Sneak Thief (A Dog Park Mystery) (5 page)

“No thanks.” Desiree waved off the treat. “Al's wife is just spooky. She never talks to me. She just keeps staring at me like she thinks I'm going to pocket the silver.” Desiree shuddered. “At least she's not around much. But I can't imagine a goldsmith impressing a woman with aluminum foil, can you?”

“Maybe he wants you to appreciate his artistry instead of his materials.” Lia turned to Terry. “We're trying to figure out who's leaving the foil men for Desiree. She went out to her car at the beginning of break and found this on her dashboard.” Lia indicated a little silver man sitting cross-legged in the middle of the table, elbows on knees, chin in his cupped hands. “Looks kind of glum, doesn't he?”

“I knew I should have locked my car,” Desiree said.

“I wish you would ride with me,” Lia said.

“Me, too, but I can barely make it on time leaving directly from the shop. We've got to get this big order out before next week. Things will slack up after that. Maybe then.”

Terry eyed the little man. “Curious and curiouser.” He rocked the figure back with his index finger, examining the face. “Not much detail. I'm not impressed.”

“It's in the posture,” Lia said. “It's very expressive. I think it's charming.”

“If I'm going to have a secret admirer,” Desiree said, “I'd rather have roses. Or jewelry.”

“Ah, the avarice of women . . . so like a serpent's tooth. Wait, wrong quote,” Terry said.

“Maybe art is all he has to give you. Maybe he's poor,” Lia said.

“Yesterday you said he was a stalker, now he's charming?”

“Peter said you should pay attention to anything weird, but he's probably harmless. Speaking of weird . . . .” Lia jerked her head in the direction of Avery Simmons, their room leader.

Despite his affection for Ralph Lauren, Avery would always be an Ichabod Crane of a man, prematurely balding with pasty skin. His features spoke of sensitivity and intelligence, but Lia just knew that inside he was a snotty little brat whose mother had sung lullabies to his superiority when she tucked him in at night. Lia bet she still did.

He was the sort of man her aunt always pushed on her. "He has a job, and a house, and he has such nice manners. You can tell he's good to his mother. You can't do better than a man who loves his mother."

Her aunt always said that while pointing out some boring guy who looked at Lia as if she were an exotic jungle beast. Aunt Connie wouldn't stop there. Next it would be, ”Forget the cop. A man who chases after criminals all the time, it's going rub off on him—I saw that Nicholas Cage movie about that awful lieutenant. He'll get himself shot, and where does that leave you? That nice tush of his isn't going to last forever.

“Art is no kind of living. You have to think about your future. Four husbands, and your mother never learned to find a nice, stable guy who pays the bills. You want to end up like your mother?” She popped out of the memory and found herself staring at that night's lentil sprout concoction. She shuddered.
No wonder I never talk to my aunt.

Avery was still talking to Eric. Eric's head bobbed in response to whatever his supervisor was saying as the pair walked over to their table. Simmons put on a greasy smile and spoke to Desiree's chest while Eric shrugged an apology for his boss's boorish behavior.

“Ms. . . ah . . . Willis, is it? And Ms. Anderson? Eric here,” he nodded at their team leader, “was just telling me that you're his most accurate scorers on this project.”

Desiree looked down, an affectation of modesty. “We try.”

“You're doing a great job. We have a tricky project coming up. I hope you plan to stay with us for the next contract?”

“Sure, I can always use the money. You coming back, Lia?”

“Wouldn't miss it.”

“Good, good. I'm going to request that you both be in my room again.” He glanced up at the clock. “Looks like time to get back.”

The two men walked off. Desiree waited until their backs were turned, then shook her hands as if she'd touched something disgusting. “Eeeeeewww.”

“Your not-so-secret admirer?” Terry inquired.

“Ha. Ha. You should do stand-up.”

“We'd better get back,” Lia said, sliding her chair back. “And if Avery is your secret admirer, shoot yourself now.”

“
Y
uck
! Julia, get away from there!”

Julia had her nose in the plastic wading pool someone had placed under the water pump for the dogs to play in, which many did. She lapped away at brown water peppered with floating bits of the mulch which the park service laid down to prevent soil erosion. Julia was sucking bilge like she'd just stumbled out of the Sahara.

Desiree grabbed her up. “No! Bad!”

“I don't know what it is about dirty water,” Lia said. “I guess if people enjoy drinking that toxic waste they put in soft-drinks, then it makes sense dogs would enjoy some flavor, too. They can get giardia from standing water, but the pool gets dumped several times a day. I doubt it will make her sick.”

“I don't care, I don't want her drinking it.” Desiree set Julia down and grabbed the edge of the pool and tugged at it without success. “Geez. Why does it have to be so big? There has to be at least 50 gallons in here. That's over 400 pounds.”

“You sure? How do you know how much water weighs?” Lia asked.

“I used to fill water jugs to use for hand weights. It's over eight pounds for a gallon.”

