Muddy Mouth: A Dog Park Mystery

by Newsome, C. A.

  “You know he’s sneaking off to surf for the most offensive tee shirt he can find,” Bailey said.

  "I can't believe you made that bet," Steve said.

  "He'll never let you forget it,” Lia said. “And you—” she turned to Bailey. "Why did you have to say anything about Jim's side of the bet?"

  Bailey shrugged. "Fair is fair. Besides, Jim—Ow!" She leaned over to rub her ankle, giving Jim a murderous look.

  "Did you just kick Bailey?" Bonnie asked, dumbfounded.

  "He did," Bailey said. "I don't know why. You were going to tell, anyway."

  "Tell what?" Lia demanded.

  Jim ducked his head, looking sheepish. "We set Terry up."

  "I don't understand,” Bonnie said.

  "It was a sucker bet. The rain is going to miss us. My knee always hurts before it rains, and it feels fine. I've been waiting years for the right time to pull this on him.”

  “Oh. Well that’s all right, then,” Bonnie said.

  Lia knelt down in the crowd and petted Chewy, who was trying to scratch his ruff off when he wasn’t dancing back and forth in agitation. "Can you believe that, Little Man? Your Uncle Jim is being sneaky and underhanded. But at least you won't get wet."

  Unused to the crush of people in bizarre costumes, the dogs remained by their owners, partly guarding, partly out of insecurity. Lia stood up and shifted from one foot to the other, anxious to get going.

  "I just hope the dogs don't freak when the noise starts,” she said.

  "Relax.” Bailey dismissed Lia’s concern with a wave of one bird-like hand. “By now they’re immune to tubas and drums.”

  “Twelve-ten,” Jim said. “They’re late.”

  “It’s tradition,” Jose said.

  “The road is blocked off.” Bailey nodded at the orange and white traffic barriers and the policemen re-routing traffic. It won’t be long now. Bonnie and Renee are still hanging with the lawn chair ladies. I’ll go get them.”

  Lia became aware of a murmur rising at the south entrance to the parking lot. It swept back towards them, growing in volume as it approached. All around her, people straightened up and made last minute checks while volunteers in golf shirts trotted down the line.

  At some invisible signal, Oliver Kroner pulled a child’s red wagon out onto Hamilton Avenue then turned south to wild cheers that rolled over the crowd with a sudden infusion of exuberance. The cheers carried from the parking lot to the residents camped along both sides of the road and would follow the wagon on the mile and a half procession to Hoffner Park.

  Lia laughed and bounced up on her toes to see the wagon’s passenger, this year’s two year-old grand marshal, Quincy Kroner. Quincy was escorted by a garbage man who had appeared with him in a photograph that went viral in the spring, making Quincy Northside’s most famous resident at the moment.

  Quincy was followed by CAIN, the neighborhood food pantry, whose employees wheeled donation barrels painted like Campbell's Soup cans. The Mill Creek Yacht Club’s members high-fived onlookers with canoe paddles while an old Woody station wagon loaded with five canoes crawled along behind.

  The front of the parade expanded like a caterpillar inching forward and extruded out onto the avenue as each group lined up in proper formation and exited the parking lot. All eyes were on the road, as this would be the only opportunity most of the marchers would have to see the parade in action. Music started haltingly, then gained confidence and volume as marchers found their rhythm.

  Along with the usual fire trucks and vintage cars, high school bands blared while midriff-baring drill teams strutted and shook their booties. Snazzy convertibles carried politicians who queen-waved the crowd while their supporters ran along the curbs passing out candy and pamphlets. Such things were mandatory for community parades.

  Northside was famous for being friendly, funky and outrageous. The parade was an excuse for residents to raid their attics to create the most outlandish displays they could conceive. Parade entries ran from the slapdash and outright lazy to wonders of architecture and artistry.

  Chicken Lays an Egg dressed in vintage clothes topped with amazing headdresses that made Hunger Games’ District One couture pale and tame in comparison. A body builder, oiled to maximum sheen in his speedo, strutted curbside, stopping frequently to pose. An old pickup towed a skateboard ramp painted with an enormous skull of a longhorn steer. Boarders launched off the truck, buzzed the crowd and ascended back up the ramp to do tricks. A sauntering procession of shirtless young men in kilts carried a banner that proclaimed “Free Willie.”

