Drool Baby (A Dog Park Mystery) (Lia Anderson Dog Park Mysteries) (20 page)

Lia cuddled with Viola next to her, stroking the silky black fur. "That sounded like an M-80. What direction was it coming from?"

Nadine put down her book. "That's too loud for a car backfire."

"Cars don't backfire anymore, Nadine," Lia said.

Marie gestured to the Southwest, where a dark mushroom cloud blossomed above the trees.

"Roger and Terry live over there," Lia said. As they watched, black smoke spread, growing denser until a malevolent haze hung in the distance. Sirens
shrieked in a cacophony of alarm, signaling the approach of emergency vehicles.

"I wonder what caught fire," Anna commented. "Do you suppose that's near either of them?"

"I don't know. When are Roger and the ever-unpopular Gina due back, anyway?" Marie asked.

"Any time now," Nadine said. "He was vague about their plans. I imagine it depends on how well they're getting along."

"Geezelpete," Lia said. "A week alone with Gina. After all the stories Jose has told, I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

"I'm sure you're right," Anna said. "So what is an eight letter word for 'monster'?"

"Do you have any letters?" Lia asked.

"First letter is 'b', maybe."

"Behemoth," Marie offered.

"Of course! Perfect!"

The sun was barely over the horizon when Lia pulled into the park that morning. Jim's was the only car in the lot.

"How's your ankle?" Jim asked as Lia hobbled to their regular table.

"It's there. That's about as much as I can say about it. It's better than yesterday." She sat down next to him.

"Here. Read this." He handed her a newspaper. Lia scanned the page, then settled on the headline, "Westwood Explosion No Accident"

Lia read aloud, "'In an apparent murder/suicide, Roger Gilmore of Westwood cut the gas line to his basement water heater. It is believed the house exploded
when the gas was ignited by the pilot light on the kitchen stove. Firefighters were at the scene within minutes. However, the resulting blaze took several
hours to control. The house is a total loss. Firefighters were able to protect neighboring houses from damage.

"'Two bodies, believed to be Roger Gilmore and his girlfriend, Gina Thomas, were found at the kitchen door. It is possible Gilmore changed his mind at the
last minute and was attempting to escape when the house blew up. Neighbors were not surprised, citing the couple's volatile relationship and Gilmore's
frequent threats of suicide. Gilmore's two dogs were in the back yard at the time. They have suffered serious burns and are currently under care . . .'

"Oh, Jim, how awful! And we never believed he'd do it."

"I'm not sure I do believe it."

"What do you mean?"

"Roger was our candidate for Bucky's next victim."

"Seriously? You think one of our friends blew up a house because Roger annoyed them in the morning? And that Roger and Gina would just let them do it?
That's insane."

"You may be right. We still need to tell Peter."

"Great. This will have him putting me on house arrest with an ankle bracelet. The dogs will have to learn how to use the toilet, because I won't be able to
walk them, ever again. Did I tell you how he blew up over Marie and Anna being in the house?"

Jim sighed. "You didn't but he did. He was right. I should have gone with you."

"Not you, too? I know you both want to look out for me, and I appreciate it, but this is getting to be too much. We haven't turned up proof of anything,
and the less we turn up, the more suspicious you and Peter get." Lia stood up. She would have stomped off, but her sprained ankle was still too tender. She
settled for cussing every time she put her weight on that foot as she crossed the park.

Charlie and Oggie were coming in as she arrived at the gate. "Where are you off to?" Charlie asked. "It's a bit early to be burning flags."

"Bite me." She took the dogs to the small park, hoping to avoid company while she brooded. She sat on the bench, sipping her coffee and staring at the
woods.

Honey and Viola found this side of the park uninteresting. It was bare of trees and squirrels. There were no dogs to chase. There were no people to charm.
Disgusted, Honey lay at Lia's feet and closed her eyes. Viola climbed up on the table and curled against her back. To Chewy, a fence was a fence. He went
on his border patrol. Lia decided Chewy was revoltingly well-adjusted.

