Maximum Security (A Dog Park Mystery) (11 page)

Viola jumped at Peter in a
fruitless bid for attention. Finally, Lia shook her head and,
realizing the door was still open, shut it.

“I don’t know why I’m letting you
in if this is the way you’re going to be. Shall I just ignore you
and go about my business, or am I supposed to fetch you a beer like
a good little woman and go back to the kitchen where I
belong?”

“Sorry, Babe. It’s been one
hellaciously long, frustrating day.”

Lia softened. “If I fetch you that
beer, will you tell me about it?”

Peter scrubbed his face with his
hand. “I could use a good ear.”

Lia ducked into the kitchen,
returned with a Dos Equis. Peter took the bottle and held it
against his forehead, then tipped it for a long swig.

“Spill it, Kentucky Boy,” Lia
primed the pump. “There must have been something awful in that
trunk for you to arrest her right away like that. Terry said she
probably kept a finger bone to make into a keychain.”

Peter shook his head, snorted. “She
might as well have. She had everything else in there.”

“She had bones in
there?”

“Nope. A crossbow, a real pro job.
Bolts with hunting tips that matched the one we found with the
body. A bloody bandana. George’s wallet. His primary cell phone.
And an empty bottle of homemade predator lure.”

“What’s predator lure?”

“If it’s the same stuff that
turned up on George’s clothes, and it smells the same, it’s some
kind of rotting animal corpse mixed with coyote urine.”

“Eeew.” Lia grimaced.

“Not exactly Chanel Number
5.”

“I don’t get it. She gave you
permission to look in her trunk, right? I know you have to have
permission.”

“Yep, she sure did.”

“She looked so shocked when you
opened it up. I don’t think she knew what was in there. We could
see that from the top of the hill. Are you so sure she’s
guilty?”

“If that wasn’t the murder weapon
in her trunk, I’ll eat my badge. I don’t know what to think. The
cross bow was wiped, but whoever did it, they didn’t do a good job.
We found a couple partials, and they weren’t hers.”

“Then somebody else put it there.
I don’t believe she hurt anyone.”

“That’s what her lawyer keeps
saying. She also pointed out that there wasn’t a cocking device
with the bow, and there’s no way Onstad could have used the
crossbow without it. We had to let Onstad go. Martha Cullers may
look like Sally Field, but she’s a pit-bull. They say she used to
butcher hogs on her family farm when she was a kid.

“But,” Peter continued, “if
someone planted the bow, who knew about her? Who knew enough to
plant it? She swears nobody was aware of her affair with
George.”

“So they
were
having an
affair!”

“You don’t know anything about it.
Remember that when Bailey starts asking questions.”

“I still don’t believe she did
it.”

Peter set down the beer and looked
at her a long time. “Lia,” he started. “I don’t know how to say
this, but your judgement isn’t the best. The last person you said
would never hurt anyone nearly killed you.”

“That’s so unfair.” Lia tilted her
chin up, challenging. “Asia said she was psychotic, and the chances
of running into another person like that were extremely rare. She’s
an expert, she should know.”

“And what kind of person do you
think shoots someone with a crossbow? Have you thought about asking
your expert therapist that?”

“Then what was she doing, waiting
for George at the dog park? If she killed him, she knew he wasn’t
going to show up.”

“Murderers aren’t always rational.
Especially if she didn’t mean to do it.”

“How can you not mean to shoot
someone when you’re pointing a crossbow at them?”

Peter took Lia’s hands in his,
chafed her palms with his thumbs. He pleaded with his eyes, eyes a
deep, not quite indigo, blue. Blue as the sky after sunset when the
stars begin to appear.

Forget the gun. He should have
to register that look. It’s a lethal weapon.
She pulled her
hands back, clasped them in her lap, looked away.

“Lia, please don’t get caught up
in this. If I could, I’d keep you a hundred miles away from this
case.”

