Red Sole Clues (8 page)

Lucie, sitting next to her complaining ape of a brother, made snoring noises. For dramatic effect, she added an eye roll.

She hadn’t schlepped all the way to Evanston at 9:00 
AM
on a Saturday to sit on rock-hard bleachers in a sweat-funked college gymnasium with three thousand people just to watch Otis, her favorite dog walking client, lose a talent show.

Not happening. It was way too early for such pessimism.

Her Otis would pull this out.

Joey wagged his finger. “Roll your eyes all you want. All I’m saying is we don’t have this thing locked.”

Her brother. The big mush. “Why are you being so negative?”

As the daughter of a mob boss, she’d spent twenty-six years finding the upshots and refused to give in now.

Joey blew air through his lips. “I thought that limbo of his would be a showstopper.”

Lucie flapped her arms, and glanced at Tim, her maybe-boyfriend. “Who made him such a Debbie Downer?”

Next to her on the other side, Tim flashed that you’re-so-cute grin and his green eyes twinkled under the glare of the gym lights. “Joey, have a little faith.”

Tim understood the value of positive thinking. He was a Chicago PD detective. The atrocities he saw each day would pulverize him if he didn’t look for the good.

Her brother grunted. Well, he could buzz off. She’d waited three weeks for this dog show and wanted to have fun. This sucker featured the Midwest’s most elite show dogs and the organizers, in a flash of genius, had added an additional thirty non-show dogs in a separate talent competition. A portion of the event’s profits would be donated to a local animal shelter, and the shelter had brought out the big guns by convincing a dealership to raffle a new car.

That got the locals flocking.

Ro, Lucie’s BFF, leaned in, nudging Joey with her shoulder.
Blech.
As much as Lucie loved them—yes, even Joey—she couldn’t get used to the two of them doing the nasty.

Or whatever it was they were doing.

“It’s too soon to panic,” Ro said. “Besides, this whole thing is for charity, right? Either way, I didn’t bust out my favorite Louboutins to see this dog go down in flames.”

Lucie glanced down at the hem of Ro’s skintight jeans. Today she’d paired the shoes with a red, plunging V-neck cashmere sweater that showed off her cleavage. The jaguar print booties—leave it to Ro to wear animal print to a dog show—with the four-inch spiked heels amped up the destroyer-of-men factor.

“She’s right,” Lucie said. “I mean whoever saw an eighty-five-pound Olde English bulldog rocking a limbo? It’s fantastic.”

And truly, it was. Otis’s owner, Mrs. Lutz, had spent hours teaching him to crab walk under a broomstick hovering a mere thirteen inches off the ground. At first, Lucie considered this limbo a little nuts, but then the timing of the whole thing hit her. Mrs. Lutz’s husband—Lucie’s former boss—had just been shipped off to serve a yearlong prison stint for financial fraud and she’d needed a distraction.

Go figure.

“Wha, wha,” Joey said. “I still want him to win.”

Of course he did. Being the degenerate gambler-slash-bookie that he was, her brother was probably taking action on this.

The next competitor, a tap dancing poodle, was announced and the crowd let out a whoop.

“Great,” Joey said. “Another dancing dog. And that Dachshund? He’s a problem. The way he sniffed that girl and then found her scarf?”

“Uh-
maze
-ing!” Ro sang, swinging her long sable hair over her shoulder.

Joey glared at her and she lifted her perfect chin. “Hey, the scarf was buried under all those smelly gym mats. All I’m saying is it took skill.”

Lucie shot off a text to Mrs. Lutz and then stood, lightly backhanding Tim on the shoulder. “I’m going to check on Otis and then see how Mom is doing. Wanna come?”

Tim stood and scanned the packed bleachers for the best exit route. Bodies in all directions. They’d have to push through.

Ro looked up at Lucie. “I texted your mom before Otis went on. We were running low on the Hawaiian print shirts. By now, they’ll be gone. I knew we should have made more of those.”

In addition to the fun of watching Otis limbo in front of thousands, Lucie had seen an opportunity for Coco Barknell, her fledgling dog accessory business. She and Ro, her V.P. of sales, had set up a booth near the gym’s entrance, featuring their bestselling jewel-studded collars and coats. They’d included three-dozen Hawaiian print shirts—the same shirt Otis wore while doing his limbo.

Who knew a market for doggie Hawaiian shirts existed?

