Dog Collar Couture

by Adrienne Giordano

  Lucie wandered to a bench at the far side of the lobby, away from the crowd of gawkers trying to get the scoop on the guy locked in the back of the police car.

  My fault.

  If she hadn’t been here, Joey and Ro wouldn’t have been either. Tim was right. They could have all gotten hurt. At the time, she simply thought they would blend in and ask a few questions.

  No one should have gotten hurt. Or arrested.

  Dad would go crazy when he heard this. Won’t that be fun?

  Ro stepped up to the bench, her leather skirt and blouse still in perfect order even after being in the middle of a brawl.

  But Ro had that warrior instinct, the ability to rebound quickly, while Lucie needed time to stew. To think things over, study the options.

  “What’s up, Sister?”

  Lucie propped her elbows on her thighs and cupped one hand under her chin. “Aside from Joey being locked in a police car in handcuffs, this whole excursion being a bust and Tim mad at me? Not a lot.”

  Ro shrugged. “Eh, sounds like a fairly normal day in the life of a Rizzo. You need to buck up. We’re not done scouting this place, and Joey will be free as soon as your boyfriend clears this up. Speaking of your boyfriend, he’ll get over it. They always do.”

  “He shouldn’t have to get over it. He shouldn’t even be in this position.”

  “What position? He’s helping get your brother out of a jam. He’s a nice guy, and that’s what nice guys do. What’s your problem?”

  What’s her problem? Did she not see the issue here? “You mean other than he’s a cop and I’m Joe Rizzo’s kid? Or maybe the person he’s trying to get out of that jam is also Joe Rizzo’s kid?”

  “Oh, boo-hoo.”

  Didn’t that just sound like Joey. How many times had he said that to her over the years? Only with Joey it usually had an “effing” between the “boo” and the “hoo.”

  Lucie sat up, held her hands out. “Boo-hoo nothing. It’s true. How will this relationship ever work with that setup?”

  “It works because you want it to work. That’s how. Tim’s not griping about you being a Rizzo. Tim’s griping because you’re investigating. Let’s not make this about poor Lucie with her mobbed up family. Let’s make this about Joey possibly getting arrested when he’s innocent.”

  Lucie dropped her hands, bolted upright and stared. Holy cow, Ro—her BFF, her closest confidant who always, always took Lucie’s side—had just blasted her. Royally.

  Ten seconds of brutal silence sat between them.

  Eventually, Ro let out a long sigh. “Damn, that was harsh.”

  Yes. It was. And so deserved.

  Joey might be headed to jail, and Lucie was moaning about her boyfriend. “Ro—”

  “I’m sorry that came out like that.”

  About to say something, she held out her hands, but let them fall again.

  “What?”

  “As soon as something goes wrong you fall back on the mob princess thing. I hate to see that. You’re so much more. Does it suck? Sure, but you’re better than that, and you know it. But, dammit, Luce, every time I think you’re moving beyond your daddy hang-ups, something in your brain flips and you backslide.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Huh?”

  Lucie smiled, pointed to her mouth. “Pay attention. You. Are. Right. I do let the Rizzo reputation get to me. I’m getting better, though. You said it yourself.”

  Ro sat on the bench, nudging Lucie a bit. “Move over. Make room for my giant ass.”

  Lucie snorted. This was the magic of Lucie and Ro. They’d been friends twenty years. They bickered, they fought, they’d even called each other names on a rare few occasions. But they always came back to each other. And usually, that coming back involved an awkward joke, a moment of sarcasm.

  Self-deprecating humor.

  The mother of all reset buttons.

  Ro smiled, giving Lucie a shoulder bump. “You are getting better. I think Tim has a lot to do with that. But, Luce, you have to give him a chance. He’s going to be mad at you sometimes. It doesn’t mean he’s running because you’re a Rizzo. If he cared about who your dad is, he wouldn’t be here in the first place. I know you know that.”

  “I’m scared.”

  There, she said it. For the first time in years, the man in her life wasn’t Frankie. Comfortable Frankie, who understood the intricacies of the life.

