She wouldn't say how she found him. No sense in getting the hot Irish detective all riled up. She shoved the brochure with the company name on it at Tim and he perused it, turning it sideways then upside down as he read her abbreviated notes.

  "Where?"

  "Where what?"

  "Where did you talk to him?"

  "It's not important."

  "Oh, boy."

  "What is important is that he told me Buzzy had a boyfriend."

  "And?"

  The dry-cleaning receipt came next and she handed it over. "He answered her door in his bathrobe once."

  "You think he's a killer because he answered her door in his robe? You walk around my place in my T-shirts all the time. If I wind up dead, does that make you my killer?"

  Lucie gasped. "Don't say that."

  "Just making a point. You can't randomly accuse people of murder."

  "I'm not randomly accusing him. It's a lead. That's all. She was killed inside her house. Obviously, her killer was inside so she must have let him in."

  "A reasonable assumption." Tim gestured to the white board. "And what's this?"

  "This is my murder board."

  Really, she needed to lay off the crime shows.

  "All right." He let out another long sigh. Poor guy. "Can you summarize?"

  Gladly. She grabbed a marker and tapped it against the board. "Apparently, there was friction with Buzzy's agent."

  "And you know this, how?"

  "Buzzy’s sister. And her assistant confirmed it. She told me Lorraine wanted Buzzy to dump the agent. Something about him doing funky accounting."

  Now Tim grabbed a legal pad off the stack in the center of the table. Finally, she'd said something that caught the good detective's interest.

  "I'll look into the agent."

  "I have the Cock Heads on it as well."

  "Oh, goodie." He finished his note and pointed to Dad's name on the board. "Do I even want to ask?"

  "It's fine. Dad, Jimmy and Lemon are putting feelers out with their cop friends."

  Tim grunted and Lucie threw up her hands. "Just to see if they have any information. That's all."

  "You're destroying me. You know that, right? Every night I check my blood pressure."

  Lucie rolled her eyes. "Stop. You know..." What? She shook her head. "I'm sorry I'm stressing you out. I love her. I'd do the same for you."

  He grabbed her elbow, pulled her into him and kissed the top of her head. "I know. You worry me, Luce. This is a homicide. Someone killed this woman and you're running around asking questions. It could be dangerous."

  "If it gets Ro out of jail it'll be worth it."

  "I hope so."

  Thirteen

  Thump.

  Something smacked against the shop window. Both Tim and Lucie jumped.

  A growing group of pedestrians huddled on the sidewalk in front of the shop.

  Tim cocked his head. "Are those picket signs?"

  One woman stood at the front of the pack, now extended beyond the shop's window, handing out poster boards attached to what looked like paint sticks. Talk about your grass roots protest. Lucie couldn't make out the writing yet, but as each person received their sign, they strolled the sidewalk to the far end of the shop, turned, and headed back.

  "What the heck?"

  Tim let out a snort. "Why the hell do you have protestors?"

  That question was quickly answered as the growing crowd sent up a chant.

  "Mur-der-er! Mur-der-er! Mur-der-er!"

  "For God’s sake." Lucie’s voice trembled and she fought to control the brewing hysteria.

  Like annoying ants at a picnic, the protestors kept coming, each stepping up to receive a sign. Please let them run out of signs.

  A young woman peered through the window, cupping her hands around her eyes. "Hey. She's in there."

  The crowd let out a roar, all of them huddling up to the window. Their hateful, angry—well, that might have been an exaggeration—eyes zoomed in on Lucie.

  Instinctively, she slid behind Tim, the big, hunky cop who carried a big, hunky gun.

  "Murderers," an older woman screamed.

  Lucie whipped her phone from her back pocket. By now Dad and the crew at Petey's would be saddling up. They didn't like strangers on their block.

  "Who are you calling?"

  "My dad. Can you see it? A bunch of mob guys versus angry protestors."

  She lifted the phone to her ear. He picked up on the first ring. "Baby girl, don't you worry. Me and the boys are on it."

  All she needed was a brawl in front of her place. "Dad, no. Please! Tell the guys they can't touch them. Someone will get arrested. You know how your friends get when they go off half-cocked."