“Hold on, I'll give you a hand. Good thing we only have to tilt it, not pick it up. You pull on top and I'll get my hands underneath and lift.”

Together the women leaned over the pool. Lia's opal pendant popped out of her Tee shirt and swung over the muddy water, hitting Desiree in the nose.

“Watch it, your jewelry is aiming to kill.”

“Sorry.”

With effort, they slid the pool sideways to uncover the drain, then dumped the water. It formed a dark puddle on the concrete pad, spilling over the edge onto the surrounding apron of gravel. They stepped back to avoid getting their feet wet and watched the water retreat.

Desiree examined Lia's pendant. “I remember this. Al made it. He let me buff the setting before he mounted the opal. That's such a sweet piece. It's one of my favorites.”

“Small world. I never asked Peter where he had it made.”

The water gone, the women set about refilling the pool. Lia leaned on the pump handle, holding it open while mentally calculating how long it would take to refill.

“So your Peter is Detective . . . wait, it's on the tip of my tongue . . . Dorsey?”

“Doursen. I can't believe you remember a customer you had months ago.”

“Oh, well, that's not where I met him. I can't believe we've been hanging out for weeks and I never made the connection.”

Julia sniffed at the now sanitized water and stuck her nose up in the air. She ambled over to the edge of the ten-foot concrete pad and began licking water off the surrounding gravel.

“Julia, stop it! Bad!” Desiree chased Julia away from the gravel. Julia gave her a hurt look and wandered off.

“Honestly!” Desiree huffed.

“Dogs are designed to eat rotting dead things. I've been coming here for years and I've never known a dog to get sick from the water. Julia's more likely to get sick from the awful stuff they put in commercial dog food than she is from eating stuff she finds outside.”

“Maybe. It's still revolting.”

“I still can't believe you know Peter,” Lia probed.

“It's not something I like to talk about. He questioned me once. I'll never forget it.”

“Really?” Lia encouraged.

“He was really nice, but it was such a shock. I'd been seeing this guy. I really loved him, but he had this bitch of a girlfriend who wouldn't let him go, you know? So I told him not to come back until he'd worked it out.”

Desiree's face crumpled. A tear rolled down her nose and clung to the tip before dropping onto her chest. Lia let go of the pump handle and rubbed Desiree's back in comforting circles. Tears poured down Desiree's face. Lia pulled Desiree into her arms, and she proceeded to blubber into Lia's tee shirt. Honey, Chewy and Julia gathered around, worried looks on their faces. Chewy sniffed at her leg while Julia whimpered. Lia led her over to the nearest picnic table and steadied Desiree as she climbed up. Honey and Julia jumped on the table and snuggled around Desiree to give comfort. Chewy propped his front paws on the bench and head-butted her leg. Desiree stroked the dogs and cried herself out.

“Sorry.” Desiree wiped her nose with the back of her hand, streaking it with snot. “I thought I could talk about it. It's just . . . I wish I'd never sent him away. Maybe if I hadn't, we'd be together now.”

“I'm so sorry. What happened?”

“He . . . he killed himself.”

“Oh my God! That's horrible,” Lia said. “Look, you can't blame yourself forever. I know what that feels like. My boyfriend was murdered almost two years ago, and it happened because of me. I blamed myself for a long time, and sometimes I still do. I have a good therapist, though, and she helps me.”

“So you know what it's like.” Desiree sniffled.

“It's a rotten place to be.”

“I know I shouldn't blame myself. Part of it is feeling like I lost out on the love of my life. Luthor was so perfect for—”

“Luthor? Luthor Morrisey?”

“How did you know?” Desiree looked up at Lia, blinking.

“Luthor was
my
boyfriend. And he didn't kill himself. He was murdered.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don't you read the papers? Geezelpete, it was all over the news!”

“You're
her
?
You're
the bitch?”

“
Excuse me
?”

“Oh, I heard all about you. How he was trying to get away from you, but
you
wouldn't let him go. Too bad you didn't see a shrink
before
you got him killed.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Luthor used to tell me stories about you, how he was worried because you were unstable, how you needed him too much. Well, I needed him too!” Desiree hopped off the table, shouting in Lia's face.

“Yeah, he told you stories, all right. I'd dumped the bastard for the third time the night he died. He always hounded me until I took him back. If he wasn't with you, Honey Boo Boo, it was because he didn't want to be. I would have handed him to you on a gold-plated platter. I'd have served him up with hollandaise sauce and a sprig of parsley!”

Lia felt the crack of Desiree's palm on her face. Years of self-imposed guilt exploded into rage. She leapt off the table before she realized what she was doing and watched herself shove Desiree as if she were watching another person. Desiree stumbled back several feet. She threw herself at Lia, knocking her on her ass. Lia's mouth gaped in shock.

