The Lucie Rizzo Mystery Series Box Set 2, page 40
part #5 of Lucie Rizzo Mystery Series
Lucie held her hand out, but Tim’s uncle swatted it away, opening his arms to her instead. “Forget that formal stuff. I come from a long line of huggers. And call me Henry. Or Uncle Henry. Whatever.”
Henry’s arms came around her and crunched a rib or two on her 110-pound frame. A burst of air shot from her mouth. Holy smokes, her eyes may have popped out. For such a lean man, Uncle Henry packed some strength.
“It’s good to finally meet you, Lucie. My nephew speaks highly of you.” He released her and pointed at Tim’s suitcase. “Is that everything?”
“For now. Lucie’s bag wound up in North Dakota. They’ll deliver it tomorrow.”
“Ach. I’m sorry. I have extra toothbrushes and soap at the house.”
Henry led them to the parking lot and his Lexus. According to Tim’s mom, pre-retirement Uncle Henry worked for a once small airline that grew—and grew—over the twenty-seven years of his employment. From the start, he’d bought stock through a discounted employee purchase plan that allowed him to make a killing when the company went public.
And gave him the means to retire at fifty-five.
Thus, the home in Paradise City, a cushy, self-contained forty-five square mile community in Palm Beach County. Two hundred thousand folks over the age of fifty enjoyed, as the website said, an active lifestyle. Golf courses, beaches, restaurants, a square with retail shops and several top of the line gyms, plus, a clubhouse complete with commercial kitchen were just a few of the amenities. Lucie’s favorite was the transportation of choice. A golf cart.
While the men loaded the luggage, Lucie climbed into the back seat. Tim had long legs and needed more room.
“I see you still have the Lexus,” Tim said.
“Sure. It’s ten years old and has thirty-thousand miles. Why sell it? Besides, I take the cart most places.”
Lucie suddenly had a vision of Roseanne tooling around Franklin in a golf cart. For some odd reason, it fit.
Uncle Henry paid the parking attendant and cruised through the gate. “Did you two eat? We can stop somewhere.”
“We’re good,” Tim said. “We splurged on first class. It’s also nine-thirty. Way past your bedtime.”
Uncle Henry laughed and something inside Lucie bloomed. Seeing Tim with his family, experiencing the fierce love they shared, did that to her.
“I know, young man,” Henry said. “I had to drink an extra cup before leaving to pick you up. My Matilda makes great coffee.” Henry met Lucie’s eye in the rearview mirror. “Lucie, do you like coffee? My Matilda makes excellent coffee.”
His Matilda. How cute was he?
“Finally,” Tim said. “I’ll get to sample it. I’m damned tired of hearing how good it is.”
Being a mainliner, Tim could be a harsh critic. Lucie? Coffee was coffee. She didn’t consider herself a connoisseur. She just needed a good hit of caffeine every now and again.
Tim angled sideways, facing Henry. “Full disclosure. Mom gave me strict orders to check this woman out. She doesn’t want some ho getting her hooks into her little brother.”
Oh, he did not just call his uncle’s girlfriend that. “Tim!”
“What’s a ho?” Henry asked.
Lucie burst out laughing. Poor Henry. Or maybe poor Tim since he was making a joke at his uncle’s expense and it wound up a wasted effort. When Tim didn’t respond, Uncle Henry met Lucie’s gaze in the mirror again. “Lucie, what’s a ho?”
“Well, sir, simply put, a slut.” Silence ensued. At least until both men snorted.
“My sister,” Henry said. “She’s too much.”
“She worries about you.”
“I’m fifty-eight years old and I’m alone. Doesn’t she want me happy?”
“Hell yeah, she does. But you know her. She’s protective.”
With Tim’s mad protective instincts, that apple didn’t fall from the tree. According to Tim, Henry’s wife passed away two years earlier after a short stint with an aggressive cancer. They’d been married thirty-five years and the loss had devastated Henry. Which prompted the move to Florida for a fresh start. Now, Matilda had shown up, Henry was googly-eyed, and Tim’s mother didn’t trust it.
Not for one second.
