Dog Collar Cuisine
A Lucie Rizzo Mystery Book 5
Adrienne Giordano
Dog Collar Cuisine
Copyright © 2017 by Adrienne Giordano
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Untitled
Untitled
Untitled
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also By The Author
Chapter One
On a gray January day in Chicago, Lucie Rizzo shoved her shop’s door closed, blocking out the frigid wind as Coco Barknell’s potential future headed down the sidewalk. At her feet, Jimmy Two-Toes’ mangy Jack Russell terrier, Sonny, licked his chops.
“Did you see this dog devour that food? Look at him. He’d sell his soul for another shot at that marinated chicken. We should jump on this.”
Lucie’s business partner and all-around BFF, Roseanne, sat at her desk, her sexy-librarian reading glasses perched on her nose.
“That dog,” she said, eyes still on her monitor, “was a half-starved stray when Jimmy found him. He’d sell his soul for gruel. Not a good barometer.”
The clunk of the furnace echoed through the large room that had once been Carlucci’s shoe store. For years, Lucie’s mom had bought their shoes in this very place. Now it housed Lucie’s growing dog-walking and upscale pet accessory business.
Lucie waved Ro off. “Please. Jimmy found him a year ago. He's over that starving, desperate dog phase. And have you seen what he eats? Raw steak. Filets for crying out loud. He’s evolved.”
“Vafanculo!” Felix squawked and Lucie let out a long sigh.
She’d rescued the feisty parrot after his owner died, and her mob-boss father’s cronies enjoyed teaching the little guy Italian swear words. Words Lucie and Ro had to hear all day.
All.
Day.
“Pipe down, Felix.”
“Pipe down, Felix,” the bird repeated.
Ro snorted and rolled her eyes, but Lucie didn’t have time for arguing. No sir. She marched back to her desk, swiveled her chair, and dropped into it.
Instinct, in Lucie’s twenty-seven years, had served her well. Right now, every nerve ending tingled and that normally quiet voice in her head boomed like a Bruce Springsteen concert.
In front of her sat a jar of Jo-Jo’s Pride, the dog food sample that Sonny, a street-hardened warrior, would chew off Lucie’s arm for. Sonny leaped straight up, his head clearing the top of the desk.
“Down!”
But Sonny, as evolved as his palate might be, like his owner, didn’t take orders well. Did he just swing his snout to that jar?
Lucie pointed. “Did you see that?”
“What?”
“He pointed at the jar with his snout.”
Ro laughed and flipped her long sable hair over her shoulder, the fat thank-you-curling-iron curls flying. How was it that beautiful women pulled that move off so effortlessly, while women like Lucie—petite, Mary Average women—looked like idiots?
“He did not,” Ro said. “You’re just saying that to get me to agree to this crazy partnership idea.”
True. But the dog had done it.
“Ro, we have to get in on this deal.”
“We don’t know diddly about manufacturing dog food. And, hello, Jo-Jo Flowers? She was a space cadet in high school. What does she know about creating a dog food line?”
“She knows enough to make $100,000 in eighteen months.” Lucie picked up the jar. “With the right partners and marketing, this stuff is a gold mine.”
Ro slid her glasses to the edge of her nose and stared at Lucie over the rim. “It’s way—way—outside our comfort zone.”
Pfft. Whatever. “Ten months ago, so was doggie apparel. Look at us now? We have a major department store account—thanks to you—and our own e-commerce website. In less than a year we’re seeing a profit. A small one, sure, but still. And, hello, I was an investment banker. I can hook us up with the right people. This is a no-brainer.”
Ro went back to her computer. “It takes us from our core business.”
“That’s what you’re worried about?”
“Darned straight. We’re building a brand and you want to deviate from that.”
“Our brand is high-end dog items. You don’t think a dog food company that lets you custom order your own mix of flavors is high-end?”
Lucie scooped up the jar and walked to Ro’s desk with Sonny doing that crazy leap as he followed her. She set the jar down and Sonny bounced up again.
“That jumping makes me nuts,” Ro said.
“It’s a Jack Russell thing. Jimmy said he can clear a five-foot fence.”
Lucie glanced down at him and he bared his teeth. Smiling. At least Jimmy called it smiling. Lucie wasn’t quite sure. Every time he did it though, Jimmy tossed him a piece of beef jerky. Whatever this teeth-baring thing was, the dog meant no harm. He was just jonesing for a treat.
She bent down and tickled him under the chin. “You’re a scroungey looking thing, but you’re cute.”
He nudged his head toward the desk and shifted his eyes back to her.
“Look at him. Total man-slut for this food right now.” She leaned in, offered up her cheek, and Sonny swiped his tongue over it. “Good boy. And since I’m a sucker, I’ll give you the rest of this food. Just don’t tell your daddy. You know he’s watching your calories.”
