Tim stood, took one step toward her and stopped. A pained grimace overtook his face and Lucie hated it. Despised every second of this meeting. Not for her. For him. Because he was stuck in the middle of an investigation involving a woman he was dating. She coughed once more and held up her hand. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”
“Detectives,” Willie said, “what is this about a missing dress?”
Bickel moved closer to the phone, but remained standing, crossing his arms over his chest. Had the man been thirty pounds lighter, that attempt to look tough might have worked. Now, all she saw was bloated belly sitting beneath his crossed arms.
“Counselor, we’re investigating an armed robbery at the Bendorf Auction House yesterday. You may have seen it on the news.”
“What does this have to do with my client?”
Bickel smirked, then eyed Tim. “Ms. Rizzo was at the scene around the time of the theft. In fact, she spoke with the auction-house manager just before the woman entered the building and found her employee tied up. We came here to discuss this with your client,” he uncrossed his arms, waved one hand, “see if she remembered anything unusual.” He stopped talking and focused on Lucie. “At least until I found a feather on her desk.”
“A feather? I can’t wait to hear this one.”
Bickel’s smile widened. “The bottom of the stolen dress is lined with peacock feathers.” He pulled his phone from his pocket, tapped the screen a couple of times and held the phone out to Lucie. “Feathers that look like the one we found on your client’s desk.”
Tim sat in his chair, forcing his body into a semicalm state. Not an easy task when all he wanted was to pound something.
How the hell did Lucie continually get into these shit storms? And how the hell did that feather wind up on her desk?
Down deep, he knew she wasn’t involved. Knew it. He liked to think of himself as a decent judge of character, and, over these past months, he’d learned a lot about Lucie Rizzo. The first thing being her desire to live a good, honest, legitimate life. Despite her father’s criminal history.
“I can explain the feather—”
“No,” Willie said. “Don’t say anything.”
Lucie shook her head so hard it should have concussed her. “It’s all right. I want to explain.”
“Lucie,” her father said, “let the man do his job.”
“Dad, I have nothing to hide.” She went back to the detectives. “I found the feather on the street yesterday. My company,” she gestured to the fabric samples and sketches on the table, “creates pet accessories, mostly dog coats and collars. I was walking Fin yesterday—I can give you his owner’s number to confirm that. I found the feather outside the auction house. I thought it was pretty. The colors specifically. They all blend, and I thought it would be fun to create a collar with stones the same colors. I brought the feather back with me to show our designer, Roseanne. That’s why I have it.”
Bickel took his seat again. “And you had no idea where it came from? Didn’t strike you as odd that there was a peacock feather on the sidewalk?”
Ha. Given her lineage, that was about the biggest dumbass question Bickel could ask. In her lifetime, Lucie Rizzo had probably seen enough oddities to last her five thousand years. A peacock feather? That had nothing on life in the Rizzo family.
“Don’t answer that,” Willie said.
“Detective,” she said, “nothing strikes me as odd anymore.”
Bam. Tim held his curled hand up to his mouth and coughed to hide the grin. He had to hand it to her, she was fast on her feet.
“Lucie,” Tim said, “did you see anyone, aside from the auction-house manager?”
“No.”
“Jesus Christ,” Willie said. “Joe, what am I doing on this call if she won’t listen to me?”
“No other pedestrians? A car pulling away? Nothing?”
Thinking that over, she pursed her lips and stared at the ceiling. “Well, it was the middle of the day. Sure there were people around, but I didn’t see anyone carrying a couture dress, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Detectives,” Willie said, “that’s enough. She’s answered your questions. I’m shutting this down. For the love of God, Lucie, shut up.”
Bickel made a show of rolling his eyes. “Awright. So you pick up this feather and bring it back. Then you see the theft on the news last night. You said you’d planned on calling Detective O’Brien this morning.” He turned to Tim. “Assuming that call hadn’t come in?”
Bickel had always been in the top ten of Tim’s least favorite co-workers. That question just bumped him to a solid number three.
Tim didn’t bother answering.
Lucie gritted her teeth. “I’d planned on calling him when I got to the office. And, as you saw, I was just arriving when you pulled up.”
“I see,” Bickel said.
“We’re done here, Detectives,” Willie said. “Ms. Rizzo has told you all she knows. Any further contact can come through me.”
Bickel rolled out his bottom lip and nodded. “Sure. But for now we’re seizing the feather as possible evidence.”
Bickel turned to Tim. “I’m gonna grab an evidence envelope and some gloves from my car.”
Which left Tim alone with Lucie.
And her father.
Only slightly awkward since Tim had a boatload of questions. Questions he couldn’t necessarily ask in front of her father or her lawyer.
The second Bickel walked out, Lucie swiveled her chair toward him.
“Tim—”
He held up his hand. “Don’t. Not a word. At least until I unravel myself from this case. Anything you say right now, I have to put in a report, and I sure as hell don’t want to take that chance.” He stood, straightened his cuffs. “What a cluster.”
Unbelievable. When he’d gotten called in the night before, he’d had no idea the case he’d spend most of the night reviewing would involve Lucie. How the hell could he have known? She’d never mentioned it.
