Dog Collar Knockoff

by Adrienne Giordano

  “Blah, blah.”

  Lucie swiped at the pad on her laptop and the image of the painting filled the screen. For the first time—ever—Ro might have been struck mute. She leaned in, craning closer to the screen. “Well, well, well. Mister, where have you been all my life? And is that a wheelbarrow?”

  Unbelievable. Totally off-point here. “What did I just say?”

  Ro slouched back, resting her hand on her forehead. “I know, but, Luce, you can’t put that in front of me and not expect it.” She dropped her hand and straightened up again. “I don’t know why this surprises me. Even four hundred years ago men had one-track minds. And frankly, not that this matters, but I think the logistics on that wheelbarrow thing are a little suspect.”

  Lucie laughed. She couldn’t help it. She had the most incredibly twisted inner circle. But God, she loved them. “You’re right. And if you’re done ogling, can we get back to business here? We need to figure out if this painting was destroyed in that fire. Hopefully, it wasn’t and it’s hanging on the Horvath’s wall.”

  “Okay. We’ve got this. Show me the rest so I’ll be able to tell which ones were destroyed.”

  Please. As if Lucie believed that. “You just want to look at them.”

  Fighting a grin, Ro set the tips of her fingers over her mouth and giggled. “I’m so naughty.”

  “Fine. Be naughty. Just find that damned painting.”

  “Okay. But I’m writing down the name of this website.”

  *

  Tim sat at his desk, clearing out some reports when his cell phone rang. After starting the day with two hours of paperwork, he welcomed the distraction and seeing adorable Lucie Rizzo’s name lifted his mood considerably. He hit the button. “Hey, pretty lady.”

  “Hi. And thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For telling me I’m pretty.”

  “I only speak the truth.”

  “And for saving my butt with Frankie. That was awkward.”

  “I know. For me, too. It was easier all around for me to just handle it. At least for now.”

  He was a nice guy, but that only took him so far and if things progressed between he and Lucie, she’d need to make a decision. Him or Frankie. End of it. Tim didn’t share. Ever.

  His lieutenant walked by the desk and dropped a file without even slowing down. “Take a look at that before court this afternoon.”

  At two o’clock, Tim would testify for the prosecution on a home invasion from eight months ago. The suspect was pretty much screwed, but Tim never went into court unprepared. “Uh, sure.” He went back to Lucie. “Sorry. My boss. So what’s up?”

  “I’m sorry. You’re busy. I’ll call you later.”

  Again with the apologizing. Lucie Rizzo apologized a lot. For things she shouldn’t be apologizing for. He’d break her of that if it killed him. “No, Lucie. We’re good.”

  She hesitated for a few seconds and Tim glanced at the phone’s screen to make sure the call hadn’t dropped. Not uncommon in the precinct with all the cement walls.

  Nope. Plenty of bars. He’d wait her out.

  “Okay,” she finally said. “Could I ask your advice on something? Not personal. Business. Sort of. Well, it’s kind of both.”

  Tim smiled. Dang, he sort of loved this girl. Definitely a worrier. But there was more. Way more. Ambition maybe. And the drive to make sure the world knew she was more than a mob guy’s kid. “Sure.”

  “Great. Can I buy you lunch?”

  He stared down at the folder Lou had just dropped on his desk. Between what he already had on his desk and that file, his day had gone to hell pretty quick. “Today?”

  “Yes. I know it’s short notice, but I’ll be seeing the client it involves this afternoon.”

  “Is this a legal issue?”

  Again she hesitated and Tim’s shit meter went off.

  “Well, I guess I’m not sure.”

  “Which is why you want to ask me about it?”

  “Yes.”

  He checked his watch. “Can you do it early. Maybe 11:30? I have to be in court this afternoon.”

  “Absolutely. 11:30. I’ll text you the address. Thank you.”

  As if it were a hardship seeing her in the middle of the day. “No. Thank you. This might be the best part of my day.”

  And who said cops couldn’t be charming? Frank Falcone better be on notice that Tim wanted his girl.

