Dog Collar Couture

by Adrienne Giordano

  “The one working for the insurance company?”

  “Yes. Remember we talked about that at the family meeting? That I could funnel leads through him? Well, I did. I thought he’d be the safest bet. He wasn’t a cop, and he stood to gain from finding the dress.”

  To her surprise, Tim didn’t yell. For a second he didn’t even speak. All he did was flop out his bottom lip. “Okay. I follow that logic. I’m the one who suggested it in the first place.”

  “Seriously,” she said, “I might love you.”

  A flashing smile whipped across his face and her hormones wailed.

  “Ooh, I like the sound of that.”

  Hang in with me, big boy, and you’ll like more than that.

  Whatever Tim was thinking—and Lucie hoped it was filthy—he shook it off. “Luce, you distract me when you say things like that. Not that I mind, but . . .”

  “We need to focus.”

  “Yes. So, you went to the investigator. Then what?”

  “We set up a meeting with Bill.”

  “For the record, now I’m starting to get mad.”

  Nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh. “It went bust! The cable channel broke that damned story last night, and Bill took off. He said things were too hot around me. And that was that.”

  Perhaps she’d filtered out a few irrelevant details, like Joey and the posse, but more aggravation wouldn’t do him any good. For the most part, she’d given him the facts he needed.

  “Now, the press is at my door, Bill is gone, and I don’t know what to do. I mean, can this get any worse?”

  The back door flew open, and in stepped Ro, Joey, Dad and his cronies, Slip, Lemon and Jimmy Two-Toes.

  And Frankie’s father.

  “Luce,” Tim said, “I think it just got worse.”

  “What the hell is going on?”

  Her father stood in the middle of the break room, hands on hips, his face so red it took on a blue tint.

  When Lucie pushed out of her seat, Tim did the same, standing behind her while she faced the crowd. This back room was only so big and with all these people clogging it up, the walls closed in, making her head throb.

  “Dad,” she said, “please calm down.”

  “We got cameras all over the street.”

  Ro elbowed Joey. “And they’re for Lucie. Who’d have seen that one coming?”

  Joey snorted and the two of them made googly eyes at each other. Lucie stuck her finger in her mouth and gagged.

  “Sorry,” Ro said. “Couldn’t resist.”

  “Well, try to control yourself.”

  Dad eyeballed Lucie then Ro. “You two about done?”

  Lucie straightened up. “I know it looks bad . . .”

  “Looks bad? Ha! You think? We gotta get rid of them.”

  Slip and Lemon muttered something about bats and skulls, and Lucie angled back to Tim. “You didn’t hear that.”

  “What?”

  What a guy. Now she had to clear everyone but Dad, Joey and Ro out of the room. The rest of the lunatics had to go.

  “Guys,” she said, “would you mind going around front and making sure everything is calm out there?”

  She met Dad’s gaze, opened her eyes wide and nudged her head. Come on, Dad, take a hint. “She’s right. Don’t get nuts, though. Stay calm. Don’t put your mitts on anyone. You hear?”

  The men filed out, and, whether from the burst of fresh air through the open door or the increased space, Lucie’s head stopped pounding.

  At least now she could think. “We need to get rid of the reporters, and we know from Dad’s experience they won’t leave until I comment.”

  Joey threw his arms up. “Comment? What the hell are you gonna say?”

  “I don’t know, Joey, that’s what I need to decide.”

  Still standing beside her, Tim shifted sideways into Lucie’s view. Maybe simply so she could see him and reinforce his presence. Whatever the reason, it worked.

  “What do you think?” she asked him. “About commenting?”

  He lifted one shoulder. “It’s a risk. The first thing I’d tell you is to check with your lawyer. Anything you say will be heard by cops, too.”

  “I have nothing to hide. Whatever I say, it’ll be the truth. How can that be bad?”

  “Personally,” Ro said, “I think she should do it. Maybe it’ll knock something loose.”

  “A reward,” Dad said.

  “What?”

  “We’ll offer a reward.”

