The dogs Peter had known growing up were hunting dogs, not companion animals. He’d never thought of them being happy. But he couldn’t think of another word to describe Viola’s behavior, unless it was ecstatic. She’d grown more excited the closer they came to the dog park. Now she tugged on her leash, dragging Peter up the service road leading to the entrance corral as if she couldn’t let another minute to pass before she saw her friends. And the only reason her heel of a foster-dad brought her was to provide cover so he could spy on the dog parkers.
To be truthful, if there hadn’t been a murder, he’d still use Viola to get closer to Lia. Lia of the mossy green eyes and hair of many colors was the first woman who interested him since Susan ended their engagement to marry the furniture king of Bowling Green. Damned inconvenient, in the middle of a homicide investigation.
Because there was a case, he was keeping secrets from her. Everyone who hung out at this patch of the forest was to some extent a person of interest and he had to be careful. Not a good way to start with a woman.
Why would someone kill Morrissey? It could be a jealous lover, but Luthor struck him as a man who believed in self-preservation and kept his women apart. Sharon and Desiree knew about Lia, but he figured that was strategic. There was only so much they could expect from Luthor if he was trapped in an unhappy relationship. They didn’t know about each other and Lia didn’t know about them.
The killer knew the park. Morrissey let his women know about Lia, but he wouldn’t invite trouble by allowing them to cross paths with her, especially not on her turf. So the women moved down his list of possible suspects.
It could be the money. If only he could figure out where it came from and what it was for. Or the money could have nothing to do with it. It could be a big, fat, sexy red herring. The initial search had missed it. Someone could have planted it later to distract him. But how would they know he’d find it?
Then again, if he didn’t find it, they could always come back later and get it. That implied access to Morrissey’s apartment. No one had 25K to throw away like that. I’ve been watching too many movies.
Peter passed through the double gates of the entrance corral and paused to look around while Viola danced on her lead.
The four big motives for murder were money, sex, revenge, and power. Occasionally someone killed to protect their ass, but that hadn’t happened on his watch. Sex or money seemed the likely motive for offing Morrissey. Maybe a CYA if the money was blackmail.
Peter wouldn’t count revenge out, though it was last on his list. Morrissey seemed the kind of guy who preferred to get his thrills vicariously through his questionable buddies and avoided trouble for himself. He might indulge in a little discrete blackmail if the victim were unlikely to retaliate. He was not a guy who tugged on Superman’s cape.
Peter’s musings were interrupted by a golden body slam. Honey careened off his legs as Viola chased her around him, wrapping Peter’s legs with her leash. Peter, still reeling from the hit, toppled.
Lia’s jade eyes laughed down at him as she extended her hand to help him up. He didn’t need the assist, but welcomed the opportunity to touch her. The strength and softness of her hand had barely registered when a jolt of something passed between them. Her eyes flashed wariness. Had she felt the connection as well?
She bent over and removed Viola’s leash and handed it to Peter. “And that, Detective, is why we remove leashes inside the corral before we enter the park.”
“Is that the reason?”
Lia dropped her eyes, then turned to watch Viola chase Honey across the park. “One of them.”
“Will the others prevent me from landing on my ass?”
“They might.”
“Then enlighten me. Please.” He gave her his most pathetic look.
She thought for a moment. “You see the corral?”
“I got the whole leash-corral connection.”
“This is something just as important.”
“Tell me.”
“A corral has a gate. A gate is a portal.”
“Oka-a-ay,” Peter replied, unsure where she was going.
“Dogs guard their space. When they are inside the park, the park becomes their space and the gate is like the front door.”
“And?”
“What does a dog do when a stranger comes to the door?”
“They bark?”
“And sometimes they get aggressive.”
“So dogs inside the park guard the gate.”
“You’re a quick study. Sometimes they do, if they’re near it. It’s best to take your dog away from the gate after you enter the park, and don’t let them guard. You don’t have to worry about Viola with that. But …”
“But?”
“If you’re inside the corral, and dogs inside the park start guarding, there’s a chance a fight might break out.”
“So what can you do?”
“If a strange dog is guarding the gate and acting aggressively, snarling and growling, call their owner over and ask them to remove their dog from the gate. You have an advantage. You can always flip your badge out if you need to.”
“That wouldn’t constitute an abuse of power?”
“I’d say letting your dog be a bully is an abuse of power. You’re just calling them on it.”
“I can buy that. What else?”
“Don’t bring food or treats into the park. Some dogs are food aggressive, so it can start a fight.”
“Makes sense.”
“Don’t ever put loose treats in your pocket. I think Viola has outgrown chewing the pockets out of pants, but even if she has, your pants will always smell like treats and you’ll get pestered by strange dogs. Any time you carry treats, keep them in a baggie. Of course, if you’re recruiting drug dogs, that would be a way to sniff out the talent.”
“Pun intended?”
“Of course. One big thing. Dogs are pack animals and they have to either lead or follow. If you don’t lead, they will decide it’s their job, and they’ll start behaving badly.”
“How do you do that, besides with a leash?”
