1 Dog Collar Crime

by Adrienne Giordano

  As soon as O’Brien left, she charged up to her micro-bedroom and opened the revenue file on her laptop. Please don’t let there be anyone from Glencoe.

  She clicked on the master spreadsheet and searched for Glencoe. Bingo. She eyeballed the row. Oh, no. Please, no. Sweat bubbled on her palms and Lucie rubbed her hands over her jeans. Evelyn Winthrop attended Mrs. Lutz’s trunk show and bought a royal blue coat adorned with rhinestones. She also bought a collar.

  She stared at the Winthrop name on the spreadsheet and a flashing panic crawled up her throat. She opened her mouth, but nothing happened. The only sound was a sucking noise. She bent at the waist, the pressure behind her eyes building, building, building, as the floor shifted beneath her.

  She smacked a hand against her chest. She needed air. Calm. Slow. She closed her eyes, concentrated on one small breath, then another. Within seconds, the banging behind her eyes stopped and she stood straight. She spun around, but there was nowhere to go. The room was too damn small.

  Good God. The dognappers knew who her clients were. And her missing spreadsheet might be the reason.

  An afternoon breeze tickled her arm through the window she had cracked opened that morning. She stuck her face against the small gap. The lacy pink curtains billowed against her cheek and she shoved them back. She hated this room and the I’m-going-do-die-of-suffocation feeling that came with it.

  She had to get out.

  Now.

  * * *

  A loud pounding on his front door brought Frankie out of a monster REM cycle. Jeez. Where’s the fire? He tossed the sheet off, rolled out of bed and slipped on a pair of gym shorts. Couldn’t even take a damned nap on his day off.

  He swung through the living room, stepped into the outer hallway and saw Lucie standing on the stoop in ripped jeans and a sweatshirt. The disturbing lack of color in her face resembled one of his new white dress shirts.

  He opened the door and the cool air pricked his bare chest. “You okay?”

  She looked him up and down, stopped at the bedhead. “You were napping? I’m sorry I woke you.”

  The quiver in her voice sent Frankie’s blood humming, and he suddenly wasn’t cold anymore. “What’s wrong?”

  She pushed by him, walked through the hallway into his living room. “I just talked to Detective O’Brien.”

  Still groggy from sleep, Frankie jammed the heels of his hands into his eye-sockets. When pain erupted from the pressure, he pulled his hands away “What did he want?”

  “A dog was stolen in Glencoe. Frankie, oh my God. It’s the same family.”

  He didn’t know what the hell she was babbling about. “Luce, take it easy.”

  She shook her hands in the air. “The dog that was stolen—I sold his owner a coat and collar at the Lutzes’ trunk show. This is no coincidence.”

  The Glencoe development, coupled with Joey almost getting dogjacked, brought a hell of a mess.

  Frankie couldn’t keep the Joey thing from her any longer. She’d be mad, but he had to be straight with her. He rolled his lips together and scratched a sudden itch on the back of his head. “Luce, take a seat.”

  “I don’t want to sit.”

  “Sit.”

  They stared at each other for a solid minute. She gave in and dropped into the hand-me-down black leather recliner he’d gotten from his folks. He sat on the arm of the matching sofa across from her. “Okay. You’re not gonna like this.”

  She squeezed the arms of the chair until her knuckles bulged and her blue eyes remained fixed on him like a locked-on missile. The last time he’d seen that focused intensity her father had been found guilty of tax evasion.

  “What is it?”

  His girl liked things straight on, so he’d let it fly. “Joey had an incident when walking Otis this morning.”

  “What kind of incident?”

  Sink or swim. He had to tell her. Unfortunately, his tongue turned to lead. This would not go well. “Attempted dogjacking. The guy told Joey he only wanted the collar.”

  She squeezed the chair tighter and the veins in her hands popped. Yep. Pissed. He reached for her, smoothed the tension from her grip. “Before you yell at me, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

  “You should have told me.”