  Yes! A reward. Someone, somewhere knew who stole that dress, and, with the economy being what it was, a nice reward might entice someone.

  Someone like Bill who’d just tried to weasel ten thousand dollars from her. His little scheme failed, but money motivated him. If he knew where that dress was, a reward might encourage his cooperation.

  “Ten thousand dollars.”

  “Whoa,” Dad said. “Heck of a reward.”

  “I know, but we need it to be enough for people to jump at it. Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money to some people. Heck, right now it’s a fortune to me.”

  One by one, she went around the room, scanning the faces of the people closest to her, gauging their reactions. What she got was a mix of your screws aren’t loose, they’re gone and you’re brilliant.

  “Sister,” Ro said, “if I had that kind of money, I’d give it to you. The stripper-banger has me on a tight budget.”

  Joey gave her a hard look then faced Lucie. “I’ll give it to you.”

  “I’ll do it,” Dad said.

  Now Joey and Dad were going to argue?

  Joey shook his head. “You can’t. You’re on parole. You don’t think the parole board is gonna wanna know where that ten K came from?”

  The blue tint to Dad’s cheeks went full-blown purple, and Lucie backed up a step anticipating the blast of anger about to spew.

  Joey ran his hands over his face. He hated—despised—when Dad’s temper flared in his direction. “Look, I know you want to give her the money, but think about cause and effect here. You—” He broke off, looked up at the ceiling.

  Dad curled his fingers into tight balls. “What? Say it.”

  “You don’t need anyone sniffing around asking questions about where you got the ten grand. And I have cash. I don’t even have to go to the bank.”

  At some point, Joey would use this against her. How many times had they argued over the fact that he didn’t trust banks? He had his money spread over five different banks and only kept enough in each account to show a legitimate income that came from the bar he supposedly worked at. The rest of his money he kept stashed somewhere. More than likely in a wall because under the mattress seemed so cliché.

  Dad mulled it over, squinting, rolling his lips in and out, the whole deal. Really, Lucie didn’t see what there was to think about. God help her for saying it, but Joey was right. Her father putting up the money would only fuel the gossip.

  “Dad, you know I hate to say it, but I agree with Joey. I’d rather keep you out of it as much as we can.” She faced Joey. “Thank you.”

  And then, she took three steps closer and did something she didn’t do nearly enough. She wrapped her ginormous brother in a hug. As much as her short arms could get the job done, anyway.

  “Sometimes I want to kill you,” she said, “but I know I can always depend on you. That’s a gift.”

  A burst of affection ripped from her core, and she closed her eyes, took a second and savored the rare quiet moment with her loud-mouthed brother. For kicks, and because it felt right, she smacked a kiss on his cheek.

  “I love you, Joey.”

  “He’s a pain in the ass,” Ro said, “but you can’t help but love him.”

  “Wow,” Tim said. “Tough crowd.”

  Lucie swung back and smiled at him. “Are you okay with this whole reward idea? I want your opinion.”

  “It’s not the worst idea ever. But you need to call your lawyer. Have him draft a statement. I’m telling you, anything you
say will be scrutinized.”

  Dad held up his phone. “I’ll call Willie.”

  “I like this idea,” Ro said. “You put the reward out there and then we go back to the Cock Heads.”

  “Ho,” Dad hollered. “What’s with the language?”

  The perplexed look Ro gave him? Priceless. Lucie chomped on her bottom lip. Beside her, Tim, also attempting to hide his amusement, lifted his hand over his mouth and coughed.

  How the man justified letting himself get involved with Lucie’s craziness, she’d never know. But he took it in stride, finding humor where most would see dysfunction.

  “Dad,” Lucie said, “the Cock Heads is a fan club for Peacock Island. That’s the movie the missing dress was in.”

  Her father shook his head while scrolling his contacts for Willie’s number. “They could have picked a better name. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Lucie went back to Ro. “It’s a good idea. The Co—going to another meeting. I’ll make the statement about the reward and then we’ll find a meeting and see if anyone reaches out. We can also ask about my buddy Bill. Maybe someone knows him.”

