1 Dog Collar Crime (9 page)

“Yeah. It’s nuts. Roseanne found it and did a scratch test. It’s real.”

“Whose is it?”

“We don’t know. Joey doesn’t think it belongs to their father and Lucie won’t ask Theresa. She doesn’t want to upset her. We think someone hid it in her dog accessory crap and that’s why the dogs are getting boosted. We’re guessing the dognappers think one of the dogs is running around with the diamond on it. Joey just got—”

“Hang on, Frankie. You’re telling me you think someone snuck into Joe’s house and put that diamond there?”

“Exactly.”

“No chance.”

Disagreeing with his father had never gotten him anywhere, but in this instance, he needed to try. “How else would it have gotten there? If it was Joe’s, he would have told Joey about it.”

Pop ran his palm across his lips, curled his fingers around his mouth and blew air into his hand. “A diamond.”

“Yeah. So far it’s the only one. Lucie is checking her stock to make sure.”

“That’s good. Does Joe know about this?”

“Not about the diamond. Joey talked to him on the phone and told him about the dognappings to see what his reaction would be, but that’s it. Joey is convinced Joe doesn’t know about the diamond.”

The screen door, one of those rickety wooden deals, flew open and smacked against the brick building. Jimmy stuck his head out. “Ho, your meatball is ready.”

Frankie did a thumbs-up. “Thanks.” Jimmy went inside and Frankie turned to his father. “Can you ask around? See if you can find out about this diamond? Who it belongs to?”

“It better not be one of my guys. I’ll tell you that much.”

* * *

Lucie sat at her mother’s dining room table setting a new collar for a customer Mrs. Lutz had referred. The dog’s owner was a stickler for detail, and Lucie wanted to get the placement of the rhinestones in a perfect X pattern. Not so easy on a collar barely an inch wide.

The lack of sound in the house brought an odd sense of peace. Her parents’ home usually equaled a fair amount of stress, but now, with Joey and her mother out, Lucie thought about family get-togethers—Christmas, Easter, birthdays—that happened here.

She smiled to herself, reminiscing about parties where loud voices barking orders mingled with the laughter of friends and extended family.

One thing about her family, they threw a great party.

Someone knocked on the front door.
Shoot
. She’d have to put the collar down and risk the stones shifting. Her go-to Notre Dame glass caught her eye. She picked it up, slammed the last of the diet pop hugging the bottom and turned the glass on its side. After stabilizing the glass between two bead containers, she draped the collar over it to dry. That might work.

The knock came again, harder this time, and Lucie ran to the door expecting Sasquatch to be on the other side. She checked the peephole. Detective O’Brien.

As uncomfortable as this guy made her, might as well be Sasquatch. Maybe there was a break in the case? Lucie tugged her faded T-shirt into place and swung the door open.

“Hello, Detective.”

He offered a closed-mouthed smile. “Ms. Rizzo, sorry to disturb you. May I come in?”

“Of course.”

She led him to the living room where he sat in Frankie’s favorite wingback chair. Lucie took the couch. “What brings you here?”

“We had a call from the Glencoe P.D. this morning. One of their residents had a dog stolen yesterday.”

No
. It must have been one of her dogs or O’Brien wouldn’t be here. But wait. Glencoe? She didn’t have any clients in Glencoe.

“Do you work in Glencoe?” O’Brien asked.

“No.”

A fiery punch of guilt landed square in Lucie’s chest. This poor dog was missing, the owners probably heartbroken, and she was relieved because it wasn’t one of her dogs. Could she be any more selfish?

Not likely.

“What’s the owner’s name?”

O’Brien checked his notes. “Winthrop.”

Whew
. “Sorry. I don’t have a client by that name.”

Still though, the name sounded familiar.

The detective nodded. “I thought I’d see if we could connect the thefts. You haven’t had any more trouble have you?”

She shook her head. “No.”
Aside from the possibly stolen, fifteen-carat diamond in my safe deposit box.

O’Brien clucked his tongue in a way that screamed disappointment. Clearly, the good detective wanted to tie these dognappings back to Joe Rizzo’s daughter.
Sorry, pal, I’m legit
.

Most of the time.

Diamond notwithstanding.

“That’s good.” O’Brien tapped his left thumb on his thigh. “Be sure to call me if anything comes up.”

“I will.”

He stood. “Sorry to disrupt your day.”

“No problem. I hope you find the missing dog.”

I also hope it doesn’t have anything to do with me
.

As soon as O’Brien left, she charged up to her micro-bedroom and opened the revenue file on her laptop.
Please don’t let there be anyone from Glencoe
.

She clicked on the master spreadsheet and searched for Glencoe. Bingo. She eyeballed the row.
Oh, no. Please, no.
Sweat bubbled on her palms and Lucie rubbed her hands over her jeans. Evelyn Winthrop attended Mrs. Lutz’s trunk show and bought a royal blue coat adorned with rhinestones. She also bought a collar.

She stared at the Winthrop name on the spreadsheet and a flashing panic crawled up her throat. She opened her mouth, but nothing happened. The only sound was a sucking noise. She bent at the waist, the pressure behind her eyes building, building, building, as the floor shifted beneath her.

She smacked a hand against her chest. She needed air.
Calm. Slow.
She closed her eyes, concentrated on one small breath, then another. Within seconds, the banging behind her eyes stopped and she stood straight. She spun around, but there was nowhere to go. The room was too damn small.

Good God. The dognappers knew who her clients were. And her missing spreadsheet might be the reason.

An afternoon breeze tickled her arm through the window she had cracked opened that morning. She stuck her face against the small gap. The lacy pink curtains billowed against her cheek and she shoved them back. She hated this room and the I’m-going-do-die-of-suffocation feeling that came with it.