Lia pondered for a moment. “It’s more about being consistent. Only have a few rules, but make them rules you can and will enforce every time. You can’t neglect it even once. You let it go and they know it’s not really a rule and they don’t have to do it.”
“Sounds harsh.”
“It’s better than yelling at your dogs because they don’t understand what you want. I’m not saying boss her around all the time. Keep it simple. Set basic routines around walks and meal times, and when they know what to expect, they’ll start doing it automatically.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Say somebody is harping on you to lend them money and you say no. If you’ve never loaned them money, they’ll give up pretty quickly. If you used to lend them money and now you’re saying no, it’s harder to get them to go away, right?”
“True.”
“Now suppose you spend fifteen minutes saying ‘no’ and then they wear you down and you say, ‘Well, okay, but this is the last time.’”
“Okay.”
“So what happens next time?”
Peter scrunched his eyebrows and thought. “He’s not going to believe me when I say no.”
“Exactly!” Lia flashed a broad smile. “Viola has a couple routines she knows, so it should be easy to get her back into a groove. But once you start with her you can’t blow it off.”
“So what are they?”
“When it’s time to go for a walk, have her sit before you clip on her leash. And when you are done, make her sit to unclip.” Lia lifted her hand, palm up, and Viola plopped on her butt. She maintained eye contact with Viola for a moment, then said, “Okay.” Viola popped up. “That’s the hand signal. Or you can just say, ‘Sit!’ in a firm voice.” Viola sat back down.
“I haven’t been doing that. So what do I do now if she ignores me? “
“You say ‘sit’ the first time and if she doesn’t do it immediately, say it once more, but this time gently push her butt down. Don’t keep repeating the command; it just becomes noise. Like teachers in school who yell all the time and nobody listens to them. Whatever it is, give her one opportunity to obey. If you need to, repeat the command and gently put her into position. And if she pops out of position, keep doing that until she stays. Reward her with treats when she gets it right, if you need to.”
“Doesn’t sound too hard. So what else is she used to doing?”
“Viola’s used to being told to lay down before she gets her meals, and she’s not allowed to eat until she’s released. You release her by saying ‘okay.’” Viola got back up. This time she sauntered off, hoping to avoid more commands. “Always have her hold a command until you release her.”
“That sounds a little mean.”
“Dogs are different from humans. They like being led unless they’re being led by someone ineffectual. Viola may give you some resistance, she may test you by trying to get up before you release her. If you let her get away with it, pretty soon she’ll be jumping all over you when it’s meal time. She might start snatching food from your plate when you’re eating.”
“Sounds like a slippery slope.”
“It is. Dogs know who’s a push-over and who isn’t. And their behavior will change accordingly.”
“I have nephews like that.”
“Exactly.”
“If I make my nephews lie on the floor before I give them pizza, do you think they’ll stop acting like brats?”
Lia’s face was carefully blank. “It’s worth a try, Detective.”
“Will you teach me Viola’s pee song?”
“That’s pretty personal stuff. I don’t think I know you well enough. You should make up your own pee song.”
“Damn. Must I?” He looked at her sideways. “I think you’re making the whole pee song thing up just to con me into making an ass out of myself.”
“I don’t need to humiliate you. You’ll do it to yourself the first time you talk baby-talk to Viola in public.”
“Oops.”
“See, humiliation is already a done deal. Surrender your self-respect, Detective, it’s very freeing.”
Peter decided they’d talked enough about his personal humiliation. “How long have you been coming here?”
“About six years. Ever since I got Honey.”
“You come every morning?”
“Pretty much. Except when it’s pouring rain or the roads are iced up.”
“And the same people are here every day?”
“Some more than others.”
“You’re friends with all of them?”
“Good friends with some, friendly with most of the rest. You’ll find all different kinds of people here, and you wind up associating with people you wouldn’t know otherwise. Sometimes the only thing we have in common is dogs. We all try to get along, but if the sordid underbelly of the park were exposed, I suspect you’d find a seething cauldron of political conflict, romantic discord and social rivalry.”
“And which of these are you?”
“Until last Sunday, I fell in the category of romantic discord. I guess I’m still there. I feel so guilty.”
“Why?”
Lia’s earnest green eyes glimmered with unshed tears. “I hate what Luthor did and I hate that he did it because I broke up with him. I especially hate that I’m relieved it really is over. His funeral is next week and whatever I do, I’m the villain. I stay away and it’s because I don’t care. If I go, then how dare I show my face after what I drove him to? I thought about sending flowers, but they’d only wind up in the trash.”
“Have you talked to his family?”
“I called his sister on the phone and she screamed at me for five minutes straight before I figured out there was no point staying on the line.”
“I see what you mean.” Peter mentally took a deep breath and hoped he wasn’t making a big mistake. “Let’s sit down somewhere. I have something to tell you.”
“Over there?” Lia pointed to an empty picnic table under a maple tree. They climbed on top and rested their feet on the benches.
“Why do so many people sit on top of the tables here?”
“If we sit on the benches we get slammed by racing dogs, or one of the dogs will jump on the table and get in our faces. Maybe just maintaining pack leadership? Height is dominance to dogs, so you’ll see little dogs jumping up on the table so they can lord it over the great Danes and rotties.”
