Sneak Thief (A Dog Park Mystery) Read online

  Sneak Thief

  Lia Anderson Dog Park Mystery 4

  C. A. Newsome

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, places and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously for verisimilitude.

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  Sneak Thief

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  Copyright © 2015 by Carol Ann Newsome

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  All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the author.

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  Portrait of Julia by Carol Ann Newsome

  Cover Design by Elizabeth Mackey

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  Two Pup Press

  Cincinnati, Ohio

  Created with Vellum

  To my readers, for making this great adventure possible.

  Prologue

  “Come back here, you little sneak!”

  Clad only in panties, arms waving, Desiree lunged across the top of her unmade bed. She grabbed for the baby-blue underwire dangling from her Beagle’s mouth.

  “Julia, I mean it!”

  Julia reared back as Desiree’s fingers brushed her muzzle in a failed attempt to reclaim the frilly wisp of satin. Desiree slipped on the covers, burying her face in a pile of throw pillows. She lifted her head. For a moment the pair froze, Desiree’s murderous eye boring through the bedclothes to meet Julia’s mutinous ones.

  Julia tilted her head and considered her options. The Beagle jumped off the far side of the bed and dashed out the door with the saliva-stained bra streaming behind her like a medieval battle standard. Desiree shrieked and raced after the reprobate. Her lush body disappeared into the living room, leaving only the rumpled bedclothes behind.

  The monitor screen winked out, turning the tiny room into a black void populated with a faint scattering of metallic reflections like faraway stars.

  “Whew.” The Watcher leaned back in his chair with a dazed grin on his face. If Desiree only knew there was a spy cam in her bedroom. He couldn’t believe his luck the week before, when she said she’d been late to work because her alarm clock died. Easy enough to say he had a spare an aunt had given him for Christmas. Overnight shipping for the clock with the hidden surveillance camera had been astronomical, but worth it. She’d been so appreciative when he handed it to her, thanking him with a coy smile that made his knees wobbly. No, thank you, Desiree. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

  When he went her apartment earlier that day, The Watcher expected the difficulty to lie in retrieving the clock’s data card and swapping it out for a new one. He’d never been to her house and hadn’t known where she lived until he snuck a GPS monitor—purchased at the same time as the clock—under the wheel well of her car. Monitoring her movements from his cell phone gave him her location without the risk of discovery. Today he’d been unable to resist his urges any longer and had gone after the tiny card.

  The two-family Victorian Desiree lived in lurked behind hedges that hadn’t seen clippers since the turn of the millennium. The Watcher walked up to the porch as if he belonged and looked at the mail boxes. Just checking to see what floor my friend lives on, nothing going on here, nothing to see. He didn’t really believe in Jedi mind-tricks, but he mimicked Obi-wan Kenobi’s signature hand gesture anyway.

  The Watcher fake-rapped on the door and turned around, hands on hips, as if waiting for someone to answer. While he was doing this, he scanned the sidewalk and the houses across the street. A skill saw whined next door and he could hear a hammer pounding, but no one was outside.

  He walked around the side of the house and ran into a six-foot privacy fence. Damn. Shoulda kept up with the chin-ups. He eyed the rolling garbage bin next door, wondering if it would hold his weight, then dragged over a lichen covered-Adirondack chair instead. The Watcher straddled the chair, one foot on each broad armrest. Grabbing the top of the fence, he set one foot on the top of the backrest and boosted himself up. Once over the fence and away from prying eyes, discovery of a large dog door in Desiree’s kitchen door surprised a snort out of him. He tipped the door with one cautious toe. It swung in easily, unlocked. Piece of cake.

  It was a tight fit, eeling through the low opening. He’d had a rough moment when, his head through the hole and his arms pinned to his sides, a barking dog raced into the kitchen to confront him. Dog door. Dog. Duh. The mutt stopped a few feet away and curled its lip, growling. Having no other options, The Watcher stilled. Think possum. Think possum. The mutt spent a full minute asserting her property rights, then advanced to the door, sniffed The Watcher’s nose and started licking his face. The Watcher slumped, the breath he’d held gusting out of him like a deflating balloon. He continued worming his way through the pet door and rewarded the incompetent watch dog with a marrow bone from a package on top of the fridge.

