Murder Strikes a Pose (15 page)

“I know I’d fall in love with Bella. How could I help it? I’d get used to having her in my life, used to her company—then she’d be

gone.” My eyes burned with held-back tears. “I can’t do it again, Rene. I simply don’t have any pieces left to give.”

Rene leaned forward and touched my arm. “Oh, sweetie, you

can’t be serious. You can’t possibly go through life without loving.

I’d rather die myself than lose Sam, but that doesn’t stop me from loving him all the same.”

“I know, Rene, but that’s different. At least you and Sam have

a fighting chance of living out your lives together. With Bella, I already know the ultimate outcome.”

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If Rene’s confused look was any indication, she still didn’t un-

derstand. Frankly, neither did I. Not really. That last fight with my father had changed me in ways I still didn’t fully comprehend. I

flashed back to that awful scene: the yelling, the accusations. The sound as the door slammed behind me. The words I couldn’t take

back no matter how hard I tried.

No. I couldn’t, I
wouldn’t
, talk about that night, not even with Rene. Prickly defensiveness edged out all other emotions. “I’ve

made my decision, Rene. I’m not keeping Bella. I’m not willing to get attached to an animal that way. Now drop it.”

Rene grabbed my hand earnestly. “Kate, this isn’t healthy.”

I ignored her.

“Have you considered counseling?”

Even my skin felt sharp, barbed like a porcupine’s quills.

“I have a friend who’s a psychologist. Maybe she could—”

“
Enough!
” I erupted, snatching my hand back. “A lot of people don’t have pets. It’s not a crime, or a sign of mental illness. I owe it to George to help Bella, and I will. But I’m not keeping her.
That’s
final.
”

Rene stared at me in shocked silence. I felt awful for snapping

at her, but at least she got the message. I suspected I’d hear more from her later, but for the time being, she quit pushing. Instead she played the “Rene is a goofball” card, and for once I was glad for the charade. In fact, I had never loved her more. Instead of forcing the subject, instead of insisting I confront my issues, she looked at her watch and pasted on a fake smile.

“Well, look at that, miss grumpy-pants. It’s six-thirty! Your date will arrive in thirty minutes! I need to get out of here, and you, Miss Kate, need to get working on that face of yours. Do yourself a favor and don’t go light on the makeup. You look exhausted.”

117

Rene grinned slyly, “By the way, I went undercover and made

an espionage visit to a certain pet store. I checked out your guy.

He’s gorgeous!”

“Oh, Rene, please tell me you didn’t—”

“Don’t worry, silly. I was subtle. I made up a story about a new

pet kitten and everything. Which reminds me, you owe me twelve

dollars and seventy-nine cents for kitten chow.” She stood up, preparing to leave. “Be sure to call me first thing in the morning. I want details. Lots and lots of disgusting details.” She grabbed her jacket and dashed to the door.

“Got to run, literally. I can feel that biscotti adhering itself to my thighs.” She hesitated at the door, then ran back and gave me a deep, long hug. “You know I love you, right?”

Tears filled my eyes as the door clicked softly behind her. The

room felt eerily, depressingly quiet in her wake. But in spite of my current melancholia, my decision about Bella was final. Rene

might think my choice was unhealthy, but the
Yoga Sutras
disagreed. Attachment, they said, led to suffering.

What Rene called neurosis, I called self-preservation.

And so I reburied my fears, relocked the hole in my heart, and

drowned out my dreary thoughts by playing my favorite Lady

Gaga CD. Evidently, denial was a skill well-honed by practice. By the time I finished belting out the final lyrics of “Poker Face,” I felt close to normal again.

Bella scoured the floor, looking for crumbs, as I continued to

get ready. I put on my new favorite outfit and looked in the mirror, suddenly self-conscious. “What do you think, Puppy Girl? Does

this skirt make me look good or just desperate?”

Bella refused comment.

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I turned to the mirror, buttoned up the top two buttons of my

blouse, then changed my mind and unbuttoned them again.

