Dog Collar Crime (Romantic Mystery) (A Lucie Rizzo Adventure)

by Adrienne Giordano

  “Yes. Everyone calls me Lucie.”

  And then she saw it, the flicker of recognition in those sharp green eyes. The wondering. The judgment. The disgust.

  “Yes,” she said. “Joe Rizzo is my father. Can we move on?”

  Lindstrom suppressed a smile and O’Brien inclined his head. “Of course. You filed a report yesterday about another stolen dog.”

  “That one was returned this morning,” Lindstrom said. He turned to Lucie. “I got your message. Didn’t have a chance to call you back.”

  Lucie nodded. “Mr. Darcy said Miss Elizabeth was on the porch this morning. He doesn’t know how she got there.”

  Lindstrom and O’Brien exchanged a look.

  “Do you have any idea who might have taken the dogs?” This from O’Brien.

  “No.”

  “You didn’t have an argument with anyone? Any kind of misunderstanding?”

  “No.”

  He raised his eyebrows. Expecting him to believe Joe Rizzo’s daughter could actually be an innocent victim would get her nowhere. Lucie tamped down the tirade spinning inside her. Concentrate on the dogs.

  “According to the officer, you’re the dog walker?”

  “Yes.”

  “Luce!” Frankie’s voice boomed and an instant feeling of calm hit her. She turned and he was there, his arms open.

  “I’m okay.” She hugged him then slowly backed away. “This is Detective O’Brien and Officer Lindstrom.”

  Frankie held his hand out to O’Brien. “Frank Falcone.”

  The two men shook hands and the detective eyed Frankie for a minute longer than necessary. “Falcone?”

  This must look like the annual meeting of Mob Kids of America. Lucie made a show of rolling her eyes and Lindstrom grinned. “Yes. His father is Al Falcone. Can we move on? Please?”

  “Sure,” the detective said, but he was still looking at Frankie, and Lucie was about done with this cop and his curiosity. Once again, her father’s lifestyle had caused her embarrassment. This O’Brien guy was lumping her in as a lowlife, someone he could laughingly dismiss because of her family. Not today, pal.

  The reality was, based on who they were, O’Brien could be dreaming up some convoluted scheme where she and Frankie were involved in stealing the dogs.

  With her back to O’Brien, Lucie faced Frankie and hoped his mob-kid radar got it that the detective was distracted by their lineage. “Would you mind waiting over there?”

  The flash of understanding, that language she and Frankie had perfected over the years, sparked in his dark eyes and he squeezed her hand. “I’ll wait by that sign.”

  Frankie stood back while the detective did his thing. Mystified, he shook his head. Why was someone stealing Lucie’s dogs? And would she get hurt because of it?

  With her pinched mouth, she looked like she’d run a few hard miles. The mouth thing was her tell. Every time things got dicey, there it was.

  The cops appeared to be finishing, so Frankie dialed Joey.

  “Speak.”

  “Lucie got dogjacked. I need you downtown.”

  Joey laughed. “Get outta here.”

  “I’m not kidding. Three guys boosted those pains in the ass Shih-Tzus.”

  “Get outta here.”

  “Get moving. She’s a wreck and there’s no way she can drive. I have an editorial meeting at two. You need to pick her up at the Bernard place. I’ll get the scooter back to the Lutzes’ and deal with her car, but you gotta get her home. And don’t be a meathead about it.”

  Frankie glanced up and saw the detective handing Lucie a business card. “Hurry up. And don’t expect to be home too soon, because you know she’ll want to finish walking the rest of the dogs.”

  “Ah, crap.”

  Frankie disconnected and strode toward Lucie. “You okay?”

  She nodded yes, but he knew everything about that nod was a lie. Showing weakness in Lucie’s family was worse than death. From an early age, the Rizzo kids had been conditioned to survive, but Lucie loved these dogs, and having this happen while they were in her care would devastate her. Frankie kissed the top of her head. “We’ll find them.”

  Damn straight. He’d ask his father to get his crew on it because the stupid sons of bitches who stole those dogs didn’t realize they’d crossed Joe Rizzo’s daughter. Dumb schmucks.

