Sneak Thief (A Dog Park Mystery) (8 page)

Peter burst out laughing. “Unbelievable.”

“Truth. So if Heckle and Jeckle have adopted Captain America, it's because they want to have a chump on tap if they ever need one.”

“Forget Captain America. Brainard's new name is going to be Brain-dead before the week is out.”

“Heads up, brother,” Brent said. “The love of my life is arriving.”

Cynth McFadden emerged from her basement computer lab and was headed their way. Peter shook his head.

“Are you ever going to give up?”

“Not as long as she curls her lip at me in that sexy way she has,” Brent said.

“She does that because she hates you.”

“Oh, ye of little faith. Her attraction is—Hey, gorgeous, when are you going to marry me?”

Cynth executed a neat turn, sliding deftly in front of Brent and dropping a thick file folder down on Peter's desk as if Brent's hand had not been in that precise spot a nano-second before.

“I finished the printouts,” she said, speaking directly to Peter as if they were alone. “I know you said you'd go over them, but there's more there than we counted on. I'm free tonight if you want help.”

Peter found it hard to focus on Cynth's pleasantly expectant face while Brent glared at him over Cynth's shoulder with an ever-increasing intensity of expression.

The IT officer hid her Baywatch-worthy figure with shapeless golf shirts that were two sizes too big. A fat, wheat-colored braid fell to her waist. Wire-rim glasses obscured eyes that Peter knew to be large and warm as melted chocolate.

A martial arts expert, Cynth was the most dangerous woman on the force. Ironically, her superior hand-to-hand skills, her lack of interest and her baggy clothes, all intended to put off the advances of men, drew them—Brent Davis being the most persistent among them—like a magnet.

Peter eyed the inch-high stack of paper with apprehension. “Don't you have better things to do? I thought you were teaching that self-defense class.”

“Oh, that's over now. We won't start up again until June. Tell you what. I'll bring pizza. And beer.”

Peter and Brent watched Cynth exit the bullpen, navigating the jungle of desks with athletic grace.

“I am a sick man,” Brent moaned. “The more that woman disses me, the better I like it. It's not right that such a perverse woman should have such power.”

T
he wall was filled
with birds. Birds swooping, birds roosting on branches, birds singing. Blue jays, woodpeckers with red crests, orange-bellied orioles, swallow tails. Little brown wrens. Pearly mourning doves. Mockingbirds. Swallows. A robin feeding her nest of chicks. They chirped, swooped, perched against a lacy backdrop of branches and spring leaves playing peek-a-boo with a blue sky.

“ I can almost hear them sing,” Alma said.

“Thanks, Alma. I wanted something active and cheerful.”

“It fills the bill. And it's a lovely complement to the waterlilies lining the hall. You've been putting in a lot of hours to get this done so quickly. I thought you had a job in the evening?”

“I do, but we're off for a couple weeks. It's been nice to focus on this full time. But I go back next Monday.” Lia glanced over to see Honey curled up on the sofa, her head in Henry's lap. Chewy was head-butting his hand from his other side, hoping for pets.

“And the dogs love it here. If I left without them, I don't think they'd notice.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Alma said.

“Henry looks like he's feeling better.”

“I think he's relieved because he finally fessed up.”

“What brought that about?”

Alma leaned forward, whispered. “Well, the women kept after him and wouldn't go away, so he broke down and told them about his problem.”

“And?”

“His fan club has taken it on as a challenge, and they've become quite competitive about ‘stiffening his resolve,' so to speak.”

Lia's phone beeped, signaling a text. “Excuse me,” she said, pulling out her phone. She frowned at the message on her screen: “Call me! IMPORTANT!!!” It was from Desiree. She rolled her eyes and shoved the phone back in her pocket.

“Where were we?” Lia asked.

“Is everything okay? You got a funny look on your face just then.”

“Fine, just a message from someone I don't care to talk to.”

“It wasn't Peter was it?”

“Oh, no, not at all—”

“Because he's stopped talking about you, and you never mention him anymore, and I was wondering if something was wrong.”

“Oh, Alma,” Lia stumbled, not sure what to say.

“Have a seat, dear. Talk to me.”

Lia wiped off her brushes and put them to soak, then followed the little woman to an empty couch. Lia hugged a floral chintz throw pillow, resting her chin on the top edge. She set it aside when Honey and Chewy disengaged themselves from their current flirtation and returned to their now-available mistress.

