"Of course I forgive you. Are you kidding? You beat up Tiffy Nelson for me in the third grade. I love you too. I just want you to be happy. If arguing with my brother does this to you, something has to change."
"I know. It drives us both crazy, but we're too stubborn to give in."
The much taller Ro, ducked her head to Lucie's shoulder and a chunk of Lucie's heart gave way. Even when Ro's rat bastard, stripper-banging ex-husband had humiliated her, Ro hadn't crumpled like this.
Damned Joey.
Ro let out a little sniffle. "I hate myself right now. I can't stop eating and I'm miserable.”
“Call him. Make this craziness stop.”
“I'll do it. I'll call him."
Tonight Lucie would get on her knees and thank God and every angel for making this miracle happen.
Ro stood tall, gave up a watery smile. "I might have to kill him though. Just so you know."
"Whatever it takes. I'll even help."
"Uh," Tim said. "Time for me to go. Is it safe to leave you two? I mean, we're not gonna have a crime scene here, right?"
Funny man.
Lucie whirled on him just as Ro said, "Beat it, O'Hottie."
He whipped off that sweet Irish-boy smile Lucie loved so much and all the bluster left her. How could she mouth off to such a hunk?
"You're lucky you're cute," she said.
"I know." He popped a kiss on her lips. "See ya later. Love you."
"Love you too."
"Ew," Ro said.
After dumping the remaining ice cream, Ro followed Lucie from the break room. "I'm sorry about the tweet-gone-wild."
Tweet-gone-wild. Good one.
"Let's chalk it up to a bad day. We'll have some damage control, but as long as you deleted it, we'll be fine."
"I'll apologize to her."
That's all they needed. Buzzy would whip out that I'm-so-arrogant attitude she wore like a second skin and Ro might hurl her Louis Vuitton at her.
Lucie held up a hand. "Wait on that. I'll talk to the lawyer and see what he advises. I'm not sure we should be apologizing for anything if we're about to sue her."
"We're suing her? Really?"
"I talked to Tim about it at lunch. It looks like she's making money on your designs. At the very least, she needs to compensate us. If we can prove our case, we'll demand payment. If she doesn't agree, we'll sue. Besides, she is a thieving beyotch."
Ro smacked her hand on the desk. "Exactly!"
"Just, please, no communication of any sort with Buzzy. Even if you have to remove her from your social media feed, stay away. Got it?"
"Yes, ma'am. No Buzzy."
"Good. Now call my brother before someone gets hurt."
Chapter Three
That evening, while Mom put the finishing touches on her famous pot roast, Lucie did her part by setting the dining room table. Dad and Joey, of course, did their parts by sitting in the adjoining living room in front of the television.
Some things would never change in this household. The women doing the domestic duties was one of them. Something she didn't have to worry about with Tim. He'd been living on his own long enough that he didn't have a problem strapping on an apron or washing dishes. When Lucie went to his place for dinner, they both cooked, they both cleaned up, they both watched television.
Together.
The front door flew open and Lucie scooted to the end of the table hoping to see her BFF making her usual grand entrance. When Ro walked into the house, stillness suddenly turned to movement and everything got hectic in a totally fun way. Usually. With this Joey-Ro war, who knew what Ro’s crazy energy would bring.
After the epic meltdown earlier, Ro had promised to make nice with Joey and her appearance was a sign. A good one, hopefully, that meant Lucie's life getting a whole lot simpler because her vice president of sales wasn't pulling threesomes with Ben & Jerry.
All around, Lucie—and Coco Barknell—needed Ro's head back in the game.
"Hellooo," Ro called as she strode into the living room on her mile-high stilettos.
Even twelve-point-five pounds heavier, Ro was a stunner. Tonight her wavy dark hair fell around perfectly sculpted cheekbones. She'd topped it all off by changing into a mini-skirt that showed off her long legs. All, of course, under a mink coat.
Ro, no matter her size, would always be a mankiller. She simply had that way about her. As if on cue, Joey's head swung around and he fixed his gaze on her as she moved toward him. When she reached him, she smacked him on the back of the head.
"Ow!"
