A Shot in the Bark (A Dog Park Mystery) (17 page)

"You really set on pizza?"

"No, but I don't want you to think you were just handy."

"How about we get Kung Pao Shrimp and I'll call you anyway?"

"I have a question to ask you." Lia turned earnest.

"Fire away."

"Guys get interested in me because I'm creative and after we start dating they get upset because I spend time doing art."

"That sounds idiotic."

"I always thought so. It's part of me. I've had art since I was five and some guy comes along and starts pouting because I have work to do."

"You going to bring your easel to dinner?"

"Don't see why I would."

"I like your paintings. Your exes were really stupid. Does this mean you know me well enough to sing Viola's Pee Song for me?"

"Gosh, I don't know, you have yet to buy me dinner."

"I hear it resembles Doris Day singing 'Do the Hokey Pokey' with a touch of Texas soul yodel."

"What? Who said?"

"I've been sworn to secrecy. Apparently you were overheard when you thought no one was around."

"I refuse to comment."

"Don't pout. They were very complimentary."

"Right."

"I've been singing to Viola, but I'm afraid I'm not so original."

"Oh, really?"

"If she needs to do a number one, I sing
Louie, Louie
, you know, 'We gotta go now.'"

"Fascinating. So what do you do for a number two?"

"She gets the
Star Wars
theme. Dump-dump; Dump dump dump dump dump; Dump dump dump dump dump; Dump dump dump dump;

Lia shook her head, laughing into his chest. "Viola's got to be mortified."

"Don't know about her, but the guys at the station are getting their yucks. Especially when I do the 'Aye-yi-yi-yi' during
Louie, Louie
."

"Detective Dourson, a poet, you're not."

"What can I say?" He shrugged comically.

"You can say, 'Hey, Lia, what's the number for the Chinese place on Ludlow?"

"Why would I say that?"

"Because I don't have a phone."

"Goodness, it's the Phantom Artist."

"Hello, Anna," Lia said as she climbed up on the table.

"Running late today?"

"Slept in."

Anna eyed Lia carefully. "You certainly look relaxed."

"Do I?"

"Yes, you do. What's happened?"

"Nothing's happened."

"Uh-huh. Does nothing drive a Chevy Blazer and stand about six foot two?"

"Where would you get an idea like that?"

"I knew it! Deets! Give!"

"No way."

"You're no fun."

"Go find your own guy."

"Don't let Catherine find out. She'll figure you broke him in just for her."

"Catherine? She's old enough to be his mother!"

"Won't stop her from trying." Kita ran up and leaned against Anna, shoving her head under Anna's hand for a scratch just as Bailey joined them. "Bailey, dear, our Lia's been a busy girl."

"Really? What have I missed?"

"Check the rosy cheeks, the sparkle in her eye . . . ."

"I'm not talking to you two."

"It's okay," Bailey said, "I'm utterly clueless. You can talk to me."

"Anna thinks I have a love life."

"I gathered that. Is she right?"

"Don't know. Maybe. Trying not to think about it. Anna thinks Catherine will try to steal him from me."

"Maybe, maybe not. She's not taken with Detective Hottie lately. That is who we're not talking about, isn't it? If Catherine decided he's distracting you, she's going to be even more put out with him. Of course, she may decide she has to seduce him to stop him from interfering with your work."

"Bailey," Lia laughed, "you're so bad."

"Does he have a brother? I'd like to be distracted, too. I'd even settle for a cousin."

Brent eyed Peter curiously from the next desk. "Why so glum, Dourson?"

"I'm in a weird situation, Brent. Things have heated up with Lia."

"If you're upset about that, you really
do
have a problem."

"Not that. She doesn't know about Catherine and Luthor. Technically, she doesn't have a right to know, and I'm not at liberty to tell her. And if she did know, I don't know how she'd feel about finishing Catherine's garden, and I know this project is important to her. But at some point it'll come out and she's going to hate me for not telling her."

"Ouch. Would it be insensitive of me to suggest that you get as much as you can before that happy day?"

"I thought you were an evolved, new millennium kind of guy."

