Dog Collar Couture (11 page)

Except, then she'd have to return a small mountain of calls, leaving her with more to do. Yet another vicious cycle in the life of Lucie Rizzo.

“Hello?”

“Is this Lucie?”

Male voice. “Yes. Who's calling please?”

“Uh, Bill. I was at the meeting last night.”

Bill. Lucie closed one eye, scrunched her nose and mentally replayed meeting the folks from the night before.

No Bill.

But there'd been a lot of people there, and not everyone had said their name.

Now, the bigger question: how the hell did Bill get her number? According to the membership form Lucie and Ro had filled out, only board members had access to members' contact information. And since all the board members had introduced themselves, it didn't take a genius to figure out that Bill, if he was indeed at the meeting, wasn't a board member.

Dang, she was good at this detective stuff.

“How can I help you, Bill?”

“I can help you.”

Yes, folks, the creep factor has just exploded.
First rule of engagement, know your enemy.

Of course, she'd just made that first rule up, but it sure sounded weighty. She'd roll with it because, whatever this guy was after, clearly he didn't know who her father was. Or that her new boyfriend was a cop.

Lucie clicked her tongue to get Buddy walking again. He looked up at her and curled his top lip back. Was that a smile or a sneer? He got moving and that's all that mattered.

“All right, Bill, how can you help me?”

Hopefully he wasn't some kind of twisted perv about to launch into dirty phone sex or something. Wouldn't that be great? A Cock Head moonlighting as a phone-sex operator and trolling new members for business. Talk about leads.

“You and your friend are interested in the Max.”

The Max.
“Well, as Cock Heads, I think we're all interested, aren't we?”

“Eh. Some more than others. You and your friend seemed more interested. Enough to try and bid on it.”

Ah-ha!
Maybe that meeting hadn't been a bust. But she still didn't know what the heck he wanted.

Buddy trotted to the next tree and started his sniffing ritual again. Hopefully, this would be it. The poop of all poops. “Yes. We'd intended to do that, but now the dress is gone.”

“I know where it is.”

I know where it is.
Blood pounded into Lucie's brain and her vision looped and blurred and, holy cow, she had to close her eyes.
Get it together here, Luce.

After a second, she opened her eyes, gripped the leash tighter simply for something to hang on to while the blood rush passed. “You know?”

“It's for sale on the black market. I have connections. For a fee, I can hook you up. Maybe get that hot little number in your hands.”

Hot little number? Lucie wasn't sure about
that.
In truth, that dress was butt ugly with all those feathers covering the bottom half. Not to mention this would be an illegal transaction. Which they both knew and presumably understood.

But she needed a lead on the dress, and if this guy could give it to her, she'd at least have a starting place. Maybe she'd even pass that information to Tim. That could hardly be considered illegal.

“Are you interested?” Bill asked. “And, just so you know, this is a burn phone. No way to trace it. Don't bother going to the cops. I've got someone inside there, so I'll know and then I'll disappear. They won't believe you anyway. Will they Lucie
Riz-zo.
”

And, whoa. He knew who she was. Meaning, the deal just got a whole lot more serious because this guy would have to be the world's biggest idiot to try anything funky with Joe Rizzo's daughter.

“Yes,” she said. “I'm interested.”

R
o stood
in front of Lucie's desk, hands on hips, shaking her head hard enough that her boobs bounced. Good thing Joey wasn't here or he'd make some lewd comment that would send Lucie into a meltdown. “Are you crazy?”

Lucie huffed out a breath. What a question to ask someone after a full day of walking dogs on Chicago streets. “Of course, I'm crazy. It shouldn't be a shock. You've been my best friend for twenty years, and you know my family. Enough said. Now, are you going to help me or not?”

“Let me get this straight. Some nutjob calls you up and says if you pay him ten grand he'll put you in touch with whoever stole that dress.”

“Not exactly.”

Ro laughed. “I do love you. What exactly then?”

“He said he'd hook me up with the person selling the dress. It might not be the actual thief.”

Ro made snoring noises. “Whatever. Either way, this sounds like a shakedown. I think you should ignore him.”

Oh, no she wouldn't. This lead needed to be followed. They should at least determine if the guy was legit. Well, illegally speaking legit. Lucie shoved three fingers against her forehead.
Focus.
“How is it a shakedown? He's not threatening me. All he's saying is if we want the dress, for $10,000 he'll help us get it.”

“And what? You're gonna pay this loser? We don't even know who he is.”

