A Shot in the Bark (A Dog Park Mystery)

by C. A. Newsome

  Lia shook her head, laughing into his chest. "Viola's got to be mortified."

  "Don't know about her, but the guys at the station are getting their yucks. Especially when I do the 'Aye-yi-yi-yi' during 'Louie, Louie.'"

  "Detective Dourson, a poet, you're not."

  "What can I say?" He shrugged comically.

  "You can say, 'Hey, Lia, what's the number for the Chinese place on Ludlow?'"

  "Why would I say that?"

  "Because I don't have a phone."

  Chapter 15

  Thursday, May 26

  "Goodness, it's the Phantom Artist."

  "Hello, Anna," Lia said as she climbed up on the table.

  "Running late today?"

  "Slept in."

  Anna eyed Lia carefully. "You certainly look relaxed."

  "Do I?"

  "Yes, you do. What's happened?"

  "Nothing's happened."

  "Uh-huh. Does nothing drive a Chevy Blazer and stand about six foot two?"

  "Where would you get an idea like that?"

  "I knew it! Deets! Give!"

  "No way."

  "You're no fun."

  "Go find your own guy."

  "Don't let Catherine find out. She'll figure you broke him in just for her."

  "Catherine? She's old enough to be his mother!"

  "Won't stop her from trying." Kita ran up and leaned against Anna, shoving her head under Anna's hand for a scratch just as Bailey joined them. "Bailey, dear, our Lia's been a busy girl."

  "Really? What have I missed?"

  "Check the rosy cheeks, the sparkle in her eye . . . ."

  "I'm not talking to you two."

  "It's okay," Bailey said, "I'm utterly clueless. You can talk to me."

  "Anna thinks I have a love life."

  "I gathered that. Is she right?"

  "Don't know. Maybe. Trying not to think about it. Anna thinks Catherine will try to steal him from me."

  "Maybe, maybe not. She's not taken with Detective Hottie lately. That is who we're not talking about, isn't it? If Catherine decided he's distracting you, she's going to be even more put out with him. Of course, she may decide she has to seduce him to stop him from interfering with your work."

  "Bailey," Lia laughed, "you're so bad."

  "Does he have a brother? I'd like to be distracted, too. I'd even settle for a cousin."

  ~ ~ ~

  Brent eyed Peter curiously from the next desk. "Why so glum, Dourson?"

  "I'm in a weird situation, Brent. Things have heated up with Lia."

  "If you're upset about that, you really do have a problem."

  "Not that. She doesn't know about Catherine and Luthor. Technically, she doesn't have a right to know, and I'm not at liberty to tell her. And if she did know, I don't know how she'd feel about finishing Catherine's garden, and I know this project is important to her. But at some point it'll come out and she's going to hate me for not telling her."

  "Ouch. Would it be insensitive of me to suggest that you get as much as you can before that happy day?"

  "I thought you were an evolved, new millennium kind of guy."

  "That's what you get for believing stereotypes. Are you into profiling too? Rousted any innocent Muslims lately?"

  "I leave that for the street cops. So how do I handle this?"

  "What happened to your oh-so-noble and admirable decision to keep your distance until Morrisey's case was resolved?"

  Peter sighed. "She was crying, and I guess I was patting her or something and it just happened."

  "Ah, it just happened. A very popular defense."

  "Shove it."

  "Didn't think you swung that way. You going to tell Lia about your bi-sexuality?"

  Peter rolled his eyes. "Any ideas?"

  Brent considered his dilemma. "Not much you can do. Wear kevlar?"

  "Funny."

  "She likely to turn clingy?"

  Peter shook his head. "Doubtful."

  "How easy would it be to retreat some?"

  "She'll do that for me. All I have to do is stand still."

  "Don't get all wounded about it; her boyfriend just died. You don't have much choice but to let her work it out. Is she reasonable?"

  "Well, sure."

  "Then she'll eventually realize that you can't gossip about cases."

  "It's that 'eventually' that worries me. Like how long is 'eventually' going to be? This could get awfully messy."

  "You're a detective. Haven't you detected that life is awfully messy?"

  "Since when did you become a shrink?"

