A Shot in the Bark (A Dog Park Mystery)

by Newsome, Carol Ann

  "That's brutal, Bailey. Have I really been that bad? Have I been that awful to be around?"

  "I've been your friend the best way I know how. You're talented and funny and and you have a lot to give. But you choose to be caught in this cycle, and nothing I or anyone else has said has made any difference. You disliked Catherine when she was alive, now she's dead and it's like you lost your best friend, even though she had an affair with Luthor. Luthor cheated on you, he was a total scum-bag. And you're still giving him space in your head after he's been gone for two months. He doesn't deserve it, and it does him no good. You're using him as a reason to be miserable, and to push Peter away. I thought if Luthor was gone, you'd lighten up. But you seem determined to be unhappy, no matter what."

  Lia stared hard at Bailey. There was something feral in Bailey's eyes, something she hadn't seen before. "Bailey, this doesn't sound like you. You're usually all 'love and light.'"

  "Since when is putting something out of its misery not a loving thing to do?"

  At Lia's shocked look, Bailey relented. "Don't take me so seriously. I'm just thinking out loud. I just want what's best for you, you know that, right?" She put her arm around Lia and gave her a squeeze.

  "Yeah, sure."

  "So what else is new? Jose tells me you got a gun. Is that true?"

  "Yeah, I'm on a waiting list for the concealed-carry class."

  "What brought that on?"

  "Too much happening around here. It made me nervous."

  "That's wild."

  "Aren't you afraid? You dragged Catherine out of her pond, doesn't it stay with you?"

  "Not really. What happens, happens. Fear isn't going to stop it, Fear just ruins everything else."

  "Well, I feel better with a little protection, especially when I go walking alone in the woods."

  "And I thought protection was something you got at the pharmacy."

  Lia laughed, relieved to see her friend back to her usual self.

  "What kind of gun did you get?"

  "I went to see Terry and Donna a few days ago. Terry gave me this little two-shot derringer. He said I could give him a painting sometime, something for Donna. You should have heard him, telling me all about the history of derringers, how with the old ones, the bullets flew slow enough that you could see the bullet in midair. He said they flew about twenty-five miles an hour. Now they go twice as fast. Apparently now they have derringers fit with laser scopes for competition shooting. I didn't tell Terry, but I think that's pretty dumb, to put a laser scope on a gun that doesn't shoot straight."

  "I've never seen a derringer, can I look at it?"

  "Sure." Lia pulled the tiny gun out of her pocket. Bailey held out her hand and Lia gave it to her. "It's nothing special."

  Bailey turned it over in her hand. "Aren't you concerned someone might take it away and use it on you?"

  "Terry and I talked about that, about being ready to shoot if you pull your gun, not pulling it just to intimidate. He said people don't find derringers intimidating anyway, so you're better off shooting than waving it around."

  "It's not very big at all, is it?" Bailey mused.

  "No, I wanted something I could keep in a pocket. It only holds two bullets. And with a barrel this short, it's not accurate at any distance. That's probably why Terry was willing to let it go. If it won't take down a bull moose at fifty yards, I don't think he wants it."

  Bailey turned it over. "Cute little thing, isn't it?"

  "Funny, isn't it? I can't believe it has rosewood grips. Doesn't look like you could hurt anything with it. Never thought I'd own a gun. Times change, I guess."

  "So are you going to start doing target practice?"

  "I suppose I'll have to. I need to know how to use it."

  Bailey held the gun in her lap. She looked in Lia's eyes. "I'm sorry if I came on too strong earlier. You know I love you, right?"

  "Sure Bailey."

  "I just hate seeing you so unhappy. I hate seeing anyone unhappy. It's a mission, you know? Eliminating pain and suffering."

  "I've never seen you so serious."

  "Sometimes the loving thing is the hard thing. Tell me Lia, if you had the chance, would you like a fresh start?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "A do-over. Just get off the merry-go-round and start again."

  Lia looked down at her hands. "I haven't been that unhappy. Maybe lately I've been struggling, but..."

  She heard the metallic click of the hammer at the same time as she felt the muzzle on the side of her head, pressing into her left temple. Time stopped. Lia froze. Horror gripped her. This was Bailey, her friend and partner, the woman who helped her pour 3,000 pounds of concrete. It made no sense.