  "You worry too much." He hung up. Dear God.

  "Luce," Tim wandered to the window. "Call the Franklin PD. Just let them know you have a hopefully peaceful protest going here."

  Good thought. Joey had gone to high school with a guy who'd become a Franklin cop. Brian was a regular at Petey's and had an open rapport with Dad's crew. Maybe he could do something.

  Not that she didn't believe in a citizen's right to protest. She just didn't want them doing it in front of her shop with the fashion show caterer about to show up.

  Chaos. Total chaos.

  She was patched through to Brian, who had just gotten out of roll call.

  "Brian. It's Lucie Rizzo."

  "Hey, Lucie. I'm heading out. What's up?"

  Another thunk sounded and she spun back, waving a fist at the window. "Off the window!"

  "Yow," Brian said. “I need that ear, Lucie.”

  "Sorry. I think I need help. I have a bunch of protestors in front of my place."

  "Why?"

  "I'm not sure exactly. They keep saying ‘mur-der-er, mur-der-er’."

  "Oh-kay. Are they blocking the street?"

  "No. They're on the sidewalk."

  "Sorry, Lucie. There's nothing we can do. They have the right to be there."

  Which Lucie knew. But really, did the Franklin PD want a bunch of protestors mixing it up with the Rizzo crime family? She met Tim's gaze and threw her free hand up.

  "Brian?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Think about the location of my business and who my father is."

  The line went silent and, for a second, Lucie wondered if she'd lost the connection. She checked the screen. Full bars.

  "Crap," Brian finally said. "Is your Dad's crew there? Now?"

  "Not yet, but he's sending them down. I don't want any trouble, and I know the guys like you. Maybe you can give everyone a speech or something. I don't know."

  "I'll swing by."

  Excellent. She punched off and her phone immediately rang.

  Annabelle. The Cock Head. Maybe she had an update.

  "Hi, Annabelle."

  "I just saw on Buzzy's Facebook page about the protest. We're on our way."

  "Who?"

  "The Cock Heads, silly."

  "You're joining the protest?"

  Tim shot her a look, shaking his head the whole time.

  "Of course not. What kind of friends would that make us? We're protesting their protest."

  How awesome was that? True friends right there. "Oh, Annabelle. Thank you. I appreciate it, but you don't have to."

  "You and Ro are good people. You don't deserve this. We're bringing it! They'll be sorry they messed with us."

  Annabelle hung up. What was with everyone hanging up on her today? And what was this nonsense about a protest on Buzzy's Facebook page?

  "The Cock Heads are forming a counter protest."

  Tim laughed. "What?"

  While he found amusement in Lucie's plight, she hopped over to Buzzy's page on her Facebook app and—bam—right there, pinned to the top was the announcement about the protest.

  Lucie glanced outside at the growing crowd. These folks were early. This nightmare wasn't even scheduled to start for another—she checked the clock—fifty-two minutes. If she had this size crowd now, what would another hour bring?

  "There's a post on Buzzy's Facebook page about it."

  Tim peered over her shoulder. "Who the hell posted it?"

  "I'm not positive, but I know from the fashion show meetings that Kandi—one of Buzzy's minions—does all the posting on that page. I can't imagine she organized a protest, though. I have a meeting with the caterer in a few minutes. After that, I’ll call Kandi and ask about it. Right now I'm more worried about the counter protest the Cock Heads are mobilizing and, well, there's Jimmy Two-Toes, Slip and Lemon to contend with."

  "Hang tight." Tim headed for the front door. "Let me see if I can do anything."

  "Thank you. I love you."

  "Love you too."

  Lucie stowed her phone just as another protestor cupped his hands against the glass.

  "Hey, hands off the glass."

  Protesting was one thing, making a mess of her window was another. The man backed away then swung sideways, his mouth moving, his hands flapping.

  Tim exited the shop, stopped, said something to the protestor then looked right. Jimmy Two-Toes marched up, his hands and mouth moving equally fast. The two men squared off with Tim between them.

  So help her, if Tim got one scratch, she'd murder someone.

  She hustled to the door, shoved it open.

  "Get away from the building," Jimmy said to the man.

