“Wes Bentley? I thought that was Jake Gyllenhaal,” Bailey said.
“Motive?” Lia asked. “What do you think, Renee?”
“Our young Lothario either wants the widow for himself, or he is avenging her honor, or both,” Renee said.
“And Stacy?” Lia asked.
“Maybe she felt betrayed by the affair? Because George was going to leave?” Renee pondered.
“Could they have been in it together?” Bailey asked.
“It’s possible,” Lia said, shrugging. “But then the motive becomes murkier.”
“How so?” Bailey asked.
“I doubt Stacy is going to help Jacob in pursuit of her mother. That’s just too disturbing to think about. It would have to be Jacob helping Stacy for Stacy’s reasons. And if she has the attention of Jacob to the extent that he would commit murder for her, why would she care what George was up to?” Lia explained.
“What if they’re sick, twisted adolescents, acting out their nihilistic fantasies?” Bailey suggested.
“Did you get a look at Stacy? She seem to have nihilistic fantasies to you, Lia?” Renee asked.
“I only saw pictures of her. She seems like a straight-arrow, studious type.”
“We have a problem,” Lia said.
“What’s that?” Renee asked.
“We need to connect the bow with someone. Peter and Brent found the owner of the bow, and it came from a very dubious neighborhood. Not a place middle-class sorts would care to go, and not people they would care to associate with.”
“If they identified the owner, why wasn’t he arrested?” Bailey asked.
“The bow was reported stolen before George died,” Lia explained.
“And I’m sure they were telling the absolute truth,” Renee pouted. “So where is this dubious neighborhood?”
“I don’t know. Peter wouldn’t tell me, just that it’s dicey. Anyway, I have to draw the line there. It’s one thing to take food to the Munces. That’s something I’d do, anyway, that is, if I actually knew George. Which we don’t, really. But we have no business being anywhere near the guy who owned that bow.”
“Well, pooh.” Renee made a moue. “Maybe you’ll find out more when you go back today.”
“Am I going back today?” Lia asked.
Renee patted Lia’s hand. “Of course you are. I have today’s offering in the car.”
~ ~ ~
“Alma, how do you stay so limber? I know people half your age who aren’t as fit as you are.” Peter took a drink from his morning Pepsi as he watched his tiny octogenarian neighbor pick kale from her garden.
“Daily yoga, and fresh greens keep my hair black. It’s so nice that kale grows on into winter. I can have homegrown greens almost year round.” She handed the bag to Peter. “Take these. I bet that girlfriend of yours knows what to do with them.” She pulled another plastic grocery sack out of her pocket and resumed pruning the older leaves.
“Yeah. She makes me eat them.”
Alma chuckled. “You listen to her. You may think you can eat anything—” She gave his Pepsi a scathing look. “— and get away with it, but you’re not too far from the day when your body will rebel. So, when are you going to marry that girl?” She stood up and looked him straight in the eyes.
Amused, Peter quirked up his mouth and looked straight back. “I’d marry her tomorrow, but she’s a hard sell. She likes things the way they are.”
“Why do you want to marry her? You’re getting the milk for free, aren’t you?”
Peter sputtered. “Alma! You know it’s not like that.”
“Okay, let’s look at it a different way. You want a wife, she doesn’t want a husband. Why don’t you look elsewhere? You’re a handsome young man. You’ve got a job and you don’t hang out with low-life types. I don’t think it would be too hard for you to find a wife.”
“I don’t want a wife, I want Lia.”
“Because?”
“Well . . . because she’s the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”
“That’s good then. To make a marriage work, she has to be your hero. Of course, you have to be hers, too. Are you her hero?”
“Um, I don’t know. That’s not exactly something that comes up in daily conversation.”
“Think of it like respect. Do you respect each other.”
“I think so.”
“I mean, do you like her exactly as she is, or do you think marriage is going to change things somehow?”
“I guess I thought we’d buy a house, make a home together.”