  Lucie clutched his shirt in her hand. “What am I going to tell the Bernards?”

  It had to be a rhetorical question, right? He didn’t answer. Besides, what could she tell them other than the truth?

  “Frankie!”

  He stepped back and looked down at her. “Did you want me to answer that?” Her eyes nearly bulged and he backpedaled. “I thought it was a rhetorical question.”

  In addition to the bulging, she blinked. “Are you kidding?”

  He squeezed her arms. “Tell them the truth. This isn’t your fault. It could have happened to anyone.”

  “After what happened yesterday, I should have been more careful.”

  “How the hell could you have known these guys were going to grab the dogs?”

  “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that guy when he wanted to pet them. They’re just innocent little dogs, and I didn’t fight for them.”

  The truth of it was, whoever took those dogs would get a whiff of the crap involved with dealing with them and would return them before nightfall. How Frankie would explain that to Lucie without her blowing a fuse on him, he didn’t know.

  “I called Joey.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “You shouldn’t drive. He’ll come and get you. I’ll take care of the scooter and your car.”

  “I can’t leave. I have work to do.”

  “He knows that. He’ll go with you and then take you home.”

  “I’m going to have to spend the next two hours with Joey? We’ll kill each other.”

  He held his hands up. “I told him not to be a meathead.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “I have an editorial meeting I can’t miss, and I don’t want you to be alone.”

  Frankie pulled her in for a hug and she burrowed into his chest, swinging her head back and forth. “I have to get those dogs back, Frankie. I have to.”

  “We’ll get ’em back.”

  With my father’s help.

  * * *

  That evening, with still no sign of the girls, Lucie sat in her micro-bedroom distracting herself with a spreadsheet.

  The whirring of her laptop filled the silence as she perused her financial report. Two trunk shows had netted three thousand dollars. Three thousand smackers peddling dog accessories? It sounded crazy, but the weekend total on her spreadsheet said so, and the stack of cash sitting on her battered card table wasn’t a hallucination.

  Coco Barknell.

  Maybe Frankie had something there.

  Just because she’d gotten laid off from her banking job didn’t mean she couldn’t use her skills elsewhere. No rightsizing, not to mention being a target in a dognapping scheme, would bring her down. If there was one thing the Rizzo family had, it was stamina. Years of watching her father go through legal troubles had conditioned her for life’s ups and downs.

  She brought her gaze back to the spreadsheet.

  Coco Barknell could be her side business while she hunted for a real job. Heck, it could get her out of her parents’ house and living on her own. That was a plan she could work with.

  She leaned forward to the pile of printouts on the desk and rifled through them. What did she do with that list of doggie clients?

  More paper shuffling. Not here. Dining room table?

  She wandered downstairs and the quiet of the house set her on edge. The only thing that would account for the quiet was Joey either being out or lining up a juvenile ambush.

  Lucie peeked around the banister. No Joey. Just her mother standing in the dining room. Light from the brass fixture bounced off her hair while she steamed dog coats hanging from an old clothin
g rack Lucie had found in the basement. The garment rack sat wedged between Grandma Rizzo’s walnut table and breakfront, the only place it fit without Joey, the one who would never move out of his parents’ home, throwing a tantrum. The house just didn’t have room to spare for a rolling closet.

  Mom wore a pair of gray cotton pants with a thick-seamed pocket across the side of the thigh. A modern cargo pant. She paired the cargos with a snug white T-shirt and a light pink cardigan. When had her mother become hip?

  Lucie ran a hand over the coats that had already been steamed and the softness tickled her hand. She made these. Producing dog accessories might not be a global initiative, but losing her job would not define her. She’d bounce back.

  “Mom, I’ll do that. I didn’t leave it there for you.”

  Her mother turned, steamer in hand, and smiled. “I don’t mind. It’s fun. Reminds me of my days as a seamstress. When I worked in that men’s store on Franklin Avenue, your father used to buy clothes just so I could alter them.”

