A Shot in the Bark (A Dog Park Mystery) (6 page)

Anna raised her eyebrows, looked sideways at Lia, and announced sotto voce, "She came, she saw, she conquered."

Marie snorted.

Bailey shook her head. "Is she always like that?"

Anna, Marie, and Lia replied in unison. "Always."

"Don't worry, sweetie, she's done her good deed for the day. She can go to lunch with a clear conscience now. Tell us, what did Detective Peter want to know? Bailey, have you seen Detective Peter? He's quite handsome."

"Anna, you go for it," Lia said. "I can't deal with being fixed up right now."

"Seriously, why was he interviewing you? Surely there's no question how Luthor died?"

"Not at all. He said they were just trying to understand why, so he wanted to know who Luthor might have been talking to, if he was having problems. Aside from me breaking up with him. That sort of thing. Oh, and he called me later. He wanted some advice about Viola."

"Did he now?" Anna gave Bailey a knowing look.

"You can stop with the eyes, Anna, he's just not used to having a dog."

"So why haven't you taken her?" Marie asked.

"I don't think I could stand having her give me the 'Where's Daddy?' look. It's your fault, Bailey, you introduced me to that animal communicator. Now I know she's missing him and wondering where he is and if I took her, she might blame me for taking her away from him. I'd feel guilty every time I laid eyes on her. Besides, she likes men better."

"You know," Bailey offered, "calling Luella might not be a bad idea. She could explain it to Viola."

Marie considered. "You think a detective would go for the woo-woo stuff?"

"So maybe we don't tell him," Bailey offered. "He'd let you have visitation, wouldn't he? And Luella could ask Viola how she likes the detective."

Lia gave Bailey a look. "So devious. I never knew that about you. I'll think about it."

Peter was exhausted when he finally returned home Thursday evening. His bar interviews had turned up one dead end after another. Likewise interviews at Luthor's job. While he was sure the Cincinnati Art Museum was a pit of seething passions, Morrisey, in his position as a part time art installer, appeared well out of it.

Viola wriggled and wagged as he opened the door. He knelt down to ruffle her fur and she gave him frantic kisses. Not a bad way to arrive home. He let her out the back, twisted the cap off a Beck's and sat on the stoop, watching her sniff her way around the yard.

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense that Morrisey's death had something to do with the dog park. The dog park parking lot was an excellent place for a rendezvous. The long, narrow lot was blocked from view on two sides by trees and on the third side by the hill. You could only see the lot from the street if you looked in when you were exactly abreast of the drive. If you didn't use the lot, you might not know it was there. It was unlikely anyone but a dog park regular would think to use it. If one of Morrisey's bar pals had suggested a meet there, it would have seemed odd. The place was perfect for ambush; a public place nearly invisible from the street, buffered on three sides by hundreds of acres of forest. It might not have occurred to Morrisey that the most used six acres of Mount Airy Forest were going to be deserted and isolated at 2:00 a.m. Familiarity may have made him careless.

The dog park also appeared to be the one place where Morrisey and Lia intersected. Lia was the obvious suspect. A woman would have to be nuts to
not
want to kill him after all his hounding. But that didn't feel right. While Lia was remorseful about events, he didn't feel she had the passion for Morrisey to kill him. She just seemed ground down by him and over it.

This crime had taken obsessive planning to set up and if Morrisey had not been of a small percentage of the population who preferred to use their left hand, the crime would have been labeled suicide. This type of staging took detachment. The woman he interviewed in the park was stunned, not detached.

Procedure dictated he interview her again, and hammer her about the phone. But since she or someone close to her killed Morrisey, all the interview was likely to accomplish would be to tip off Morrisey's killer that the death had been reclassified as murder.

Meanwhile, as long as he had Viola, he had the perfect excuse to hang out at the park and get a feel for who was who. He was sure Lia would introduce him around. If she didn't, from what he saw during his one visit, Viola would draw anyone who knew her master. And he could ever so casually ask Lia if she found her cell. So far, no one knew this was a murder investigation. If he kept it that way, maybe he could catch his quarry off guard. Whoever it was.

