Maximum Security (A Dog Park Mystery)

  Maximum Security

  A Lia Anderson Dog Park Mystery

  by

  C. A. Newsome

  For everyone whose family is made, not born.

  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.

  Maximum Security

  Copyright 2013 by Carol Ann Newsome

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

  Cover art by Carol Ann Newsome

  Published at Smashwords

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Day 1

  Day 2

  Day 3

  Day 4

  Day 5

  Day 6

  Day 7

  Day 8

  Day 9

  Day 10

  Day 11

  Day 12

  Day 13

  Day 14

  Day 15

  Day 16

  Day 17

  Day 18

  Epilogue

  Max’s Song

  Author’s Notes

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Thirty Years Ago, in Norman, Oklahoma

  Madonna blared from maxed-out speakers as Kitty stumbled from the house, away from the juvenile puke fest going on inside. She was furious at herself for letting Tom bring her when she knew it wasn’t her kind of party. Blinded by the night and unsure of her direction, she checked her momentum and blinked, adjusting to the darkness.

  She spotted Joe across the road, leaning against his Chevy pickup under a burned-out street light. He had one foot propped behind him on the rusted fender and his arms folded across his chest.

  His real name was George, but only his teachers called him that. Everyone called him Injun Joe, or just Joe. She wondered if the tough crowd he hung with knew he’d named himself after a Mark Twain villain. Probably not.

  He was a little shorter than she was, with skin that browned as soon as the sun came out and straight black hair almost down to his shoulder blades. He wore jeans and work boots in spite of the summer swelter. His shirt was unbuttoned and a narrow strip of chest showed in a concession to the heat. He remained motionless while smoke curled from his cigarette, playing hide and seek with one high cheekbone.

  Joe watched her with those dark eyes, his chin lifted, provoking her with a hint of a sneer. He gave her a faint nod. Acknowledgment? Or just affirming his own judgement of her personal drama?

  Oh, Yeah? Kitty abruptly changed course and headed for the old truck. Think you know me?

  “Give me one of those,” she demanded, gesturing to his cigarette.

  “You don’t smoke, Buttercup.” He lazily placed the filter between his lips and drew. The end lit up, illuminating his face, red pinpoints in his eyes giving him a predatory look.

  “Don’t call me that. And how would you know?”

  “I know a lot of things about you. Buttercup.”

  She ignored the provocation. “Like what?” She challenged.

  “Like you’re too smart for that asshole you date, for one.”

  “And?”

  “What are you doing here, Buttercup? Aren’t you afraid your grade point average is going to drop?”

  “I’m not some nerd. Give me one of those,” she repeated.

  “Aren’t you, now?” He kept his eyes on hers as he pulled the pack of Marlboros from his shirt pocket and shook one out.

  Kitty took the cigarette and held it up, waiting. “What are you doing out here, anyway? This isn’t exactly your scene.”

  “Just enjoying the show.” He lit a match, cupping it in the still air as he held the flame for her. His hand brushed hers. An electric sensation pulsed through her as their fingers touched. Had he felt it? She stepped back and puffed, nurturing the ember.

  Kitty looked away and dragged on her cigarette. She knew better than to take it into her lungs. She blew out carefully to avoid coughing.

  She looked sideways at him. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

  He shrugged. “You going to inhale that thing?”

  “Are you always this rude?”

  “Usually. Remind me not to share a joint with you. I hate waste.”

  “Do you want it back?” Kitty held her cigarette out to him. He took it from her, gently tamped it out on the side of his truck, put it back in the pack.

  She crossed her arms. “I just wanted something to do with my hands.”

  “I can think of plenty you could do with your hands, Buttercup.”

  “Why do you call me that?”

  He grinned. “Because it bugs you.”

  “Gee, thanks, George.”

  “Now that’s just mean.”

  Kitty huffed. Light and noise erupted from the house as the front door opened, drawing her attention. Tom was silhouetted in the party din. He stormed into the yard, bearing down on them.

  “Get me out of here.”

  “Trouble in paradise, Buttercup?”

  “Can we just go?”

  “Where to?” The driver’s-side door squealed as he opened it for her.

  She climbed in and scooted past the steering wheel. “Anywhere.”

  “Not home?”

  “No way.”

  She looked through the rear window as they pulled out. Tom was in the middle of the street, hands fisted on hips, enraged. She leaned back against the bench seat, smug.

  She’d spent the last month as Tom’s girl. Being Tom’s girl mostly meant being the adoring witness to his awesomeness. It was boring. She could be one of a dozen females, and any one of the others could slide neatly into her place without Tom ever noticing or caring.

  At least she hadn’t “done it” with him. He’d pushed, he’d kept pushing. Whatever she was supposed to feel when the most popular guy in school wanted you, she hadn’t felt it. So she kept saying no. She took a moment to be relieved.

  Joe had been her only option for a quick escape from the party. She now took a moment to wonder if she’d jumped from the frying pan into the fire. At least he was fully aware of her. She couldn’t explain how she knew this. She felt amazingly . . . something. Amazingly . . . alive. The New Age types said something about “being present in the present moment.” She’d never known what that meant before now.