Lucie pointed to her mouth. “Watch my lips. I. Am. Not. Paying. Him. But I do want to get to whoever has the dress. I feel like I should tell Tim, but then I don't want to get him into the middle of it.”

“So call that other detective.”

She'd thought of that. Sure had. But her problem was she didn't trust Detective Bickel. Something about him unnerved her. Maybe it was his willingness to believe she was guilty simply because of her last name. Nothing he'd said indicated that, but she'd been Lucie Rizzo, Mob Princess, all her life. She knew the signs.

And Bickel had a blinking neon one.

“I don't trust him. Plus, Bill told me he had someone inside the PD. If I go to them, he'll bolt.”

“You do realize he's probably lying, right?”

“Yes. But I can't risk it. I need to clear my name, and this is the first lead—sort of—that I have.”

Hands still on her hips, Ro paced in front of Lucie's desk, her tight skirt limiting her stride. Lucie finally noticed that weight gain she'd been moaning about.

Not mentioning that. No sirrreeeee.

“My other option,” Lucie said as Ro completed another lap, “is to call that investigator from the insurance company. We talked about that at our family meeting. He said he works hand-in-hand with the police. I could tell him what we've got, maybe set up a sting operation—”

Ro stopped walking and grinned. “Cop-speak. I love it.”

“Pay attention. Please.”

“Fine. Of all the options, I think that's the best.” She waggled her hand. “If this investigator feels he can trust the cops, let him be the one to pass on the info. I'm telling you though, O'Hottie will be
pissed
if you don't tell him.”

All of this, she knew. Still, she wouldn't put Tim in the middle of her legal fiasco. He deserved better. No matter where their relationship went, she respected him too much to leave him exposed to this madness. “It's best if he doesn't know. If something goes wrong, he'll be able to tell his supervisors he had no idea any of it was going on, and it'll be the truth. I don't want him getting in trouble. Or worse, losing his job. Not over me.”

The tight-skirted one held up her hands. “It's your life. Don't say I didn't warn you. And, let's not tell Joey about this. If he hears someone is shaking you down, he'll be out of control. Even I won't be able to calm him. Boobs only get a girl so far.”

Her brother was great when it came to backing her up, and in the last few months he'd really come to her rescue a few times, but lately his protective gene had gone to hypervigilance. Lucie suspected his relationship with Ro had caused it. Ro and Lucie were a team. Joey knew that. What Lucie did, Ro did. And vice versa.

Joey might be a class-A nudge, but when it came to people he cared about, people he loved, he became unstoppable.

His emotional attachment to Ro on top of his loyalty to family would double his firepower.

Emotional firepower.

A punch of realization, that light-bulb moment, hit her. Her brother's recent worse-than-usual loony behavior came into sharper focus.
Holy cow.
How had she not seen it?

Her brother was in love with her best friend.

Which meant, whatever she and Ro did, they needed to keep Joey
and
Tim out of it.

T
he following morning
, Eric Edwards' assistant ushered Lucie, feeling seriously underdressed in her sneakers, baggy jeans and zip-up hoodie, into his office.

And what an office it was. All rich, well-oiled woods, walls painted the warmest beige and carpeting that her feet, despite the sneakers, sunk half an inch into. The carpeting could double as her bed.

Apparently, the P.I. business paid well.

Dressed in black dress pants, a light-gray shirt—no tie— and a sport coat, Mr. Edwards embodied casual elegance. Simple and well tailored, this man would look equally comfortable in a room full of blue bloods or a homeless shelter. He had that way about him. The ability to adjust to his environment.

He strode around his desk, extended his hand to Lucie and hit her with an easy, sparking smile. Frankie had that smile. The one that could light up a city block. Any nerves or lack of confidence over her attire vanished. Poof. Gone. The man, also like Frankie, without a doubt, knew the power of that smile.

In short, she had his number.

“Ms. Rizzo,” he said, “this is a surprise.”

You ain't seen nothing yet, pal.
After shaking hands, he motioned her to one of the two high-backed leather guest chairs in his office. Rather than move around to his chair, he sat next to her, angling sideways to face her.

Interesting. First the plush office, and now refusing to take the power position by sitting behind his desk.

She might like this guy.

“What can I do for you? I assume this is regarding the Maxmillian dress.”

Lucie nodded. “It is. I think I might have some information for you.”

She waited, studying his face for the slightest movement—a lifting eyebrow, puckering lips, anything—but if he'd had any reaction to that bit of news, it didn't show. Not one hint.

“Please,” he said, “go on.”

She shifted left a little, facing him more directly. “I received a phone call last night from someone named Bill. He told me he knew where the dress was.”

