A Shot in the Bark (A Dog Park Mystery) (16 page)

"What about me?"

"We're all wondering about you. How did a fascinating young man like yourself wind up so far from home, and still single?"

"Now I can't imagine you want to hear my sordid history."

"Small town scandal? What could be better? There's got to be a sad story about some girl who didn't deserve you."

"Can't imagine she'd see it that way."

"What was her name?" Nadine asked, priming the pump.

"It was Susan. I knew her in high school." Peter sighed, giving in to the inevitable.

"And you were going to get married." Nadine stated this as a fact.

"Yup. But she didn't like the idea of struggling while I was in college, so we waited. I got the bug to become a cop. She wanted a lawyer for a husband. She tried to wait me out. I told her she was welcome to be the lawyer in the family, but I think her ideas were more traditional. Finally she admitted that she couldn't handle being stuck with a cop's pay-grade. She married this guy we knew at high school. He used to be a football hero. Now he owns a furniture store and they do commercials together on late night TV. I like small towns, but it was feeling too small. So I came here."

"Has there been no one since?" Nadine's genuine sympathy was like a balm to the still sore spot on his heart.

"Well, once you're a cop, some folks think it's all you are. Some women chase the badge, and some are put off by it, but I haven't found anyone yet who really sees past it. Some guys live the badge. I believe in it, but it's not who I am."

"You poor man. No wonder you're attracted to Lia."

"Say again?"

"We can all see you're interested in her. An artist might be good for you. To an artist, every grain of sand on the beach is unique. And she has a life of her own. She doesn't need to turn anyone into her own personal Ken doll. We all love her, of course. You would be much better for her than that Luthor Morrissey was."

Peter shook his head. He guessed the dog park was it's own kind of small town.

"It's okay," she said brightly, "we approve."

Peter decided enough was enough. What was the phrase, "Beard a lion in its den?" He wondered if it were possible to beard a lioness. Did they have beards?

Lia knelt on the floor to inspect a mold when she heard a rap. Peter looked in through her open studio door.

"Can I come see?"

Lia was annoyed at the little trill of pleasure she felt when she heard his voice. "Yeah, sure."

"How are you doing?"

Lia shrugged. "As well as can be expected, I guess. Good days and bad days."

Peter got a mental image of pulling teeth from a lioness. Perseverance was needed, he decided. "How goes the project?"

"It's coming along. We've got one more set of pavers to do, then while those are curing, we'll do the bench."

"I didn't know you were going to make a bench, too."

"Madam must have a proper bench from which to peruse her very expensive koi and achieve Nirvana. Lucky for us, it adds another eighteen hundred dollars to the price tag."

"So what are you doing now?"

"Getting ready to un-mold these puppies."

"What keeps the molds from sticking?" Peter asked.

"They have fancy mold release sprays. I find a liberal coat of vegetable oil does just fine." She carefully lifted the square of styrofoam from around the finished paver, set it aside, then turned the stepping stone over and peeled off the contact paper. Brilliantly colored bits of tile stared back at Peter.

"That's amazing."

"Thank you."

"Hard to believe that's busted up tile and concrete. What happens next?"

"Today I inspect the surface, clean off any stray bits of concrete, run a file around the top edge. Then they get stacked in that corner where they get soaked down and covered with plastic to hold the water in." She gestured to the amorphous, plastic draped pile behind her.

"Why do you keep them wet?"

"The longer you keep it wet, the stronger concrete becomes. It's a chemical reaction"

"I didn't know that."

Lia carried the paver over to her work table and set it down. Peter noticed she had set up a six foot folding table alongside it.

"Can I help?"

"Sure, I'll pop the molds, you set the pavers on the tables."

They worked silently with a pleasant, satisfying rhythm. Peter noted that it was an easy silence. He chose not to break it until both tables were full of concrete circles. "I haven't seen you at the park lately."

Lia gestured at the loaded tables. "I've been on Dawn Patrol at the park. I have to get in here and get cracking early. Mistress Catherine is a demanding taskmaster."

