Dog Collar Cuisine

by Adrienne Giordano

  Beside Lucie, Ro cocked her head. “How I do love a man with confidence.”

  “My work speaks for itself. As does Antoine’s.”

  “But you’re better,” Ro said.

  He met her eye, holding the contact a beat longer than necessary. “Without a doubt. In fact, in the healthy spirit of competition, why don’t you have us each prepare the same meal for you? A tasting before you make a decision.”

  A cocky little bugger, but clearly he wasn’t afraid to pit his culinary skills against the great Antoine.

  Which, in Lucie’s humble opinion, was what this was about. Taking on the more famous and wealthier chef.

  And winning.

  How very interesting.

  Lucie nodded. “That’s an idea if we decide to go with a private chef. I don’t want to mislead you, but if you’re available tomorrow, maybe we could discuss some possibilities.”

  “What time?”

  “Say, around eleven.”

  Ro coughed, then smacked herself on the chest. “Wow. Sorry. Got a tickle.”

  Yes, I know what I’m doing.

  Rueben, plucked his phone from his back pocket. “I think that should be fine.” He tapped the screen then scrolled. “Yep. My morning is clear.”

  Dang it.

  “Excellent,” she said, her voice heavy on the fake cheer.

  He reached back to the table for a stack of business cards. “Here’s my card. My business manager’s name is on the back. If we move forward, she’ll be handling the contracts.”

  “Sounds perfect. Thank you. I’ll call you later to confirm.”

  Chef glanced over Lucie’s shoulder at the small crowd still cooing over his rice. “Ladies, lovely talking to you, but I need to go.”

  He wandered off and Lucie read the card he’d given her. A nice white card with embossed lettering and a chef’s hat logo. Cute. She flipped the card over. “No way.”

  “What is it?”

  “His business manager.”

  “What about him?”

  Lucie held the back of the card up. “Her. It’s Molly Jacardi. Same as Chef Antoine.”

  Thoughts still circling the possible implications of Molly managing Reuben LeBeau, Lucie came to a stop and double-parked in front of Villa Rizzo. She hopped out to move the ancient lawn chair Dad had left—so thoughtful—in the Rizzo reserved spot.

  In her lifetime, Lucie couldn’t recall one instance where someone had moved the chair and commandeered the space. Maybe it was fear of Joe Rizzo’s wrath or simply a sense of honor. Certain things in this neighborhood were sacred. Reserved spots were one of them.

  Particularly in the winter. If you dug snow out of a parking space, you basically owned it until the snow melted.

  Lucie parked, locked the car, and grabbed her briefcase from under the blanket she kept in her backseat to hide things under.

  Waning sunlight dipped below the rooflines, taking precious heat with it. This time of year, they were lucky to even have sunlight at 4:30 in the afternoon.

  Her phone rang. Tim returning her call. She’d called him from the office to update him that her background checks on the firefighters were a dead loss. Not one of those people appeared to be doing anything fishy. Damn them.

  Not good with the ransom drop looming.

  Who knew if Antoine even had the money together?

  Dean. She’d check with him. See if there might be emails regarding money movement.

  “Hello, Detective,” she said into the phone.

  “Hello, Ms. Rizzo.”

  Their silly little name game brought a sense of calm to Lucie’s otherwise lagging nervous system. Tick-tock, tick-tock.

  She stepped onto the curb, inhaled a long pull of crisp winter air, and let the cold center her. “Listen, hot stuff, I’m halfway through the list of firefighters. I’ve spent a small fortune paying for background checks. They’re all clean. Barely a parking ticket.”

  “It was worth checking them out. My buddy has a sister who’s a paramedic. I’ll ask if she knows any of them. What was the other message you left me? About the chef.”

  “The friend. He was doing a demo today at a food show, so Ro and I went to check it out. And before you get all mad about my screwball investigations, you should know it was a bust.”

  “What happened?”

  “Aside from Ro being called a whore by a bible thumper with a perv of a husband?”

  Tim let out a strangled laugh. “Excuse me?”

