1 Dog Collar Crime (15 page)

By the time they were done, an inviting array of collars and coats had been arranged on the table. Lucie smiled at Ro and their eyes met for a few seconds. They might actually pull this off.

“What do you think?” Lucie asked.

“I think it’s amazing.”

Lucie leaned closer and whispered. “You checked all these stones, right? None of them are real?”

“All checked. We’re good.”

That was positive news. So far, they’d checked all the stones in Lucie’s stash, plus the items she had collected from her clients. No diamonds.

Jeanette, in what Lucie had come to realize were trademark second-skin jeans, chose that moment to wander by. Ro gave her a long once-over. Jeanette returned the favor.

“How are we doing, ladies?” Jeanette asked after she and Ro finished mentally dissecting each other.

“We’re ready,” Lucie said.

After a quick perusal of the table, Jeanette picked up a coat to study the stitching. “I must say, these are exceptional. You’re an excellent seamstress.”

“My mother did that one. And yes, she is an excellent seamstress.”

The bells on the entry door jangled, and a woman with a droopy-lidded dog came in. The dog had a few—more like ten—extra pounds on him, and Lucie felt sure they had nothing that would fit him.
Shoot.
Mental note: plus-sized dog coats.

The woman stopped at the table and Ro dove in, letting her know they custom made all the pieces and, yes, of course, they could make something for Muffy. Muffy? Frankie would have a heart attack over the injustice of naming that dog Muffy.

The bells jangled again and Lucie, letting Ro handle Muffy the fluffy, turned to see the Falcones and Jimmy Two-Toes entering the store.
Good God.

She planted a big-butt smile on her face and wandered over. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Falcone.” She never called them by their first names like Frankie did with her parents. She didn’t have that comfort level and wasn’t sure she minded. “Hi, Jimmy.”

“Hello, Lucie,” Mrs. Falcone said. “Frankie told us about your trunk show and we thought we would offer our support.”

Mr. Falcone waved toward the table. “Giovanna, look at this stuff. Unbelievable.”

“Ho!” Jimmy said. “You got talent, kid.”

Frankie’s mom nodded. “These collars are wonderful. The craftsmanship is lovely.”

“Welcome,” Jeanette said, making a beeline for her potential customers. Frankie’s father turned, and his eyes went straight for Jeanette’s chest.
The apple didn’t fall far from this tree
.

Mrs. Falcone’s instincts must have roared to the front of her brain because she pressed her lips together and turned her attention to a zebra print coat. Mr. Falcone though, he wasn’t going
anywhere
. Neither was Jimmy. Jimmy looked as if he wanted to plow head first into Jeanette’s cleavage.

“This emerald collar is lovely.” Mrs. Falcone pretended to ignore her husband and his sudden interest in Jeanette, but Lucie knew better.

“Thank you. Roseanne helped me with that one. She has a flair for this.”

“I’ll take it.”

Lucie gasped. “You don’t have a dog.”

Mrs. Falcone’s eyes zeroed in on her husband, who reluctantly released his gaze from Jeanette’s chest when she went toward the back of the store with Jimmy. “I’ll take the emerald
and
the sapphire one. I’ll give them to my girlfriends for their dogs.”

Hell’s bells. That was two hundred and fifty dollars’ worth of collars for a woman who didn’t own a dog. This was about pissing off Mr. Falcone. He’d humiliated his wife by becoming enamored with Jeanette’s boobs. Now he would pay. Literally.

“Thank you, Mrs. Falcone. This is most generous of you.”

“We’re practically family.” She grabbed a few business cards. “I’ll take a couple of your cards to put with the collars. My friends may want more and I’d rather they work directly with you.”

Meaning Jeanette wouldn’t get one red cent. “Certainly. I’d be happy to design something for them.”

Frankie’s father stepped up and his wife shoved the collars into his chest. “Pay for these.”

With that, she left the store.