  ~ ~ ~

  The card read, "Rare and beautiful, like you." She traced the edges of the orchid's pale violet petals with her index finger. It was potted, not cut. Had he figured out that she hated cut flowers? Or was it just a sale on potted plants at Home Depot? Either way, it was thoughtful and beautiful. It would make a great painting.

  Lia brought the plant into her studio. The pot was a vintage glazed ceramic in a lovely pale blue-green, no Home Depot job, not from the florists, either. The retro pot might have belonged to someone's grandmother. Extra marks for repotting it, and double word points for the choice of pot.

  She set the pot on her work table, turned it ever so slightly so the light made a strong statement. She pulled out her digital camera and snapped off a couple dozen pictures, playing with the scale and framing, adjusting the pot to change the way the light hit it. When she was satisfied, she pulled out a square canvas and set up her easel, squeezing a smear of burnt umber onto her palette, mixing it with a dribble of linseed oil to make a pale brown. She pulled out her oldest brush, a size four with the bristles worn down almost to the ferule, and dipped it in the tinted oil.

  She drew quickly, exploding shapes onto the square canvas, pulling the eye into the center of the flower. She used a rag dipped in oil to erase lines she didn't like, then redrew them. When she was happy, she covered the background in a glaze of bottle green, using a rag to pull out pigment so the canvas would show through. She laid out her paints and mixed delicate hues, cream, pink, violet, lavender, pale fuchsia, and used these to model the elegant petals. She stood back and absorbed her work, feeling a deep satisfaction. The core of the flower was luminous but partly hidden. A mystery that enticed.

  "That's wonderful. You just did that?"

  She smiled and turned. Peter leaned against the doorjamb, looking positively edible. "I was inspired."

  "So you liked your gift?"

  "It's lovely. Where did you get the pot? I could hit estate sales for months and not find one like it."

  "My eighty year-old neighbor, Alma, has a green thumb and never throws anything away. She's lived in the same house for fifty years. She knew exactly what was needed."

  "Did she provide the orchid, too?"

  "I can't tell a lie. She did do. She felt sorry for me."

  "You'll have to introduce her to me, so I can thank her."

  "Don't I get any thanks?"

  "Not sure you deserve any, taking advantage of a nice old lady like that."

  "I'm hurt. Deeply."

  "Play your cards right and maybe someone will want to kiss it and make it better."

  "Really?"

  "Then again, maybe not." She eyed him consideringly. "You don't look like much of a card player, Kentucky Boy." She gave him a hug and leaned her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her waist and they swayed gently.

  Birds trilled.

  "Nuts." Lia reached into her hip pocket and fished out a cell phone, looked at the screen, pushed "accept." "Where are you? . . . Shit. I'm sorry, I got distracted. I'll be there in ten minutes. Can you wait that long? . . . See you." She hit "end" and put it back in her pocket.

  "Find your phone?"

  "New one. Bailey made me get it. She also programmed the ring tone. Turns out the Woo Woo Queen is a techno-geek. I'm sorry, I was supposed to meet Bailey at the greenhouse five minutes ago to pick out plants for Catherine's garden."


  "I was going to ask if you wanted lunch, but it looks like you're busy."

  "Pretty much. Rain check?"

  "Counting on it." She cleaned her brushes quickly and hustled Peter out of the studio.

  "You know," Peter offered, "I could drive you to the greenhouse and take both of you to lunch after."

  "Seriously?"

  "Sure. Why not. Does Bailey like Indian? We could go to Dusmesh."

  "Great idea."

  They were more than ten minutes. Bailey's eyebrows rose when she saw Lia's company. "Is this your distraction?"

  "No," Lia laughed, "my distraction was the present someone left at my studio door. Peter just happened along right before you called. I was painting and totally forgot we were meeting. So where are we at?"

  "Catherine's making me insane." Bailey looked at Peter. "You're like a priest, right? You can't repeat anything we say when the client isn't around."

  "My lips are sealed." Peter crossed his heart solemnly.

  "What's the problem, Bailey?" Lia asked.

  "She wants an aromatherapy garden, and she wants all native plants and she wants a lot of big, showy blossoms. In other words, she thinks we can somehow magically make everything she wants into a therapeutic plant with Ohio ancestry."

  "Ah. The Princess from Jupiter waved her scepter and declared it so, did she? What are your inclinations?"

