by Nic Joseph
The park was quaint and well-manicured, with a large play area in the middle and four benches surrounding it. Everything was tiny but pretty and well-kept, and it occurred to me that on another day, this would be a nice place to come to read a book.
The small park was relatively crowded for the time of day. There were two women with Starbucks cups in their hands, watching a pair of dogs that were chasing each other. On the other side of the park, a man and woman sat side by side on a bench with three dogs scurrying around their feet. It was at that moment that the absurdity of my excursion went to a whole new level.
I wasn’t just in a park.
I was in a dog park.
And it must have been obvious to all four people who looked up as I walked into the small space—I did not have a dog.
I smiled and kept walking, feeling unbearably suspicious, because the reality of the matter was, I was unbearably suspicious. I paused for a minute, a few feet in, unsure what to do next. I could go and sit down on one of the benches, but then I’d be that woman—dogless, bookless, and friendless—who’d just come to watch the dogs play. I’d left everything besides my phone and my keys in the car. It didn’t help that none of the small benches were empty, so I’d have to sit down next to one of the two groups.
I took a deep breath.
There’s no crime in going to the park, Paula.
I knew what had made me stop in. They didn’t.
Right?
As I approached the benches, I chickened out, which was a big mistake. With my pleasant, I’m-not-here-because-I’m-stalking-the-woman-at-the-gate-because-I-think-she’s-the-secret-lover-of-a-major-celebrity expression, I forged past the benches with purpose toward the far end of the park. I was on a path, and I could not stop.
Except the path had no logical end.
I moved fully past the benches, and then it was too late to turn back. The park ended in a closed gate that separated it from an alley. In a few moments, I’d reach it, and then I would only have two options—turn around or climb it and run away as fast as my feet would allow. Since I hadn’t climbed anything since I was a child, I knew the second option was out.
I kept walking, the heat beating down on me. When I reached the gate, I stopped, because there was nothing else to do, and stared out across the alley for a few minutes.
This is your life now.
I spun around, resigned to complete my walk of shame back out of the small park. Instead, I found myself face-to-face with the man from the park bench.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” he said.
I blinked. “Sorry?”
“The park. It’s only been here a few months, and so many people have stopped by to see it.” He smiled. “You checking it out for your little one?”
“I—”
“What is she?” he asked. “Or he.”
I blinked again, understanding suddenly dawning. “She,” I said. “Boxer. Three years old.”
“Nice,” he said. “Well, this is a great park. Like I said, it’s really new, and you can already see it’s become quite the hot spot. And I’m just like you. I scouted out a few parks before I brought Crispy here because it’s all about culture. Some people let their dogs do anything and everything, when we really just want a safe place where they can come and play, you know.”
“Oh, definitely,” I said.
We’d started walking slowly as we talked, and by then, we’d made it back to the benches. I almost gasped out loud when I saw that the woman with the short blond bob had come into the park and was now sitting in the spot where the man had been before. She was holding one of the dogs in her lap, and she looked up at both of us as we returned.
The man looked over at me. “This is…”
“Um, Christine,” I said, clearing my throat, my middle name the first thing that came to my mind. “But you can call me Chris.”
He nodded. “This is Chris,” the man said. “Chris, this is Emma and Kayla. Neighbors of mine. See, we kind of get to know each other here. It’s better for making sure our pups get along too, you know,” he said. “Oh, and I’m Andrew.”
“Nice to meet you all.”
Emma was sitting with perfect posture, her upper body pulled just slightly away from the back of the bench. She smiled and shook my hand. It wasn’t the same smile she’d given me when I walked past her earlier; this one was more aware, more interested, even curious.
“Nice to meet you,” she said.
Andrew gestured for me to sit down, but I shook my head.
“Thanks,” I said. “I was just stopping in. I’ve walked by this place a few times and wanted to see inside.”
Andrew hadn’t had a problem with the idea of me “shopping” for dog parks; I hoped his friends wouldn’t either. They both nodded quickly. Emma’s puppy squirmed in her lap and then jumped down to play. She stared after him fondly, and I thought about what Shelby would do if I ever tried to put her in my lap.
“Do you live in the area?”
I should’ve expected the question, but it caught me off guard, and I froze as they all watched me, waiting for an answer.
I couldn’t tell the truth. What reason would I have to drive thirty minutes to a dog park in the Gold Coast of all places? I nodded without really giving it much thought.
“Yes,” I said, racking my brain to think of some of the nearby cross streets. Driving DAC had given me an intimate familiarity with the city, yet I was pulling a blank. “I live a few blocks away, over on Elm Street.”
It was the first street I could think of, and I knew that it was a popular street among the Northwestern medical students, which made me hope it had apartments that I could reasonably afford.
“Well, we did the same thing you’re doing,” Andrew said. “My wife and I. We moved here from Boston about ten years ago, and we used to look for nice dog parks out there too. Now we live just a couple buildings down from here.” He pointed in the direction of the apartment where I’d dropped off Hooks, and I had to stop myself from gasping.
Were they neighbors neighbors? As in same building neighbors?