“Are you
serious
?” She stood up, deliberately planting her feet, looming over Desiree. They glared at each other. She grabbed the front of Desiree's shirt and yanked it towards her. “Listen,
Missy
—”

The sound of tearing cloth caused both women to freeze. Desiree looked down. Three buttons had popped and the fabric was ripped straight down the front, exposing Desiree's fuchsia satin bra. She grabbed the hem of Lia's T-shirt and jerked it with the force of a respectable round-house punch. The ancient cotton parted at the seam.

“Atta girl, Lia! You show her whose dog park it is!” Charlie yelled from the sidelines. Lia jerked her head up to see Jose elbow Charlie violently.

“Best entertainment I've had since Jesse Ventura went into politics,” Charlie hooted.

Lia looked around her to realize her debacle with Desiree had attracted a crowd. During the course of their pushy-shovey, she and Desiree had worked themselves onto the concrete pad. Lia narrowed her eyes. Desiree glared back.

Now in full possession of herself, Lia clenched her fist, slowly drew it back, then planted it in Desiree's face. Desiree stumbled back several feet, then toppled into the wading pool, drenching her jeans and spotting her expensive lingerie. Julia jumped into the pool and began licking drops of water off Desiree's exposed midriff.

Lia stormed off to the sound of clapping and cheering dog-parkers, Honey and Chewy racing after her.

A muddy tennis ball thumped her in the back. She kept going.

L
ia rubbed
at her latest chalk lines with a damp rag, smearing the offending shapes. She huffed in frustration. Nothing she drew this morning worked.

“Would you like a break, dear?” Alma asked. “I brought you coffee.”

Lia turned away from the nursing home wall to accept a cup from a bird-like octogenarian with a feathery cap of stubbornly black hair. She glanced across the resident lounge to check on Honey and Chewy. They were happily entertaining the attentions of a trio of women in wheel chairs.

“Alma, how is it that you've never gone gray?”

“It's all the greens, dear. Kale, chard, spinach.” She ticked these off on her fingers. “They keep color in your hair while they keep your brain sharp. Are you okay?” The tiny woman nodded at the scuffed-over drawing above the wainscoting. “You seem to be having trouble making up your mind today.”

Lia sat down in an over-stuffed armchair. “Oh, Alma. I probably shouldn't have come in today.” She looked up at the chalk drawings lining the lounge walls. “I wanted to finish up the drawings today so I could start painting in here tomorrow, but everything I've done so far stinks.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“I had a fight with someone I thought was my friend.”

“I'm so sorry.” She patted Lia's knee. “I saw Peter this morning. He said he was bringing you pizza tonight. I know he'll make you feel better.”

“I'm sure you're right.” Lia lifted a corner of her mouth in a pitiful attempt to smile that fell, doomed. She changed the subject. “What's with Henry?” She nodded towards the sixty year old widower who sat moping in the corner.

Alma scowled. “Damned Nurse Ratched.”

“Excuse me?” Lia blinked. Alma rarely used what she called ‘salty language.'

“She cancelled book club.”

“A book club seems pretty harmless. Why would she do that?”

“Well, half of the people who come to the meetings can't read because of strokes. The rest of us wanted them to feel included, so the person who selected the book for that meeting would read their favorite scene for everybody. Then a few months ago, we decided to make it a group affair. We would assign parts and read the scenes like we were doing a play, with one person as narrator.”

“I don't see anything wrong with that. Why would that be a problem?”

“We had Henry's book for our last meeting. Henry loves to read, but with his stroke, he can only read very light fiction. His daughter left behind a romance novel one day, and he got so excited because he could follow the book. He began reading all the romances he could. He brought his favorite to our meeting yesterday."

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. He was thrilled about playing Jaime MacDougall, clan laird in
Highland Hostage
. He was doing this wonderful Scottish brogue, so we didn't understand that it was the wedding night scene when he got started. Then when we figured it out, everyone was having such a good time, I didn't have the heart to stop it. When Jaime gave the mighty thrust that rent the veil of innocence from his captive, ninety-three-year-old Agatha Mabry, following the spirit of the book, gave a shriek that could be heard down at the nurses station.

“I'm sure you can guess the rest. Funny thing is, at least a dozen women have offered to play Laird and Captive with Henry in his room since then.”

“I don't understand. Why is he moping?”

“Well, I'm not sure, but the rumor is, his doctor won't allow him to have his Viagra.”

“Poor Henry.” Lia didn't know whether to shake her head or start laughing. “And they say seniors don't know how to have fun.”

T
he Watcher leaned back
in his chair, swiveling absently, the twelve-inch square of aluminum foil in his hands reflecting the glow from his monitor. He lightly creased the sheet in thirds, then unfolded it. He folded it in half in the other direction, creasing one end up to the first of the faint folds. He opened the sheet back up and split it along the fold, stopping at the middle third. He flipped the sheet around and made two creases in the opposite side, splitting this section into thirds, again stopping at the middle section. Once these creases were split, he had his doll template.