Muddy Mouth: A Dog Park Mystery

by Newsome, C. A.

  “I’ll go,” Lia said. “But only because I want to check on her. And only if you promise to stay away. I’ll go tomorrow. They might know something then.”

  “And by then you will have charmed vital information from the delectable Detective Dourson,” Terry said.

  “Lia, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Steve said. “I can just strangle Terry in his sleep tonight.”

  Long after the barbeque leftovers were wrapped, just as the opening salvos of the annual Armageddon of neighborhood fireworks were launching into the clammy evening air, Peter stepped into Lia’s air conditioning and said a silent prayer of gratitude for the end of a long, hot, sticky day. He plopped wearily onto Lia’s colorful Mission style couch, leaning his head back to rest on the top of the cushion and shut his eyes.

  Viola, who was under the sofa with Chewy to get away from the fireworks, nosed out from her hidey-hole and climbed up next to him, snuggling tightly for protection. She nudged her muzzle under Peter’s hand and he petted her without thinking. Honey, an old hand with fireworks, headed into the kitchen. Peter heard the refrigerator door open and shut.

  “Bless you, wonderful woman,” he said.

  Lia returned, handing him a beer. “Scoot onto the floor. I’ll rub your shoulders.”

  Peter thought this was a fine idea but wisely curbed the ready remark about how she could do this daily if they got married.

  “Scooted.” Viola jumped down and crawled into his lap as a trio of rockets burst, flashing fuchsia, green and gold outside the windows.

  “Take off your shirt.”

  “Demanding, aren’t you?” He sat forward to comply and Lia slipped onto the sofa behind him.

  “I can always keep my thumbs to myself.”

  “Heaven forbid. Demand away, Babe.”

  He felt her warm breath on his ear.

  “Babe,” she said sweetly, digging her thumbs into twin pressure points, “is a pig.”

  “Ow. I get your point.”

  He took a pull from the chilled bottle as she gripped his trapezius muscles and pressed her thumbs into the tissue. The tension of the day melted away. The air conditioning chilled the sweat on his body while her circling thumbs worked their way up his vertebrae one by one, then dug into the base of his skull.

  Marry Me. The words almost slipped out. Damn Dourson, a little beer, and you lose your filters. You must love sleeping on that couch.

  He inhaled deeply, sighed.

  “Rough day?” Lia asked.

  Peter rolled his head, felt the give in his muscles.

  “I don’t know what to think about this one. It’s the strangest case I’ve ever worked.”

  “How so?” Her thumbs were now stroking under his shoulder blades.

  “We’ve got a corpse that’s not dead, and no obvious motives or suspects. Husband out of town for a gig, that’s confirmed.”

  “How is Sarah?”

  “She’s in a coma, probably as a result of asphyxiation, complicated by head injury from her fall. Someone strangled her, then hid the body in that float. Since she wasn’t dead, we don’t have lividity to tell us what position she was in when they strangled her. Brent and I went to the garage. We didn’t find any signs of a struggle, so we can’t say for sure if she was attacked at the garage or if she was taken there after the attack.

  “The bruises the EMT described suggest she was strangled with a rope or noose, but there’s also a very odd mark on her neck, and we won’t know what that is until we can photograph it. We’ll know more tomorrow after the crime scene folks have a chance to look for trace evidence on her clothes.

  If there was any trace evidence on her body, chances are it was lost when she was prepped for surgery. She was rushed into surgery, so no one had a chance to examine her for defensive wounds, but one of the EMTs attending her said her hands and arms weren’t injured.”

  “Why do you think that is?””

  Lia’s hands stilled. She leaned her forehead onto his shoulder. “Will she live?”

  “Maybe, but the bigger question is, how much brain damage did she suffer between the asphyxiation and the head injury, and will she remember anything?”

  “Oh.”

  “She could have been passed out, maybe drugged. But likely we won’t know for sure. Chances are good that any drugs have metabolized and are already out of her system. We won’t know that for sure until her tox screens come back, but that will take days and we’re not holding out hope.

  “How do you think she got up in the float?”