“I heard about one dog that got bitten at the new dog park on Elm Street,” the woman named Kayla said. “Have you been there?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Well, the culture here is great,” Andrew said. “Really a lot of people who care about animals coming together to let their pups play in a safe environment. What more could you ask for?”
“Absolutely,” I said, and I wondered what Shelby would think if she could see me right now. She’d probably roll her eyes and bark to call bullshit. My phone rang, and I fished it out of my pocket, thankful for the interruption. “Sorry,” I said with a small smile and then turned away from the small group and looked at the screen. I answered when I saw it was Vanessa.
“Hey,” I said, and I cleared my throat. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’m too old for this shit,” she said. “But I’ll survive. How about you?”
“I almost fell asleep on my living room couch,” I said with a laugh. “But I’m okay.”
“You at home?”
“Um…” I looked out at the dogs playing around me, and I chose my words carefully. “No, I was out driving. I’m going to head to the diner soon.” I said this quietly, taking a look back at the trio on the bench, but they were engrossed in conversation.
“Well, I might’ve done something that I shouldn’t have,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“Last night when I got home, I did some Google stalking and found out why Ryan Hooks is in town.”
I laughed. “Way ahead of you,” I said. “He’s performing at the Chicago Theatre and out at Greenway Field.”
“Guess who’s going to see him?”
“What?” I hissed and then turned to take a quick peek back at Emm
a and her friends. “What do you mean?”
“I got three tickets, for you, me, and Jen. For tomorrow’s show in Prairie Hills. It involved putting my credit card into a site that I really don’t feel good about, but it happened. I told Jen this morning, and she all but handed me the ‘best mom’ award. So feeling pretty good about myself right now.”
“You’re nuts,” I said, but I couldn’t deny the feeling of excitement that coursed through my body. “But thanks, Ness.”
“No problem,” she said. She dropped her voice. “Maybe you can talk to him about the you know what you found in the back of your car.”
We disconnected, and I walked back over to the group on the bench. Andrew looked up as I approached. He was standing next to an elderly man in animal-print glasses who was holding a black pit bull with an incredibly shiny coat of hair in his arms.
“Who are you?” the man asked.
I blinked and looked at Andrew, who smiled awkwardly and laughed.
“Uh, this is Chris, Reg, and she lives in the neighborhood. Chris, this is Reg Bolton. He lives next door.”
“Never seen you before,” the man said. “And I know everyone around here.”
“My husband and I moved in pretty recently,” I stuttered, and I wondered if I sounded like I was lying.
He was eyeing me carefully, and he shifted his dog in his arms. “What do you do?”
“I’m an artist,” I said hesitantly. “I draw portraits.”
“Oh really?” Emma piped up, and I looked down at her. “I’m actually looking for some art. We need to talk.”
I smiled, but the older man jumped in. “You’re here for what?” he asked.
“Chris was just coming here to check out the park for her puppy,” Andrew cut in with a patient smile. He looked at me. “What’s his name again?”
“Her,” I said. “Shelby.”
“Mm-hmm,” Reg said, eyeing me. “Well, just make sure you pick up after your dog. We’ve got somebody out here who’s leaving their dog crap everywhere. Someone who comes in late at night. I’ve been watching to see who it is. I’m going to find them,” he said. “It’s illegal and unsanitary.”
“I would never…”
“Mm-hmm,” he said before turning and walking away.
Andrew smiled. “Reg is a little particular, but don’t let him scare you away,” he said as he sat down on the bench next to Emma. “So, will we be seeing you again with…?”
I blinked. It was a little too Stepford dog owners for me, but I smiled and nodded. “Oh, Shelby,” I said, and it occurred to me that he wasn’t really listening, since he’d asked for her name three times. “Yeah, I think so. Thanks for the warm welcome.”
“Anytime,” Andrew said.
I raised my hand and turned to walk away. I’d taken three steps when I heard him speak up again.
“Oh, we meet here most afternoons around this time,” he said. “Just so you know. We’ll be here tomorrow!”
I paused, my back to them, as a thought crossed my mind.
I shouldn’t.
There was no reason for it.
“I wish I could,” I said, turning back. “But my friend who just called me…crazy as it sounds…just bought tickets for me to go to a concert with her and her daughter tomorrow night, and we’ll need to head out early. That’s what she was calling to tell me. As if I should be going to a Ryan Hooks concert,” I said with a small laugh.
They all chuckled, and a few comments were tossed around about his songs, a recent appearance on E!, and hopes that I would see the other half of his celeb power couple.
“Bevvy loves Tiffane. She’s always going on about how beautiful she is,” Andrew said, and then he looked up at me. “Oh, sorry, that’s my wife.”
I smiled and nodded and then turned to leave, but not before letting my gaze settle on Emma, just for a moment.
She did a pretty good job of keeping her face neutral and matching her friends’ expressions of polite interest. The corners of her mouth were turned upward slightly, and she nodded and muttered along with the rest of them. She still maintained her perfect posture, her shoulders pulled back and square, her chin slightly raised.
