A Shot in the Bark (A Dog Park Mystery) (9 page)

Universally disliked as she was, I saw distress but not grief at work. Our new supervisor lacked her flash and drive. He also lacked her temper and demands. Though I did not find him engaging, he was workable and not out to prove anything. I was not the only person who appreciated his willingness to trust in staff competence and the lack of eleventh hour revisions.

It was ruled an accidental death. All evidence suggested she was alone when she died and no one looked any further.

Lia was saddened but not destroyed by Luthor's death. She would converse, even laugh at a joke. But then she would go flat. Would grief cause her to dive into her work or leave her enervated and listless? She had a project to finish, a gorgeous serenity garden. If Luthor's death had a negative impact on her work, would it be any worse than the negative impact he was having while he was alive?

Peter felt like a heel. The birds were chirping, the early morning temperature was pleasant. Viola was enthusiastically tugging her lead as they passed through the gate to the park. And her foster-dad was using her to have a reason to spend time here so he could figure out what was going on with the morning crowd. He was using Viola to get closer to everyone, but especially to Lia. If there had not been a murder, he'd be using Viola to get closer to Lia anyway. Because there was a case, he was keeping secrets from her. Everyone who hung out at this patch of the forest was to some extent a person of interest and he had to be careful.

The motive had him stymied. It could be a jealous lover, but Luthor struck him as a man who believed in self-preservation. So far his investigation revealed a man who kept his women apart. Peter was sure Morrisey's killer had a connection to the park. Since Lia was here daily, he couldn't imagine Morrisey inviting trouble by allowing one of his girlfriends to cross paths with Lia, especially not here.

It could be the money. If only he could figure out where it came from and what it was for. Or the money could have nothing to do with it. It could be a big, fat, sexy red herring. The initial search had missed it. Could someone have planted it later to distract him? Who would have 25K to throw away like that? And how would they know he'd find it?

The four big motives for murder were money, sex, revenge, and power. Occasionally someone killed to protect their ass, but it hadn't happened on his watch. Sex or money seemed the likely motive for offing Morrisey. Maybe a CYA if the money was for blackmail. He wouldn't count revenge out, though it was last on his list. Morrisey seemed the kind of guy who avoided trouble. He might indulge in a little discrete blackmail if the victim were unlikely to retaliate. He was not a guy who tugged on Superman's cape.

Peter's musings were interrupted by a golden body slam. Honey careened off his legs as Viola chased her around him, wrapping his legs with her leash. Peter, still reeling from the hit, toppled. He looked up to see Lia's jade eyes laughing down at him, her hand extended to help him up. He took her hand, not for the assist, but for the opportunity to touch her. Her hand was long and graceful, strong and soft. He felt a jolt when they connected. Her eyes briefly flashed wariness, and he wondered if she had felt the connection as well.

"And that, Detective, is why we remove leashes inside the corral before we enter the park."

"Oh, is that the reason?"

"One of them."

"Will the others prevent me from landing on my ass?"

"They might."

"Then enlighten me. Please." He gave her a pathetic look.

"Okay." She thought for a moment. "You see the corral?"

"Yeah, I got the whole leash-corral connection."

"This is something just as important."

"Do tell."

"A corral has a gate. A gate is a portal."

"Okay," Peter replied, unsure where she was going.

"Dogs guard their space. When they are inside the park, the park becomes their space and the gate is like the front door."

"And?"

"What does a dog do when a stranger comes to the door?"

"They, umm, bark?"

"Yes, and sometimes they get aggressive."

"So dogs in the park guard the gate?"

"Sometimes they do, if they are near it. So it's best to take your dog away from the gate after you enter the park, and don't let them guard. You don't have to worry about Viola with that. But . . ."

"But?"

"If you're inside the corral, and dogs inside the park start guarding, there's a chance a fight might break out."

Peter's expression became intent. "So what can you do?"

