Sneak Thief (A Dog Park Mystery) (28 page)

Brent dropped Peter back at Lia's.

When she let him in, he nodded at a pillow and comforter stacked on the end of the couch.

“I guess that's for me.”

“I'm sorry, Peter, I just can't be with you right now. I'm not going to pretend I didn't enjoy being with you last night, but that was sex. It didn't change anything. You can stay, but you and I are still on hold. I don't want to confuse all of this with my feelings for you. It's too much right now. It would be too easy to ignore the fact that we haven't resolved anything.”

Peter wanted to hold Lia and shake her and tell her last night was a hell of a lot more than sex, that he knew she felt it, that it had resolved a whole hell of a lot for him, that there was no way he was going to let her go now. Wisely, he thought about his childhood in the Kentucky forests, waiting patiently for small animals to lose their fear of him.

“Okay,” he compromised. “I'll sleep out here, but if you start having bad dreams, I'm coming in.”

He camped on the couch, Viola curled on the floor next to him, his fingers buried in her fur.

P
eter woke
to Viola nuzzling his face. Three more pairs of canine eyes stared at him from the side of the couch as if he were the source of all things wonderful. They watched as sat up and scrubbed his face with one hand, then twisted his back to pop out the kinks.
I suppose now they expect me to juggle.

Peter pulled his jeans on and wandered towards the back of the apartment, lured by the sound of Lia bustling around the kitchen. The dogs followed on his heels. “Why are they following me? Did you refuse to feed them?”

“They must think you're a soft touch,” Lia said, pouring a cup of coffee and setting a bowl on the table at his usual place. “Have you been sneaking them biscuits when I'm not looking?”

“I plead the fifth.” He let the dogs out in the back yard, then stared down into the bowl of shredded carrots. “What the heck is this?”

“This is breakfast,” Lia said, pouring him coffee, “unless you want to root out the stale Pop Tart that may be hiding in the back of my cabinets.”

Peter sat down, gamely picked up a fork and poked through the shreds. “What, exactly, is in here?”

“Carrots, apple, lemon juice, olive oil, curry . . . .”

So far, Peter thought, it didn't sound too bad. “What are these little round things with the white tails?”

“Lentil sprouts.” She watched closely for his reaction.

“Umm . . . sounds wonderful.” He plunged his fork in, gamely reminding himself that it was food, and someone, somewhere, ate it and didn't die. He took a mouthful. Chewed. Chewed some more. Swallowed. Took a sip of coffee.

“Well?” Lia asked.

“It tastes like carpet, wrapped in an enigma and drowned with lemon juice.”

“Give it here,” Lia sighed. “I think there's a bagel left from yesterday.”

“Sorry, Babe. I can't help it if I was raised on Frosted Flakes and bacon. Forgive me?”

”I'll just wait a few years until you start feeling like crap and gaining weight. Then we'll talk.”

Peter gratefully snagged the last blueberry bagel and popped it in the toaster. He watched with fascination as Lia consumed her bowl of carrot and lentil salad with a gusto usually reserved for triple chocolate ice cream. He wondered if she was putting on a show, just for him. No one could be that enthusiastic about lentil sprouts, could they?

She emerged from her bowl of forage. “What's on your dance card today?”

“I'm going to hunt up that reference to a rose cut stone and see where it takes me. Brent is running Eric Flynn. You?”

“After I take the dogs out, I'm going back to the convalescent center. I haven't made up my mind about Scholastic yet. At least I have the weekend to think about it. Are you coming back tonight?”

“That's the plan.”

“You might as well leave Viola here, then.”

L
ia was sitting
at the park with Bailey and Terry when Eric called. She scowled at the number on the screen and hit ‘reject.' Terry raised his eyebrows at Bailey and neither commented.

“
C
ynth
, what the hell is a spinel?” Peter and Cynth were reviewing the stack of 27 like crimes, searching for any references to a rose cut. It was after lunch when Peter finally found it.

“Beats me,” Cynth said, not looking up from the file she was scanning. “Animal vegetable or mineral?”

“Mineral. It's jewelry. I'm assuming it'a a gem of some kind. This listing of jewelry stolen from Hatch lists a '20 carat, oval, rose-cut spinel pendant in a gold prong setting, valued at $4,000. '” He pulled up Google on his computer and typed “spinel” in the search bar. “‘Rarer than rubies, but often mistaken for them, undervalued despite their scarcity. . . .' Rubies means red, so that couldn't be Lia's pendant.”

