He held up his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You’re right. Priorities. Ro, you want me to kick his ass? I’d do that for you.”
Finally. Some concern about their friend. This was the Joey she adored. Idiot or not, sometimes, in his own fatalistic way, he could be sweet and protective. Apparently, Ro responded to that because she pulled away from Lucie, turned to face Joey, and threw herself into his arms.
“I know you would,” she said. “But no. If I’m taking him to the cleaners, I have to be the loyal wife to pull it off. I’ve been so good to him and this is what he does to me? I can’t believe it. The bastard.”
At which point, totally behind Mom’s back, Joey grinned at Lucie, slid his hand over Ro’s butt cheek and squeezed.
As expected, because Joey knew Ro just as well as Lucie, if not better considering their sexual—blech—history, Ro snorted. Her brother had known just what to do to make Ro smile.
“God, you’re a pig,” she said.
Mom spun around. “What did he do?”
“Nothing,” they all said.
“I made her laugh though.”
Ro gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek then ran her fingers under her eyes. Her makeup was already destroyed, but she didn’t need to know that. Why make things worse?
“Yes, you did,” she said. “Thank you.”
“Ooh,” Mom said. “It’s almost seven. It’s poker night. I need to go.”
Joey put his hand out to help Mom from her chair. “I’ll walk you.”
“It’s half a block and still light out. Knock it off. Who’s going to attack me on this block?”
“Hey, you never know.”
“Leave her alone,” Lucie said. “She’ll be fine. No one is crazy enough to bother her. Of all people. Between you and Dad, they’d be numbskulls to try it.”
Her brother pondered that. “All right. I’ll watch you from the sidewalk. But it’ll be late when you come home. I’ll pick you up.”
Mom let out a frustrated laugh. “I love you, but when your father comes home, you need to move out. I’ll never survive the two of you.”
“Uh, speaking of…”
Everyone in the room stopped moving. Just bam, frozen. Speaking of what? Moving out? Could that mean…?
Lucie gawked. “You’re moving out?”
And then, shocker of all shockers, her brother nodded. “Yeah. I mean, with Dad coming home, Mom doesn’t need me anymore. And Frankie’s got that empty third floor flat at his house.”
Two issues here. One, Lucie would be alone with her father and her mother. After Dad being gone two years and her mother proclaiming her newfound independence, there was no telling the drama that would unfold inside this nineteen-hundred-square-foot house. Two, her brother was moving in with Frankie. It shouldn’t have surprised her. They’d been friends—best friends—since grammar school. But—wow—if the lines weren’t already blurred, they sure were now. As long as she and Frankie were broken up, she couldn’t visit. Visiting meant walking past Frankie’s apartment, a place she’d spent countless nights watching television, having dinner, making love. Each time she’d wonder what was going on inside. Whether he had a woman in there. Whether he was making love to someone else.
Oh. My. God.
“You’re moving into Frankie’s?”
“Oh, boy,” Ro said.
Joey shrugged. “Why not?”
Mom stared up at him, her mouth partway open and her hazel eyes more than a little stricken. Lucie hadn’t seen this look since Dad got convicted.
But she knew from conversations with Frankie that the only reason Joey still lived at home was because he didn’t want Mom to not have a man around to help with the household stuff. That and, well, she always had a meal ready and his laundry done. That didn’t matter though. Chances were, she’d still do the cooking and laundry for him wherever he lived.
But make no mistake, Joey had unintentionally just broken their mother’s heart.
Lucie tore her gaze away from Mom and went back to Joey. “When did you decide this? I just talked to him today and he didn’t say anything.”
“I asked him not to. I wanted to tell you guys. Luce, you’ve been a little—” Joey waggled his hand, “—whackadoo lately. I wanted to be sure Dad was coming home before I said anything.”
Mom held out a shaky hand. “Joseph, I was kidding. You don’t have to move out.”
“I know, Ma. But it’s time. I’m twenty-nine years old and I can afford it. I gotta go. I’m sorry.”
Being the trooper she was, Mom waved that off. “Don’t you dare apologize for living your life. If this is what you want, then you should do it.”