"That's what you get for believing stereotypes. Are you into profiling too? Rousted any innocent Muslims lately?"

"I leave that for the street cops. So how do I handle this?"

"What happened to your oh-so-noble and admirable decision to keep your distance until Morrisey's case was resolved?"

Peter sighed. "She was crying, and I guess I was patting her or something and it just happened."

"Ah, it just happened. A very popular defense."

"Shove it."

"Didn't think you swung that way. You going to tell Lia about your bi-sexuality?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Any ideas?"

Brent considered his dilemma. "Not much you can do. Wear kevlar?"

"Funny."

"She likely to turn clingy?"

Peter shook his head. "Doubtful."

"How easy would it be to retreat some?"

"She'll do that for me. All I have to do is stand still."

"Don't get all wounded about it; her boyfriend just died. You don't have much choice but to let her work it out. Is she reasonable?"

"Well, sure."

"Then she'll eventually realize that you can't gossip about cases."

"It's that 'eventually' that worries me. Like how long is 'eventually' going to be? This could get awfully messy."

"You're a detective. Haven't you detected that life is awfully messy?"

"Since when did you become a shrink?"

The card read, "Rare and beautiful, like you." She traced the edges of the orchid's pale violet petals with her index finger. It was potted, not cut. Had he figured out that she hated cut flowers? Or was it just a sale on potted plants at Home Depot? Either way, it was thoughtful and beautiful. It would make a great painting.

Lia brought the plant into her studio. The pot was a vintage glazed ceramic in a lovely pale blue-green, no Home Depot job, not from the florists, either. The retro pot might have belonged to someone's grandmother. Extra marks for repotting it, and double word points for the choice of pot.

She set the pot on her work table, turned it ever so slightly so the light made a strong statement. She pulled out her digital camera and snapped off a couple dozen pictures, playing with the scale and framing, adjusting the pot to change the way the light hit it. When she was satisfied, she pulled out a square canvas and set up her easel, squeezing a smear of burnt umber onto her palette, mixing it with a dribble of linseed oil to make a pale brown. She pulled out her oldest brush, a size four with the bristles worn down almost to the ferule, and dipped it in the tinted oil.

She drew quickly, exploding shapes onto the square canvas, pulling the eye into the center of the flower. She used a rag dipped in oil to erase lines she didn't like, then redrew them. When she was happy, she covered the background in a glaze of bottle green, using a rag to pull out pigment so the canvas would show through. She laid out her paints and mixed delicate hues, cream, pink, violet, lavender, pale fuchsia, and used these to model the elegant petals. She stood back and absorbed her work, feeling a deep satisfaction. The core of the flower was luminous but partly hidden. A mystery that enticed.

"That's wonderful. You just did that?"

She smiled and turned. Peter leaned against the doorjamb, looking positively edible. "I was inspired."

"So you liked your gift?"

"It's lovely. Where did you get the pot? I could hit estate sales for months and not find one like it."

"My eighty year-old neighbor, Alma, has a green thumb and never throws anything away. She's lived in the same house for fifty years. She knew exactly what was needed."

"Did she provide the orchid, too?"

"I can't tell a lie. She did do. She felt sorry for me."

"You'll have to introduce her to me, so I can thank her."

"Don't I get any thanks?"

"Not sure you deserve any, taking advantage of a nice old lady like that."

"I'm hurt. Deeply."

"Play your cards right and maybe someone will want to kiss it and make it better."

"Really?"

"Then again, maybe not." She eyed him consideringly. "You don't look like much of a card player, Kentucky Boy." She gave him a hug and leaned her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her waist and they swayed gently.

Birds trilled.

"Nuts." Lia reached into her hip pocket and fished out a cell phone, looked at the screen, pushed "accept." "Where are you? . . . Shit. I'm sorry, I got distracted. I'll be there in ten minutes. Can you wait that long? . . . See you." She hit "end" and put it back in her pocket.

"Find your phone?"

"New one. Bailey made me get it. She also programmed the ring tone. Turns out the Woo Woo Queen is a techno-geek. I'm sorry, I was supposed to meet Bailey at the greenhouse five minutes ago to pick out plants for Catherine's garden."