Rather than send Mr. Falcone back into Jeanette’s vortex, Lucie took the collars from him. “I’ll get these rung up for you. Cash or credit?”

“How much are they?”

“A hundred twenty-five each.”

His jaw flopped open. Served him right. He pulled a money clip from his pocket and peeled off three hundred-dollar bills.

After ringing up the merchandise, Lucie returned to Mr. Falcone and found him eyeing a couple of coats.

“These are something else, Lucie.”

He set the coats down and took the bag from her. “Thank you. I appreciate the purchase.”

“Happy to do it.” He took a final long look at the table.

“Is there something else I can show you?”

He laughed. “Nah. If I didn’t see my wife buy this stuff, I wouldn’t have believed people spend this much on dogs. Good for you.” Turning toward the back of the store, he yelled, “Jimmy, we’re going.”

Jimmy shot from behind a shelf loaded with dog food and scurried by her.

“Take care, Lucie.”

Ro stepped behind the table and adjusted the coats Mr. Falcone had moved. “That was interesting,”

“No kidding.”

“I snuck back to where Jimmy and Jeanette were. They’re having dinner together Sunday night.”

“You snooped?”

“Sure. Did you know she lives above the store?”

“Really?”

“I heard her tell him. You get to her apartment from the back of the building.”

“Makes for a short commute, I guess.”

“Plus, she could always run down here and get Jimmy a snack, dog that he is.”

Lucie laughed. Why not? Jimmy
was
a dog. A dirty, rotten one. Putting aside what he did for a living, he had a wife.

Some women could put up with it. Not Lucie. She would make her own way in the world.

Chapter Nine

Lucie questioned her own sanity when Ro came to the Rizzos’ house to do her magic with Lucie’s hair and makeup for the big date. Within minutes of Ro’s arrival, using the force of a bludgeoning, she manipulated Lucie’s shoulder-length hair around barrel-sized plastic rollers. Ah, the suffering of a woman trying to “fluff” her hair.

Thanks to the portable radio on the shelf above her head, Lucie tapped her foot to Madonna as Ro applied layer upon layer of brown eye shadow in a multitude of hues. Espresso liquid liner came next, along with gobs of jet-black mascara. Lucie tried not to blink as Ro perfected what she called the smokey look.

Lucie called it a lot of stinking work and hoped it didn’t leave her looking like a crack whore.

“Let’s get you into the dress and I’ll do your hair. You’re almost there, kiddo.”

“Glory be. I’m not made for all this primping. Who has this kind of time?”

“You make the time, babycakes. You think I roll out of bed looking like this?” Ro marched across the hall to Lucie’s bedroom, her head high and her long hair flying behind her.

Footsteps, or perhaps they were bombs dropping, came from the end of the hallway. Joey emerging from his lair.

“I need the john.”

“We’ll be done in ten minutes. If you can’t wait, use the yard.”

Lucie laughed. Good old Ro knew just how to deal with men.

A second later, Ro reentered the bathroom. “Here’s the bra. This baby will keep the girls in place.”

Lucie held the contraption in front of her. “If I can figure out how to put it on.”

Ro pointed to the straps hanging from the bottom of the bra. “These wrap around your waist. Then this top strap buckles around your neck.”

Lucie focused hard.

“Forget it. Strip and I’ll put it on you.”

“Ew. No.” Lucie snatched the bra. “I have an MBA. I can figure it out. Just turn around while I do it.”

Jeez, this was a lot of work. Frankie had better appreciate it. And if he even thought he was getting her out of this bra once she got it on, he’d better think again.

Joey’s iron fist smacked against the door, and Lucie and Ro both jumped.

Ro smacked her open palm against the door. “Don’t make me open this.”

“Yeah,” Lucie yelled.

“Five more minutes and I’m busting this door down to take a piss. You can watch if you want.”

“Won’t that be exciting,” Ro shot back.

“Five minutes.”