They fell silent. Peter wondered if Lia was the sort to shoot the messenger.
“What are you being so mysterious about?” she asked.
“What I’m going to tell you has not been made public, but I think you need to know. Can I count on your discretion?”
“Hard to say, since I don’t know what it is. I’ll stay mum if there’s no compelling reason not to.”
“That’s my line. Seriously, I need your promise.”
Lia searched his face. “Okay then.”
Peter paused, looking for the right way to tell her. “Do you ever watch forensic cop shows?”
“You mean like CSI? Not often. Why?”
“There were irregularities with Luthor’s death, things that weren’t obvious.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We can tell someone was in the car with Luthor when he died. And we know he didn’t shoot himself. It was staged to look that way.”
She stared at him. “How can you know that?”
“It’s technical. It’s also gruesome.”
“Don’t treat me like a child.”
“You remember all the blood in Luthor’s car?”
“I can’t forget it. I see it every night when I close my eyes.”
“There should have been blood on the passenger seat, but there wasn’t. It’s called a void in the spatter pattern. It means something was in the way and caught the spatter.”
“Something or someone?” she asked.
“We believe someone.”
“I see.”
Honey and Viola wandered over. Lia pulled a tennis ball out of her pocket and sent it down the slope. She watched the dogs race after it. “Even if someone was with him, how do you know he didn’t shoot himself?”
“The spatter indicates Luthor’s arms were down when he was shot. He couldn’t have pulled the trigger. There’s more.”
“More?” The word escaped Lia’s mouth in a high-pitched whisper. She swallowed.
“Did you know Luthor had other girlfriends?” Lia looked away. Peter wondered if killing the messenger was occurring to her now. “He started with one young woman the previous time you broke up. He attempted to keep it going after you got back together, but she wouldn’t have it.”
Lia gave a sad and cynical snort. “At least somebody had some class.”
“The other woman he began seeing in a casual way recently. She seemed to be more a girlfriend in waiting. It hadn’t quite gone there yet.”
Lia looked down, shaking her head. Finally, she said, “This is too much. Luthor was murdered?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know. Did you ever find your cell phone?”
“Not yet. What does that have to do with anything?”
“Because Luthor traded texts with your phone before he was shot. We have to find it.”
Anna and Jim watched from the other side of the park as Honey jumped up on the table and licked Lia’s cheek. Lia turned her head into Honey’s neck and wrapped her arms around the dog.
“What do you suppose he’s saying to her that has her so upset?” Anna asked.
Nadine walked up. “Lia looks really unhappy. Should we interrupt?”
“I don’t think she wants company right now,” Jim said. “She knows we’re here if she needs us.”
Catherine appeared and took Jim’s arm. “Hello, Anna, I just love your sweatshirt. You look so ... relaxed.”
Anna ground her teeth.
“Honestly,” Catherine said, nodding at Peter and Lia, “Why is he upsetting her like that? She’s in the middle building my labyrinth. It’s a huge project. She doesn’t need this.”
Anna rolled her eyes. “Catherine, you’re all heart.”
“You’d feel the same way if it was your garden that might be late and your party that might be ruined,” Catherine snapped.
“No, I wouldn’t. And he didn’t need to do much of anything. Lia’s got a brave face, but our girl’s been hurting. It’s only been a week since Luthor died.”
“Now, ladies, we all care about Lia,” Jim said.
“Of course we do,” Catherine said.
Anna narrowed her eyes until Catherine blinked and looked away.
Peter wondered if he’d dropped too many bombs at once. It took all his patience to sit quietly while Lia communed with Honey. Viola jumped on the bench and rested her head on Lia’s knee. Chewy shoved his head under Lia’s hand. She scratched his ears absently while she brooded.
She eventually sat up and turned around. “You dumped all this on me and I can’t share it with anyone.”
“Not for a while, unless you have a priest or a therapist.”
“I suppose I could talk to the dogs about it,” she smiled weakly.
“Yes,” he smiled wryly back. “You can talk to Honey and Chewy. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to tell you like this.”
“Why did you tell me?”
“I shouldn’t have, but I hate seeing you guilt yourself about Luthor.”
“Is the way I’m feeling now supposed to be better?”
“Maybe not. But at least it’s based on reality. It was unfair for you to keep blaming yourself.”
“So you keep coming here, what, because I’m some kind of suspect?” Lia asked.
Peter sighed. “Everyone’s a suspect right now. You’re way down the list. His death is connected to the park. The answer has to be here.”
“I am so not ready for this.”
“I know you aren’t. You could help me, though.”
“How?” She picked up her flinger and half-heartedly tossed a ball for Honey.
“A lot of murders are easy to solve, even if they’re difficult to prove. This one is different. Someone didn’t just get mad at Luthor and pull out a gun. He planned it, and my sense is that plan was in the works for a while. All this time, he’s been walking around the park, being everyone’s friend. It’s to my advantage that he doesn’t know there’s an investigation. I need to dig, but conducting interviews will only serve to alert him and make him more careful. You know the players. You can give me background information that would take me weeks to pull out of casual conversation.”
