Dog Collar Cuisine (A Lucie Rizzo Mystery Book 5)

by Adrienne Giordano

  The man nodded, steering the woman clear.

  Tim glanced at Antoine, clearly steamed enough that his chef’s whites were all he needed to stay warm. “You wanna tell him what was in that envelope? It might motivate him.”

  Antoine considered it for a few seconds then nodded. “Blackmail letter.”

  “What?”

  The sirens grew closer and the sinking feeling in Tim’s gut grew. If those cops were for them, he needed to get this moving, get the kid to cooperate. “Yep,” Tim said. “And blackmail is a felony in Illinois. That’ll get you anywhere from six to thirty years in prison. Oh, and the fine. You got twenty-five grand laying around for that?”

  Even in the dark, the kid’s face drained five shades lighter. He thought it over for three solid seconds.

  “Hey. I’m just the messenger. You scared the crap out of me chasing me down. I’ll tell you whatever.”

  Red lights bounced off the storefront window on the corner as a Chicago PD cruiser whipped into view.

  “Uh-oh,” Ro said. “Time to call the girls to action.”

  Lunatic Roseanne opened her coat and popped a button on her blouse. The messenger’s head jerked back, his eyes zooming to Ro as she plumped her ample breasts. Tim sighed. How the hell did this stuff keep happening?

  Lucie met his gaze, her eyes a little spooked. Who could blame her? What with a foot chase and her best friend flashing her rack?

  “We’re fine,” Tim said. “Stay calm. Let me talk. That goes for everybody.”

  She nodded, but he didn’t believe it. When it came to defending herself, his girl couldn’t keep her mouth shut. Most of the time it was a twisted turn on. Pipsqueak Lucie Rizzo constantly ready for battle. Fearless. That was Lucie.

  Throw Roseanne into it and the two of them were like Navy destroyers.

  Only Tim couldn’t balance that with his need to protect them, to make sure they stayed safe.

  A crowd gathered and Tim lightened his grip on the delivery guy’s jacket.

  Two cops exited their vehicle, shoulders back in that command presence posture the academy pounded into cadets’ heads.

  As a former beat cop, that command presence had saved Tim’s ass many a time.

  The first cop, big guy, late thirties, pushed through the crowd. Tim glanced at his partner. Younger. Not as hard in the eyes. Rookie maybe.

  “Break it up, everybody,” the big guy said.

  Obviously pinpointing Tim as the threat, he sized him up. Tim released the delivery guy, holding his hands up where the cops could see them. “Officers, I’m Detective Tim O’Brien. Chicago PD. My badge is in my inside jacket pocket.”

  “Let me see it. Slowly.”

  Keeping one hand in view, Tim reached into his pocket and retrieved his badge wallet, handing it over. Both cops checked his creds and handed them back.

  “We got a call about an altercation. What’s going on?”

  “Domestic situation,” Tim said.

  Domestic? Total flyer.

  He pointed to Lucie and the delivery guy. “They had an argument. He ran and she tackled him.”

  The cop jerked his chin at Antoine. “What about him?”

  “They were in his office when the argument broke out. He was concerned and ran after them.”

  “How’re you involved?”

  Tim pointed at Lucie. “She’s my girlfriend. I was meeting her. I walked up and saw her chasing this guy.”

  “What was the argument about?”

  Good question. This freewheeling it only took him so far.

  “Stripper banger!”

  This from Lucie, who, as he anticipated couldn’t help herself.

  Roseanne, who’d busted her ex-husband doing the nasty with strippers, gasped. “Evil.” She stepped forward, breasts bouncing as she poked a finger. “Are you friends with that rat-bastard ex-husband of mine? I could see the two of you making the rounds at the clubs.”

  The older cop’s eyes bugged out. It could have been Ro’s cleavage on full display rather than the actual words, but he got a hold of himself and cleared his throat. “Someone tell me what’s going on.”

  Lucie grabbed Ro’s elbow and hauled her back a step just in case she started swinging the luggage that doubled as a purse.

  “He’s dating my friend,” Lucie said. “I heard from our other friend that he’s going to strip clubs when he’s supposed to be at work. He’s dating one of the dancers.”

