Muddy Mouth: A Dog Park Mystery

by Newsome, C. A.

  “It’s standard procedure, Cecilie,” the director said. “Liability issues, you know.”

  “I didn’t have a heart attack,” Cecilie said. “I just became very sleepy and passed out. I don't understand what happened.”

  “That shouldn't have occurred,” Alice said. “Have you changed medications lately? Had any dizzy spells? Blood sugar issues?”

  Cecilie shook her head to all of Alice’s suggestions.

  “What about your pain meds? Any chance you double dosed yourself this morning?”

  Cecilie laughed, then winced in pain. “If I had done that, I wouldn’t have made it into the pool.”

  Firemen arrived before the ambulance. Soon a surreal committee stood conferring over Cecilie, annoying her to no end while they went through the the process of reaching a forgone conclusion. She would have to go to the hospital.

  Many tests and fruitless hours after Cecilie’s arrival at Good Sam, no cause had been assigned to her loss of consciousness. The doctors shrugged their shoulders and said the mechanisms of fainting had not been thoroughly studied, and they did not know what the answer was. One obliquely suggested an eating disorder might be responsible. Cecilie looked the intern in the eye and said, “Get real. With this body?”

  A timid young aide waited until the doctors and nurses were gone and tentatively asked if she’d had anything to drink before she went in the pool.

  “I had my water bottle with me,” Cecilie responded. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just water?” The aide tilted her head as if that would help her peer into Cecilie’s brain.

  “I always put energy powder in it before I swim.”

  “I’m just an aide. I’m not a doctor, but I couldn’t help overhearing. It sounded like something that happened to a girlfriend of mine in a bar. This guy roofied her. Good thing my boyfriend and I showed up before he could get her out the door.”

  Cecilie and Alice exchanged glances.

  Cecilie and Alice sat in the back room of Sidewinder Coffee with cappuccinos and chocolate croissants.

  “What a miserable waste of time and insurance,” Cecilie sighed. “Thank you for getting me out of there. I hate hospitals. What were you doing at Twin Towers?”

  “I thought you might like to get lunch.” Alice looked at her watch. “Too late for that now.”

  “Oh, well. This is all I can handle right now anyway.”

  “I keep thinking about what that aide told us,” Alice said.

  “About roofies? That makes no sense.”

  “It wouldn’t have to be roofies. Any sedative would do. Did your energy drink taste different today?”

  “I try not to taste it. Stuff’s nasty. It could have anything in it. You think someone drugged me? For what purpose?”

  “Why did Leroy disappear? Why did someone shove Carol down the steps?” Alice asked.

  “I get your point. Though it could have been Edward. I could see him doing it so he could play hero. Maybe Janet did it so I’d stop swimming in her pool. It might have nothing to do with anything else.”

  “Who had access to your water bottle?”

  Cecilie shrugged. “Could have been anyone. It was sitting by the side of the pool while I was swimming. I don’t think anyone messed with it there, they would have been seen. But I keep it in the car, and the car is usually unlocked.”

  “You don’t lock your car?”

  “Too many young punks breaking into cars around here. I’d rather let them in so they can see I have nothing of value than deal with a broken window.”

  Alice sighed. “Good thing the others are on their way. We have to talk about this.”

  Sarah walked in, followed by Carol. They took the empty seats at Cecilie’s table. “We have to make this quick. I’ve got exactly 17 minutes before I have to be on the circulation desk, and it will take five minutes to walk back. Alice, you’re taking Carol home.”

  “What about Debby?” Alice asked.

  “Staff meeting,” Sarah said. “She can’t get away. We’ll have to fill her in later.”

  “We have to sniff your car,” Carol said.

  “What on earth for?” Cecilie asked.

  “I caught a whiff of Dunhill right before I was pushed,” Carol said. “I can’t imagine any other idiot around here paying $250 a bottle for cologne. If we smell it in your car, it proves Leroy was involved.”

  “What about your water bottle?” Alice asked. “We should have it tested.”

  “By who?” Carol demanded. “We can’t go to the police with this.”