Cynth left her seat, read over his shoulder. One graceful but deadly hand rested lightly on his back. Cynth was inclined to casual touching. Today it was a distraction. He leaned forward, away from the contact.

“Down at the bottom,” Cynth said, pointing. “Looks like you can find spinel in any color you want. Doesn't it list the color in the report?”

“Nope.”

“Pictures?”

Peter shuffled through the file. “Nada.”

“Do you want to see if the insurance company still has photos, or shall I?”

“I'll do it, though I can't see why anyone would create so much havoc over a $4,000 piece of jewelry, even with inflation.” Hopefully they would email him a jpeg and he could forward it to Lia. He set the file aside and tossed the remains of lunch - a stack of napkins, empty Wendy's wrappers and a few cold fries mired in congealing ketchup - while Cynth stacked the rest of the files.

Peter wandered over to the soda machine to stretch his legs, bought a Pepsi to sustain him for what he expected to be a long afternoon of phone calls. As he bent down to retrieve it from the machine, a heavy hand fell on his shoulder.

“Hey, Dourson, can't you hang onto your girl? We hear Brainard got shot because someone grabbed her, right in front of you. That's got to be pretty embarrassing, especially now that Brainard is telling everyone he figures he's got an in with her, since he got shot on her behalf.”

“Brainard,” Peter gritted out, “got wounded because he thought being a cop would be a piece of cake after Iraq and didn't bother to wear his vest. Lia isn't impressed by stupidity. If she was, she'd be hanging all over you two.”

“If she doesn't like stupid, what's she doing with you, Dourson?”

“Speaking of stupid, did you close Willis yet?”

“Hey, Peter, what are you doing with this pair of pencil-dicks?” Cynth asked, joining the fray.

Peter snorted.

“Your mother know you talk like that?” Heckle asked.

“Who do you think taught me?” Cynth said cheerfully.

Heckle and Jeckle headed on down the hall. Peter heard one of them hiss “dyke” under his breath.

Cynth grabbed Peter's arm. “Let it go. I hear plenty worse from the neanderthal contingency.”

By late afternoon, Peter had a jpeg featuring a purple spinel. He shot it off to Lia's phone, then gave her a call.

“
Y
ou should have called me
,” Brainard told Lia from his hospital bed. “Those creeps would have never laid a hand on you if I'd been there when they showed up.”

“I'm just glad you were there. I'm sorry you got hurt.”

“You know what they say,” Brainard deepened his voice in a bad John Wayne imitation, “All in the line of duty, ma'am.” Lia mentally rolled her eyes.

A pretty young nurse bustled in, neatly stepped between Lia and Brainard. “Time for your meds, Paul.” She shot Lia an evil look while Brainard downed his pills. “How are you feeling?” she cooed. “Are you in any pain?”

“Not as long as I'm looking at you,” he said, flashing her a grin and a wink. “You'll stop back in before your shift is over?”

“Maybe,” she said with a coy tilt of her head. She smirked at Lia and sashayed out. Lia rolled her eyes, for real this time.

“Gotta flirt with the nurses,” he explained, “if you want the good meds.”

Uh huh.
“Do you know how long you'll be here?”

“I imagine they'll kick me loose in a day or two. I'll be on medical leave for at least two weeks, with nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs.”

“I imagine you'll think of something,” Lia said, regretting that she'd felt obligated to visit the man.

“Will you come see me?” He put on a sad-puppy face.

“I, uh, I'm really busy with a mural and a part time job right now.” Her phone beeped. She pulled up a text from Peter. She read ‘See jpeg. Is this it?' “Wow, looks like I'm late for a meeting. I'm so glad you're feeling better.” She started to squeeze his hand, then thought better of it. The man would mistake any compassion for attraction. She jumped up. When she was a safe distance away, she gave him a quick wave and ducked out.

Lia sat at the nearest waiting area, pulled up her email and opened the picture. There, resting on black velvet, was Desiree's necklace. She called Peter.

“That's it,” she told Peter. “It was stolen? Twenty years ago? How did Desiree get her hands on it?”

“That's the question, isn't it?”

“
G
oodness
, brother, isn't that interesting?” Brent said when Peter tagged him with the news.

“What's even more interesting, the lady happened to work for a jeweler.”

“Why don't we play dumb and see what Mr. A. Vasari has to say about Desiree's little trinket?”

A
lfonso Vasari smiled
when Peter and Brent entered his store. He waved them back to the counter. “Good to see you, Officer Dourson! You ready for me to make another gift for your lady?”

“Not today. We're hoping you can help us with a little information,” Peter said.