“I set her up for you. Jim and I
held her there until you could get to the park. I need to know I
did the right thing.”

“We had her motel room. We would
have gotten her. Not as soon, but we would still have her today.
You just speeded things up.”

Lia’s shoulders sagged. “I guess
you’re right. There is one thing I want to do, though.”

“What’s that?”

“I want to find Daisy.”

“Daisy? The dog?”

“George loved her. Everybody
thought George took her when he ran off, right? But he didn’t run
off. So that means Daisy’s on the loose.”

“Really, Lia, I don’t think you
should be getting involved.”

“I’m just looking for a lost dog.
I’ll get a picture from Mrs. Munce and put up some posters, call a
few shelters. Jim and Bailey will help, I’m sure. Terry, too. I’m
not going to mess with your investigation.”

“That’s all you’re going to
do?”

Lia nodded solemnly. “That’s all
I’m going to do.”

“Cross your heart and hope to
die?”

She drew her index finger across
her breast. “With a pinky swear on top.”

The woman who answered the door
looked distracted. “Can I help you?”

“Hi. Mrs. Munce? I’m Lia Anderson.
I knew George from the dog park.”

“This isn’t really a good
time.”

“I don’t mean to intrude, but it’s
just, well, are you doing anything to find Daisy?”

“Daisy? I lost my husband! I have
too much to deal with to worry about his damn dog,” she
snapped.

“I’m sorry.” Lia took a startled
step away from the woman’s sudden vitriol. “I didn’t mean to imply
anything. I just thought some of us from the park could look for
her.”

Monica Munce closed her eyes,
inhaled audibly in a way that suggested forbearance, or perhaps an
effort to regain control of herself. “Of course.” She enunciated
the words carefully. “That’s very kind of you. I should not have
flown off the handle. I just got off the phone with the coroner’s
office. They are being very difficult.”

“Do you have any pictures we could
use? I’d like to put one on the poster.”

Monica rubbed one temple. “George
posted plenty of pictures of Daisy on Facebook. I’m sure you could
pull whatever you need from there. I hope you plan to use your own
phone number on the poster. I really can’t handle anything else
right now. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got to figure out how I’m
going to keep my house with George gone.”

The door shut before Lia could
utter a word in response.
With a wife like that, no wonder he
was having an affair . . . Okay, be nice, Anderson, she just lost
her husband. She has a right to be testy.

Bailey jiggled the handle to the
door of Northside Grange. She stepped back. “It’s locked. Why would
he be shut down in the middle of the day?”

“I see Jerome inside. I bet the
door’s just stuck.” Lia shifted Max’s leash to her other hand,
pressed the latch and shoved hard. The door gave.

Max led them into the
turn-of-the-century storefront housing the urban farming and pet
supply store. Decorative garden spikes paraded among pumpkins in
the window. More pumpkins lined the wall. Fifty pound sacks of
Amish chicken feed were stacked on a pallet next to a rack of
doggie adventure wear. Sacks of pet food filled the wood shelves
and baskets were filled with exotic dog treats, from elk antlers to
duck feet.

Jerome Wilson stood behind the
counter. He was a tall, slender man, prematurely bald, with round,
wire-rim glasses and an amiable face. Lia thought he needed only a
white apron to complete the quintessential shopkeeper
look.

“Hey, Lia,” he said. “Oh good, I
see you brought Max. See, Simba? Max is here.”

Simba, a handsome young German
Shepherd, jumped up and propped his legs against the gate that
penned him in behind the counter. He gave two sharp barks. Max
barked back and strained her leash. Jerome unlatched the gate and
Simba bolted out. Lia dropped Max’s lead and the dogs fell into a
friendly tussle.

“I’m glad you brought her. Simba’s
been feeling restless today,” Jerome said over the sound of canine
play-growls. “What can I do for you? Need any kibble?”

“I’m good for now. I’ll be ready
for another bag of the grain-free in a couple weeks. It’s done
wonders for Honey’s skin. She’s finally stopped
scratching.”

