After that, she removed a rag from a plastic bag and allowed Max to sniff it. She took it to the far side of the park, then had Kate release Max to see if she would retrieve it. Chris did this several times with different rags. Max retrieved rags that held scents of decomposition and live humans. She was disinterested in the rags scented with chemicals associated with narcotics, bombs and arson.
“She’s got a good nose and she’s a high energy dog. She’s definitely got potential,” Chris said.
“Did Peter tell you she’s an escape artist?” Lia asked. “How will you ever manage her?”
“It’s likely she’s bored and wants something to do. If I give her a job that involves taking her to the woods, she may get enough stimulation that she doesn’t need to run off. She’s highly food motivated, so that’s the tool I’ll use to train her. Presuming the rescue is willing to let me adopt her.”
“What if she doesn’t work out as a scent dog?” Lia asked.
“Many dogs who start training don’t wind up qualifying. I still need a friend for Boo, and they seem to get along.”
“I’m sure they’ll be delighted for you to have her, since you have a strategy to work with her.”
“I’ll call them today,” Chris said. “Let’s go, Boo.” Boo fell into position at Chris’s heel.
“That’s what I call a happy ending,” Bailey declared as they watched Chris exit the park.
Epilogue
Sunday, November 10
Lia and Peter sat on the back stoop, enjoying the brief spell of Indian summer. The dogs milled around in the fading light, checking their scent sites for signs of intruders, refreshing their spots, and looking for stray sides of beef.
Lia breathed in deeply, tilting her head back. “I don’t know why I think I’m going to miss this. Chances are it’ll be 70 in January.”
“True.” Peter tipped his beer, then set it aside on the steps. He took Lia’s hand in his, bounced their joined hands on his thigh, then brought it up to his lips and kissed her knuckles. He looked off into the darkness. The sky was indigo, fading into black with one bright star above the horizon. Venus, he corrected. Not a star.
“Do you remember the first night you grilled dinner for me? We slow-danced here in the yard while night fell. I looked up and saw the first star and I made a wish.” He took another swig from his beer. “Do you want to know what I wished for?”
“I don’t know. Do I?”
“I wanted to get in your pants.”
Lia sputtered, “I’m glad I wasn’t a forgone conclusion.”
“You never are. It’s one of the things I love about you.”
“Oh, really?”
“I got you something.” He pulled a hinged velvet box out of the pocket of his windbreaker and held it out.
Lia eyed the little box, the box that was sized just right for a ring, as if it were fanged and venomous.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Peter asked, eyes wide and innocence.
“And ruin the suspense?” Lia stalled.
“Chicken,” he accused amiably.
“Uh-huh.”
“Excuse me, that should be Ma Poulette, as long as I’m calling you a barnyard animal.” He popped open the box with his thumb. A small lump flashed color as light from the kitchen hit it. “I thought you might like this.” He slipped his finger through the end of a long silver chain and lifted. He drew the chain slowly out of the box until the small rock swung free, dangling between them.
“You.” She poked him in the chest. “You did that on purpose, making me think you were going to propose. That was a dirty trick.”
“I have to get my kicks where I can.” He grinned and chucked her chin.
She stuck her tongue out at him, then reached over and took the gem in her hand, turning it slowly so the color winked. It was an opal, oval shaped, about a half inch in diameter. The stone was surrounded by a thin layer of matrix. It nestled in an arrangement of interwoven silver strands.
“It’s beautiful. It looks like an egg in a nest.”
“It’s about us.”
“Is it now?” She tilted her head, gave him a coy look.
“I wanted to give you something special, something to remind you how I feel about you. I was 12 when I found that opal. I went on a rock hounding trip out to Nevada with my Boy Scout troop. The scoutmaster’s brother was a rock guy, and he showed me how to polish the top of it. Opals are fragile, so we left the rest of it alone. He said we might destroy the stone if we cut it, so we kept it in the matrix with this window on top so you can see how beautiful it is inside.”
“You kept this since you were a child, and you’re giving it to me?”
“Yep. I thought about a ring, but rings seem to be about commitment, and I don’t want this to be about that. And a ring isn’t practical for you since you work with your hands.”
“So, what is it about, Barnyard Whisperer?” The air between them seemed to tingle while she waited for Peter to gather his thoughts.
“You gave me a piece of yourself when you left me that painting a year ago. I wanted you to have a piece of me.
“This is like a talisman. People wear talismans around their neck, don’t they? So you can keep a part of me near your heart. And the opal is precious and beautiful, like this thing we have between us. Our relationship is a living thing, like an egg. We have to protect it and nurture it. It’s full of wonderful possibilities. It’s still an egg, so we don’t know what it’s going to be yet.”