Lucie high-fived Ro. “Next week, we need to get busy on more of those. Thanks to your brilliance.”

Yep, things on the Coco Barknell front were moving right along and that made Lucie one happy camper.

She and Tim dodged their way out of the gym into the equally busy—and stinky—hallway. Holy cannoli, they needed to check into booth availability at all local dog shows. With this many people in attendance, the possibilities for expanding Coco Barknell’s brand awareness might be endless.

“Detective,” Lucie said to Tim, “you might have to start badging people so we can get through this crush.”

He once again grinned down at her, smiling in that way that made his freckles and green eyes dance. Darn, the man was handsome. And buff. And sweet. And protective and…a whole bunch of other things that sent Lucie’s stomach fluttering every time he came within three feet.

One thing they both knew was Tim wouldn’t abuse his badge and even if she liked to tease him about it, she adored him for it.

Tim O’Brien. Tim O’Hottie, as Ro called him, might be the most honorable man Lucie knew.

He got her hormones firing in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. But in the six weeks they’d been dating, they were taking things slow. Slow, slow, kill-me-please, slow.

All because he wanted to make sure Lucie was over her ex.

“Excuse me,” Tim said to a man wearing a shirt with the dog show logo on it. “Where is the staging area for the dogs?”

The man pointed. “Take this hallway to the end and make a right. You need a pass, though, or one of the owners can get you in.”

“Thanks.”

Tim grabbed Lucie’s hand and drilled through the crowd, his big shoulders plowing right along. Miraculously, people moved out of his way. Even in his weekend wear of jeans and a pullover, he had that way about him. All six-feet-plus of commanding, in-charge muscle.

Oh, yes, O’Hottie. You will be mine.

At the end of the corridor, a beige-shirted security guard stood in front of a velvet rope—as if that would keep anyone out.

“Afternoon,” he said. “This area is restricted. Open viewing starts in thirty minutes.”

Lucie waved. “Hi. We’re friends of Otis Lutz. They’re expecting us.”

“Lutz?”

“Yepper. He’s the bulldog with the Hawaiian print shirt.”

The guard pointed two fingers. “
That
guy. He’s a pip.”

“Sure is.”

“I’m sorry, though. I can’t let you in. Not without the owner’s permission.”

“Woohoo!”

Lucie went up on tiptoes and peered over the guard’s shoulder to where Mrs. Lutz stood in a doorway not twenty feet away.

“That’s her,” Lucie said.

The guard stepped behind the rope line, walked to Mrs. Lutz, checked her badge, and said something while gesturing to Lucie and Tim.

Wow. Tight security. A good thing Lucie supposed.

“You’re all set,” the guard said when he returned. He unclipped the rope and waved them through.

Tim grabbed Lucie’s hand again—
love that
—and they strolled toward Mrs. Lutz. Being the wife of an investment banker, she had an I-have-money look about her, evident in the black silk blouse and designer slacks she wore. And with her shoulder length, poker-straight blond hair, she exuded elegance and poise.

At a dog show.

“Hi, Mrs. L.,” Lucie said. “This is Tim.”

Tim slid free from Lucie’s grasp and shook hands with Mrs. L. Wow, first time introducing Tim to a friend outside of Ro. Getting serious now.

After the two exchanged the normal nice-to-meet-you routine, Lucie held up two hands. “Otis did awesome!”

Mrs. L. beamed. “I know. I’m so proud of him. Come inside and see my baby.”

Today’s event, including the talent show, had drawn hundreds of dogs, all of them housed in this auxiliary gym for the day. Inside the gym stood rows of partitioned, bright yellow stalls. The only sound in the room belonged to chattering people.

No barking.

In a room filled with dogs.

Whatever training method these people used, Lucie needed it. But, hey, she never claimed to be a dog whisperer. She was just a girl trying to make ends meet by walking dogs while growing her accessory business.

She and Tim followed Mrs. L. past a few rows of stalls. Benched shows, like this one, required all dogs to stay inside the building while not competing. Unless, of course, nature called. Otherwise, the dogs were crated and in stalls containing a bench—thus a bench show. This allowed spectators to meet the owners, view the dogs, and discuss all things amazing about them.

Miraculously, some of the dogs slept while others simply sat watching the onlookers.

“Wow,” Lucie said. “Well-behaved dogs.”

Mrs. Lutz nodded. “The talent show dogs are all together in one row. My baby is right over here.”