  “I am not,” the delivery guy shrieked.

  “Liar!”

  And here we go. So much for Tim doing the talking. He pointed at Lucie. “You’re killing me right now. You know that, right?”

  “Damned stripper-bangers,” Ro fumed. “We should castrate all you cheating man-whores.”

  The older cop pressed his thumb and middle finger into his eyes. “To think, this shift is only half over.”

  “I’m no stripper-banger,” the delivery guy said. “I got a girl at home. I love her.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Roseanne,” Tim said, “shut up.”

  Ro whipped to face him and he narrowed his eyes, the two of them in a brutal stare down that he’d win. No doubt. A solid ten seconds passed before she let out a huff. “Fine. But keep me away from that stripper-banger. You know how I am with that.”

  “Look,” the older cop said, “does anyone want to press charges here?” He made eye contact with the delivery guy who, if Tim guessed right, might be considering it. If that happened, they’d be spilling the truth—all of it—because Tim wouldn’t let Lucie go down on an assault charge. Not when the delivery guy had some explaining to do about that blackmail letter.

  The guy shifted his gaze from Tim to Lucie and back to the cop. “I’m good.”

  “All right.” The cop faced Lucie. “What about you?”

  “No. Thank you, though.”

  He met Ro’s gaze and grinned at her. “Something tells me you’re the wildcard.”

  She held up a finger. “Where I come from, we don’t let cops handle our issues. I’ll deal with that stripper-banger myself.”

  “I’m sure you will.” The cop waved a hand at Tim. “You got this under control?”

  “We’re good. Thanks.”

  The cops went back to their car, the younger one glancing back at Ro and smiling. If Joey were here, it’d be a war.

  “Phew.” Lucie pushed her palm into her forehead. “That was crazy.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “Did you have to bust out the stripper banger line? It would have been easier to toss a stick of dynamite.”

  “It was the first thing I thought of. I thought you were stuck so I jumped in to help.”

  “She’s right, O’Hottie. You were blowing it.”

  Control. Stay in control. Tim closed his eyes and forced out a long, slow stream of air.

  “Hello?” Antoine said. “I’d like to know who sent this blackmail note. Plus, I’m freezing my ass off.”

  Still holding onto the delivery guy, Tim considered walking him back to Antoine’s office.

  If he did that, he’d run the risk of an accusation that he held him against his will.

  Tim scanned the area. Coffee shop on the corner. A nice, open space with plenty of witnesses.

  He shoved the delivery guy. “Let’s go. We’re buying you coffee.”

  Chapter Five

  Lucie followed Tim and the messenger into the coffee shop with Ro and Antoine in tow. Inside, only a few patrons sat at the half-dozen tables, but Tim beelined past them to a seating area in the back corner.

  Rather than call attention to themselves—Ro’s cleavage did enough of that—by not ordering, Lucie paused at the counter to grab a few drinks. That was her, a nice girl out for a chat with her friends.

  The sssshhhrrr of the espresso machine sounded just as Ro stepped up and volunteered to help Lucie carry. By the time they got to the group, Tim was already deep into his questioning of their suspect. The pseudo stripper banger.

  “What did we
miss?”

  “Not a lot,” Tim said. “This is Ryan Bishop. He works for a private delivery service.” He checked his notes. “Get There Fast messenger service.”

  Lucie shoved aside a couple of magazines and set three black coffees on the table. Ro added another two.

  “Black. No sugar.”

  Tim, always ready to mainline caffeine, dove right in, taking a long sip of the steaming coffee before continuing his interrogation. “You were paid to deliver that envelope?”

  “Yeah. My boss called. He’s a one-man operation. He does the daytime deliveries and some at night. If he can’t do it, he pays me cash. But, you know, don’t tell anyone because this is a good gig and I don’t want to get him in trouble with the IRS.”

  “Or you,” Antoine said. “Isn’t that right?”

  The guy, a kid really, probably no older than early twenties, shrugged one boney shoulder. “Well, sure. I got student loans to pay off.”

  “What time did he call you about this delivery?”