  The Watcher hadn’t expected the dog. But Julia—her tag said her name was Julia— only wanted to play. It looked like Julia was going to make his pursuit of Desiree Willis even more entertaining than anticipated.

  Desiree, lovely, lovely Desiree, with the magnificent breasts. Desiree of the smoky voice that whispered to him in dreams where she lay in his bed, the pale green tips of her spiky hair like a verdigris crown against his shoulder and her pearly, pale blue eyes adoring beneath long sooty lashes. Sweaty dreams that woke him night after night. He’d known about the barb-wire tattoo wrapped around her biceps. Now he knew about the Celtic trinity symbol on her shoulder blade and the sweet, winged heart on the small of her back. He had to learn everything about her. When he made his move, he wanted it to be perfect. Perfect for her would mean perfect for him.

  So Julia liked to steal underwear. That could come in handy. Desiree wouldn’t think anything of it if a pair of her panties went missing. He marked that last segment of the video file and exported it as a looping clip. The Watcher leaned back in his chair to see it again.

  1

  Friday, April 18

  Lia leaned over to peer at the odd squiggle on Desiree’s monitor. “Is that supposed to be a bicycle?”

  Desiree sighed. In the vast array of computers that was Scholastic Scoring Systems, it was an insignificant gesture.

  “I guess so. A bicycle in a wreck with a tree. I think he’s trying to say, if he were riding the bike at the speed they said in the question, he wouldn’t have been able to stop. Proficiency testing is whack. Fourth-graders think they’re so cute. After grading the same question 5,000 times, they’re a freaking riot.” She rolled her eyes.

  Lia tilted her head sideways to get a better look. “I don’t know, I like the added touch of the body on the ground. The broken arm really makes it. What’s that blob?”

  Desiree squinted. “Blood, maybe? But I can’t give him any credit for this, can I?”

  Lia shrugged. “You’re asking the wrong person.” She shot her hand up in the air to grab their Team Leader’s attention. She already knew what the answer was, but Eric liked to feel needed. And he’d get a kick out of the little sketch.

  Eric bopped over to their row—he was much too energetic to merely walk—and stood behind the women. He stroked a trim red beard and raised his eyebrows as he examined Desiree’s screen.

  “What should I do with this?” Desiree asked. “This kid clearly knows the answer.”

  “He doesn’t state it directly, and he doesn’t show his work. We can’t give points for artwork. No matter how creative it is.” Eric folded his arms and gave her a mock-stern look over his glasses. “You know the rules.”

  Desiree slumped back in her chair and twisted her mouth. “I guess. You’re no fun, Eric.”

  “I’m not supposed to be fun. Just con
sistent.”

  “You’re fun on Fridays, when you bring us chocolate.” Lia toasted him with her half-eaten Nestle’s Crunch bar. “Do you get an allowance for all the treats you give us?”

  “What? No, of course not.”

  Eric’s head popped up, his attention caught by a waving hand two rows up in the expanse of monitors.

  Lia watched as Eric bounced off to settle another question. “You know, he’s kinda cute for a short guy.”

  “I’m so over that whole shaved head thing,” Desiree said. “I ran into it a lot at The Comet. I thought you had a boyfriend?”

  “I was thinking for you.”

  “You think so?” Desiree made a moue. “I don’t know . . . I usually go for bad boy types. Eric is just so . . . chipper. And I usually like them taller.”

  The two women considered Eric Flynn as he bent over a retiree’s monitor. He was actually taller than he looked, since he tended to lead with his head, leaning forward as if he couldn’t wait to get where he was going. Lia pegged him in his late twenties. Blue eyes, the shade of the sky on a crisp autumn day, hid behind heavy, black-framed glasses.