Ro pushed out of her chair, straightened her silk blouse, and did that strutting walk of hers to retrieve the bowl Sonny cleaned on his first round.
Before the remaining chicken and lamb hit the bowl, Sonny was in motion, shoving his snout right under Lucie’s hand.
Ro stood by, tapping one stiletto clad foot. “I don’t know, Luce. This scares me.”
“Why?”
She gestured to the garment rack holding her latest design samples, all handmade for various sizes of dogs. Everything from Chihuahuas to Great Danes. “What we do, we can produce ourselves. We have a team of seamstresses that help us, yes, but it doesn’t take a huge distribution plant. What you’re talking about is a food product. The standards will be different. We’d have to partner with a large-scale processing plant. Which is exactly why Jo-Jo hasn’t been able to grow this business. She said it herself.”
“That’s no
t what she said. The small factories can’t handle the demand, but the bigger ones require more orders than she currently has. Without additional capital, she simply can’t afford to expand. She’s needs a backer. With my banking contacts, that’s a problem I can fix—for a cut of the profits. It’s a win-win.”
Ro tossed her glasses on the desk and peered down at Sonny, who licked the bowl clean. “It’s your company.”
Really, it wasn’t. Not anymore. The papers were still with the lawyer, but based on Ro’s performance over the past year, Lucie had decided to give her BFF a fifteen percent share of Coco Barknell.
“Actually,” Lucie said, “I need to talk to you about that.”
“Uh-oh. I swear, Lucie Rizzo, if you tell me you’ve sold this company I will kill you where you stand. I will bury your body where it’ll never be found.”
Oh, the drama. As if.
Ro knew as well as anyone that Lucie’s plan included Coco Barknell on the Fortune 500 list. Jo-Jo’s Pride, and its innovative mix and match menu, might help get them there.
Lucie held up a hand. “Easy, killer. I’m not selling the company.” Not unless there are a lot of zeros in the number. “But I am bringing on a partner who—”
Ro’s jaw dropped. If Lucie knew her BFF at all, the jaw drop would be followed by a display of drama rivaled only by Broadway. And, yep…
She flapped her arms, sending her curvy body into motion, boobs and hips—everything really—swinging. “A partner! Oh my God, you are totally killing me today. First the dog food and now a partner? I should resign right now. Forget the betrayal and walk away so we can still be friends.”
Lucie laughed. Had to love Ro. “If you’d let me finish—”
“Who’s this partner? Probably some big shot banker who will strip all the charm out of this thing.”
Ro’s voice carried a desperate vibration Lucie didn’t hear all that often.
Tough, independent Roseanne was about to…cry. Lucie’s stomach clenched into a hard knot. How had she blown this announcement so fiercely?
She put her hands up. “Stop. Please. It’s not a banker. It’s you, dopey! You’re the partner.”
Ro’s head snapped back. “Wha?”
“You’re the partner. You do so much for Coco Barknell. Way beyond an employee. Without your drive and designs, the accessory line would never have come this far. I thought you should have a stake in its future. I’m giving you fifteen percent of Coco Barknell. If we succeed, we succeed together.”
“Come on. Really?” She stabbed a finger in Lucie’s direction. “Don’t you tease me.”
Lucie laughed. “I’m not.” She crossed her heart like they used to when they were ten years old, swearing each other to secrecy over their latest crushes. “Cross my heart.”
Her BFF threw her arms around her and squeezed. “Lucie! That’s…amazing.” Her voice gave into the vibration and cracked. “I…can’t believe it.”
All that tough girl bluster and she was crying over being made a partner. God, Lucie loved her. They’d been perfect foils since childhood, and Lucie gave thanks each day for such a friendship.
“Well, believe it. We’re partners now. So, if you really don’t want to do this dog food deal, I’ll reconsider it. But we should at least do the research. Let me talk to some folks and see if it’s viable. That’s all I’m asking. What do you say? Shall we take a shot?”
Ro backed away and held Lucie at arm’s length. She tipped her chin up, wiped under her eyes—because God forbid a smudge dared to mar her perfect features. “Fine. But I’m going on record. If we wind up with a warehouse full of dog food, I’m not using my cleavage to sell it.”
“Oh, ha-ha. Relax. All I’m doing is giving the idea it’s due diligence. And I know exactly where to start.”
The thing Lucie loved about owning her own business was the ability to commandeer a particular assignment when needed. Something her part-timer hardly minded since it gave her wiggle room in the packed daily schedule.
Which reminded Lucie she needed to hire another dog walker. Managing a growing business took precision—and a nagging brother who commented daily that they were on the cusp of a total dog-walking crisis.
Brie, the uppity Griffon Bruxellois owned by Chef Antoine Durand, paused in front of the famed Restaurant Durand to sniff a light pole.
