Dog Collar Couture (16 page)

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.”

F
ifteen 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.”

T
he 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.

Because that's what parents did. They protected their children. No matter what.

D
ad marched
through the front door of Coco Barknell with Joey behind him shooing reporters and photographers away.

With his middle finger.

With everything that had just gone on here, the thing that would most definitely make the evening news would be Joey flipping off the media.

Lucie lunged for her father, but Ro grabbed her arm. “Save it. Everyone in the break room. Let's not give this crowd a photo op.”

Joey locked the front door, and the four of them headed down the corridor. Lucie shoved open the door. Tim stood on the far side of the room, head down, hands in pockets. At the ruckus coming through the door, he snapped to.

“How'd it go?”

“Fine. Until my father threw himself into the grinder.” She whirled on him. “Dad, I love you for doing that, but that was
dangerous.
”

He waved both hands. “Ah, I was having fun with them.”

Tim swung his head between Lucie and her father. “What happened? And for the record, I told him not to go.”

“One thing you'll learn, the men in my family are stubborn. He occupied them for me. He was an ace.”

Her dad shrugged. “After a while, you get used to this garbage.”

“By the way,” Joey said, “when Willy sees that news clip he's going to go ape-shit because you blew off his statement.”

Ew.
She hadn't considered Willie watching the news.

“Well, I'll deal with that later. I couldn't do it. I wanted to be sincere.”

Beside her, Tim let out a breath. “Luce, seriously?”

Now the detective sided with the defense lawyer? Nothing today had gone even slightly the way she'd have expected.

“Everyone knock it off. The message was the same. It was just in my words. Not his.”

Her cell phone rang. Dear God, could this be him? “Oh, don't even tell me.” She slid the phone from her back pocket. A 312 number, but not Willie's. “Hmmm . . .”

“Who is it?” Tim asked.

“I don't know. Let's find out.”

After all, she did just make an offer of a ten-thousand-dollar reward.

“Hello?”

“You're crazy!”

And this was news? “Who is this?”

“It's Lewis Dukane. There's a slew of reporters banging on my door and calling my office. And the rabid Peacock fans. I just got a call from a Cock Head, whatever the hell that is, wanting to know about some reward you mentioned on a news report. What reward?”

Holy cow. Someone must have broadcast her statement already. Yes!

“Mr. Dukane—”

“Oh, hell,” Tim said.

“Mr. Dukane, calm down. We're on the same side here. We both want to find the dress, right? This is the way to do it.”

“Luce, hang up. Don't talk to him.”

She waved Tim off. Getting the owner of the dress on Team Lucie could only help her.

“Ms. Rizzo, I don't have time for your shenanigans.”

According to her research, Mr. Dukane owned a chain of wine bars in Chicago, New York and California. She'd give him credit for building a successful business, but he didn't need to be rude. “You know,” she said, “I'm trying to help here. This is your dress. I'd think you'd be a little more appreciative of my efforts. Considering you're not putting up the reward money.”

Joey huddled closer. “That's telling him, tough guy.”

“Help?” Mr. Dukane said. “By sending legions of people my way? That's how you help? Who is going to field all these calls?”

So maybe she hadn't anticipated reporters and fans flocking to Mr. Dukane.

My bad.

And those Cock Heads, they could be rabid.

“I certainly apologize for that, sir. I told everyone to go to my Web site for information. I didn't realize we'd receive this kind of reaction. But, hey, maybe we'll get a solid lead out of this, and the dress will be recovered. Wouldn't that be great?”

“You dumb twit!”

From the first moments she'd met this man, he'd been horrendous to her. Right here, right now, it would stop. “Rudeness. That is uncalled—”

Click.
The line went dead. Lucie held the phone in front of her and shook it wildly. “Idiot!”

Joey burst out laughing. Ro slapped him—hard—on the arm. Dad narrowed his eyes and Tim watched the whole thing with a detached amusement that tilted his mouth into a half-hidden grin.

“What a jerk,” Lucie said. “He hung up on me.”

“Who was that?” This from Dad, whose narrowed eyes and locked jaw told her all she needed to know about what he was thinking.

“He's the owner of the dress.”

“How'd he get your number?”

“I don't know. Maybe from the auction house. Or it's on the Coco Barknell Web site. The upshot is, our little impromptu press conference worked. The bad news is he's getting slammed with calls and reporters showing up at his door.”

Ro peeled her lips back. “Ew.”

“Yeah. Not happy.” She turned to Tim. “I kinda feel bad.”

“Don't. He's an ass. Arrogant as all hell. Everybody owes him a living, that type of thing.”

In her limited dealings with him, she could see that.

Tim's phone rang. The dreaded train horn. “That's your boss. I'm so sorry I've kept you.”

The phone rang again, but he reached for her, squeezed her arm. “It's okay. But I gotta take this.”

He made a move to drop a kiss on her but stopped. Probably the audience scaring him off. As tempted as she was to finish it, to just hop up and lay a smooch on him, she wouldn't. Clearly, he wasn't yet comfortable kissing her in front of her father, and she wouldn't rush him.

Instead, she pecked him on the cheek. Nice compromise. “Go talk to your boss. Thank you for everything. I'll call you later.”

“Don't forget we have a Cock Head meeting to attend.”

L
ucie
, Tim and Ro arranged to meet at a cafe around the corner from the Java Pit at six o'clock. They'd grab a quick bite, draft a plan and then hit the Cock Head meeting at seven.

At 5:50, Lucie and Ro nabbed a parking spot near the coffee shop and hoofed it to the cafe. Darkness descended, bringing a crisp wind that prickled Lucie's cheeks as they walked. At the corner traffic light, she tilted her head back at an array of twinkling stars splashed across the black sky. Such a perfect night for a walk.

With a hunky detective.

With any luck, her pain-in-the-butt brother would show up later to take Ro home and Lucie and Tim could sneak off for a few minutes. She'd barely seen him all week, and the realization brought her back to those miserable times when she and Frankie had been broken up and loneliness consumed her.