  Some of the floats were out of season, including a hearse topped with pumpkins and a float covered in cotton “snow,” sporting Christmas trees while a man sang a soulful Jingle Bells into a PA system and elves waved to the crowd.

  The parade oozed out of the parking lot and the line inched forward. Lia estimated it would take close to an hour before the Dog Stars made it to the street. Hurry up and wait. Next year, I’ll hire a double to stand in line for me. I’ll sit across the street with the spectators instead.

  Chewy whined and squatted. Lia sighed and pulled out one of her emergency poop bags. She stepped out of line with Chewy’s mess in hand, hoping to find a trashcan near the church entry. Lia stepped beyond the edge of the crowd and a familiar figure popped into view.

  Citrine was alone, leaning against the side of the building. The one time and place where she won’t stick out like an Eskimo at a beach party. Dammit! She’s coming over. Lia kept her eyes averted in hope she was mistaken about Citrine’s intentions. No such luck. Citrine intercepted her at the trashcan.

  “I never imagined seeing you here. Oh, look at the adorable ruff!” She stooped to pet Chewy, who had no standards and did not care who gave him attention. “Is he yours? You must be in the parade.”

  “Yeah, my friends and I are performing formations with our dogs.”

  Lia turned to rejoin her group. Citrine followed.

  “What fun! I’ve never seen anything like that in the parade before. Hey, guess what, that guy who broke into my apartment left without taking anything. I guess having his picture taken scared him away. Freaky, huh?”

  “That’s lucky. Do the police know who he is?”

  “They say they’re still looking. I gave the landlord hell and he installed a deadbolt, so he won’t get in again even if he comes back. By the way, I’ve been watching The Huffington Post, and I haven’t seen your article yet. When is it coming out?”

  Does she plan to follow me all the way to Hoffner Park? “I, uh, I’ve been having a hard time hooking up with Leroy’s family. I’m hoping to talk to them after the parade.” Shit, shit, shit! I have to get rid of her before she sees Terry. Lia looked wildly around the crowd, hoping a diversion would present itself. “Are you in the parade, too?”

  “Me? Oh, no. I know a couple of the guys with MOBI.” Citrine pointed to a group of bare-chested bicycle nerds on Frankensteined bicycles and unicycles, some with seats six feet off the ground, riding in lazy circles around the ever-widening open space at the back of the lot. “I thought it would be fun to follow them down the hill.”

  Oh, great. That means she could notice Terry at any time. They were now twenty feet from the dog parkers, with Terry’s signature camo in full view. Dammit, desperate times, desperate measures.

  “Have you seen Leroy’s aunt Debby? She’s on the float with the giant gun. I think they’re short a person for the float. You should go talk to her.”

  “Wow! Wouldn’t that be fun,” Citrine immediately veered off, then hesitated. “Keep me posted about the article, won’t you?”

  Lia watched until Citrine was fifty feet away, then tapped Terry on the shoulder. He whipped around.

  “Wha—”

  Lia whispered in his ear. “Citrine’s here. You have to switch shirts with Steve and ditch your hat.” She searched the group for Terry’s roommate.

  Steve made a disgusted face. “You want me to what? Wear his sweaty shirt? You
’ve got to be kidding.”

  “If you don’t, you may wind up without someone to split the rent with,” Lia said.

  “What’s this about?” Steve asked.

  “You didn’t tell him?” Lia asked Terry.

  “Er, no,” Terry said. “I was trying to be discrete.”

  Meaning he felt like an idiot and was hoping no one would find out.

  “You can explain later.” She turned back to Steve. “Just trust me on this.”

  A volunteer trotted up, clipboard in hand. She looked the group up and down. “Mount Airy Dog Stars? Everybody ready? Get into formation. Make sure your rows are spaced to take up at least ten feet across. Next up is the Lucas Cross float, then we have La Boiteaux Woods, and then you and your dogs.”

  Message delivered, she moved on to corral the stylists from Taylor Jameson Hair Design, who were dressed in flowing white gowns with ferns and flowers twined in their hair as if they'd just walked off the set of A Midsummer's Night Dream.