  “Of course you are. It’s a new relationship and it’s important to you. He’s different and there’s no comfort zone when something is new. You’re used to the same old thing. Which kinda sucks, don’t you think?”

  “When the same old thing doesn’t work, yes.”

  “So, buck up. You’ve got a great guy, let him be pissed when he has a right to be. Don’t fall back and make excuses because you’re afraid. That’s just dumb. And you’re not dumb.”

  All righty then.

  “Don’t be mad at me,” Ro said. “I love you, and I don’t want to see you blow a good thing.”

  Lucie nodded. “I’m not mad. It’s just not easy to hear.” She smacked her hands against her thighs and stood. “Thank you.”

  “For yelling at you?”

  “Yes. And for always being truthful. Even when it hurts. You’re the best friend a girl could have. Now, let’s go check on my brother.”

  15

  Lucie pushed through the revolving lobby door and spotted the patrol car still sitting in the no-parking zone in front of the hotel. A cop leaned against the back quarter panel, obviously standing guard, while chatting with the bellman.

  Inside the vehicle, Joey shot her a thumbs up. A task enabled by Tim telling the cops, who’d initially cuffed Joey behind his back, that they could move the cuffs to the front.

  A cab pulled in front of the patrol car and a tall blonde with legs longer than Ro’s slid from the backseat. If Lucie needed a reminder that the Maxmillian dress had catapulted her into crisis mode, the blonde had just given it to her.

  The woman wore a replica Max that hung on her lean frame, and Lucie nearly vomited. She’d so had it with this dress.

  “Great,” Ro said, “another Cock Head.”

  “I know. I’m sick of them.”

  But the woman offered a pleasant smile, and the immediate guilt dropped on Lucie.

  “And worse, she’s nice.”

  “But the dress is a little big. She should have at least had it taken in. We can hold that against her.”

  As the woman approached, her skinny heel caught in a sidewalk crack, and she stopped to wiggle it loose. Lucie stepped forward to help and . . . whoa. She gripped Ro’s arm.

  “Ow. Nails, nails, nails!”

  Lucie clenched her teeth. “Ssshhh. Look at the feathers. The feathers. Quick.”

  The blonde got her heel free, composed herself and sauntered by.

  “It’s got the double-eyes,” Ro said.

  “Yes.”

  Lucie followed the woman, her gaze swiftly moving over the bottom of the dress.

  All double-eyed feathers.

  Ro fell in beside her. “What are we doing?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Oh-kay. That’s a little wacky.”

  “I know, but the feathers. All the knockoffs have had single-eye feathers.”

  And this one didn’t. This one had the double-eyes. Of course, they could be dyed. The dress would be more expensive to create with dyed double-eyed feathers, but a rabid collector, one who would be found at the convention, might be willing to spend the extra money.

  Only one way to find out.

  “Luce, they’re probably fake.”

  “Maybe. But if so, they’d probably all be similar, right? Each one perfectly uniform. I need to get closer and see.”

  The woman strolled through the lobby toward an elevator bank.

  “She’s going upstairs,” Ro said. “She’s probably a guest. What are we gonna do? Ambush her?”

  Not a bad idea.

 
; “Excuse me,” Lucie called, running to catch up to the woman.

  The blonde kept walking but glanced back. Yes, you.

  Lucie caught up. “Hi. Sorry to bother you, but your dress is amazing. My friend—” she gestured to Ro hustling up behind her, “—and I are here trying to find one like it. With the double-eyed feathers.”

  “Double-eyed?”

  “Yes. The eyes.”

  The blonde let out a little laugh, and what kind of Cock Head was she that she didn’t even know what the double-eyes were? The thing that made the damned dress so famous were the double-eyed feathers. Come on!

  “She doesn’t know,” Ro said.

  The woman pulled back, her gaze pinging between Ro and Lucie. Panic.

  Lucie conjured what she hoped was a reassuring smile and pointed at the feathers. “The feathers on your dress are double-eyed. See that blue circle in the middle? That’s the eye. Your feathers have two. Just like the original dress. It’s what makes the dress so valuable. Most of the dresses here only have one eye.”