"I was going to ask if you wanted lunch, but it looks like you're busy."

"Pretty much. Rain check?"

"Counting on it." She cleaned her brushes quickly and hustled Peter out of the studio.

"You know," Peter offered, "I could drive you to the greenhouse and take both of you to lunch after."

"Seriously?"

"Sure. Why not. Does Bailey like Indian? We could go to Dusmesh."

"Great idea."

They were more than ten minutes. Bailey's eyebrows rose when she saw Lia's company. "Is this your distraction?"

"No," Lia laughed, "my distraction was the present someone left at my studio door. Peter just happened along right before you called. I was painting and totally forgot we were meeting. So where are we at?"

"Catherine's making me insane." Bailey looked at Peter. "You're like a priest, right? You can't repeat anything we say when the client isn't around."

"My lips are sealed." Peter crossed his heart solemnly.

"What's the problem, Bailey?" Lia asked.

"She wants an aromatherapy garden, and she wants all native plants and she wants a lot of big, showy blossoms. In other words, she thinks we can somehow magically make everything she wants into a therapeutic plant with Ohio ancestry."

"Ah. The Princess from Jupiter waved her scepter and declared it so, did she? What are your inclinations?"

"I say we let it all go to Chickory and Chickweed and remind her they're native herbs," Bailey pouted.

"You might get away with that if you put in a Cone-Flower or two, Maybe some Four-O'Clocks?"

"I like native plants. I just don't think they'll be showy enough for Dame Catherine."

"So we have to ignore the bullshit and figure out not only what will make her happy but also how to present it so that she knows she's happy."

"Exactly. Damn it, I really wanted to do the high vibration garden."

"So let's walk and talk. By the way, Peter's taking us to Dusmesh for lunch after this."

Bailey turned to Peter. "In that case, you can stay."

Peter trailed along as Lia and Bailey discussed color, growing season, conditions. They debated Trillium, Dutchman's Breeches, Turtle Head, Fairy Wand, Butterfly Weed, Maiden-Hair Fern, Jack-in-the-Pulpit, and many others with names he'd never heard before, seeking the right combination to encourage butterflies and hummingbirds as well as provide blooms all spring and summer.

"The thing is," Bailey said, "she's going to have to choose between aromatherapy and native plants. She can't have both."

"Steering her towards native plants is the responsible thing to do. Think she'll be okay giving up the aromatherapy angle if she's got hummingbirds to play with?"

"Possibly. Too bad we've missed spring blooms. She's not going to fully appreciate this until next year. The plants won't be established for her party. Planting a native garden is more complex than cramming in flats of whatever annuals are in bloom so you have a nice show."

"I have a thought," Peter interrupted.

Bailey and Lia turned in unison and looked at Peter with owl eyes. They'd forgotten he was there. "Yeah?"

"If I'm hearing this right, the big issue is that there won't be a big showy garden full of flowers for this party."

Bailey responded. "Pretty much. It's more complicated than that, but if it weren't for the party, her expectations would be a lot more reasonable, and she'd be more open to reality."

"What if you bring in some color?"

"How would we do that?"

"Don't people raise butterflies for special events? What if you set up a tent of mosquito netting, like a dining canopy, and released butterflies in there. It would be like the conservatory's annual butterfly show in her back yard.

Lia and Bailey frowned at each other. "The island, maybe?" Lia ventured. "People could sit on the bench."

"None of her friends have ever done it. It could work."

Lia grinned at Peter. "I knew there was a reason I let you come along."

"And I thought it was free food for the starving artists."

"Hey," Bailey admonished, "we'll take the food, too."

"She's going to love this idea," Lia relished.

"Shall we give you credit, Peter?" Bailey asked.

"Umm . . . No, don't do that. She doesn't seem to like me lately."

"Why is that?"

"Why does Bailey get the credit?" Lia demanded.

"You got an orchid. I thought Bailey could get the credit. Unless you want to give your orchid to Bailey?"

Lia raised one eyebrow and gave Peter an evil look.