"We need to talk. Now. Hi, Mr. R." She bent low and pecked Dad on the cheek.
"Hiya," he said, shaking his head over the smack. "You're a wacky broad."
"Yeah, well, apparently, that's what your son needs. Hi, Luce."
Lucie set the last fork, the fifth one for Ro, on the table. "Hi. I had a feeling you'd be here."
"Yep. And if your brother doesn't get his giant ass off that couch and talk to me, I'm staying anyway. He'll have to look at me all through dinner."
Dad leaned over and backhanded Joey on the arm. "Why aren't you talking to her?"
"Why is everyone hitting me tonight?"
Lucie took that one. "Maybe because you deserve it?"
"Shut it, you," Joey warned, then addressed Dad. "We had a fight. And she's not talking to me either. Don't let her bulldoze you. She's not innocent in all this."
"Jesus Christmas," Dad said. "I got an entire crew down at Petey's that doesn't give me an ulcer like you two."
With the bunch her father led, that was saying something. But Lucie didn't like to think about her father's "day job." Joe Rizzo had saddled her with never-ending mob princess jokes that she'd spent most of her adult life trying to rise above.
And it was a brutal climb.
"Five minutes," Mom hollered from the kitchen.
Ro glanced at Lucie and she waggled her thumb in Joey's direction. After the day they'd had, Lucie wanted a reasonably subdued dinner—always a challenge in the Rizzo home. If Ro didn't get moving on Operation Joey, they'd create a boatload of tension at the table.
Fully embracing Lucie's request, Ro stepped in front of Joey, who had yet to move, and held her coat open, giving him a view of her blouse. The one that included the extra button undone and revealing a mountain of cleavage. Really dirty pool. She knew the effect she had on him.
Plus, she was blocking the television.
"Oh, boy," Dad said.
Mom poked her head into the dining room. "What's going on?"
"Nothing. Joey and Ro are making up."
"They're fighting again?"
"Yes."
Mom rolled her eyes and went back to the kitchen. Life in the Rizzo household.
Ro grabbed Joey by the wrist, dragging his butt up. "We’ll go upstairs and settle this. Either that or I'm walking out. And I won't be walking back in."
That got the big man's attention. He stood in front of Ro, staring down at her. As tall as Ro was in her heels, Joey still had a good four inches on her. "What?"
"You heard me. I can't do this anymore. Ben & Jerry's stock is going up because of me. Pretty soon my ass won't fit through the door."
Again, Dad shook his head. He hated when women swore. Well, too bad. Ro was right. On all fronts.
But her brother was stubborn. He might need a little more of a push and Lucie was never one to shy away from irritating her brother. The way she figured it, he'd tormented her from the time they were kids and deserved whatever he got. She still smarted from that time he challenged her to a pull-up contest and then left her hanging from the tree branch, screaming until her voice gave out. At the time, she'd been too afraid to let go and possibly break her legs on the fall.
Joey. Mr. Wonderful.
"Listen," Lucie said, "we had a rough day and I'm not up for any drama tonight. Ro is taking the high road. Be a man and talk to her."
Ro gave him a shove. "Let's go."
He marched to the stai
rs, flipping Lucie the bird behind Dad's back. Which of course, she happily flipped right back.
Perfect. At least there'd been some progress.
"Lucie," Mom called. "Your phone is ringing. Well, not ringing. Tinkling."
"It's probably a text."
"Ooh," Mom said, "It's still going. You're so popular."
"What's all the yelling about?" Dad yelled. "I'm watching my program here."
Lucie needed to move out. The insanity of this household, even with Joey living in his own place, was too much. By day, Lucia Rizzo was an ambitious entrepreneur building what she hoped would someday be a Fortune 500 company. When she stepped through the front door of her parents' home, she somehow time warped back to being twelve years old. The yearning to be on her own again nudged her constantly.
Before being downsized out of her banking job, she'd had her own apartment in Chicago. Living the life. She'd been in love back then, enjoying her time with Frankie, the son of her father's closest friend and the first boy she’d ever gotten starry eyed over. Except, in the end, they couldn't make it work. She'd always care for him, but what she had with Tim was...different.
Simpler.