Henry removed one hand from the steering wheel and poked a finger in the air. “She’s never met Mattie. Not even a phone conversation. How would she know anything about our relationship? She’s kind and beautiful. Everyone loves her. You’ll see. She cooks for me, makes sure I take my blood pressure pills, checks on me all day. She gives me a foot rub every night.”
Tim swiveled back to Lucie. “Foot rub. Every night. You taking notes?”
“Oh, I am,” she said. “That goes both ways, O’Hottie. If you’re getting one, so am I.”
“Deal,” he said.
“Deal.”
And if she knew Tim at all, even an iota, she knew it'd come with plenty of innuendos and foreplay that would land them right in bed. Which might be great for Tim’s libido, but Lucie? She’d need a lot of naps if she intended on keeping up with the sexual marathon.
Clearly happy with their bargain, Tim turned to face the front again. “When do we get to meet Mattie?”
“Tomorrow night. It’s Tiki Night at the beach club. We can walk or take the cart. Usually I walk. I don’t like to drink and drive. Three months ago, Benny Stuart drove home loaded and didn’t see his neighbor walking her dog. Plowed right into her.”
Tim choked out a half-laugh. “No way.”
“Don’t laugh, son. The woman broke her hip and Benny is doing community service. If that wasn’t enough, now there’s a civil suit and the homeowners association banned driving golf carts while intoxicated.”
As if it shouldn’t have been before? Nothing like a group of plastered senior citizens tearing it up in golf carts. Thank goodness her parents didn’t live here. The idea of her father driving one around and screaming at people to get the hell out of the way made her shudder.
“Wow,” Lucie said. “Who knew?”
After flipping his blinker on, Henry made a smooth turn on Paradise Way where a large brick sign welcomed visitors.
“It’s causing a ruckus,” Henry said. “The association is trying to mandate seat belts in the carts. Do you know what that would cost?”
“Well, Unc, grading on a curve, it’ll be cheaper than getting sued. A permanent injury to someone could be a million-dollar lawsuit. Maybe more. I’d consider it.”
Oh, the problems of retirees. Lucie refrained from shaking her head. Uncle Henry and her father’s lives were so different. Henry’s biggest concern was his sister not liking his girlfriend and driving a cart sober. Her dad? He’d just gotten out of jail on a two-year tax evasion charge that was the government’s only shot at incarcerating a notorious mob boss. At any time, Lucie fully expected the Feds to come knocking on the Rizzo front door.
Henry waved a hand. “Anyway, don’t get me riled up. What were we talking about?”
“Mattie,” Lucie said.
“Ah, yes. My sweet Mattie. Tomorrow night you’ll meet her.”
“Tiki Night,” Tim said. “Can’t wait.”
Even in the dark, Lucie spotted the stink-eye Henry threw Tim’s way. “Don’t knock it until you try it. Live music and a buffet for nineteen ninety-five. Cash bar though. We’re trying to get them to include the bar in the price. Cheap bastards.”
Tim glanced back at Lucie. “What do you think? Tiki Night tomorrow?”
“Did I mention the club is right on the beach?”
Hmmm…hanging out with a bunch of retirees or a quiet night with Tim? As much as she wanted time alone with her man, the people watching would be amazing.
She smiled wide. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Two
The next afternoon at T-minus one hour to Tiki Night, Lucie took her handsome Irish detective up on an offer of a walk on the beach. The festivities started at four and Henry didn’t want them dawdling, but after spending the day exploring the area with Tim and his uncle, she needed downtime.
As promised, her suitcase arrived by eight that morning and she’d organized her outfits for the next few days. Now freshly showered, she slipped into her flip flops and checked the full-length mirror mounted on the back of the bedroom door. She’d dressed in long white denim shorts to cover her spindly, I-need-some-sun legs. Paired with them was a tank top that showed a hint of cleavage she knew would drive Tim insane.
Heh, heh, heh.
Despite her petite size, Mother Nature blessed her with a healthy set of boobs that caused Tim to go mad.
Call it relationship security, because when she flashed it, the man was toast. Total goner.