  Lia wondered if his shaved head was due to early male pattern baldness, style or politics. Perhaps inspired by a bout with cancer? She thought his Batman hoodie showed just the right amount of humor. Desiree’s coppery hair with its blue-green tips would look cute next to Eric’s Buddy Holly glasses and baggy—not saggy—jeans.

  What guy wouldn’t go for Desiree? Lia always caught men staring at the shorter woman’s packed, curvy figure. She looked up to see Avery, the room supervisor, watching them from the corner of his eye as he strolled down the center aisle separating the computers like Moses parting the Red Sea. His eyes flicked away when Lia caught him ogling her scoring partner. Case in point.

  Desiree seemed oblivious. Or maybe she was just used to it. Though it was probably self-defense. Still, Lia couldn’t imagine any woman wanting to encourage Avery. The guy was a prissy tyrant in Ralph Lauren his mother bought at a factory outlet. Ugh.

  She nudged Desiree. “Back to work. Avery is looking over here.”

  Lia and Desiree were hunched over their monitors when Eric came back. They looked up at him with wide, owl eyes.

  “Why do I think you girls—excuse me, women—are plotting something?”

  “Who, us?” Desiree blinked, a suspiciously blank expression on her face. “We’re just scoring away here. Was there something you wanted, Bwana?”

  Eric’s lips twitched. He leaned over and tapped a little figure made of crumpled aluminum foil that was sitting on top of Desiree’s monitor. “Who’s this funny little guy?”

  “I found him clinging to my car antenna yesterday. Cute, isn’t he?”

  “I think Desiree has an admirer,” Lia said.

  Desiree rolled her eyes and huffed. “Whatever.”

  “Just be sure to take him with you when you leave tonight,” Eric said. “First shift gets wiggy if the work stations aren’t pristine when they show up.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Some people have no sense of humor.”

  “First shift sure doesn’t,” Eric agreed. “Back to work. We’ve got the best stats in the room. You don’t want to ruin that for us, do you?”

  Avery looked up at the clock. “Be back by 7:33,” he announced to the room.

  Lia and Desiree grabbed their bags and joined the crowd heading for the break room. “You seem a bit off tonight. Didn’t you get any sleep?” Lia asked.

  Desiree smirked. “No, but it was on purpose.”

  “Brian?”

  “Brian is so last week. This was Claude. Remember, I told you about him.”

  “The guy with the sexy accent?”

  “That’s him. Too bad he’s only going to be here for a few more days.”

  “I don’t know where you get the energy. Oh, look, there’s Terry. I want you to meet him.” Lia waved at the chunky man sitting at a far table in the break room and pointed to the kitchen. She mouthed, “Be right there,” before she and Desiree joined the line at the coffee machine.

  “I hate drinking coffee this late,” Desiree said, “but that last hour is murder without it. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. If I drink it, I’ll have a hard time making it to the shop in the morning.” She sighed and the line inched forward. “I’ve got to get through tonight. Tomorrow will have to take care of itself.”

  “You never mentioned what your day job was,” Lia said.

  “I make jewelry for this place off Ludlow.”

  “Really?” Lia reached for a cup and filled it under the coffee spigot. “What kind?”

  “I’m assembling stuff. It’s monkey work, but it’s a step up from the beading I do at home. Al has a line of jewelry that he sells wholesale. He promised to teach me real jewelry making—casting and setting stones and stuff—if I stick around long enough.”

  “Sounds fun.” Coffees in hand, the pair snaked between tables to the back of the room where Terry sat. “Hey Terry, this is Desiree. She lives in Northside and makes jewelry.”

  “Indeed?” Terry Dunn tilted his head back so he could see Desiree clearly through the mid range portion of his trifocal lenses. He was a rudy-complected man of average height in his early sixties. He sported a white, bushy mustache and a buzz cut. His tee shirt read “GUN SAFETY - Until You are Ready to Fire, Keep Your Booger Hook Off the Bang Switch.” Lia thought he looked like Teddy Roosevelt.

