Sneak Thief (A Dog Park Mystery) (13 page)

Lia was not usually self-conscious. Casual dress was accepted at Scholastic, but she preferred to be clean. She didn't mind being dirty at the dog park, where paw prints and slobber were the norm, and there was something satisfying about a good, healthy sweat while performing hard labor. But feeling sweat and grime congeal on her skin in the corporate air conditioning made her self-conscious and itchy. She hoped for Eric's sake that his nose wasn't too sensitive.
Oh, well, it was his idea to seat me here.

Lia blew out a disheartened breath and shook her head. “Some asshat broke into Desiree's apartment and ransacked her stuff. Weird, because it just looked like they were intent on destruction. Her vintage dinner-ware had to be worth something, but they smashed most of it. We hauled out the garbage because the truck comes tomorrow morning. There was a lot more trash than we expected, due to the damage. Thank God we had plenty of garbage bags.”

“That's terrible,” Ted said. “I don't understand people who enjoy destroying things.”

“Here,” Eric said, handing her a Nestle's Crunch Bar. “I wasn't going to hand these out until tomorrow, but you look like you could use yours now.”

Lia tore the wrapper off one end and bit down. “You're all heart,” she garbled over a mouthful of chocolate.

“Just remember that come evaluation time,” he said while handing Ted a bar. “But satisfy my curiosity.”

“About what?” Lia asked.

“You and Desiree had an epic blow up. Now you're taking care of her things? What's that about?”

Lia shook her head and huffed. “Terry—you know Terry? His team is in Grasshopper—He volunteered us because he thinks we should investigate Desiree's murder. He doesn't buy the burglary-gone-wrong scenario, and he thought we could dig up some clues if we could get into her apartment.”

“So why are you going along with it?”

“I don't know. Guilty conscience, I guess. I think we would have worked out our differences if we'd had some time. She sent me a text right before it happened, but I ignored it. Best case, she wanted to mend fences. Worst case? It had something to do with why she died, and I blew her off. So I'm paying penance.”

“Bummer.” He patted her on the shoulder. “It's too bad things happened the way they did. I thought you both were great, and you looked like you had a lot of fun together. You can't help what went down.”

“Can I ask you a question, Eric?”

“Sure, why not.” He settled into the chair next to hers.

“Why is it that every single man in the room couldn't keep his eyes of Desiree?”

“Seriously?”

“You can't tell me you never noticed.”

“It's not that. I just thought it was obvious.”

“It had to be more than her stupendous bosom.”

“Well, her impressive chestal region was most of it.”

“But not all.”

“Look, guys are simple. It doesn't take much more than impressive boobs for most of us.”

“Uh huh.”

“You really don't know?”

“Give, Flynn.”

“Look, Desiree was easy. Oh, don't give me that, I'm not talking about her virtue or lack of. I mean, it wasn't a matter of what did Desiree have that you didn't have. It's a matter of what you have that Desiree never would.”

“Come again?”

“You've got this Nicole Kidman kinda vibe. I think Desiree wanted to be
you
.”

“Excuse me?” Lia's eyebrows shot up.

“Oh don't look at me like that. You've got a touch of Grace Kelly. Classy. A guy looks at you and he knows he's got to man up, and not in the usual ways.”

Lia pondered her wardrobe, 80 percent of which consisted of studio clothes that looked like they survived insurrection in Afghanistan.
Classy? I could be arrested for wardrobe abuse.
“What are you talking about?”

“Desiree was pretty, but she didn't have the bone structure to ever be gorgeous. She was intelligent, but she was no brain surgeon. She was approachable.”

“I'm nice.”

“That only makes it worse. Because you're nice, guys want you to like them. If you were intimidating
and
a bitch, they'd just want to sleep with you to prove they could. Since you're nice, they want you to like them, only they figure you couldn't possibly.”

“Why not?” Lia frowned.

“Look, a girl like Desiree, it doesn't take much to impress her. A good line, a shiny trinket, a nice ride, an impressive job—hell, an
interview
for a job with a regular income, and she thinks you're great.

“You don't need all that stuff and you see through it. A guy looks at you and now his nice new Lexus is just a piece of junk. All his shiny bits he's built around himself fall off and all he's left with is himself, and he's nothing.”

“Nobody is ever nothing.”