“I don't know where to begin.” Lia checked her hands to make sure they were free of paint, then began stroking the dogs, one with each hand. The distraction gave her time to think. “You won't tell Peter we talked?”

“Peter who, dear?” Alma winked.

“Thank you . . . Peter, well, he . . . he acts like my dad sometimes.”

“How so?”

“He decides things without consulting me. He'll decide what I do and don't need to know, and sometimes I wind up looking like a fool. He let me get all chummy with one of the women Luthor was cheating with. He
knew
who she was and chose not to tell me. There I was, patting her on the back while she was crying about her boyfriend killing himself over some bitch, when I find out
I'm
the bitch she was talking about!”

Alma patted her knee. “That is unfortunate. I know you and Peter were brought up very differently. I don't think young people take that into account when they get into relationships. They think they're speaking the same language because they both know English.”

“How do I get the message across that he needs to treat me like an adult?”

Alma nodded at Honey. “How do your dogs know what you want?”

Lia blinked, not sure where Alma was going. “Uh . . . consistency and clear communication.”

“And how many times do you have to repeat a lesson before they learn a command?”

“It depends on the dog, on the reward, and how difficult it is for them to do.”

“And once they learn a command, do they always do it perfectly?”

“No, some days are better than others.”

“What do you do when they forget?”

“We go through the lesson again to reinforce it.”

“Do you yell at them or punish them?”

“No, that would be counter-productive.”

“Exactly! Humans aren't much different. I bet you don't give up on a dog that comes to you with bad habits.”

“This isn't like teaching a dog to sit, Alma. It's a lot more complicated than that.”

“I wouldn't know about that. Gene and I had a good marriage before he died, but we had to figure each other out in the beginning, and it was a while before it took. We both tended to revert to our own ways without thinking about it.”

“What kept you from killing him?”

“Well, he was rather hot . . . .”

“
Alma!
”

“You have to keep reminding yourself why you love them, and that you're not perfect. Prayer helps. There were times I prayed for understanding several times a day.”

“And that helped?”

“It helped me. Things seemed to work out better when I did. Then there's forgiveness.”

“I don't think I'm ready for that.”

“Do you love Peter?”

“Mostly. Right now I'm having a hard time of it.”

“Either you love Peter or you don't.
How
you love Peter is another matter.”

“What do you mean, ‘How you love. . . .'?”

“Love isn't in feelings. Love is in action, the choices you make, what you do. You can always choose to do the loving thing. Sometimes that requires tough decisions.”

“You mean like when you refuse to enable an addict?”

“Yes, though that's an obvious example. The important thing to remember is that being loving never requires you to do anything that is harmful to yourself, whether it's harmful to your self-esteem or your finances or your body. Self-love has to come first. So many young women throw their lives away on men, treating themselves like they were nothing. That's not love, though I'm getting off topic here. I don't think that's your problem with Peter, is it?”

“No, I don't think so. But what
is
the topic?”

“Love between two is a mutual commitment. The rest is working out the details, like what kind of relationship you have, where you're headed and what the boundaries are. Sometimes when you're learning about each other, you discover a deal-breaker, like he's a violent alcoholic or he sells stray dogs to animal testing facilities. That falls under the ‘I could never live with a man who . . .' category.

“Anything less than a deal-breaker requires you to search your heart.”

“What am I looking for?”

“First you have to find your part in the problem.”

“My part? I'm not the one keeping secrets!”

“Dear,” Alma said, “there's
always
a ‘my part.'” She patted Lia's knee. “It's about time for recreation. We're showing Elvis movies all week. This afternoon it's
Blue Hawaii
, and I don't want to miss that.” She winked at Lia. “You'll figure it out.”

Lia ruffled Honey's ears as she watched the birdlike woman bend over Henry and invite him to the movies. She wondered if she would ever tell Alma that the sassy woodpecker was modeled after her.

“Those brushes aren't going to clean themselves,” she told the dogs. “Which one of you is on studio duty today? Neither one of you? What do you mean you're both permanently on kitchen duty?” She could swear the dogs were laughing at her as she rinsed her brushes out in the nearby custodial closet.

“Think you're smart, do you?”

She stowed her box of supplies on a shelf, then turned back to her dogs.

