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

I saw Catherine again last night. It was after midnight, with the moonlight spilling down onto her garden labyrinth. I followed her up the twisting path,
stepping carefully on the mosaic pavers, avoiding the gravel packed around them. Catherine was absorbed in her thoughts and did not realize I was there.

Anticipation pounded through my blood, delicious anticipation fueled by my hatred of this vain and vapid woman. It was hard to remember to creep along as
adrenaline rose up in me. Years of restraint and self discipline served in those moments of ecstatic tension as I followed, silent, silent, until she
neared the pond at the center of the maze. I picked up a decorative rock and hefted it, much like a pitcher with a softball. I gently bounced it in my hand
and felt its weight, its irregular shape. It was about the size of a grapefruit with a rough texture that bit into my skin.

Catherine paused at the edge of the pond before the stepping stones that would take her to a miniature island. I stood behind her, almost close enough to
touch, and still she did not sense me. When was this woman ever anything but oblivious? I took a deep breath, then stepped deliberately onto the gravel,
the crunching sound overloud in the silence of the night. She stiffened and turned, starting when she saw how close I was. Good. I wanted Catherine to know
me, and to know what was happening.

"I thought you left," she said, taken aback. "I thought everyone was gone."

"It's so wonderfully peaceful here, don't you think?"

"Yes," she smiled thinly, "that is rather the point. But what are you still doing here? The party is over." Her eyes narrowed as she tried to figure out
how to get rid of me.

I kept my face placid, fighting the glee bouncing inside of me like an eager child. She had yet to notice the rock, veiled in darkness as we were. Seconds
stretched to eternities as I considered my moment.

I took two steps towards her, bringing myself within striking distance. "I thought we should talk."

Catherine glanced at her little island with its lovely bench inside a mosquito netting tent full of sleeping butterflies, a party extravagance. She wanted
to be on her island, not talking to me. "It's awfully late."

"Do you think?" I smiled then, mocking.

She looked puzzled. Then, through some intuition, she realized that I did not mean her well. He eyes widened in alarm as I brought the rock up in a two
fisted roundhouse. I allowed my hatred to surge up. Ecstasy flashed through me as I swung the heavy weight and felt the impact as it smashed into her
temple. She fell face-up into the pond. Her diaphanous silk caftan fluttered, softly settled on the surface, then sank. She lay still on the bottom, half
in, half out of the water. The single blow seemed to have done its work. How many times had I practiced swinging a rock in anticipation of that one
shattering moment?

I was not finished, though. I pulled a battered cellphone out of my pocket. I reached into the water for her caftan, then felt through the dripping folds
for her pocket. Once I placed the phone in the pocket of Catherine's caftan, I picked up her hand. Treading carefully on the stepping stones, I pulled her
arm to drag her further into the water. I dropped the stone into the pond, and waited while the life bubbled out of her. I smoothed the mulch at the edge
of the pond and then I left as soundlessly as I had come. My heart was still pounding, pounding, pounding out my exultation as water dripped from my hand,
forming a faint trail in the gravel as I retreated up the mosaic path. A trail that evaporated as if I had never been there.

My heart was still thudding when I woke up. I have had this dream a dozen times, and my heart always feels like it will burst when I wake. I lay back and
felt it slowly subside.

I never knew it could be like this. I have never felt so alive as I did when I spun with that rock and felt it connect with Catherine's skull. I have
killed before, but I always used means that distanced me from the person I killed. Poisons that took effect when I was not there, accidents staged to
happen when I was safely alibied, a bullet delivered with no preamble and designed to look like suicide. Clean, neat deaths masquerading as something else.

This was the first time I faced someone, saw that glimpse of mortality in her eyes and truly felt myself the direct instrument of her death. The first time
I felt the power ringing through my body. My sly satisfactions of the past were nothing compared to the primal joy of killing with my bare hands.

And I can't wait to do it again.

Anxiety gripped Lia as she felt the muzzle of the derringer press into her temple, a circle of terror that bore into her brain, leaving her unable to
think. Bailey's voice echoed in her head.
Think loving thoughts, Lia.
Tears fell as she clutched Honey's silky fur reflexively.

"Remember your exercises. If you can't breathe in, breathe out and you'll automatically breathe in. Deep breaths, take your time. The gun doesn't exist,
it's just a memory. Open your eyes and look around you. It's just you and me and the dogs. Feel the bark of the log you're sitting on. Feel Honey's fur.
Watch the light through the trees. It's a beautiful morning and you're safe here today."