  She lowered her lashes and observed Joe from the corner of her eye as he tucked another cigarette between his lips, the same one she’d started, and coaxed it back to life from the old one. They rode in silence punctuated by the whining and grinding of the truck’s gears. He headed out of town, then turned off on a section line road.

  “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going anywhere, Buttercup. You ever been there?”

  “I guess not.”

  Should she be worried? She’d heard about boys who drove girls out in the country and refused to drive them back home unless they put out. The stories were vague. It always happened to “this girl,” or “my friend told me about a friend of hers.” Never any names, of the girl, of the guy.

  If it came to that, she’d be able to spot the town lights over the tree line. A long walk might be just what she needed to cool down. She discovered part of her was still spoiling for a fight.

  The boy beside her was silent as he drove, right hand on the wheel, left elbow resting on the door frame. He’d barely touched her, just the once, when he lit her borrowed cigarette. He gave no hint to his intentions, no clue what was going to happen next. She felt prickly all over, as each moment, each mile took her further int
o the unknown. She didn’t know if she liked the feeling, but she wasn’t bored.

  The motor droned as she hung her arm out the window and felt the air rushing through her fingers. She wondered what he was thinking.

  The fields gave way to woods that crowded the road, rising over them and blocking out the sky. Joe turned onto a lane that was barely more than a pair of tire tracks in the high grass. He jammed his cigarette into the ashtray and put both hands on the wheel. The truck humped and bucked over ruts and fallen branches. Trees closed in around them, shutting out everything except the bouncing headlights. Then the track disappeared.

  “End of the line, Buttercup. Everybody out.” He grabbed a blanket from behind the seat and hopped down.

  “What is this place?”

  “You’ll see. Come on.”

  She got out of the truck, stumbled on a tussock of grass. “I can’t see anything. You must have eyes like a cat.”

  “Scared?” He was a gray smudge against the trees.

  “You wish,” she lied.

  He ghosted over to her.

  “Here.” He took her hand in his own firm, dry one, leading her down an invisible path. Gradually her eyes adapted to the void and she began to see a faint movement in the air ahead.

  A clearing opened up around them, full of flitting, flickering points of light dancing in the night air. Thousands of fireflies filled the space. They blinked in the grass, They hung from the branches, they flashed in the surrounding air. The minute beacons spiraled from the ground up into the tree tops, merging with the stars in an endless kaleidoscope.

  “Oh!” She grabbed Joe’s arm. She could feel him grinning beside her.

  He spread the blanket on the ground, pulling her down next to him as he sat. She bolted up, startled. His arm came around her, warm and strong. She stiffened, caught in her own indecision like a small forest creature trapped in headlights. She should protest. Why wasn't she protesting?

  “Relax,” he whispered into her ear. She turned to look at him. His face was deep shadows and silver in the starlight. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I just like to come here when I’m mad at the world. You seemed plenty mad to me.”

  “How did you find this place?”

  He shrugged. “Just driving around. Sometimes I like to camp out. This is one of my spots.”

  “This is amazing.”

  “I like it. All those bugs are supposed to be mating. The ones sitting still and blinking are the females. The males are the ones flying around. Only some of them are a different species, and they mimic the females to draw the other males near so they can eat them.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “It’s life. Firefly light is the most efficient in the world. It’s called cold light because all of the energy becomes light. In a light bulb, almost all of the energy creates heat and only ten percent becomes light.”

  She turned to him. “How do you know all this?”

  He shrugged again. “I like knowing stuff.”

  “You’ve got everyone fooled.”

  “I like finding out about things. It’s school I can’t stand. Some species have eggs that glow when they’re poked.”

  “You’re putting me on.”

  “Nope.” He grinned like a small boy with a secret.

  She looked up, taking in the luminous display above her. She felt light, as if she might float up among the tiny insects winking their love songs. “It’s like I’m inside an atom.”

  “Nerd.”

  “That’s just mean.”

  “But you’re real cute for a nerd, Buttercup.”

  “Gee, you say the nicest things, George.”

  “Still mad?”

  She blinked, aware her disagreeable mood had evaporated. “No, why?”

  “Because.” He tugged on a lock of her hair, pulling her closer to him, then leaned in to bridge the gap between them and closed his lips over hers. Kitty’s world tilted. She fell through stars, kept falling as fireflies lit her up from inside. She felt like a pop-bottle rocket with a lit fuse.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck to save herself, anchoring to the warm reality of his tongue in her mouth. He lowered to the blanket, taking her with him. Burying his face in her neck, nibbling his way up to her ear and sucking on the lobe, hot breath sending frissons of pleasure through her. She made little mewling noises that had him smiling against her skin.

  Kitty lowered her arms and placed her palms against the hot skin of his chest, tentatively exploring. Joe leaned over her, his hair a curtain around his face, shutting out everything except his gleaming eyes. As his hand slid up under her top and the heat arrowed down inside her, she realized he was right. She wasn’t going to do a thing that she didn’t want to do.