"If a strange dog is guarding the gate and they are acting aggressively, snarling and growling, call their owner over and ask them to remove their dog from the gate. You have an advantage, you can always flip your badge out if you need to."

"That wouldn't constitute an abuse of power?"

"I'd say letting your dog be a bully is an abuse of power. You're just calling them on it."

"Okay, I can buy that. What else?"

"Don't ever bring food or treats into the park. Some dogs are food aggressive, so it can start a fight."

"Makes sense."

"Don't ever put loose treats in your pocket. I think Viola has outgrown chewing the pockets out of pants, but even if she has, your pants will always smell like treats and you're likely to get pestered. So any time you carry treats, keep them in a baggie. Of course, if you're recruiting drug dogs, that would be a way to sniff out the talent."

"Pun intended?"

"Of course. One big thing. Dogs are pack animals and they have to either lead or follow, so if you don't lead, they will decide it's their job, and they'll start behaving badly."

"How do you do that, besides with a leash?"

Lia pondered for a moment, "It's more about being consistent. Only have a few rules, but make them rules you can and will enforce every time. You can't neglect it even once. You let it go and they know it's not really a rule and they don't have to do it."

"Sounds harsh."

"Nah. It just simplifies things. I'm not saying boss her around all the time. Set basic routines around walks and meal times, and when they know what to expect, they'll start doing it automatically."

"And if I don't?"

"Say somebody is harping on you to lend them money. If you've never loaned them money, they'll give up pretty quickly. If you used to lend them money and now you're saying no, it's harder to get them to go away, right?"

"True."

"Now supposed you spend fifteen minutes saying 'no' and then they wear you down and you say, 'Well, okay, but this is the last time.'"

"Okay."

"So what happens next time?"

Peter scrunched his eyebrows and thought. "He's not going to believe me when I say no."

"Exactly!" Lia flashed a broad smile at his astute response. "Viola has a couple routines she knows, so it should be easy to get her back into a groove. But once you start with her you can't blow it off."

"So what are they?"

"When it's time to go for a walk, have her sit before you clip on her leash. And when you are done, make her sit to unclip." Lia lifted her hand, palm up, and Viola plopped on her butt. "Okay." Viola popped up. "That's the hand signal. Or you can just say, 'Sit!' in a firm voice." Viola sat back down.

"I haven't been doing that. So what do I do now if she ignores me? "

"You say 'sit' the first time and if she doesn't do it immediately, say it once more, but this time gently push her butt down. Don't keep repeating the command, then it just becomes noise. Like teachers in school who yell all the time and nobody listens to them. So what ever it is, give her one opportunity to obey, then if you need to, repeat the command and gently put her into position. And if she pops out of position, keep doing that until she stays."

"Doesn't sound too hard. So what else is she used to doing?"

"Viola's used to being told to lay down before she gets her meals, and she's not allowed to eat until she's released. You release her by saying 'okay.'" Viola got back up, this time she sauntered off , hoping to avoid more commands. "Always have her hold a command until you release her."

"That sounds a little mean."

"Dogs are different from humans. They like being led unless they're being led by someone ineffectual. Viola may give you some resistance, she may test you by trying to get up before you release her. "If you let her get away with it, pretty soon she'll be jumping all over you when it's meal time. She might start snatching food from your plate when you're eating."

"Sounds like a slippery slope."

"It is. Dogs know who's a push-over and who isn't. And their behavior will change accordingly."

"I have nephews like that."

"Exactly."

"If I make my nephews lie on the floor before I give them pizza, do you think they'll stop acting like brats?"

Lia laughed. "It's worth a try, Detective."

"So are you going to teach me Viola's pee song?"

"I don't know. That's pretty personal stuff. I don't think I know you well enough. I think you should make up your own pee song."

"Damn. Must I?" He looked at her sideways. "I think you're making the whole pee song thing up just to con me into making an ass out of myself."

She gave him a look of mock-affront and batted her eyes at him. "Would I do that? She splayed a hand on her chest for emphasis. "Moi? To an officer of the law? Surely not!"

