Maximum Security (A Dog Park Mystery) (25 page)

The service ended. Kitty watched as
the crowd began to move, morphing into a line to pay their respects
to the family. The space in front of Kitty cleared out. She froze,
mesmerized by the rapidly widening space. She felt someone, Lia,
place a hand on her arm. Monica and Stacy turned to greet other
mourners and Kitty found herself staring right at Monica. Monica
stared right back, her expression of shock transforming to
fury.

“There she is!” Stacy squealed.
“It’s Dad’s girlfriend! I knew she’d come!” Monica had Stacy’s arm
in a steely grip as Stacy struggled to pull away.

Kitty felt Stacy’s pointing finger
like a stab in her gut. Appalled, she turned from the goggling
crowd and took off down the hill, scanning for Lia’s car as she
ran. She tripped over a pillow monument, falling in the grass,
rolling over twice before she was able to stop herself. Knees
stinging, sunglasses lost, stockings torn, and drowning in waves of
mortification, she began hyperventilating. Lia caught up with her
and put a hand out to help her up. Kitty waved her off, kneeling in
the grass with her hand to her chest as she concentrated on
breathing normally.

“Don’t go! I want to talk to you!”
Stacy yelled.

Kitty struggled to rise. Stacy
broke away from her mother, brushing by the Dollar Hut women and
stumbling into the casket lowering device. She stuck a hand out,
grabbing onto the housing of the corner gear mechanism and shoving
herself back upright.

As the woman with fried blond hair
from Dollar Hut stumbled back out of Stacy’s way, she tripped on
the edge of the carpet and fell against the young black woman with
long braids. Braids flying, the young woman fell against the
portrait of George, knocking it over onto the pink floral cross.
The women landed in a heap with roses and daisies scattered over
them. George grinned in the grass several feet away.

Kitty froze as she watched the end
of the casket slowly tilt down into the grave.

Oblivious, Stacy continued to run
and shout, now only yards away.

As the unlocked and out-of-sync
gears slipped faster, the casket picked up speed and tumbled into
the grave. It echoed as it banged against the side of the vault,
then crashed into the bottom with the sound of splintering
wood.

Jim, Bailey and Jose ran to the
graveside as the Dollar Hut women helped their two friends back
up.

“Please, I really want to talk to
you,” Stacy panted as she drew up to Kitty and Lia on the side of
the hill. Her waist-length hair was coming loose from the velvet
headband that had restrained it. The headband itself was slipping
forward onto her forehead. She came to a halt and took a moment to
push the strip of velvet back on top of her head.

Monica erupted. Stacy turned at the
sound of her mother’s incomprehensible tirade and the three of them
watched the chaos on top of the hill.

“Did I do that?” Stacy asked in a
small voice.

Lia made a wry expression. “I think
you did.”

Stacy lowered her head. “I didn’t
mean to.”

“We’re not the one you should be
telling that to,” Kitty said gently.

Monica continued to yell
incoherently as horrified mourners gathered to stare down into the
open grave.

“Yeah, well I’m not going to try
apologizing right now. You’re George’s girlfriend,” she said to
Kitty.

“Yes, Stacy, I was. I’m so sorry
about your loss.”

“I’m sorry about yours, too. How
do you know my name?”

“You stepfather showed me many
pictures of you. He loved you very much. How did you recognize
me?”

“I saw you, outside the store
once. And the police showed us your picture.” Lia winced. This
hadn’t occurred to her.

Monica screamed, “Get that out of
there! Get it out! Get it out!”

Stacy held out her hand and Kitty
took it, trapped by the need to share a moment with this girl who
loved George. Stacy continued, “I could tell he cared about you.
You know, he wasn’t happy for a long time until you came along. I
love my mother, but she was really hard on George. She tries to act
like she’s so nice to everyone, but she wasn’t, not to him.” She
glanced back up the hill and rolled her eyes at her mother’s
hysterical outpouring.