  ~ ~ ~

  Kitty never told anyone about that Friday night. She spent the rest of the weekend cherishing the sweet, secret ache between her legs. She lied to her friends and said Joe had just given her a ride home. They thought it was bad enough that she’d gotten into his truck. She was not about to admit she’d given him her virginity.

  Tom called her a whore for leaving the party with Joe. She called him a drunk pig and broke up with him. After she slapped him.

  She played imaginary scenarios in her head where she presented Joe to her friends as her new boyfriend. These went badly, so she stopped.

  She waited for Joe to call.

  The following Monday, she looked for him at school. She found herself walking by the smoking area when her classes were on the other side of the building. She stole looks at the parking lot, searching for his truck. On Tuesday, her mood sank.

  She finally saw him as she arrived for school on Wednesday. He was leaning against the building with one foot propped on the wall, talking to his buddies. Her heart lifted as she drew near and she sent him a tentative smile. He gave her an inscrutable look and turned his back on her. She walked on by, her face burning, mortified.

  She didn’t let herself cry until she got home and was able to shut herself up in her room, refusing to come out until the following morning. She worried about pregnancy for two weeks until her cramps came. And she hated Joe with all the animosity shame could muster.

  Day 1

  Wednesday, October 9

  Lia Anderson unclipped her furry trio in the dog park corral and hung their leashes on the fence. She pulled a coiled training lead off her shoulder and attached it to Max’s collar.

  “Ha! Try getting away now, Girlfriend.”

  The Beagle-Boxer mix turned her nut-brown eyes toward Lia and gave her a hurt look.

  “That won’t work on me, so forget it.” She leaned over the horde milling in front of the gate and lifted the latch. Honey nosed the gate open and all three dogs bolted. Twenty feet away, Max stumbled, halting at the end of the lead. She did a one-eighty and glared at Lia.

  “Sorry, Max, you’re on lockdown.”

  “Poor Max,” a willowy redhead said, joining Lia.

  “Bailey, don’t you start. She’s been driving me crazy. She stays on the lead until I find the hole in the fence.” Lia looked out over the park, morning sun piercing the surrounding trees and shooting long shadows across the grass.

  “How are you going to do that?” Bailey asked.

  “Max is going to show me. Keep me company while I walk the perimeter.”

  The pair strolled along the back slope of the four acre enclosure, parallel the fence separating the dog park from the rest of Mount Airy Forest. Honey, a Golden Retriever, stayed by Lia’s side while holding a convo with Bailey’s Bloodhound, Kita. Lia’s silver Miniature Schnauzer, Chewy, sniffed at Max, jumping up on her and provoking a game of chase. The game was short, over when Max hit the end of the lead. Chewy quickly discovered Max’s limits and stayed just beyond. He barked and cavorted while Max pretended she didn’t care.

  “Little Brat, you should be ashamed of yourself,” Lia called, laughing.

  “Can’t blame him for using every advantage he’s
got. All the other dogs are bigger than he is.” Bailey punctuated this assessment with a long, graceful hand that flitted like a bird when she talked.

  “I suppose so, but it’s mean. Even if Max does deserve to be kept tied up.”

  Halfway along the fence line, Max stopped and looked oh-so-casually over her shoulder, grinned and bolted for the barrier. She succeeded in wiggling her forequarters under the wire before Lia pulled the lead up short and stopped her progress.

  “Ha! Found it.” Lia reeled the lead in as she approached the fence, keeping tension on it so Max couldn’t complete her escape. Bailey lifted the bottom edge of the field fencing while Lia knelt and pulled straight back on the lead. Max rumbled in disgust and slowly backed up. Back in custody, she gave Lia an affronted look, then lay down and sighed audibly as she settled her head on her paws.

  “She’s so expressive,” Bailey commented.

  “What she’s expressing now can’t be repeated in polite company.”

  “I see you found her way out,” Jim said as he walked up. The retired engineer was a slight, grizzled man with a large nose and a beard that defied all attempts at grooming. Kind blue eyes floated in the rumpled bed of his face. He always carried a walking stick that he’d made from a honeysuckle branch.

  Stumping along with his stick and accompanied by his Border Collie, Fleece, he could have been Saint Francis. Today he was also accompanied by a small Norfolk Terrier mix named Chester who resembled an ambulatory dust mop. Chester waddled up to Lia, sat up on his hind legs and licked her nose.

  Lia gave Chester a scratch and stood up. “Her latest one, anyway. This was hidden by the grass.” Keeping Max on a tight rein, Lia moved closer to the fence and peered over. “Look how the ground drops away on the other side. How are we going to fix that?”

  “Looks like Max found another way out. You got some wire?” Jose asked, joining the group.

  “I gave it to you to fix the last hole she found,” Lia said. “Then she got out yesterday and came back with the carcass from someone’s turkey dinner. Jim had to steal it away from her before she started a riot. Who eats turkey in October?”