldn’t make a habit—even if in his office—of leaving the safe hanging open. Anything could happen. As evidenced by the kitchen fire.

  “I understand,” Tim said. “Was there anyone else up here?”

  “Not while the safe was open.”

  Damn it.


  The intercom buzzer sounded. Antoine strode back to his office with Lucie and Tim falling in behind. He punched a button on the keypad near his desk. “Hello?”

  “Uh, hi.” A voice boomed through the speaker. “I have a delivery for…uh…it says Antoine Durand.”

  “What kind of delivery?”

  “An envelope.”

  Antoine shook his head as if it was the messenger’s fault he’d had a crappy day.

  Lucie and Tim waited in the hallway while Antoine signed for the envelope. The creak of stairs alerted them to Antoine’s return, but then…silence.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  Tim charged toward the stairway with Lucie on his heels.

  “What is it?”

  In the middle of the staircase, Antoine held up a typewritten sheet of paper. “It’s a note. Telling me to await instructions and not call the cops if I don’t want my recipe released. It appears I’m about to be blackmailed.”

  Chapter Four

  In a giant burst of energy, Tim took off, his big body hustling down the stairs. He shoved Antoine aside, moving around him to get to the street level. Lucie fell in behind. Wherever her man went, she went too. Especially if it meant a chance to see the creep trying to frame her.

  The second-floor entry door slammed behind her and she gripped the railing, taking a peek over her shoulder. Antoine had closed the door, locking Brie inside.

  Tim leaped from the third step and whipped the outside door open. Wicked cold bit against her cheeks and her breath came in a white puff. Oooff! She slammed into the back of Tim and—oooff again!—got pancaked by Antoine who couldn’t stop in time.

  “Hey, Detective,” Lucie said. “A little warning would be nice.”

  “Woo-hoo!”

  Oh, no.

  Behind her, Ro furiously waved one hand and strutted toward them, her high-heeled boots clickety-clacking against the pavement. What the heck was she doing here?

  Antoine pointed to the far end of the block. “There he is. Red hat. On the corner.”

  Tim took off running, his suit coat flapping open as he moved, dodging the few pedestrians. Lucie fell in behind, her short legs failing to give her enough speed to keep up.

  Antoine cruised by. Clearly, he went to the gym. Probably with Tim.

  “Woo-hoo,” Ro said again. “Wait for me.”

  No waiting. Lucie pumped her legs harder, sucking in long, slow breaths. These men wouldn’t leave her behind. No way. Cold air singed her throat. Whoopsie. Should have grabbed her coat, because the sweater wouldn’t cut it against the bitter lake air. She kept running though, willing her legs to go faster. Faster, faster, faster. Just to stay with them.

  Ro tromped up behind her doing a weird waddle/walk/run. Even Ro, wearing sky high heels and a skirt that could double as plastic wrap, was faster than Lucie. They jockeyed around a woman pushing a stroller and managed to bump a guy carrying a briefcase.

  “Sorry, handsome,” Ro said.

  “Anytime, hon.”

  Men. Total pigs.

  “Luce,” Ro huffed, “who are we chasing?”

  “That guy just delivered a blackmail letter.”

  “Ooh, nice.”

  Lucie kept running, but with Ro distracting her, the men started pulling away. “We have to keep up. What are you doing here?”

  “I was bored.”

  Bored. Excellent. “Where’s Joey?”

  “Please. Doing collections. Don’t get me going on that.”

  And—oy—a side stitch shredded Lucie’s torso. Her heart slammed so hard her chest wall should have cracked open.

  Gotta get to the gym.

  The red hat guy spotted Antoine—not exactly incognito in his chef’s coat— and darted into the street. Car tires screeched and a horn sounded, but the guy managed to not become road kill in the late rush hour traffic.

  Tim jockeyed around the vehicles littering the intersection and disappeared from Lucie’s view. Taking advantage of the stopped traffic, she scooted across both lanes and hooked a left, following but losing ground on Tim and Antoine.

  God, she was out of shape.

  The sidewalk edges blurred and she blinked, sucked more air and blinked again. Her chest hurt. Her side hurt. Everything hurt. Ahead, now more than half a block up, an overhead streetlight shined against Tim’s hair. That cross between red and strawberry blond that she’d know anywhere.

  Another horn sounded and she peered right, into the street where red hat guy whipped between cars and almost got flattened again.

  Idiot. For that alone she wanted to catch him. He could have caused an accident. Killed someone. Not to mention himself.

  And, right now, she might want that honor.

  “Dumbass,” a woman yelled. “Get out of the street.”

  My thoughts exactly.

  Once again taking advantage of the stopped traffic, Lucie and Ro tore across the street and hopped onto the sidewalk in front of a lingerie boutique that had just turned its lights off, leaving them in the shadow of the street lamps.