  “Where is your bottle, Cecilie?” Sarah asked.

  Alice and Cecilie looked at each other.

  “We must have left it at Twin Towers,” Cecilie admitted. “You didn’t get it, did you, Alice?”

  Alice shook her head. “I grabbed your towel. I didn’t think about the bottle. Maybe they kept it for you.”

  “And maybe they threw it in the trash,” Sarah said. “This is getting us nowhere. I can’t believe Leroy is stalking us. He’s an idiot, but he’s Debby’s idiot.”

  The others stared at her.

  Sarah shrugged. “Debby couldn’t be here, so I’m acting as her proxy.”

  “You didn’t hear him during our last rehearsal,” Carol said. “He was furious when I refused to support his bid for more money. I’m not surprised he’s taken matters into his own hands.”

  “So he’s going to kill the goose?” Alice asked.

  “When you’ve got a gaggle of geese, what’s one or two?” Cecilie asked.

  “He hasn’t been successful in killing anyone yet. Maybe he just means to scare us,” Sarah said.

  “Or maybe he’s just incompetent,” Cecilie said.

  “He’s got us over a barrel,” Carol said. “He knows we can’t go to the police.”

  “Or maybe he’s dead,” Alice said. “We don’t know for a fact it was him.”

  “I know what I smelled,” Carol said.

  “You didn’t see him clearly,” Alice said. “Anyone can wear cologne.”

  “From now on,” Sarah said, “we buddy up. No one goes anywhere alone until we figure this out.”

  “Oh, wonderful,” Cecilie said. “Why don’t we just get one of those loopy ropes they use with kindergarteners. We’ll go everywhere together. That will keep us safe.”

  “Are you going to be that person?” Sarah asked Cecilie.

  “What person do you mean?”

  “The dead person whose last brilliant idea was to investigate a strange noise without her ball bat. There’s at least one in every horror movie.”

  “Why a ball bat?” Cecilie asked.

  “I don’t like guns. You know that.”

  “Ball bat it is, then,” Cecilie said.

  “Sarah, what do you think is driving this?” Alice asked.

  “I don’t think it’s coming from Leroy. I don’t think he cares about the big picture, as long as he gets to be the bad boy author with adoring female fans. Someone else would have to be pushing him.”

  “According to Debby, he never was much of a go-getter,” Alice said.

  “This farce required serious go-getting,” Sarah said.

  “You know who makes the least sense in this whole thing?” Cecilie asked.

  “Who’s that?” Alice asked.

  “That Citrine girl,” Cecilie said, eyes narrowing. “She claims she and Leroy are soul mates on that blog of hers. Debby doesn’t know who she is, Dorothy doesn’t know who she is, and Leroy’s friends don’t either.”

  6

  Thursday, June 23

  “Did you have any luck last night?” Parade practice over, Bailey climbed up next to Lia on their usual table. Their dogs raced off, happy to be done with school for the day. Lia watched as the rest of their group headed down the service road to their cars, some headed for work, others for appointments.

  “Ha, ha. I nearly floated away on club soda by the time Jose and I were done. We hit seven bars in three hours. Nobody reacted to Lero
y’s picture, except one woman who claimed he was her old high school sweetheart and wanted his number. She didn’t get the concept that we were looking for him.”

  “Such a shame.”

  “Don’t feel too sorry for her. She couldn’t remember his name, and she was about a decade too old to be in his graduating class.”

  “What did you wind up telling Peter?”

  “I said I was modeling details on the gun and I had to keep at it, or the Bondo would separate later.”

  “Good thinking. Is there Bondo on the float?”

  “There will be by tonight.”

  “Oops. Steve and I didn’t do any better. We also stopped in at the local pony kegs, in case he was buying his beer and taking it somewhere else. I don’t get it. Trees sent me last night’s pings, and Leroy was somewhere in Elmwood Place. That neighborhood shuts down by nine, except for the places we went. So where was he? I even tried calling his phone in case he was nearby. I thought we might get lucky and hear it ringing.”