“Uh, huh, and who’s going to iron your shirts?”
“Nobody irons my shirts. They don’t need it.”
“That’s good. Too many men think of wives like their cars. Something they need that makes their life easier and hopefully looks good; and that they take care of to keep from whining but mostly ignore.”
“That’s insulting!”
“Just making sure you’re not expecting Lia to be your housekeeper-sex goddess.”
“You’re harsh, Alma,” he scolded.
“Marriage is serious business. Too many young people jump into it thinking it’s going to fix their lives, when it’s likely to make things harder. If you want a good marriage, first you have to have respect based on admiration, trust, and then friendship. You have to have all three things, and you have to have them on both sides, or it won’t work. “
“You left out love.”
“You’re going to have love at the start of every relationship, but love isn’t enough to make a marriage, or even keep itself going. Lots of things kill love, and you can love someone but not be able to stay married to them.”
“That’s a lot to think about.”
“If your girl is balky about making a commitment, then you need to be building on those three things, you and she both. So what’s missing?”
~ ~ ~
The door opened. Lia noted the questioning look in Monica’s eyes, as if she were uncertain why Lia was there. The look vanished, replaced by a hesitant smile, very proper for one who is grieving. “More gifts? You are too kind. Please come in.” Monica ushered Lia inside. “We still have plenty of lasagna. It’s lovely, by the way.”
“I brought salmon croquettes today.”
“Aren’t you the cook.”
“It’s just a hobby,” Lia demurred. Monica took the covered dish, poured coffee.
“You really don’t have to keep bringing us food,” Monica said.
“It’s no trouble. I wish there was more we could do. George was well liked at the park.”
“I never realized. He never said.”
George hadn’t said, because we barely knew him. If we had, we would have missed him and called. Not that I’m going to tell Monica that.
“How is Stacy handling things?” Lia asked.
“Stacy’s a trooper. She’s my pillar of strength. I don’t know what I’d do without her. I just hope this doesn’t send her grades into the sewer. She’s shooting for Stanford. I suppose we can forget about that, with George gone.” She sighed. “It’s not like the old days, when you could work your way through school.”
Monica looked at her watch. “I’m sorry, I’m expecting my brother and his wife any minute now. I hope you’ll excuse me. They’re driving in from Indianapolis to help out with the funeral.” She stood up.
“Has the coroner released George, then?”
“Not yet, but they said the anthropologist would be here this week, and then they would release him. So we’re having the funeral next Tuesday. We’re going to finalize everything after they get here. I hope you’ll come, and bring George’s dog park friends.”
She ushered Lia to the door. “Thank you for the croquettes. I’m sure they’ll make a lovely dinner. Please don’t trouble about us for tomorrow. We’ll be going out to eat.”
A teenaged girl with dark hair down to her waist came up the walk. “Stacy, darling,” Monica called. “This is Lia. She made that lovely lasagna we h
ad last night.”
Stacy’s mouth stretched in a parody of a grin. Pro-forma acknowledgment with ironic undertones. She slipped inside without saying anything.
~
Lia rendezvoused with Bailey and Max around the corner from the Munce’s house. Bailey opened the back door and Max jumped in. She slid into the front seat beside Lia.
“How come you got to sit inside and drink coffee while I had to walk Max? She’s your dog.”
“Monica knows me now, so she might tell me something. She doesn't know you at all. Max needs the exercise, and you needed an excuse to loiter.” Max jumped up and propped her forepaws on top of the seat back so she could lean over and lick Lia’s ear.
“See, she missed you. She kept looking at the house, wanting to follow you. I kept telling her she was going to give us away, but she didn’t care.”
Lia gave Max’s head a scratch. “Sorry about that. Did you find anything out?”
“I saw a Wes Bently clone coming home from school. I’m sure it was Jacob. I was able to get his address, and I texted it along with Stacy’s info down to Trees. He should be able to get back to us within a day or so. Then we’ll know if there’s anything off about Stacy or Jacob, like any criminal or psychiatric history.