  “Terry spent last Christmas singing Cthulhu carols by the light of TV snow. He says the static contains remnants of light from the Big Bang.”

  "We were chanting. One does not 'sing' to honor the ancient one."

  “How nice to meet you. What’s a cachoola?” She flashed her best smile at Terry.

  Terry preened. “Why, have you never heard of H. P. Lovecraft?”

  Lia mentally shook her head, amused. Good thing I have a sense of humor. A girl could get an inferiority complex hanging out with Desiree. She has Terry wrapped around her pinky and she’s only practicing.

  Lia Anderson stood several slender inches over Desiree’s scant five feet. Chestnut hair was messily twisted into a knot on the back of Lia’s head, held in place with a ruined paintbrush serving as a hair pick. High cheekbones and tilted moss green eyes gave her a slightly exotic look. Always casual about her appearance, she usually wore jeans and men’s tee shirts. And she felt like a bag lady next to Desiree.

  “… so you like guns. People here are so interesting. What brought you to Scholastic?”

  “Lia,” Terry volunteered, “is a painter. She decided to donate her time creating murals for the Belmont Convalescent Care Center this spring, so she works evenings to pay the rent. When I told her I was looking for a part time job, she referred me.”

  “Wow,” Desiree said, looking at Lia. “You never told me you were a real artist. I only play one on TV. What about you, Terry?”

  “Alas, my lady love moved back to Idaho to be near her grandchildren. I retired, but I am now stuck with paying all the bills until I find a room-mate.”

  Lia pulled a plastic container out of her tote, pulled the lid off, and dug her fork in.

  Desiree leaned over, wrinkled her nose. “What is that?”

  “Curried carrot and lentil salad,” Lia said, munching.

  “But the lentils have little tails.”

  “Raw lentil sprouts,” Terry explained while Lia ate.

  “Raw?” The look of horror on Desiree’s face had Lia hiding a grin. People can be so squeamish about food.

  “I have a wonderful recipe for a lentil salad,” Terry said. “Cooked lentils, of course. You have to be careful with lentils. There is a very small window between buckshot and total mush—“

  “Raw food is the best kind to eat, and lentils are extremely healthy. I am determined to find a recipe for lentil sprouts that I like,” Lia said.

  “And do you? Like that, I mean,” Desiree asked, pointing at Lia’s salad, which resembled a compost heap.

&n
bsp; “Like is such a funny word. It’s edible and it gives me a lot of energy.”

  Desiree shuddered and turned to Terry. “How do you and Lia know each other?”

  “I was just an innocent lad—” Terry began.

  “Don’t listen to him,” Lia said, pointing at Terry with her fork. “We’ve known each other for years from the dog park.”

  “Is that the Mount Airy Dog Park? I’ve wanted to go there since I got Julia.”

  “You should join us,” Terry said. “Oops, time to get back to work. Lia, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  Desiree watched Terry exit. “He likes guns and worships monsters. You’re friends with this guy?”

  “I figure he’ll be useful during the coming zombie invasion.”

  A trio of black noses forced the front door open as Lia unlocked it. Lia bent down to pet Honey, her Golden Retriever and Chewy, her Miniature Schnauzer. A medium-sized dog with plush black fur shoved between her and the others, whimpering excitedly as she shimmied her butt and licked at Lia’s hand.

  “Look at you, Viola. If you’re here, your daddy must be here, too. Where is he?”

  Detective Peter Dourson stretched his rangy, six-foot-two frame on the couch, watching basketball on the flat screen TV he’d given Lia for Christmas. Lia said hello to the dogs and let them out the back door, then sat down beside him on the edge of the Mission style couch and brushed the hair off his forehead.

  “Chief Roller’s going to be after you to get it cut any day now. Shame. The retro Beatle bangs are cute.”

  Peter grunted and kept his eyes on the screen as LeBron James faked out a pair of Celtics and made a dash for the basket. The Cavaliers made the expected two points and Peter clenched his fist in a modified fist-pump.