Which . . . hang on. He stopped messing with his sleeves.
He’d just told her not to talk. He should leave her be. For both their sakes. But, hell, he needed an answer. Because if she’d seen the news before she’d seen him the night before . . .
“When exactly did you hear about the robbery?”
Joe Rizzo swung his eyes from Lucie to Tim and back to Lucie. “What’s going on?”
“Tim—”
The doggie bells on the door jangled, and Bickel entered wearing latex gloves and carrying a paper envelope.
Tim turned away from Lucie, walked to Bickel. “You got this? I gotta get back.”
“Yeah, I’m good. We’ll huddle up later. See what’s what.”
Meaning, huddle up about what this feather might mean for one Lucie Rizzo. Daughter of Joe Rizzo, notorious mobster.
Lucie’s panic exploded. Forget that slow-moving thing. This time her entire body lit up, all at once, a fierce combustion.
For the first time since they’d started dating, Tim was mad at her. Really mad. He didn’t say it—didn’t need to. She saw it in his face, the hollowed cheeks, the locked jaw. All of it added up to one handsome cop being more than mildly upset with her.
He’d always told her he wanted honesty, and she’d broken that trust by withholding information.
If she could go back, just hit rewind, she’d do it differently. Too late now.
Would he even believe she’d wanted to tell him the night before?
Bickel finished collecting his evidence, gripped the baggie between his fingers and held it in front of him, making sure she knew exactly what was happening. Gee, thanks for that clarification.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said.
Dad grunted.
“I’ll be here,” Lucie said.
Nothing to hide, fella.
The detective strode from the shop, and Dad didn’t waste any time. “What the hell’s going on with the redheaded guy?”
The I
rish cop.
The one she’d planned to introduce to her father. What was it with her plans lately? Every one of them seemed to get incinerated. Not just quietly either. Her plans went up in a fireball.
Well, her dad wasn’t stupid and putting him off had never been one of Lucie’s strong points. Before now, she’d always had Frankie to run interference. Dad listened to Frankie. It irritated her on many levels, and she’d never reconciled herself to it.
She’d simply given up and let Frankie handle the heavy lifting with Dad.
Only now Frankie was in New York, and Lucie was dating Tim. Time to put on big girl panties and figure out how to have a meaningful conversation with her father.
She faced him, stared into the very same blue eyes she saw in the mirror. I can do this.
“Dad, we’re not going to argue about this.”
“About what?”
“About what I’m going to tell you. I’m an adult now. I make my own decisions. I need you to respect that.”
He angled his head one way, then the other. “Heh?”
“Tim O’Brien. He and I are dating.”
Whoosh. There it was. The words just stormed out. After two months of fretting, it hadn’t been nearly as hard as she’d thought.
Dad’s mouth didn’t move. Maybe a bonus there. At the very least, she’d expected yelling. Lots of it.
“Dating? What does that mean?”
What kind of question was that? Her father knew what dating was.
She paddled her hand. “You know. We’re seeing each other. We go to dinner, to the movies. Spend time together.”
“What about Frankie?”
Frankie. Ah, yes. It all came down to the boy wonder and her father’s wish that the two of them get married and pump out oodles of dark-haired, Italian grandchildren. And for the first time, it hit her, that punch of realization. If they’d had this conversation two months ago, they’d already be arguing, and she’d, more than likely, be defensive. But now, after living under the same roof with her dad, watching him adjust to life on the outside again, she got it. Understood her father on a level she’d never imagined.
When she and Frankie had split up, it wasn’t only her dreams going up in flames.
Her father’s went with them.
She stepped forward, wrapped her arms around him and closed her eyes. He smelled like freshly chopped firewood, that same scent she’d known since she was a child crawling into his lap at family parties or to watch television or tell him about her day. That precious time when she was still his little girl. The time before she’d been old enough to understand his life.
“Dad, I know what you wanted and that you love Frankie. I love him, too. I always will. But we can’t make it work. We’ve tried too hard and too long. It’s not fair to either one of us. I’m sorry.”
A small sob clawed from her throat, and she breathed in again, focused on her father’s scent, took comfort in it and squeezed her eyes tighter, willing the tears to dry up as Dad began patting her back.
“Ssshhh, baby girl. Don’t cry. It’s all right.”
And this, this was what she’d missed all these years. The man who used to hug her—fiercely—and tell her he’d fix it. Whatever it was, he always fixed it. At least until she’d gotten old enough to understand that the one really important thing he needed to straighten out, his lifestyle, he had no desire to change.
After that, their relationship had crumbled, a piece at a time, until she simply couldn’t communicate with him.
She backed away, gripped his arms. “Please. I may not always agree with you, but I love you. You need to let me live my life. And right now, if I haven’t completely blown it, Tim O’Brien is part of my life.”
“How long?”
“Since August. I wanted to introduce you to him, but I was afraid of how you’d react. There’s the whole cop thing. And the lack of a vowel at the end of his last name.”
Dad laughed. Laughed? Really?
“Lucie, is he good to you?”
“Very.”
“He’s respectful?”
“Always.”
