Drool Baby (A Dog Park Mystery) (Lia Anderson Dog Park Mysteries) (4 page)

"Oh, all right," Roger grumbled. "I'll take him to his meeting. But I ain't saying nothin'."

"Roger," Lia squeezed his arm, "you are such a peach."

"Whatever. I gotta go. I gotta doctor appointment. Maddie, Lacy, c'mon."

Lia and Jim watched Roger's lanky form shamble across the park. "I didn't know you were giving Terry rides to AA." Jim said.

"I'm not. And I'd better call Terry before he runs into Roger. Anna, since when do you do ceramics?"

"Since never. It was the first thing I thought of. You won't rat me out will you?"

"Do you think manipulating him into going to a meeting is going to help?" Jim asked. "He's not ready to stop drinking."

"No, he's not. But he's a lonely man. I think he'll enjoy the company. Maybe the group will have a better idea what to do with him. They've been dealing
with this type of problem for decades."

"You know what they say," Anna added.

"What's that?" Jim asked.

"Whatever works."

Lia turned back to Jim. "Where'd you get that quiz, anyway?"

"This internet friend sent it to me."

"Internet friend, huh? Is this a girl internet friend or a boy internet friend?"

"None of your business!"

"Girl, then."

Anna changed the subject. "Who was that woman I saw you with in the parking lot earlier? She looked like she was dressed for church."

"That was Asia, my therapist."

"What brought her to the dog park? That's unusual, isn't it?"

"I've been having these flashbacks from that business with Bailey. I haven't been able to go in the woods, so we're doing therapy where it happened."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know."

"I haven't told anyone before."

"I hope it's helping."

"Too soon to tell, but I think so."

Kita had been lounging on the table beside Lia. At the mention of Bailey's name, she lifted her head and looked around. Now she sat up on her haunches and
looked Lia in the eye. Lia stroked the doleful bloodhound's head while she talked. "I really miss Bailey, the Bailey that was my friend. She was so funny,
she always kept me going. I can't reconcile her with the crazed lunatic who attacked me. It's like they're two different people in my head. I told Peter I
missed Bailey. You know what he said?"

"What?" Anna asked.

"He said he once interviewed a woman whose boyfriend stabbed her seventeen times with a screwdriver. And she told him, 'Besides that, he's a really great
guy.'"

"Peter has a point," Jim said.

I love hiking Red River Gorge in the fall. In the fall you can start to see natural rock formations hidden by all that summer green. The best view of the
natural arches is in winter, but then it is too cold to hike for long, and ice often makes the trails dangerous. If I had a choice, I would take the fall,
when the trails are covered with dying leaves in lovely shades of brown, tan ovals larger than my feet, rusty pine needles, and a variety of smaller leaves
in various shapes in a kaleidoscope that Lia will paint for me when she gets around to it.

Lia has been promising the painting since last year, but the increasing popularity of her paintings, and now her mosaics, make it hard to find time to
paint a picture at the "buddy" discount. I want the painting. It would allow me to return here to the trails anytime I wanted, in the season I like best.

Today was not fall, and the summer green closed in around me like a cocoon. I found it sometimes comforting, other times it suffocated. It was cool enough
at 9:00 a.m. I suspected it would be blistering before I left. Thank heavens for layers I could peel off, and the bottles of water in my pack.

There had been no rain for weeks on Swift Creek Trail. The ground was baked hard. My beautiful dog strolled by my side.

I'd hoped coming here for the day would give me an opportunity to arrive at some decisions, see things from a different light. But the first thing I needed
to do was simply enjoy the day. And who better to enjoy that day with me than my baby, the most beautiful dog in the world?

I stopped for a moment, leaned on my new walking staff and stroked my darling's head. Baby rarely barked, never chewed, and wasn't fond of digging. My dog
was always solid, always there, always perfect. As my dog should be.

I'd missed the dog park this morning, opting instead for a drive down into Kentucky. I rarely did anything spontaneously. But my usually ordered mind had
been awash with thought that required solitude and a different environment to settle. I thought a chance encounter with a stranger along the path might be
pleasant, or even illuminating.