  “There’s that rolling ladder you were using at the garage. That’s simple enough. What’s not simple is finding someone strong enough to lift 140 pounds of dead weight up the ladder, and slide a limp body in that tube. You know any gorillas that had their library card cancelled lately?”

  “Could two people have done it?”

  “Could have,” Peter agreed, taking a pull on his Beck’s. “But who? I thought everyone liked her.”

  “You have a point. You didn’t get anything from the interviews?”

  “Nobody knew anything until Sarah dropped in, so to speak. The only way I can make sense of this—the float was headed for Mount Rumpke tomorrow. I suspect her attacker put her there so she’d wind up as landfill. That means they had access to the garage or at least knew Sarah had a key, and they knew that the float was being dumped. This wasn’t opportunistic, it was planned.”

  “But they didn’t know enough to know it wasn’t strong enough to hold Sarah’s weight.”

  “Nope.”

  Lia hands were now making large circles on his shoulders. “The ladies didn’t say anything else?”

  Peter pulled away, turning to look at her. “You know something. What didn’t you tell Brent?”

  Lia sighed and flopped her hands helplessly onto her thighs. “I was sure they’d tell you.”

  Peter raised one accusing eyebrow.

  “Things have been happening.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “You remember when Carol got mugged?”

  Peter searched Lia’s face. Her eyes were cast down and did not lift to meet his.

  They, uh, asked me to look into it.”

  Peter felt his temper rising.

  “And why would they do that?”

  “Because they couldn’t go to the police?”

  Peter ignored the pleading in Lia’s voice. He glared at her, saying nothing.

  “Look, Leroy’s disappearance wasn’t a Cincinnati case. I told them to go to the police, but I couldn’t force them to come clean, and I didn’t know at the time that Brent would be appointed liaison.”

  Peter’s arms were now firmly folded across his chest. “Clean about what, exactly? What does Carol’s mugging have to do with Leroy?”

  Lia spat it out in a rush. “Because-Leroy-wants-more-money-and-they-think-he’s-here-and-hunting-them-down.”

  “Well now, I’m astonished,” Brent said, taking a seat at Lia’s kitchen table. “You kept vital information about a major crime from the police? Lia, I’m ashamed of you. Pass me a cold one, Brother.”

  Peter handed Brent a Beck’s, remaining silent. Lia knew he was still steaming, but Brent’s light tone helped her relax.

  “They were just trying to keep Leroy out of trouble. Once he called to let them know he was okay—”

  “He WHAT?” Peter blew up.

  “Calm down, Brother. I know you’d like to wring her neck right now, but if you can’t behave, you’ll have to sit out this interview.”

  “No. No freaking way.”

  Lia kept her eyes on Brent. “Look, he disappeared again after the phone call.”

  “Now, why wouldn’t they want to tell the Austin police about the phone call?”

  “Leroy faked his disappearance to get out of doing a panel at the conference. The Austin police have spent who knows how many thousands of dollars looking for him. Isn’t that a crime? Wasting public resources like that?”

&nbs
p; “He went to all that trouble to avoid looking ignorant in front of a bunch of for-real writers?” Brent asked.

  “He also figured it would be good publicity. The ladies are afraid he’ll go to jail. They’re also afraid it will get out that he never wrote anything.”

  “And kill the golden eBook franchise,” Brent said.

  Lia nodded.

  “So you were in on the break in, and you lied to my face about it,” Peter said.

  “I uh, was the interviewer. The ladies wanted to know for sure if Citrine was involved.”

  Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Have I been reborn as Ricky Ricardo? This feels like an episode of ‘I Love Lucy.’”

  “Would you feel better if I made a Lucy face?”

  “NO,” Peter and Brent said in unison.

  “You sure this isn’t an episode of Laverne and Shirley?” Brent asked.

  “That would make me Lenny and you Squiggy,” Peter pointed out.

  Brent shuddered.

  “Uh, Is ‘Ethel’ in on this too?” Brent asked Lia.

  Lia nodded.

  “‘Fred’?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “Why bring in the hacker?” Brent asked.

