Maximum Security (A Dog Park Mystery) (32 page)

“Kate,” Bailey asked, “what are
you going to do now?”

“Daisy and I,” she hugged the dog,
“are going back to Oklahoma.”

“What about Max?” Jim
asked.

“Peter had a suggestion–” Lia
said.

Peter looked toward the corral.
“And here she comes.” He waved his arm overhead. “Hey,
Chris!”

A tall, stocky woman with a skinny
dog drew near. As she got closer, Lia could see the broad face,
dark hair and hooked nose of Native American ancestry.

“What a handsome Shepherd,” Bailey
said as the dogs approached the newcomer and began sniffing her
hindquarters.

“That’s Boo. She’s a Belgian
Malinois,” Chris said. “They’re cousins of German Shepherds, bred
for scent work.”

“Oh!” Lia said, “You’re the one
who came out to the crime scene the day we found the
bones.”

“That was us.” She stroked Boo’s
head. “Boo did all the work. I just interpreted. I understand one
of these dogs found the remains first.”

“That’s Max,” Lia said, pointing
to the dog now engaged in a mock-battle with Boo.

“I’ve been looking for a second
dog to train. Peter suggested Max had an aptitude for scent work.
I’d like to run her through a couple tests, if that’s
okay.”

Kate and Max followed Chris and Boo
to the small dog park. The rest of the group moved up front to the
fence so they could watch.

“I need three volunteers,” Chris
said.

Lia, Jim and Bailey left their dogs
with Peter and went over. Chris signaled Boo to lay down. She then
had Kate hold Max’s lead while she pulled a plastic jar out of her
pocket and removed a liver treat. She showed the treat to Max, but
kept it out of reach. She took the treat over to the trio of
volunteers and asked them to hold their hands out. She placed the
treat in one palm, out of sight from Max. The trio was instructed
to close their hands into fists and walk to the other end of the
small park. There they were to spread out, then hold their fists
up, two feet apart.

When everyone was in position,
Chris unclipped Max. Max bounded across the park to Jim and jumped
up by his left hand. Jim grinned, told Max to sit and gave her the
treat.

“So far, so good,” Chris
said.

Next, she had Kate take Max around
the picnic shelter to the niche in back that was used to hose off
dogs. Chris took another liver treat and put it inside a Kong ball.
She then tossed the ball into the middle of the park.

Kate released Max on Chris’s
command. Max began searching, nosing around in the grass. It took
her five minutes to find the ball. She was busy digging the treat
out when Chris retrieved the ball, giving the delicacy to
her.

After that, she removed a rag from
a plastic bag and allowed Max to sniff it. She took it to the far
side of the park, then had Kate release Max to see if she would
retrieve it. Chris did this several times with different rags. Max
retrieved rags that held scents of decomposition and live humans.
She was disinterested in the rags scented with chemicals associated
with narcotics, bombs and arson.

“She’s got a good nose and she’s a
high energy dog. She’s definitely got potential,” Chris
said.

“Did Peter tell you she’s an
escape artist?” Lia asked. “How will you ever manage
her?”

“It’s likely she’s bored and wants
something to do. If I give her a job that involves taking her to
the woods, she may get enough stimulation that she doesn’t need to
run off. She’s highly food motivated, so that’s the tool I’ll use
to train her. Presuming the rescue is willing to let me adopt
her.”

“What if she doesn’t work out as a
scent dog?” Lia asked.

“Many dogs who start training
don’t wind up qualifying. I still need a friend for Boo, and they
seem to get along.”

“I’m sure they’ll be delighted for
you to have her, since you have a strategy to work with
her.”

“I’ll call them today,” Chris
said. “Let’s go, Boo.” Boo fell into position at Chris’s
heel.

“That’s what I call a happy
ending,” Bailey declared as they watched Chris exit the
park.

Lia and Peter sat on the back
stoop, enjoying the brief spell of Indian summer. The dogs milled
around in the fading light, checking their scent sites for signs of
intruders, refreshing their spots, and looking for stray sides of
beef.

Lia breathed in deeply, tilting her
head back. “I don’t know why I think I’m going to miss this.
Chances are it’ll be 70 in January.”

“True.” Peter tipped his beer,
then set it aside on the steps. He took Lia’s hand in his, bounced
their joined hands on his thigh, then brought it up to his lips and
kissed her knuckles. He looked off into the darkness. The sky was
indigo, fading into black with one bright star above the horizon.
Venus
, he corrected. Not a star.

“Do you remember the first night
you grilled dinner for me? We slow-danced here in the yard while
night fell. I looked up and saw the first star and I made a wish.”
He took another swig from his beer. “Do you want to know what I
wished for?”

“I don’t know. Do I?”

“I wanted to get in your
pants.”

Lia sputtered, “I’m glad I wasn’t a
forgone conclusion.”

“You never are. It’s one of the
things I love about you.”

“Oh, really?”

“I got you something.” He pulled a
hinged velvet box out of the pocket of his windbreaker and held it
out.

Lia eyed the little box, the box
that was sized just right for a ring, as if it were fanged and
venomous.

“Aren’t you going to open it?”
Peter asked, eyes wide and innocence.

“And ruin the suspense?” Lia
stalled.

“Chicken,” he accused
amiably.

“Uh-huh.”

“Excuse me, that should be
Ma
Poulette
, as long as I’m calling you a barnyard animal.” He
popped open the box with his thumb. A small lump flashed color as
light from the kitchen hit it. “I thought you might like this.” He
slipped his finger through the end of a long silver chain and
lifted. He drew the chain slowly out of the box until the small
rock swung free, dangling between them.

