1 Dog Collar Crime

by Adrienne Giordano

  “Laugh all you want. You’ll thank me one day.”

  “Wrong,” Lucie said. “I’ll thank you now. You still look like a nut, though.”

  Ro picked up a coat and started her inspection.

  “Mr. Lutz thinks he can get me a job interview with a bank.”

  Ro stopped, and, funky headband glasses and all, looked at Lucie. “Is that good news?”

  Lucie shrugged. “Of course.”

  “Except you just shrugged. What’s the real answer?” Ro went back to work.

  “That might be the problem. I’m not sure what the real answer is.”

  “Which means what?”

  “I like the dog walking. The winter stinks, but the dogs are fun. If I combine that with the dog accessories—minus the stolen diamond mess—I can make a good living. Maybe better than good.”

  “You’re confused then?”

  She nodded. “Totally. I mean, what is going on with me that all of a sudden I’m not sure I want a banking job? That’s all I’ve ever wanted. The banking job gives me credibility. Shows people that I’m more than Joe Rizzo’s kid. That corporations trust me with millions of dollars.”

  “Well,” Ro said. “Ponzi schemers aside, right? Because banking has crooks. How do you know the world isn’t looking at you and wondering if you’re sucking money out of accounts?”

  “Hey!”

  Ro flipped the magnifying glasses up. “How do we know? Even the most straight-laced people get sucked into doing dumb things. The world could be thinking that about anyone.”

  True.

  Ro put the glasses back into place and started on the leopard print coat. “Luce, be an investment banker because you want to, not because you think it validates you. The people that matter know you’re a good person.”

  Lucie twisted her lips. “Now you sound like Frankie.”

  “Frankie is a smart guy. Most of the time.”

  “Doesn’t it seem crazy though? To leave banking for dog walking?”

  “No. You’re an entrepreneur. You’re walking the dogs while getting an accessory line off the ground. I’m telling you, think Fortune 500. It’ll be bigger than investment banking.” Ro dropped the coat and pulled the headband off. “These are all fakes. Are you sure you’ve collected everything?”

  “Yes. I cross-checked all the items against my spreadsheet and marked them as finished.”

  “Well, sorry honey, this exercise was a bust. Now what?”

  Lucie fiddled with the leopard print coat, but dropped it. “I have no idea.”

  * * *

  Frankie turned in his story on the basketball game and swung by the Rizzos’. He sat in the kitchen with a freshly showered Lucie smelling like lemons—probably her shampoo—and wearing her beat up Levi’s and an old Notre Dame sweatshirt. Her damp, shoulder-length hair had been pulled into a ponytail and combined with the sweatshirt, she looked like a college coed. His Luce. He liked hot Luce too, but this Luce was where he belonged. This was the girl he wanted to wake up with every day. In a kitchen just like this one.

  The Rizzo kitchen hadn’t changed much over the years. They had added a fresh coat of beige paint a couple of years ago, but the few feet of laminate counters and the thirty-year-old maple cabinets remained. Those cabinets were thick enough to crack Joey’s fat head.

  All in all, the place reminded him of family and bunches of people packed tight when Theresa Rizzo prepared food.

  “Hey,” Joey said, shuffling into the kitchen with his hair all crazy. He wore a wrinkled sleeveless T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. He pulled a sandwich from the fridge and unwrapped the foil. Late feeding.

  “Eggplant parm. Sweet.” He bit into the cold sandwich. “Good stuff.”

  Lucie rolled her eyes. Frankie would have preferred the sandwich to be hot, but maybe next time he went to Petey’s he’d try the eggplant. Change things up a bit.

  “What are you doing here?” Joey wanted to know.

  “Let’s talk dognappings.”

  “Perfect,” Luce said.

  Joey shrugged.

  “We can’t keep mixing up the routes this way,” Lucie said. “We need to shift to attack mode. We’ve been waiting for them to come after me and I’m sick of it. I want to go after them.”

  “Exactly.” Frankie said. “I think we should find a way to tell your dad about the diamond. He’ll smoke out whoever hid it.”