“By the way, you’re right. He’s a hunk.”
“A very young hunk.”
“Spoilsport. Did you find out anything about Stacy?”
“Monica maintains that Stacy is the perfect daughter. Good grades, thoughtful, et cetera, et cetera. The princess made her appearance as I was leaving and showed a shocking lack of manners. I don’t think Stacy is as perfect as Monica wants everyone to believe.”
“Jacob drove home. Stacy pulled up about the same time. They didn’t acknowledge each other. So either they don’t like each other, or else they don’t want anyone to know they like each other.”
“Well that’s clear as mud.”
~ ~ ~
“Hi, Gorgeous.” Brent flashed Cynth a perfect, practiced smile as he sat on the edge of her desk. “How’s our little project coming?
Cynth looked over the top of her black frame glasses and rolled her eyes. Peter winked at her. She flipped a heavy, wheat colored braid over her shoulder and pressed a hand to the full and well-formed bosom lurking underneath her baggy golf shirt. “Oh Brent,” she said breathily. “I’ve just never seen anything like this. I never imagined men and women would write such things to each other. It is positively scandalous.”
Was that a little Scarlett O’Hara Peter detected in her voice?
Brent leaned forward, crowding her personal space. “So when are you going to let me have a look at it? I just want a little peek.”
She leaned back and fanned her face with a small stack of pages. “I really don’t know if anyone should be seeing this. Why, looking at it has me quite . . . flushed.”
“Is that it?” Brent nodded at the papers.
“Oh, this?” She looked at the pages she held as if she hadn’t seen them before. “You want this?” She held the pages out, then pulled them back as Brent reached for them. She held them close to her face and adjusted her glasses. “I believe these are for a Detective Dourson. Is your name Dourson?”
“Cynth, don’t make me beg.”
“I kinda like making you beg. I know that’s a rare experience for you. Peter, do you want these? I’m sorry it took so long. They had me pretending to be a teenager on Facebook, looking for comments about the bottle bombs at Hughes High School.” She handed the pages to Peter. “These are rated for mature audiences, so be sure to keep them away from Junior, here.”
“Why don’t you come over to my place?” Brent said. “We’ll see who makes who beg.”
“Oh!” She pressed her hand to her breast again. “My heart is all aflutter.”
“You know he’s going to show it to me,” he told Cynth. “Women,” Brent muttered to Peter on their way out of the IT department.
Peter heard Cynth snort.
~ ~ ~
“No coffee, Esmerelda, I’ll float away,” Lia said as she sat down on the leather sofa. “Thanks, though.” Max lay down on the floor beside her and pretended there was no leash restraining her.
“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” Renee said. She bent down to pet Max. Dakini nosed in, jealous. “What happened? Did you find anything out?”
“I wanted to talk to you before you put Esmerelda to work for the cause. We’re not exactly busted, but I got a strong hint or three from Monica that further culinary goods were not desired.”
“Drat. What if we send someone else? Someone from the park?”
“Who would you send? We can’t send Bailey, Stacy saw her walking Max today, so she might wonder why this person who was on her street is now knocking on her door.”
“I see what you mean,” Renee said, tapping her chin. “What about Jim?”
“I’m not sure how Jim would feel about what we’re doing. I can’t imagine Monica telling him anything significant, can you?”
“You may be right, though he has such a kind look about him. I remember Catherine saying how much she loved talking to him. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, would it? What were you able to accomplish today? Anything good? Did you find out when the funeral is?”
“Funeral?” Kitty stood in the doorway, her eyes bleak. Her clothes were bagging. Lia wondered if she’d lost weight. “Is there going to be a funeral? I’d wondered, after what you told me about the condition of the body.”
Lia and Renee exchanged glances.
“It’s being scheduled,” Lia said. “I don't know the exact time or any of the details, but she said Tuesday.”