“You really think somebody here did this? I can’t believe it.”
“It has to be someone you know. They had to have access to you to take your phone. And they’d have to have been to the park to know how secluded this lot really is, even though it’s right on the street. They’d have to know you had a fight and that you were likely to unplug your landline.”
“This keeps getting better and better.”
“I’m really sorry. Do you see why it’s so important that you not talk about this until I say it’s okay?”
“I’ve got to tell them something. Everyone who’s here knows you said something that upset me and everyone who’s not here will know by tomorrow,” Lia said.
Peter pondered. “What if you just tell them about the girlfriends? You can rant and rave and cry big soggy tears if you want. Will that work?”
She nodded. “I guess so.”
“I’d like to interview you more formally, and record it. Later today, if possible. I can come by your place.”
“How about the studio? It’ll be easier for me to talk if I’m moving my hands.”
“Will it be private?”
“Sure. Bailey won’t be there. She and José are working at Catherine’s.”
“Can I give you a lift? This might not be a good time for you to drive.”
“We walked up today. I think I need the walk home.”
He watched her head over to her friends, looked on as Marie and Bailey came out of the woods and joined them, saw Anna put an arm around her and stroll with her to the corral and down to the parking lot. He wished he could be the one comforting her. But he couldn’t. At least she had someone.
Keep still. This is getting increasingly harder. That scene at the park, what was that about? It had to be more than Luthor’s bimbo girlfriends. How could Lia not have known about them? Why was Dourson still pursuing this? I’ve been over it again and again. I made no mistakes. Yes, the cash confused things and that’s too bad. But people with money and extra girlfriends could still kill themselves.
I keep thinking of a scene from the movie Lord of the Rings. The hobbits are hiding under the road as the Nazgûl pass over. Worms and centipedes and every creepy thing imaginable are coming out of the earth to get away from the ringwraiths, crawling all over the hobbits, and the hobbits can’t move a muscle or they’ll be discovered.
Keep. Still.
For the last week Lia’s emotions had bounced around like a Jack Russell terrier in a tennis ball factory. An over-caffeinated Jack Russell, on a sugar high. In comparison, Chewy and Honey lay napping on a pile of blankets in the corner of her studio. Their world was simple: eat, sleep, play. I want to come back as my dog in my next life.
She wiped off her work table and selected the template for Catherine’s “peace” paver. Maybe if today was dedicated to peace, she might begin to feel some.
Before Peter’s revelations, she’d only had to struggle with grief for Luthor, guilt over contributing to his suicide, anger at him for shooting himself, and shameful relief that he was finally out of her life.
Now she was supposed to stop feeling guilty. Instead she got to wonder what the hell Luthor had been up to for the past year. She got to feel angry because he was a cheating prick. And she got to feel stupid because she’d been clueless. Now she was supposed to believe a killer was running around the park. And none of that cancelled out the grief, or the shame.
It was too much to process. Thank God for art. Work was the only thing that took her out of the mess inside her head.
Lia opened a box of midnight blue tile cut in random shapes. Goggles on and nippers in hand, she shoved her thoughts aside and set to work, losing herself in the colors and shapes. Once the character took form, she covered the background with random pieces of rose, saffron, and yellow; then gave the final design a once over, nudging the tiles with an orange wood stick to make space for concrete between them.
She lowered a square of clear contact paper over the tiles, rubbing it so the tiles would stay in place while the paver was cast. This was topped with a mold base, making a sandwich with the tile in the middle. The stack was flipped, carefully so the base was on the bottom and the tiles were upside-down. Once the template was replaced with a Styrofoam ring, the completed mold went on a shelf.
One down, forty-nine to go.
Lia had just finished the Chinese character on paver number six when Honey’s gentle “whuff” alerted her to Peter’s arrival. She removed her goggles and waved him in before he had a chance to rap on the doorframe.
“You look like you’re feeling better.” He leaned over the table, scooping the hair out of his eyes with one hand as he eyed the bits of blue tile.
“Much. Your timing is good, I was about to take a break. Can I get you something? Water? Sweet tea? I remember you like it.”
“Tea would be great.”
Lia opened an ancient refrigerator and poured two glasses from the tap on a sun tea jar, then dragged a dusty, paint-speckled stool over to the table. She looked at Peter’s crisp khakis. “I can wipe this down for you.”
Peter sat on the high stool, hooking his heels on the bottom rung. “This is fine.” He tilted his head back, taking a long swallow. “Thanks for the tea. It’s getting hot out there.”
“Are you sure you’re a detective? You seem too friendly to chase down criminals.”
Peter flashed a grin. His face was too open, giving the moment an uncomfortable intimacy. Lia dropped her eyes to the table. She took several pieces of rose-colored tile and placed them at random on the template, scooting them around with a fingertip.
“Thumbscrews have gone out of style. At roll call, officers now spend five minutes chanting ‘You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.’”
“They do not.”
“Really. Amendment 277, Section C in the department manual of standard operating procedures. I’ll show it to you if you like.” He pulled a phone from his pocket. “We have an app.”
