1 Dog Collar Crime (25 page)

“Good point.”

“Damn straight. And the way things are looking for Coco Barknell, maybe you’ll make me some big-time money.”

Lucie grinned. “Now you’re talking.”

“See. You don’t need to be an investment banker to become a billionaire. You can build a corporation. And I can be a kept man who travels from state to state watching baseball games.”

She laughed. “You’re an idiot.”

“You wouldn’t support me?”

“Oh, I’d support you. As long as you do all the cooking, cleaning and laundry.”

Frankie made a
pffing
noise and went back to his box. “I’m not doing that.”

“Then you’d better get back to work.” She checked her watch. “We need to hurry with these last two boxes. I made us late with my emotional upheaval.”

He shrugged. “We’ll get it done.”

Yes. They would. That she knew for sure.

* * *

While walking Otis, Aretha Franklin’s lovely pipes sounded and Lucie snatched her phone from her jacket pocket. A 312 number. Downtown.

Who could this be? Cranky. That’s what she was. Really, she should have been happy because they’d finished the search of the attic and found nothing. Nada. Not one errant diamond.

It should have been a good thing. Except it left them with another dead end.

She picked up the call. “Hello?”

“Lucie?” A man’s voice asked.

“Yes.”

“This is Noel Ferguson at Westerner Bank.”

The guy she had interviewed with. Holy smokes. She glanced at Frankie and shoved the leash at him. Probably a courtesy call to let her know they’d hired someone else. “Hello, Mr. Ferguson.”

Frankie’s mouth slid into an O. He continued walking Otis while Lucie lagged behind.

“I wanted to let you know we’ve been through the candidates and we’ve come to a decision.”

Here it comes, the big kiss-off. “I see.”

“If you’re still available, we’d like to offer you the job.”

A job. She could move out of Franklin and get her life back.

A choir of angels should have been singing. Unfortunately, all Lucie heard was the sound of Otis barking at a car and Frankie telling him to shut the hell up.

She got the job. Just what she’d wanted. Back to being Lucia Rizzo, associate investment banker. Even if it meant seventy-five-hour workweeks.

Something caught in her throat. She swallowed to relieve the pressure. After the last couple of weeks, a banking job sounded pretty darn good. A relief even.

She stared down the block at Otis sniffing his favorite tree. He’d be there for at least five minutes. She knew this, because she and Otis had come to an agreement. She’d give him time at his favorite tree and then, somewhere in the next block, he’d poop for her.

If she took a job, she’d have to give up Otis and Coco Barknell. Abandon her mother and Ro. Lucie’s chest seized. How could she do that to Mom and Ro?

But a banking job? This is what she wanted.

“Lucie?”

She cleared her throat, tightened her grip on the phone. “Mr. Ferguson, thank you for the opportunity. Unfortunately—”
Unfortunately
? What was she doing? “I’ve had another opportunity come up and I’d like to pursue it.”

“Oh.” His voice displayed shock. Or was it irritation?

“I appreciate your offer,” she said. “I don’t want to accept the job if I’m not sure it’s what I want. That wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“I see. I’m disappointed, but your honesty is admirable.”

Honesty. Wasn’t that what she’d been craving all this time? For someone to recognize that in her? For someone to admire her rather than pass judgment?

After exchanging goodbyes, Lucie shoved the phone in her pocket and slapped her hands over her face. Did she really decline a job that offered security, a steady paycheck and the opportunity to move out of Franklin?

Yep. Sure did. God help her. Three weeks ago, she would never have done that. A bird flapped by her head and she straightened, took a breath of crisp morning air and settled herself. It was done now. No turning back.

“Luce?” Frankie called from three houses down. “What’s up?”

She trotted up to him. “I just turned down the banking job.”

His head snapped back. “Seriously?”

“Yep.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yep.”

He laughed. “Really? Because, I don’t believe you.”

She kneeled in front of Otis, stuck her cheek in front of his snout and gratefully accepted a wet lick. After a second of the Otis love, she stood to face Frankie. “Here’s the thing, I don’t have that sick what-did-I-do feeling in my stomach. That tells me I wasn’t ready to give up on Coco Barknell.”

“Good for you, Luce.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

Frankie handed her the leash. “Truthfully, I don’t think you even like banking. You set a goal and getting a job was more about reaching the goal. Did you ever think about that? About actually liking banking?”

No, she hadn’t. Banking gave her credibility, at least she thought so. It had never occurred to her to waver from the plan. “I know I’m not terrified that I just turned down a job. That has to mean something, right?”

He slid his arm around her. “I believe it does.”

Chapter Sixteen

After getting off work early, Frankie wandered over to Lucie’s having no idea what to expect. Lately, the Rizzo nuthouse had gotten nuttier. And it was impossible to ignore their kind of crazy.

Lucie sat in her usual spot at the dining room table, her laptop open in front of her and various reports, fabric samples and other Coco-related items scattered about.

“Hey,” he said.

She stared at him with eyes as blank as a sheet of unused paper.
Okay, then
.

“Oh. My.
God
.” She squeezed her head between her hands. “I am completely freaking out.”

He laughed. He couldn’t help it. She looked…deranged, and somehow…cute as hell. “Why?”

“They ordered five
hundred
coats.”

“Who?”

“Ro took it upon herself to meet with a buyer from Frampton’s. I should kill her for that alone, but five hundred coats? How are we supposed to do that?”

This information, just as Frankie was about to launch into one of his talk-her-off-the-ledge speeches, knocked him daffy. A major department store wanted Lucie’s products. “Luce, that’s fantastic.” He grabbed her hand, smothered it with kisses. “Damn, I’m proud of you.”