  “Hold up,” Tim said. “The meeting is one thing. Bill? Now you’re pushing it. This guy could be dangerous.”

  Joey waggled a finger. “He’s right. You’re not going alone. I’ll go with you.”

  The drama queen sighed. “You can’t. If Wilber—”

  “It’s Wendel.”

  Ro drilled Lucie with a look. “Whatever. If Wendel sees you, after you scared the be-jesus out of him the other night, who knows what he’ll do. You might get us kicked out.”

  “Willie?” Dad said. “It’s Joe. I need you on something ASAP. Call me back.” Dad ended the call. “Voicemail. He’ll call back fast. Always does.”

  Because he knows a cash cow when he sees it.

  “I’ll go to the meeting with you,” Tim said. “They don’t know me.”

  Um, had he forgotten his boss told him to avoid direct involvement in the case? “You can’t.”

  “Yeah, I can. All I’m doing is crashing a meeting. If something pops, I’ll call Bickel. This is legwork.”

  “That’s what you’re going with? Really?”

  “It’s a fine line, but yes, that’s what I’m going with.” He smacked his hands together. “Now, you need to get this impromptu press conference going. I can’t go out there with you, but I’ll be right here if you need me.” He tweaked her nose. “Then, pretty lady, I have to get my ass to work before I really do get fired.”

  Oh, this man. Always there for her, no matter what, offering the one thing she’d always wanted from her partner. Unconditional support.

  All of them, her best friend, her lunatic brother, her Irish cop of a boyfriend and even her father, the man she found it so easy to fight with.

  Her peeps.

  All there for her.

  She smiled, and Joey held his hands out. “What?”

  “Nothing. You guys are an awesome team. It’s a little wacky.”

  “But it’s our wacky,” Ro said.

  Lucie tugged on the front of Tim’s shirt. “Thanks for staying.”

  “You bet.”

  She faced her wacky crew. “Now, listen up, dream team, let’s have a press conference.”

  Fifteen minutes after giving Dad’s filthy-expensive lawyer the plan, he spit out a statement that said little more than she had nothing to do with the theft and, in her ongoing effort to prove her innocence, would offer a ten-thousand-dollar reward for the dress’s return.

  The man wasn’t happy, but he’d given her something short and simple to read and demanded that she do so without improvising even one syllable.

  She’d certainly try, but Lucie couldn’t stay silent. No more running.

  After disappearing to the front of the store five minutes earlier, Ro marched back into the room, hair and arms flying.

  “Here.” She shoved a sheet of paper at Lucie. “I typed the statement for you.”

  “Are the reporters still out there?”

  “Oh, yeah. Slip and Lemon are standing in front of the windows like a couple of commandos. All they need are automatic weapons and headbands.”

  Lawdy! That would be a spectacle. Just thinking about it made Lucie’s bladder fill. She needed to get this over with. Just give the statement and shoo the reporters away before one of the hotheads on Dad’s crew went berserk and pummeled something.

  Or someone.

  Lucie waved the statement. “For crying out loud, let’s just do this so we can all get back to work.”

  She had a business to run, and the last few days had cost her. Between the downtime and having to call in her part-timers for backup, her P&L had disintegrated.

  Ro held out a tube of lipstick. “Soft blush. It’s a good color for you.”

  Lipstick. That’s what concerned her?

  “Don’t look at me like that. You have no idea how the camera washes you out. You’ll be thanking me when your pretty soft blush lips are on World News Tonight.”

  12

  The second Joey swung the shop’s door open a gaggle of voices exploded from the sidewalk.

  Lucie froze in the doorway, the sound of the crowd smothering her. She stepped back half an inch, took in the row of reporters and flashing cameras just in front of her, and blinked. Just get it done.

  Directly in front of her, barely three feet away, stood Debbie Deline from the local cable channel. She wore her signature red coat and matching lipstick, microphone at the ready.

  Joey propped his foot at the base of the door and leaned forward. “You okay? I can do it if you want. Reporters love me.”