This tugged smile from Lia that she didn’t realize she had in her. “So the movies have it wrong? You don’t slam perps against walls and hang them out windows to get confessions anymore?”
Peter coughed, likely a smothered laugh. “Um, no. Cinematic interrogation styles are the last resort of angry cops who don’t care about their pensions. Most of the time being a detective is like being an accountant. I spend my time hunting down details and adding them up.”
“And helping little old ladies cross the street.”
He shrugged. “Rule number seven in the Official Boy Scout Handbook. I was an Eagle Scout.” He nodded at the template. “Tell me about your project.”
Lia suspected he was only asking to relax her. Still, she unrolled her drawings for Catherine’s garden and showed Peter the molds she’d already set up. “We’re using jewel tones to suggest aura colors.”
“Really? What do aura colors look like?”
“Bailey says they’re like a rainbow, clear and intense.”
“Bailey sees auras?”
“She sometimes sees a haze of color around someone, never a full aura. It doesn’t happen often.”
“And what does a full aura look like?”
Lia wondered if amusement lurked under Peter’s politely expressed interest. She had her own misgivings about Bailey’s nutty hobbies but she wouldn’t let him know that.
“She says they have a lot of layers, and sometimes they have rays extending out that attach them to other people. You can also have other colors, like turquoise or peach. Muddy colors, if you’re unhealthy; silver and gold if you’re a saint. That’s what halos are in old paintings. An exceptionally spiritual person can have such a strong aura that normal people will see a bit of it, mostly around the head.”
“According to Bailey,” Peter said.
“I’m not into the New Age thing, but somebody had to see something for halos to show up in centuries of art. Anyway, the background of each symbol is meant to evoke aura energy without being obvious about it. Catherine wanted to do a repeating rainbow theme, one red paver, one orange, one yellow, all through the labyrinth. Bailey and I talked her out of it.”
“How did you do that? She seems like a determined woman.”
“Bailey said she loved the idea because it reminded her of a playground. Catherine couldn’t change her mind fast enough. I guess it’s a vinegar-disguised-as-honey thing. I caught on. Now we double team her. Should we be wasting your time talking about my stuff?”
“It’s not a waste, but we should probably get started. Is it okay if I record this?”
At Lia’s nod, he set a mini-cassette recorder on the table and turned it on. “You were telling me about Catherine. She sounds like she’s very concerned with her image.”
“She can be. She won’t leave the house without make-up on. Some of us have dog park clothes that we toss on in the morning and wear for days without washing. It’s pointless to put on clean clothes when you’re likely to get body slammed by a muddy dog. Catherine always looks like she’s ready for lunch in Hyde Park.”
“This garden is a huge undertaking. What do you think that’s about besides wanting to be the coolest kid on the block?”
“She said she wanted an ‘island of serenity.’ She’s seen labyrinths and aromatherapy gardens. She wanted to put it all together and top it off with the koi pond. It’s a great idea, but I feel kind of sorry for her.”
“Why is that?”
“She’s like a little girl who has to wear all her bows at the same time so you know how many she has. People who are so socially competitive and focused on material things make me think they don’t believe they’re enough without the extra trappings.”
“So you’re wise, as well as talented?”
Lia leaned back on her stool and folded her arms. “Suck up much?”
Peter shrugged and did not look embarrassed.
“When did Catherine decide she wanted a garden?”
“Three months ago? Not long after she started coming to the park. She found out I was an artist and started having all kinds of ideas. I thought it was just talk; so many people like her dangle their money in front of you and never come through. As if talking about a big commission that’s never going to happen will make you fawn all over them.”
“You don’t fawn?”
“Not until I see cash. Not even then. Do you fawn over your boss every time you get your paycheck?”
“An excellent point.”
“But with Catherine, the idea caught hold and she got serious. I have to give Luthor credit for selling her on the commission. He kept talking about what a beautiful setting it would be for her. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she really eats up male attention.”
“No, really?”
The incredulous look on his face pulled a smile from her. She started to give his shoulder a friendly cuff, then stopped. One does not hit police officers. Especially when one is grieving.
“Was Catherine interested in Luthor?”
“Of course she was, the way he played up to her. It was a game to him. At least, that’s what he said. Now I’m not sure anything he told me was true.” The sudden shift in her mood had Lia staring down at the half-filled template with damp eyes. She added lavender tiles, shoving them aimlessly with the orange wood stick.
“Did that bother you, your boyfriend flirting with another woman in front of you?”
“How could I take it seriously? She has grandchildren.”
“’What about Bailey? How far down the New Age rabbit hole has she gone?”
Lia shrugged. “She hasn’t offered to hold a séance for Luthor—not yet—but she’s into just about every other New Age thing. Chakras, aromatherapy, herbs, acupuncture, energy healing, animal communicators, astrology—she’s at least tried them.”
“And you’re a skeptic.”
“I don’t know much about it. If I saw an aura or two I might be more interested. Bailey doesn’t hurt anyone and she’s a great landscaper. I’ve known her for years through library events. She started coming to the park at the same time as Catherine—I take that back. Catherine started coming early in March. Bailey was a few weeks later.”