“No, but that's the way guys feel. Most guys would rather rely on waving their shiny bits at a girl than say, ‘This is me, here I am. Please don't notice my tiny penis.' And then they look at you: independent, making your own way on your own terms, so a guy can't buy you. And you're talented. I saw pictures of that solstice piece you did on the web. How do you impress a woman who turns the sun into art?

“Now you're doing this crap job so you can donate your time to the elderly. You're slumming with us mortals. Intimidating as all
hell
. A guy either has to be really solid with himself, or else he's got to be so deluded by his own bullshit that he
believes
he's all that.”

“Well isn't that just
ducky
.” She turned back to her monitor and the next test paper. “I just had to ask.”

Lia couldn't settle into that zen state required to scan test papers and pull out the essential information. She repeatedly drifted and discovered herself staring at the vacant work station two rows ahead, wondering if Eric was right, that the sex goddess of Northside had envied her. That somehow made everything worse. She was older than Desiree. She should have cut her more slack.

Lia stared blankly at the paper in front of her, realizing she couldn't remember the last two she'd scored. She chided herself while backtracking.
Keep your mind on math, Anderson. This is not the time to indulge in guilt. Think about something else, like why couldn't the person who wrote this question have painted the room a lovely orchid instead of khaki? Khaki is a no-risk option that shows zero imagination. I bet the rug is beige.

Half a dozen test papers later, someone with loopy, feminine writing Xed out “khaki” and wrote “Conch-shell Pink!!!!!” above it, underlining several times with a heavy pencil. Happy to encounter a like-minded soul, Lia gave the girl a perfect score she hadn't earned.

“
S
omething's missing
,” Lia said, dropping Julia's lead as she scanned Desiree's bedroom. She set down her stack of collapsed boxes on the floor. Bailey dropped a bundle of newspaper and a roll of garbage bags next to it. Julia scampered under the bed.

“Someone came back?”

“They must have. Desiree's clock is gone.”

“How odd. How do you think they got in?” Bailey asked.

“Same way they did last time, I bet.”

“That's so weird. Why would anyone want a clock radio? You don't suppose Geneva took it, do you?”

“Maybe. You never know. I'm going to look around and see if I notice anything else out of place.” Lia checked out back first. Julia tagged along, dragging her lead behind her. When Lia entered the kitchen, Julia shot through the dog door and off the porch to nose eagerly around the yard.

Before they'd left the day before, Terry dragged the chair away from the kitchen window to discourage would-be prowlers. There wasn't anything they could do about the window except lock it, and that was a futile gesture, with the pane by the lock missing.

He'd placed the chair next to its mate on the other end of the porch. It remained by its twin, two green plastic Adirondack chairs purchased at Kroger for $9.99 each at the end of the previous summer. Were they lined up differently? She stared at the porch floor, looking for drag marks or footprints, or something—

“Lia, you need to come see this,” Bailey called from the kitchen.

“What is it?” She found Bailey peering in the cabinet next to the sink. Open cabinet doors blocked Lia's view. She came beside Bailey and followed her line of sight.

“Oh.” The vandal had passed this shelf by, leaving a row of coffee mugs intact. A little foil doll sat on the bottom of an upended mug of pressed, apricot carnival glass. The little foil woman's legs dangled over the side of the mug, kicking out while she leaned back on her hands as if she didn't have a care in the world. Below, a tiny silver dog jumped against the side of the mug, mouth open, barking for attention.

“I don't know whether to be creeped out or charmed,” Bailey said. Do you suppose that's you? The dog looks like Chewy.”

“If that's Chewy, where's Honey?”

They shuffled mugs around, finding Honey behind the second mug down, sniffing a flower on the printed shelf paper. Lia removed all the cups on the shelf and discovered a tiny Beagle inside a Florida souvenir mug sporting ironic flamingos. Mini-Julia's head raised as she bayed to get out of her ceramic prison.

“You have to admit, Foil Man has a sense of humor as well as talent. Are you going to tell Peter about this?”

Lia thought back to the embarrassment of their last conversation. “No, I'm not. He's convinced Foil Man is harmless.”

“He might feel differently about Foil Man leaving you presents.”

“He asked me for time off. I asked him if he was seeing Cynth, and he told me it was none of my business. If I go to him with this story, it will look like I'm so desperate I'll do anything for attention. He'd probably think I made these myself, just to pull him back in.”

