Drool Baby (A Dog Park Mystery) (Lia Anderson Dog Park Mysteries) Read online

  "Is this a private conversation, or can anyone join in?"

  Peter turned to Lia. "What do you think? Should we let her in?"

  Lia eyed Anna. "I dunno . . ."

  "I've got to get to work, anyway," Peter said. "Why don't you ladies hang out."

  The two women watched Peter as he went to collect Viola. "That man is very smitten with you," Anna commented. "How are you getting along?"

  "We're still trying to figure each other out. He's very different from anyone else I've dated. So, what's new with you?"

  "The foundation I work for is buying a building in Northside. They're going to turn it into an education center. I've got to meet some of the bosses over there this morning. They want me to coordinate with the architect and the contractors."

  "Sounds like a fun project. Maybe you'll get your very own hard-hat."

  "Maybe," Anna laughed. "Did you hear? Nadine is throwing a birthday party for Rufus next Monday. Cupcakes for the grown ups and home made dog biscuits for the furry ones."

  Lia rolled her eyes. "Some people have too much time on their hands. I suppose it's okay, as long as she keeps everything out in the picnic shelter. The dogs always go crazy when there's food in the park."

  "I won't be able to make it, anyway. I have that girl who helps me around the house on Mondays. I need to be at home when she comes."

  The two women began strolling. Honey and Chewy abandoned the squirrel to join them. They said hello to regulars as they made their way to the back of the park.

  A slight, grizzled figure sat on a bench with a Border Collie and a gangly Bloodhound by his side. A small, Asian woman sat next to him with her chin tilted at a rebellious angle. Dark bangs with electric blue highlights hung in her eyes. A beefy gentleman wearing a camouflage concealed-carry vest stood, waving his arms. Underneath a nearby picnic table, a skinny hound excavated while a small Golden Retriever mix supervised.

  The beefy gentleman bore a striking resemblance to Teddy Roosevelt. He wore a walking cast on one leg. As they neared, he turned to the hound. "Jackson! No dig!" Jackson and Napa took off, spied Honey and Chewy, and started racing in circles.

  Terry Dunn, the Roosevelt look-alike, turned back to Marie Woo. "Anyone who votes Democratic has their head up their ass. There's a reason the party mascot is a donkey."

  "Anyone who still believes in trickle down economics thinks denial is a river in Egypt. The only way money trickles in this country is up, and . . ."

  Jim, the man on the bench, kept silent, but his lips were flattened into a thin line.

  Lia leaned over to Anna. "Looks like diversionary tactics are in order."

  Marie flipped her bangs and overrode Terry's protestations. "Every time someone asks a Republican what they're going to do about the economy, they respond by diverting attention to gay marriage and abortion. And at least Democrats tax before they spend. George Dubya Bush cut taxes and then spent fifteen trillion dollars more than was coming in. That's how we got into this mess."

  Anna reached into her tote bag and pulled out the Living section of the paper and a pen. She climbed up on the picnic table and began scanning the page. Lia climbed up beside her as the pair argued on. Anna waited for a lull in the hostilities, then called, "Oh, Terry?"

  He turned. "Yes?"

  "What's the name of the Political party whose name means "renaissance" in Arabic?"

  He frowned for a minute, then smiled. "Baath. Like bath, with two a's." He wandered over to the picnic table. "What else have you got?" He tried to peek at the paper, but Anna held it up to her chest.

  "Hold on a minute. Let me see what else. . . 'Four time Indy 500 winner,' four letters."

  "That's easy. Foyt. F, o, y, t."

  "Thanks." Anna continued scanning the clues for obscure trivia questions.

  Lia looked over at Jim. He no longer looked like he was about to explode. Marie winked at her.

  "So, Lia, was that Detective Hottie you were talking to earlier?" Marie asked.

  "He'd be so embarrassed to hear you call him that. He brought me coffee this morning."

  "That was very chivel. . . chiver . . ." Jim said.

  "Chivalrous." Lia completed automatically.

  "That was very chivalrous of him," Jim said.

  "He's a chivalrous kinda guy," Lia said.

  "Lucky you," Marie said. "Last officer of the law I met looked like a bulldog and had onion breath. And he gave me a speeding ticket."