Peter raised his eyebrows.
“It doesn’t mean anything. Every spring we get a new batch of people. The weather gets warmer and they decide their dog might enjoy running around outside. It shouldn’t irritate me but it does. I’m sure their dogs would like to run around in the winter, too.”
“You’re a skeptic, but you’re building a New Age garden.”
“I’ve got nothing against it. New Age is a huge market, and this is a new way to tap into it. Bailey knows her stuff. She’s interested in the healing potential of plants, both in the herbs and in what she calls ‘high vibration gardening.’ And it’s fun having a partner, even if it’s just for this project.”
“What’s ‘high vibration gardening’?”
“Bailey invented it. She uses specific plants to create an environment that encourages certain mental and emotional states. I get lost when she talks about it. Some people claim listening to Mozart aligns chakras. It’s like that, but with plants.”
“Interesting.”
“When we’re done with Catherine’s garden, we’ll take pictures and shop it around to see if we can drum up some business.”
“Why gardens? People say you have a good thing going with the paintings.”
“I thought you were here to ask me about everyone else. Why all the questions?”
“It’s all part of the picture. I never know what’s going to be important. So, why have you turned in your brush for a trowel?”
“This is a chance to try something new. It’s fun because it’s physical in a way that painting isn’t. And it will be like a painting you can walk through. When I get Catherine’s bench done, it’ll be a painting you can sit in.”
“Sounds nice.” Peter’s smile was genuine and warm, transforming a pleasant face into something much more than the sum of its parts. Luthor’s smiles had been seductive or ironic or self-deprecating. Lia never would have called them genuine or warm.
“It will be. Catherine bought the house next door after it caught fire last year and tore it down. She’s been dying to do something showy with the lot, and this is it.”
“What’s she doing hanging out at a dog park?”
“She doesn’t seem like the type, does she?”
“I peg her as a lady who lunches.”
Lia crinkled her eyebrows as she considered this. “Some of us are arty, and she likes that. When I’m being cynical, I think she comes because her husband won’t go anywhere near the park. Too much poop for Leo. She can flirt as much as she wants and none of it will get back to her society friends. When I’m not being cynical, I think it’s a relief to be around people who don’t care how she’s dressed or how much money she has. But that could just be me. If I was around her crowd all the time, I’d go bat-shit crazy. I’d wind up rolling in mud for relief.”
“How does José fit in?”
“He’s doing the parts that require machinery. He’ll help Bailey with the rototilling and digging out the path. Then he’ll use a compactor to pound in a base of sand for the pavers.”
“What’s his story?”
Lia smiled. “José is José. Though, now that I think of it, he’s not really José.”
“Oh?”
“He’s Italian. When he was two, he said ‘no way’ to everything. His family called him José, for ‘no way, José,’ and it stuck. He won’t tell us his real name.”
“That’s unusual, an Italian family calling their kid José.”
“There has to be more to the story, but that’s all I’ve got. He’s your basic good-guy, who works with his hands and loves his wife. He’s a maintenance supervisor and works 80 hour weeks. He knows how to fix most things and does minor construction jobs on the side. He’s always helping somebody with something, and if a dog fight breaks out, he’s first to jump in to stop it.”
“How does he get along with everyone?”
“Everyone likes him. He gets frustrated sometimes when he’s running a crew. Some of the young guys can be punks, and there was a guy who was stealing materials from a job last year. He was really pissed at one of his neighbors for neglecting his dog, so José stole the dog.”
“Really?” Peter’s eyebrows shot up.
“The guy was such a jerk. José is a teddy-bear. Have you seen his bumper sticker?”
“No, why?”
“It says, ‘Mean People Suck.’”
Peter raised his eyebrows. “I take it that’s his outlook on life?”
“Something like that.”
Peter watched Lia take a square of contact paper from a pile of hundreds cut to the same size. She peeled the back off in one smooth movement and laid the sticky paper across the tiles as cleanly as his mother fluffed her duvet every morning.
“How do you do that without making a mess?”
“Lots of practice.” She assembled the mold and placed it with several others on a set of shelves.
“How many times are you going to do that?”
“Three hundred. But not all of them today.” Lia returned to her stool, sat back and stretched her arms over her head, an unintentionally sensual act accompanied by a sigh of satisfaction. “I have some finished pavers if you want to see the end result.” She moved to a lumpy pile covered in plastic sheeting and lifted the corner, revealing stacks of finished pavers.
“Pretty. What do the symbols mean?”
Lia pointed to the nearest stack. “This one is ‘joy.’” She gestured to another stack. “That’s ‘harmony.’ The one I just finished is ‘peace.’ I thought I could use some today.”
Peter pulled Lia’s stool out for her. She gave him an odd look as she sat down. He shrugged, self-conscious. “It’s ingrained. Blame my granny. Tell me about Anna and Jim. Are they part of this?”
Lia gathered a handful of blue tiles and laid them on the template. She picked them up and moved them around, stared at the result, moved them again. It reminded Peter of his mother trying to create words out of gibberish when she played Scrabble. You’re a sick man. Looking at a woman this pretty should never remind you of your mother.