She’d also taken a few extra minutes to put on a light layer of makeup. Unlike Ro, Lucie didn’t opt for the sexy vixen look. It didn’t work for her. Once in a while, when heading out for a special evening, yes, she went for it. On the daily? Nah. It wasn’t her and Tim didn’t care for it.
For tonight, she’d gone the extra distance and straightened her hair. The moist, ocean air would kink it up a bit, but half a can of hairspray might help.
All in all, Miss Completely Average wasn’t so average anymore.
“Luce,” Tim called from beyond the bedroom door, “losing daylight here. Henry’ll be irritated if we don’t show up at four o’clock sharp.”
Losing daylight in the middle of the afternoon? Lucie snorted.
Satisfied with her appearance, she whipped open the door. “Coming, Detective.”
She strode into the living room where Tim sat in Henry’s recliner flipping through channels on the wall-mounted television. He turned his head and—yep—his gaze torpedoed straight to her cleavage.
Did she know this man or what?
He let out a low whistle that sent a shot of heat to her core. “Hopefully, that means it was worth the wait.”
“You always are.” He popped out of the chair, walked to her, and cupped her cheeks in his big hands. “Vacation looks good on you.”
Then he kissed her. Nothing too crazy in Uncle Henry’s living room because who even knew where he might be, but enough that the soft touch of lips let her know there’d be more—a lot more—later.
Vacation. Yay, Lucie.
He pulled back and she smiled up at him. “Losing daylight here.”
Tim gave her the classic O’Brien smile his siblings had all seemed to master. The one that was half sarcasm and half genuine amusement. “You’re a wicked woman, Luce.”
They strolled the three blocks toward the club where a grass hut had been placed on the boardwalk in front of a two-story pale pink building with white arched windows. Everything about the place said Florida, wealth, and comfort.
“Nice place,” Lucie said.
“Uncle Henry says it’s the hot spot. Beach club and restaurant by day, club by night.”
“Fun. Honestly, if the idea of my father harassing people in golf carts didn’t terrify me, I’d say my parents should look into a place like this.”
“Luce come on. Joe Rizzo at Paradise City? They wouldn’t exactly blend.”
“I disagree. Down here, no one would know them. Total anonymity. Unless, of course, there’s a large Chicago contingency. I’d have to look into that.” She held up a finger. “I’ll ask Henry. This would be good for my folks.”
At the edge of the boardwalk, Tim kicked off the leather slides Lucie bought for him and scooped them up. He despised the feeling of sand in his shoes. Another thing she’d learned about him. Following suit, Lucie kicked off her flip flops while glancing at the breaking waves. She inhaled salty moist air. Her dad loved the water. Any kind. Rivers, lakes, oceans. All of it.
“Your dad will never leave Chicago.”
“How do you know?”
Tim shrugged. “He told me.”
Lucie stopped walking. Her father, notoriety aside, kept his private life on the downlow. He never shared details about his kids or wife. In fact, he rarely commented on anything Joe Rizzo. He’d sling his line of bull and deflect questions.
Over the years, Lucie had adjusted to the idea that he kept his business and personal life separate. Something she never minded because, really, she didn’t approve of his lifestyle. No girl wanted to hear about her father’s illegal exploits.
Where he intended to live permanently? She’d have appreciated hearing that from him. Instead, he’d shared it with Tim. Had to be a reason. Dad never did anything without a purpose.
She pushed the hurt from her heart. “He told you that?”
“Yeah. That night you were late for dinner, your dad and I were talking. He asked about my folks. I told him they were looking to be snowbirds and he said he’d never leave Chicago. His life is there. And his kids. He won’t leave you and Joey. His stint in jail and the lost time when you guys were little were enough.”
Lucie shook her head. “Wow. Are you sure it was my dad?”
Tim slipped his hand through hers and squeezed. “There’s only one Joe. Thank God. I think he regrets not being there for you two. Definitely your mom.”
“Even when he wasn’t in jail, he wasn’t around a lot. His crew was more important.”
“That’s too bad.”
She shrugged. “We got used to it.”
“Anyway,” Tim said, “he seemed pretty set on staying in Chicago.” He tipped his head to the sky, taking in the warm afternoon sun. “I wonder if he’s ever been to Florida in March. It beats the hell out of snow and slush.”