  “I’ll tell you about it later. Needless to say, it got the chef’s attention. We talked to him after the demo and made up some nonsense about wanting him to cater a wedding. A double wedding.”

  Silence.

  A chunk of Lucie’s heart might have been sheared clear off by its sharpness. The horrifying thought of marrying her rendered him speechless.

  Shake it off.

  “Relax, Tim. He caught us off guard and Ro ran with it. We weren’t being serious. Sorry if I terrified you.”

  Because, after all, why would the honorable Tim O’Brien even want to marry into the Rizzo family? After what he’d seen of her life, he should run.

  Fast.

  “Luce, you didn’t terrify me. Well, the whole double wedding thing with Joey and Ro, maybe. But you. Never. I love you.”

  Did that mean…

  No. She couldn’t go there now. Not the time. They’d never talked next steps and certainly never marriage.

  Maybe that chunk of her sheared off heart didn’t hurt so bad.

  “I love you, too. Thank you. That means a lot to me. Anyway, I floated the idea of the chef meeting us tomorrow at 11:00 to discuss catering options. He didn’t flinch.”

  “Oooh. Might not be our guy. But you never know. Could be someone else picking up the money.”

  “It gets better. Guess who his business manager is?”

  “Who?”

  “Molly Jacardi. Chef Antoine’s Molly.”

  Silence again. Lucie checked the bars on her phone.

  “Interesting,” Tim said.

  “I know. I may ask Dean to search Antoine’s emails and see if there’s any mention of Molly and Reuben.”

  And look at her talking hackers with her cop boyfriend. What a life.

  “Ms. Rizzo?”

  Lucie swung around. A tall man in a cheap, ill-fitting suit walked toward her. Niggling apprehension skittered up her neck.

  “Lucie Rizzo?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who’s that?” Tim wanted to know.

  “No idea,” Lucie said. “A guy in a suit. Hold on.”

  She kept the phone to her ear, making sure to let the man know if he intended on killing her in front of her mob boss father’s house, the person on the other end of her phone call would hear it.

  On cue, the front door swung open and Dad stepped onto the porch.

  As much as she didn’t want to admit it—she was a grown up for God’s sake—her father’s protective presence steadied her.

  “Baby girl?”

  “Hi, Dad.” She faced the guy in the suit. “Can I help you?”

  He shoved an envelope at her. “You’ve been served.”

  “They’re suing me! So much for Anna’s help.”

  Still talking to Tim, Lucie smacked the summons on the coffee table and collapsed onto the couch.

  “For what?”

  “Everything.” She sat up, found the paragraph outlining the complaint. “We have—and I’m paraphrasing here—breach of contract, personal property damage, mental hardship.”

  “Mental hardship? What’s that about?”

  “According to this, Brie suffered because she had to pee so bad.”

  Tim, her beloved, laughed. So maddening.

  “I’m about to lose my business and you think it’s funny? I’m not joking. It says it right here. Mental hardship. On the dog.”

  Dad wandered over, picked up the summons, and skimmed it. His lips puckered as he read. “Frivolous lawsuit. It’ll get thrown out.�
�

  “He’s right,” Tim said, clearly overhearing her father’s comment.

  A Chicago cop agreeing with her father. Amazing.

  Lucie held the phone to her ear, but looked up at her father. Two birds. One stone. “That’s not the point. With Antoine as the plaintiff, the media will be all over this. Molly is already feeding it to the press. I need a lawyer. Tim, I’ll call you back.”

  “This,” Dad said, “is a new one. Got the best criminal lawyer in the state on retainer and he’s no damned good on a civil case.”

  Well, she could start with him. She found Willie’s number and punched him up.

  He answered on the first ring. “What now?”

  Sarcasm. Great. She was surrounded by smart asses. “You lucked out this time. It’s not criminal. Do you know a good civil attorney?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m being sued because a dog peed on his owner’s $30,000 rug.”

  Willie huffed. Nobody did subtle outrage like Willie Clay. “Who pays thirty grand for a rug and lets a dog walk on it?”