  "And I bet you were doing fifty going down that hill on Montana," Lia said.

  "Hey, if I stuck to the speed limit, somebody would run me off the road."

  "Tell you what," Lia offered. "I'll have Peter ask them to post only pretty girl traffic cops in that speed trap. Maybe the next time you get a ticket, it'll be worth it."

  "If only," Marie said. "Any way he can request pretty, gay, girl cops?"

  "I can always ask."

  Jim stood up and picked up his walking stick. "Fleece and Kita and I have to go."

  "I'll walk out with you," Lia said. She held up a hand to the group in an abbreviated wave. "See you tomorrow." Honey and Chewy saw her walking away and stopped playing. They ran to catch up.

  Chapter 2

  Saturday, August 18

  "Gina left me again," Roger announced to the early morning crowd at the Mount Airy Dog Park. "I want to kill myself." He was a tall, gaunt man, with a reddish beard that had a stripe of white down the middle. The hair peeking out from under his ball cap was gray. He was nearing sixty, and he had the rode-hard look of a wind-burned cowboy.

  Lia looked out over the dog park, a ridge of land abutted on three sides by more than a thousand acres of forest. She lifted her face and felt the breeze that often blew over the ridge. She'd been running her two dogs at the park for four years. Now she was beginning to dread the mornings when Roger showed up because he could always be counted on to share his latest domestic drama. But Honey and Chewy had to run and mornings were best, Roger or no Roger. The lithe artist sat on top of a picnic table and concentrated on her coffee, inhaling the hazelnut scent. She'd let the others handle Roger for now.

  Jose was a prematurely bald man of Italian descent with the build of a ball player and a Fu Manchu mustache. He heaved a big sigh. "Roger, you know we talked about this. You been drinking beer and staring at your gun again, haven't you?"

  "Yeah," Roger admitted. "I wanna shoot myself, but I can't do it."

  "Oh! Don't do that!" Marie exclaimed from her perch beside Lia. "The mess will cost a fortune to clean up and make it impossible to sell the house in this market. Hanging's better, but be sure to go to the bathroom first, maybe take an enema."

  "Marie!" Anna admonished from Lia's other side.

  "Just trying to help." Marie shrugged her dainty Asian shoulders and flipped her zebra striped bangs. "If he's going to do it, he should do it properly. Right, Roger? You could gas yourself, but that might blow up the house. An overdose of sleeping pills will leave nasty blue blotches all over your body. Then there's always the risk someone would find you and pump your stomach. There's carbon monoxide poisoning, but you'd have to clean out the garage first. I think you should commit Hari-kari on Gina's doorstep."

  "You want me to stick myself with a knife? How do you expect me to gut myself if I can't pull the trigger?" Roger turned to Jose, "You do it. I'll give you my gun."

  Jose rolled his eyes, "No, Roger, I'm not going to shoot you."

  "Surely Gina isn't worth dying for," Anna said.

  "She's not," Jose answered. "She takes his money and lives off him and runs around and never gives anything back." He turned to Roger. "Why do you let her treat you like that?"

  "I love her," Roger insisted. "I can't stand to be alone. I'm not like you."

  Lia had been content to let this conversation proceed without her input up to now. "Roger, would therapy be so bad? I'm finding it really helpful."

  "The only thing that will help me is Gina coming back."

  "Don't worry about that," Jose reassured. "She'll be back as soon as she needs some money."

  "Too bad Bailey's in the nut house. She'd shoot me. Oops! Sorry, Lia, I didn't mean to bring that up."

  "It's okay, Roger," she said, though it really wasn't. She didn't need reminding that her partner and friend had held a gun to her head six weeks before, and was now confined to a psych ward. Lia had a lot to say about how it felt to face your mortality, but talking to Roger always went nowhere.

  Roger had been talking about suicide since he first showed up at the dog park following his wife's death a few years earlier. He often came at 4:00 a.m. and usually left before anyone showed up. Jose was his best friend. It was Jose who checked in on him when he was depressed. When Roger lost his job, it was Jose who found him a new job doing custodial work at the apartment complex where he supervised maintenance. It was Jose with the patience of Job who listened to Roger's stories of the many ways his girlfriend Gina abused him and his frequent announcements of suicidal intent.