No drama. No splitting up and getting back together. No one taking bets on when the next break would happen.
Her relationship with Tim was the adult version of falling in love.
Mom peeked through the kitchen doorway and held Lucie’s still-tinkling phone out. "Please deal with this before I throw it outside."
"Yes, ma'am. Sorry."
What the heck could be going on? She tapped the screen, spotted six messages. Three from Sissy Washington. The other three came from staff members at Pups for Progress.
Apparently, there was some kind of doggie fashion crisis. Lucie tapped Sissy's first message.
Turn on your TV. Breaking news. Buzzy=Dead.
Clearly, Buzzy had done something to piss off Sissy also. The woman was on a roll today. Lucie tapped the next message.
Did you see it?
And the third message.
Where are you?
Yikes. A girl couldn't leave her phone for five minutes.
"Dad," Lucie said, "I need the television a second."
Having no doubt her father would protest, Lucie scooped the remote from the sofa cushion and flipped to the local Chicago news station.
"Baby girl, I was watching that."
"I know. I'll change it back."
"You know," he said, "I don't understand. A man can't watch his own damned television in peace around here. I should go back to the joint. There, I had peace."
"You also had a lack of sunshine and—oh, yeah—freedom. Oh, my God!"
Scrolling at the bottom of the screen under a bright red breaking news banner was a report of a homicide.
Buzzy Sneider's homicide.
Buzzy=Dead.
Sissy wasn't kidding.
Lucie followed the scroll, lost in stunned disbelief as it ticked by. Buzzy was…gone.
"Roseanne!"
"Again with the yelling?" This from Dad who swung his head up, his face a twisted mass of frustration.
She couldn't worry about Dad right now. She raced to the stairs, took them two at a time, and halted midway when Ro appeared at the top.
"What happened?"
"It's Buzzy."
"That bitch. What'd she do now? Tell me she swiped another one of our designs. I swear to God I'll kill her."
"Too late. Someone already did."
Ro cocked her head. "I'm sorry, Luce, but trying to talk sense into your thick-headed brother must have exhausted my working brain cells. Did you just say someone killed Buzzy?"
"Your brain cells are fine." Lucie headed back down the stairs, waving Ro to follow. "I got a text from Sissy. It's on the news. There's no info yet, but it's scrolling on the bottom."
Ro hit the landing, her long hair flying as she made the turn. "What happened?"
"Sssh, here it is." Lucie grabbed the remote again and turned the volume up.
Still in his chair, Dad waved a hand. "Who's this Buzzy broad?"
"Ssssh."
But Ro couldn't resist. "She's the thieving witch who stole my designs."
"Someone wacked her?"
"Dad. Hush! I need to hear this."
Everyone went quiet. A minor miracle in this house. Just in case, Lucie turned up the volume as the anchor tossed it over to a reporter standing in front of a police barricade.
"That's Buzzy's house," Ro said.
"Ssssh...let's hear this."
"Buzzy Sneider, a local celebrity and home decor guru known for her hugely popular reality show, was discovered deceased by her older sister at approximately 5:45 pm. This appears to be a homicide, but detectives are still inside the home and no details have been released. We're expecting a statement from Foo-Foo Entertainment, Buzzy's company, any time now. We'll bring that to you live as it happens. Back to the studio."
"I can't believe it," Ro said, "I was just—" She stopped, shook her head.
Lucie handed the remote back to Dad. "You were just what?"
"Roseanne," Joey yelled from upstairs. "Are we done?"
Mom swung into the dining room carrying a huge platter of pot roast. "Dinner's ready. Everyone at the table."
The thud of Joey's giant feet hitting the stairs nearly shook the house. "Smells great, ma. I'm starved."
On his way by, he smacked Ro on the rear. "Glad we straightened that out. I kinda missed you."
But Ro simply stood next to Lucie, her eyes still on the television. "This is crazy. She's dead?"
"Totally crazy. And we were about to sue her."
"Oh, Luce. Not to talk business at a time like this, but that's going to be a mess."
Lucie let that sink in. She could drop the idea of the lawsuit, but last she checked, Buzzy's website indicated the designs she'd swiped from Coco Barknell were on back order and still selling for $149.95 each. Which meant Foo-Foo was making a boatload on them.