  Not the one who’d charged him with assault. She waved him off. “I’m fine. It’s just a little . . . shocking.”

  “Eh, you got this. I’ll be right here. And Ro, too. You even got Dad and a cop in the back room. Perfect setup.”

  The dream team.

  Her father, not wanting to cause more of a spectacle—something she needed to thank him for later—had opted to stay inside with Tim.

  The straight-laced cop and the mob boss.

  All kinds of twisted.

  Lucie stepped out of the doorway, nodding at Slip and Lemon, who’d moved closer and spread their arms. A human rope keeping the reporters at bay.

  “Lucie! Look here.”

  Nope. Not doing that. She raised her head, though, and again blinked at the flashes. She kept her head high. That’s what Rizzos did, they moved forward, marched on.

  Didn’t let anyone see them sweat.

  She held up her hand. “I’m not going to yell over you. I have a statement. If you want to hear it, you’ll quiet down—”

  “Lucie!”

  “—and stop yelling at me.” A few long seconds passed, and the crowd finally quieted. “Thank you.”

  She looked down at the statement, ready to read, but something felt . . . off, insincere even, about a prepared speech. Heck, she hadn’t even written the thing. She wanted to win these people over, as much as she could anyway, and show them that she had nothing to hide. If she read the statement, something crafted, why would anyone believe her to be genuine?

  Folding the paper, she tucked it back into her pocket. She had the gist of it anyway. Willy might have a heart attack, but winging it, speaking from the heart, had always been Lucie’s way, and she couldn’t change that now.

  Joey stepped up beside her. “Uh, what’s up?”

  “Doing it my way.” She faced the murmuring crowd. “Good morning, I’m Lucia Rizzo. Most of you know that already, or you wouldn’t be standing in front of my business. I won’t be taking any questions, but I will say that any speculation regarding my involvement with the stolen Maxmillian dress is unwarranted. To prove that, I am offering a ten-thousand-dollar reward for the return of the dress. A tip hotline will be set up in the next hour, and information can be found on the Coco Barknell Web site.” Lucie pointed to the Web site address beneath the logo on the plate-glass window.
“Thank you.”

  She pivoted to the door, but the crowd erupted, everyone shouting questions.

  “Ignore them,” Joey said. “Keep walking. They’ll shut up in a minute.”

  A loud whistle sounded, and the crowd did, indeed, shut up. “The party is over.”

  Dad’s voice. Outside.

  Lucie spun back just as the crowd, seemingly in sync, shifted left.

  Joey stepped back, craned his neck to see. “Crazy son of a gun. He must have gone through the alley.”

  “Joe,” a reporter yelled, “how’s it feel to be on the outside again?”

  “How do you think it feels?” Dad joked.

  Lucie peeked around the mountain known as Joey to where her father stood, smiling at the crowd, arms loose at his sides. “He shouldn’t be out there.”

  “Joe, do you have an ankle monitor?”

  “Joe, look here!”

  On and on it went, people shouting questions, trying to lure her father into saying something stupid—they should know better—and begging for a photo.

  “What’s he doing?”

  Joey shook his head. “Well, kiddo, I think he’s drawing fire.” He turned back, jerked his thumb toward the store. “Inside. Before these vultures figure out they’ve got a two-for-one.”

  When Lucie didn’t move, he gave her a light shove. “Go.”

  “Joey, he can’t stay there.”

  “I know. You get inside, and I’ll take care of him.”

  Her father, a man who’d just been released from prison, who probably still had federal agents watching him, had just taken over her press conference, creating the spectacle none of them wanted, so she could escape the reporters.

  He’d done that for her.

  Ro opened the shop door. “Get inside. Joey, take care of that hot mess.”

  Lucie hustled through the door. “I can’t believe he’s doing that.”

  Ro shrugged. “I can. He’s your dad. When has he ever let anyone hassle you?”

  As complicated as their relationship had been, as much as she couldn’t reconcile what he did for a living, and made it no secret she didn’t approve—and never would—he’d still thrown himself into the fray.

  For her. To protect her.