She angled around a man leading a miniature pinscher toward the far exit and then turned left into the last row.

In the middle of the row, Mrs. Lutz halted, her arms extending to the side. Lucie jerked to a stop, watching as Mrs. L.’s mouth slow-oh-oh-ly eased open.

Lucie followed Mrs. L.’s gaze and stared down at the crate’s door.

The very open door.

Mrs. L. whipped around, squatted and ping-ponged left and right, dodging people in the row trying to see through the crowd.

“Mrs. L.?”

Behind Lucie, Tim leaned forward, cocking his head.

“Otis?” Mrs. L. called. “Come, boy. Here, boy.”

“He got out,” Tim said.

Mrs. L. spun back, gripped both of Lucie’s arms. “Help me. Please. The crate was secure. I made sure before I left him.”

“Okay,” Tim said, ever the experienced and unruffled detective. “Don’t panic. You were only gone a minute. He has to be here.”

Lucie slid out of Mrs. L.’s death grip and squeezed her hand. “We’ll find him. He’s such a rascal, he probably slid the bolt open.”

Mrs. L. nodded.

“Let’s split up,” Tim said. “Luce, you cover this side of the room. Mrs. Lutz, you take the middle and I’ll take the other end.” He hopped up on Otis’s bench and scanned the room. “The three other doors are closed. Chances are, he’s still in here.”

He let out an ear-pulverizing whistle that quieted the humans but sent the dogs into a howling frenzy that should have made the walls crumble.

Lucie stuck her fingers in her ears and stared up at her hunky detective. “Guess that backfired on you, fella.”

Tim waited a few seconds for the noise to subside and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Folks! We have a missing dog. Please look around you. His name is Otis. Otis! A bulldog wearing a Hawaiian print shirt. Grab him if you see him.”

He hopped down, his big body moving easily.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Lutz said.

“No problem. Now, ladies, let’s go find a dog.”

*     *     *

Tim hauled ass
to the far side of the room. As usual, a date with Lucie proved interesting. Only she could take him to a dog show with literally hundreds of dogs and her client winds up being the troublemaker.

As much as he knew he should run screaming from Lucie Rizzo and her mobbed up family, he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t pull himself away. Something about the petite powerhouse with a Notre Dame MBA and a desire to be more than Joe Rizzo’s kid did him in.

In a big way.

Which meant getting caught up in her fiascos.

Concentrate
.

Otis. Couldn’t be far. He reached the wall and made a right into the row, checking crates and getting strange looks from people as he went.

“Are you looking for that dog?” an older woman resembling Cruella Deville asked.

“Yes,” Tim said. “Otis. The bulldog in the Hawaiian shirt.”

The woman huffed. “I
cannot
believe he’s loose.”

Great. Dog show snooty. “Well, by loose if you mean he’s not in his crate, yeah, he’s loose.”

The woman turned to the man beside her. “Amateurs.”

Okay, Cruella.
Let’s dial it back a notch.
Tim checked himself. Locked his jaw for a solid five seconds. As a detective he saw all kinds of crap, and people with crummy attitudes ranked right up there on the most-commonly-seen list.

He gave Cruella the famous O’Brien I’m-going-to-be-nice-but-you-are-pond-scum look. “Ma’am, have you seen him?”

“You people should keep control of your animals.”

You people? What the hell? They had a missing dog and this woman, a dog lover, he presumed, wanted to pass judgment rather than help.

Go to guns.
As much as he hated doing it, not to mention he couldn’t get answers, he’d fast track this thing. Keeping his gaze on the snooty woman, he reached into his pocket, the woman’s eyes tracking his movements as he pulled out his wallet.

And badged her.

The woman’s eyes bulged.

Yeah. Much better.

“Lady,” he said, “you are wasting my time. I’m looking for an eighty-five pound bulldog wearing a Hawaiian shirt. How hard can it be for you to tell me that yes, you have seen him or no, you have not?”

“No,” the man beside her blurted. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

Tim moved on, stopping to check each crate, asking folks if they’d seen Otis, but nada. No Otis sightings.

Where the hell had the dog gone? And worse, they were losing time. Tim checked his watch. Ten minutes blown getting through the row. Who knew where Otis could be by now?

But all the damned doors were closed. He had to be here. Had to be.

Tim’s phone alerted a text. Lucie’s ringtone. Still moving, he snatched the phone from his pocket and checked her message. No Otis on her end either.