She leaned into him and kissed him. “I love it. You have unplumbed depths, Kentucky Boy.” She handed him the charm and turned her back. “Put it on me?”
Peter undid the clasp and draped the necklace around her. He cinched it, then rubbed her back.
“There’s more.”
“More?”
“When I talked to Alma that time, she said in a good relationship, partners are each other’s heros. I want you to know that you’re my hero.”
“Really?”
“You look for the good in people and you remind me to look for it, too. I spend all my time protecting people from the harm others do, and many of the people I deal with couldn't care less about anything besides themselves.
“Then there’s you, spending all your time making the world a more beautiful place. When I’m with you, I remember there’s another side of life. I love what I do, and it’s important. Being with you gives it more meaning. You remind me of what I’m protecting.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder, wrapped her arms around him and gave him a squeeze. “You’re my hero, Kentucky Boy.”
Peter grimaced. “I can’t be much of one. I never seem to show up in time to rescue you.”
“You show up. That’s what matters.”
Max’s Song
She’s the Max
She’s the big kahuna
She’s the Max
She likes to eat canned tuna
She doesn’t use a spoon-a
She’s the Max
Her name should be Houdini
She’s the Max
She thinks that I’m a meanie
She always tries to flee me
She’s the Max
And she brings back treasure
She’s the Max
It’s her one big pleasure
Admonishments don’t faze her
Author’s Notes
Simba, model for the cover of Maximum Security, is the winner of my Cover Dog Photo Contest. His dad, Jerome Wilson, owns Northside Grange, just like in the book.
Brian Dempsey is an old friend who agreed to appear in this novel (Congratulations to Brian and Tammy on their recent marriage.)
Named places in Maximum Security are real. Dollar Hut is the one exception, though you have probably been in a store like it. Individual homes are a combination of several houses. They are true to the neighborhood, but do not exist as described. There is a very private copse of evergreens in French Park, though I have never had occasion to
put it to the same use as Peter and Lia.
The quote Terry cites regarding marriage has been attributed to both Samuel Johnson and Oscar Wilde. I leave it to you to decide who the true author is.
The synastry reading Bailey does for Peter and Lia is based on real charts. For anyone who is interested, Lia Anderson was “born” 6:30 a.m., October 18, 1982 in Cincinnati, OH. Peter was “born” 9:10 a.m., January 3, 1981, Mammoth Cave, KY.
Grave disasters, such as the one which occurred in this book, do happen. Google it, if you don’t believe me.
In Maximum Security, Carleen is a victim of domestic violence, and Asia questions Lia out of concern that Peter’s protective behavior may in fact be a prelude to abuse. What may not be obvious is that George is a victim of Monica’s verbal and emotional abuse.
Domestic violence is a complex issue taking many forms. Many of the initial behaviors may seem harmless or even flattering. One thing that is consistent with domestic violence is escalating boundary violations: the abuse always gets worse.
If you need information or help, please contact The National Domestic Violence Hotline at www.thehotline.org or 1800-799-7233
Acknowledgments
A book does not appear in a vacuum. Behind every author is a group of people who make it possible for the author to share their vision with the world. The dog park regulars who inspired my series have embraced the books and become my street team.
John Cunningham is my lead salesman. Desiree Willis is a beta reader and my aspiring PR director. Angie Hall is my most brutal beta. She and her husband, Paul Kramer, have always been there when I needed support, no matter what or when. She-who-refuses-to-be-named turns her gimlet eye to my MS, providing that last proof-read/edit before publishing. Ski donated a Kindle Fire to the cause, changing my life with functionality apps. Marti Dourson wrote an article about me. Tom Sansalone is my rock.
Other supporters include Sarah Schellenger, my neighborhood librarian; and writer Stephen Scott, my biggest booster.
I am blessed in my friends.
About the Author
Carol Ann “C. A.” Newsome is an author and artist who lives in Cincinnati. She spends most mornings at the Mount Airy Dog Park with her three rescues. Carol loves to hear from readers. Contact her at [email protected]
Books by C. A. Newsome
A Shot in the Bark
Drool Baby
Maximum Security
Sign up for C. A.’s News if you would like to be notified about future releases by C. A. Newsome. Members of the C. A.’s News list receive exclusive access to Carol’s online file of deleted scenes. Other perks from the dog park: dog tips, recipes from Lia, safety tips from Peter, spiritual musings from Jim, quotes from Terry, and Carol’s weekly dog meme.
Maximum Security (A Dog Park Mystery) Page 23