“What do we care? I don’t even like this guy, and you only like

his dog treats.” I widened my eyes and liberally applied deep black mascara. “We girls can get along fine on our own. He’s probably

dating that twenty-year-old bimbo by now, anyway. Besides, I

don’t need any man. I’m a completely self-sufficient woman.”

Bella lay down, sighed, and rested her head on her paws.
Go

ahead, delude yourself,
she seemed to say.

I turned away from the mirror to glare at her. “What are you

looking at, you hairy monster? You’re the one who got me into this mess in the first place.”

If that’s how Bella was going to act, I’d keep my thoughts to

myself. I gave her the silent treatment and continued my mental

monologue.
I don’t care what any man thinks of me, but I’d hate
to be seen in public looking like a homely house frau. I’ll just add
some eye shadow, maybe a little concealer to hide those dark circles.

I looked in the mirror. An exhausted zombie-woman stared back.

Make that a lot of concealer.

I glanced sideways in the mirror. I didn’t look too bad for a

woman in her thirties. As long as I remembered to pull my belly

in, I’d be fine. I smiled to check out my teeth in the mirror. The minute I stopped thinking about it, the inevitable pooch below my navel showed itself again.
Lord, aging is a bitch
.

Bella sat up, tilted her head to the side, and watched me curi-

ously.

“Oh, so now you’re interested, Missy Dog? Well in that case,

make yourself useful. Tell me how great I look.”

Silence. Not even an appreciative sigh.

119

“Fine. Be that way. Do you think I have time for some breath-

ing exercises?”

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Bella charged the door, barking

furiously.

Six-fifty. I should have known he’d be early. Bella alternated

between hurling herself at the door and scratching it aggressively, as if she alone were our last defense against an ax-wielding psy-chopath. I could rest assured knowing I’d always be safe with Bella in the house—as long as the burglar rang the doorbell.

“Bella, shut up!” I yelled. I took a final glance in the mirror

and sighed at the futility of it all. Where
did
all that dog hair come from? I grabbed Bella’s collar and dragged the barking, frothing

beast away from the door to lock her in the bathroom.

I paused at the door and took a deep breath.
Here goes noth-

ing.
After a count of three, I opened the door and came face-to-face with—a perfect stranger. A
gorgeous
stranger. Clean-shaven, dressed to the nines, lean build. He wore a great big smile and carried a bouquet of—

Flower-shaped dog cookies?

“I hope you don’t mind,” said the voice I immediately recog-

nized as Michael’s. “German shepherds are often territorial, and

I didn’t want to take any chances. I know this is supposed to be

our first date and all, so I really should be trying to impress you
.

But I figured I should start by winning over Bella. After all, we already know your bark is worse than your bite. Bella’s, on the other hand …”

I was stunned. Shocked really. Unable to move. But only for a

moment. I slowly smiled, reached out, and took Michael’s hand. In a voice so throaty and low I almost didn’t recognize it as my own, I said, “Get in here.”

120

I pulled him into the living room, wrapped my arms around

his broad shoulders, and planted a long, hard kiss on those lus-

cious, completely hair-free lips. I’m pleased to say he returned the favor.

We never did make it to dinner. But I have to confess, dessert

was simply fabulous.

_____

I rolled over a little after eight the next morning and opened my eyes. Bella glared back at me. Michael occupied her rightful spot on the bed, and she wasn’t happy about it. “Sorry, sweetie,” I whispered. “But sometimes a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

I flipped my back to her, ignored her silent recriminations,

and snuggled up to Michael’s softly snoring body. I ran my fingers across the ripples of his chest. Yes, there
was
a God.

The telephone’s shrill ring interrupted my reverie. This early

on a Sunday, the caller could only be Rene. I cursed myself for

being too cheap to order voice mail. Michael would never sleep

through her teasing, prying, and likely X-rated message.

“Hello?” I whispered, crawling out of bed and tiptoeing toward

the bathroom.

“So, how’d it go?”

“Fine, but now’s not a good time to talk. Can I call you back

later?”

“What do you mean now’s not a good time? Wake up, sleepy

head! I’ve been waiting for hours! You can’t get off that easily.”

