A Killer Retreat (16 page)

fifteen

I ran straight back
to the cabin. I wanted to be alone, but not by myself. I needed Bella.

The scene at the cabin was much as I left it. Sam brooded on the couch while Rene hid in the kitchen, washing already-clean dishes. I clipped on Bella's harness before accosting Rene. “You haven't talked to him yet?”

“Not yet. I'm still working up to it.” She scanned the area behind me. “Where's Michael?”

“I left him back at the hot tubs.”

Rene raised her eyebrows and tilted her head. “Left him?”

I
sighed. “Don't ask. I wouldn't even know how to answer.” I held
up the leash. “I came back to grab Bella in case she needs another walk.”

Rene dried her hands and draped the towel across the faucet. “I'll come with you. Let me grab my jacket.”

“Sorry, Rene. Not this time.”

She didn't argue. She picked up a magazine and sat on the couch next to Sam, studiously ignoring him. Bella looked from Sam, to Rene, then back to Sam again. To my horror, she lifted her upper lip and clearly exposed her canines.

“Bella! Stop that!” Bella responded to my admonishment by nudging my hand, as if expecting me to give her a cookie. Sam squeezed deeper into the corner and visibly shuddered. Rene giggled.

I apologized to Sam and pulled Bella out the door. Once it was securely closed behind us, I knelt on the deck, gently placed my hands on either side of Bella's face, and touched her nose with my own—a move that, done by anyone else, might well have resulted in a nose-ectomy.

“What's going on with you, girl? Sam is our friend.”

Bella responded by licking my face and gently swishing her tail.

“OK, sweetie, we'll walk.”

I wasn't ready to see Michael, so I avoided the path that went past the spa and guided Bella toward the upper campsites, where I hoped we would be alone. As we meandered along the desolate trail, I was struck once again by Elysian Springs' silence. You'd think I'd be used to tranquility in the yoga business. After all, that was the whole point: to find moments—no matter how fleeting—of inner calm.

I went to great lengths to create Serenity Yoga's peaceful environment. Multiple water fountains, live plants, soft music. I even hung signs at each doorway that reminded students to speak softly and turn off their cell phones.

None of it made much of a difference. Even inside the practice room, my so-called silent meditations were often dotted with sound. Echoes from the apartments above; traffic noise from busy Greenwood Avenue; the steady beep, beep, beep of delivery trucks backing into the alley.

But not here.

Here, I heard only rustling leaves and the subtle, breath-like sounds
of the ocean. I tried to merge with that silence in a moving
meditation, carefully treading heel to toe in the gentlest, quietest way
possible.

Perhaps if I fully connected with this tranquil space, I would experience nirodha—the state of mental clarity the yoga teachings promised. Perhaps I would decipher the committed-relationship code. Perhaps I would solve Monica's murder. Heck, I would have settled for figuring out how to cure Bella's bellyache. I communed with nature for a good twenty minutes before the universe replied.

Good luck with all that.

I gave up and tried to simply enjoy the day. The sun had burned through the morning's fog and left the sky powder blue. An angry jay scolded from above. Dew drops fell from the branches of a Madrona tree and splashed on my shoulder.

I looked down at my jacket.
Seriously?

Make that doo drops.

I bent down and picked up an oak leaf to wipe the bird waste off
my jacket. Two teardrop-shaped indentations blinked back at me.

“Look Bella,” I said, pointing down at the ground. “A deer's been
here.”

Bella's gaze followed my fingertips, then stopped. Her eyes widened; her ears pricked forward; the hair on her shoulders stood up. She thrust her nose to the ground, took two quick sniffs, then jumped back, as if the scent had scalded her nose. Her wide-eyed expression telegraphed her thoughts.

Monster tracks!

She glued her nose to the ground and launched forward, zooming after the scent like a low-flying rocket. I stumbled behind her.

“Bella, slow down, it's okay!”

My words had zero effect.

We zigged and we zagged. We dodged fallen branches and bar
reled between trees. I tried to stay upright behind her, unsure whether
we were fleeing the perceived menace or chasing it.