“You think Peter would suspect you of doing something so juvenile?”

“I
feel
like doing something that juvenile, and if I called him, I'd be so self-conscious about that, I'd sound guilty.”

“Call Brent.”

“Then it's like I'm making a point of avoiding him. Same thing, different tactic.”

“So call Heckle and Jeckle. Why do you call them Heckle and Jeckle, anyway?”

“Heckle and Jeckle are a pair of thuggish magpies from a cartoon in the forties. Wikipedia says they specialize in insults, slapstick violence and rudeness. Brent thought it fit them, especially since their brains have not evolved beyond the post-war years.”

“Oh, so these are Neanderthal magpies.”

“Exactly.”

“It's their case. You should call them.”

“You saw how seriously they took me when I reported the break-in yesterday. What am I going to say? Someone stole a cheap clock and left a doll made out of aluminum foil, and by the way, I think it's supposed to be me? If Peter didn't think it was important when it was happening to Desiree, no way they're going to take me seriously.”

“Call them anyway.”

“What ever for?” Lia frowned as she touched one tiny foot with her finger, watched the doll teeter on the edge of the mug.

“You don't want to be that woman.”

“What woman?”

“You know, the woman in the horror movie who watches a news report on a homicidal maniac, then she hears a weird sound coming from her basement and goes to investigate without her shotgun.”

“Oh. That woman. I'd rather be her sister, the one who shoots the UPS guy by mistake.” Lia pulled her kubotan out of her hip pocket and waved the pink tube, making her keys jangle. “I'm armed. No worries.”

“Lot of good that will do against a bloody chainsaw.”

“Right now I'm more worried about getting everything packed before Terry gets here with the truck.” She looked around. “Have you seen Julia? She was right behind me when you yelled.”

“Try the back yard.”

“Right.” She poked her head out the door. “I don't see her anywhere. Julia! Come here!” No response. “Well damn. Hang on while I find her.”

Lia finally rounded the corner of the house and spotted Julia's tail poking out from under a spreading yew. “Aha! gotcha.” She bent down to pick up the leash, which was wrapped around the base of the lilac bush a few feet over. The branches of the yew bush wiggled as Julia ignored the tug on her tether. Lia stooped down to look under the bush, pushing the branches aside. “What are you up to, wench?”

Julia's whole body quaked while her front paws kept up their frenzied digging. Lia pulled on the leash, forcing Julia to back up and turn around. She grumbled and moaned, resisting with dug-in paws. Lia eased up on the leash a bit and Julia whipped around, returning to her excavation.

“What's got you in such a tizzy? Is something under there?” Lia leaned in, parting the branches to give her a view of the situation. It was a doggie treasure trove containing two chewed remotes, a Betty Boop nightlight and a mangled tennis ball. “Oh, Julia,” she sighed. “What am I going to do with you. Bailey!” she yelled. “Come here a sec.”

“What is it? I see you found her.”

“Her and the lost treasure of Solomon's mines. Hang onto Julia, will you? I want to see what else is in here.” Lia crawled under the bush to drag out Julia's soil-encrusted prizes. The remains of a baseball glove reminded Lia of a mummified human corpse she'd seen on
Bones
. Under the glove she unearthed uppers from a pair a dentures next to a Phillips screwdriver. “Girlfriend has been busy,” she said, retreating from the bush with a formerly fuchsia evening shoe sporting a four inch spike heel. “I bet Desiree was livid about this.” She upended the shoe, dumping out loose dirt. A necklace with a purple stone fell onto the grass.

Lia reached in again and dragged out an abalone shell choker tangled up in an underwire bra, this one of cream satin despoiled with grass stains and dirt mixed with dog slobber. She extended her arm into the pit one last time and felt around. Her fingers touched something cool and slick. She had an odd expression on her face.

“This is strange.”

“What is it?” Bailey asked

“I don't know, but it feels rubbery.” Lia pulled out an object shaped like a slender flashlight and held it up for Bailey to see. It was covered with translucent, purple silicone. the tip of one end was bent and rounded. A small silicone dolphin reared its head half-way up one side. Rows of steel beads, or maybe ball bearings, could be seen through the silicone.

“I hope those teethmarks are Julia's,” Bailey said.

“I don't want to think about it.”