  "I say we let it all go to Chickory and Chickweed and remind her they're native herbs," Bailey pouted.

  "You might get away with that if you put in a Cone-Flower or two, Maybe some Four-O'Clocks?"

  "I like native plants. I just don't think they'll be showy enough for Dame Catherine."

  "So we have to ignore the bullshit and figure out not only what will make her happy but also how to present it so that she knows she's happy."

  "Exactly. Damn it, I really wanted to do the high vibration garden."

  "So let's walk and talk. By the way, Peter's taking us to Dusmesh for lunch after this."

  Bailey turned to Peter. "In that case, you can stay."

  Peter trailed along as Lia and Bailey discussed color, growing season, conditions. They debated Trillium, Dutchman's Breeches, Turtle Head, Fairy Wand, Butterfly Weed, Maiden-Hair Fern, Jack-in-the-Pulpit, and many others with names he'd never heard before, seeking the right combination to encourage butterflies and hummingbirds as well as provide blooms all spring and summer.

  "The thing is," Bailey said, "she's going to have to choose between aromatherapy and native plants. She can't have both."

  "Steering her towards native plants is the responsible thing to do. Think she'll be okay giving up the aromatherapy angle if she's got hummingbirds to play with?"

  "Possibly. Too bad we've missed spring blooms. She's not going to fully appreciate this until next year. The plants won't be established for her party. Planting a native garden is more complex than cramming in flats of whatever annuals are in bloom so you have a nice show."

  "I have a thought," Peter interrupted.

  Bailey and Lia turned in unison and looked at Peter with owl eyes. They'd forgotten he was there. "Yeah?"

  "If I'm hearing this right, the big issue is that there won't be a big showy garden full of flowers for this party."

  Bailey responded. "Pretty much. It's more complicated than that, but if it weren't for the party, her expectations would be a lot more reasonable, and she'd be more open to reality."

  "What if you bring in some color?"

  "How would we do that?"

  "Don't people raise butterflies for special events? What if you set up a tent of mosquito netting, like a dining canopy, and released butterflies in there. It would be like the conservatory's annual butterfly show in her back yard.

  Lia and Bailey frowned at each other. "The island, maybe?" Lia ventured. "People could sit on the bench."

  "None of her friends have ever done it. It could work."

  Lia grinned at Peter. "I knew there was a reason I let you come along."

  "And I thought it was free food for the starving artists."

  "Hey," Bailey admonished, "we'll take the food, too."

  "She's going to love this idea," Lia relished.

  "Shall we give you credit, Peter?" Bailey asked.

  "Umm . . . No, don't do that. She doesn't seem to like me lately."

  "Why is that?"

  "Why does Bailey get the credit?" Lia demanded.

  "You got an orchid. I thought Bailey could get the credit. Unless you want to give your orchid to Bailey?"

  Lia raised one eyebrow and gave Peter an evil look.

  "Watching you brilliant, creative geniuses work has given me an appetite. Are you ladies ready for Palak Paneer?"

  ~ ~ ~

  Peter got such a kick, watching Lia and Bailey bounce ideas as they sat at a white linen covered table and sampled from the buffet. He almost forgot he was working. He didn't like being sneaky, but the opportunity to observe one of Lia's closest friends was potentially too illuminating to pass up.

  Could Bailey be his killer? She was smart and organized enough. She had no love for Luthor. But what would her motive be? While Luthor's girlfriends seemed to keep popping out of the woodwork, he couldn't see Bailey involved with him. She wasn't his type. Could it have been blackmail? Just because Catherine gave Luthor money doesn't mean that was the cash in the Lazy Boy. Or, going with the psycho theory, perhaps he wore the same kind of shoes as the kid who bullied her in second grade. Perhaps he should put motive aside.

  Catherine had motive, but he just couldn't see it. She was used to having other people deal with the nastier aspects of life for her. Lia and Bailey's description of her suggested someone self-involved and flighty, too lacking in the awareness of others and of practical realities to have crafted so precise a scenario as Luthor's death. No, Catherine would have hired her pool boy to do it, then been astonished when he cut a deal and ratted her out. Unless, following Brent's scenario, she just got pissed, hunted Luthor down and drilled him into swiss cheese.