The pursuit ended as quickly as it began. After several hundred feet, Bella stopped running, lifted her nose to the sky, and sniffed. She circled the area a few times, then sat down and furrowed her brow, as if considering her options.

“Did you lose the scent, sweetie?”

She gazed at me through wide, silent eyes.

I smiled and ruffled her ears. “C'mon Tracker Dog. Let's head back.”

We followed the narrow, winding footpath back toward the cabin.
Bella buried her nose in the leaves again, as intent on the scents of this new trail as she'd been on the one that she'd lost.

A good yogi would have tried to stay present and fully embrace that beautiful moment. A good girlfriend would have spent the walk figuring out how to salvage her relationship.

I contemplated murder.

Or at least how to solve it. I certainly had no shortage of suspects. To know Monica was to dislike her. Since we all had access to Bandit and his rhinestone-studded leash, I focused on motive and opportunity.

Dad used to say that nine times out of ten, the killer was a family member—usually the spouse. (Yet another stellar recommendation for marriage.)
Not only was Monica a witch with a capital
B, but I strongly suspected that Bruce's back wasn't the only one she'd
scratched with those burgundy claws. If
I
could tell Monica was cheating, Bruce probably knew it too.

Infidelity and mortal irritation. Excellent reasons for divorce. But murder? Murder might be cheaper than alimony, but it seemed a little extreme, especially for Bruce. I couldn't articulate why, but Bruce didn't feel like a killer to me. Dad would have mocked using intuition to rule out a suspect, but Dad didn't teach yoga. The practice had sensitized me to energy. Bruce's energy seemed tamasic—dull and depressed—not angry. It certainly wasn't murderous.

Bella lunged toward a squirrel. I barely noticed. “Leave it,” I said
absently.

The timing wasn't right, either. Bruce couldn't have murdered
Monica after I dropped off Bandit, at least not before I found her body.

I stopped walking, suddenly sick to my stomach.

How long had Monica been floating in that hot tub when I started
CPR? At the time, I assumed that she was still alive—or at least close enough to try to resuscitate—but she could have been dead for hours. Partially digested pancakes gurgled up from my belly.

Best not to think about that, at least not after eating two breakfasts.

I made two mental notes: first, find out if the coroner had determined Monica's time of death; second, ask the hostess what time she spoke with Monica that morning.

Bella stopped to relieve herself—again. I cleaned it up and moved on to the next suspect.

Helen was another viable suspect, with more than one motive. Monica destroyed her marriage and was threatening to ruin her daughter's wedding. I may have been the only one who heard Helen and Monica argue, but that didn't make Helen's threats any less real.

As for opportunity, I assumed she had plenty. Helen hadn't been in yoga class that morning. Was she in bed, sleeping off a hangover, or at the spa, ridding herself of a whole different kind of headache? I'd have to ask Emmy where her mother was the morning of Monica's death.

Thinking of Emmy sent an ache from the base of my sternum to the pit of my throat. Lord, how I didn't want Emmy to be the killer. But as much as I liked the small, unassuming woman, I had to admit, she had motive galore, especially given the conversation I'd just overheard. Monica had destroyed her parents' marriage and threatened Elysian Springs. Emmy gave Monica the keys to the spa and suggested that she use it alone. She practically set Monica up for the kill.

Bella stopped to snack on yet another patch of tall grass. I sat on a moss-covered tree stump and played with her leash, wrapping and unwrapping it from around my fingers. If Emmy and Kyle were having an affair, they could have murdered Monica together. Kyle wasn't nearly as mellow as his dreadlocks and stoner hat would imply. He almost decked Monica that night at the party. But I, of all people, knew that having a bad temper didn't make you a killer. Besides, what was his motive? Killing off disgruntled diners didn't seem like the smartest way to build a clientele.

A loud crash startled me upright and jerked me out of my trance.

“What is it, girl?”

Bella froze at attention, staring off-trail at a brown shape barely visible through the thick undergrowth. I gripped both sides of her harness.