  The line halted while volunteers guided the Browning Buckmark out onto Hamilton Avenue. Lia took a moment to feel dizzy. She hadn’t realized how monumental it would appear, looming over the road, and how tiny Sarah’s crew would look standing next to it on the flatbed. It’s like the Queen Mary on her maiden voyage.

  “It brings tears to your eyes, does it not?” Terry said from the second row. Lia felt the cheer well up and rip out of her throat. She waved wildly.

  Stealthy spy music played from a speaker on top of Jerry’s truck. Smoke wisped out of the gun barrel while Fiber and Snark, dressed in scavenged versions of Koi's signature cat suit, took stealthy poses around the grip of the giant Browning.

  Alice placed one hand on her hip and reached up to stroke the bottom of the gun’s trigger guard in a pose to make any game show hostess proud. Carol, sporting a new, slimmer leg brace, took a haughty pose and snapped a short whip. Debby fired a few experimental shots with a water pistol upon the onlookers, causing delighted children to run into the street to catch the spray and beg to be “shot.” Cecilie joined Debby in firing on the children.

  Where’s Sarah? Lia counted again, but saw no sign of her. Maybe she has something special planned. I bet she’ll emerge from the crowd as an enemy agent.

  La Boiteaux Woods Nature Center followed with an adorable hive of children dressed as bees in yellow tee shirts and flapping enormous poster board wings. They kept trying to move into range for Debby’s water gun while happily buzzing around.

  Lia’s heart swelled with anticipation as she stood at the edge of the road, waiting for their cue. The volunteer at the curb blew two short blasts on her whistle. Lia looked over at Nick, Renee, and Steve. Renee nodded. The third blast came and the Mount Airy Dog Stars stepped forward in unison, smiles plastered to their faces as they waved to the cheering crowd, every dog at heel.

  Lia took time to appreciate Renee’s influence with the parade committee. Placed between the Nature Center Bees and Taylor Jameson’s Grecian Nymphs, there was little to disturb the dogs, though Chewy looked longingly at the nature center bees, their flight pattern resembling dog park chases. Still, the incarceration of the last month had his duty firmly imprinted on his doggy soul and he stayed at Lia’s heel.

  “I’m proud of you, Little Man,” Lia said as they marched.

  Peter kept Honey and Viola close while he surveyed the crowd gathering on the library lawn. The century-old, red brick building was a classic Carnegie library, one of their standard designs. “What do you think about sitting under the tree?” he asked Brent, who was carrying three camp chairs, their straps slung over his shoulder.

  “I think I don’t care, as long as I get to put these chairs down.”

  Chuck, Sarah’s assistant librarian, was a tall and substantial young man with a long ponytail and impressive wizard’s beard. He stood on the walkway in front of the building, swinging his arm back and forth in the air to catch their attention.

  “C’mon up here,” he yelled.

  They walked up the rise to meet Chuck, who bent down to pet the dogs.

  “You have plastic bags in case they hear the call of nature?”

  Peter pulled the end of a grocery bag out of his pocket to show Chuck, who responded with a fist bump.

  “My man. View’s better from here. It’s best from the top of the steps, but Diane and Barbara called dibs on those spots in February. They have seniority and got to pick first. You can also sit on the steps, but you need serious cushioning to stand the concrete for two hours.”

  “The shade is down by the bus stop,” Peter pointed out.

  “Feel free, but you’ll get crushed,” Chuck said.

  “We have hats,” Brent said. “I think we can handle a little sun.”

  “Good choice. I’m your unofficial host.” He put his hand in his pocket, and withdrew a key ring. “I have keys to the back door. If you find yourself in need of the facilities, let me know. I’ll be sitting over there.” Chuck pointed to an empty camp chair next to a cooler.

  They set up the chairs. Peter sat in the middle. Viola, who liked to lurk in dark, den-like spaces, crawled underneath. Honey sat in front of Peter, grinning.

  “Why do you get to sit in the middle?” Brent asked. “I want to sit in the middle.”

  “You just want to sit next to Cynth. She made me promise that she would not have to sit next to you. What did you ever do to her, anyway?”

