A Shot in the Bark (A Dog Park Mystery) (7 page)

"Next season? Oh, that
won't
do. Maybe I should just put in a nice gazebo instead."

Bailey's eyes bulged. Her expression was a mixture of incredulity and outrage.

"Gazebos are so nice," Lia said, "especially the one your friend Yvonne has."

The reminder that a gazebo would not be unique in her set was enough to bring Catherine back onboard. Lia was all smiles as she escorted Catherine out the door with her copy of the contract. Once the door was closed, she slumped against it and let her mask slip.

Bailey shook her head. "Rich people."

"Jose has done some other work for her. He refers to her as the Princess from Jupiter."

"Sounds about right. But she'll have her 'perfect oasis of perfect calm,' as she calls it."

"She'll have hers, what about ours?" Lia asked.

"Mmm. What would that entail?"

"You tell me."

"Perhaps a nice little oak grove anointed with blood sacrifice? Catherine's, perhaps?"

Lia laughed. Then suddenly, tears began to trail down her face. "Shit, Bailey, I can't help thinking how much Luthor would have appreciated that."

"It's okay. You're pushing yourself too hard, maybe? No one expects you to be 100%, even if you did break up with him."

Twenty-five thousand dollars. That's what the stacks of hundreds tallied up to. The sight of the neat bundles was the last thing Peter expected when he opened the metal box in Morrisey's apartment. Apparently nobody else expected it to be there, since it had been several days since Morrisey died and the box was still there. Money usually meant drugs, but Morrisey's apartment lacked the usual signs of dealing or drug use. Blackmail? Since Morrisey was taking shape as a first class sleaze, Peter didn't doubt his scruples would've bent to allow for taking money for silence. It might explain why he was unconcerned about finishing his book or earning more money. And it provided an excellent motive for murder.

Someone had been smart. Since it was all cash, it couldn't be traced. While the existence of the money tantalized, for now it led nowhere. He'd have to file that away until they had someone in their sights. Twenty-five thousand missing from someone's bank account would be a nice nail in someone's coffin, but he'd have to get close enough to pull their bank records.

He remained convinced that the dog park was involved, but those were working and middle class people. Who up there would be dealing in that kind of cash? Suddenly he remembered his Sunday morning encounter with the histrionic society matron and her two fluff-ball dogs. What were they called? Pekinese? No, Pomeranians. She was old enough to be Morrisey's mother. What could he possibly have had on her?

He shook his head. Speculation, Dourson, pure speculation. Just as likely he was being paid by Lia's NRA buddy to run guns. Or maybe he was a killer for hire. Nah. Morrisey didn't have the stones to pull that off.

He looked around the dumpy, one-bedroom apartment furnished in College Bohemian. The hodgepodge of furniture looked to have varied antecedents, chosen for comfort and probably passed on by friends who were upgrading. He bet the Lazy Boy came from a guy whose new wife made disposal of the chair a condition of the wedding. He smiled at the thought of a pre-nuptial agreement that stated, "marriage shall be considered null and void if said recliner inhabits marital premises as of 12:01 a.m. on wedding date."

He opened Morrisey's closet. Here was where Morrisey spent his money. He may not have cared where he lived, but he cared how he looked. The array of jewel-toned shirts in high-quality fabrics reminded Peter of a peacock. Lizard skin boots kept company with Italian loafers. It seemed a bit rich for Morrisey's blood, but maybe not for the guy with 25K stashed under his Lazy Boy.

"Ho, Lia, isn't that your young man trodding the path to our little heaven?" Terry gestured towards the access road.

Bailey's bemused expression suggested she had yet to get the hang of Terry's flowery vocabulary.

"My young man?" Lia asked dubiously

"Ah, yes, our stalwart officer of the law and his newly acquired canine companion. I'd take the lovely Viola, but then the poor lad would have no excuse to bump into our resident artist."

Lia rolled her eyes. "Have you been talking to Anna? Why don't you two go back to passing notes in math class?"

"Oh, but this
is
math class. And one plus one equals?"

Lia smiled sweetly and handed him two plastic grocery bags. "One plus one equals Jackson and Napa crouching on the other side of that picnic table as we speak. Time for latrine duty, Teddy."