  “Joey fought the guy off. At that point, I figured it wouldn’t do you any good to know. I was going to tell you, but not yet.”

  She leaned forward. “Putting aside you kept this from me, my fears were dead on. The dognappings are about that diamond. I have to stop offering services. It’s the right thing to do. Besides, my reputation will be ruined and I’ll lose my clients anyway.”

  That would kill her. A reputation as a responsible, law-abiding businesswoman was what Lucie craved most. It was time to get herself focused again.

  “How would the dognappers know the Winthrops are your clients?”

  “The only thing I can think of is my missing spreadsheet. It had all my client info on it.”

  Frankie did a yes-no thing with his head. “Or someone could have followed you to the Lutzes’ for the trunk show and then followed Mrs. Winthrop home.”

  Lucie sat back. Thought about it a second. “It’s possible, but my money is on the spreadsheet.”

  “How are you doing on collecting everything you’ve sold?”

  “It’s slow going, but we’re getting there. I told my clients I wanted to check the glue. Ro has been going through everything, but hasn’t found any real stones. A good thing, I suppose.”

  “Yeah. We just have to make sure the dognappers know that.”

  Their gazes met and held for a long moment, which only confirmed she understood what he was thinking.

  “No. I don’t want your father involved in this.”

  Too late.

  “Oh, no,” she said.

  Frankie didn’t move. Not even a blink. “What?”

  “You did it, didn’t you?”

  Busted.

  “Dammit, Frankie! O’Brien probably already suspects the dognappings have something to do with my dad and you went and told your dad, which I asked you not to do. Are you trying to drive me crazy?”

  He waved her off. “Of course not.”

  “Well, telling your father will only bring more attention.”

  She had a point there, but he was willing to risk it. “If I have to choose between keeping you safe and pissing you off, you should know what I’ll pick. I knew you wouldn’t like it, but my father can put the word on the street that you haven’t sold any real diamonds. It’ll help. And maybe he can figure out who the damned thing belongs to. Or doesn’t belong to.”

  Frankie waited for the yelling. Nothing happened. She sat, shoulders slumped.

  “Luce?”

  She closed her eyes and breathed in and out a couple of times. Finally she looked at him. “I’m mad at you, but you’re probably right. From now on, we figure this out on our own. Got it?”

  This could be trouble, but he had to say something. “Not if I think you’re in danger. You’ll have to live with it.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  He shrugged. “We’re already broken-up, so that response is cooked.”

  That wrenched a smile out of her. “You’re impossible.”

  “Yes, but you love me.”

  “And that’s always been the problem.”

  Chapter Six

  Lucie’s feet fused to the ground when Frankie held the door open at the Bruce Correctional Facility. This damned place. She despised it. A Zen moment was what she needed. Particularly after yesterday’s discovery about the Winthrops’ dog being stolen. She closed her eyes, let the sun warm her back and took three deep breaths of fresh air. When she entered the building, the staleness would burn through her nostrils like a California wildfire.

  As far as medium security prisons went, she supposed it wasn’t the worst. Although, she hadn’t seen any other prisons. Either way, the idea of this being her father’s home left her with deep-rooted heartach
e.

  The only positive was the geographically desirable location just over the Wisconsin state line. On a traffic-free day, she could get here in ninety minutes.

  “Are we going in or what?” Frankie asked.

  She nodded, but didn’t budge. “I hate this place.”

  “Does anyone like it?”

  “Good point.”

  The check-in desk sat a few feet in front of them. Lucie signed her name, waited for Frankie to do the same and the guard waved them to the x-ray belt. Another day in paradise. She slipped off her jacket and shoes and placed them on the belt. Early on, she had learned to leave her purse in the car rather than subject herself to strangers rifling through her belongings.

  She stepped through the screening machine, waited for the go nod and took her jacket. Apparently, she had no hidden weapons or bombs on her person. She hummed a Jimmy Buffett song. Too bad she couldn’t pretend she was at the airport going through security on her way to a tropical vacation.

  This was her life. No other way to slice it.