I'd been walking for more than an hour. To get to Swift Creek Camp Trail, you first have to take the Rock Bridge trail loop. This is paved with asphalt and
runs in a scenic loop beside Swift Creek with a lovely low waterfall and a natural bridge of moss covered rock that is especially pretty. This short trail
is always populated, too populated for my needs.

Halfway around the loop, I branched off to Swift Creek Camp Trail. This trail was narrower and started to climb. I normally would have stopped by the
waterfall for a short break, but I wanted to reach my spot in time for lunch. I'd discovered this place on a previous trek. It was an overlook with a
lovely, long view of the gorge, a widening of the trail with a natural rock outcropping that stood a good hundred feet above the creek. I arrived shortly
before noon and sat on a large rock, just the right size and shape for a good rest.

I took off my day-pack and pulled out a container of cottage cheese mixed with canned peaches along with a plastic spoon and a bottle of water. Baby
whuffed for attention, smelling food. I extended my hand out, palm down, and lowered it in the 'down' signal. Baby plopped on the ground and smiled, using
charm to beguile me. I pulled out a pig's ear and Baby started salivating. They were disgusting things. I never let them inside my home, but my darling
loved them and today was special.

As I ate, I closed my eyes, breathing deeply and enjoying the clean air, the rustle of wind in the pines and the birdsong emerging from the woods around
me.

"Mind if I join you?"

I started, then opened my eyes to see a gentleman about my age standing in front of me. He said his name was Bill. He was of average height and build, with
a tanned complexion and pleasant smile. He admired Baby properly, then pulled his own lunch out of a hip pack. He began to eat, punctuating his meal with
observations that ran from the weather to politics and the ongoing conflict in the Middle East.

". . . now, if those marines had wrapped the dead bodies in an American flag before they urinated on them, the Liberals would have been fine with it. Hell,
the NEA would have given them a grant for performance art. Crying shame one of those boys had to put the video on UTube."

Inwardly, I shook my head. I'd driven over a hundred miles and hiked more than three hours, and who do I find? A Terry clone. Must be fate.

I changed the subject. "Have you ever looked over the side here? There's some kind of structure at the bottom of the gorge. I can't make it out, but it
looks like it might be a ruined cabin."

"Really? How interesting!" He walked confidently onto the outcropping and looked down. "I don't see anything.

"Look over on the left. You might have to move a little closer to the edge. It's right up against the side of the cliff."

"You don't say." He placed his hands on his knees and peered more closely. "I still don't see it."

"Hold on, I'll show you."

I am always nervous around heights. I stood behind him, cautiously picking my way across the rocks, carefully placing my feet. I lifted my hiking staff,
gripping it firmly in anticipation of my next step. I set the staff solidly on the rock, then leaned on it as I raised my foot. Bill turned his head and
gave me a perplexed look as he eyed my posture. His mouth widened in awareness. I planted my foot in his rear and gave a tremendous shove. Bill gave a
surprised "Oof!" He flailed his arms helplessly while teetering on the edge in slow motion, then pitched over the side with a strangled gasp. He
disappeared from sight, but I heard him crashing through the pine trees and rhododendron thickets until he landed with a faint thud at the bottom.

I leaned against my stick and waited for a moment, listening. I watched as Baby continued to gnaw the pig's ear, untroubled by Bill's fall. There was no
sound but the sighing of wind in the trees. The birds were momentarily silent, having been startled by the noise of his fall. I scanned the area for any
telltale remains of my lunch, then picked up my daypack and stick. I called to Baby and we headed up the trail. In a few moments Bill would just be another
careless hiker, a statistic.

Well, that settled that. The physical act of kicking Bill over the ledge was gratifying in the way most of my removals had been gratifying. I'd eliminated
another obnoxious person. There was the mild thrill of a brief period of anticipation, and the rush of exerting myself during the push, as well as a sense
of danger. He was not a small man. There had been some risk that I might not have had the strength to push him over, or that he might turn and grab my
stick, grab me. But I'd not felt that surge of passion, that frisson of ecstasy I'd been hoping for.