Lia dutifully pushed her breath out, then inhaled deeply. Slowly her muscles relaxed and the clenching fear abated. When she was calm, she looked at Asia,
sitting next to her. Asia was an anomaly with intricately coifed hair, gold jewelry and a sapphire pantsuit that vibrated against her mocha skin. Lia's own
paint-smeared shorts and faded tee were more the norm for the park, but she still felt like a bag lady next to Asia. "Wow, that was intense," Lia said.

Asia smiled. "You're learning. You came through this much more quickly than last time."

"I'll admit, I didn't want to do this, but I think it's helping."

"Acute stress disorder is tough to handle. Nobody likes reliving those memories. But you will have the memories, whether you treat it or not. We can take
the teeth out of them so they won't continue to incapacitate you. We don't want this to turn into PTSD."

Lia looked around the clearing with the creek bubbling through it. "This used to be my favorite spot. I walked Honey and Chewy down that creek practically
every day. Then I'd sit here and listen to the birds and think. Do you suppose I'll ever get to where I can enjoy it again?"

"It takes time, and every case is different. But, yes, I think it's possible. Exposure Treatment has proven very effective in cases like this.

"We've done enough for one day. I know this log is a particularly charged spot for you, since Bailey tried to shoot you here. Why don't we stroll around a
bit and get out of the 'hot seat' so to speak?"

Lia stood up, stretched, then bent over to ruffle the ears of her patient Golden Retriever. Honey looked at her with chocolatey eyes and lolled her tongue.
Lia laughed. Chewy had been reconnoitering; he returned now to head-butt her leg, looking for attention. "Hey, Little Man, I didn't forget you." She took
his face in both hands and vibrated them the way he liked.

Asia picked up the towel she'd been sitting on and folded it over her arm. "I can tell they're a comfort to you. You're lucky to have them."

"Yes, I am."

Lia Anderson was a pretty, slender woman of about thirty with streaky chestnut hair below her shoulders and jade eyes framed by exotic cheekbones. She was
of medium height and had a light, uneven tan from the mornings she spent at the Mount Airy Dog Park and hiking the surrounding forest.

They climbed up the incline, watching as Chewy pawed and snorted through last year's leaves. "Don't you worry about what he's getting into?" Asia asked.

"I don't worry until one of them lays their neck on the ground and starts rubbing."

"Why is that?"

"They're either rolling in poop or something dead."

"Eww." Asia cringed and fanned her long ruby nails, then took a moment to regain her professional demeanor. "We have a few minutes before our session is
up," she said. "Is there anything else you'd like to talk about?"

"I'm probably going to sound stupid."

"Try me."

"I'm seeing this great guy, and part of me is waiting for the shoe to drop."

"Tell me about the shoe. When you're waiting for a shoe to drop, it means you've already heard one fall. So what was the first shoe?"

Lia pondered. "I guess it was Luthor. Not what happened to him, though that was bad enough. More about me choosing Luthor in the first place. I started
dating him, let myself get sucked in and it turns out he's not only spoiled and demanding, he was also cheating on me and lying to me.

"So here's Peter, and I think he's really great, but can I trust myself? My judgement is obviously whacked. And then there was the investigation and he
knew things about Luthor that he didn't tell me. So I freaked like he was lying the way Luthor lied. But it wasn't the same thing at all because this was
about being a cop, not about pulling one over on me. And then I think, at one time I thought Luthor was great, too, so what does that say about me? Am I
making any sense?"

Asia laughed. "That's a lot to process in ten minutes, but let's do what we can. Think back to when you first met Luthor. What was your first impression,
and be honest. Did you think he was great as in good, kind and honest, or was it something else?"

Lia took a moment to consider. "He was interesting and funny. And hot looking."

"If someone told you he was running for president, would you have voted for him?"

"Luthor? . . . Shit, now I really feel stupid."

"Why is that?"

"I never really thought about it, but Luthor wasn't the kind of guy you rely on for something important."

"Do you truly feel the same way with Peter as you did with Luthor?"

" . . . No-o-o," she breathed out slowly.

"How is it different?"

"Peter's so easy. He's not 'on' all the time. And he does what he says he's going to do."