“It is.”
Finally, she stood, held her arms out, and her mountain of a son hugged her, holding on for a few seconds while Mom sniffled away unshed tears. “I’ll miss you.” She backed away and nodded. “You drive me crazy, but I’ll miss you.”
Joey hit her with the Joey smile that always got him out of trouble. “I’ll still come by to eat.”
And probably bring his laundry.
“Of course you will.”
As she always did in times of crisis or heartbreak or just about anything that rocked her world, Mom lifted her chin, tugged on the hem of her shirt and faced Lucie and Ro. “I’m off to poker. You three behave.”
“Will do, Mom.”
Mom left and Lucie, desperate to be rid of the idea of Frankie having other women in his bed, turned to Ro. “Back to the issue that started this whole thing. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I just needed to get it out of my system. You know me, I’ll survive.” Ro gestured to the laptop. “What are you working on?”
“I’m researching Gomez paintings.”
“Who?” Joey asked.
“Gomez. The artist who did the painting the Lutzes bought from the gallery.”
“That’s an ugly-ass painting.”
Her brother. The art critic. “It’s a matter of taste.”
“Bad taste.”
Ro snorted. Great. Now she was encouraging him. “Don’t start, you two. This is important.”
“Why?”
“Well, you know our new dog walker?”
Ro nodded. “Lauren, right? How’s she working out?”
Lucie held her crossed fingers up. “So far so good. She’s a little nosey though. Yesterday she was all over Mr. L.’s painting. Today, we overheard Bart Owens arguing with an artist. Lauren couldn’t stop speculating on what the argument was over.”
“Something good?”
“I don’t know. They were going at it though. It sounded like Bart lent someone named Robert’s paintings to a gallery and now can’t get them back.”
“Luce,” Joey said, “you gotta stay out of this crap. It’s not your business.”
In a way, it was. Her brother just didn’t know it. “Just hang on with me for a second. Lauren said she kinda remembered something weird about how the Gomez paintings were sold.”
“So?”
“So, after hearing him argue with this artist today, I figured I’d research Gomez paintings. Last thing I need is Mr. Lutz getting swindled after I hooked him up with Bart.”
“Oh, no,” Joey said.
Ignoring him, Lucie moved back to her laptop and pointed at the screen. “I found a Michigan gallery that sells Gomez’s paintings. His will dictates that the gallery is the only one with permission to sell his work. Apparently, the owner allowed him to show his paintings there when he was a nobody.”
“Wha… what?” Joey said. “Why are we talking about this?”
Ro shot him one of her hairy eyeball looks. “Shut up, Joey. Ignore him, Luce.”
Gladly. “I took a finder’s fee for the painting—a Gomez—that Bart Owens sold to Mr. Lutz.”
“So?”
She’d like to smack that giant head of his.
“Well, smart-ass, Lauren wondered if the painting might be a copy. A fake. If it is, Mr. Lutz got scammed by Bart Owens. And I helped.”
> “Oh, boo-effing-hoo,” Joey said. “Maybe the painting is real.”
If she didn’t murder her brother, it would be a miracle. “Okay, fine. Let’s say the painting is legit. If Bart didn’t get it from the Michigan gallery, I’ve accidentally brokered an illegal deal. Either way,” Lucie flopped one hand out, then the other, shifted them up and down like scales, “I’m going to jail for fraud.”
Chapter Four
At oh-eight-hundred hours, Mission Lucie-Does-Art went into motion. Lucie-Does-Art? Ew. That sounded bad.
Whatever. Work to be done here.
Following protocol, Lucie entered the Owens Gallery via the back door. Keegan, one of Bart’s part-time sales associates, sat at the desk in the cramped office scrolling through a spreadsheet.
“Good morning, Keegan.”
He swiveled sideways, his stick-thin body swinging fast as he smoothed his tie. An Andy Warhol today. Keegan had a thing for ties imprinted with works from famous artists. So far, Lucie’s favorite was The Scream by Edvard Munch. The original painting, a pastel, depicted an agonized person, hands pressed against their cheeks, belting out a scream. In short, it could have been Lucie.