  Lia glanced at Peter before she responded. His irritation was ebbing as he got caught up in her new information. “That’s what started it,” Lia said, now on the offensive. “Somebody said something to Alma, who told Sarah that I had access to mysterious resources. We were trying to trace Leroy. Trees found pings from the phone in Cincinnati, but no other calls. It was a dead end.”

  “Now, why,” Peter asked, “would someone who was trying to hide leave their phone on so it could be traced?”

  “Stupidity?” Lia asked.

  “This case has stupidity in it, but it’s too-smart-for-your-own-good stupidity, not plain, old-fashioned, stupid stupidity,” Peter said.

  “Carol takes a fall, Cecilie is drugged and almost drowns, and Sarah is strangled but alive,” Brent said. “This murderer of yours is so inept, I feel the urge to trot out a gong.”

  “I don’t get it,” Peter said. “If Leroy faked his disappearance, what does that have to do with anything?”

  “We don’t know where he is now. There may be a bigger plot in motion.”

  “So the faked disappearance masks a real kidnapping where there is no demand for ransom?” Peter asked.

  “Or he fakes his disappearance, sneaks up to murder the group, then reappears after having bribed some Central American cabal to claim they kidnapped him,” Lia said.

  “Now that’s novel,” Brent said, “and I do mean that in the worst possible way.”

  “Why haven’t we heard from this cabal?” Peter asked.

  “We haven’t worked that out yet,” Lia pouted.

  “Ay-yi-yi-yi-yi,” Peter said, shaking his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

  “I don’t know about you, Brother, but the more Lia tells us, the more confused I get.”

  “There’s only one thing to do.” Peter’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Tomorrow we sweat the lady knitters, and I know exactly where to find them.”

  12

  Tuesday, July 5

  “I don’t know what to do,” Lia admitted to Bailey, Jim, and Steve from her perch on her usual table. Honey and Chewy were off exploring while Chester and Penny shoved in front of each other to kiss Lia while she dodged their tongues. “I was trying to do the right thing, and I told Peter everything as soon as I knew Fiber and Snark hadn’t come clean. He’s still furious with me.”

  “Do you blame him?” Jim asked.

  “No.” Lia’s voice was small. “What do we do now?”

  “How much do they know?” Bailey asked.

  “Everything.”

  “Tossed us right under the bus, did you?” Steve asked.

  “Maybe not everything. He knows about Citrine and that Bailey and Trees were looking into Leroy’s phone. I didn’t volunteer anything he didn’t already suspect. He doesn’t know about the bar hopping.”

  “I suggest a low profile,” Steve said. “What more can we do right now, anyway?”

  “I told Sarah last Saturday we were out of it. I think it should stay that way,” Lia said.

  “What’s this I hear? The sound of a thousand clucking chickens?” Terry strolled up with Jackson, having caught the last of the discussion. “If this were Victorian England—“

  “Yeah, yeah, we’d be drawn and quartered. Okay, smarty, what do you think we should do?” Steve demanded.

  “The pot has been stirred. We need to see what floats to the top,” Terry said.

  “How do you suggest we do that?” Lia asked.

  “Surveillance, of course. If anyone is going to make a mistake, it will be now.”

  “I can’t surveil anything if I want to keep Bonnie happy,” Jim said. “She’s already decided that you’re all a bad influence after yesterday. I’m lucky she allowed me to bring Chester this morning.”

  “Strike a blow for autonomy, man. Don’t let her strangle you with her apron strings,” Terry declared.

  “My marriage lasted more than 30 years, and it’s only over because Mary got cancer. How long did your first wife stay with you?” Jim asked.

  “Low blow, my friend, low blow,” Terry said.

  “But accurate,” Steve said. “You have to admit that.”

  “The cops want us to butt out,” Bailey said. “I vote we do that.”

  “And leave Sarah’s downfall to their incompetence?” Terry asked. “What kind of friend would do that?”

  Lia’s eye’s narrowed with annoyance. “We’re talking about Peter and Brent, not Heckle and Jeckle. Are you saying that Peter and Brent are incompetent?”