My first removal was the hardest. Not the doing of it, I was quite glad to put an end to a life that exuded such misery that it spoiled the perfect peace of my existence. It was the pretense of grief afterwards I found hard to maintain. I decided never to remove anyone so close to me again.

But the doing was easy. My target was conveniently asleep in a hospital bed with an IV drip. So simple to use a hypodermic to load the line with potassium chloride at the end of visiting hours. When his induced heart attack occurred, I was in a very public restaurant booth with friends. That was the first time, and it was in the restaurant that I most struggled, to keep still, to stay calm, to wait for events to unfold while pretending nothing had changed. The call came, ruining a very nice Snapper Almondine. I had to abandon this treat and also forgo the Creme Brulee I had planned to order for dessert.

I learned much that night. I learned to use my own stress and tension to fuel the appearance of grief. I learned that at certain times people will forgive you if you pretend not to hear them and don't respond to them. And I learned that while it is a good thing to be visible and accounted for when the removal actually occurs, it is also good if you can be alone when receiving the news. Schooling one's voice over the telephone is much easier than also considering one's facial expression and mannerisms in a face-to-face conversation.

The first one was easy because the plan was simple and I did not over-think it. But the more removals I do, the more aware I am of how many things can go wrong, how much danger is in each step along the path once the event is in motion. As the years go by, technology is increasingly my enemy. Surveillance cameras, time stamped receipts, GPS devices, all become my enemy and must be accounted for. It becomes harder to obtain what I need to carry out these events without leaving a record. It is no longer enough to simply dispose of evidence; you have to obtain items in such a way that not a single kilobyte betrays you ever had a connection to them. I've learned to anticipate possible scenarios and obtain the necessary tools ahead of time as part of a legitimate purchase. My painter's coveralls I bought two years ago when I repainted the living room. I bought them along with two gallons of paint and other supplies, at an old store that didn't use a scanner. I paid cash. There was no camera.

I did not have Luthor in my sights then, I hadn't met him yet. But I knew someday I would need to protect myself from leaving DNA at a removal, and I put those coveralls away against that day. This gesture was perhaps my own version of a hope chest.

Lia grimaced at the plans on her drawing table. Bailey leaned over, her Cleopatra haircut swinging with the motion. She indicated an area alongside the path. "I was thinking lavender along here."

"Won't it crowd the path once it gets going?" Lia asked.

"Not if we widen the path"

"Maybe. We'll have the same problem with the mint. We want it to fill in but not take over."

"That means digging out the pathway, then pounding sand into the bed. We'll need to fill in the spaces around the pavers with crushed limestone. We'll also need a plastic border along the edge to keep plants from encroaching."

"Catherine's not going to like that."

"She will once she sees the price for brick edging."

Lia nodded, "You make an excellent point, Bailey."

They continued to pour over the drawings for a free-form, paved labyrinth landscaped with herbs to provide aromatherapy. Round pavers would depict oriental symbols for peace, joy, love, harmony, abundance, and energy.

"Does she know Chinese?" Lia asked.

"Doubtful, but it's awfully fashionable, isn't it?"

"Bailey, you're such a cynic."

"I'm a pragmatist and you love me for it. That's what it takes to keep a straight face around some of these so-called arts mavens."

"This project isn't so bad, is it? Lia asked.

"No, it's better than most. We may have a tough time making a profit, though."

"Why do you say that?"

Bailey listed her reasons, "One, I can tell she's going to be insanely particular. Two, she seems obsessed with impressing her friends. Three, this seems to be a case of 'she may know art, but she sure doesn't know what she likes.' Expect materials to be rejected and for her to change her mind a few dozen times. Remind me why we took this job again?"

"Because it's an opportunity to show off our talents. And because we love pain and suffering. Want to see some tile samples?"

"Sure. So what is Dame Catherine's story, anyway?" Bailey asked.

"She's on her second husband. First husband died years ago. Current husband is a recent addition, don't know much about him. She got him through her other friends. Lia emphasized the word just enough for Bailey to notice.