  Her world narrowed to the pressure of the derringer's barrel on her skin. Her mind went blank. Seconds passed while she fought the constriction in her chest and felt a single bead of sweat trickle down the side of her face. She pleaded, "What are you doing? Bailey, give it back to me!"

  "I will in a minute. Hold still, I've got my finger on the trigger, you don't want me to flinch. It's a mission, like I said, getting rid of pain and unhappiness. This is the easiest way."

  Baileys voice faded in and out as Lia struggled to grasp her situation. Her voice trembled, barely audible as she pushed past the paralysis in her chest. "You can't mean this. We're friends! Why would you do this? This isn't funny. Please give it back." Tears sprang from Lia's eyes..

  "Keep your hands in your lap. If you so much as breathe, I'll pull the trigger."

  "Please, Bailey, what do you want? Tell me what you want." Lia cried harder.

  "I just want the world to be a better place. Can you honestly say the world isn't better without Luthor and Catherine?"

  "N-n-no."

  "That's right. Luthor was a bad person. He cheated on you. He lied and he used people. Catherine was mean-spirited and selfish. I don't think you're bad, but I do think you're desperately unhappy. You had a chance to change that and you didn't take it. So maybe you need a fresh start."

  "Please don't do this."

  "I envy you, really. There are so many tines I'd have liked the chance to start over, but suicide is a sin."

  "Isn't what you're doing a sin?"

  "How can it be sinful to help someone move on without the stain of suicide on their soul? How can it be sinful to rid the world of self-generated misery?"

  Lia grasped at a straw. "What about your karma?"

  "Souls at the highest levels take on karmic burdens that ultimately serve enlightenment. Hitler was an ascended master who galvanized the world through his actions. Hitler served a higher purpose, and so do I."

  "Please, let me go. I won't tell anyone. I don't want to die."

  "I won't enjoy this. I will miss you."

  "This is wrong, Bailey."

  "It'll be okay. You'll see," Bailey soothed, Think of that wonderful place you're going, and it'll all be over before you know it."

  "No . . . ," Lia forced the word out past her paralysis, a whisper of denial.

  ""Think loving thoughts, Lia."

  Lia was suddenly bowled over. A gunshot blasted. Someone screamed. Bailey was rolling on the ground, bleeding, being harried by two balls of fur, one black, one golden. Chewy scolded in his high-pitched bark. Lia found herself on the ground. She scrambled through last year's leaves, desperately searching for the gun on the ground around her log. She caught the glint of steel out of the corner of her eye and lunged for it, fumbling the derringer into her hands. She pointed it at Bailey, panting raggedly. "Honey, Viola, stay!" The dogs stilled, but kept up a menacing growl. Bailey crouched on the ground with her arms over her head, begging, "Don't shoot! Don't let them hurt me!

  Jim and Peter came crashing into the clearing. "My God, Lia," Peter shouted, "What are you doing?"

  Chapter 23

  Friday, July 22

  The canvas of rich corals and greens was propped inside his screen door. The note read, 'Dinner at 8? My place?' Peter smiled. The
painting of the cactus flower reminded him of Lia, her guarded attitude and her vulnerability. Did she realize she'd given him a self-portrait? He carried it in and punched her number one-handed on his phone while Viola danced around him.

  "Peter!"

  "I got your very attractive invitation," He said as he held the painting against the wall, visualizing how it would look over the sofa. He rejected the spot, wanting a place where he would see it while he was sitting around.

  "And?"

  "Must I wait until eight?" He walked over to the opposite wall and propped it up on the book case, then bent down, ruffling Viola's fur. She licked his nose.

  "What did you have in mind?"

  "Depends. What are you going to feed me?"

  "Liver."

  "Ugh. Make it ten. Better yet, let me send over Viola instead. She loves liver."

  "It would serve you right. It's a surprise."

  "Promise it's not liver."

  "I'm not making any promises, but you can bring desert."