“You could have discovered a safety deposit box key. You could have found Desiree's last will and testament. You could have at least come up with a picture of Tatum Channing with his shirt off. Only you could come out of that bush with a battery powered pacifier.”

“Ha, ha.”

“I've seen those on Groupon for 25 bucks. I've always wondered how they work.”

“I'm sure the batteries will be dead.”

“You never know. Give it a shot.”

Lia looked at the array of buttons near the base of the vibrator. “This looks like Mission Control. How do you know it won't blow up the house next door if I push the wrong button?”

“Give it to me,” Bailey said. She studied the control panel and tapped one tiny button. The vibrator began to hum.

“Nothing's happening. It's broken.”

Bailey touched the dolphin's nose with the tip of one slender finger.

“I don't know, Flipper's getting a good buzz on.” She tapped another button, this one with a “12” on it. The humming grew louder. She tapped the “12” again, and this time the dolphin's nose vibrated so furiously, it blurred. More taps, and the vibration went through a series of syncopated rhythms.

“Geezelpete!” Lia said.

Bailey pressed an arrow near the base and the steel beads rotated around the inner shaft while the bent tip gyrated. Absurdly, it reminded Lia of her mother's habit of twirling one index finger while saying “Whoopie ding!”

Bailey pressed another button. The beads and tip reversed direction.

“Amazing. If this thing had flashing lights, I'd put it on top of my Christmas tree.”

“It's May, Bailey.”

“I can wait six months. Do you suppose this was Desiree's?”

Lia shrugged. “Who's to say. The dentures aren't. Not the baseball glove, either. But I doubt it. She had plenty of action without it. I bet it was Geneva's.”

“That explains why she was so mean to Julia. Maybe the glove was hers, too. Maybe she needed it in case this thing heated up and tried to take off. What are we going to do with it?”

Lia shuddered. “Toss it back in the hole?”

“You don't want to keep it?”

“Bailey, you don't know where that's been!”

“True.” Bailey knelt down and shoved the gaudy vibrator back under the bush. “Good bye, Flipper, it was nice to know you,” she said, burying the sad device with dead leaves and mulch.

Bailey stood up and brushed the dirt off her hands. “Poor Flipper. He needs a headstone.”

“Oh, for Christ's sake!”

“
H
ey
, Dourson,” Hodgkins settled his bulk on the edge of Peter's desk, reaching for the last slice of the goat cheese pizza Peter and Brent shared for lunch.

“Get your own,” Peter said, barely glancing away from the report he was writing.

Hodgkins retracted his hand. Sneered. “Stupid yuppie pizza. Why don't you ever get pepperoni, like normal people? By the by, your girlfriend called. Second time. I think she's lonely for a real man. I think I should help her out. What do you think, Jarvis?”

“I think we should both help her out. That was pitiful, that story she cooked up about an
intruder
leaving a little doll made out of aluminum foil at the Willis crime scene. How does someone make a doll out of foil? Sounds screwy to me.”

“I told her after the way she took on the Willis chick in that YouTube video, she shouldn't worry about some wimp who plays with dolls. Don't you agree, Dourson?” Hodgkins asked.

“Lia? With a couple of mugs like ya'll?” Brent laid his lazy magnolia on thick to emphasize his contempt. He snagged the lonely piece of pizza. “Dream on, and toss in Jessica Alba and Scarlett Johansson while you're at it, make it a quintet. Sorry, forgot you don't know that word. Make it a
party
. And Hodgkins? Back up a ways, will you, before I'm forced to hide a bottle of mouthwash in your desk.

“I wouldn't make any untoward moves on Lia,” Brent continued. “You might end up on the floor, playing dolls with the wimp. She spent a few weeks with my girl, Cynth.”

“Way I heard it, she's Dourson's girl, not yours. Come on Jarvis. We have
real
police work to do.”

“Is too my girl,” Brent muttered as the duo retreated, watching them with one eye. His other eye took note of the color returning to Peter's knuckles as he unclenched the fist he held underneath his desk.

“You know the only reason I forgive you for accepting that assignment with Cynth is because the resident thugs were next in line for it. I hope you remember to tell her what a great catch I am during your tete-a-tetes.”

“You want to be caught?” Peter asked, mildly.

“No, but you have absolutely no basis for extolling my sexual prowess, so let's just stick with my status as a highly desirable companion for the right woman.”

“For all you know, I'm extolling my own sexual prowess.”