The mere act of killing someone in a physically present way was not enough to satisfy me. If this had worked, I could have limited myself to spontaneous
kills with random strangers, but that would obviously not do. Shame, that. It was so hard for the police to make any headway with stranger killings. I
would have to spend more time looking for answers.

I wished there were leaves on the ground. Lovely, lovely layers of leaves that would take no impressions, leave no footprints. Yes, I really want that
painting from Lia, then I could come back here in my mind as frequently as I liked.

I continued on the trail, scuffing when I came to a place where the bare ground was soft from a tiny tributary. I could not afford to leave any footprints.
Baby padded quietly at my side. I suppose I should have been concerned about paw-prints, but I do not think police science is to the point of looking at
dog prints as evidence, not yet.

Soon after, there was a little known branch in the trail that took me back to the road, not far from the parking lot where I'd left my car. Once I was back
on I-75, I would take off my ridiculous wig and tacky sunglasses. I would just have to put up with the itching a little while longer.

A handsome, white haired man with a mustache waved at Lia as she and Peter herded their dogs through the corral. "Burn any flags lately?" he called. Jose,
standing next to him, snorted.

"I was going to, but my matches are wet. Can I borrow your lighter?"

"Sure thing, Lia." Charlie clamped his cigarette between his teeth, then fished in his pocket and held the Bic out for her. Viola trotted up to him and
sniffed inquiringly.

"Gee, thanks, but, you know, I think I'll get my own," Lia said.

Charlie leaned over and scratched Viola behind the ears. Oggie, his jealous lab, nosed in.

"I'll keep the lighter handy, just in case," Charlie called as Peter and Lia headed towards the back of the park.

"What was that?" Peter asked.

"I'm a Liberal, so I must burn flags in my spare time. He's mostly teasing."

"Mostly?"

"Mostly."

They joined Nadine, Marie and Anna at their usual spot.

"Hey, Lia, Peter. You won't believe this." Marie was staring at her iPhone.

"What won't we believe?" Lia asked.

"I was looking online for a new headset, and I came across this thing called a Kavorker."

"What, in heaven's name," Nadine asked, "is a Kavorker?"

"Remember Doctor Kevorkian? It's a suicide machine. Only they spelled it wrong."

"You're kidding," Lia said.

"And how much are suicide machines going for these days?" Anna asked.

"It's five hundred dollars. You can't buy them, you can only rent them," Marie said. "Apparently this is because you only need to use it once."

Peter shook his head. "The things you folks find to talk about first thing in the morning."

Lia scoffed.

"This is too much," Marie continued. "They're talking about 'death with dignity' here. Take a look at this thing." Marie turned her iPhone towards the rest
of the group, displaying a picture of a blue tube.

"What is that thing?" Lia asked.

"It's a toilet. The 'death with dignity' machine is shipped to you disguised as a porta-potty, complete with toilet seat, so the guy who delivers it won't
be arrested for assisting with a suicide."

"Oh, you can't be serious," Anna said.

Marie resumed reading the catalog entry. "It's totally serious. They aren't disguised as toilets in Russia because assisted suicide is legal there,
according to this web site. Selling this can't be legal. Is this legal, Peter?"

Peter scratched his temple. "Hell if I know."

Nadine frowned.

"How does it work?" Lia asked.

Marie scrolled through the page. "Well, you have to plug it in, and you plug in a phone line. Um . . . you go inside the porta-potty and sit down. See
here, it says 'press green button to exit.' Then in 'ten painless seconds' you're dead. Um . . . then the porta-potty senses your lack of vital signs and
dials 911 and tells them to come pick you up. They don't say exactly what it does. They just say they've never had a repeat customer."

"And do they have any customer testimonials?" Anna asked.

"How on earth is someone supposed to have death with dignity in a portable toilet?" Nadine demanded.

"You got me," Marie said. "Oh, and the return shipping is pre-paid. Think we should chip in and rent one for Roger?"

"Marie!" Nadine scolded.

Terry stumped up in his walking cast. "Is Marie acting badly again? What is this? More sick jokes about Republican Bar-B-Qs?"