Lucie, with the contraption of a bra in place, slipped on her robe. “Keep your drawers on. We’re done.”

She swung the door open and Joey stepped back to let them pass.

“Finally,” he said.

Ro blew him a kiss when they marched by.

“He’s such an idiot,” Lucie said, closing her bedroom door behind them. “But there are times, like when he helps me with the dogs, that he’s so nice. That’s the brother I want. The dog walking one.”

“And I want to be Angelina Jolie. Let’s not count on either. Time to get you dressed.”

Ten minutes later, after a toxic level of hairspray had been applied to Lucie’s coif, Ro waved toward the mirror. “Take a look.”

Lucie rose from the bed, took a second to balance on the high-heeled silver sandals. If she tumbled down the stairs in these stilts, at least she’d have a hairspray crash helmet to absorb the impact.

She stepped over to the closed door where the full body mirror hung, but didn’t look into it. A sudden fear gripped her. What if after all the shopping and primping, she hated the image? What if Frankie hated it? It would be her luck that her one attempt to be more than plain old Lucie would be a disaster.

No. This would be good. She reached deep into herself and thought about all the years she and Ro had been friends, and realized Ro wouldn’t let her down.

“Luce, just look. It’s good. I promise.”

Lucie glanced up and saw a woman in a red halter dress. A woman whose body she barely recognized and whose hair curled wildly around her face. She grinned at herself, at the woman who had become a man-killer.

The sound of the doorbell carried from the first floor. Frankie.

Lucie grinned. “He rang the bell. Like a real date. How sweet is that?”

“Charm boy is working it.” Ro held the door open for her. “This is your night. Enjoy it. Think about all the reasons you love him. Not the ones that tear you apart.”

* * *

After dinner, while waiting for one of the two valets to chase down the car, Frankie wandered to the garbage can on the corner to toss something and Lucie admired the modern minimalism of his navy suit. He wore a pressed white dress shirt, sans tie and she realized, no matter what he wore, his clothing choices added to his no-nonsense persona.

She closed her eyes, tilted her head back and breathed in the cool air. The sounds of cars speeding through the intersection, pedestrians chatting and the
click-click-click
of a woman’s high-heels surrounded her. She loved this city.

Feeling something tickle up her spine, she opened her eyes and caught the second valet staring at her. Really staring. Then the guy gave her the once over and nodded.

She had just scored the coveted double take and the feeling became something bright and warm and so incredibly luscious.

This deserved something special. What the hell, she offered up a little finger wave.

Frankie returned wearing a landslide of a grin. “I turn my back for one second and you’re flirting?”

“I couldn’t help it. Did you see the way he looked at me…like he wanted to lick something off me? How incredibly exciting.”

But Frankie didn’t look too excited. Not with the whole teeth-gritting thing going on. “You think?”

She laughed. “I
know
. This is a proud moment.”

Frankie nuzzled her neck. “I could make that licking thing happen. The Hyatt is right around the corner.”

Oh, my.
With a tiny shift of her head, his warm breath crossed her cheek and she moved closer to feel the heat and softness of his lips against her. She reached up, glided her fingers over his perfect cheekbone.

Her Frankie.

Enjoying the familiarity of his arm sliding around her, she kissed him, lingered there, loving the feel of him, and then slowly backed away. “You can lick something off me later. I don’t want to mess up the dress before we go dancing.”

“Oh, I won’t mess up the dress. That I can promise. And I’d still take you dancing.” He moved closer, right up to her ear. “Come on, Luce, we’ll get a room and stay downtown tonight.”

They had no clothes or toothbrushes and he wanted to do a sleepover? “We aren’t prepared for an overnighter.”

“So what? I’ll buy us a couple of toothbrushes—maybe some chocolate syrup for that licking thing—and we’ll do the walk of shame in the morning. Only, I won’t be feeling shameful.”

She thought about it; let the idea take shape. The bad girl. The dirty stay-out.