A Shot in the Bark (A Dog Park Mystery) (2 page)

Luthor Morrisey was a handsome man, blond and tall. His hair was deliberately unkempt, and his clothes, while expensive, were unpressed and tossed on. 19th Century Romanticism overlaid with a patina of 21st Century Artist Grunge. Lia reckoned he'd coasted on his looks and self-serving artistic sensitivity for too long, that and his advance guard, Viola, a lovable but occasionally schitzy Border Collie mix whose silky fur drew admirers. In an act of compassion that Lia suspected slayed the hearts of many women before her, Luthor had spotted the traumatized puppy in a February ice storm and spent over an hour coaxing it to warmth and safety. But animal rescue only gets you so far. She mused, "I'll miss the dog."

"Lia!" Luthor yelled, waving a long arm over head.

"As if I didn't figure out he was here when the car was a mile away," she muttered.

"Now, Lia, have pity. He doesn't know what's coming."

"No, he doesn't have a clue. That's the problem." Lia mustered a limp half-smile (or was it a grimace?) and went to meet him with dread in her heart.

Anna watched as Lia ignored Luthor's outstretched arms and perched on a table. Her crossed arms confused Viola, who expected hugs. Lia's defensive posture must have sunk in, Anna noted, as Luthor's stance suddenly became aggressive. Anna continued to watch the performance as Luthor's voice became audible over the distance and elevated in pitch. She could almost, but not quite, understand what he was saying.

"Third time a charm?" a familiar voice asked.

Anna turned to look at Jim. The retired engineer was a short man with kind eyes and a shaggy beard. Anna thought, not for the first time, how much he resembled Treebeard, the ancient ent in
Lord of the Rings
. "I hope so, the other breakups didn't stick. I hope this one does. This is wearing her down."

"Is she going to be okay?"

"Sooner or later. Lia's resilient. But I'd so hoped he would make her happy." Anna craned her neck further. "What happened to your girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend? Catherine? She just needed some advice. She's not my girlfriend. Fleece is the only woman in my life." Jim referred to his beloved Border Collie, who was currently attempting to herd a pair of Lab pups.

"You're too kind, Jim." Or too blind, she privately thought.

A tall redhead with chin-length hair joined them. Bailey had the kind of figure that photographed well because she was always fifteen pounds underweight. In real life, she came off as gawky. She had an open face with mildly popped eyes, and a nose that an unkind person might call 'beaky.' She had a hesitant smile, with the left side quirking up while the right remained undecided. "So do you think this will be the end?" Bailey gestured to the discordant pair with a long, graceful hand that should have been pouring tea or playing piano. Ironically, her fingers were always callused and nicked from her job as a self-employed gardener.

"I hope so," Anna responded, "but I don't think he'll let her go easily and she's already stressing over that garden you two are building for Catherine. I'm so angry at Luthor, he should be supporting her so she can do her work, not expecting her to nursemaid him while he pretends to be a writer."

"Support her?" Bailey looked amused. "He can't even put gas in his car."

"Not that. She does okay by herself. I meant cook her dinner, rub her feet instead of expecting her to rub his all the time. He's not the one standing on a concrete floor all day painting. Why is it men always think their needs are more important, Jim?"

"Anna, you know I'm not going to touch that." Jim looked at her sideways and put up both palms in a universal request for peace.

The sound of a car door slamming brought them back to the drama at hand. Squealing tires announced Luthor's departure.

"I don't think he can afford to lose any rubber," Jim said dryly. "He could blow out a tire going down Montana Avenue."

"Don't say that!" Bailey interjected, "If he dies on that hill, she'll feel guilty and paint his picture forever. If he lives, she'll still feel guilty, she'll be rubbing his feet in the hospital, and she'll still paint his picture forever. Either way, it'll destroy her career because who wants to buy a hundred paintings of Luthor? We'll never finish Catherine's garden. I won't get paid and I'll wind up starving."

Lia couldn't say she was up early because she'd never been to bed. Luthor's recriminations and endless phone calls echoed in her head all night. Weary, she'd unplugged the phone at 1:00 a.m. At 1:30 she'd taken a long, hot soak in Epsom Salts, her favored cure for insomnia. It hadn't worked.