  "C'mon, Roger," Jose urged. "We need to get going or we'll be late for work. Don't matter that it's Saturday. Her Bitch-ness will read us the riot act." Jose called his gentle mastiff, Sophie, while Roger gathered up a pair of mixed breeds named Maddie and Lacy.

  As she watched their retreating backs, Lia commented, "Suicide before breakfast. Just what I need."

  Anna turned to face Marie and tsked. "He had no business bringing up Bailey. And what did you think you were doing egging him on, Miss Marie Woo?"

  Marie gave Anna her inscrutable Chinese look from under those shocking zebra bangs. "Jose being his friend doesn't help. Lia telling him to get therapy doesn't help. Maybe telling him to do it will help. Too bad Terry's not here, he could have given him directions on how to properly commit Hari-kari and what kind of knife to use."

  Anna shook her head, setting her shoulder length mane of pale gold hair bobbing. "It's in entirely poor taste."

  "Poor taste is what Roger said about Bailey," Marie said. "What's happening with Bailey, Lia? Has Peter said anything?"

  Lia looked out across the park from her perch atop her favorite picnic table. Her Golden Retriever, Honey was playing tug-of-war over a stick with Marie's champion Schnauzer, Nita. Lia's Miniature Schnauzer, Chewy, yipped encouragement from the sidelines. Anna's Tibetan Mastiff, CarGo, lolled at her side, aloof from the skirmish. The dogs, at least, understood how one should spend one's time at the park. In the distance, she spotted a pair of dogs, one a large hound, all flopping ears and graceless lope, and the other a compact Border Collie with a tidy trot. Behind them Jim stumped along with a walking stick.

  "She's still in the psych unit. Last I heard, she hadn't said a word for more than a month. She'll eat if someone puts food in front of her, but that's about it. She's not fit for a trial. The case is on hold as long as she's catatonic."

  "Do you have any idea why she snapped like that?" Marie asked. "You're the one who knew her best."

  Lia chewed her bottom lip. The topic was uncomfortable, but talking about it helped. "I can't say. She seemed fine until we were in the middle of building Catherine's labyrinth. Then she got moody and edgy. I just chalked it up to working for Catherine."

  Marie made a face. "Catherine was enough to make anyone edgy."

  "She was reading some wacko book about reincarnation and karma. Stuff about using evil to promote the highest good. It was way out there. I don't know where she got it."

  "Weird." Marie rolled her eyes.

  "It's complicated. No one's really sure what happened."

  "What happened is she held a gun to your head!" Anna interjected. "There can't be any question about that."

  "Not that," Lia explained. "All the other stuff. They still haven't been able to connect Bailey to Catherine and Luthor, but the DA figures it's a moot point until she gets well enough to stand trial."

  "Confusing," Marie agreed.

  Just then, the large hound jumped up on the table behind Lia and lavished her cheek with a wide, rough tongue. She left behind a long, sticky streamer of dog drool. Lia swiped her face with the back of her hand and wiped it off on sweat shorts covered with colorful smears of oil paint.

  "Ugh." Anna made a face and scooted away.

  "Sorry about that," Jim said as he trotted up. "Kita, down!"

  Lia put a protective arm around the hound. "She can stay. You're a good girl, aren't you Kita?" she said to the soulful brown-eyed Bloodhound as she stroked the dangling ears. She turned to Jim, "How's she doing? Has she adjusted yet? Any luck finding someone to take her permanently?"

  "Fleece doesn't like her, but they've struck a truce. I thought it would be easier to find her a home. She mopes a lot. I don't know if she's missing Bailey or if that's just how she acts."

  "You're a saint for taking her in," Anna said.

  Jim gave a noncommittal shrug.

  "Roger's going to shoot himself," Marie offered cheerfully.

  "Again? Still?"

  "Who knows?" Marie continued. "I think he just likes the attention. I don't think he'll ever do it. For all we know, he said the same things to his wife for twenty years before she died."

  Anna looked thoughtful. "Maybe we should find out. He'd tell Jose, wouldn't he?"