He shrugged. “That’s what I care about. Sure, Frankie would have made a great husband, and it didn’t hurt that he was Italian. But if a man treats my daughter well, and she likes him, I’ll give him a chance. If he screws up, there’s gonna be trouble.”
“Who are you, and what have you done with my father?”
He waved both hands at her. “Bah!”
Lucie smiled and smacked a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for understanding. And watching out for me. This time, though, I think I’m the one who screwed up.”
4
Getting rid of her father had never been an easy task. Getting rid of him after she’d been questioned by detectives and admitted she’d been dating one of them proved to be darned near impossible.
Lucie sat at her desk watching her father wander around the shop, pick up fabric samples, study the sketches fastened to the wall near Ro’s desk and stare down the commercial-grade sewing machine they’d purchased for Mom.
Since Dad’s return from prison, he hadn’t been a fan of his stay-at-home wife being a working woman. He wanted her home when he got there, whenever that might be, cooking his meals, making his bed, doing his laundry.
Guess what, Dad?
Things had changed.
And Lucie loved it.
When the stare-down dragged on, Lucie wandered over to him and set a hand on his shoulder. “Dad, I have a ton of work.”
Gently, she guided him to the door.
“You’re kicking me out?”
That sounded rather harsh, but the Rizzo clan had never pulled its punches. “Well, yes. It’s my admin day, and with the visit from the detectives, I’m already forty-five minutes behind. And you know as soon as Ro comes storming in here, it’ll only get worse.”
Because Ro, as much as Lucie adored her, created drama. She couldn’t help it. Some days it seemed as if tiny drama gremlins marched into the store behind her. An army of drama.
But Dad laughed. “That girl. She’s a pip.”
“Yeah. And pairing her with Joey?”
Dad waved a hand. “Forget about it. It’ll never be dull.”
Two more steps toward the door. Come on, big guy.
“All right, all right. I’m goin’. You call if you need anything, though. I’m right down at Petey’s.”
“I know. Thanks.”
Trying not to be too pushy, Lucie swung the door open and restrained herself from waving him out. A girl could only go so far when attempting not to insult her father.
“Good morning,” Ro sang as she strutted her stuff from the opposite direction as Dad.
As usual, her BFF was dressed to kill in a tight skirt, an animal-print blouse that barely contained her pushed-up boobs and high heels that elevated her to a minimum of six feet tall. On her shoulder she carried a giant tote bag and a briefcase. God only knew what she had in there.
“Hi.”
Ro cruised through the doorway and whipped off her sunglasses. “I see you had a visitor. Again.”
“Breakfast at Petey’s this time.”
“You know you’re going to have to give in eventually. He comes down here every day wanting you to eat with him. Suck it up, Sister. Make your dad happy. Just maybe, if you do, he’ll leave you alone.”
Hardly. “I don’t think that’ll happen. Not after the two detectives just left.”
“Stop it.”
“Our grand plan not to tell Tim about me being at the scene of that robbery failed. Epically.”
Ro dumped her briefcase and tote on her desk, and her mouth plummeted. “I don’t understand. How?”
“Because my luck stinks. And, well, my detective boyfriend got pulled into the case.”
“Stop. It!”
“Yep. And my father is no dummy.”
“Ohmygod.”
“I had to tell him.”
“About you and O’Hottie? No.”
The thing about Ro was, even with the drama, in desperate times, she made Lucie laugh. The relief valve. Right now was no exception.
Her BFF stood in front of her, hands on hips, eyes popping, her lips curled almost to a sneer. She looked like something out of a comic book. Lucie unleashed a good solid snort of laughter.
“What’s funny?”
“I just . . . love you. You help me even when you don’t know it.”
She paddled her hands, jangling the bangle bracelets stacked on her wrist. “Blah, blah. I’d do anything for you. But what did your dad say about Tim? Poor Joey has been losing sleep worrying about this day.”
Joey? How the heck did this become about him? “He has?”
“Sure. He kinda likes Tim. And he’s afraid he’ll have to kick the crap out of him. It’s a burden, Luce.”
“He thought . . .” Lucie shook her head. Really, she didn’t want to go wherever her mind was about to take her. “Never mind. My family is so twisted.”
“Amen to that.”
“I think it’ll be okay. My dad was surprisingly calm about it. He said as long as Tim treated me well, he didn’t have an issue.”
“Huh.”
“I know, right? Maybe prison actually reformed him.”
“Honey, I wouldn’t go that far. But, hey, this is a start. Now you don’t have to hide him anymore.”
No more hiding. The thing she’d just moaned to Tim about last night. No more. It was out there, now.
Only Tim might hate her for keeping her potential-witness status from him.
“Assuming he’s still talking to me. Because, let me just say, it was awfully frigid in this room thirty minutes ago.”
Ro snapped her fingers. “Only you would have a cop boyfriend that lands a case you’re involved in.”
“I’m not involved. I was there, but I’m not involved!”
“You and I know that, but, honey, this is the third time that poor guy has seen you wind up in a jackpot. How much can he take?”
Assuming it was a rhetorical question, Lucie didn’t answer.
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