He looked directly into her jade eyes. "Is that the only reason?"

She looked away, bit her lip. "I've been wanting to let things settle a bit. Your last bombshell was a lot to take in"

"I'm sorry for that."

"You're just the messenger. It's not like
you
shot him."

"I can still be sorry."

"Thanks. I've been racking my brains and I still can't make sense of it. I still can't believe I never realized what Luthor was up to. I thought he was spending all that time writing. No wonder the book never went anywhere."

Peter considered what else Luthor had been up to that Lia still didn't know about. He couldn't tell her since Catherine had a right to privacy. But if he could, he wouldn't. He didn't think Lia was self-destructive enough to take a hammer to all Catherine's pavers, but it would not improve working relations. He imagined her embedding spikes into the bench.

She looked at him with a wry twist to her mouth. "I feel so guilty. I feel relieved that Luthor is out of my life but it was awful the way it happened and I feel guilty that I'm not grieving more." She took a deep breath. "And then I'm angry that he was pulling all this behind my back and I want to kill him. And then I realize that I can't because he's already dead. And then I feel guilty again."

"Sounds confusing."

"It is. I don't know if it's good that I have this huge, repetitive project that I can do while I'm not thinking clearly, or if it's a bad thing because it gives me too much time to obsess about it."

"It'll sort itself out."

"I hope so. So how is the investigation going?"

"I think I'm supposed to say, 'We are pursuing all leads.'"

"Are there leads?"

"Not really. We have questions, but nothing that places anyone in the park at 2:00 in the morning. Forensics hasn't turned up anything on Luthor, his car or the gun. Anything they picked up in the lot is useless because I'm convinced Luthor's murderer was a park regular, so their trace could be anywhere and we couldn't say when they left it."

"I just can't get over that. I keep looking at people, wondering who it could be, and I can't imagine anyone I know killing someone."

"Just about anyone will kill someone under the right conditions. Sometimes it's a matter of figuring out their conditions."

"Well, self-defense, sure, if someone's got their hands around your neck. But to plan something out like this? And be able to pull the trigger? That's cold. It's inhuman and evil."

"What about self-defense of a different sort? What if Luthor threatened someone's security or position in some way?"

"How could he possibly do that?"

"I know this is hard, but what if we haven't uncovered all of his girlfriends? What if one was married?" Peter couldn't reveal his interview with Catherine, but he could put a bug in her ear.

"Luthor in an affair with a married woman at the park? The only person I can think of would be Catherine, and she has children older than Luthor."

"Did you and Luthor always go at the same time? Is it possible he knew people there that you don't know?"

"It's unlikely. Some of my friends go at different times and they would have mentioned if they'd seen Luthor. But you've been up there. It's dirty and muddy and people wear their grungiest clothes, and they're walking around, picking up poop. It's not exactly conducive to steamy affairs."

"I thought there had been some marriages between people who met up there."

Lia searched her mind for how to explain. "You see the same people all the time, and the crowd isn't big enough to easily avoid someone. When two people are on the outs, everyone knows it. When people hang together, everyone knows it. If Luthor was friendly with someone he met up there and then, say he dumped her or he was going to create a problem for her, everybody would notice. Like they've all noticed Catherine doesn't like you for some reason. She likes all men, so how is it she doesn't like you? Did she make a pass at you? You turn her down?"

Lia had just made a flying leap and landed too close for comfort. "You'd have to ask her. Anna suggested I'm not paying her proper attention and beyond that, my investigation is spreading bad energy all over her pavers. Rumor is, I'm the reason you're in and out at dawn these days, though Jim says it's because you're so busy with your pavers."

"Goodness, you've certainly found your way into the grapevine." She sighed. "Mostly, it's the project. Part of it's you because every time we talk it seem things get weirder. Part of it's them. I'm having a hard time dealing with the idea that one of them killed someone and could even be a serial killer. With that, and everything you've told me about Luthor, I'm wondering about my own judgment. I don't know what to think. It's easier just to come here and arrange tile scraps."