  “Maybe 5:30. I had to pick up the envelope at his office and then deliver it. Traffic was nuts.”

  Tim jotted a note. “Where’s his office?”

  “Southwest side. He rents from his accountant. Cheaper than doing a lease on his own.”

  “That’s handy at tax time,” Ro said.

  Lucie slashed her hand across her throat. “Shh.”

  “I’m just saying.”

  Tim shot them a look. “You two about done?”

  They’d never be done and he knew it. Still, Lucie zipped her lips and found herself on the receiving end of a grunt from Antoine.

  If he knew what was good for him, he’d keep his noises silent. Lucie didn’t like being accused of stealing and when she proved her innocence, Antoine would owe her a giant—perhaps groveling—apology.

  Now though, he sat forward, tapping one finger on the coffee table. “Did he inform you who wanted the envelope delivered?”

  “Nah. He just tells me where to take it. I swear, I didn’t know what was in it.”

  Puh-lease. He had to know. Lucie shook her head. “Why did you run then?”

  “You started chasing me. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out whatever was in that envelope pissed you off. I got scared.”

  Two girls—teenagers—entered the coffee shop, their giggles echoing in the quiet space. They bypassed the counter, obviously on their way to the ladies’ room.

  Tim held up the hand with his pen in it to silence the group. “All right. Pipe down.” He pointed with the pen. “Ryan, get your boss on the phone.”

  The kid’s lips peeled back. “Now?”

  “No. Tomorrow. Yes, now. We need to know who sent this letter.”

  “Oh, come on, man. I only work for the guy. And he’s not real nice. He’s gonna be mad.”

  “Ask me if I care.”

  “Ask if any of us care,” Lucie added.

  On a sigh, Ryan dragged his phone out and scrolled. “I’m cooked after this.”

  “If you’re telling the truth and we get what we need, I’ll square it with him.”

  Ryan tapped the screen and handed the phone to Tim. “Hello? No. This isn’t Ryan. My name is Tim O’Brien. I’m a detective with the Chicago police department.”

  And, oh wow. Tim never—ever—identified himself as a police officer unless on duty and now he’d done it twice in the last twenty minutes. Her man possessed a solid oak sense of honor. With that came his unwillingness to use his badge as leverage. Now, in an effort to help her, he’d obliterated his personal code of conduct.

  “I’m calling,” Tim said, “about the delivery Ryan just made to Antoine Durand… Yes, sir. That one. I’m not able to disclose the contents, but we need to locate the sender… No, sir. No name… Sir, it’s imperative… Sorry, I’m not at liberty to say. Thank you, sir.”

  Tim hung up and handed the phone back. “A man called to schedule the delivery. The envelope was dropped off at the accountant’s office and left with the receptionist. With cash payment. No information was exchanged.”

  Drat. The quick ride to Lucie being cleared had just hit a snag.

  “I don’t understand how people do business this way,” Ro said. “Whatever happened to accountability?”

  “Exactly why the sender used a private service. The larger delivery companies make you show identification.”

  Ryan’s gaze bounced all over and then settled on Tim. “I did what you asked. Can I go?”

  “Let me see your ID.”

  “Why?”

  “So I know where to find you if I need you.” He handed him his notepad. “Write your number down. And don’t try giving me a fake one. I’ll find you if I have to. And then I’ll just be pissed that you wasted my time.”

  Ha! Go, Tim. How she loved a man who knew how to control a situation. So hot.

  Two minutes later, Ryan hustled out of the coffee shop like a prisoner just sprung from death row.

  “Well,” Lucie said, “that got us nowhere.”

  Antoine stood and waved one hand. “I disagree. It’s rather clear to me now.”

  Had he missed the whole conversation? The one that had garnered a big fat zilch? “What’s clear?”

  “You come to my office pretending to want to help and while you’re there, I get a blackmail letter. Then we go through this whole charade and wind up with no information.”

  Just stop it. A familiar heat rose in her chest, tearing its way around her ribcage. “You can’t believe I set this up.”

  “Sure I can. You’re the only one who could have taken that recipe. What I’m stunned over is this elaborate plan you hatched so I would think you’re trying to help.” He let out a sarcastic snort. “That’s brilliant.”