Kitty perched on the edge of a chair. She sat straight, with her hands clasped in her lap, hope battling with nerves. Her eyes darted between Renee and Lia, uncertain. Max stood up and wandered over to Kitty, at the limits of her leash. She sniffed at the woman’s fingers. Kitty responded reflexively, stroking Max’s head. “I would love to say good-bye to George. If you find out where it is, maybe I can visit the grave after the service is over.” Lia let go of the leash. Max laid her head on Kitty’s knee and sighed.
Renee waved dismissively. “Don’t be so cliche, Kitty. Nobody knows who you are, except a few people at the dog park. I think you should go. Lia can take you. You’re going, aren’t you?”
“Well, I, uh . . .” Lia said as Kitty continued petting Max.
“Of course you are! Doesn’t the killer always go to the funeral? You have to be there, and there’s no reason not to take Kitty along.”
Kitty’s mouth trembled, hinting at a smile. “Do you think I could go? It would mean so much to me.”
Lia saw the tiny spark appear in Kitty’s eyes. I’m doomed. Totally doomed. She shoved the thought aside as a brainstorm occurred. “Max seems to like you,” she said.
~ ~ ~
“. . . I cleared it with the rescue, so for the time being, Max is staying with Kate, and Renee’s going to show her how to do basic obedience with Max. It’ll give Kate something to do, and provide Max with attention I just can’t give her right now. I’m hoping Renee’s rescue and my rescue will rescue each other.” She and Peter sat on the back stoop, watching their dogs nose around the yard. The sun had passed behind the trees and the air chilled. She leaned against him for a bit of body heat.
Peter tapped her cup of tea with his beer bottle. “Pure genius. Have I ever told you that I think smart girls are sexy?”
Lia laughed. “Oh, really?”
“Really. Seriously, you seem much more relaxed now that you don’t have to worry about Max escaping.”
“It’s true. So how was your day, Dear?” She fluttered her eyelashes teasingly.
“A lot of i-dotting.”
“Sorry?”
“Dotting i’s, crossing t’s. Brent and I have been chasing down hunters to find out if any of them saw anything. Brent’s making eyes at Cynth in IT.”
“Cynth? Isn’t she a little . . . umm . . . geeky for B
rent?”
“I think he’s having sexy librarian fantasies since we gave her the job of tracking down George and Kate’s love-notes to each other. He says he wants to be handy in case reviewing their communications sends her into a fit of unbridled lust.”
“Why that opportunistic cad!” Lia huffed, outraged.
“I wouldn’t worry about it. Cynth likes the IT stuff, but she can take care of herself out on the street. She excelled in hand-to-hand in the academy, and she takes off every year to play sword mistress at the Renaissance festival. Brent is no match for her. Near as I can tell, she finds him amusing. I haven’t shared that with Brent. It’s too much fun to watch.”
“You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“They’re both adults. They can handle it.” He took a deep breath. “Have you given any more thought to our conversation the other night?”
“About living together?” Lia examined his face in the failing light. “Peter, why do you want to live with me?”
“You sound just like Alma. She grilled me about the same thing today.”
“Oh? You ask her to move in with you, too? And I thought Brent was a cad.” She made a disgusted sound.
He shoulder bumped her. “I confess, I’d dump you for her in a minute, but she says I’m not old enough. Yet.”
“Cute. So answer the question, Dourson.”
“We don’t have to live together.” He searched for words. “It’s just, my place seems lonely without you. I think of things I want to tell you, but you’re not there. I like my place a lot. At least I used to. I don’t enjoy being by myself as much as I did before we started seeing each other. It feels like my life is over here, with you.”
“Oh, Peter.” She leaned against him, wrapped her arms around his waist. “I know I have issues. Part of it is trust. You’ve never done anything for me not to trust you. I just find it hard to rely on someone else. But only part of it is trusting you. The rest of it is trusting me.”
Peter beetled his brows. “What are you trying to say?”
Maximum Security (A Dog Park Mystery) Page 13