"I guess I can't blame you. I'm really sorry about all this. I wish we could find your cell phone, that would clarify things. It hasn't turned up?"

"I guess I can't blame you. I'm really sorry about all this. I wish we could find your cell phone, that would clarify things. It hasn't turned up?"

"No, I would have called you. I need to get a new one, I haven't gotten around to it yet."

"Lia, I know this isn't easy." She snorted at the understatement. Despite the scoffing sound effect, Peter saw her eyes glisten. She looked up at him helplessly as silent tears began to trail down both cheeks. Peter felt that part of him, the professional distance he facetiously called his "inner Jack Webb," crumble into dust. He tentatively reached out and gently stroked her cheek. Lia turned on her stool and leaned into his chest, sobbing in earnest. He stood there while she wrapped her arms around him.

He stroked her hair while she buried her face in his shirt, soaking it with tears. They stayed like that for several minutes. Then her grip on him lightened, and he felt her tug his shirt out of his jeans, slide her hands beneath it. Her cheek rubbed back and forth across his shirt. He reached behind his back to twine his hands with hers and pull them between him and her. He hooked another stool with his foot and dragged it over, sitting so that he could look in her eyes. They were bright, fluid, and woeful.

"This is quickly becoming improper."

"Don't care." Lia's tone was heartbreaking and petulant.

"I do. I'm afraid you'll abuse me and cast me aside." He realized his thumbs were chafing her palms.

She sighed. "Did you ever feel so intensely that it was hard to live in your skin? Like you were about to come out of it?"

"Is that how you feel right now?"

"I can't stand it. I can't stand thinking about any of this anymore. Will you please shut the door?"

"Are you sure?"

"Throw the latch."

Peter paused to consider. The timing was awful. He was on duty. They were in her studio, someone could interrupt. These thoughts flitted ineffectually against his brain like moths outside a lit window. He watched, as if outside himself, as he latched the door and walked back to where Lia still sat on her stool. She picked up his shirt and lay her cheek against his taut abdomen, then kissed it, tracking across his firm flesh. He pulled the tie off her ponytail and buried his hands in her hair. They stayed like that for a long moment, absorbing the feel of flesh on flesh. He drew her up and kissed her, softly, on her brow, her cheeks, the corners of her mouth, the spot on her neck just below her ear. His hands stroked her back, kneading her flesh, crushing her against him. She opened her lips and he captured them, teasing the inside of her mouth with his tongue while she reeled and her knees weakened. She pulled away and gestured to a pile of blankets in the corner. She wordlessly pulled off her shirt, exposing pert, rosy-tipped breasts.

Lia lay with her head against Peter's chest. It was a long, lean chest with a flurry of dark hair arrowing down past his navel. She traced one finger up and down it, combed her fingers through the curls. Her right leg was thrown across his thighs. "Thank you."

He kissed the top of her head. "For what?"

"For going with the moment."

"It was some moment."

"It was a very nice moment," Lia agreed.

"Are you hungry? I'm starving."

"After that, I could eat a horse."

"Don't let my friends in the Mounted Police hear you say that."

"Chinese or pizza?"

"Those are my only choices?"

"Those are the only choices that deliver. I don't want to go out into the world just yet."

"Me neither. Are you going to let me romance you?"

"Please?"

"Okay, since you asked so nice."

She gave him a mild thump on his biceps with her fist. "You know what I meant."

"The Kentucky in me couldn't resist. Cincinnati is the only city in the world that has to say 'please' instead of 'pardon me.' Who made that up, anyway?"

"Not sure. Probably Cincinnatus."

"Couldn't have been him, he never lived here."

"So now you're going to split hairs."

"Seriously, can I call you on the phone and maybe take you to dinner or is this just a 'thanks for being here, but let's pretend it didn't happen' kind of thing?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"If this is a one-time event, if you're just going to use me and throw me away, I want Chinese and you're buying."

"We're getting pizza. We'll go dutch."