  "Probably," Lia said. "He tells Jose everything."

  "Why is he so hung up on this Gina, anyway?" Marie asked.

  "He says he can't live without a womanÕs touch," Jim said. "Not that I can see anything womanly about the way she treats him."

  "I asked my therapist about him last week," Lia said. "She says there's not much you can do with someone who won't accept help, especially if they drink a lot. But we should pay attention if he suddenly gets in a good mood and starts giving away his possessions, or if he stops going to work. If he starts giving away his possessions, it could mean he's committed to a plan and is settling his affairs. The real kicker would be if he found a new home for Maddie and Lacy."

  "I think you're right," Anna commented. "I don't think we need to get too concerned until that happens."

  "So what's this I hear about a new project?" Marie asked Lia in a change of subject.

  "I got a call from Renee, one of Catherine's friends from the solstice party. She wants a solar marker for her garden, something fanciful, with lots of mosaics."

  "What's a solar marker?" Jim asked.

  "You know, like Stonehenge and all those other places that were built to mark the calendar. Only smaller. You have a tall object of some kind, like a megalith, and the shadow it casts on dawn of the equinox lines up with a marker. You add other markers for the solstices."

  "How will you know where to place the markers?" Anna asked. "That would be awfully difficult to figure out, wouldn't it?"

  Lia smiled. "I'll cheat. I'll build the megalith, and when the equinox and solstices come, I'll see where the shadow falls and install the markers."

  "Brilliant," Marie commented.

  "Hail, good people! Talking about me again?"

  Everyone turned to see Terry approaching, followed by Jackson and Napa. He was joined by a trim, sporty grandmother with a snub nose, white, boy-cut hair and a Basset Hound at her heels.

  Kita and Honey jumped off the table and chased Jackson off towards the rear of the park. Napa, the Golden Retriever, and Rufus, the Bassett, trotted after.

  "And there they go," Marie announced. "We could have used you earlier, Terry. Hey, Nadine."

  "Do tell," Terry said.

  "Roger's committing suicide again," Marie said. "You could have given the historical perspective on Hari-kari."

  "Ah. Hari-kari, also known as Seppuku, which translates as 'stomach cutting', the traditional Japanese ritual of suicide by disembowelment performed in front of an audience by plunging a knife into one's belly and moving it from left to right. Committed by a Samurai to avoid falling into the hands of the enemy or because one has brought shame onto one's self. So who is to be the lucky spectator?"

  "Marie thought Gina should have the honor," Anna commented dryly.

  "Sacrilege!" Terry cried. "No self-respecting Samurai would fall on his sword over a woman."

  Chapter 3

  Saturday, August 18

  It is delicious to sit in the park and listen as my friends talk about the deaths that happened earlier this summer. I am responsible, and they are oblivious. The echos of my actions are like ripples in a pond from a dropped stone, washing against my skin. So cool and delightful. It is marvelous to contemplate murder, each memory a sweet frisson of pleasure.

  I know who I would remove next, if I could. Roger begs for death but is too cowardly to pull the trigger. I would do it for him, if I had not indulged myself with Luthor and Catherine. It would be so easy. Too easy, I tell myself. Not worthy of me.

  It is much too soon. I have killed twice since May, when I rarely allow myself more than one a year. I need to be careful about removing someone connected to the park. Repetition forms patterns and patterns draw attention. I must be cautious if I do not want everything to get out of control.

  Until recently, I had rules, and the rules kept me safe. Removing people was such a simple solution for impossible situations. Each removal was a rational decision backed up by meticulous planning. Each provided the satisfactions of a job well done.

  Then Catherine changed everything. I broke my rules, and the risk was exhilarating. Almost as exhilarating as killing Catherine. This is perhaps why people dive off cliffs and rob banks. Why some people court danger. It is a secret I never knew, that you could feel such intoxication.

  Still, my recent acts received attention and I have always avoided attention. It has been a long time since the police were involved in one of my little adventures. The first time, I feared discovery. This time, outwitting them became part of the pleasure. But it was still more risk than I liked. I want the thrill, but I want protections as well. Murder should be like bungee jumping, where one can enjoy the dive but stop short of the rocks.