Luthor probably started leaving nasty messages on her cell phone at exactly 1:05 a.m., but as usual she didn't know where her cell was. She hated the damn thing and only kept it because there was no phone at the studio. That's where it probably was.

She hoped her phone wasn't over by the south wall. She thought of Jason, an illegal loft-liver on the other side of that wall. Better buy him a twelve-pack. Make it imported. I bet the ringing has been driving him crazy. If I'm lucky, the battery's dead. She pictured Jason, enraged by the noise, punching a hole in the dry wall to retrieve her phone and fling it out a window. She winced. At least then I wouldn't have to listen to the messages. How many were there? One three hour rant? A hundred one-word nuisance calls? How quickly can you call and leave a message? Two minutes? At two minutes a message and three hours, ninety messages? What are the limits on the in-box? She hoped for Jason's sake it was one very long message, or that the battery was dead. How long would it take to delete ninety messages?

Tired of her head spinning, Lia pulled on sweats and grabbed her keys. The soft jingle had Chewy and Honey beating her to the door. "You guys don't miss a trick, do you? Up for some pre-dawn prowling?" She snapped leashes to their collars. "Shall we walk this time? It's only a mile-and-a-half, what do you think?"

Lia learned to appreciate baker's hours years ago when an outdoor mural had her working in the pre-dawn dark so she could project her design on the wall. Her friends were horrified, convinced her body would turn up months later in Mill Creek. But Lia loved how quiet the world was at 4:00 a.m. Inside at 4:00 a.m., your brain would be in over-drive. The world outside was silent at 4:00 a.m. You never realized how noisy houses were until you went outside in the dead of night. The quiet calmed her mind. Outside was peace. No pain, no drama, and she could let everything go.

Lia hit her stride. Not a power walk, but quick and steady through the darkness. She watched her shadow change direction and shape as she passed under street lights. The rhythmic motion eased her. Honey and Chewy trotted obediently beside her. Her head started to clear and she began to relax. This is the ticket. One and a half miles to the park, let the dogs run around a bit, back home, fry up some potatoes and eggs. It's Sunday, no need to plug the phone in. Play some Mozart. Do the crossword. Don't think. Go back to bed. Yes.

She turned down Westwood Northern Boulevard, jogging down the hill for the last half-mile. Honey and Chewy barked happily. "Shush!" she admonished, laughing as the last of the tension poured out.

She slowed to a walk as she turned into the parking lot. She was looking forward to sitting on a table, looking up at the sky and watching the stars until the rising sun blinked them out. Then she saw the dark hulk at the far end. The familiar silhouette had her grinding her teeth. What was Luthor doing here? He couldn't have known she was coming this early, could he? Or had he been parked outside her apartment and seen her leave? Was he stalking her? But surely she would have heard him. She would have heard his muffler, anyway.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Damn. Her mental cussing became a litany as she angrily strode towards the car. Then she thought better and turned towards the utility road leading up to the entrance corral. For whatever reason, Luthor had not gotten out of his car. She didn't want to be freaking out in the parking lot, upsetting the dogs so close to the street.

So she climbed the hill, passed through the fenced corral, and released Honey and Chewy. She pulled a rag out of her pocket and wiped the dew from a spot on her favorite table top and clambered up. She sat facing the parking lot, no longer thinking about stars or sunrise. The car was still. Surely he'd heard the dogs barking? Maybe he'd passed out drunk. Maybe he just came so he could sit there and snub her. Like how would she ever know she was being snubbed if she couldn't see him doing it.

The minutes passed. Honey and Chewy whuffed softly as they made their nocturnal investigations. False dawn appeared over the ridge. Shit. The litany began again, tired now. Shit. Shit. Shit. Damn. She couldn't put it off any longer. Her brief spell of serenity was broken and beyond repair. Trudging back down the hill, she wondered what she could possibly say to Luthor that she hadn't already said.

By the time she hit the parking lot, she was pissed. Was he going to spoil her favorite place for her now? Were they going to have to divvy it up, take different shifts, different quadrants, different friends? If they did that would he respect it and leave her be? Somehow she doubted it.