A burly man was carefully lowering
himself into the grave while a funeral home employee threw his arms
in the air, objecting. Lia looked over at the oak tree. Peter and
Brent remained where they were and watched impassively as the
pandemonium played out. She noticed Brent holding his phone
unobtrusively in his folded arms and imagined he was taking
pictures.

“Try not to judge your mother,”
Kitty said. “Marriage can be very . . . difficult.”

“She should have been nicer to
him. I bet you’re a really nice lady.”

Lia saw the barrel-chested man
steam down the hill, carrying a small cluster of crushed red roses,
slinging them back and forth as he pumped his arms. He came up
behind Stacy.

“Stacy,” he ground out, making her
jump as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “You need to go back to
your mother. Now!”

Kitty stared at the odd bundle of
roses as if it were dangerous. She edged back.

A mulish look crossed Stacy’s face,
then passed. “Whatever.” She turned to leave and took a few steps
up the hill, then turned back toward Kitty. “I’m glad I met
you.”

“Me, too,” Kitty said, dragging up
a hint of a smile.

The bull-like man glared at Kitty
and shoved the mashed heart of roses into her stomach. “I’m sure
you’d like these back.”

Kitty clutched the roses as tears
rolled down her face.

“You have some nerve, bribing the
mortician into sticking your–” here he curled his lip.
“–
tribute
into George’s coffin. You humiliated Monica by
showing your face and disrupting George’s funeral. How dare you
intrude on my family like this?”

“I only wanted to say good-bye to
George,” Kate blubbered into the roses.

“Haven’t you done enough?” He
demanded.

“Apparently she hasn’t,” Lia said,
stepping forward to divert the man’s attention. “You seem to think
you need to add another ring to this circus. We were leaving. All
you’re doing is keeping us here. Stacy is the one who made a scene.
Why don’t you go talk to her about it?”

The man’s face turned scarlet as he
inflated with fury. “You leave Stacy out of this. Who are you,
anyway?”

Rage is apparently a family
trait.
“And you are?” Lia tossed back.

“I’m Stacy’s uncle. Unlike you, I
belong here.” He looked at Kate, opening his mouth as a prelude to
more abuse.

“Problem?” Peter stood behind
Monica’s brother. His tone was mild, but firm. “I believe these
ladies were just leaving. That’s all right with you, isn’t
it?”

Monica’s brother slitted his eyes
and jutted his jaw. He turned to face Peter, who was several inches
taller as well as standing higher on the slope.

“We don’t need any trouble here,
do we?” Peter asked. “I’m sure your family needs you right
now.”

Monica’s brother jabbed an angry
finger at Peter. “Just get them out of here.” He stormed up the
rise.

“My hero,” Lia said,
limply.

“Am I allowed to say, ‘I told you
so’?”

“I didn’t mean for this to
happen,” Kitty whispered.

“Go,” Peter said.
“Please?”

Peter shook his head as he watched
Lia and Kate walk the rest of the way down the hill to the car.
Monica’s voice still shrilled from the hill top. He hoped Brent
kept his eyes open during the chaos. It would be interesting to
know what he noticed during Stacy’s Rube Goldberg
production.

Peter walked back up the hill
against the tide of people now leaving the gravesite. Monica railed
at the funeral director while his employees handed up fragments of
the coffin. A seemingly chastened Stacy stood at Monica’s side.
Peter caught her looking sideways out of her lowered eyes. A smirk
flashed across her face and vanished.

The dog park regulars were gone.
Some of the Dollar Hut employees remained, probably so they
wouldn’t have to go back to work yet. They fussed with the garish
pink cross, trying to repair the squashed and mangled
blossoms.

Brent was an oasis of rationality
leaning against the oak tree.

“What did I miss?” Peter
asked.

“I got some lovely pictures of
Monica before she regained her composure. Now that Mount Saint
Monica has nearly blown herself out, she is doing an excellent job
of pretending both Stacy and the offending coffin don’t
exist.