“My part? What the hell does she mean, ‘my part'?”

L
ia checked
the roster outside Maple room while the army of graders for the new session swarmed by her. She found her name on the list for Eric's team, then scanned the names of her teammates. Desiree was there as well.
Damn. Really, though, it was too much to hope for, that they would split us up. I'd give anything to be at the other end of the building. Hell, I'd happily work in the parking lot.
If Eric seated us together, I'll ask to be moved, and damn the blot on my record. I can't take three more weeks of drama.

She entered the room, scanning the rows for Eric. The room was alive with movement as other scorers found their assigned stations and settled in. She located her team, indicated by teal card stock placards perched on monitors, designating seating assignments.

She found Desiree's assigned station in the first row. She did not find herself. Eric was standing in the last row, at the station next to his. She started to open her mouth to ask why she wasn't assigned a station when Eric placed one last placard on top of the monitor next to his.

“I'm going to be next to you?” She asked. “I don't know whether to be honored or terrified.”

“You'll be fine. I put you and Desiree as far apart as I could. That's the best I can do without requesting to transfer you to another team. Can you handle it?”

“Like you said, I'll be fine.”

Lia settled in for Avery's orientation and pretended she was not waiting for Desiree to show up. Her mind wandered as he droned on, explaining Maple Room rules to the newbies while team leaders handed out paperwork.

Desiree had been working longer hours at A. Vasari during their last project and was frequently late, skimming just under the wire of the grace period. She only maintained her attendance bonus through good weather and the kindness of benevolent traffic lights.

Any minute now
. . . Lia kept glancing up at the door while she filled out the forms. No Desiree. When they trooped to the training room to review the questions assigned to the team for this session, she was amazed at Desiree's gall, that she would be so late on the first day of a project.
She'd better get here soon, or she won't be able to pass her qualification test.

Lia almost lost herself in the intricacies of assigning points for a complex math problem. The four pointer involved figuring the surface area of a room's walls, minus 3 windows, then deciding whether it would be cheaper to use the inexpensive paint that would require a second coat, or the more expensive paint guaranteed to cover in one coat.

Any minute now, she's going to burst in, full of excuses, and disrupt everything. Or maybe she'll slink in with that ‘I've been a bad puppy' look on her face and somehow grab everyone's attention anyway.

Desiree did not burst in or slink in or enter in any fashion whatsoever. Break came and went. Worry and inattention had Lia tanking her practice test. She had to refer to her handouts on the qualifier and was the last to finish.

“That's it for tonight, folks. You did great with a very complicated question. Tomorrow's question is only a two-pointer. It looks easier on the surface but it has hidden dimensions.”

“What's up with you?” Eric leaned over her computer. “You usually do much better.”

“I'm worried about Desiree. Has she called?”

“Not a peep.” He shrugged. “If she comes tomorrow, she can qualify on the second question. She misses again, she's out for this session and her ranking drops way down on call-backs. If that happens, you won't have to worry about avoiding her for the next three weeks.” Lia gathered up her things and headed for the door.

Somehow, the thought of not having to avoid Desiree didn't make her feel any better. She joined Terry in the lobby. “Hold on a sec, I need to make a call.” The army of exiting scorers milled past them, noisily streaming around her and Terry like water around a pair of rocks in a brook. They headed out into the night, leaving her and Terry alone in the sterile corporate lobby.

Lia shook her head and put her phone away.

“No luck?” Terry asked.

“Straight to voice mail.”

“Who were you calling?”

“I was trying to get Desiree. She never showed.” They headed out the double doors, into the nightly parking lot exodus, cars jammed like the population of Manhattan fleeing alien invasion. Headlights splashed across their legs as they wove through the stalled traffic to Terry's truck.

“I'm sure the winsome lass found something better to do with her time. Or someone. I thought you weren't talking to her?”

“I'm not.”

“Clearly.”

“I hope she didn't blow off this job because we fought. I'd hate to think she ditched extra income because Peter is a jerk.”

“Desiree is not so faint of heart. As for Peter, he's a man. What can you expect of us? We're flawed.”

“Hmmph.”

“Speaking of your good-hearted but misguided beau, when are you going to let him out of the dog house?”

Lia climbed into Terry's truck. “I don't know. Alma says I need to see my part in the problem.”

“A woman admitting fault? That would upset the balance of the universe.”