“You’d think this was a dog park project, wouldn’t you?” Lia said. “I couldn’t have Anna working on Catherine’s garden; she’s already making jokes about putting land-mines under the pavers. It would totally skew the whole higher vibration thing.”
“Bad blood there?”
“Well, sort of. Have you ever noticed how Viola gets jealous?”
“Jealous?”
“Sure. You pet another dog and she’s right there, squeezing in?”
“Never knew dogs could get jealous.”
“Dogs have a much bigger range of emotions than they’re given credit for. Catherine does it.”
It took Peter a minute to sort out the non-sequitur. “The squeezing-in thing?”
“She’s an Olympic class squeezer-inner. She does it a lot with Jim, and it interrupts whatever we were talking about when she butted in. She doesn’t join the group, she moves in to cut Jim out of the herd, so to speak.”
“What does Jim do?”
“Nothing. Jim was married for more than thirty years before his wife died. He says he always does what women tell him to do. He thinks that will keep him out of trouble. It might, if only one woman is telling you what to do.”
“And what does Anna do?” Peter asked.
Lia kept her eyes on the template, working as she talked. “Make catty remarks, mostly. She figures people will eventually catch on to Catherine’s games and if they don’t, they deserve her. Bailey says that’s because Anna’s a Scorpio.”
“What does being a Scorpio have to do with it?” This is a damn strange interview. Jealous dogs and astrology. Next she’s going to tell me one of her buddies talks to aliens.
“Bailey says Scorpios love to sit back and watch people hang themselves.”
“Always a good policy if you can work things that way. What’s her story?”
“Let’s see … Never married.”
“Any guys around?”
“She and Jim are friends, but that’s all. She and Luthor didn’t like each other. I knew her before I met him, and she’s always been protective of me. Luthor didn’t like her because he couldn’t charm her.”
Lia’s eyes grew sad, the way they did every time she talked about Luthor. Does she miss the bastard, or is she hurting because she just found out he betrayed her? Both, maybe?
“What did she think about Luthor?”
“Luthor liked to get mileage out of being a writer. Anna was never impressed. She kept saying ‘When is he going to buy you a meal that doesn’t come on a bun?’ Anna is full of advice, but I don’t think she ever dated much. She took care of her dad until he died, then she sold the house and moved here. That was years ago.”
“Where’d she come from?”
“Pittsburgh? One of the suburbs. If it was me, I’d have traded in the hills for some flat land so I could see the sky.”
“Does she have a job?”
“She works part time for a private foundation that funds projects in children’s education. Are you sure I’m not boring you with nonsense?”
“People are never boring. Every detail adds to the picture.”
“Why don’t you do background checks?”
“I do. That’s places and dates. You’re giving me the heart. VICAP hasn’t popped any ‘murder disguised as suicide’ cases. I have to solve this the old-fashioned way.”
Lia’s eyes stayed on her work. “VICAP? Isn’t that the violent crime data-base they talk about on FBI shows? You think the guy who shot Luthor did it before?”
“Amateurs who fake suicides make huge mistakes. They put the gun in the wrong hand. They kill the guy five minutes after he orders take-out. Or they leave the body in a car in the woods and report the car stolen, only the car is a standard and the guy never learned to drive a stick.”
Peter felt an urge to take Lia’s hand, tip her chin up and make her look at him. Not proper. “This person took time to think about what they were doing.”
Lia’s head jerked up. She stared at Peter. “You think it was some kind of killer for hire?”
“Not a pro. A pro wouldn’t bother to dress it up like that. Mistakes happen when you make things too complicated. In this case it was a tiny mistake and it easily could have been missed. I think I’m looking for someone who has murder as an avocation.”
“You’re looking for a … a hobby killer?”
“More of those around than people realize. Donald Harvey killed dozens of nursing home patients before anyone realized anything was wrong. Luthor could have been killed for a number of reasons. It could have been the money. If Luthor was blackmailing someone, maybe it was because he knew they killed someone.”
“Blackmailing a murderer doesn’t sound smart.”
“It doesn’t, does it? But nothing I’ve learned so far says your ex was a brain trust.”
Lia bent back over her worktable. When she spoke, it was to her template. “You’re one surprise after another. How are you going to find this person if they’re so slick?”
“It’s a good question. I’ll look at people who know the park, know you and Luthor had a fight, and had access to your purse that day to steal your phone.”
“Why did they have to steal my phone that day?”
“Because they timed this with your fight. The fight had to happen first.”
“Oh.”
“Then I’ll think about personalities and look at past histories, see if anyone has a pattern of deaths around them, but that’s going to be hard to find.”
“How come?”
“All of Donald Harvey’s murders took place at nursing homes where he worked. There was always an increase in the death rate. Once somebody started looking, the pattern was there. In Luthor’s case, we have no idea what kind of pattern to look for. It won’t be anything as obvious as multiple dog park gun-shot suicides. The only connection I have is you.”
“Me?”
“And your phone. Has anyone else died around you in the past few years?”