  “Oh,” the woman said. “Well, I don’t know about any of that. The dress isn’t mine. I’m a model.”

  A model. What the heck? How strange. Lucie had no idea what to do with that and turned to Ro, who made snoring noises.

  “My work is never done,” she muttered before facing the blonde. “Are you modeling the dress at one of the convention events?”

  “Um, I really can’t say. I’m the model.”

  Yes, we know that.

  The blonde backed away, pointed to the elevator. “I need to go, or I’ll be late. Sorry I couldn’t help you.”

  Lucie offered up a friendly wave. “Sure. No problem.”

  But as the woman headed for the elevator those double-eyed feathers damn-near winked—taunted—and Lucie’s mind reeled. Don’t lose her. So far, they hadn’t seen any replica dresses with the double-eyes. And the vendor from the ballroom told her they were difficult to find.

  Yet, one had just sauntered right by them.

  The blonde reached the elevator bank and pushed the button.

  Follow her.

  Lucie started walking.

  “Uh, where we going?”

  “I don’t know. We can’t lose her.”

  “We can’t—”

  “Ssshhh. Don’t spook her. We’re following her.”

  “And you don’t think that’ll spook her?”

  Point there. “Let me think.”

  “Please do. Because this is batshit cray-cray.”

  At the elevators, the blonde glanced back, saw Lucie and Ro coming and got that wide-eyed, freaked look again.

  “We’re guests here,” Lucie said. “We were on our way up when we spotted you.”

  “Ah.”

  The lame excuse seemed to relax the woman, and Lucie gave herself credit for pulling off the lie. Who said she was a terrible liar?

  Inside the elevator, the smell of old sweat and funk blasted her senses, not to mention the violin version of “Beat It” streaming through the overhead speakers. Really? They put that song to violins?

  The blonde punched the number twelve. “What floor?”

  “Oh, look at that,” Lucie said. “We’re twelve, too.”

  Lucie stood behind the woman, studying the back of the dress, the perfect stitching on the seams, each one uniform and, yes, the feathers. The eyes specifically, that bright blue that reminded her of the Caribbean and the vacation she sorely needed. Maybe she and Tim could take that vacation.

  Tim. Soon he’d be finished in surveillance and find her extremely absent from the lobby. Already mad at her, this little trip would completely infuriate him.

  End run.

  That’s what Joey always said. She whipped out her phone, waggled it at Ro. “Letting Tim know where to meet us.”

  Wink, wink.

  “Oh, that’ll make him much less irritable. I’m sure.”

  Whatever. Everyone’s a comedian today.

  She fired off the message to Tim.

  JUST FOLLOWED A COCK HEAD WEARING A DRESS WITH DOUBLE-EYED FEATHERS. 12TH FLOOR.

  At least he’d know where to start looking.

  Lucie shoved her phone in her back pocket, catching a glimpse of one of the feathers as she moved.

  Wait.

  The double-eye. One was larger than the other. And slightly oblong. Not round.

  On every knockoff she’d seen the eyes were round.

  Could be nothing. An accident. A fluke. She checked the feather to the right of the imperfect one. It looked similar, but again, the eyes weren’t uniform.

  She slapped her hand over her mouth, and Ro gave her a “what now?” look.

  The doors slid open, and the woman stepped off and—no, no, no—stopped to check her phone.

  Damn. Lucie and Ro had to keep moving or they’d look like the stalkers they were.

  “Ow,” Ro cried.

  Lucie spun back just as her BFF threw herself across the elevator threshold. Her body pitched forward, angling sideways. Her hair flew, her arms pinwheeled and—crash—she hit the carpet, landing flat on her rear.

  What the . . . At least she hadn’t landed on tile or wood.

  The blonde snapped her head sideways and gasped.

  “These stupid shoes,” Ro cried. “I’m going to break an ankle in them.”

  Okay. This had to be an act. Another Oscar-worthy performance to delay so they could see where the woman was headed.

  Lucie dropped to her knees. “Are you all right? What happened?”

  “Should I call for help?” The woman pointed at the small table against the wall with fresh flowers. “I don’t see a phone, but I’m just going to room 1222. I could run down there and call.”

