Joey scoffed. “She’s not his mom—she’s his owner. And yeah, that’s probably a good start. Maybe this has happened before. Either way, I can’t be walking him in this condition. Bad enough I’m walking a pansy-assed dog, never mind one that looks like a freak.”
Who the heck was he kidding? If he wasn’t just as worried about that dog, he wouldn’t be standing in front of her. “You are so full of it, Joey. You’re always complaining about how scooping poop is bad for your image, and yet, here you are, schlepping all the way over here because you’re worried about Boots.”
“I’m not worried. I thought you should know. That’s all.”
“Un-huh. Got it.” She handed the dog back to Joey and dug her cell phone from her messenger bag. “Let me call the owner.”
Her brother. Such a dope. The big lug just didn’t want to admit that he’d fallen a little bit in love with the dogs. Day in and day out, he’d moan about his bookmaking business suffering because he was busy helping her run Coco Barknell and yet, he always showed up. Always. Still, he had to be a PITA and make it seem like he was doing this for her. That she should be grateful to him.
Which, in fact, she was. And that was saying something with their history of sibling battles.
She scrolled her contact list, found Boots’s mom’s number and clicked. “I’m glad you’re here. I need to talk to you both about this Gomez thing.”
“That lame painting again?”
“Yes. And it’s not lame.” She held her finger up after the phone’s second ring. “Let me leave this voice mail and I’ll tell you while we’re waiting for a call back.”
She left a message and clicked off. Ro had moved back to sitting on the edge of the desk and Joey parked himself next to her, stretching his long legs in front of him. Today he wore baggy shorts and a loose T-shirt, his normal summer work attire and Ro rolled her eyes at him. Clearly, she expected better.
Lucie had seen Joey and Ro together hundreds, maybe thousands of times, but right now, sitting side by side like that, it hit her why they’d had a fling. They were stunning. All dark hair and olive skinned, they were a perfect match.
“Tick-tock, Luce,” Ro said. “I have a meeting with my lawyer in thirty minutes.”
“Right, sorry. I talked to the sales guy at the gallery about the painting. With the thing about only the Michigan gallery being able to sell Gomez paintings, he’s not sure how Bart ‘finagled’—his word, not mine—the sale.”
“He said finagled?”
“Yep. Sounds a little fishy to me.”
“It does.”
Joey shook his head. “You two nutty broads think you’re Charlie’s Angels. Forget this crap.”
Ro huffed. “And what? Risk your sister going to prison?”
“Come on with the drama,” he said. “She’s not going to prison.”
“She could. Art fraud is a big deal. Especially if this Gomez guy is big time. She could get ten years for selling knockoffs.”
Ten years? Holy cow. She’d never survive prison. Someone would make her their bitch and it would be all over. “Gee, thanks, Ro.”
Joey waved that off. “How the hell do you know?”
“I looked it up last night. I was bored and had already polished off a quart of Chocolate Passion. If I keep that up, my rear won’t fit through the door. I needed something to distract me.”
At that, Joey smirked and Ro elbowed him. “What’s that smirk?”
“Listen,” he said, “even if your ass didn’t fit through the door, I’d still love it.”
In a Joey sort of way, that was awfully sweet. Ew.
“I love your attempt at charming,” Ro said, “but focus here.” She turned back to Lucie. “Go ahead, Luce.”
Where was she? She’d lost track after that whole Ro’s giant-ass conversation. If her brother started hitting on Ro, Lucie would lose her mind. Just go insane. In the last sixty seconds, she’d become someone’s prison bitch and listened to them flirting gorilla style. Welcome to my life.
“The Gomez,” Lucie said. “Ten years. I think I need to drive out to this gallery in Michigan and check it out.”
Joey threw his hands up. “What’s that gonna do?”
“I have no idea. But if I go there, I’ll be able to see a real Gomez up close. Maybe I’ll pretend to be a student, like Lauren, doing research.”
“Nah,” Ro said. “If you’re going undercover, you need to be a buyer. That’s when you get the good dirt. I’ll go with you. It’ll be fun. We can get all dressed up and pretend we’re loaded.”