There was a moment of blissful silence, in which I thought I’d

fooled her. I actually thought I might get away with it.

I should have known better.

121

“Oh, my God!” she yelled, practically deafening me. “He’s still

there, isn’t he? He spent the night! You little tramp!” In spite of her words, she sounded ecstatic. “OK, spill. I need details. Lots of them.”

“Shh! I’m hanging up now. I’ll talk to you later.” I gently, qui-

etly, tentatively placed the handset back on the receiver and looked toward the bed, praying Michael was still asleep. He hadn’t moved.

For once, luck was on my side. I tiptoed back to bed and stealthily crawled under the sheets.

“Was that Rene?” asked an obviously amused Michael, his back

facing me. “Tell her hello for me.”

“Yes, she’s such a snoop. I’m surprised she waited this long—”

My slow-witted mind clicked into gear. I sat straight up in

bed, gathering the sheets around me. “Wait a minute! How do

you know Rene?” Michael rolled over and put his arm around me,

flashing an engaging and sexy grin. He said nothing.

I pushed him away. “That liar! She talked to you at the store,

didn’t she? She gave you Kate-specific dating advice! You two

traitors conspired against me!” I didn’t know which feeling was

stronger: anger that they had plotted to thwart my resistance, or embarrassment that it was so easily overcome.

“Now don’t be upset, Kate-girl. Our intentions were honor-

able.” He pulled me back next to him and nuzzled my neck. “And

we both like you an awful lot.” I punched him on the arm. I tried to resist, but it was no use. I melted like cheddar on a grilled cheese sandwich. Who was I to argue? They obviously had me outnum-bered.

122

fourteen

Michael and I kissed goodbye at eleven-thirty. I took the

world’s quickest shower, threw on my yoga clothes, and rushed to

class, remarkably unstressed about my tardiness. When I opened

the studio a scant two minutes before noon, the line of disgruntled students didn’t faze me a bit.

I hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, but that didn’t

matter at all. I led my students through the entire range of yoga practices—sun salutations, inversions, reflective breath practices, and meditations—with a huge grin on my face and schoolgirl giggle in my voice. Instead of floating around the studio with the ease and grace of an evolved being, I skipped around the floor like a

six-year-old with a bag of bright pink cotton candy.

I was in such a good mood that instead of hiding out at the

front desk like usual, I joined in with the afternoon Yoga for Kids class. Six grade-schoolers, their yoga teacher, and I faced each other, mats in a circle, as we embarked on our journey—an African

safari acted out in yoga poses.

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We started standing in Mountain Pose, imagining ourselves at

the base of Kilamajaro. We barked like wild dogs, hissed like co-

bras, and roared like lions as we traveled through the Sahara desert and deep into the Congo rainforest. We pretended to soar through

the Nigerian sky in Flying Warrior—a pose known in adult yoga

circles as Warrior III.

I laughed so hard that I fell out of Boat Pose three times. At

one point a young boy yelled, “Your boat is sinking!” I almost corrected him. I was clearly capsized, not sunk. But the word “cap-

sized” was probably beyond his vocabulary. So I grabbed a stuffed giraffe and playfully threw it at him instead.

The teacher must have thought I was crazy, high, or both, but

she had the good sense not to say anything.

My feet barely touched the floor from noon until five. I was

obviously on a lucky streak. I’d found an exciting new love, but

that was only part of it; I’d also located a new home for Bella. Today was her evaluation at Fido’s Last Chance. I closed up early,

grabbed a quick bite to eat, and started the long drive to the rescue’s headquarters in Maple Valley.

I pulled in at six-thirty, but hesitated before turning off the ignition. “Bella, are we at the right place?” I pulled out my glasses and double-checked the building number. Still the same. I could

only hope that I needed new glasses.

To me, the word “headquarters” connoted a tall, light-filled

skyscraper in the heart of a buzzing metropolis—or at the very

least a small, run-down office in the middle of a deserted strip

mall. The entire industrial complex of Fido’s Last Chance, how-

ever, appeared to be a dilapidated house with a converted garage.