  Lucie laughed. “As Dad always says, he laid eyes on you and that was the end of it.” She’d heard the story a hundred times and never tired of it. One thing about her father, he had the single-minded fortitude to complete a job. Whatever that job might be.

  “Do you miss doing alterations, Mom?”

  “Sometimes.” She turned back to the steaming. “I miss the interaction.”

  Lucie shoved a few scraps of fabric, a tape measure and a box of beads around the table, but didn’t see her report. “Shoot.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “A client list with names and addresses and what they’ve purchased. There are numbers handwritten in the margins.”

  “I haven’t seen it.” Mom gestured to the coat she’d been steaming. “I like this.”

  Lucie glanced at the tiny bright pink coat for the Jaspers’ poodle. “Thanks. It needs something, but I’m not sure what.”

  Lucie pushed at more fabric. Where the heck was that spreadsheet? “Where’s Joey? Maybe he moved that report.”

  That gave her mother a laugh.

  “Honey, if I can’t get him to pick up his socks, he’s not going to move something that belongs to either one of us.”

  “True.” Joey needed to move out and learn some lessons about taking care of himself. Then again, why should he? Mom did all his laundry and he came and went as he pleased. Joey never had to respond to questions regarding his whereabouts, or lack of marriage plans.

  “Besides, he’s working.”

  Yet another amusing statement. “Hanging out at the bar around the corner where the owner allows him to run his bookmaking business is not working. All he does is sit on a barstool and take bets.”

  The doorbell rang. A second later, the door flew open and Rosanne, Lucie’s BFF, swung through, her long sable hair flying behind her. Her floor-length mink coat flapped open as she strode toward them in leather boots, a black miniskirt and a cashmere sweater. As usual, she wore just the right amount of makeup on her dark eyes. She didn’t need it. Not with cheekbones that could carve through pavement and skin that glowed despite the offerings of a recently hard winter. Yep, Ro could be president of Beautiful People of America.

  “Hellooooo,” she called, strutting toward them on her mile-long legs.

  “Hey.” Lucie looked her up and down. “It’s almost April. You should put the mink away.”

  “You should slap yourself.”

  Lucie laughed. Roseanne’s husband had given her the coat for Christmas and it was a staple in her wardrobe. Fur coats weren’t Lucie’s style, but this silky deep chocolate number could make her a believer. The citizens of Franklin didn’t seem to wonder how a thirty-year-old town council member could afford such an expense, but perhaps they had adjusted to politicians in this fine town shaking hands while grabbing an envelope stuffed with money.

  “Hi, Mrs. R,” Ro said.

  Mom smiled a greeting at Ro, and, steamer in hand, gestured to the pink coat. “Do you think this coat needs something?”

  Despite wearing the mink in fifty-five degree weather, Ro had a blazing sense of style.

  The thing about Ro, she might be beautiful, but she’d take someone down if necessary. Which is what happened when Tiffy Nelson tried to beat up a much smaller Lucie in the third grade. Ro, being one of the cool girls, stepped in and put the fear of God into Tiffy. From that point on, nobody messed with Lucie. And Lucie never forgot what Ro had done for her. That’s what Italian girls did. They protected their friends. Without question. In Lucie’s crazy world, friendships like that were a gift.

  Ro fingered the pink coat. “This is obviously for a small dog, yes?”

  Lucie nodded.

  “Rhinestones around the collar. Just a few.” She zeroed in on another coat. “But, honey, this animal print is a hot mess.”

  Lucie scooped up the offending jacket. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “You cannot mix multicolor stones with an animal print. Well, you could, but your high-end people won’t buy it. This is too trashy for your line.”

  Coco Barknell.

  Lucie stared at the animal print. “I’ll take the stones off and put them on the pink one.”

  Ro’s lips parted and she gasped. “Have I taught you nothing? You need tiny rhinestones for the pink one. These blue stones will be a disaster on that coat.”

  Here we go with the drama.

  “You know what?” Ro continued. “I’m going to help you out here. Nothing leaves this house until I sign off. I will not let you take anything gaudy to these uber-rich people. They’ll eat you alive. I love you too much to let that happen.”