Easy for her to say. She was the one with the designer shoe collection. But this idea might have merit. “The most expensive piece of clothing I own is the dress I bought three months ago for that date with Frankie. It cost what? A hundred bucks?”
“Then I’ll be the loaded one. You can be my beleaguered assistant. I’ll even go out and buy a new outfit. Maybe melt my rat-bastard husband’s credit card.”
“Remind me,” Joey said, “to never marry and divorce you. You are wicked, girl.”
“You know it, brother.”
Boots wiggled around and Joey set him on the floor to wander, his one ear still poking straight out.
“That ear is screwed,” he said before turning back to Lucie. “I don’t like you two going alone.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Just feels off.”
Oh, no. He wasn’t about to talk her out of this. No way. She folded her arms, narrowed her eyes trying for intimidating. “Then you’ll have to come with us because I’m going.”
Ro smacked her hands together. “He could be our driver.”
“Just shut it, Roseanne. I’m not playing chauffeur.”
But Ro, in full-on excitement mode, hopped off the desk and stood next to Lucie, staring him down. “Think about it. We throw you in a suit and you drive my Escalade. Luce and I will ride in the back. If I’m going to be rich and have an assistant, I’d definitely have a driver. And we wouldn’t be alone. Problem solved.”
He rolled his bottom lip out. Considering it.
At this rate, they’d be arguing over this all day and Lucie didn’t have time. Or patience. “Joey, I don’t care what you do. With or without you, I’m going to Michigan.”
Chapter Five
The stress alone of driving to Michigan with Roseanne and Joey might kill her.
“Driver,” Ro snapped, trying for the thousandth time in the last fifteen minutes to annoy Joey.
He switched to the left lane and roared by slower cars on the expressway. “I’m ignoring you.”
Needing a distraction, Lucie opened her window an inch and let the warm air blow in. They’d hit the road at eight-thirty for the two-hour drive to the gallery and managed to miss the worst of the morning traffic. Ro, of course, was dressed the part in a black, sleeveless sheath, her favorite pair of Gucci sandals and sunglasses that probably cost more than Lucie’s laptop. Even if she hadn’t gotten a chance to melt her husband’s credit card, she’d managed just fine pulling something out of her expansive closet.
Joey glanced at Lucie by way of the rear-view mirror. “I don’t see what the rush was on this trip. We just talked about it last night and now we’re hauling ass out there.”
“Blame it on Ro freaking me out over that ten-year prison sentence. I’m nobody’s bitch. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Huh? And since when do you swear?”
“Forget it. Besides, Lauren was available all day to cover the dogs. Just pray she can handle it.”
“Luce, it’s dog walking, not biometric engineering.”
That got Ro’s attention and she whipped off her sunglasses. “Do you even know what biometric engineering is?”
“Sure. It’s the combination of engineering and biological sciences.”
Ro turned to Lucie. “I have no idea what that means.”
“Basically, you nutty broads, it’s measuring and analyzing human characteristics. Fingerprints, DNA, voice patte
rns.”
“Oh my God,” Lucie said. It was like an endless cycle of insanity in this car.
“Hey,” Joey said, “she asked. And speaking of the dogs, Boots’s ear finally went down. His owner took him to the vet. They’re stumped. Go figure.”
“Well,” Lucie said, “at least the poor baby is okay. How much longer until we get to the gallery?”
He hit a button on the GPS screen. “It says thirty minutes.”
Lucie checked the time on her phone. They’d arrive at the gallery at eleven o’clock. Figure an hour tops of being there, a quick bite to eat, and they’d be back on the road by one-thirty. Home by four. They had to stick to a schedule. Even if she wasn’t working today, she didn’t want to be late for her dinner with Detective O’Brien. Tim.
Wait. Panic shooting straight up into her eyeballs, she drew a sharp breath and turned to Ro.
“What?”
She couldn’t say it. Not in front of Joey. He’d have a world-class meltdown about her going on a date with a cop. Via the rear view mirror Joey glanced at her again and their eyes met.
