Maximum Security (A Dog Park Mystery) by C. A. Newsome

stress of a serial killer
on the loose?”
    Lia laid down her knife and hugged
Peter. She kissed him on the cheek. “You want to drink beer and
watch me cook every evening? That just makes my heart go
pitter-pat.”
    “I don’t think you should have to
cook for me all the time. I just like the idea of coming home to
you.”
    Lia turned to the stove and poured
a cup of rice into the bubbling water, stirred it briefly, covered
the pot and turned down the heat. She selected a garlic bulb from
the pile in the wire vegetable basket hanging by her sink and
started breaking off cloves. She stared intently at the garlic.
“Peter, I love you.”
    “I love you, too.”
    “But.”
    Peter paused, his beer halfway to
his lips. “But?”
    “I think I see where you’re going,
and I really don’t want to go there. I like what we have. It works.
We don’t ever have to resent each other. We’re together when we
want to be together and we’re apart when we need to focus on
something else.”
    “Don’t you suppose your family has
given you a warped view of what marriage is?”
    Lia smashed the garlic with the
side of a steel knife, then started popping the cloves out of their
peels. She took a moment to consider her words. “My mother married
every single time for love, and it never worked. It wasn’t enough.
Watching her taught me a lot about what marriage is.
    “It’s about chores and wanting the
same things and figuring out what to do with money. All of a
sudden, my time, my money, it’s not mine any more. All of a sudden,
I’m not free to do what I want to do, unless my partner is okay
with it. And the same goes for you. Suddenly, the pettiest things
become a reason to be angry. Do you really want that to happen to
us?”
    “It doesn’t have to happen. My
grandparents have been married for fifty years and they’re very
happy together. I wish you could meet them. You’d see what a good
marriage is all about.”
    “They married at a time when most
women did not expect to be in control of their lives. I’m sure that
had something to do with it.”
    “Marriage is work. I know that. I
don’t expect you to be the little woman.”
    “Yet you expect to protect me from
my own judgement. You’d be happier if I wasn’t looking for Daisy,
admit it.”
    Peter set down his beer. “There’s
something off about this case. Serving up a dead body to a pack of
coyotes is not the act of a sane person. You nearly died last year.
You still have a bullet hole in your leg. Is it so wrong for me to
care about your safety?”
    “Why don’t we look at this case?
An unhappily married man trying to relive his youth while he
violates his marriage vows.” Lia pulled her largest skillet out of
the oven, poured in a dollop of olive oil and turned on the gas.
She retrieved her garlic press from the gadget drawer and pressed
several cloves into the heating oil, stirring them with a wooden
spoon.
    “I can't argue that, but we’re not
them. I’m not George, you’re not Monica, and you’re not your
mother, either.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration.
“What do you want for us, then? Do you even want there to be an us?”
    Lia picked up a large handful of
chopped greens and dropped them in the hot skillet. She stirred the
kale, added more as it wilted. She lowered the heat and turned to
him, wrapped her arms around his waist. “Of course I do. I just
haven't figured out how to keep us from becoming like so many other
couples.”
    He hugged her back. “Maybe you
shouldn’t be trying to figure it out by yourself.”
    “I need you to trust me more.
Tomorrow I’m going to see Renee, and I imagine I may run into Kate
Onstad. I need you to be okay with that.”
    “I wish there was a way around
that.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Can’t you
meet Renee somewhere else? Why don’t you meet at your
studio?”
    “This is my job, just like chasing
after criminals is your job. I don’t ask you to give up