While Brie did her thing, Lucie checked her watch. A sixty-five minute walk—on a windy day so cold that Lucie’s nose hairs might be permanent ice sculptures. Even the rare appearance of the sun—thank you so much, Mother Nature—failed to bring the temperature up.
Chef’s attention to time and schedules rivaled her own. Today he’d be pleased that she’d given his baby an extra five minutes.
A woman walking by the restaurant stopped and stared down at Brie. Not an unusual occurrence given the dog’s distinctive appearance. At eleven inches tall, this girl carried her miniature frame with the self-assuredness of a stripper at a nude beach. Joey, Lucie’s lunatic brother, had bestowed the nickname Wicket on her because her face resembled a Star Wars Ewok.
Whatever. Lucie couldn’t disagree though. Not with that domed head, smushed nose and underbite. So darned cute.
“Is this a Griffon?” the pedestrian asked.
Wow. The woman actually knew that. “It is. I’m surprised you recognize the breed. Most folks don’t.”
“I’m a dog person. She’s a cutie. And so beautifully groomed. Her beard is flawless.”
Lucie reached down and gave Brie a gentle rub. “Her owner is particular. Brushes her every day.”
Brie stood tall, leaning forward with her tail straight up, posing for her adoring fans. So. Darned. Cute!
The woman whipped out a business card. “I own the grooming salon down the street. I’d love to work with her.”
Brie nudged forward and sniffed the woman’s foot. What was she up to? Lucie took the card. “Thank you. I’m the dog walker, but I’ll pass this along to the owner.”
Brie chose that moment to lift her leg and…
Oh, dear God. A stream of urine hard enough to knock over a tree flew, and Brie looked up at Lucie, her eyes focused.
“Brie, no!”
The little sandbagger. They’d walked for an hour. How was it possible such a little dog had so much stockpiled urine?
Brie though, remained unfazed by Lucie’s scolding and finished her business, the pee running over the top of the woman’s rubber clog. At least they weren’t leather. Or cloth.
Lucie rummaged in her messenger bag for the spare napkins she carried for emergencies, coming up with two of them. “I am so sorry.”
The woman bent low and blotted her shoe. “Don’t worry. I’m used to it.” She shook her left foot. “That’s why I wear these. Dogs pee on me all day.”
Lucie held open the plastic poop bag she carried and the woman dropped the napkins in. “She’s really a good girl,” Lucie said. “A little territorial, maybe, but usually well-behaved.”
“I’m sure. Really, it’s not a big deal. If you wouldn’t mind sharing my card with the owner, though, I’d appreciate it.”
After the urine attack? No problem there.
“I will. Absolutely. And thank you for understanding. Let’s go Brie. Daddy will be looking for you.”
Knowing exactly what Daddy meant, Brie darted off, heading around the corner to the side entrance of the restaurant. She paused at the door and waited for Lucie to punch in the code. Inside, the sharp aroma of garlic and frying meat swirled in the air and Lucie paused, inhaling the savory mix. So good.
A burst of shouting came through the kitchen door to her left and obliterated her moment of pleasure. All of it followed by the loud bang of a pot crashing. Whether it hit the floor or something else, Lucie wasn’t sure, but the mix of swearing and rapid-fire scolding indicated that the pot, more than likely, had food in it.
The kitchen. Always an interesting place. By now, with the lunch crowd waning, Chef would have left the cooking to his assista
nt. If Lucie had timed this right, she’d catch Antoine upstairs. He’d converted the apartment above the restaurant to an office suite and liked to hunker down with paperwork between the lunch and dinner rush.
Brie hopped up the stairs, tugging on the leash.
“Hold on, pushy.”
Lucie unclipped her. This, Antoine had advised in the beginning, was their routine and Lucie wouldn’t be the one to break it.
The dog disappeared through the open doorway at the top of the stairs and let out a yip.
“Hello, my girl,” came Antoine’s deep baritone.
Lucie could listen to that man talk all day. Ro helped with that by putting Antoine on speaker when he called the office. On a particularly slow day, she’d illegally recorded him via her cell phone and spent the afternoon replaying it over and over—and over—again, sighing and fanning herself while Lucie ate chocolate and giggled.
A couple of idiots.
She reached the top of the steps and hung a right into the short hallway. The first door led to Antoine’s office. The adjacent bedrooms had been converted to a large conference room by knocking out a dividing wall. At the end of the hall was a small kitchen used mostly for coffee and soft-drinks rather than actual cooking.
Molly, Antoine’s girlfriend-slash-manager leaned on the doorjamb to Antoine’s office, her long honey-blond hair falling over one shoulder. She wore a V-neck purple dress under a matching coat and expertly applied makeup ala Ro. The few times Lucie had met Molly, she’d either been in casual clothes with minimal makeup or dressed to the hilt for a meeting. This was definitely the meeting look.
From what Lucie had heard, these two had broken up and gotten back together enough to warrant mention on the local talk shows whenever it happened.
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