  "It's a public street."

  "You had your hands on the glass. And believe me, I know where you can have your hands and where you can't." He took a step closer. "Now back up."

  Tim set his hand on Jimmy's shoulder. "Everyone settle down."

  "Who are you to tell me—"

  "Hey!" Lucie swung her finger at the two men. "Anyone gets violent, you're dead. Do you hear me?"

  "Murderer," the man shouted. Another chant rose from the growing crowd.

  Tim shot her a look. "Really?"

  Yes. Really.

  "Mur-der-er, mur-der-er, mur-der-er."

  "Lucie," Jimmy said, "get inside. You can't be out here."

  "Move it, people." At the far end of the sidewalk, Annabelle and the Cock Head brigade stormed toward them like paratroopers on a mission. Annabelle, of course, wore her signature Cock Head headband with the giant feathers poking skyward. "Let's go, Cock Heads. Line up."

  "Here we go," Tim said.

  Annabelle shoved by Jimmy, Tim and the protestor. "Make room. We're taking control of this sidewalk."

  Jimmy screwed up his face. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

  "We're the Cock Heads.”

  Oh, boy. The dozen or so Cock Heads formed a line in front of the store, their arms linked and blocking the entrance.

  Protestor boy wasn't pleased. He also wasn't moving. "Hey," he said to the Cock Heads, "you can't block the sidewalk."

  "Ha! Look who's talking? We're not blocking the sidewalk. We're keeping you lunatics from getting too close to this shop. It's private property. She can have you arrested."

  "That's right," Jimmy said, suddenly fully onboard.

  Holy crap. Dueling protests. Right in front of Coco Barknell. This was definitely not her marketing of choice.

  Jimmy swung back and faced the line of Cock Heads. "Make room. Let me in."

  Lord, she needed a picture of this. Jimmy Two-Toes lined up with the feather wearing Cock Heads and forming a human barrier to counter-protest the protest. Ro would not believe this one.

  When Annabelle and Sam unlinked their arms for Jimmy to join them, Lucie scooted behind. One place she didn't want to be was the space between dueling protests.

  Having heard enough, Tim flashed his badge. "Everyone stay calm and no one gets arrested. Understood?"

  If anyone could control these nutcases it would be Tim.

  "You can't touch us," Protest Boy said.

  This guy, Lucie was sure, would be a nightmare. If she had to guess, he'd probably alerted the media by now.

  Tim hung his badge on his belt and spread his hands wide. "Who said I'm touching you?"

  "I'm just letting you know."

  Tim laughed, turned away from Protest Boy, and faced Lucie. "You okay?"

  "I'm fine."

  "Cock Heads unite," someone yelled from the far end.

  Probably Jamal. He was always good for some drama.

  For added fun, Lemon and Slip headed down the sidewalk.

  "Lemon," Jimmy said, "get in here. Link up so we can keep these pains in the asses from the shop. You take that end. Slip, down here. Nobody gets by. Nobody."

  "You've got to be kidding me," Tim muttered.

  Don't I wish. "It's insane. Can I get rid of them?"

  "As long as they’re peaceful, no. You're stuck with them."

  Just then, a small white projectile—coming straight at Tim—caught Lucie's eye. She lifted her hand to block it, but...too late. An egg slammed into his shoulder, the shell shattering and yolk oozing on his spotless suit.

  "Ah, damn it." He looked up at the roof and pointed. "Hey, dumbass. I'm a cop. Get down here, right now. What the hell is wrong with you?"

  Lucie craned her head and spotted a young guy with dark hair, maybe mid-twenties, leaning over the brick, two more eggs in hand.

  "Hey," she said, "you're trespassing. Get off my roof."

  The kid blew raspberries at her. Seriously? Who does that?

  Another egg flew. Straight at her. Tim lifted a hand and deflected it, winning another bout of oozing goo for his efforts.

  "I gotta get this idiot down," he said. "Luce, get inside before he starts a riot."

  A siren blared, letting off a quick whup, whup before going silent. "Franklin PD! All you protestors, get off the street. Right now."

  Overhead the approaching chuff, chuff, chuff of a helicopter sounded. Lucie peered up. Channel seven news.