She snatched her hand away. “Did you hear me? Five.
Hundred
. Coats. Not to mention the two hundred collars.”

Even better. Coco Barknell had arrived. Frankie could understand Lucie’s turmoil, but this was awesome.

“Stop smiling,” Lucie screamed.

He rolled his lips under and she jabbed a stiff hand at her laptop. “I’ve been working on a production schedule and it’s impossible. We’ll never make it. What was I thinking, agreeing to this order?”

“You were thinking it’s a great opportunity and you should jump on it.” He grabbed the spreadsheet she’d left on the table and perused it. “What have we got here?”

Lucie flicked her finger at the underside of the page. “Cost estimates, production schedules, man hours. The whole works.”

His girl, as usual, had everything organized. The numbers looked good. Totally doable. “You’ve got a start on what you need. Let’s work it out. You need more money? I can give you a bridge loan until Frampton’s pays you.”

She shook that off. “What I really need is more time. I called the buyer after the meeting and talked her into delivery spread out over four weeks, but it’s still tight. We need to get them two hundred items in two weeks, then the remaining order over the following two weeks.”

Frankie perused the report in his hand. “You have five seamstresses here.”

“I figure we can get it done with five. They’ll have to work their butts off though.”

He set the spreadsheet down, looked at poor Lucie and her tight-lipped God-save-me expression. “Your mom knows people, right?”

“Yes. We’re hoping they’ll jump in.”

Sounded like a plan. “And my sister said she’d help.”

“I don’t know what to do about the dogs. I’ll have to get someone to cover for me; and how am I supposed to explain this whole dognapping thing?”

Frankie shrugged. “Joey will do it.”

And won’t he be stoked about that
? Frankie picked up the spreadsheet again and pretended to read.

Lucie gasped. “For a minimum of three weeks? He’ll kill me. And if he doesn’t, I’ll have to listen to him moaning and I’ll
wish
he had killed me.”

He looked up from the spreadsheet and gave her his no-fail smile. “You’re cute.”

That earned him a big, honking eye roll. So much for his no-fail smile.

“Frankie, this Frampton’s thing adds pressure. We need to figure out who that diamond belongs to so we can all get on with our lives.”

“I know. With the search of the attic being a bust, we’re hitting dead ends everywhere.”

“Yeah. And Joey keeps telling me to check the walls for the diamonds, so I’ve been walking around banging on them. Next he’ll have us taking a hammer to my mother’s house.”

“You’re not doing that. This house hasn’t been painted in a couple years. How in the hell would someone hide something in the walls without your mother noticing? And Joey will walk the dogs for you.”

Lucie shook her head. “He won’t do it.”

“All he cares about is someone seeing him picking up poop. Outside of that, he doesn’t care. Plus, I have a little something that’ll convince him.”

Lucie leaned forward, a wicked gleam in her eye, which was a nice change from the psycho panic look.

“What is it?” she asked.

Frankie tossed the spreadsheet aside. “Nothing you need to know about. You’ll owe me big, though. I’ve been saving this chip a long time and I’m giving it up. For you.”

Where Lucie was concerned, owing him always meant sex, a lot of it, in experimental positions. In his opinion, hardly anything to cringe about.

She offered him a half grin. “If that’s what it takes. I’ll sacrifice my body.”

He grabbed her, nuzzled her neck and hoped for different ways to distract her. He backed away, stared into her eyes and saw the spark of heat there. That spark crackled between them as she ran her hand up his forearm and his skin did that funky pulsing that always happened when she touched him. He’d kill himself if it ever went away.

“You always come through for me,” she said.

And that was saying something with the crew they ran with. Never mind. This moment was too good to let it slip into drama-filled crapola. “Just make sure you do a lot of stretching. If Joey agrees to this, you’ll need to be limber.”

Her cheeks fired to the color of cherries. Probably thinking he was bad. But he was
her
bad. And the weeks they had spent apart before this dating thing happened had been torture.

Together, their unbalanced world evened out. He understood her life and the chaos of her family. They were a team. A damn good one.

* * *

Frankie parked the car a block from the Lutz’s. Once again, Lucie thought, he got a great parking spot. Good news considering it was already ten o’clock and they needed to pick up the scooters and get moving. She might as well walk Otis while they were here. It would blow her schedule even more out of whack because Otis wasn’t supposed to be walked until eleven-thirty, but she needed to cut time. Another night with Frankie forced her to work on collars early this morning rather than last night, which of course threw off her morning.

“Who’s first today?” Frankie asked.

“Walking Otis now will save us a trip.”

“Hopefully, we weren’t followed.”

Lucie flapped her arms. “Thanks for putting that idea into my head.”

“I’m just saying.”

Arguing made no sense, considering he was right, but still, she didn’t need the reality check. She grunted.

“Whatever, Luce. I’m not fighting with you.”

“I’m not fighting with you either.”

She opened the entry door, and Otis leapt at her with his tongue flying. He hit her hard enough to knock her off balance and she clutched the doorframe to keep from going over.

The dog shot out the door. “No, Otis! Frankie, catch him.”

He spun around, saw Otis on the move and grabbed his collar. “Got him.”

Whew.
The Frankie Factor struck again. Even dogs weren’t immune.
Damn rambunctious dog
. Lucie grabbed the leash and ran to clip it on her not-so-little client.

“Bad boy, Otis.” He licked her hand. “Don’t try sucking up either. It won’t work.”

A car came around the corner and Frankie turned toward it. Lucie glanced at the black Cadillac cruising at a slow speed.

A niggling feeling zipped up her spine. Frankie watched the car amble down the street and turn at the next block.