“Glad to hear it. So what’s
up?”

“Jerome, this is my friend,
Bailey. We were wondering if you could hang a poster in your
window. We’re looking for a dog that went missing when her owner
was murdered in Mount Airy Forest. Did you know George
Munce?”

“I don’t think so.” He shook his
head.

Bailey wordlessly handed him a
flyer featuring a grinning Daisy. Jerome held it toward the dogs.
“Look, Simba! She looks just like you.” Simba popped his head up,
gave the paper a quizzical sniff and went back to wrestling. “I
guess a dog on the floor is worth more than a flyer in the hand,”
Jerome shrugged. “I haven't seen her. I’d notice her because she
looks so much like Simba. I’ll post the flyer and keep an eye
out.”

“Thanks, Jerome,” Lia
said.

“That’s your new neighbor?” Bailey
asked after they left the store. “He’s cute. Why haven’t you
introduced me before?”

“Isn't he a little young for you?”
Lia asked.

“I’m barely in my fifties. That
means I’m still in my sexual prime. He looks like an intelligent
young man who would appreciate experience and enthusiasm in a
woman.”

“What about John?”

“Please, forget I told you his
real name. As far as you know, he’s ‘Trees.’”

Though Lia thought the subterfuge
silly, she figured as long as she was involved with a cop, it was
best to humor Bailey about the hacker’s identity.

“I do love him,” Bailey continued.
“But as long as he lives in Tennessee and I live here, we have a
don’t ask, don’t tell arrangement.”

“Did you two talk about
this?”

“He hasn’t asked, and I’m not
telling. He’s free to do the same.”

“Uh-huh.” Lia was
skeptical.

Bailey waved an elegant hand in the
air. “Oh, you know me. I wouldn’t really do anything. But I can
dream, can’t I?”

Lia sat at her computer, pulling
frames of Dakini jumping. She stopped the video feed whenever the
dog reached the hurdle, then clicked through individual frames to
find the ones where her fur flew and her eye lit up with
excitement. Then she moved back and forth, seeking the image with
the most tension and movement, the peak moment of the jump. These
frames she exported as JPEGs. She had a dozen contenders to show
Renee when Viola ran to the door, barking excitedly. “Your dad must
be here,” she said.

She opened the door before Peter
could knock.

“Hey, Babe,” he said, leaning down
to ruffle the fur on Viola’s head. Chewy and Honey crowded around,
seeking attention. Max affected boredom, sitting on her haunches
and scratching behind one ear with her hind leg, eyes
slitted.

“Oink,” Lia replied.

He kissed her briefly. “How about I
call you
mon petit couchon
instead? It’s French.”

“That’s promising. What does it
mean?”

“My little piglet.” He smirked as
Lia huffed and rolled her eyes, handing her a plastic bag. “Kale
from Alma’s garden. She told me to pick some, since she can’t eat
it all.”

“Tell her thank you. I can saute
this with some garlic. It’ll go with the black beans I have in the
crock-pot. I’ll put on some brown rice, too.”

“Black beans again?”

“They’re good for you. They lower
your cholesterol, regulate blood sugar and keep your intestines
moving. And they taste good.”

“Says you.”

“Please?”

“I said, you’re the cook, you
choose the menu.”

“I have to make up for all the
junk you eat when you’re roaming the streets.”

“It’s so sweet that you
care.”

Lia put a pot of water on to boil
for the rice. She filled one half of her sink with cool water, then
dumped in the greens. She laid a clean towel on the counter, then
swished individual leaves around in the water, lifting them out and
laying them on the towel. When she was done, she pulled out a
bamboo cutting board and set about chopping up the greens with her
favorite ceramic knife.

Peter pulled a beer out of the
fridge and leaned against the counter, relaxing as he watched her
work. “This is so homey. Have you given any more thought to us
living together again? I mean without the stress of a serial killer
on the loose?”