  The visitor’s center was a cement-walled gymnasium painted a dull gray. She stood silent as the stale air wrapped around her. The first time she came here, she had cried. Sobbed actually. No matter what age, a girl never wanted to see her daddy in a pair of orange prison scrubs.

  Hate. This. Place.

  Square and round tables of various sizes cluttered the room, and Lucie searched for her father, who sat at one of the corner tables. The good table. Zen moment, Zen moment, Zen moment. All she wanted was to get through this without an argument. He glanced over and held his hand up in greeting.

  His peppered gray hair had been buzzed and the severity of it accentuated his cheekbones. He’d lost twenty pounds in prison and the leanness of his face made his broad nose appear wider. His body may have been fit, but the gaunt look didn’t suit him.

  She grabbed Frankie’s sleeve and tugged. “There he is.”

  “And we’re off,” he cracked.

  She should have given him a smack for being a wise guy, but he’d sat through enough of these visits to know they often went wildly askew.

  “Hi, Dad,” she said.

  Frankie pulled a chair for her and her father stood, offered a brief smile and gestured for her to sit. Physical contact was prohibited, so the three of them stared at each other. Wasn’t this fun? Lucie finally moved to her chair. The men followed.

  Two armed guards stood watch. Lucie recognized one of them from her previous visits. He gave her a slight pivot of his head and she did the same. Greeting the prison guards couldn’t hurt.

  She turned to her father. “Mom sends her love.”

  “I talked to her this morning. She all right?”

  Aside from her husband being in prison? “She’s fine. She’s been helping me with the dog accessories. I think it keeps her busy.”

  “Right.” He turned his attention to Frankie. “How’re you doing?”

  “I’m good.” That Frankie. Mr. Chatty.

  “Uh-huh.” Her father flipped his gaze back to her. “This poop scooping thing has to stop. Joey told me all about it and you’re done. You hear? I didn’t put you through four years at Notre Dame for you to shovel dog crap and get the damn animals kidnapped.”

  Hello? Had she missed the opening bell? Not even a warm-up before the fight? Joey had warned her he’d made the calculated decision to tell their father about the dognappings. His theory was, if the diamond belonged to their father, he’d somehow let Joey know it was hidden in her things and might be what the dognappers were after. Unfortunately, her father hadn’t done that, which Joey assumed meant he didn’t know diddly about the diamond.

  As usual, her father’s refusal to acknowledge her working her butt off to get through college and grad school irritated her. His money may have paid for it, and she still hadn’t reconciled herself to the idea of being put through school with money earned illegally, but she had done the work and managed top honors. All to prove that she could be more than a criminal’s daughter. “Joey shouldn’t have said anything. Besides, it has nothing to do with me. The police said it’s probably a dognapping ring.”

  If she took the diamond out of the picture, it could be the dognapping ring.

  Frankie leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. “Joey and I are doing the walks with her. She’ll be fine.”

  If Dad had a hair’s worth of knowledge about the diamonds, he wasn’t letting on. Maybe Joey was right. And wasn’t that the equivalent of swallowing antifreeze?

  “What’s this garbage about you two breaking up again?”

  “Don’t start, Dad.”

  “You need to get your head examined. Why won’t you marry him? How many times are you gonna make him ask?”

  Lucie sucked in a breath. How humiliating that he should bring up the one time that Frankie asked her to marry him in front of both their families. He’d surprised her with it and, in her blindsided state, she hadn’t known what to do. “Dad, I’m not talking about this now.”

  “He’s good for you. He’ll take care of you.”

  Frankie shifted in his seat, and she thought she would die right there. “Can we not talk about Frankie like he’s not here? This is inappropriate.”

  That probably wasn’t the right thing to say, because Dad’s face turned a scary shade of red. Maybe even purple. “Don’t you tell me what’s inappropriate. Did you forget who you’re talking to?”

  Frankie cleared his throat. “Joe, everything is good. Luce and I are on a break.”

  Her father poked a finger at him. “I should crack you one. You gotta control this.”