“Jacob,” he gestured with his chin
toward the young man standing apart from the family, “tried to help
with the coffin but was rebuffed. He is now acting twitchy like
there’s something he wants to do but knows he can’t. Either that,
or his tie is too tight. He keeps looking over at our
widow.

“Bubba seems to think he’s in
charge, and it’s pissing off the worker bees. Bubba’s wife knows
that whoever’s in charge, it’s not her.

“The Dollar Hut crowd has been
striving mightily to maintain their dignity since the coffin
decided to interrupt the proceedings. I caught Shondra snickering.
There were knowing looks between Monica’s coworkers. I strongly
suspect they find Monica’s lack of control ironic for a school
counselor. Amazingly, no one looked shocked by her
performance.

“The widow has excellent lungs and
should consider changing careers to town-crier or pearl diver.
Stacy keeps sneaking looks over here. Shame her little mishap
aborted the party. We could see how long she keeps it up. Do you
suppose it’s my natural good looks and charm?”

“I think it’s the great, big badge
in your pocket,” Peter said.

“I can only imagine what the mood
will be at Chez Munce after this. Oh, to be a fly in the punch
bowl.”

They waited until, with a final
look of longing, Jacob turned to go. Peter and Brent moved casually
as they intercepted the boy, flanking him while looking as if they
were just joining him for the trip down the slope.

“Jacob Cox?” Peter
asked.

“Who wants to know?” Jacob’s
attempt at surliness came out petulant. Peter was certain the boy
knew exactly who they were.

“Cincinnati Police,” Brent
obliged. “I’m Detective Davis and my partner is Detective Dourson.
We understand you’re a neighbor of the Munces. Family
friend?”

Jacob gave a very adolescent shrug.
“Mrs. Munce’s my counselor at school. I do some yard-work for them.
You shouldn't be talking to me without my parents.”

Peter picked up here in their
choreographed effort to keep Jacob off balance. “I believe your
driver’s license says you’re eighteen. That is what it says, isn’t
it, Detective Davis?”

“I do believe you’re right,
Detective Dourson. I also believe the rulebook says we don’t need
your parents, young Jacob.”

Jacob shrugged again. “Worth a
try.” He stopped by an ancient but well-kept Camry. “What do you
want?”

“Your parents know you’re here?”
Brent asked.

“Yeah. What’s the big
deal?”

“We have a few questions for you.
You can follow us to the station, or we can drive you there and
have an officer bring you back when we’re done,” Peter
said.

“I can’t right now. I gotta get
back to school.”

“We’ll give you a note,” Brent
said.

Jacob elected to follow them to the
station. Peter and Brent met him in the parking lot and escorted
him through the tiny lobby at District Five to an interview room in
the secured area in back. By mutual agreement, Peter and Brent
remained silent until they entered the room, in order to unnerve
Jacob.

“Have a seat,” Peter said. He
signaled to Brent, who left the room.

Jacob slumped into the plastic and
chrome chair. Peter stood.

“What’s this about?” Jacob’s
protest contained false notes. The nerves were real, but Peter
suspected Cox had a very good idea what it was about. Still, you
had to play the game.

Brent entered, carrying a large
zip-lock bag and a file folder. He laid the bag on the table. It
contained an inexpensive cell phone.

“Recognize this?” Peter
asked.

Jacob blinked rapidly. “It’s a
phone.” He shrugged.

“Look closer,” Peter
said.

“What’s the big deal? It’s just a
phone.” The wide-eyed look was now accompanied by an edge of
whine.

“Not just any phone, young Jacob,”
Brent said.

Peter leaned across the table,
hovering over Jacob. “This,” he jabbed his index finger at the
phone, “belonged to George Munce. Nobody knew he had this phone
except one person.”

“Until he died, anyway,” Brent
added. He pulled the E-FIT out of the file folder and placed it on
the table next to the phone.