Lora Roberts

The first Liz Sullivan mystery, Murder in a Nice Neighborhood, featured a vagabond amateur sleuth who lived in her VW bus for reasons of economy and expeditiousness—it was cheap and easy to get away quick if you needed to. It never occurred to me that Liz Sullivan should have a dog. She had enough to do just trying to keep herself fed, let alone a pet.

When the book was published, the cover artists drew their conception of a nice neighborhood, which included an elegant-looking fox terrier on a leash. People began coming up to me at book signings. “There’s a dog on the cover of this book, but no dog inside. Why isn’t there a dog in the story?”

Good question. Though my husband’s allergy precludes cats (and some dogs), we’ve always managed to find dogs he can live with over the course of our 30 years together. Selkie, our black Lab mix, is an important member of our family.

The more I thought about it, the more a single woman like Liz seemed to need a large, occasionally intimidating dog, as well as the pleasures of doggy companionship. So in the second book, Murder in the Marketplace, Liz gets a dog in the best way possible—he comes to her (or is sent by the deity in charge of human/animal pairings). A galumphing black and white mongrel, Barker is based on my dog’s brother, who is far more happy-go-lucky and adventuresome than my own occasionally irascible animal.

Once Barker entered Liz’s world, he began to function as far more than just her accessory. Like other continuing characters, he has his personality, his strong points and weak points. And Barker’s not the best sidekick, as some preternatural pets are. He causes trouble and gets into it as well. Her love for him and concern for his well-being inhibit Liz occasionally, as in Murder Crops Up. The responsibility of caring for a pet, especially a young and energetic dog, is not lightly undertaken, and it affects Liz’s freedom of movement.

But he adds an immeasurable richness as well. Liz is a loner, a woman who sees herself as outside the world of normal human relationships. And yet, because she has a dog, she finds herself more connected to the people around her. He embodies her playful, trusting side. His undemanding love helps heal the wounds she carries.

And he keeps the squirrels out of her vegetable beds. Could you ask for more?