  No one ever said Lucie was the next Donna Karan. Besides, she hated dreaming up new designs. “Deal. I’ll even pay you.”

  “You’ll pay me? Slap yourself.” Her gaze moved to Lucie’s navy sweater and khaki pants. “Go change. You’ve had a rough couple of days with these dognappings. I’m taking you to dinner.”

  Lucie puckered.

  “You are not wearing that. You look like a first grade teacher.”

  “What’s wrong with first grade teachers?”

  “Nothing, if you are one, which you’re not. Now go.” She waved her red tipped fingers. “Chop, chop.”

  Lucie turned to her mother. “When Joey gets back, would you please ask him if he moved that spreadsheet? It has hand written projections on it and I need it.”

  Not to mention, she didn’t want the names and addresses of her “uber-rich” clients floating around. God only knew who Joey paraded through here and what they would do with that information.

  Mom stood. “Sorry, honey, I’m going out. It’s casino night at church and I told Father Hugh I’d be there.”

  “Does Joey know you’re going? Seeing as you’re not allowed to leave the stoop without him knowing where you’ve gone.”

  Joey’s overprotectiveness had been getting on Mom’s nerves lately, and Lucie couldn’t help but tease her about it.

  “He’d better not be on the porch tonight when I get home. He embarrassed me to no end with that stunt.”

  “He’s a total nutball.” Lucie said to Ro. “Mom went out to dinner with some friends one night, didn’t tell Joey, and then had the nerve to forget to turn her cell phone on. Joey was stalking the front lawn when Mom’s friend dropped her off. Before she even got out of the car, he started hollering about her checking in once in a while. Ugly scene. “

  “That’s actually kind of hot,” Ro said. “All that protectiveness?”

  “Ew.”

  “You don’t see it because he’s your brother. Trust me. It’s hot.”

  Mom shook off a cringe. “I love him, but he’s twisted.”

  No matter what kind of lunacy invaded this house, Mom always loved them. That alone earned Lucie’s undying adoration. “I’ll tell him you’re at church. Leave your phone on.”

  “Yes, dear.” Mom kissed her cheek, grabbed her purse from the buffet and walked out the back door.
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  Ro continued her inspection of coats. “This piece is a total loss.” She stopped at the large rhinestone on the neckline of one of the items and let out a low whistle. “Hello, my sweet.”

  “What?” Lucie asked.

  “You used a real diamond on here?”

  Lucie rolled her eyes. What the hell was Ro thinking? Real diamonds. Why use real stones on dog accessories? Furthermore, where would she get the money for such an expense?

  “It’s not real. That coat was from the first batch. I used whatever stones I found in my attic stash.”

  “Luce, I’m telling you, this is a real stone.”

  A banging started behind Lucie’s eyes. Maybe it was panic, she wasn’t sure, but she flicked a glance to the stone in question.

  When Ro reached across the table to inspect another coat, Lucie moved beside her. “How can that be?”

  Ro tilted her head. “Are you questioning whether I can tell the difference between real and fake stones?”

  Point scored there. “Well…no, but I don’t understand how it could be real.”

  Ro motioned to the empty Notre Dame glass sitting on the table. “Give me that,”

  Lucie handed it over. “Why?”

  After tapping on the outside of the glass, Ro set it upside down on the table. “We’ll do a scratch test. Diamonds are the hardest stones. If this stone is real, it’ll scratch the glass. The harder mineral will always scratch the softer one.”

  Now that was impressive. At least Lucie thought so. “I can’t believe you know that.”

  “I did research when we were shopping for my wedding ring.”

  If Ro was right about the diamond, they had problems. First, how did a real diamond get into the craft supplies? Were there others? And, more importantly, who did it belong to?

  Had Lucie unknowingly been selling real stones? “Let’s do this test.”

  She could go straight to hell for this. Bless me, Father for I have sinned, I had no idea I was selling someone else’s jewelry.

  Had this sparkling stone caused the chaos of the past two days?

  The stone clinked upon contact with the glass, but went silent as Ro dragged it across the surface. The only sound in the room became a mixture of soft breathing and a hissing from the floor vent as the furnace kicked on.