Terry headed for his relieving dogs.

"Teddy?" Bailey asked. "I thought he was Terry."

"Lia's little joke," Anna responded. "She says with little round glasses he'd be a dead ringer for Teddy Roosevelt."

Bailey squinted at the sturdy figure bending over to retrieve Jackson's daily present. "Maybe, I've never seen a picture of Roosevelt from this angle."

Jim chuckled. Viola bounded up and playfully body slammed Honey. Honey took off after her. Chewy started barking. Fleece, as usual, ignored everyone.

"Okay, Little Big Mouth, enough," Lia stated firmly.

Peter walked up. "Little Big Mouth?"

"Chewbacca. It's what I call him when he annoys me."

"I thought he was Chewy?"

"His full name is Chewbacca Wonder Pup, Master of Confusion."

Peter raised his eyebrows.

"His name was supposed to be Chewy," Lia responded to the unasked question. "Marie breeds Schnauzers and she informed me that Schnauzers have too much dignity for such a silly name." She patted her thigh, rubbing Chewy's ears when he propped his front paws on her legs. "She hadn't met you yet, had she, Little Man? Anyway, I gave him a name full of consequence."

"And is Honey just Honey?"

"Oh, I couldn't elevate Chewy and leave her behind. She's Honey Bunny Sunny-Side Up."

"Huh," was Peter's only response.

"Why Detective Dourson!" Catherine announced herself as she moved in next to him. "What brings you to our tiny corner of Cincinnati?"

"Dog's gotta run." He shrugged and used the gesture to dislodge Catherine's hand from his biceps.

"So you're not here to ah -
investigate
anyone?" Her emphasis on 'investigate' held prurient notes.

Bailey cleared her throat to stifle a laugh. Anna nudged her and Bailey nudged back.

"Should I be investigating anyone?"

"We're all as innocent as lambs and doves, Detective. I don't think you'll find any guilty consciences here," Catherine announced loftily.

"Oh, I don't know," mourned Anna. "I have to confess to murdering a hot fudge sundae last night.

"Really," said Peter gravely. "And did that murder include cannibalism?"

"Why Detective Peter, you found me out! But you can't prove a thing."

"No?"

"I ate the evidence."

Terry, having rejoined the group, guffawed. "Well turned, my lady! You definitely have more than half a wit!"

Catherine turned to Jim. "Walk with me." Jim followed her obediently, Caesar and Cleo trotting alongside.

"Was it something I said?" Peter asked.

"Oh, Detective Peter," purred Anna, "You committed the gravest of sins."

"Oh?"

"You paid attention to someone else. Terry, I see Jackson and CarGo are paying too close attention to that sweet little lab. We'd better go make sure Louise didn't bring her to the park in heat again."

Bailey pulled Kita's leash out of her back pocket. "I'm going to take Kita for a walk in the woods before I go. I'll call you later about starting Catherine's pavers. Come, Kita!"

"Well, Detective, come have a seat. Lia perched on top of a picnic table in the shade of a towering Hackberry tree. Viola raced back and jumped up next to her, presenting her winsome 'scratch my ears, please' smile.

Peter joined her on the table top. "Dogs sure seem to like you."

Lia obliged Viola. Viola turned her head to make sure Lia got the good spots. "I like them back. Viola and I are great buddies. I wish I could take her but I know my limits."

"She's okay with me for now." Honey, jealous of the attention Viola was getting, shoved her head under Peter's hand. He gave her an absent pat. He sighed. "I promised myself I wouldn't talk business, but I do have a burning question for you. Do you mind?"

"Shoot, Detective."

"Where would Luthor get a large amount of money?"

"Luthor? He didn't have any money. He talked a good game about taking me to Baja after he made a million on his book, but that was all talk."

"What if it wasn't?"

"What are you saying,?"

"I found a significant amount of cash in his apartment."

Lia's look sharpened and her voice steeled. "
How
significant?"

"Twenty-five thousand dollars."

The look of amazement on Lia's face confirmed to Peter that she knew nothing. He could see her trying to process this news. "Are you sure it was his money? I've never known him to have any."