To that, she finally received a slight narrowing of his eyes. “And this person—Bill—found you how?”

How much she should admit about her investigation, she wasn't quite sure. But if she wanted an ally, someone she could partner with and trust, she'd have to be honest.

She scrunched her nose, bit down on her bottom lip and figured what the heck. Why not? “I'll be honest. I've been investigating. Obviously, I'm a suspect, and I need to clear my name. If my clients begin to believe I might be involved in criminal activity, they'll never let me return to their homes.”

“Understandable.”

“So, I researched the dress and discovered a fan club—not the official fan club. Sort of an underground one that's not-so-underground anymore.”

“The Cock Heads,” he said.

Excellent. He was up to speed. Good for him doing his own research. “Exactly. I found them on the Internet and went to a meeting two nights ago. I joined the group, giving them my contact information.”

“Okay,” he said, clearly wondering where this little adventure might take him.

Well, she'd tell him. “At the meeting, I made it known that my friend and I intended to bid on the dress at the auction. A lie, of course. We just needed them to believe we were Cock Heads.”

Mr. Edwards smiled. “I understand.”

“Right. Good. Yesterday, I received a call from Bill telling me the dress was on the black market. For ten thousand dollars, he'll connect me with the seller.”

“I see.”

This was moving along beautifully. Lucie rolled her hand. “And I'm not sure what to do with that information.”

“The police?”

“No. My . . . boyfriend . . . is a Chicago PD detective. As crazy as this sounds, I don't want to bring him into this. Not until I have to. He's loosely involved with this case, and the last thing I want is for him to be in the middle.”

“Un-huh. That's noble of you, but risky.”

“Tim is a good man. He shouldn't lose his job because of his association with me.”

Or the Rizzo name.

Mr. Edwards jerked his head. “What is it you want from me?”

“I was hoping I could pass the information to you, and you could either go to the police or maybe investigate it yourself. You know, a lead.”

“Which might clear you as well.”

Lucie snapped her fingers and then pointed. “Exactly. Can you help me?”

“Ms. Rizzo, anything I can do to serve my client, I'll do.”

He rose from his chair, swung around his desk, grabbed a pad and pen from the top right drawer and sat. “Tell me what you have.”

Lucie laid it all out for him, the Cock Head meeting, the people she'd met, Wendel coming to their rescue on the street, the phone call, all of it.

Mr. Edwards listened, took notes, interrupted when he had a question, then went back to his notes. When she finished, he held up one finger and reread his notes, dragging his pen along the edge of the notepad as he read.

“The burn phone?”

“He said it couldn't be traced. And it came up as a blocked number. He also said I shouldn't go to the police because he had a contact there.”

“Perhaps a lie.” The corners of his mouth dipped. “I know a few people in the department. I'll ask around. His name was Bill?”

“Yes. But, please be careful. He said if I go to the police, he'd disappear. And right now he's my only lead to the dress.”

“Ms. Rizzo, I think you should prepare yourself that this might be a con.”

As if he needed to tell her that? Of all people? “Obviously, I'm not giving him ten thousand dollars. But I was thinking maybe we could set up a meeting, then follow him or something. I'm not crazy enough to do it alone, but if you'd help me, it might work, right?”

He hit her with the light-bulb smile again. Like Frankie's, Mr. Edwards' smiles did double duty. One second charming, the next lady-you're-cuckoo.

“Hey,” she said, “it sounds nutty, but it's worth a try.”

He jotted a note, dotting his
I
with a flourish. “When is he making contact again?”

“He said I had until eight o'clock tonight to decide. He's calling me then.”

“Fine. I'll see what I can dig up before then. Come back here at seven thirty. I'll listen in on the call. From there, we'll make a plan.”

A
t seven thirty that evening
, Lucie stood outside Mr. Edwards' outer office door waiting for him to answer. She rolled her shoulders and closed her eyes for a few seconds.
Focus.
The stress from the last couple of days dogged her, settled into her muscles like a million baby alien heads.

The door swished open, and Lucie snapped to. “Hello!”

Whoopsie.
A little aggressive there, Luce.
Fatigue did that to her. Sent her mind into overdrive, forced her to push through when really, she just wanted her bed.

Mr. Edwards motioned her inside. “My assistant leaves at five. She always locks the door.”

“I'd do the same. You can't see the entrance from your office.”

Growing up Joe Rizzo's kid taught her a few things about safety. Particularly when it came to doors. Her father always watched the doors. Just in case someone tried to whack him.