  But Bailey. Lia swore the 'Woo Woo Queen' would never commit murder due to the karma she would incur. Could it be an act? The person he was looking for would have an act of some kind.

  "So what do you want to bet Catherine tries to hire Luella Zuckerman to talk to the butterflies during her party?" Lia's comment brought Peter back to the present and his Saag Vindaloo.

  "Can you talk to butterflies?" Peter inquired.

  Bailey snorted. "If anyone can, it would be Luella. But she'd tell you that butterflies wouldn't have much to say except 'Sweet! Pretty! Flower!'" Her high-pitched imitation had them all laughing.

  "Huh," Peter said. "So what's your next step?"

  "We take Catherine down to Enright Avenue to see the native gardens there and get her expectations in line with reality. We sell her on the butterflies by showing her pretty pictures," Lia explained in between bites of her frozen Mango Chat.

  "Sounds like you think Catherine's pretty clueless."

  "It's not that she's dumb," mused Bailey, "She just doesn't bother to think. She's a new moon baby with Venus in Gemini, always off on the newest fad and barely scraping the surface."

  "Like those butterflies?" Peter asked.

  "That's it! We'll tell her the butterflies remind us of her. She'll love it." Lia responded. She grinned at Peter and his heart stopped, just for a second. "You, Sir, are brilliant."

  "Why all the strategizing and manipulation?"

  "Alas, Detective," Bailey mourned, "not being public servants, we are subject to the whims of our patrons. We have to catch her at the right phase of her infatuation and somehow keep her focused until the project is complete. Otherwise, she'll want to scrap it for some new idea, and not want to pay for what we've done. With Catherine it means preempting any stray thought that's doomed to lead her off the path, so to speak. We have to constantly appeal to her ego. It's exhausting."

  "You've really thought this out."

  "Survival, Detective, pure survival."
<
br />   Bailey was obviously a planner, aware of subtleties. And if it was Bailey, it would kill Lia.

  Chapter 16

  Monday, May 30

  "Damn." Peter set the receiver down gently, despite the urge to slam it.

  "What's up?" Brent inquired from the next desk.

  "I thought we were okay, but she's not taking my calls again."

  "Okay, Potter."

  "Huh?"

  "You're in the middle of a Harry Potter scenario."

  "What does some kid with a weird scar have to do with me?"

  "Literature holds the meaning of life, Dourson. This is just like book five, Order of the Phoenix. Harry's got this big crush on Cho Chang, and she likes him back. But she keeps acting all wiggy because her last boyfriend was killed by Voldemort in book four, and Harry was there."

  "You think Morrisey was killed by Voldemort?"

  "Of course not, that would be too easy. But I think Lia's acting like Cho Chang. Harry blew it with Cho because he didn't understand her moods and, hey, he had Hermione and Ron to hang with."

  "So you're saying I'm an unfeeling jerk?"

  "No, I'm just saying she's got to work it out and if that seems like too much trouble to you, then maybe you really belong with Ginny Weasley instead."

  "Who's Ginny Weasley?"

  "Do you really want a run-down of all the chicks in Harry Potter? Maybe I could hook you up with that tramp, Lavender Brown."

  "Go away, Brent. Get a real girlfriend."

  "Careful, or I'll sick Hermione on you. She's got one wicked right hook."

  ~ ~ ~

  "Don't you look all down in the dumps. What's the matter?" Jim joined Lia on top of her favorite picnic table, where she was throwing tennis balls for Honey. Fleece sat in front of her, in expectation of petting.

  "I feel guilty." She leaned over and gave Fleece a scratch behind the ears.

  "You couldn't possibly be guilty of anything worth feeling bad about."

  "I feel so weird. Luthor just died and I'm already having feelings for someone else. That's just wrong."

  "Did you really love Luthor?"

  "I'm not sure. That's what I feel guilty about. But then I get all mad because now I'm finding out he had other girlfriends and was getting lots of money from somewhere I didn't know about."

  "If you didn't love him, looks like there was good reason."

  "He acted like he just couldn't live without me."

  "Sounds manipulative to me. If he hadn't died, would you be feeling guilty about seeing someone new?"

  "I guess not."

  "I'm sorry he shot himself."

  "But that's just it, Jim, he didn't shoot himself."

  "What are you talking about?"