  “Well … I … ah ….”

  “He just wants to do more with that magnifying glass he bought than set ants on fire,” Steve said.

  Terry’s face froze, as if he didn’t know whether to be mollified or insulted.

  Lia bit her lip. “Peter and Brent are good at their jobs, but they’re overworked. I was sure the ladies would tell everything after what happened to Sarah. I don’t know why they didn’t, but I don’t like it. Another thing, listening to Brent run through everything that happened, who’s to say it’s stopped?”

  “You’re talking in circles, Lia,” Bailey said. “What do you want to do?”

  “It was a mistake for me to lie to Peter,” Lia said. “Maybe if I hadn’t agreed to help, they would have gone to the police. Sarah might never have been attacked. Now that everything is out in the open, I need to let Peter and Brent do their job and stay out of it. You do what you want, follow everyone from here to Timbuktu if you like.” She shoved off the picnic table and walked away, towards the back of the park. Honey and Chewy ran to join her.

  Carol sat in the interrogation room, knees together, hands clasped in her lap, cane leaning against the table. She tilted her head and looked up at Brent and Peter with a bland, inquiring look. Every strand of red hair was perfectly fluffed and the powder on her face was dry. She should be sweating in this tiny brick box that was the District Five interview room, but she wasn’t.

  Catholic School, all 12 years, I bet. Peter scratched his head, affecting confusion. “Help us understand this. Leroy Eberschlag shoves you down a flight of steps tall enough to kill you, and you don’t tell me when I arrive on the scene, you don’t tell officer Hinkle when he takes your statement, and you don’t volunteer this information when your business partner winds up in a coma. Why is that?”

  She pursed her lips, looking to the side. Turned back to face Peter, chin up. “I had no proof it was him. What difference does it make?”

  “Mrs. Cohn, we know about your business. We know your cabal of knitting cat ladies is the voice behind Lucas Cross, and we know you were at odds with Lucas when he disappeared. With two assaults and an attempted murder tallied against you and your partners, we think the information is critical and find it puzzling that you would leave i
t out.”

  “Damn that girl. I knew she couldn’t keep a secret.”

  “Now, don’t go blaming Lia, Mrs. Cohn,” Brent drawled, laying on his magnolia scented accent. “Peter figured out a long time ago that Leroy didn’t write those books.”

  Carol blinked. “How?”

  “We detectives like to detect,” Peter said. “It wasn’t hard. I understand your desire to keep the public from finding out Leroy is a fake, but we can’t understand what’s going on if you hide things from us.”

  “We will be as circumspect as possible, Mrs. Cohn,” Brent said. “If it has no bearing on Ms. Schellenger’s current condition, we will not disclose it. But we have to consider all possibilities.”

  “We do have to share this with Austin,” Peter said. “There’s no way around that.”

  Carol’s face crumpled. She shook her head sadly as she retrieved a Kleenex from her purse and dabbed daintily at the corners of her eyes. “All my dreams … just smoke.”

  “What do you mean by that, Mrs. Cohn. I thought all the proceeds went to charity,” Brent said.

  Carol sighed. “That was the original plan. Then we passed the million-dollar mark, and we were reconsidering. It was one thing when we were talking about a few thousand dollars. Now we’re looking at millions if we can keep it going. That would make all of us comfortable for the rest of our lives.”

  “When were you going to decide?” Peter asked.

  “We were going to sit down after the parade and hammer it out. We need to get it done before the next book launches.”

  “Who is affected by this?” Brent asked.

  “The five of us, Leroy, and our families to a lesser extent. Then there are the charities.”

  “Who is most affected by any changes?” Peter asked.

  “It’s questionable - but Leroy was pushing for a partner share. I told him we weren’t taking on a new partner unless someone died. It’s in our charter, you see. Oh, God, did I give him the idea to kill one of us?” She twisted her tattered Kleenex into shreds.

  “We don’t know that,” Brent said. “There’s a lot to look at. You’ve identified a number of people with a stake in the success of the books. Who knew you were going to Clifton the night you were attacked?”