  1222. Thank you, very much.

  Ro rolled to her knees, sticking her butt up as she shifted to her elbows. “I think I’m okay.”

  “Get up slowly. Can you walk?”

  “I’ll let you know in a second.” Ro looked up at the blonde. “Thanks for offering to help, but I think I’m good. We’re just down the hall here. Lucie can help me get there.”

  The blonde cocked her head. “I do need to get to my appointment. As long as you’re okay.”

  They all said their good-byes, and the blonde strode down the corridor, checking room numbers as she went.

  Once out of earshot, Lucie squatted next to Ro. “Please tell me you’re faking this injury.”

  “Obviously. I do know how to walk in my own shoes. I knew we’d be screwed when we stepped out of that elevator and had nowhere to go. And I was good, too. Wasn’t I?”

  “You sure were. Let’s keep it going. I’ll help you up, and you hobble around a bit. Maybe make noises or whatever.”

  “Then what?”

  “I have no idea. But it’ll probably include knocking on the door of 1222.”

  Tim stood in the lobby reading Lucie’s text message for the fifth time. And for the fifth time, the pounding at his temples went to epic levels.

  Stop reading it, dumbass.

  Getting aggravated over and over wouldn’t help him avoid a heart attack, which, without a doubt, would happen with Lucie Rizzo in his life.

  “Detective?” the cop said. “Am I cutting this guy loose?”

  Tim shoved his phone in his pocket. “Yeah. Let him go. Anyone gives you any heat, the security video shows him trying to break up the fight.”

  “It’s your ass.”

  Yeah. Sure is.

  The cop took his time getting to the patrol car, and Tim fought another wave of aggravation.

  No wonder Lucie got tired of life as Joe Rizzo’s kid.

  The second Joey was out of the car and free of cuffs, he pushed through the lobby doors and hauled over to Tim. “Where are they?”

  “Twelfth floor.”

  “Why?”

  “As if I know?”

  Joey grunted. “Swear to God, between the two of them, I’m gonna die young.”

  “Right there with ya, pal.” />
  A rush of people piled out of one of the large ballrooms into the lobby. Session ending. Half the crowd moved toward the elevators.

  “Hurry up,” Tim said. “We gotta beat them.”

  If it came down to it, he’d hoof it to twelve rather than wait in line.

  They rode the packed elevator, stopping at the third floor—the first of six stops—to let an elderly woman off. Joey stepped off, held his hand out to the woman so she didn’t trip, and the old lady cooed up at him.

  Next stop. Floor number five. A woman and her six—six—arguing kids got off. Well, the mom and five of the kids got off. The sixth thought it would be funny to not get off. The guy at the front stuck his hand over the door to hold it open while the mom negotiated with the kid, and Tim’s blood pressure climbed.

  “If I stroke out,” he said to Joey, “tell your sister I freed you.”

  Joey rolled his eyes. “I’ll do that.”

  Finally, the kid got off. I’m never having kids. At least not pain-in-the-ass ones.

  At the eleventh floor, with only a handful of people still in the car, an elderly couple shuffled forward. Tim pushed the button to hold the doors open for them. “Can I help you at all?”

  “Oh, we’re fine,” the woman said. “Thank you.”

  The man stopped just before stepping off, and his wife gripped his hand. “It’s okay. It’s not a step. Just put your foot out.” The woman turned back to Tim. “His eyesight is bad.”

  “Not that bad,” the man yelled, and Tim couldn’t fight the smile ripping at his lips.

  Joey gently held the man’s other arm. “I’ve got him.”

  The woman let go and steadied herself against the side of the elevator as she stepped off. “Why thank you, young man.”

  “You folks need help getting to your room or anything?”

  “We’re fine,” the man barked.

  Joey peeled his lips back and held his arms up. Tim put his free hand over his mouth. These Rizzos. Flipping funny. The woman waved Joey off, and he hopped back on the elevator.

  “Thank you, boys. May God bless you.”

  The doors slid closed and Tim blew out a heavy breath. “God better bless your sister when I get a hold of her. She’s got to stop. She’s slowly killing me.”