“Easy girl, don't frighten her.”

A young doe stared back, deep brown eyes unblinking, as if daring
me to make the first move. Light puffs of steam billowed from her nostrils.

I smiled, hoping to let the doe know I meant her no harm. “Hey there, lady. Don't worry. We won't hurt you.” I whispered to Bella, “Easy, now. Sit. Stay.”

Bella miraculously complied. Her body remained as still as a doggie statue, but her ears, brow, and eyes morphed through multiple expressions. From terror, to wariness, to curiosity, to confidence.

I amused myself by imagining her internal conversation.
Hmmf.
You're not so scary.
She cocked her head to the side.
But what manner of beast are you?
Her brow furrowed as she sniffed the air.
Wide set eyes. Definitely not a hunter
.
Long, skinny legs, good for running. Pointy ears like a bunny rab—

Bella's eyes grew huge. She stood up, tensed every muscle, and shifted her weight forward.
It's a huge bunny rabbit!

She looked back at me beseechingly, begging me to let her chase the delightful new prey. Her ears twitched with anticipation; a long line of drool oozed from her lower lip; her tail whipped back and forth in a deer-induced frenzy.

I pulled some treats out of my pocket. “Bella, I said stay.”

All of that time-intensive training must have paid off. Either that or Bella was too busy scarfing down lamb lung to chase after buckskin. Bella and I spent less than a minute with that graceful creature, but our friendship's short duration didn't make it any less powerful.

It was as if the universe had sent me a sign. A symbol of my dilemma with Michael. A preview of my upcoming choice. Ambivalence quivered through the doe's muscles. Indecision twitched her nose. She suspected I wouldn't hurt her, but she wouldn't give me the chance. One wrong move and she'd be gone. She leaned over and nibbled at a branch, never taking her eyes off mine.

Stay or flee? Stay or flee?

Which would it be?

A frustrated female voice whispered behind me. “I'm telling you, we can't do this here. If Monica figured it out, someone else will, too.”

I gasped and the doe bolted, gone so quickly she might have been an apparition.

I scooted off the trail and crouched in the underbrush, hoping to hear more.

Toni's voice replied. “I'm tired of all of this sneaking around. Make up your mind. Either you're in, or you're out.”

Who was Toni talking to, and what were they hiding? I peeked through the leaves, but I couldn't see them clearly.

A rumble vibrated deep in Bella's throat.

The hair on the back of my arms stood up. Bella never growled without reason. She only made that low, threatening sound when she sensed danger: footsteps outside our home late at night; a stranger peeking through my bedroom window; a brown-suited psycho-killer delivering packages …

I wrapped my hand around her muzzle. “Quiet,” I whispered. I shifted position, but I still couldn't see who Toni was talking to. I grabbed onto a low branch. If I could contort my neck around this trunk …

My hand slipped and I fell to the ground with an undignified whumpf.

“Someone's coming. We can talk about this later.”

Toni replied. “Who cares if someone's coming? I mean it, Helen, I'm sick of all this hiding.”

Helen. The second woman was Helen.

Toni moved into view. Her face glowed bright red, but her eyes seemed more hurt than angry. “I understood why you wanted to keep our relationship a secret until after the divorce was final. I even put up with your paranoia while Monica was alive. That witch probably
would
have found some way to use it against us. But what's your excuse now?”

“Emmy and Bruce—”

Toni cut off her reply. “Emmy's a big girl. She can take it. And if Bruce blows a gasket and stops the alimony payments, so what? We can support ourselves. Admit it. You're afraid to come out of the closet.”

Helen didn't reply.

“It's time to decide: either you're committed to this relationship, or you're not. I've waited too long already. I'm not waiting a day more.” Toni turned and started to march away.

“Toni, wait!” Helen cried. She grabbed Toni's hands. “Please, wait
for a minute, and listen. You're right. I'm not ready to come out. Not here. Not now.”

“We don't have anything to be ashamed of.”

“I know that. But how can I tell Bruce—how can I tell Emmy, for
that matter—that our marriage was a sham.”