  Dad waggled a hand. “What’s he saying?”

  Lucie glanced up. “He’s in awe that someone paid $30,000 for a rug.”

  “No foolin’ there.”

  “I know someone,” Willie said. “Give me two minutes.”

  The front door opened. Joey and Mom walked in carrying the reusable shopping totes Mom favored.

  She held up the green one. “Bone-in ribeyes for dinner. Joey said he’d even light the grill so we can cook them outside. I love barbecuing in the winter.”

  Joey took one look at Lucie and halted. The energy in the room must have put his uh-oh senses on full alert. “What now?”

  Another one with the smart-ass comment. As if she asked for this kind of trouble?

  Dad waved one hand. “Your sister is being sued by a wackadoo.”

  “For what?”

  Lucie’s phone rang. “This is Willie again. Fill Joey in while I talk.” She poked the screen. “Hi, Willie.”

  “Get a pen and paper.”

  “Great. Hold on.”

  She put the phone on speaker, set it down, and flipped open her messenger bag for her legal pad.

  A white sheet of paper sat in front of the legal pad. Hmmm. She didn’t remember putting anything in there. And, being an A-type, she certainly wouldn’t just shove it in there where it could get wrinkled. She’d put it in a folder first.

  Another bout of that neck prickling apprehension fired. What is it? She slid the paper out and…

  “Come on!”

  “What now?”

  She shoved the page at Joey and flopped backward on the couch, her hands on top of her head.

  Joey held the page up. “I guess we just found the missing recipe.”

  Chapter Nine

  Lucie stared at the recipe in her brother’s hand wondering—in the words of the great Joey Rizzo—WTF?

  She shook her head and blinked back an onslaught of emotion that made her eyes well up. “I don’t understand what’s happening here. I did not steal that recipe.”

  From his end of the phone, Willie perked up. “Stealing?”

  He was happy. Every Rizzo incident increased the size of his checkbook.

  Joey waved her off. “We know you didn’t do it. You think we’d believe Miss Goodie-Two-Shoes would do that?”

  Compliments. Rizzo style. “Thank you.”

  “Besides, even if you did swipe it, you wouldn’t be dumb enough to leave it in your briefcase.” He circled around the sofa and picked up Lucie’s phone. “Willie, we’ll call you back if we need you. Stand by.”

  Dad ripped the page from Joey, waving it around as his face turned the weird shade of purple that preceded a tantrum. “I wanna know who setup my baby girl.”

  “Here we go,” Joey said. “Dad, relax. Before you give yourself a coronary.”

  Mom poked her head into the dining room from the kitchen. “What’s all the yelling about?”

  “Frame-up on our baby girl.”

  Now Mom was on the move, storming through the dining room toward Lucie. “What frame-up?”

  Dad picked up the cordless phone.

  “Not the cordless,” Joey said. “Cell phone.”

  “You’re right. I keep forgetting.”

  Suspicious that the feds had tapped the house phone, Dad had taken to using his cell for certain calls. Certain calls that might get him locked up on a parole violation.

  Joey handed his phone to Dad. “Who’re you calling?”

  “The boys. I’m putting everyone on this. We’re gonna find out who planted that recipe.”

  Mom watched the exchange between Dad and Joey then swiveled to Lucie. “What frame-up?”

  “I found Antoine’s missing recipe in my briefcase.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  Banner day all around. All these years she’d strived to lead a good, honest life.

  Something had to change. She couldn’t keep doing this. Keep fighting against the Rizzo reputation. The more she fought, the more she wound up in hinky situations that stressed her out.

  Well, maybe she needed to stop fighting. Just let people think what they’d think and live her life, reputation be damned.

  Her phone rang. Tim’s ringtone. Lordy. She’d told him she’d call him back and hadn’t. He must have been frantic. She picked up the phone. “Hi.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I am. Sorry about that. It got crazy around here.”

  And, by the way, someone is setting me up.

  She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t tell him. Not over the phone and not until she wrapped her mind around it. How many of these situations could she put this man through before he gave up on her?