  “No.” This from Lucie. “He already knows about the dognappings. He’ll freak on me. Besides, there’s no way to tell him. Not with every conversation recorded.”

  “He and my father talk in code all the time. It’s worth a shot.”

  Lucie shook her head. “Too dangerous.”

  Joey raised both hands. “I’ll rattle some cages and let everyone know if they want that diamond, they’ll have to see me about it.”

  Luce shot him a look that could have left him bloody. “Seriously? That’s your plan?”

  “It’s pretty simple.”

  When she started with the snoring noises, Frankie reached over and pinched her cheek. Too damn cute.

  “You got a better idea?” Joey asked.

  “For starters, I bought pepper spray and a stun gun.”

  That statement dropped like an eighteen-wheeler from the top of a building. Frankie stared at her, trying to wrap his mind around the idea of Lucie and a stun gun. Nuh-uh. This nonsense had to stop.

  The pepper spray he could live with. The stun gun?

  No way.

  With her luck, she’d cook herself.

  “Honey, that stun gun is a bad idea. You could get hurt.”

  “How am I going to get hurt? I’m not using it on myself. It’s for the bad guys. Anyone comes near me or the dogs, zzzzpppp, he gets juiced.”

  Frankie laughed. Unfortunately, the laugh died fast when she narrowed her eyes at him. “You think this is funny? God knows what could happen to one of those dogs.”

  “I don’t think this is funny at all. Suppose the dognapper wrestles the stun gun out of your hands. He could use it on you.”

  “That won’t happen if you and Joey are with me.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  Lucie leaned forward and jammed her index finger into the table. “Maybe not, but I refuse to let a lowlife dognapper dictate how I live. I will not be afraid to walk the streets of the city I love. I’m working my butt off trying to stay ahead of this situation and I’m tired. T-I-R-E-D.”

  Frankie dragged his hand over his face. The complications continued to grow. “Of course you’re T-I-R-E-D. After two weeks of this garbage, we don’t have jack on these guys and you get pissed every time I talk to my father. How long are we going to let this go on?”

  She stared at him for a full thirty seconds. Finally, her snappy eyes settled back to that calm ocean blue. “I was hoping we’d be able to catch them ourselves and figure out who they are. I’m not bringing your dad into it though. You know how I feel about that. Let’s just figure it out ourselves.”

  “How?”

  “Well, Ro just checked the last batch of accessories we collected from my clients. So far, all the stones are fake. If there are any real ones, they’re not on anything I’ve sold or in my stock.”

  “Good.”

  “Not really,” Joey said.

  Frankie clutched the edge of the table and prayed for patience. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “You told your dad about Lucie hiding the diamond, right?”

  “Yeah. He put the word out that she hadn’t used it on any of her accessories.”

  “And what happened?”

  For the life of him, Frankie didn’t know where Joey was leading him.

  “Oh, no,” Lucie said.

  “What?”

  “Jeanette’s store got robbed.”

  “Ding, ding, ding.” Joey said.

  But Frankie didn’t get it. “And?”

  Luce turned to him, gripped his forearm. “There are definitely more diamonds, but
they’re not on my dog accessories. They must be somewhere else.”

  * * *

  Frankie stared at her as if she’d just shredded one of his designer suits. “Somewhere else?”

  “It has to be. Why else would the dognappers still be coming after me? If there was only one diamond and they know I have it, why would they keep stealing the dogs? They don’t believe I only have one diamond.”

  She shoved her chair back and stood. She needed to move. Needed to feel something happening. Needed to find those diamonds.

  Joey spun to face her. “You’re sure the ones in your craft stuff are all fake?”

  “Yes. Ro checked them.”

  “Then we need to search the house.”

  “The attic,” Lucie said. “That’s where I kept my craft supplies.” She’d have to search when her mother wasn’t around. That attic had thirty years’ worth of stuff in it. It would take days to search all that junk.

  “Mom can’t know about this. When she goes out, I’ll start searching. Maybe the dognappers scattered the diamonds in different boxes.”

  “Or maybe they came and got them already,” Frankie suggested.

  “Then why are they still stealing my stuff?”