  “Well, we’re here,” Brent said, changing the subject. “What do we do now?”

  “Let’s see,” Peter said. “It’s not quite eleven-twenty. The parade starts in 40 minutes, then it will take another hour to get here and will last at least an hour after that.”

  “We have to wait an hour and forty minutes before this gala event gets off the ground?” Brent asked, incredulous. “What is it about Cincinnati, that the locals enjoy crowding into public spaces where nothing is happening?”

  “You can people watch. Take pictures.”

  “True,” Brent said, observing the stream of people passing by. He eyed a man in a clown outfit carrying a boa constrictor. “I imagine some of these folks are more outlandish than the parade. And speaking of outlandish …”

  Cynth arrived, wearing a red, white, blue and gold tutu and a skintight tank over red high-top sneakers. Her hair piled on top of her head, held there with a wreath made of tulle scraps. Peter could not tell if the low whining noises he heard came from Honey or Brent. He kicked Brent’s ankle as Cynth bent over to set down a small cooler, exposing tiny blue shorts covered with white stars.

  “I thought I would get in the spirit of things,” she said as she plopped down next to Peter.

  Peter could only nod.

  Lia watched Citrine trail the Savage Gun float down the hill to Millionaire’s Corner, occasionally disappearing, presumably to watch the MOBI guys. She’d shown no interest in the Dog Stars. Terry was safe as long as he didn’t run into her when the parade dispersed.

  The Dog Stars were performing their weave when Lia thought she saw something in the gun barrel of the Savage Gun float. Smoke billowed out, obscuring her vision so that the thing was reduced to a dark blotch. Distracted, she hesitated long enough for Jim and Fleece to bump into her from behind. Chewy protested with a yelp.

  "Pay attention," Jim said.

  "Sorry," She moved ahead and forgot about the anomaly, concentrating on leading Chewy through the routine correctly.

  They continued down Hamilton Avenue, passing a series of houses that sat up on a rise, giving everyone in the yards a great view. One lawn hosted a party of colorfully draped people playing every manner of percussive instruments. Paul Ravenscraft, local massage therapist, world musician, and non-denominational minister, stopped drumming on his djembe to give her a wave.

  Heeling in formation gave Lia a chance to look at the gun barrel again. She could see more of the thing now, dangling a foot below the barrel, and joined by a second something, both swaying in unison. A window appeared in the smoke, closing
in again before Lia could get more than an impression.

  The things resembled forearms.

  Lia stared at the smoke, willing it to part again. It did not oblige her before the next stop, when she was forced to focus on the complicated routine. Chewy was tired and balked at performing.

  She slipped a liver treat out of her hip pack and held it close to his nose to lure him along. The stratagem worked, though she had to cage the treat in her fingers so he could not take it from her, and his performance was marred by periodic lunges of his head.

  When Lia had a chance to look up again, she could have sworn that the gun barrel was a few inches lower. Two arms now extended fully from the gun barrel, dangling limply in a tangle of long hair from what could only be Sarah’s head—who else but Sarah had that hair?— bobbing fluidly with the movement of the float as smoke continued to twine around her.

  Lia snorted a laugh. The Northside parade was famous for outrageous floats. Looks like Sarah decided to outdo everybody. The knitting ladies in their cat suits amped up their poses around the float as more people pointed, laughing and snapping pictures.

  Any minute now, Sarah will lift her head up and wave. Lia mentally shook her head and tried to remember what Jose used to anchor the barrel onto the gun’s grip. I hope it can support Sarah’s weight.

  The Dog Stars spread out at their next stop for their square dancing routine.

  A cracking sound came out of nowhere.

  Lia jerked her head up, scanning the parade and sidewalks for the source. She saw people looking around, as clueless as she was.

  “Was that a gunshot?” Bailey asked as she do-si-doed with Lia.

  “Wrong noise,” Lia yelled after her, returning to her place next to Jose.

  Chewy stayed by Lia’s side while she and Jose switched partners with Jim and Bonnie. Next, all the women stood while the men wove around them. Terry started on his pass. Chewy began whining, head bumping Lia’s shin. She stooped unobtrusively and gave his head a little pat.