  “Hold on,” Tim said.

  Antoine whirled on him. “I will not hold on. I’m calling my lawyer.”

  Please. No lawyers.

  Tim stood, got eye to eye with Antoine. “Why the lawyer? Call the police if you really think Lucie did it.”

  “The note said if I called the cops the recipe would be posted online. I can’t have that. I’ve built a billion-dollar business on that recipe and I’m not risking it. “

  He faced Lucie, his dark eyes direct and…mean. Something she’d never seen on the normally affable chef. “You really think I’d take your recipe? That I would do that?”

  “All the evidence points that way.” He waved his arms, gesturing around the coffee shop. “If you’ve gone to all this trouble already, I don’t doubt you’ll release it. My entire company is built on that recipe being a secret. If it wasn’t you, someone else wrote that note. If I call the cops, they’ll post the recipe. I’m sunk either way. I’m calling my lawyer and waiting for the next communication.”

  At 9:00 the following morning, Lucie strode from the Coco Barknell break room with a giant mug of coffee in hand. Yesterday had drained her to the point where her body had caved to exhaustion, but her mind refused to rest.

  All night long, in her childhood room with the princess furniture, she’d dozed and jolted awake, dozed and jolted awake. All because her brain wouldn’t shut down. Find that recipe. Prove your innocence. Do something. On and on it went, an endless loop of panic ravaging her already exhausted mind.

  She sipped from her mug, thankful to coffee beans everywhere. “We have a lot to do today.”

  Ro looked up from her spot at the conference table where she too savored an oversized coffee. Her laptop sat open in front of her. “There’s nothing online about the blackmail. It’s staying quiet.”

  “Good.”

  Even with a blackmailer on the loose and Lucie being blamed, she had a business to run. One that included route and schedule adjustments to accommodate new dog-walking clients.

  And recently abandoned ones, since Antoine had fired them.

  “Luce,” Ro said, “are you okay?”

  Lucie set her mug down and sat across from Ro. “It’s just another day in paradise, isn’t it?”

&nb
sp; “Amen, sister. I’m worried about you with this whole being fired thing. You care too much. Have we ever been fired before?”

  Lucie’s mind tripped back to last spring and the dognappings that had plagued her when the business barely supported her, never mind an entire staff. “Once. Remember Mr. Darcy?”

  “Oh, that wack-job. Yes. He hired us back though.”

  “True, but he still fired us. That was the only time. I intend to get Brie back as well. I can’t have Antoine bad-mouthing us when we haven’t done anything wrong.”

  Nothing sparked Lucie’s wrath like being accused of a crime.

  The whole of her adult life had been spent running from the mob princess moniker and some days, like today, the war felt endless. And futile.

  Joey pushed through the office door bringing a blast of cold air with him. Her brother wore jeans, sneakers, and what looked like a sweatshirt under a light jacket. How he traipsed around a city known for its cold winters without a winter coat, she’d never understand. The man was a human furnace.

  “Boo Thang,” Felix squawked.

  Something else she could have survived without, but he’d needed a home. Now she owned a mostly foul-mouthed parrot.

  “Whoopsie,” Ro said.

  Joey halted. “What did he say?”

  “Boo Thang,” Felix said again.

  Ro shook her fist at Lucie. “This damned bird. I know he got me out of prison, but does he have to repeat everything?”

  “Boo Thang!”

  “Why,” Joey said, “is this pain in the ass calling me Boo Thang?”

  Lucie wandered to the cage and slid the cover over it. It tended to settle their feisty bird. “Sorry, Felix. You need to learn though.” She adjusted the cover, making sure the bottom was even all around before reclaiming her seat at the table. “Ro calls you Boo Thang when you’re not around.”

  “Really?”

  Ro tossed her hands in the air, her glare mutinous. “So what? You are my boo thang. Big deal.”

  “Hey, don’t get crazy on me. I’ve been called worse things.”

  At that, Lucie laughed.

  Ro flicked her gaze to Joey, then blew him a kiss. Lucie nearly gagged.

  But in a completely un-Joey move, he walked to Ro and kissed her on top of the head.