  Ninety minutes later, he walked into Rizzo’s Italian Beef, got a laugh out of her inviting him to lunch at her mobbed-up father’s restaurant, and found Lucie sitting at a table by the window. He walked over, hung his suit jacket on the back of one of the empty chairs, slipped off his tie, and rolled it.

  If he had to eat at Rizzo’s, he was having a beef sandwich and they were tricky bastards. By the end of the meal, he’d be sure to have sandwich juice dripped down the front of him. As it was, he’d have to be careful with the shirt.

  “Hi,” he said to Lucie, who watched him shove the tie into the inside pocket of his jacket. “Court hearing today. I don’t want to mess up my big boy clothes.”

  “Smart, Detective. Is that the voice of experience?”

  “Yep. Want to order before I sit?”

  “Sure.”

  He stepped behind her, scooted her chair from under her, and held out his hand. The early lunch crowd trickled in, and roughly half of the fifty tables were occupied, the voices all melding together and bouncing off the brick walls. As restaurants went, Rizzo’s appeared to do a healthy business. The food was good and the owner’s reputation didn’t hurt in terms of tourists. Everyone wanted a look at one of Joe Rizzo’s joints.

  Tim followed Lucie to the counter, where they ordered and were handed a number for the table. While waiting for their food, Tim took the empty seat beside her and decided, once again, that he liked looking at Lucie.

  “Thanks for meeting me,” she said.

  “Thanks for calling. What’s up? Problem with a client?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Lucie gave him the short version of her problem and finished just as a tray of food landed on their table.

  Tim dove into his sandwich and the flavor of the beef, a little peppery but not too much, exploded in his mouth. Damn that was good. He set the sandwich down, wiped his mouth and decided he’d have to visit Rizzo’s more often. Being a cop, he hadn’t wanted to support a business connected to organized crime, but hell, this was a damned good sandwich.

  And then there was Lucie…

  “Back to your problem,” he said. “Are you afraid this painting is another fake and your client bought it from Owens?”

  “Exactly.”

  Again with the Owens guy. Something was up with this dude. “I’m gonna look into Owens. Quietly. See if anything pops.”

  “That’s not why I asked you here, but thanks. What I need to find out is if the original painting was destroyed in the fire. Ro and I did some research last night, but I can’t find anything on this particular painting. Do you have any idea how I find out if it’s the original?”

  He didn’t, but the guys who worked fraud probably would. “Let me talk to a few people who handle fraud cases. They might know. Which painting is it?”

  Tim took another bite of his sandwich.

  “It’s called Position Seven.”

  He stopped chewing and swallowed. “Come again?”

  “That’s the title. Position Seven.”

  “Kind of a generic title. Do you have a picture of it so I know what I’m looking for?”

  “Um…”

  “What?”

  She stared at him a second, a pinched look on her face. Eventually, she grabbed her backpack from the chair beside her. “Nothing. It’s just… nothing. I’ll show it to you.” She hit him with a fast, toothy smile. “Free Wi-Fi at Rizzo’s.”

  Nervous. Whatever this painting was, it had her rattled. “Lucie, I’ve been a cop twelve years.” He wiped his hands on his napkin. “Nothing shock
s me. Show me the painting.”

  She tapped the screen of the tablet and nodded. “It’s a Renaissance. Same as the Lutz’s painting. Lauren says it’s a classic. If it’s the real deal, it’s worth millions.”

  After tapping the screen a couple more times, Lucie held out the tablet, but then snatched it back. “No snarky comments.”

  He laughed. “Give me the damned tablet.”

  “Fine. Just remember what I said.”

  Too damned cute. He took the tablet and—whoa. He might have to take back that line about nothing shocking him. And crap on a cracker, he suddenly had a vision of Lucie sitting backward and bare-butt naked on top of him. Day-am. He cleared his throat, kept his eyes glued to the tablet and not on Lucie’s lovely and ample chest, willing his body to remain unaffected. Definitely not an easy task. “All righty, then. Is that a wheelbarrow?”

  “What is it with people and the wheelbarrow?”

  “It’s a legitimate question. I mean, I know it’s buried, so it’s stable, but that has to be uncomfortable. Not to mention a challenge.”