"Whose would it have been?"

Lia frowned. "One of his buddies? It wouldn't surprise me if one of those guys was into something shady."

"What makes you say that?"

"Sometimes Luthor would say things that suggested his values were . . . ." She searched for a word, "flexible. He liked the idea of a big score. And I think he enjoyed being on the edge, where his drinking buddies were concerned. He called it research. I called it living vicariously. I could see him falling into some scheme. I don't know, I'm not sure what I'm talking about. Him having money when he was always crying poor stuns me, but on another level, it doesn't surprise me at all. Does that make any sense?"

"Huh."

"Detective, the more I talk to you, the more I wonder where my brain was when I got together with Luthor."

Peter decided a neutral response was the better part of valor. "I'm sorry to upset you."

"Don't apologize. I don't know where the money came from, but in a weird way, it makes me feel less guilty over his death."

Peter thought of other things he could tell her that might remove all her guilt. Seeing her reaction to the news that Luthor had other girlfriends would be informative. But that would violate confidentiality.

"Lia, look at me." He lifted her chin with his index finger.

Her gaze was quizzical.

"The only guilty person is the one who pulled the trigger."

"You don't think breaking up with him was its own kind of trigger?" She asked softly.

"I don't know exactly what happened with your boyfriend, but the money suggests that there was more going on with him than a break-up. I'm just not sure what."

"Will you find out?"

"I don't know. I'll do my best."

"This is a lot to take in. Do you mind if we don't talk about it anymore?"

"Sure, if I can ask just one more question."

"What do you want to ask?"

"Was Luthor left or right handed?"

"Left. Why would you want to know that?" Her confusion had Peter mentally heaving a sigh of relief. If she'd known that, she couldn't have shot Luthor because she wouldn't have made the mistake of shooting him in the right temple.

"Just filling out the profile. No big deal," he lied.

"I'm going to go throw balls for Honey. You can join me if you like. I don't feel much like talking, but if you're with me the others will stay away."

"Why is that?"

"Just their bizarre sense of humor."

She led him to an open space with a gentle downhill slope and pulled her flinger and a couple of tennis balls out of her tote. Honey bowed and barked in anticipation. Chewy returned from reconnoitering. Viola went on alert. Lia relaxed with the mindless activity. Peter sat and watched her, her fluid movements, her unguarded affection for the dogs. It was rare that he had such uncomplicated pleasure while working. Thirty minutes later she left for her studio.

Jose had left, but Terry was still there. It didn't take much for Peter to engage Terry in gun talk. He waxed poetic about his favorite rifle, what he called his "Sarah Palin Special." He expressed his preference for the Walther PPK as a personal protection weapon, and debated the merits of revolvers versus pistols for police work. When Terry was well warmed to his topic, Peter asked him who else around was a gun enthusiast.

"Aw, these guys are amateurs." He named a few names. "Jose has a concealed carry permit because he's up here before daylight lots of days."

"Why so early?"

"He's one of the few morning people who works day shift. He often needs to be done and gone before eight."

"Is it that dangerous here that he would need a gun?"

"Well, at one time, the men's room was a big gay pickup spot. We cynics think they put the dog park here to run them out, but we still occasionally get the odd hopeful. Then there was a rumor a few years back, that someone was using the corral at nights to fight pit bulls. I doubt you'll run into either at 5:30 a.m., but I guess you never know."

"You seem to know a lot about what goes on up here."

"About as much as anyone."

"We still have some things we're trying to clear up about Morrisey."

"Luthor? What about him?"

"We're still trying to figure out what he was doing with a gun. His mother swears he avoided them. Did he ever talk with you about guns?"

"Certainly."

Peter perked up.

"Tell me about this. What was the nature of those conversations."

"Conversation. Singular. He wanted to discuss a murder weapon for his book, so I reviewed the differences between pistols and revolvers, and Barettas versus Glocks and the impact of a .22 round versus a 9 millimeter on the human body, and how caliber size affects exit wounds. He got a bit green at that last part. I think that's when he came up with his 'double from another dimension scenario,' so he could just make it up as he went along."

"So where does a guy like that get a gun?"