An outside observer would think she cared not a bit more and not a bit less than anyone else in the group.
But an outside observer doesn’t know faces.
Not like I do.
Behind the coolness of her steady gaze and unaffected smile, I could see something else.
Emma, with the perfectly styled hair, perfect manicure, and perfect style, was uncomfortable.
Really uncomfortable.
And I was the only one who knew why.
Chapter 7
Claire
The Night in Question
“Ms. Emma Bentley?”
Claire watched the woman with the short blond bob as she swayed back and forth in her kitchen. Emma’s arms were crossed in front of her chest, and her gaze was trained on the floor.
“Ms. Bentley?” she said again. “I’m Detective Claire Puhl. I need to ask you a few questions.”
Emma blinked a couple of times and then looked up at the detective standing in the entryway.
“Yes,” she finally said, her voice breathy and low. “Yes, of course.”
Her shoulders were slumped forward, her eyes red and puffy, and she clutched a piece of tissue in her hand. She raised it, wiping at her nose in a small, delicate motion that for some reason felt more symbolic than functional. Claire had a sense that Emma Bentley wasn’t the kind of woman who wiped away snot in public, no matter how tragic the circumstances. As if to support that suspicion, Emma sniffled politely and then turned and walked to the kitchen table, where she pulled out a chair and sat down. She reached out a hand and gestured toward one of the other seats.
“Thank you,” Claire said, walking over to join her and pulling out a chair. “Am I right that you own this building?”
“Yes,” Emma said. “My father left it to me when he passed away three years ago. My younger sister lives downstairs.”
Claire nodded and wrote a note. “Her name?”
“Meggie. Megan Bentley, but everyone calls her Meggie.”
“She was at your party tonight as well?”
“Yes,” Emma said. As she spoke, she began to tap her finger against the kitchen table, a quick, nervous motion.
“You told the responding officer that Beverly Brighton was also here at some point this evening.”
“Yes,” Emma said again. “She was.”
“How well did you know her?”
Emma frowned as if the question surprised her. “How well did I know her? Bev was one of my closest friends.”
Claire nodded. “So you were just having a little get-together for your sister and friend?”
“No, Meggie’s boyfriend, Patrick, was here too, and so was Andrew, Bev’s husband…” She paused. “How is he? I should go up and see him.”
“I don’t think right now is a good time. He’s getting some medical help at the moment.”
Emma leaned forward, and suddenly, a sob racked her body, her entire frame shaking as she rested her forearms on the table in front of her. “I just can’t believe it.”
“I’m sorry,” Claire said, leaning back in her chair and waiting a few moments for Emma to compose herself. “Were you celebrating something special?”
When the sobs subsided, Emma spoke again. “Well, no… I mean, yes… Well, sort of. We have a family clothing line, and we’re going to be launching our spring collection at Klein’s in July. The owner, Joshua Burlap—he was here as well. The dinner was sort of last-minute. I just wanted to have a few people over to celebrate. I like to host and… I don’t know, it wasn’t anything huge.”
Claire took a note. “When did Beverly and her husband move in upstairs?”
/> “Two years ago,” Emma replied. “They’re perfect tenants. Quiet and respectful. Bev and I started having each other over for dinner and drinks and became really fast friends. She’s a lawyer, and when I needed some legal advice for the company, she was the obvious choice.”
“What time did Beverly arrive at your party tonight?”
Emma used her palm to dab at her eyes and then sat up straighter. “Um, I can’t really remember. Maybe around seven thirty? We ate dinner around eight, and she wasn’t here that long before that. She had been at the office earlier today.”
“On a Saturday?”
“Bev worked all the time,” she said. “The firm was her life.”
“What time did she leave?”
“Oh, wow, I don’t know,” Emma said, looking down at her hands for a moment. “Maybe around twelve? She was one of the first people to leave. Said she was feeling tired.”
“And the last guest?”
“My sister and Patrick were the last ones here. They left at about twelve forty-five.”
“What did you do after that?”
“I cleaned up a little and then went to bed. I’ll be honest, I had a bit of wine,” she said. “I didn’t wake up again until I heard all the commotion out in the hallway.”
“Did anything seem out of the ordinary to you tonight? With Beverly or anyone else at the party?”
Emma frowned, and her eyes narrowed as she jerked back in her chair. “What do you mean out of the ordinary? Wait, you don’t think that someone who was here tonight did this, do you?”
Claire put her pen down. “I’m just trying to get a sense of everything that happened tonight,” she said. Emma didn’t say anything else for a few moments, and Claire spoke again. “Ms. Bentley?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “No, nothing stood out. We ate, we had a nice time, and everyone went home.”
“Okay, I think that’s enough for now,” Claire said, pushing back her chair and standing up. She took a look around the kitchen, surveying the room. It was tidy, with very little evidence that there had been a dinner party there that night aside from a few large foil pans stacked on top of the trash can. Claire walked over to the door to the back porch and looked at it. Pulling a cloth from her pocket, she tried the doorknob and saw that it was locked, then checked the dead bolt.