  “What would you have done if he answered?” Lia asked.

  “Asked him where he was, of course. It just went to voicemail. But why is his phone on? He’s not making calls.”

  Lia shook her head. “I don’t know. Debby says he doesn’t read, so maybe he doesn’t realize he can be tracked that way. I talked to Sarah. Now they’d like us to take a look at Citrine to see if she’s involved in some way.”

  “At least we’ll be able to find her,” Bailey said, looking out across the dog park. “What do you plan to do? And when are you taking Chewy to the vet? He’s still eating dirt.”

  Lia scowled down at Chewy, who had propped his forelegs on the picnic table bench and was grinning at her, his teeth white against his mud-stained muzzle. She twisted her mouth.

  “We went. He’s perfectly healthy. The vet tells me there used to be a horse stable on this site, and he expects most of the dogs find the flavor irresistible. All that manure. I can either muzzle him, get the park board to relocate us, or forget about it.”

  “Yuck. You still let him kiss you?”

  “I try not to think about it. As for Citrine, I think a ruse is in order. She obviously wants media attention. We’ll offer to give her some.”

  “How are we going to do that?” Bailey asked.

  “We need to find a blog, something that would be attractive to her, that doesn’t have photos of its contributors. One of us will pretend to be one of the writers and interview her.”

  “Sounds complicated and time consuming. You need to keep it simple. How about this? You’re college buddies with a contributor to some hot blog and since they knew you were part of the Lucas Cross machine, they tapped you for a piece on how his disappearance is affecting the home front.”

  “That’s brilliant, Bailey. Maybe you should interview her.”

  “I’m 48. Most bloggers are half my age. Besides, while you’re meeting with her, Terry and I can steal her garbage. We can dig through it for clues. We might even be able to break into her apartment.”

  “Isn’t house-breaking against the New Age creed?”

  “My heart is pure. I seek only to learn, not take.”

  “You’re taking this seriously,” Lia said.

  “Citrine will be on her best behavior when you interview her. You can only find out so much from what people are willing to make public. We need to dig—and I mean that literally—deeper. It’s the only way to find out if she’s helping Lucas.”

  “What if you break in and Lucas is there?”

  “Call 911. What do you think I’m going to do—take his picture and post it on Facebook?”

  Lia sighed. “Looks like I’m going to spend the morning pawing through her blog.”

  “Once was enough angst for me. I’d rather see her garbage.”

  7

  Friday, June 24

  Melt Cafe was a vegan-friendly deli that frequently served organic food. The small front dining room featured lavender walls. Magnetic poetry sets were mounted on the walls at table level so patrons could amuse themselves while they waited for their orders. Above the poetry sets, neighborhood artists exhibited their work.

  A narrow hallway led past the counter and kitchen to the rear dining room. Vintage tables and chairs of various styles provided seating, while the walls were painted in wavy vertical stripes in new millennium decorator colors.

  Lia passed out the back door onto a gravel patio, a feature of most Northside restaurants. Melt’s patio had a rabbit hutch. She stooped in front of the chicken-wire cage and its lone occupant. What’s your name, little guy? Do you know Alice’s bunny, Bugs? Do you have amorous designs on shoes?

  Lia waved from her table when Citrine entered the back patio. Lia recognized her by her hair, artfully waifish and streaked with varying shades of orange and yellow, with a hint of red, shocking against pale skin and gray clothes.

  Citrine flashed a smile of recognition and joined her, extending her arm for a limp handshake.

  “Love your hair,” Lia said, discretely tapping the send button on her phone, then activating the recording app.

  “Thanks. Taylor Jameson did it. It’s nice to meet you,” Citrine said.

  Citrine hung her hobo bag on the back of a chair, claiming a seat on the shaded side of the umbrella table. Good thing. She’s got to be sweltering in Doc Martins and tights. Closer inspection revealed an abundance of gray cat hair on her tunic. What are those sleeves hiding? Embarrassing ink? Track marks? Cutting scars?