  He followed a familiar, pulsing music and the scent of wood smoke to her backyard. Lia stood over the grill, poking at coals. Honey and Chewy were stationed nearby, tracking Lia's every move and drooling like Pavlov's dogs. Peter took a moment to enjoy Lia's fluid movements as she arranged a pair of baking potatoes and lowered the hood of the grill. Viola whimpered, straining at her leash. Lia turned at the sound.

  "Hey, Detective Peter. Come in and have a beer."

  "Hey, yourself." He opened the gate and unclipped Viola so she could join the other dogs, then set a bakery box down on the table. He grabbed a Grolsch swing-top from the ice chest and took a long pull while he studied Lia. He was feeling wary, but hopeful. She looked subdued and a bit tired. He noticed that instead of her usual T-shirt and paint smeared cut-offs, she wore a lavender tank top and purple paisley Bermuda shorts. Her hair was loose, and it curtained her face as she turned. "How have you been?"

  "I'm doing better. This whole summer has been one bombshell after another. That business with Bailey was the worst, worse than finding Luthor, even."

  "You didn't have to go to all this trouble."

  She gave a wan smile, "Grilling's easy as it gets. Anyway, cooking is therapeutic. Hang on a minute while I pull some things out of the fridge."

  "Need a hand? I've got two."

  "Sure, why not?"

  He followed her into the kitchen, which was warm and smelled of yeast. "Fresh bread?" He raised his eyebrows.

  "Punching dough is very satisfying." She handed him a bowl of Romaine and tomato wedges topped with a blackish paste. Peter looked at it and wondered if this was a bad sign. "My therapist thinks baking bread is a good outlet for my aggressions. Almost as good as working clay, but I'm not set up for that."

  "I didn't know you had a therapist."

  She's new. Like I said, it's been a rough summer." She pulled a plate out of the fridge and gestured to the door. "Shall we have some eats?"

  He eyed the bowl suspiciously. "I'm not one to look a gift meal in the mouth, but what is this stuff?"

  "What it is, is delicious. That's tappenade. It's a puree of olives and spices. If you don't like it, you can give all of yours to me. But I never took you for a culinary coward."

  "I'm not, normally, but this stuff resembles something that came up in my drain once."

  She rolled her eyes, "Have a little faith, Dourson. Tell you what, I'll eat it first so you'll know it won't kill you."

  "Thank you. That's a big load off my mind. Is that plate what I think it is?"

  "Tuna sashimi. I know you like sushi."

  "I didn't know you could make the raw fish stuff at home."

  "You can with tuna. That's the safest fish for do-it-yourselfers. Appetizer first, then salad."

  There was something intimate about sharing the plate of sashimi. Lia showed him how she liked it best, laying a piece of picked ginger on top of a tender slice of fish, then rolling it up and using a fork to dip it into wasabi-spiced soy sauce. She demonstrated, then fed the first one to him. They saved the last 3 slices of tuna for the dogs. Chewy and Honey gulped theirs right down. Viola carefully laid hers on the grass and sniffed at it. Peter watched with amusement. "I guess my dog is a culinary coward, too." After eyeing the morsel a bit longer, Viola licked at it, then eyed it again and suddenly snarfed it up. Chewy sighed disappointedly.

  A timer beeped. "Bread's ready." Lia dashed into the kitchen and emerged a few minutes later with a steaming loaf on a breadboard. "We have to wait a little bit while it cools down."

  "Must we?" Peter gave her a mournful look.

  Lia laughed, "Yes, unless you want to hurt yourself. Here, try this." She held out a fork holding a smidgeon of the black paste.

  "I thought you were going to try it first?"

  "Dourson, Dourson," she shook her head. "Some things are all about trust. Do you trust me?"

  "I don't know. You've been really angry at me. You could be setting me up." Might as well get it out there, he thought. "I'm sorry you found out about Catherine the way you did. I would have found a better way to tell you, once it was going to be public knowledge. Until then, I couldn't say anything."

  "It's not your fault. I've worked it out every way I could think of, and I don't believe you could have done any different. If I had been paying attention, I would have realized something was going on between Luthor and Catherine. And you warned me there might be more women. I finally realized that underneath all the drama Luthor created, I really didn't care enough to notice. So I'm going to forget about them, and I hope you will, too."