Lucie’s feet sunk into the sand as she walked, reminding her that she couldn’t agree more. “It sure does.”
“What about you, Luce? Would you ever leave?”
At this point, she had her business and family, but if she had to, yes, she would. “I guess if the opportunity was right, I could.”
“You didn’t when Frankie asked you.”
Frankie. A subject she and Tim didn’t broach all that often. Tim knew Frankie had been her first love, and no man wanted to compete with that. He’d done the only thing he could and made it easy for her to love him for all the things Frankie wasn’t.
After years of begging Frankie to leave their hometown and their mob kid reputations behind, he’d decided to move to New York. After they’d broken up. That alone seemed like a betrayal. Then he’d shown up and asked her to move with him, knowing she’d just started the business. She’d informed Tim of all of it.
As much as she’d tried to convince him Frankie was history, Tim had insecurities. She clasped his hand harder as they strolled the beach.
“I suppose the right guy hasn’t asked me.”
“Huh. So, if the right guy did, you’d do it? Self-sufficient, Lucie Rizzo would pick up her life and go? For a man?” This time, Tim stopped walking and faced her. “Luce, if I asked, would you do it?”
“Are you?”
“No. Well, not yet. I’m thirty-five years old, Luce, and I want kids. I plan on retiring by the time I’m fifty and this warm weather might not be a bad idea. Kids need to go to school—or be homeschooled, but I don’t see myself as the homeschool type. Being a snowbird won’t work for me until they’re out of high school. If I intend to spend winters in a more moderate climate, I’d have to move out of Illinois.”
“You’d leave your family?”
He shrugged. “It’s not like I’d never see them again. My folks are looking to be snowbirds, at a minimum.”
Was he asking her to move with him? Have kids? Could she do that without some sort of commitment? Marriage? She liked to think of herself as progressive, but, down deep, she wanted to be married before having children.
“Hmm,” she said. “You threw me a little with this conversation.”
“You know I love you.”
Yes. She absolutely knew that. “I do. I love you too. In ways I never thought possible. You accept me and my crazy family without judgment. For that alone, I’ll love you forever.”
“But you’re not answering my question. Is leaving Chicago a deal breaker?”
No. But she did have a business to run. “I don’t think so.”
Tim let out a sigh. “That wasn’t exactly what I was hoping for.”
“Hey, you surprised me. I wasn’t prepared is all.” She circled a hand around her head. “You know me, I have to process. I have a business there. Ro could probably run it, if she wanted. Maybe we could expand. Open another office in the south. There are all sorts of possibilities, so nothing is out of the question. In terms of the company.”
“Uh-oh. Why do I feel like there’s a but?”
“Because there is. Once you retire from law enforcement, you’ll have the freedom to do whatever you want. I’m a business owner. Unless I sell, I’ll never have that. I will always have responsibilities. I also want a family. I want to be married. Have a couple kids.” She turned and faced him. “I want my fairy tale. If I move, I’d expect you to give me that.”
Ugh. Talk about giving a man an ultimatum. Marry me or else.
His mouth dropped open. “That’s what you’re worried about? Me proposing?”
When he said it like that, it sounded silly, as if she was some dimwitted, high schooler conjuring her perfect life. “Not exactly that, but, you know, a…commitment. Of some sort.”
“Lucie, if I didn’t think both our families would freak, I’d marry you tomorrow. Fly to Vegas and get it done.”
Oh, good answer. “Really?”
“Pfft. I’ve been giving you space. I figured if we got to a year of seeing each other, I’d bring it up. We’ve only been together six months.”
“Technically, it’s six and three quarters.”
He laughed. “Whatever. But since we’re getting clear on what we want, if I asked you to marry me and have a bunch of redheaded O’Brien babies—”
A bunch? Grandma Rizzo, an inch shorter than her, may have popped out six babies, but Lucie? No way. She stared down at her crotch as if it would suddenly wave a white flag. “Hang on, Detective. I didn’t say a bunch. I said a couple. Maybe, if my vagina doesn’t shred, I’d go to three. Maybe.”