  “Dad, it’s not your business.” The hammering inside Lucie’s skull set her eyeballs throbbing. She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t sit here and have her father, inmate number 3-5-7-9-2-4, lecture her. The man was in prison and he dared to lecture her?

  She shot out of her chair and the screeching of the metal legs caused a vibrating buzz against her leg. “Visit is over.”

  “Sit down,” her father said.

  “I will not. I’m done here.” She looked at Frankie. “You can stay if you’d like. I’ll be outside.”

  He reached for her hand. “Luce—”

  “I won’t sit here and have him yell at me. Not when I can walk out of here.”

  Frankie watched Lucie make a beeline to the door. Being in a room with these two was like visiting a snake pit. He faced Joe. “That went well.”

  Joe held his hands wide. “I don’t understand.”

  Did he think he was the only one? Joe Rizzo was as thick skulled as they came. Frankie had always been respectful to him but never held back when it came to offering his opinion. Joe didn’t like weaklings, and Frankie always made sure to shoot straight with him. Particularly if the situation involved Lucie. “I don’t understand either but with all due respect, yelling at her won’t help. You know your daughter. If you push, she’ll push back. I’m giving her space. She’s trying to survive here, Joe. I figure if I give her time to sort out what’s going on with her career, she’ll be happy and then we can work on our relationship.”

  “Or, she could marry you and she won’t have to worry about the career. My wife was pregnant at Lucie’s age.”

  Maybe Joe was deaf in addition to being thick skulled? His solution was to get married. And what a rotten reason for someone to get married. These old-school guys were impossible.

  “I don’t want her to marry me because I can support her. I want her because I love her. All this other stuff will work itself out. Give her some room.”

  Joe slouched back in his chair. Relinquishing control had to be brutal for him. Being locked up didn’t help. Not when the people in his life came and went and he had nothing to say about it. “I know you’re worried, but I’ll take care of her. Whether we’re broken up or not, I’ll take care of her.”

  There weren’t many things Frankie knew for sure, but that was one of them. It didn’t matter what it took, he’d make sure Lucie staye
d safe.

  Joe nodded. “I know you will, but her life would be easier if she got married.”

  Frankie laughed. “You’re a pisser, Joe.” He stood. “I gotta go.”

  “I put the word out. Anyone touches my daughter, there’s gonna be problems. You check in with me about this dognapping business. I want to be updated. Don’t screw with me on this.”

  As if he’d dare? “If anything happens, I’ll make sure you know.”

  How he’d do that without upsetting Lucie, he had no idea.

  He stepped into the waiting area and found her reading a copy of the prison newsletter. “Anything good?”

  She slapped the paper on the side table and stood. “Family picnic next week. Can we go home now?”

  “These visits are always fun.”

  After pushing through the door, she stopped on the outside landing. “Am I wrong?”

  He shrugged. “You push his buttons, he pushes yours. When he asked about us getting married, you could have said we’re talking about it. He would have been satisfied. Instead, you blew your stack.”

  “So, it’s my fault?”

  “No. It’s his fault. Definitely. You need to be prepared, though, or it’ll always wind up this way and everyone loses.”

  And I land in the middle.

  “I won’t give in.”

  “You don’t have to. He’s locked up. Just say what’ll make him happy and he’ll leave you alone.”

  “You want me to lie?”

  “I want you to spin. Spinning will buy you time and save me grief.”

  She leaned against the steel railing and crossed her arms. When the sun lit her blue eyes and made them twinkle, Frankie sucked in a breath. He loved her. She terrorized him, but he loved her.

  “Spin,” she said, clearly calculating the merits.

  “Yep.”

  “We’ll try that.”

  “Perfect. Let’s go home.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Lucie figured the dead-last thing Frankie wanted to do before work was drive her downtown for her dog duties. As always, he smiled and pressed on.

  They walked the half-block to Otis’s house because, with the magic of the Frankie Factor, they found a spot on the same street. Parking spaces, like women, just appeared for him.