  "Really?"

  "Really. Enough serious stuff. Now are you going to eat your sewer sludge like a good boy or am I going to have to send you home without your moo-cow?"

  "We're having moo-cow?"

  "Duh. Grill. Moo-cow. It should be obvious."

  "I thought you might be feeding me something girly, like Portabella steaks or veggie burgers."

  "Dourson. Dourson. Dourson." She sighed. "We are really going to have to work on your trust issues." She offered the fork again. This time he opened his mouth. "That's better," she cooed.

  The rich flavor of olives and garlic burst over his tongue. "Wow. Intense. Tasty stuff."

  She picked up a large, serrated knife and sliced a generous heel off the loaf. The whole wheat bread steamed as she slathered on softened butter. Rivulets of butter melted while she spread it. "Here, take a bite of this."

  He closed his eyes and concentrated on the flavor while it dissolved in his mouth. "This is Heaven. What did I do to deserve it?"

  "Not a thing. But we could both use a break. I've been thinking you don't want your filet to cook very long, so why don't we finish our salads before I put the meat to the fire?"

  "Sounds like a plan." He ate every last bit of salad, just in case that would have any bearing on the quality of his steak.

  Peter manned the grill as the sky began to darken. They ate in companionable silence. After the rare meat and fully dressed, grilled potato were safely in his belly, after they fed scraps to three eager dogs, he commented, "I never knew you were so carnivorous. Those were positively bloody. It doesn't quite fit with the carrot juice."

  "I'm a girl of depth and complexity."

  "I can see that. You know, I just realized where I heard that music before. Is it that same band? What was their name? Mayan something?"

  "Mayan Ruins. I've got their CDs." It was full dark now, with a bright quarter moon rising above the trees. "Kentucky Boy, I think they might be playing our song."

  "Do you think so?"

  "Yes, I absolutely do."

  He took her hand and led her out onto the grass and into his arms. They swayed gently to the sensual syncopation until the maracas shimmied and the drums kicked up tempo, until it became a throbbing in his blood. Peter stopped. He took Lia's face in both hands and leaned down to kiss her, gently at first, then sinking, sinking.

  Peter raised himself on his elbows after the poundi
ng of his heart subsided. He watched Lia's face in the moonlight coming through her bedroom window, then kissed her lightly on the nose. She scrunched it up at him and sighed. You know," he said, "I was afraid I'd never get to do that with you again."

  "That would have been a real shame."

  "You know what's a real shame?"

  "What?"

  "Our desert, sitting in the backyard, waiting for the raccoons to get it."

  "Oh! I forgot all about it! Do you suppose it's still there?"

  "Let me pull on my shorts and go check."

  Lia grabbed a cotton robe and joined him out back on the stoop. The box was still intact. "What is it, anyway?"

  "Open it up and see."

  "It's dark."

  "Here, I'll grab a fork and you'll just have to trust me this time."

  "Sauce for the goose?"

  "Something like that. Open wide."

  The morsel was dark and creamy and bittersweet. "Oh, my God. Chocolate cheesecake. And dried cherries. This was sitting out here all this time and I didn't know it?"

  Peter took a bite. "I hope you had better things to do."

  "I don't know. This is pretty wicked."

  "Now you're going to go and insult my prowess."

  "Hey, Dourson?"

  "Hey, what?"

  "You dance just fine, Kentucky Boy. Now gimme another bite." She opened her mouth like a little bird and he obligingly fed her the rest of the slice. When it was gone, she examined him carefully. "I wasn't going to ask, but I think I'm gonna."

  "Ask what?"

  "Can you talk about Bailey?"

  Peter thought. Yeah, some things really are about trust. "Probably not, but I will."

  "Peter, I was never so scared. I froze. I was petrified. I just couldn't think, couldn't move. She had my own gun to my head. All I could do was cry and beg."

  "I've never had a gun aimed at me. I can't imagine it."

  "How did she figure she was going to get away with killing me?"

  "She quit talking shortly after we took her into custody, first she was babbling nonsense and then she became non-responsive. They had to send her to a psych ward. She hasn't said a word in over a week. What we know is pieced together from interviews with other people and speculation.