“You.” She poked him in the chest.
“You did that on purpose, making me think you were going to
propose. That was a dirty trick.”

“I have to get my kicks where I
can.” He grinned and chucked her chin.

She stuck her tongue out at him,
then reached over and took the gem in her hand, turning it slowly
so the color winked. It was an opal, oval shaped, about a half inch
in diameter. The stone was surrounded by a thin layer of matrix. It
nestled in an arrangement of interwoven silver strands.

“It’s beautiful. It looks like an
egg in a nest.”

“It’s about us.”

“Is it now?” She tilted her head,
gave him a coy look.

“I wanted to give you something
special, something to remind you how I feel about you. I was 12
when I found that opal. I went on a rock hounding trip out to
Nevada with my Boy Scout troop. The scoutmaster’s brother was a
rock guy, and he showed me how to polish the top of it. Opals are
fragile, so we left the rest of it alone. He said we might destroy
the stone if we cut it, so we kept it in the matrix with this
window on top so you can see how beautiful it is
inside.”

“You kept this since you were a
child, and you’re giving it to me?”

“Yep. I thought about a ring, but
rings seem to be about commitment, and I don’t want this to be
about that. And a ring isn’t practical for you since you work with
your hands.”

“So, what is it about, Barnyard
Whisperer?” The air between them seemed to tingle while she waited
for Peter to gather his thoughts.

“You gave me a piece of yourself
when you left me that painting a year ago. I wanted you to have a
piece of me.

“This is like a talisman. People
wear talismans around their neck, don’t they? So you can keep a
part of me near your heart. And the opal is precious and beautiful,
like this thing we have between us. Our relationship is a living
thing, like an egg. We have to protect it and nurture it. It’s full
of wonderful possibilities. It’s still an egg, so we don’t know
what it’s going to be yet.”

She leaned into him and kissed him.
“I love it. You have unplumbed depths, Kentucky Boy.” She handed
him the charm and turned her back. “Put it on me?”

Peter undid the clasp and draped
the necklace around her. He cinched it, then rubbed her
back.

“There’s more.”

“More?”

“When I talked to Alma that time,
she said in a good relationship, partners are each other’s heros. I
want you to know that you’re my hero.”

“Really?”

“You look for the good in people
and you remind me to look for it, too. I spend all my time
protecting people from the harm others do, and many of the people I
deal with couldn't care less about anything besides
themselves.

“Then there’s you, spending all
your time making the world a more beautiful place. When I’m with
you, I remember there’s another side of life. I love what I do, and
it’s important. Being with you gives it more meaning. You remind me
of what I’m protecting.”

She leaned her head on his
shoulder, wrapped her arms around him and gave him a squeeze.
“You’re my hero, Kentucky Boy.”

Peter grimaced. “I can’t be much of
one. I never seem to show up in time to rescue you.”

“You show up. That’s what
matters.”

She’s the Max

She’s the big kahuna

She’s the Max

She likes to eat canned
tuna

She doesn’t use a spoon-a

She’s the Max

Her name should be
Houdini

She’s the Max

She thinks that I’m a
meanie

She always tries to flee
me

She’s the Max

And she brings back
treasure

She’s the Max

It’s her one big pleasure

Admonishments don’t faze
her

Simba, model for the cover of
Maximum Security
, is the winner of my Cover Dog Photo
Contest. His dad, Jerome Wilson, owns Northside Grange, just like
in the book.

Brian Dempsey is an old friend who
agreed to appear in this novel (Congratulations to Brian and Tammy
on their recent marriage.)

Named places in
Maximum
Security
are real. Dollar Hut is the one exception, though you
have probably been in a store like it. Individual homes are a
combination of several houses. They are true to the neighborhood,
but do not exist as described. There is a very private copse of
evergreens in French Park, though I have never had occasion to put
it to the same use as Peter and Lia.

The quote Terry cites regarding
marriage has been attributed to both Samuel Johnson and Oscar
Wilde. I leave it to you to decide who the true author
is.

The synastry reading Bailey does
for Peter and Lia is based on real charts. For anyone who is
interested, Lia Anderson was “born” 6:30 a.m., October 18, 1982 in
Cincinnati, OH. Peter was “born” 9:10 a.m., January 3, 1981,
Mammoth Cave, KY.

Grave disasters, such as the one
which occurred in this book, do happen. Google it, if you don’t
believe me.

In
Maximum Security
, Carleen
is a victim of domestic violence, and Asia questions Lia out of
concern that Peter’s protective behavior may in fact be a prelude
to abuse. What may not be obvious is that George is a victim of
Monica’s verbal and emotional abuse.

Domestic violence is a complex
issue taking many forms. Many of the initial behaviors may seem
harmless or even flattering. One thing that is consistent with
domestic violence is escalating boundary violations: the abuse
always gets worse.

If you need information or help,
please contact The National Domestic Violence Hotline at
www.thehotline.org
or 1800-799-7233

A book does not appear in a vacuum.
Behind every author is a group of people who make it possible for
the author to share their vision with the world. The dog park
regulars who inspired my series have embraced the books and become
my street team.

John Cunningham is my lead
salesman. Desiree Willis is a beta reader and my aspiring PR
director. Angie Hall is my most brutal beta. She and her husband,
Paul Kramer, have always been there when I needed support, no
matter what or when. She-who-refuses-to-be-named turns her gimlet
eye to my MS, providing that last proof-read/edit before
publishing. Ski donated a Kindle Fire to the cause, changing my
life with functionality apps. Marti Dourson wrote an article about
me. Tom Sansalone is my rock.