Today, he’d paired the tie with a pair of black dress slacks and a funky light-green shirt. His short hair, as normal, had been gelled back and the overhead light reflected off its glossy glow.
“Hello, my little Lucie,” Keegan said.
Barely thirty, just a few years older than Lucie, Keegan’s delusions of sophistication and grandeur resulted in his calling her his “little Lucie.”
Lucie glanced around. “Where’s Oscar?”
“They haven’t come down yet. Are you early?”
Bart and Oscar lived in an apartment over the gallery. And, yes, as a matter of fact, she was early. Mission Lucie-Does-Art required it because Keegan, bless his gossiping heart, had a tendency to babble. And if one showed the least bit of interest, the man would prove just how in-the-know he was.
She checked her watch. “Well, look at that, I guess I am. That’s okay. I can wait.”
“Coffee?”
“No. Thank you.” She leaned one hip against the desk. “Have you met Lauren yet? My new dog walker? She’s an art history major. She nearly drooled when we came in here the other morning.”
Keegan gave her a wry smile. “I have not met her. Tell her to come by and I’ll show her some work. What’s on the floor isn’t the half of it.”
Un-huh. Lucie would just file that away in her tickler. That’s what investigators did. They mentally filed things. “I will do that. She saw the painting the Lutzses bought and thought it was a Gomez. Said she’d done a paper on him once and thought his paintings were only sold in certain galleries. How cool is that?”
Investigators also didn’t always admit what they knew.
“She’s correct. The only gallery allowed to sell them is in Michigan.”
“Huh, I’ll have to tell her she was right. Any idea how much they cost? I’m sure I can’t afford it, but I’m opening a new office and something about the artist’s work intrigues me. Just think. It could be my first big girl art purchase.”
“You are too cute, my little Lucie. The prices vary. Now, maybe Bart could work a deal with the Michigan gallery like he did for Lutz, but you’d have to ask him. I don’t know how he finagled that.” Keegan flapped both hands. “I about died—died!—when that painting was delivered.”
Finagled. Interesting word choice. “Who delivered the painting?”
“A courier service. And the sender wasn’t the Michigan gallery.” Keegan pinched his fingers in front of his lips. “Tick-a-lock, my little Lucie.”
“Of course, Keegan. But couldn’t whoever sold Lutz and Bart the painting have bought it from the Michigan gallery and resold it?”
He shrugged. “Possibly. It would have been a private collector though. From what I’ve heard, the Michigan gallery will not sell to other galleries. Now, of course, there are probably ways around it.”
He leaned closer and crooked two fingers. Assuming he was about to share something juicy, Lucie leaned and cocked her head.
Before speaking, Keegan glanced over her shoulder. Obviously satisfied the coast was clear, he brought his attention back to Lucie.
“The art world, little Lucie, is ripe with side deals. If you really want a Gomez, you should talk to Bart.”
Lucie opened her eyes wide, feigning excitement. Not hard, considering her shyster meter had once again tripped. Without a doubt, she needed to figure out how Bart had finagled that Lutz deal.
Above them, the tiny pitter-patter of doggie nails smacked against the floor and Lucie tracked the movement. In thirty seconds, Oscar would zoom down the stairs into the office and hit her with some morning Oscar lovin’. Like most males, Oscar woke up with sex on his mind and liked to give Lucie’s leg a hump before starting the day. If she had a nickel for every dog that humped her, she’d have ten Gomezes.
“Here comes your boy,” Keegan said.
Lucie turned to the open doorway. Oscar rounded the corner, stopped, stared right at her, kicked his hind legs, and charged.
“Get ready,” Bart hollered. “He just seduced the bed post.”
And here we go. Oscar skidded to a stop, wrapped his front paws around Lucie’s calf and went to work.
“It must be brutal,” Keegan joked, “being objectified this way.”
“You have no idea.” Lucie looked down at Oscar, bucking away. “Off!”
Bart rushed in to haul his horny dog off her. “I’m so sorry, Lucie. I don’t know what it is with him when it comes to you.”