She reached back and stroked Viola absently while she silently railed against the unfairness of her situation. She tired of this and recalled Asia's
suggestion that when she was upset, she take time to listen to her gut feelings. What was in there? Her first thought was anger. Asia said anger was a
secondary emotion, that it covered up a fear of some kind. What was the fear? What was there to fear? Fear of a possible killer? Fear of being suffocated
by Peter? Fear of her own inability to identify what was happening around her?

"Is this seat taken?"

She looked up at Peter, shrugged. "I guess you heard."

"Jim called me." They sat in silence.

"Say what you came to say."

"I didn't come to say anything. I was worried about you. Jim's worried about you. I think even Charlie's worried about you."

"What are you going to do?"

"I imagine I'll call the arson investigator and see if there's anything hinky about this, give him a heads up to look beyond the obvious. It may be just
what the papers said. Then again, any possible evidence may have been destroyed by the fire. We won't know until I look into it."

"You think Bucky could deal with two people at the same time?"

"There's a lot we don't know about Bucky. Bucky could have a friend. Or maybe Bucky is just an excellent planner."

"We knew that. If there is a Bucky."

"There's something. No matter how impossible it seem that someone we know has been fooling us, we have to remember that Bailey didn't mess with her own
drugs. I'm certain of that."

"I wish you weren't. I wish this would all go away. I just can't see anyone I know doing this."

"I know. I wish it would go away too." He put an arm around her and she leaned into him.

Lia turned and eyed the crowd that had gathered in the large park. "So how am I going to explain my melt-down?"

"You're a sensitive artist. You're entitled to be upset that you didn't take his suicide threats more seriously and try to do something about it. Will that
work?"

"It's as good as anything." She shrugged.

"You going to be all right now, Babe?"

"Babe is a pig."

"Babe is a fox."

"Says you."

"I love you and we're going to get through this."

Lia stood up and walked away. She stopped and turned around. "Dammit, Dourson, don't drag love into this. I'm not ready for it."

"You don't want me to love you?"

"I didn't say that."

He sat back and gave her a steady look. "What exactly did you say, then."

She walked back and took his hands. "I'm sorry. Luthor used to say he loved me right before he would try to manipulate me. I guess I'm a little sensitive."

"I'm not Luthor. I wish you wouldn't compare me to him."

"I know you're not. You're not anything like Luthor."

"I'm not going to unsay it. It doesn't mean I want anything. It just means I'm here for you."

"Is that all it means?"

Peter shook his head. "You're some piece of work, you know that?"

"Have pity on me. I'm in therapy for a reason."

"True. I only hang out with you because I feel sorry for you."

Lia punched him in the arm. "You don't have to be a jerk about it."

He tugged her hand. "Come back here." She climbed up on the table and he put his arm back around her. "It means a lot more than 'I'm here for you,' but I
don't think today is the day to talk about it. Just get used to the idea, okay?"

Lia placed the two sheets of half inch plywood side by side against the wall of her studio, making an eight foot square with a four inch vertical gap. She
tapped in a few roofing nails around the edges to hold the boards in place. Taking a piece of chalk, she traced curves on the upper corners, following the
same template she used when making the mold for Renee's sculpture. She grabbed her cup of cooling coffee and drank while she considered the arch shape in
front of her.

Renee had decided on a mosaic pattern that incorporated the gray concrete in sinuous negative shapes. The sunburst mosaic would be inlaid. To achieve this
effect, Lia needed to create the channels for the tile by cutting the shapes out of plywood, then screwing them onto the insides of the mold. The concrete
guy had told her that they would vibrate the concrete as it was poured into the mold and this would ensure that the shape of the channels would be
preserved.

She studied her drawing, then free-handed the flames onto the eight foot arch. Lia stood up and studied the effect. She grabbed a blackboard eraser and
removed part of her drawing, redoing it until she was satisfied. Finally, she redrew the design with a Sharpie marker to preserve the lines.

She looked out the window. It was probably around 7:30 a.m. She thought about calling Peter to remind him to get the dogs to the park. Nah. He was a big
boy. He knew the routine, and he owed her for all the days he'd slept in late while she took Viola with her crew. He'd offered to perform this task so she
could get some extra time in at the studio. Best not to spoil it by checking up on him.