And Lucie couldn't stomach that. Fair was fair. Coco Barknell, no matter this tragedy, deserved to be compensated.
Tim.
He’s who she needed now. Always the voice of reason. Someone to talk through options with. He'd have answers. Whether or not he'd share those answers was debatable. One of his finer qualities was his steadfast dedication to being a police officer. An honorable, straight-arrow detective who rarely, if ever, shared information about cases.
She loved that about him. Even when her father, scary mob boss Joe Rizzo, wanted him to spill information regarding a piece of memorabilia Lucie had been suspected of stealing, Tim didn't compromise. He found a way to help Lucie without jeopardizing his ethics. Or his career.
"Lucie," Mom said, "please."
Food. The idea of it sent a bout of nausea swimming in Lucie's stomach. She'd have to choke it down though.
"Call O'Hottie," Ro said.
"Exactly what I was thinking. After dinner, we'll see if we can track him down. Maybe get some answers."
After cleaning up the dinner dishes, Ro and Joey took off to whereabouts unknown—more than likely to one of the bedrooms to make up for lost time. Blech! Lucie didn't like thinking about her brother and her BFF doing the nasty.
Just gross.
Instead of dwelling on disgusting thoughts, she wandered up to her bedroom, the one with the same princess furniture from elementary school.
She dropped on the bed and studied the swirl design on her dresser. Maybe it was time to move out. To bust her big girl furniture out of storage and get an apartment again. Something downtown. Closer to Tim.
Or was that moving too fast? They'd already exchanged I-love-yous. Many times—eh-hem—so that was promising. She wouldn’t rush things though. Slow, slow, slow.
Yet, during times of crisis, the first person she thought of was her hunky, red-haired detective.
She scrolled her contacts, found O'Hottie, and tapped the screen.
"Hey, Luce."
Uh-oh. His voice carried that breathy sound it took on when he was in a rush. Or stressed.
"Hi. Is this a bad time?"
"No. It's good. I'm walking to my car. I'm working a case."
"I won't keep you. I just saw the news about Buzzy. I can't believe it."
"It's nuts. The brass has all the homicide guys on alert. Detectives outside of homicide too. All hands on deck."
Not a shock, based on Buzzy's celebrity status, but considering the number of homicides in Chicago, that was a lot of detectives.
"Are you on this? Do they have any leads?"
"Luce—"
Lucie curled her lip. Leave it to her to find an honorable detective. "I know, I know. You can't comment. I had to try."
He chuckled. One thing about Tim, he found the lighter side in just about anything. Cops had that twisted gallows humor that kept them from going insane over the day-to-day depravity they witnessed.
"I'd expect nothing less. Doesn’t matter anyway. I don't know anything more than what the media has. You okay with this whole thing?"
Lucie flopped back on her bed. "Me? I'm fine. I feel horrible for her family. Lorraine lives right next door. That’s got to be horrible. Buzzy might have been a thief, but she didn't deserve this. It's sad."
"Yeah, it is. Babe, I gotta run. But listen, you know how this works. They're gonna be looking at everything and everybody."
Which meant... "You're telling me to expect a call from a detective."
"I don't know for sure, but that's what I'd do. I'd round up anyone she had a beef with and question them. SOP."
SOP. Standard Operating Procedure. Tim's favorite acronym.
Lucie hadn't thought about being questioned. The shock of Buzzy's death had numbed her to that little factoid. Ugh. How the hell did she always wind up involved in this stuff?
"They can ask me anything. As usual I have nothing to hide."
Tim let out a snort. "Good. I can’t take another one of your adventures so soon after the Cock Heads."
"Hey! It's not like I ask for this stuff to happen. I just have rotten luck. And don't make fun of the Cock Heads. They're nice people. In a goofy sort of way."
Lucie had met the Cock Heads while investigating the theft of The Max, a priceless dress from a famous sci-fi flick featuring peacocks that take over an island. Lucie had become a suspect and some of the fan club’s members had helped solved the crime. And clear Lucie. As a result, she liked to attend Cock Head meetings to catch up with her new friends.
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