"Well, when you put it that way."

"Besides, I don't need to humiliate you. You'll do it to yourself the first time you talk baby-talk to Viola in public."

"Oops."

"See, humiliation is already a done deal. Surrender your self-respect, Detective, it's very freeing."

Peter decided they'd talked enough about his personal humiliation. "So how long have you been coming here?"

"Ever since I got Honey, about six years ago."

"And you come up here every morning?"

"Pretty much. Except when it's pouring rain or the roads are iced up."

"And the same people are here everyday?"

"Some more than others."

"And you're friends with all of them?"

"Good friends with a few, friendly with most of the rest. You'll find all different kinds of people here, and you wind up associating with people you wouldn't know otherwise. Sometimes the only thing we have in common is dogs. We all try to get along, but if the sordid underbelly of the park were exposed, I suspect you'd find a seething cauldron of political conflict, romantic discord and social rivalry."

"And which of these are you?"

"Until last Sunday, I guess I fell in the category of romantic discord. I guess I'm still there. I feel so guilty."

"Why?"

Lia's earnest green eyes suddenly glimmered with a hint of tears. She glanced to the right, and then down. "I hate what Luthor did and I hate that he did it because I broke up with him and I especially hate that I'm relieved that at least it really is over. His funeral is next week and whatever I do, I'm the bad guy. I stay away and it's because I don't care. If I go, then how dare I show my face after what I drove him to? I thought about sending flowers, but I suspect they'd wind up in the trash."

"Have you talked to his family?"

"I called his sister on the phone and she screamed at me for five minutes straight before I figured out there was no point in staying on the line."

"I see what you mean." Peter took a deep breath. Every instinct he had said Lia was being truthful, and her glance to the right before she shared her feelings confirmed it. She was remembering, not fabricating, according to the workshop he had taken on interviewing techniques and reading kinetic cues. That, and she knew Luthor was left handed. Still, trusting her would be a risk. Would it be worth it?

"Lia, let's go sit down somewhere. I have something to tell you." Peter hoped he wasn't making a big mistake.

"Over there?" Lia pointed to an empty picnic table under a Maple tree. They climbed up on top and rested their feet on the benches.

"Why do so many people sit on top of the tables here?"

"Dunno. Maybe because if we sit on the benches we might get slammed by a racing dog, or one of the dogs will jump up on the table and get in our faces? Maybe just maintaining pack leadership? Height is dominance to dogs, so you'll see little dogs jumping up on the table so they can lord it over the Great Danes and Rotties.

"Huh." Peter noticed talking about dogs relieved some of the stress he'd seen in her. He hoped what he was going to say would eliminate some of her guilt. He also hoped she wouldn't shoot the messenger.

"So what are you being all mysterious about?"

"What I'm going to tell you has not been made public, but I think you need to know. Can I count on your discretion?"

"Hard to say, since I don't know what it is. I'll stay mum if there's no compelling reason not to."

"Fair enough. Look, Lia," He paused and Lia turned to him, searching his face. He tried to figure out how to present this. "Luthor shot himself with his right hand."

"And?"

"He's left handed."

"What's the big deal about that?"

"Have you ever held a gun?"

"No. Never."

"They can be pretty heavy. It would be awkward handling it with your non-dominant hand, even for someone who knows how to shoot."

"What are you saying?"

"We don't think he shot himself. We think it was staged to look that way."

She stared at him. Her shock was immediate and real.

"There's more."

"More?" The word escaped her mouth in a high-pitched whisper. She swallowed.

"Did you know Luthor had other girlfriends?" This time she looked away. He wondered if killing the messenger was occurring to her now. He kept on, doggedly. "One young woman he saw the previous time you broke up. He attempted to keep it going after you got back together, but she wouldn't have it."

Lia gave a sad and cynical snort. "At least somebody had some class."

"The other woman he started seeing casually recently. She seem to be more a girlfriend in waiting. It hadn't quite gone there yet."