  “Good point.”

  “Joey, can you get Mom out of the house? I need time to search up there and she pops in and out all day.”

  Joey slouched in his seat, stared up at the ceiling. “She wants to see that new exhibit at the art museum. Been talking about it for two weeks. I’ll buy her the tickets. Send her with one of her friends.”

  “You take her. That way you can warn me when you’re coming home.”

  He swung his head back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. “I draw the line at moping around a museum. What do I care about some queen’s clothes?”

  Lucie spun to Frankie, held her hands out and dropped them. Her brother couldn’t suck this up? Unbelievable.

  “I can’t blame him for that one, Luce. That’s beyond the call.”

  Double unbelievable. “You boys need to focus on the big picture here.”

  Joey gathered up the sandwich wrapper and stood. “As long as that picture isn’t of some queen’s clothes, I’m on it.”

  “Fine. Get the tickets ASAP so we can get her out of here. At least take her to dinner tomorrow night. That’ll give me an hour to start searching the attic.”

  “Not to be a downer, Luce,” Frankie said, “but don’t get too bent on this idea. There may not be anything up there.”

  Always a possibility. Lucie couldn’t get sidetracked though. There were more diamonds. She was sure of it. “If they’re not in the attic, they’re somewhere else. We just need to find them.”

  “If it was me,” Joey said, glancing at the wall between the counter and back door. “I’d go for the walls.”

  With that, he left the room.

  “The walls,” Lucie said. “That would be a little hard to explain.”

  “I’d say.” Frankie squeezed her hand. “One thing at a time. Let’s work on the attic. I’ll help you search.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Lucie and Frankie arrived at the Lutzes’ and, ready to fight another day, she hopped on her scooter to fire it up. “My mother went to an early yoga class, so I started searching the attic this morning.”

  Frankie swung his leg over the scooter. “Anything?”

  “No, but I only got through three boxes.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  Lucie smiled. “I know. Thank you.”

  He winked. “It’ll cost you.”

  “Yay, me. And just so you know, I’m packing.”

  Frankie, in the middle of securing his helmet, drew his eyebrows together. “Boxes?”

  What was he talking about? “Boxes?”

  “You said you’re packing. What are you packing?”

  Idiot. She smacked her hand against her messenger bag. “I’m packing. As in heat.”

  Frankie pursed his lips in that way that told her he was either about to argue, or worse, laugh. He must have decided against both because, after angling his head the way Otis did when contemplating a good poop, Frankie shook it off and pushed his scooter from the garage.

  “You’re like a cross between Mary Poppins and Rambo.”

  Once again, she patted the bag slung across her body. “Nobody is messing with Mary or Rambo today. Nobody.”

  “Do you even know how to use that stun gun?”

  She tilted her chin skyward while she secured her helmet strap. “I practiced on an eggplant.”

  “Perfect. Now that you fried the eggplant, your mom won’t have to cook it.”

  Wasn’t he just the comedian today? “Hardy-har. Make fun all you want. I’m done with these dognappers. I’m taking control. Anyone tries to steal my dogs, they’re getting zapped. Zzzzzpppp!”

  “Luce, those stun guns are dangerous.”

  The sun poured over his black dress pants and grey zip-up jacket as he sat on the scooter with his feet planted on the driveway. Damn, he somehow managed to make a scooter sexy. Even when he irritated her. “Relax. It doesn’t even generate an amp. I can’t kill anyone with it.”

  “How comforting.”

  “Darn tootin’.” Lucie hit the throttle on the scooter and zoomed by him.

  After walking the girls, they headed to Lincoln Park and Mamie, the ever-regal Labradoodle that in a truly bizarre way reminded Lucie of her mother. Mamie was one of those animals that never got flustered. The world could be collapsing around her, but she’d trot without a care.

  “Buddy is next,” Lucie said. “Joey will meet us at the downtown Rizzo’s after that for lunch. Then you can head to your office and Joey will take over.”

  “You’re keeping on schedule. Maybe you need to make your own how-to video. We’ll call it Poop on Demand.”