  Yep. One of these protestors alerted the media. And why not? Between the murdered reality star and the mob boss's daughter, a reporter could exist on this high for a month. Total paradise.

  "We've got press," Lucie said.

  Tim pointed at the door. "Get inside while I deal with the egg thrower."

  Brian, ablaze in his Franklin PD uniform, shoved through the crowd. "Lucie, is everything all right? I saw the guy on the roof toss something."

  Tim badged Brian then pointed at the egg remnant on his shoulder. "Eggs."

  Brian sighed. "There's always one."

  "I'll head up there and grab him before he gets nuts. Can you handle the crowd down here?"

  "Yeah. When I saw how big this thing was, I called for backup."

  "Good." Tim grabbed Lucie's elbow, ushering her toward the door. "I'll climb the back fire escape. You need to stay inside. Preferably out of sight. It's peaceful right now, but all we need is one knucklehead."

  "Like the one on the roof?"

  "Exactly. One person can flip the switch on this thing. These people are protesting in front of your business, if you're out there, they might get more wired. Please stay inside."

  Tim headed for the back door as Lucie watched the crowd outside. She hated standing in here, like a coward, when her friends were outside guarding her space. But Tim had a point. Her presence might prod an already motivated crowd into doing something that might get someone hurt.

  As Lucie watched, Annabelle broke off from the human chain and popped through the front door. Lucie wrapped her arms around her. "Annabelle, thank you for this. You guys didn't have to come here."

  "I knew it would be a lot. People are crazy, Lucie."

  This from a woman with peacock feathers protruding from her head.

  "That they are."

  "I was going to call you today anyway." Annabelle swiveled back to check the door, then leaned in close. "I have information."

  Unless they had bionic hearing, no one could hear her. "Um, Annabelle? We're alone in here."

  And my brother has dispatched with all the bugs.

  "Oh, good. I hate whispering. It feels so dirty. Anyway, we did the research on Buzzy's agent. It's not good news."

  "Really? Do tell."

  "Well, I dug around on the internet and found some obscure articles from six months ago. Not about Buzzy, but the agent. One of his other clients fired him. Something about a difference of opinion on financial matters."

  "Lucky for us, financial matters are my wheelhouse."

  Annabelle dug around in her handbag and pulled out some folded papers. "I know! I printed you copies of the articles. It might not matter though."

  "Why?"

  "Because Buzzy, from what I could tell, hadn't fired him. He was still her agent of record. And, well, he was in L.A. at a movie premiere the night of the murder."

  Talk about burying the lead. If the agent was in L.A., he couldn't have been in Buzzy's house, killing her with an atomic wedgie. "Shoot. Really? You're sure?"

  Annabelle handed over another printout. "Pictures. This is him in front of the step-and-repeat. You know, we should get one of those for the Cock Heads. How fun would that be?"

  Ro was rotting in jail, the most promising lead just evaporated, and Annabelle was pondering a step and repeat.

  Lucie studied the photo in front of her. Darn it. She'd been so sure the agent might be involved. A setback, for sure, but these things happened during investigations. Disappointment wouldn't derail her. No way. Ro was innocent and she'd prove it.

  "Okay, Annabelle. Thanks so much."

  "I know it's not what you wanted to hear."

  "That's true, but you've saved me a lot of research time. I'm so appreciative. And Ro too."

  "What else can we do?"

  Outside, a load roar came from the crowd. Lucie looked up to see Protest Boy standing on the hood of someone's car. If it belonged to one of the guys from Petey's, they'd have bloodshed. Lucie squeezed Annabelle’s arm. "I'm not sure. I'll let you know if I think of something though."

  Protest Boy was hauled off the car by someone, Brian most likely, just as Tim came through the back door, shoving the egg thrower in front of him.

  "You," she said, "you just ruined my boyfriend's suit."

  The kid ripped off a smug grin and Lucie curled her fingers into a tight fist. Violence had never been her thing, but lately, jerky people had pushed her buttons.

  "Wipe that smile off your face. You're paying for that suit. So help me, if it's the last thing I do, you're paying for it."

 

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