  “I’m in the middle of a case, but I can swing by for a few minutes. Do you need me?”

  Always.

  “No. It’s okay. Right now there’s nothing you can do. Willie gave me a civil lawyer to call. I was just about to do that. I’ll call you when I know something.”

  “Are you sure? You sound…weird.”

  “Just another day in paradise.”

  “I’m sorry. The lawsuit is dumb. We can fight that, Luce. It’s leverage and it won’t work.”

  The recipe in her briefcase might though.

  She inhaled a long, slow breath, let Tim’s words sink in. When he said it, she almost believed it.

  Enough with the misery. Misery wouldn’t get her anywhere. She lifted her chin and pushed her shoulders back. Rizzos, for all their faults, weren’t quitters.

  Or whiners.

  “You know what, Tim O’Brien? You’re right. We’ve faced way worse than this. All I have to do is figure out how to back them off.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  His girl. Damned straight.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “For what?”

  “For reminding me who I am.”

  “I love you, Luce. Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

  “I know.” She glanced up at her parents and Joey pretending they weren’t eavesdropping. Well, they’d love this one. “I love you, too.”

  There. Said it. If they hadn’t figured it out after all these months and family dinners, they knew now that she loved a hunky Irish cop.

  Lucie disconnected and got to her feet. “Okay,” she said, “we need a plan.”

  After calling Ro and waiting for Jimmy, Slip, and Lemon to show up, Lucie assembled everyone around the dining room table with one of Mom’s famous coffee cakes and an assurance from Joey that he’d swept the house for bugs.

  Since Dad’s return home, he’d been upping his sweeps, just in case.

  “We’d better eat the cake fast,” Mom said. “Before Ro shows up and shuts us down. She’s no fun when she’s on a diet.”

  True. “We can eat and talk at the same time. Ro can catch up.”

  Joey waved a fork. “How’d someone get a hold of your briefcase?”

  Quest
ion of the hour. “I left it in my car when I was downtown earlier. When I got back to the office, I just put the briefcase next to my desk like I always do. The recipe could have been in there the whole time.”

  Dad nodded. “They’re sending a message. If they got in your car, they’re watching you.”

  “And,” Lemon said, “who knows where else they hid copies.”

  Lucie gawked. “You think there’s more?”

  “If it were me”—he held up his hand—“not saying I’ve ever done this, but I’d put more around. Maybe in your house or your desk.”

  Fighting her growing panic, Lucie pondered all the places a recipe could be hidden. Office, bedroom, Tim’s house. Oy. “I don’t think it would be in here. They’d be crazy to try it. The office though, I don’t know. People come in and out during the day. Ro and I were downtown today and had a temp covering the phones.”

  Lucie made a note to ask the temp if anyone had come inside the shop.

  “I’ll do a more thorough search of my car and the shop.” For kicks, she’d check her bedroom just to make sure.

  The front door flew open. In came Ro, still wearing her whore-mongering leopard print coat and leather skirt.

  “Hello, Rizzos.” She spotted Dad’s cronies. “And company.”

  Joey gave her his usual Joey look. The quasi pissed-off/bored one that instilled terror on half of Franklin. “Where you been?”

  Ro strutted toward him, smacked him on the back of the head, and then kissed him. Strangest love language ever, but it worked.

  “I had a few stops to make in town. In case you forgot, your sister and I are running a business. We have customers to keep happy.” She perused the remaining coffee cake. “Cake before dinner? You people have lost your minds.”

  “We wanted to do it before you got here,” Mom said. “You get cranky.”

  “Correction. My ass gets cranky.”

  Dad laughed. “She’s got a filthy mouth, but I love her.”

  The house phone rang and Mom hopped up, taking the remaining coffee cake with her before Ro flew into some kind of sugar-restricted tirade. The phone ringing stopped and Lucie heard Mom say hello to Iris, the neighbor. Ninety-three years old and still living alone. God bless her. Mom helped out a lot. And even Joey. He’d take Iris to the grocery store a couple times a week just to get her out of the house. In Franklin, people took care of their neighbors.