She placed several two-by-fours on the floor, then lay one of the plywood sheets on top. She used a jig-saw to cut out her shapes. It was slow work,
following the flowing lines. When she finished cutting out both sheets of plywood, it was lunch time.

She drove home. The dogs met her at the door, and they were happy but not desperate. She let them out in the back yard and made a quart of blender
gazpacho. She sat on the back stoop and drank the gazpacho while she tossed balls for the dogs. She took a thirty minute nap and headed back to the studio.

That afternoon, she traced off another set of shapes onto two more sheets of plywood for the western side of the sculpture. By the time she'd finished
cutting these out, it was almost 6:00 p.m., and she was exhausted.

Monday morning she was due at Renee's, the concrete guys were going to pour the footer for the sculpture. Thursday, they were due to pour the sculpture
itself. Tuesday afternoon she would refine her shapes with the drum-sander attachment on her power drill. Wednesday she would screw the shapes into the
molds. Then she would pray.

For tonight, she'd go home and take a long, hot shower, maybe talk Peter into a shoulder rub. There were advantages to having a room mate.

Peter was stretched out on the couch when Lia arrived home. One hand held a beer on his stomach, the other stroked Viola where she lay on the floor. He sat
up when he heard the key in the lock. Lia walked in, covered in sawdust from her pony tail to her sneakers. He noted that she had wiped the sawdust off her
hands. She bent down to pet Honey and Chewy.

"Hey, Gorgeous."

"Uh, huh, that's me."

"You look exhausted. I'm not much of a cook, but we can go out, or I can pick something up."

"Something intravenous sounds good. I'm taking a shower. Whatever you do, don't kiss me. This stuff loves to migrate."

She came out twenty minutes later, wearing pajama pants and an oversized tee. Her head was wrapped in a towel, turban-style.

Peter handed her a large glass of carrot juice. "I don't know how to make those concoctions you like, but I figured I could pull this off."

She took the glass and went up on her toes and kissed him. "You're sweet. Tell me how it went at the park today." She plopped down on the couch.

"Everyone was talking about Roger. About what you'd expect. Marie thought it was a waste of a perfectly good house. Jose said he didn't have any family."

"He didn't. That's what's so sad."

"Nothing set off my spidey-sense. I talked to the arson investigator. I gave him an unofficial heads up to look for anything that suggests there was more
going on than a murder/suicide."

"How did that go?"

"Not great. I couldn't say much, since there is no case. I suspect he thinks I'm a whack job. There wasn't much left of the bodies, nothing much to go on."

"Poor Roger."

"I notice nobody is saying 'poor Gina.'"

"Your point?"

"Jim and Jose were taking up a collection for the dogs. I gave them twenty."

"Good. I hate thinking about them in pain. I hope they find somebody nice to adopt them."

"Jim said people were already calling in because they saw them on the news. I don't think you have to worry. Are you in the mood for eggs? I could scramble
them up with veggies."

"That sounds perfect," Lia said. "I came home for lunch today. You weren't here. What were you up to?"

"I went to see my other girlfriend. I figured it was all right, since you were busy."

"Oh, really?" Lia folded her arms and sat back.

Peter laughed. "I went back to my apartment, and I stopped by Alma's for some pecan pie."

"That nice old lady who gave you those plants for me?"

"That's the one. She wants to meet you. She sent you some pie. It's in the fridge."

"Gimme."

"Nope. Not until after you've had your eggs."

Lia was fascinated. She was supposed to be supervising, in a way. It was her sculpture. But this was well out of her experience. It was amazing what money
could accomplish. She and Renee sat on the patio and watched as a backhoe tore into Renee's pristine lawn, digging out a six foot hole for the foundation
of her sculpture. Then the concrete workers set the bow-tie shaped mold for the base, and installed rebar that would stabilize the sculpture when it was
poured. Last, they poured the concrete. All this from a drawing and some numbers she and Jim had worked up.