“Maybe it’s my enormous sex appeal.”
Keegan grinned. “You are too cute, little Lucie.”
Oh, whatever, Keegan. She stepped over to the peg near the door for the leash. “Let’s hit it, Oscar. I have a busy day ahead.”
One that includes finding out where your owner got a Gomez.
*
Lucie had an hour to kill. One measly hour before heading downtown to walk Buddy the Wheaten Terrorist and Mamie, the ever-regal labradoodle, who never got ruffled by anyone or anything. The dog had to have been the Queen of England in a past life. Totally unflappable.
After that, it would be on to Josie and Fannie, the Ninja Bitches. Thanks to Joey—when had she ever imagined saying those words?—who was handling Otis and Boots for her this morning, she’d get home early.
Even still, she’d fill her spare hour by meeting with Ro at the storefront to look at paint samples.
Lucie pushed through the glass door and found her BFF standing in the middle of the vacant space. She’d held strong to refusing to enter until the floor had been cleaned so Lucie hired a commercial cleaning company to come in and basically take a belt sander to the place. It still reeked of dampness, but it didn’t look half bad.
Just in case she’d be called into action and sent to the hardware store, Ro wore another hormone-inducing outfit: a revealing V-neck top and a short, red skirt. She’d finished the ensemble with multiple strands of beaded necklaces and a pair of her designer stilettos.
“Ro, you’re going to give that kid at the hardware store a stroke.”
“You know it, sister.” She waved her hand over the samples. “Look at these and tell me what you think.”
“Where’d the desk come from?”
She jerked her thumb toward the back room. “I found it buried under a bunch of boxes in the back and dragged it out here.”
Lucie would have liked to witness her dragging that desk around in that getup. “By yourself?”
“Sure. It’s cheap so it’s light. When we’re done, I want it destroyed. No questions asked.”
Ro. The Queen of All Things Fabulous.
“There’s a bunch of junk back there we’ll have to deal with.”
“I know. I’ll get to it.” Lucie eyeballed the paint samples and held up two of the beige-ish ones. “I think I like these two.”
“Well”—she tapped her
nail against the one on the left—“this one might have a bit too much yellow. We won’t know until we get it on the wall. I’ll run by the shop and get a quart of each and we can look at them tomorrow.”
“Good. Joey lined up a painter and a flooring guy.”
Ro eased onto the desktop and swung one long leg. “I’ll talk to them. See what we can do schedule wise.”
Such a good friend. From the time they were kids, Ro had always been there for Lucie, taking care of her the way Italian girls did for their friends. A gift really. “Thank you. You’re the best.”
The front door opened and in tromped Joey. In his massive mitts, he carried Boots, a Yorkie-Bichon Frise mix. The dog had the face of a Bichon and the body and coloring of a Yorkie, but all that craziness added up to massive cuteness.
“We got a problem,” Joey said.
A problem. Something new. Not. “What is it?”
“The flying nun.”
The cuteness known as Boots had goofy long ears that went up when he got excited. Only, they didn’t go straight up. They went sideways like airplane wings, leading Joey to nickname him the flying nun.
“What happened?”
Joey gave her a massive eye roll. “Are you kidding me?” He pointed to the dog’s right ear. “How do you not see he’s stuck in flight mode?”
Lucie lost it. Just bubbled up with laughter. What the hell was her brother talking about? “What?”
“Luce, I’m serious. One ear won’t go down.”
Ro wandered over, cocked her head one way, then the other. “He looks like someone shot that ear full of Botox.” She nuzzled Boots’s head. “I know your secret now, kid.”
Growing concerned, Lucie scooped the dog out of Joey’s arms, tried to guide the ear down. Nothing doing. It shot right back up and she got a nice little lick for her efforts. “How long has he been this way?”
“Forty-five minutes. I showed up to walk him, his ears went up, he whizzed all over himself—he’s got to learn to control that—and when he calmed down, only one ear relaxed. I figured maybe he was still in some kind of quasi-adrenaline rush and it would wear off. No dice. What do you wanna do?”
How the heck should she know? “Maybe I should call his mom?”
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