  A woman squeezed behind him and he held the tablet against him. Didn’t need the general population thinking he was a pig. He smiled up at the woman, waited for her to clear the area, and got back to business. He turned the tablet sideways for a better view and whistled. Across from him, Lucie shifted and he glanced up, meting her gaze for a solid thirty seconds, hopefully letting her know that, yes, his mind had definitely gone to the gutter and it was all about her. Her cheeks fired and the very real possibility existed that he might have fallen in love. I’m so going down on this one.

  He handed the tablet back, then reached into his jacket pocket for his notepad.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Writing down the website. If I’m going to try and find this painting, I’ll need specifics.” Yeah, he’d definitely be reviewing that website on his own time.

  “Oh, boy.”

  Damned. Cute.

  “Relax. It’s art. Not a big deal.” He leaned over, ran his hand over the back of her chair, and got right up to her ear. “But if you ever want to try that wheelbarrow thing, I’m your guy.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Lucie parked her scooter in the alley behind the Horvath’s house and unclipped her helmet. From inside, Nugget heard her pull up and went into his barking frenzy, anticipating her arrival and his afternoon walk.

  “I’m coming,” she said, “keep your shorts on.”

  The back door opened and Lucie flinched as sharp warning tingles shot up her arms and down her legs. The Horvaths both worked. Burglar. Instinctively she reached for her messenger bag and the pepper-spray she kept handy. At times, she even carried a stun gun. After the dognappings five months earlier, she’d become her own special crossbreed of Wonder Woman and the Terminator.

  Mr. Horvath—thank goodness—slid into the open doorway. “Hi, Lucie.”

  Lucie removed her helmet, hung it on the handle bar of the scooter, and blew out a heavy breath. The tingles on her arms and legs peeled away as the adrenaline dump tapered off. After the last few days, her nerves were dust. What kind of paranoia drives a person to want to pepper spray their own client?

  As usual, Mr. Horvath’s short, dark hair was combed and gelled into businessman mode. She guessed his age to be around forty, but thought maybe he enjoyed a little Botox every now and again. The few wrinkles he did have strategically accentuated his crystal blue eyes. He wore a grey suit, but the jacket and tie had been discarded. Lunch break or half day. She didn’t care which.

  “Hi, Mr. Horvath.”

  “Sorry if I startled you. I took a couple of hours off this afternoon. I should have warned you.”

  Lucie closed the flap on her messenger bag and adjusted it on her hip. “Good for you. Is Nugget ready for his walk?”

  “You know he is. He’s been sitting by the door waiting for you. But, I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to show you something.”

  Huh?

  A client had never said that to her. And truth be told, it scared her a little. Well, maybe not scared, but she definitely had a moment’s hesitation.

  Whatever it was, he sensed it and shot his hands up. “I bought a painting from Bart. Wanted you to see it.”

  Oh, God. She’d have to look at the guy with the tree-sized member while standing next to her client. Her very male client. And, hellooooo, he’d just inadvertently answered her question about where he’d acquired this latest acquisition. Assuming, of course, that was the painting he referred to.

  She breathed in, set her shoulders, and prepared herself to act surprised. Please be another painting. Please.

  Behind Mr. Horvath, Nugget barked and he stepped aside, letting the dog charge out to see Lucie. She bent low, got her usual lick on the chin and gave Nugget the snuggles he’d grown used to. Great dog. Such a love bug.

  “That dog,” Mr. Horvath said. “You’d think he never got any attention.”

  Offering up one more good rub, Lucie stood. “Nah. He just likes his Lucie love.”

  “Come on in.”

  Please don’t take me to that hallway. But, nope, Mr. Horvath led her into the kitchen straight to the hallway. Doggone it. She could barely look at that painting the first time with Lauren. Now she had to do it with a man. A handsome one to boot.

  Just don’t look at the penis. If she could do that, she’d be fine. No penis.

  Mr. Horvath swooped his arm. “Here it is. We’re just thrilled. It nearly broke the bank, but Bart says we got a steal on it and it’ll triple in value in a couple of years. It’s a Nodai.”