“My grandfather died about five years ago in Georgia. Cancer. Nothing weird about it, and no connection here.”
Of course it couldn’t be that easy. “Whoever took your phone might return it. If it turns up, don’t touch it. Call me immediately.”
“Why?”
“It might have trace evidence. I doubt it, but we could get lucky. Anyone at the dog park with deaths around them?”
“Most of the morning crowd at the park are over forty, some are retired or nearly there. By the time you’re that age, people have died around you. I’m having a hard time with the idea that someone killed Luthor, and that it’s someone I know. But a serial killer? At the dog park?”
“It doesn’t have to be someone at your park. It could have been a hired hit.”
“That has to be it.”
“But the person who hired him still had to steal your phone.”
“There’s a homeless guy who’s been sleeping in the picnic shelter. He gives me the creeps.”
Denial. It’s not just a river in Egypt. “You let him near your bag?”
“Are you kidding?”
“Didn’t think so. Look, I know you don’t like the idea that one of your friends killed Luthor. But killers who do it more than once have wiring that’s screwed up. It’s the guilt that shows, and this guy isn’t feeling any. You won’t be able to tell the difference between him and anyone else. How about this. Who in your group couldn’t have done it?”
“Well, José.”
“Why not?”
“He thought Luthor was a trip. They joked around all the time.”
“What about his temperament? What makes him incapable of murder?”
“José is too straightforward about everything. If he got mad at you, you’d know it because he’d punch you in the nose. Then he’d forget about it.” She thought for a moment, “He’s too good-natured to keep his mad going long enough to plan something like this. If he killed someone, it would be in the heat of the moment, and he’d turn himself in afterwards.”
“Good. Who else?”
“Jim’s retired. He was an engineer, so he’s smart and organized. He does this ‘Mr. Cranky Pants’ routine, but it’s mostly for entertainment value.”
“How does that work?”
“If you tell him he should have done something a different way, or if Terry dumps too much political propaganda on him, he gets blustery all out of proportion with the situation. But he’s not as irritated as he seems. He does it to end the discussion and have a little fun doing it.”
“An interesting strategy.”
“At heart, he’s the guy you go to if you want to talk about something that’s bugging you. He’s also the most consistently spiritual person I know. He’s Catholic and makes a real effort to live according to his faith. He doesn’t make noise about it, he’s not preaching or showing off.”
It wouldn’t be the first time piety hid a murderous nature. “How did he and Luthor get along?”
“By the time Jim was Luthor’s age, he had a family and owned a business. He never said anything about Luthor, but I don’t think he had much use for him.”
Lia nipped a corner off a violet tile. It bounced into the middle of her design. She fished tweezers from a coffee can full of old brushes and strange tools, speaking as she worked the bit out from between the indigo tiles without disturbing them.
“Catherine … anyone who dyes their hair to match her dogs has to be detail oriented. She’s narcissistic enough. Everything is all about her and she doesn’t have much empathy for anyone else. That’s the sort of temperament a killer would have, isn’t it? I don’t know if she’s smart enough.”
“How so?”
“She’s so obvious in her games at the dog park, and she doesn’t realize it. She’s not fooling anyone. You said the person who killed Luthor would be a good actor.”
“True. But that could be part of her game.”
“And she doesn’t get her hands dirty. I’m sure she paid the maid’s kid to do her shoplifting for her when she was in junior high. She acts like not knowing how to do anything practical is a virtue. I’d think a killer like you’re describing would need to be self-reliant and resourceful. Catherine is neither.”
“I see your point.”
“I think underneath everything, Catherine really wants to be liked. A lot of her posturing comes from insecurity. I know that doesn’t quite sound narcissistic, but that’s Catherine. I don’t think you off people when you’re looking for attention.”
“What if you’re looking for attention and you don’t get it?”
She set her nippers down and sighed. “Geezlepete. This is giving me a headache. I can’t think anymore. Can we continue this some other time?”
Peter turned off the tape recorder. “I know this is hard. Do you have any friends across the country, someone with no connection to Cincinnati? Someone you know will keep it to themselves?”
“I’ve got college friends.”
“If you need to talk to someone besides me, talk to them. Don’t share anything about Luthor’s murder with anyone here, no matter how much you trust them. They might be innocent, but you don’t know who they’ll tell.”
“Okay.”
“Seriously. Finding Luthor’s killer could get ugly and dangerous if he finds out I’m looking for him.”
“I said okay,” Lia huffed. “I get it.”
“Look, will you feel weird if I hang at the park tomorrow? It would be good for me to see more of your crew, but not if it’s going to make you nervous.”
“Let me think about it. Can I call you in the morning?”
Lia returned to work after showing Peter out but was unable to concentrate. The mosaic in front of her devolved into a pointless pile of colorful bits. The bits blurred as her emotions slipped the death grip holding them in check. She shattered like the broken tiles littering the table top.
She shoved the template aside, planted her elbows on the table and covered her face with her hands. When the hard, harsh glare of afternoon sunlight slanted across the table, she was still there. She did not move until Honey nosed her knee, reminding her it was time for dinner.