  Again with the humor? A regular funny man today. “All the dogs—well, Otis is a challenge—but the rest know I’m serious. When I say poop, they do it. I learned that from the guy on Discovery Channel.”

  Frankie snorted. Obviously, he found it amusing that she watched Discovery Channel.

  The sound of scooters pulling into the driveway sent Buddy, the Wheaton Terrorist—er Terrier—into a barking frenzy. His little head bobbed up and down in the back window, and Lucie cracked up. She took a moment to breathe in and enjoy the moment of peace. The dogs were always happy to see her. That alone made this job worth doing.

  She parked her scooter and held a hand to Frankie. “Let me take care of this. After your last encounter with Buddy, I don’t want him getting agitated.”

  Frankie dragged his helmet off. “All that howling he’s doing is calm?”

  “He’s a puppy. He’s energized.”

  “These pants are Calvin Klein. I’ll kill the little bastard if he goes after them.”

  Poor, poor Frankie with his designer pants. “Just stay out of his reach and you’ll be fine.”

  Lucie entered the house through the back door and took the immediate right to the laundry room, where a gate kept Buddy contained. The over-anxious puppy greeted her by diving at her feet and licking her shoes. She bent low and patted his rump. “Good boy. Yes. I know you’re hungry.”

  Then he peed on her foot.

  Urine seeped through her canvas sneakers and soaked her socks. Ew. “Outside,” she said in a loud voice. The dog flopped onto his back. Clearly, the potty training hadn’t kicked in yet. “Okay, Buddy. You just tinkled on me and that’s not a good thing.”

  With the urinating out of the way, she might as well feed him before his walk. She dumped his food into the bowl and, while he ate, she wiped up the errant pee, and pulled off her shoe and wet sock. Poop baggies sat on the dryer by his leash, so she grabbed one and stuck her wet sock in it before sliding her shoe back on. The wet shoe abraded the top of her foot and she curled her toes under to relieve her mind of puppy pee against her skin. Just, ew. She would have to stop somewhere and buy another pair, because the idea of walking
around with pee on her all day gave her a rash. Literally.

  Buddy finished his lunch, planted his butt and barked.

  “I guess we’re ready.”

  When Lucie bent low to secure his harness, Buddy, thinking it was playtime, shot to the corner of the oversized laundry room hoping for a chase.

  Lucie sighed. “Buddy, we have work to do.”

  “Erf! Erf!”

  Time to call in the big guns. She sat on the floor, stared at the ceiling and waited. Dogs hated to be ignored. The eventual tap-tap-tap of nails on tile alerted her to movement and—voila—he was at her side. Slowly, she moved her hand over his back and rubbed. “Good boy, Buddy.” She wrapped her arm around him, while continuing to tickle his belly. Gotcha.

  “You little stinker.” She slipped the harness on and secured it. “Good boy!”

  Assuming they were done, Buddy jumped on top of her and the frantic slapping of his warm tongue against her cheek made her giggle. “Off, Buddy.”

  To his credit, he planted himself on the floor and let her attach the leash.

  A minute later, he took one look at Frankie through the open door and charged. Unfortunately, he ran out of running room on the nylon leash and it snapped him to a halt.

  Wussie boy Frankie stepped back. “What took so long?”

  “He peed on my foot. I cleaned it up while he ate.”

  Frankie made an ick face. Yeah, with you on that one, pal. Just part of the job, Lucie mused as Buddy fired down the steps snarling at Frankie. He backed up another inch.

  She laughed. “You’re afraid of a three-month-old puppy?”

  “His teeth are ice picks.”

  Screeching tires from the street lurched Lucie’s heart and she spun to peer down the alley. Nothing. Too jumpy. Buddy, sensing the tension, barked and she bent low to pet him.

  “Let’s hit it,” Frankie said.

  He took two steps into the alley and a man the size of Cleveland flew from behind a tree. What the—“Watch out,” Lucie yelled, but the man landed on Frankie’s back and Buddy went insane tugging the leash to join the mêlée.

  In one fluid move, Frankie flipped the guy off him and the dog leaped and barked and growled.