"Luthor!" His name was a sharp retort in the darkness, like a pistol shot. "What the hell are you doing? Why can't you just give me some space?"

The Corolla remained silent. Was he in the car at all? Had she been fuming for nothing? Maybe he drove it here last night and it broke down. Or was he passed out? He didn't normally drink alone, but he might have made an exception.

She neared the passenger side and spied a dark form leaning back in the driver's seat. Damn. Looks like Door Number Two. She wrenched the door open and the absence of alcohol fumes hit her the same time the overhead light did.

Lia huddled on the picnic table. In the telepathic way of all dogs, Honey and Chewy sensed her distress and had her sandwiched between them. Radios crackled in the distance. Yellow tape fluttered as police set up a perimeter.

Jim handed her a cup of coffee and she cradled it between her palms, leached warmth into skin chilled by horror. It was Jim who found her at daybreak, hugging the dogs, rocking in shock, Jim who called District Five, and Jim who sent Anna for coffee at the closest UDF.

She looked at him, pleading. She had a stray thought, that his compassionate face belonged on a religious icon. Something Italian, from one of the Catholic sects that embraced poverty. He could have been a Franciscan monk. Maybe Saint Francis himself.

"Lia, you're not responsible. It was his choice. And it was his choice to do it where you might find him. He knew you're often first up here in the morning. I'm sorry it happened, but that was wrong of him. It was hateful to put you through this."

Tears started to seep out of Lia's eyes. Anna leaned over and wrapped an arm around her. "I'm so sorry, Sweetie, it shouldn't have happened. Not like this."

Lia took a sip of coffee. "Hazelnut. You knew to get hazelnut creamer for me." Her mouth quirked sadly.

"Of course," Anna responded kindly.

"What do you mean I can't come in?" The strident voice drifted up from the parking lot. "I have to come in. Those are my friends!"

Lia looked towards the police barrier and groaned.

"I'm sure Catherine is worried about you," Jim said.

"Hush," Anna snapped. "Maybe somewhere in her tiny little heart she's thinking about Lia, but that won't stop her from making this all about her. She's already well on her way."

"Now, Anna, that's uncalled for," Jim responded.

"Stop it!"

The guilty pair looked at Lia, taken aback by her outburst.

"I can't take the bickering," she pleaded.

"We're sorry, Lia," Anna responded. "We won't do it anymore. Looks like the police are taking care of Catherine for you." They watched as Catherine's Lexus turned around and pulled out. A lone figure worked its way up the access road and through the corral, approaching their table.

"No uniform," Jim observed. "Must be a detective."

He was tall, maybe 6'2." Lean, with an easy stride. Longish, dark hair. A pleasant face with slightly droopy eyes. Like Paul McCartney. Puppy dog eyes that might turn into Basset Hound eyes in old age, though Sir Paul wasn't looking too shabby these days. His golf shirt and khaki slacks reminded Lia she was still in her sweats. And very shortly, the heat was going to turn on like flipping a switch.

"Hi. You found the body?" The inquiry was soft, as if he was afraid of startling her.

Lia nodded dumbly as she stared at the ground, having a sudden flash of Michael Douglas gently coaxing Kathleen Turner out from under a bus in a Central American jungle. What was that film? Something about a stone?

"Lia Anderson, is it?"

Another mute nod.

"We had to send your friend away. I hope that doesn't upset you."

Lia's mouth quirked, a sign of life. His calm tone steadied her. She took a deep breath and shook her head, still looking down. "It's alright. Are you a detective? Jim said you must be a detective."

"Yes, Detective Dourson. Peter Dourson."

"Detective, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, go ahead."

"How long will I be stuck here?"

"We're not sure at this point. Is there somewhere you have to be?"

"No, but this is strange, you know?"

"I know. We need to ask you some questions. We've been waiting for the Victim Advocate to show up."

"It's okay, we don't need to wait. I've got Jim and Anna."

"Are you sure? Do you have someone to be with you when you leave here?"

"I can take her home, Detective. I'll look after her." Anna brushed a strand of hair out of Lia's face. "She won't be alone."

"All right then. Jim and Anna. You would be Jim McDonald? You called this in?"

"Yep. This is Anna Lawrence. She got here right after I did."

"And what time was that?"