“Nothing,” she said, swiping the screen on her phone to text Ro. “I forgot an email I had to send.”
A minute later Ro’s phone whistled and she dug it out of the seat pocket. She saw the name on the screen and frowned. “You’re—”
Lucie cleared her throat and smacked the side of Ro’s leg to shut her up. Finally getting the hint, she read the text. The one telling her Lucie didn’t have anything to wear for her date with O’Brien.
This got her an irritated sigh. “My work is never done.”
Before Ro could fire back a text, Lucie turned the volume and vibrate on her phone off. If her phone even buzzed, Joey Big Ears would be on to them. A second later the text popped up. All caps.
UNBELIEVABLE!!!! IT’S FINE. YOU CAN WEAR SOMETHING OF MINE. I’LL FIND A SHORT DRESS. CROTCH LENGTH ON ME. KNEE LENGTH ON YOU. LOL.
Lucie snorted. This was friendship. THANK YOU.
Giving up on the rear-view mirror, Joey swung his head and glanced back at them. “What are you two doing?”
“Nothing, driver,” Ro said. “Pay attention to the road. Precious cargo here.”
Fifteen minutes later, Joey pulled into the gallery parking lot and parked just across from the entrance. The three-story brick building with scrollwork on the corners was probably reminiscent of some early style, but Lucie was hardly an architectural expert and couldn’t fathom a guess as to the age of the building. It looked old, but that didn’t always mean anything. The subdued, etched sign near the door read Montrose Gallery.
Right place.
Joey pushed open his door. “Okay, ladies. Let’s get this done and get home.”
Amen to that.
The three of them sauntered in the front door looking like some whacked-out version of a CIA team. Ro in her designer duds, Joey looking like the well-dressed muscle and Lucie the dour assistant.
A wiry-framed older man in an expertly tailored gray suit came through a doorway at the rear of the gallery and waved. “Welcome.”
“Hello,” Ro purred.
Joey nodded at the man then moved off to the side to let them do their thing while he leaned against the wall and scanned the framed pieces surrounding them. The large, open area contained three support columns leading Lucie to believe a few walls had been knocked out. The low-slung ceiling and subdued lighting gave the room a cozy, but unconfined feel. Whoever had designed the place had managed to display the artwork without any harsh light.
Then there was the art. At least thirty paintings—all in one long row—lined the walls. Beside each painting was a small plaque that Lucie assumed held information about the work.
“I’m Carlton,” the man said. “The owner. How can I help you?”
Ro wandered to the far wall and stood in front of a pastel painting of a woman and young child. “I’d like to look around. I’ve been told you are the exclusive gallery for Arturo Gomez.”
Prayerful hands and all, Carlton gave a little bow, then straightened up. “Ah, yes. Excellent taste. Are you interested in purchasing one?”
“Yes.” Ro gestured to Lucie. “Delilah—”
Delilah?
“What’s the name of that painting? The one we want?”
Uh. What was Ro doing? Lucie had seen the names of some of the paintings while doing research, but she hadn’t memorized any of them. Time to punt and give the one title she did know. The one Mr. Lutz owned. “My Darkest Night.”
“Oh. Lovely piece that one. Unfortunately, I don’t have it.”
Dang it. If he’d had it, they’d have proved in record time that Mr. Lutz’s painting was a fake. Which couldn’t be considered good news because Lucie would then have to tell her former boss, her current best client, a man who had mentored her and even tried to help her find other banking jobs, that she’d connected him with a dealer who’d sold him a fugazzi.
Her stomach rolled and she turned back to Joey, who met her gaze then drew his eyebrows together. He would never be Mr. Sensitivity but clearly knew when his sister was in distress. She perked up, plastered on a smile and faced Carlton again. “Oh, that’s too bad.”
“Maybe I can show you something similar?”
Ro wandered to the next painting on the wall, tilted her head this way and that, playing the role of a wannabe buyer. If she knew anything about art, it would be a surprise to Lucie, but she looked good. And in Ro’s world, that’s all that mattered.