  Lucie braced herself, then tore her eyes from Mr. Horvath to look at the painting. Yep, same tree-like member.

  “The wheelbarrow is a kick, isn’t it?”

  God help me.

  “It certainly is. Wow! It’s so… big.”

  Ach.

  “The painting,” she said.

  Oh, that just made it worse. Now he’d know she was thinking about the member.

  Mr. Horvath laughed. “I know. It’s crazy. It’s part of a series. Twelve in all. Most of them got toasted in a fire, but Bart managed to snag one of the last remaining ones. I think someone in Europe had it.”

  Okay. She couldn’t look at it anymore. The penis was too much. Burned her eyes like acid. She faced Mr. H. “That’s terrific. I’m glad it worked out between you two.”

  But the rat bastard never paid me.

  Mr. Horvath unglued his gaze from the painting and faced her. “It did. I’m actually thinking about investing in another painting with him. Another undervalued Renaissance Bart thinks might go up in value in the next few years.”

  Interesting. She’d probably get screwed out of that commission also. “It’s sort of like flipping houses, only with paintings.”

  “Exactly. If all goes well, it’ll be tremendously profitable.”

  “I could see that. I guess you have to make sure you have all the documentation in order if you’re going to flip them.”

  “Oh absolutely. In the art world it’s called provenance. If the provenance is good, there’s no question regarding the work’s authenticity.”

  Thank you so much for that info. “So what’s considered good provenance?”

  “It could be a signed certificate or some other statement from an expert on the artist. What Bart gave me was a receipt from the gallery.”

  If Mr. Horvath had the receipt, the painting must have been real. And she’d definitely gotten burned out of her finder’s fee. Now she’d have to have a conversation with Bart. One that might cost her a client. But if this painting was worth millions, even if the Horvaths didn’t pay that much, her commission alone would set her up for the next year.

  Nugget nudged Lucie’s leg and she glanced down at him. “I’m sorry, baby.” She rubbed the underside of his chin. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  Before I commit a homicide.

  *

  On her way home, Lucie stopped off at th
e shop to make sure everything was locked. Her new routine since her arrest. From now on, the place would be locked up tight.

  By the newly installed locks.

  At this point, she’d adopted Joey’s favorite saying: Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, I’ll kill you where you stand.

  She double-checked the front door, giving it a good tug before turning toward her car parked across the street. The fading afternoon sun did nothing to alleviate the suffocating heat and humidity, but she tipped her face up and took a second to simply breathe and be thankful she wouldn’t be stuck in an office for another four hours. Banker’s hours.

  Not anymore.

  Her phone rang, then did a quick double vibrate in her back pocket. Always a thrill, that. At least for a girl who’d spent most of her evenings the last three months solo. The vibrating stopped—maybe she’d start calling her own phone for a fix. Or maybe she just needed a vibrator. Eh. Why bother?

  She slipped the phone from her pocket. Tim O’Brien. Hi there, handsome. No wonder her mind went straight to the lack of sex in her life. She had the hottie detective buzzing her butt.

  She tapped the screen. “Hi.”

  “Hi to you. Are you home?”

  “Not yet. On my way. I detoured to make sure the store is locked. What’s up?”

  “I talked to my fraud guy. Your painting,” he continued, “is alive and well. My guy did some digging. He said it’s in a gallery in Italy.”

  Okay. So maybe Bart wasn’t a lying, scheming rat bastard. “Huh. Bart could have bought it then.”

  “Could have. It’s worth three million.”

  Lucie froze, just stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk, and a kid on a bike swerved around her, nearly taking her down and plowing into a lamppost himself.

  “Watch it, lady!”

  Any number of comebacks sprang to mind, but somehow the words wouldn’t pass through her lips. Three million dollars?

  Wha… gulp. “Three,” she choked out. “Million?”

  “According to my guy.”

  She knew the Horvaths had money—well, appeared to have money, simply based on the home they lived in. But three million on a painting?

  “Wow.”

  “Of course, that doesn’t mean the one hanging on your client’s wall isn’t a copy.”