  She slowed her run—thank you, sweet baby Jesus—to a speed walk, and forced out an even breath as her heart slammed and slammed. Relax.

  Ro stopped in front of the lingerie store and poked at the shop’s window. “Joey would love that bra.”

  “Hey! If you’re going to be here, focus. We need to catch this guy.”

  Red hat guy stopped for a second, looking left at the sidewalk that was barricaded due to construction.

  Got him. You are toast, pal.

  He turned right. Running straight at Lucie and Ro.

  What the hell?

  Tim and Antoine followed, the guy now dead center between Lucie and the men. And he kept coming. Sure, she was small, but did he not see her?

  She’d have to tackle him. Head on.

  She glanced behind the guy, saw Tim gaining on him. Slow him down. That’s all she had to do. A few steps and Tim would be on him.

  She tugged on Ro’s sleeve. “Help me slow him down. The guy with the red hat.”

  Prying herself from the slutty bra display, Ro did that funky waddle/speed walk and fell into step beside Lucie.

  “You got it, sister.”

  “Tackle him if we have to, but make sure he doesn’t get through. Tim is right behind him.”

  “I can flash him.”

  “No!”

  All Lucie needed was Tim seeing Ro’s boobs. With that, she’d lose him forever.

  She shook off visions of Tim mesmerized by the beautiful Roseanne and focused on red hat guy. He had some bulk. Not nearly as tall as Tim, but enough where he’d do some damage if he ran head-on into Lucie. Ro maybe could take him. Lucie? No way.

  Which left her with a decision. Cracked skull or being labeled a blackmailer?

  Hmmm…

  Cracked skull.

  Definitely.

  Now twenty feet away, she picked up speed, kept her eyes straight ahead, tracking her prey. He moved right to angle around a pedestrian and bumped another woman.

  “Hey. Slow down. Jerk!”

  Tell him, lady.

  And then he was right there. No pedestrians blocking her view. Just her and red hat guy. He made a move, dodging left, but she picked up speed, running straight for him.

  His eyes grew wide. Anticipating the crash, she let out a wail, an absolute war cry that was half pissed-off Italian girl and half let-me-live, and…leaped. Arms extended, she flew right at him.

  “Luce,” Tim said. “No!”

  Halting, the guy put his hands up, twisting his upper body to block the blow. Too late.

  She crashed into him, her peanut body barreling into his solid bulk. Yow. Her chest caved in. Or maybe her lungs split open, because she suddenly couldn’t breathe.

  The guy stumbled back. Ro appeared, swinging her giant Gucci purse and landing a paralyzing blow to the side of his head while Lucie fought for a decent breath, her lungs slowly filling and releasing.

  “Ow,” he said.

  He
kept moving, though, shoving at Lucie, who wrapped her arms around him. He dragged her along, the toes of her new shoes scraping against the pavement.

  Her fingers slipped and she tightened her hold. “Watch the shoes. I just bought these.”

  Behind red hat guy, Tim came to a halt, grabbing the back of his jacket. “Luce. Off!”

  Smack.

  Ro walloped him again.

  Tim angled away, avoiding the purse’s rebound. “Watch it,” he said. “You almost got me.”

  Antoine joined the crowd, adding reinforcement. Lucie, still hanging from the much bigger guy’s shoulders, let go. She dropped to the pavement, her knees taking a direct hit.

  “Ouch.”

  “You okay?”

  She gave Red Hat her mean face. “I’m fine. No thanks to this jerk.” She shook a fist at him. “You could have gotten us killed!”

  Tim slid between her and Red Hat.

  “Antoine, is this him? The guy who delivered the letter?”

  Antoine rested his hands on his thighs and bent over, drawing hard inhalations. “That’s him. Now I want some answers.”

  The sound of sirens in the distance shriveled Tim’s intestines.

  Damn. If those sirens were for them, they were screwed. A dozen thoughts rambled through his head. Cops. Need a story. Identify myself. Identify Lucie?

  Crap. The Rizzo name, when it came to Chicago cops, always brought curiosity. And judgment.

  As much as he hated to admit it, since dating Lucie, he’d come to realize her paranoia about people looking down on her because of her last name wasn’t paranoia.

  Nope. Lucie paid the price for her father’s misdeeds.

  “Cops,” the delivery guy said.

  He made a move to bolt and Tim gripped his coat harder, holding him in place. “You’re not going anywhere. If those sirens are for us, you got two choices. Either I turn you over to them or you agree to talk to me and I get rid of them.”

  “Turn me over? For what? All I did was deliver an envelope.”

  Pedestrians wandered both sides of the street, most of them sticking to the opposite side because of the torn-up sidewalk behind them. A young couple strode their way, eyeballing Tim still hanging on to Red Hat. Tim slid his badge from his back pocket and held it up for them.