Total method acting.
“Well,” she said, “I had my heart set on that one.”
Being the able-bodied assistant, Lucie cleared her throat. “Carlton, do you know who owns the painting? Perhaps we could contact them?”
Ro spun back, curved her lips into the I-am-beautiful-and-you-will-do-what-I-say smile. “And then I can make the owner of My Darkest Night an offer. Delilah, you are a genius.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” She nodded at Carlton. “Of course, we would very much appreciate any help you can give on that front.”
Hey, Keegan had said side deals happened all the time. Still, this method acting wasn’t so easy, but hopefully Carlton got the message that the disgustingly wealthy Ro would compensate him for helping make this deal happen.
None of which would actually happen, but well, this was the life of undercover work.
“Let me check my list,” he said.
“Your list?”
“Yes. The family has a private collection of Arturo’s work. Whatever they don’t have, I’m able to sell. They’ve been known to occasionally sell paintings. For charity auctions and whatnot, but they are diligent about notifying me when that happens. It helps us keep the master list of all works updated so all paintings are accounted for.”
“How smart.”
Carlton walked to the desk near the back wall and Ro turned her back to him. She winked at Lucie and blew a kiss. Lucie feigned a gag. Hairball. Her lunatic friend was having way too much fun on this adventure.
Thank goodness, at least, big-mouth Joey was staying quiet. If he got on a tear, no telling what might happen. Lucie gestured to the entrance. “You could run outside and get some air if you wanted.”
He folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “I’m good right here.”
Of course he was.
“Well,” Carlton said, coming back toward Lucie and Ro. “I have good news and bad news.”
Ro cocked one hip. “Carlton, you’re not going to break my heart, are you?”
He smiled at her flirty tone and Lucie’s hairball grew.
“I certainly hope not,” he said. “I checked my inventory and I don’t see that particular painting on the list.”
“Is that bad?”
“Not necessarily. The family might still have the painting in one of their homes. In which case, you might be in luck and they’d sell it.”
Lucie didn’t like the dubious tone. “What are the chances of that? You said they usually only let the
pieces from the private collection go when a charity is involved.”
Carlton leaned closer. That was a little crazy pants considering they were the only ones in the room, but hey, maybe the place had recording devices or something. Ooh. Bad thought since they were undercover.
Now who was crazy pants?
Get a grip, Lucie.
“You didn’t hear this from me,” Carlton said, “but Arturo’s youngest sister has, shall we say, financial issues.”
“Really?”
“Indeed. Twice the family has bailed her out. Rumor has it she’s a gambler.”
Finding this fascinating, Lucie slid her gaze to Joey, who was hopefully listening to the tale of woe. He shook his head and topped it off with a massive eye roll. Whenever they got into a discussion about gambling and his illegal bookie business, he assured her his money was safe and grew steadily each year. Unlike the poor slobs who lost their butts in the stock market every day.
The sick part of it was that she had no argument. Zero. Considering she was an out-of-work investment banker.
Ro inched closer to Carlton, giving him a nice view of her cleavage. “A gambler, you say? Meaning if we contacted her and made a hefty offer, she might consider selling us the painting?”
“Uh.” Carlton’s gaze zoomed to Ro’s chest as if an alien had popped out. “Perhaps.”
This guy needed to be rescued. Oxygen anyone? Lucie cleared her throat. “How do we contact them?”
Dragging his gaze from the alien boobs, Carlton faced Lucie and handed her a sticky note. “This is the number of their estate attorney. He’s usually the contact regarding private transactions.”
“Wonderful,” Ro said, finally stepping back. “You’ve been most helpful, Carlton. I look forward to doing business with you in the future.”
The three of them high-tailed it out of the gallery. Joey held the rear passenger door open for Ro while Lucie hustled to the other side. She needed a break from all this undercover stress. She didn’t like lying, even for the saving-her-own-butt cause. Lying was still lying.
With assistance from the side rail, she vaulted herself into Ro’s Escalade. These monsters weren’t built for diminutive people.
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