She had to get out.

Now.

* * *

A loud pounding on his front door brought Frankie out of a monster REM cycle.
Jeez. Where’s the fire?
He tossed the sheet off, rolled out of bed and slipped on a pair of gym shorts. Couldn’t even take a damned nap on his day off.

He swung through the living room, stepped into the outer hallway and saw Lucie standing on the stoop in ripped jeans and a sweatshirt. The disturbing lack of color in her face resembled one of his new white dress shirts.

He opened the door and the cool air pricked his bare chest. “You okay?”

She looked him up and down, stopped at the bedhead. “You were napping? I’m sorry I woke you.”

The quiver in her voice sent Frankie’s blood humming, and he suddenly wasn’t cold anymore. “What’s wrong?”

She pushed by him, walked through the hallway into his living room. “I just talked to Detective O’Brien.”

Still groggy from sleep, Frankie jammed the heels of his hands into his eye-sockets. When pain erupted from the pressure, he pulled his hands away “What did he want?”

“A dog was stolen in Glencoe. Frankie, oh my God. It’s the same family.”

He didn’t know what the hell she was babbling about. “Luce, take it easy.”

She shook her hands in the air. “The dog that was stolen—I sold his owner a coat and collar at the Lutzes’ trunk show. This is no coincidence.”

The Glencoe development, coupled with Joey almost getting dogjacked, brought a hell of a mess.

Frankie couldn’t keep the Joey thing from her any longer. She’d be mad, but he had to be straight with her. He rolled his lips together and scratched a sudden itch on the back of his head. “Luce, take a seat.”

“I don’t want to sit.”

“Sit.”

They stared at each other for a solid minute. She gave in and dropped into the hand-me-down black leather recliner he’d gotten from his folks. He sat on the arm of the matching sofa across from her. “Okay. You’re not gonna like this.”

She squeezed the arms of the chair until her knuckles bulged and her blue eyes remained fixed on him like a locked-on missile. The last time he’d seen that focused intensity her father had been found guilty of tax evasion.

“What is it?”

His girl liked things straight on, so he’d let it fly. “Joey had an incident when walking Otis this morning.”

“What kind of incident?”

Sink or swim. He had to tell her. Unfortunately, his tongue turned to lead. This would not go well. “Attempted dogjacking. The guy told Joey he only wanted the collar.”

She squeezed the chair tighter and the veins in her hands popped. Yep. Pissed. He reached for her, smoothed the tension from her grip. “Before you yell at me, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“You
should
have told me.”

“Joey fought the guy off. At that point, I figured it wouldn’t do you any good to know. I was going to tell you, but not yet.”

She leaned forward. “Putting aside you kept this from me, my fears were dead on. The dognappings are about that diamond. I have to stop offering services. It’s the right thing to do. Besides, my reputation will be ruined and I’ll lose my clients anyway.”

That would kill her. A reputation as a responsible, law-abiding businesswoman was what Lucie craved most. It was time to get herself focused again.

“How would the dognappers know the Winthrops are your clients?”

“The only thing I can think of is my missing spreadsheet. It had all my client info on it.”

Frankie did a yes-no thing with his head. “Or someone could have followed you to the Lutzes’ for the trunk show and then followed Mrs. Winthrop home.”

Lucie sat back. Thought about it a second. “It’s possible, but my money is on the spreadsheet.”

“How are you doing on collecting everything you’ve sold?”

“It’s slow going, but we’re getting there. I told my clients I wanted to check the glue. Ro has been going through everything, but hasn’t found any real stones. A good thing, I suppose.”

“Yeah. We just have to make sure the dognappers know that.”

Their gazes met and held for a long moment, which only confirmed she understood what he was thinking.

“No. I don’t want your father involved in this.”

Too late.

“Oh, no,” she said.

Frankie didn’t move. Not even a blink. “What?”

“You did it, didn’t you?”

Busted
.

“Dammit, Frankie! O’Brien probably already suspects the dognappings have something to do with my dad and you went and told
your
dad, which I asked you not to do. Are you trying to drive me crazy?”

He waved her off. “Of course not.”

“Well, telling your father will only bring more attention.”

She had a point there, but he was willing to risk it. “If I have to choose between keeping you safe and pissing you off, you should know what I’ll pick. I knew you wouldn’t like it, but my father can put the word on the street that you haven’t sold any real diamonds. It’ll help. And maybe he can figure out who the damned thing belongs to. Or doesn’t belong to.”

Frankie waited for the yelling. Nothing happened. She sat, shoulders slumped.

“Luce?”

She closed her eyes and breathed in and out a couple of times. Finally she looked at him. “I’m mad at you, but you’re probably right. From now on, we figure this out on our own. Got it?”

This could be trouble, but he had to say something. “Not if I think you’re in danger. You’ll have to live with it.”

“Do I have a choice?”

He shrugged. “We’re already broken-up, so that response is cooked.”

That wrenched a smile out of her. “You’re impossible.”

“Yes, but you love me.”

“And that’s always been the problem.”

Chapter Six

Lucie’s feet fused to the ground when Frankie held the door open at the Bruce Correctional Facility. This damned place. She despised it. A Zen moment was what she needed. Particularly after yesterday’s discovery about the Winthrops’ dog being stolen. She closed her eyes, let the sun warm her back and took three deep breaths of fresh air. When she entered the building, the staleness would burn through her nostrils like a California wildfire.

As far as medium security prisons went, she supposed it wasn’t the worst. Although, she hadn’t seen any other prisons. Either way, the idea of this being her father’s home left her with deep-rooted heartache.

The only positive was the geographically desirable location just over the Wisconsin state line. On a traffic-free day, she could get here in ninety minutes.