  Citrine’s build was very slim and fragile, what some folks in the goth/paranormal world called “fairy.” Or is it Emo? I can never tell the difference. Anorexic? Bulimic? I’ll know when she orders.

  “I’m so glad you agreed to meet with me,” Lia said. “Please, order anything. I’m buying.”

  “Oh, I’m not hungry,” Citrine said. “I’ll have some raspberry iced tea.”

  Breatharian, then. Well, I’m going to pretend rye bread doesn’t have wheat in it and splurge. “I hope you don’t mind if I have a sandwich,” Lia said.

  “Oh, not at all.”

  Lia flagged down a waitress and ordered the Rachel, a turkey rueben with a hipster twist, and two of the herbal iced teas.

  “So, you’re an artist, too. I don’t know if you noticed the paintings out front. I’m the featured artist here this month.”

  Lia recalled listless blobs of color overlaid with text and cryptic ink drawings. “Yes, very nice. I especially liked the blue one with the mermaid and the boar.”

  “‘Gored in Love.’ Most people think it’s a pig. They don’t get the difference. That’s my favorite. The ocean is so evocative, don’t you think? Sensuous and deadly. It represents my relationship with Leroy—you do know Lucas’s real name is Leroy, don’t you?”

  Bingo. “Yes, Leroy Eberschlag.”

  “It’s German, you know? Eber means ‘boar’ and schlag means ‘strike’. So it’s like being gored by a boar. That’s how it feels, having Leroy ripped away from me.” Citrine sniffed, dabbing gently at her nose with a paper napkin.

  “I’m so sorry. Is this hard to talk about?”

  “A little, but it helps, you know?”

  Like spilling your guts all over the internet helps. “I’ve read your poems and your blog, but you never mention where you met Leroy. Is this something you can talk about?”

  “Oh, but I do. In ‘Slice by Slice,’ the first poem I wrote about him. It’s a double entendre. Pain and pizza. I work at the Pizza place around the corner, the one that sells slices of pizza through a window after the bars close. He used to come all the time.”

  “And how did you get started?”

  “With Leroy?” Citrine ducked her head and glanced sideways at Lia. “He used to come by with his friends, Dave and Orin. This handsome guy who teased me and called me Hot Stuff, you know, because of my hair.”

  She smiled sadly and angled her head, looking off as if she could see through the privacy fence and into some misty distance.

 
; “One night he was by himself and he just looked at me and didn’t say anything. He looked so far into me, like he could see down to my toes. All I could do was stare back. We were seeing all the way through each other. It was spiritual. I didn’t know who he was. I mean, I knew he wrote, but everyone writes. I didn’t know he was Lucas Cross. Then his picture was all over the internet and he was gone. Now I don’t know if we’ll ever be together again.”

  Translation: He showed up drunk at the pizza window when she was closing up and she invited him in for leftover pizza and a blow job. If her boss ever found out, she’d be fired.

  “You don’t mention Leroy on your blog before he disappeared. When did you get together?”

  “I don’t remember the date …”

  Liar.

  “But it was still so new, I wasn’t ready to make it public.”

  Meaning he forgot about it right after it happened. Maybe he was in a brownout.

  “When he disappeared, well, I felt like my soul was being ripped apart. I couldn’t stop writing or painting. It was the only way to deal, you know?”

  Lia’s sandwich arrived. Citrine swallowed hard and looked away from Lia’s demolition of animal flesh, chattering about the media requests she’d gotten since she started posting about Leroy on her blog.

  “…Until you emailed me, it was just the regional press and some small blogs that were interested in my story, you know, public-access cable shows and stuff. But Huffington Post, that’s awesome-sauce. Who else are you interviewing?”

  Lia washed down a bite of her sandwich. “I don’t know yet. I think it might be too intrusive to talk to his mother right now. His aunt Debby might give me the family picture since I know her.”

  Citrine scowled and leaned forward, confidential. “I hope she’s not a good friend of yours. She’s been so rude to me since this happened.”

  “Oh?”

  “She called me a twit when I went by to, you know, offer my support. They aren’t the only ones who lost him.”