A Shot in the Bark: A Dog Park Mystery

Sunday, June 26

It was July when he decided to go back to the park. "My man," Terry called to him. "We thought you and the lovely Viola were lost to us forever." Terry was cheerful, despite casts on both legs. His wheelchair was parked by a picnic table as he held court with Jose and Charlie in attendance.

"I thought maybe I was persona non-grata," Peter admitted.

"An unacceptable person? Stick with us lads, we'll provide sanctuary from hostile entities."

"Thanks. And are there hostile entities?"

"Indeed. Indeed there are. The female contingency is dangerous right now."

"Yeah, I figured."

"Don't worry," Jose winked and flexed his muscles. "We'll protect ya."

"Gee," Peter commented dryly, "thanks."

"We haven't seen you since the party," Charlie commented. "Is it true what they're saying? Did Catherine really shoot Luthor? I find that hard to believe."

"So do I. But someone stole Lia's phone and used it to lure Luthor here that night, and Catherine had it. What other explanation is there?"

Jose shook his head. "You think you know someone. She could be a pain, but I never woulda thought she'd kill somebody."

"Spooky," Charlie said.

"Seems strange," Terry added. "She was always the decorative female. Hard to conceive of her as competent and soulless enough to plan and execute murder. Did you find out where the gun came from?"

"Nope. I don't think we ever will."

"I thought I had it solved. I saw a gun years ago and I thought it might be the same one, but she said hers had been a Schimel air pistol, not a Luger. I understand the two are virtually identical to casual inspection. Easy mistake to make. I thought maybe Luthor had lifted it, but she tells me she packed it away and it's been in the attic since before she knew him. If it was Catherine, that would be even less likely. Moot point, since it's not the right gun, anyway.

"Sounds like a dead end." Peter, half-listening, responded. He watched Viola chase Napa in circles around them. Charlie's lab, Oggie, was playing tug-of-war with Jose's Sophie. At least the dogs were having fun.

20

Sunday, June 26

She didn't figure it out. A week later, she still hadn't returned any of his calls. Meanwhile, the medical examiner's report on Catherine was inconclusive. Minimal alcohol in her system, no defensive wounds, and nothing about the wound on her head to determine whether someone hit her or she fell on a rock. Nothing to suggest why she had a smoking gun in her pocket.

Late party goers had left en mass at midnight. Some remembered Catherine saying she might walk the labyrinth after everyone was gone, since the moon was so bright. Peter was flummoxed by Lia's phone. What was Catherine doing with it? Was she going to hide it in the garden? That would be dangerous, with Bailey still digging around. And why hide it then? Maybe she just wanted to take it out and gloat, in her special place. Had Catherine fooled them all with her society floozy act? It was unsettling to think his instincts had been so far off.

Leo Laroux quietly took possession of his wife's body, had it cremated, and scattered the ashes in the garden. He just as quietly put the house up for sale, not wanting to live with the gossip about his now notorious wife.

And Lia still didn't call.

"I don't know," he told Alma. "I know she's been through a lot, but this is too much like work." They were in Alma's small back-yard greenhouse, repotting her overabundance of root-bound Aloe Vera plants.