"Other friends? Who are her other friends?"

"You know, the society folks she hangs with when she's not slumming at the dog park."

"Is that what she's doing?"

"Feels like it sometimes, don't you think?" Lia responded.

"I'm not sure what to think of her. The one time I had a conversation with her, she told me I had a certain poise that commanded her attention. But she wasn't sure if anyone else would look past my unfortunate features to notice."

Lia snickered. "You gotta admire a creative backhanded compliment. She really means well, though."

"I guess."

A knock interrupted their mutual eye-rolling. Lia glanced out the window. "We speak, and Madame Devil appears." Lia put on her game face and invited Catherine in.

"Lia, Darling. I'm so glad to see you working." Catherine paused to give Lia air kisses. "I was afraid that awful business with Luthor was going to derail our little project. I can't wait to see what you have for me.
Tell
me the drawings are finished. Oh, hello, Bailey."

Lia smiled her best business smile. "Just waiting for your approval."

Catherine examined the drawings. "Just marvelous. I
love
the Chinese symbols on the pavers. But I'm just wondering . . . most people won't know what they mean. Can we put the words in English around the edges, make it repeat as a border?" Behind Catherine, Bailey pointed a slender forefinger into her mouth, gagging silently.

"Not as a mosaic," Lia said, keeping a straight face with effort.

Lia could see the lure of the impossible taking hold as Catherine frowned. "Why not? I think I'd really
like
that."

"There's only room for something 1" tall. The letter shapes are too intricate for the tile, and the tile would shatter. There would be a lot of waste, and the pieces would be so small they'd be likely to pop out with the first freeze. The labor would be excessive and it would triple the cost of the pavers. And blow our timeline."

"Oh, surely you can come up with
something
more reasonable."

"We could carve something in the cement, but that means we'd have to flip the stones before they were dry and I couldn't guarantee they'd cure properly. Plus the depressions would gather dirt. And it would just be plain grey, no color"

Catherine sniffed, "Oh, I wouldn't' like that at
all
."

Lia sought to redirect her. "Don't you think the words would be awfully . . . busy? Right now the indigo symbols are on a multi-colored background, for a confetti effect. It's elegant and energetic. To make the words legible, we'd have to go for a solid color background, and then your pavers would look just like something you see in every New Age store in town." Which was exactly where she got the idea, Lia thought.

"Perhaps you're right." Catherine tapped her chin with a French manicured nail.

Bailey picked up on the direction of Lia's thoughts. "I think not having the translations makes it more exclusive, don't you think? Then your guests will need to ask you what they mean. And you'll know them because this is your mantra."

Catherine brightened at this, "What a
lovely
idea. So how are the plans for the koi pond in the middle coming?"

Bailey took over here and pulled out a diagram showing a large pool with an island in the center accessed by stepping stones. In the center of the island was a circular mosaic bench that allowed you to face all directions.

Catherine sighed in pleasure at the yin yang sign gracing the top of the bench. "I wish the stepping stones in the pond could have mosaics, too."

"We need a textured surface on the stones because water will be splashing on them. With mosaics, the surface would be too slick. You could get hurt. We wouldn't want that."

Catherine pouted, "I
suppose
you're right. Can we have it finished next month? I want to throw a Solstice party and show it off."

Bailey glowered behind Catherine's back. Her long, expressive hands mimed choking Catherine.

Lia temporized. "It would be cutting it close. I'll check Jose's schedule to see when he can do the excavation. We'd really like to have time to let the pavers cure for a month for maximum strength." She ticked off a timeline. "First the plans need to be approved. Then it will take a minimum of two weeks working full time to cast the pavers, a month for curing. We can get the excavation and landscaping done while the pavers are curing. Then a two week window for installing the pavers. In order to make it work, we'd have to cut back the curing time. And any changes will set the timeline back. We may have to be creative about obtaining the herbs you want since it'll be past prime planting time. They'll just be starting so you won't have full growth until next season."