Murder Strikes a Pose (28 page)

“That’s a
very
good sign,” Melissa replied, smiling. “That means Bella likely hasn’t
wanted
to hurt anyone. And that makes all the difference.” She put down her pen. “What you’ve described doesn’t sound like aggression to me. I’d call it reactivity.”

“Reactivity?”

“Reacting to a stressful situation without trying to do harm.

Essentially, Bella’s trying to communicate that she’s uncomfort-

able. She’s simply doing it in a way we humans consider inappro-

priate.” Melissa nodded her head with confidence. “We can do a lot to help reactive dogs.”

My whole body sighed with relief. “You mean there’s hope for

her?”

“Definitely.” Melissa smiled, but her eyes remained sober. “But

I have to be honest with you. This is still a serious issue, especially 226

in a dog Bella’s size. It’s great that she hasn’t bitten so far, but that doesn’t mean she couldn’t be pushed to bite in the future.”

I remained silent, listening intently.

“And her issues won’t go away overnight. She’ll need consistent

work and a lifetime of management in certain situations. But with a dedicated owner like you, she
can
get better.”

The familiar queasiness in my stomach returned. “She’s not my

dog, though. I’m just fostering her until I find her a new home.”

Melissa remained silent. Her face bore no expression.

“You do think I’ll be able to find Bella a new home, don’t you?”

Melissa spoke slowly, as if choosing her words carefully.

“Stranger things have happened. Bella’s a beautiful dog and people love German shepherds.” She paused. “But honestly? I don’t think

you’ll find one any time soon.”

My throat tightened. “What should I do?”

Melissa’s look was grave. “I can’t tell you that. You have to de-

cide for yourself, and there’s no easy answer here. I’ve helped lots of dogs like Bella. The process isn’t difficult, but it takes time and considerable effort.” She laid the clipboard on her lap. “I’m willing to help, but ultimately you have to do the work.” She leaned forward. “Are you up for it?”

I considered giving up—but only for a moment. As much as I

struggled, as much as I grumbled, I had committed myself to Bella the night I found her owner’s body. It was much too late to give up now.

“Yes. Definitely.” This time, I didn’t fake my confidence.

“Awesome,” Melissa replied. “Let’s keep going then. As far as

you know, has Bella had these issues all her life?”

“Well, yes, but they’ve been different lately.”

“How?”

227

“She never got along well with other dogs, but as far as I know,

she liked men with facial hair until I took her in.”

Melissa’s brow furrowed. “And you’re sure this is new behav-

ior?”

“Yes. At least I think so.”

She looked away for a moment, absently rubbing Bella’s ears.

“This may seem like an odd question, but bear with me.” Her eyes

met mine. “How do
you
feel about bearded men?”

My expression betrayed me.

“I see.” She smiled. “Dogs are incredibly intuitive, you know.

Some people even believe they’re psychic—that they see images

we subconsciously send. I tend to be more pragmatic than that.

I think dogs are simply master observers with finely tuned senses.

They can smell changes in body chemistry, see slight twinges in

body language—even hear subtle differences in breathing. But ei-

ther way, Bella may be picking up on your feelings.”

“My
feelings?” Had Jim been right, after all? “You mean her behavior is my fault? I really
am
a bad alpha?”

“I didn’t say that,” Melissa replied emphatically. “And frankly,

assigning blame is useless. However I am saying this: we have no

way to know what Bella is thinking, but we can’t discount what she intuits from you. Look at her.”

I glanced at Bella. She sat, on leash, next to Melissa. But she

stared intently at me.

“Look how closely she watches you. I don’t believe in all that

alpha nonsense, but Bella clearly looks to you for guidance. We

would be naïve to underestimate the impact of your thoughts on

hers.”

228

She had to be kidding me. “Now I have to worry about sending

out random psychic images?” I looked down at the floor. “This is

too much. I can’t do it.”

Melissa tolerated no argument. “You’re a yoga teacher, right?

This should be easy for you. All you have to do is pay attention.

Notice how you behave immediately before Bella reacts. Do you

tense up? Do you tighten the leash? Perhaps you hold your breath?

Whatever you notice will give useful clues.

“As you learn to change
your
reactions, Bella may well change
hers
. In the meantime, we’ll practice some simple exercises to help

both of you gain some confidence.”

Melissa departed ninety minutes later, leaving a very happy

Bella, a completely exhausted Kate, and a long list of homework

assignments in her wake. Priority number one was perfecting Bel-

la’s recall—her willingness to come to me when called. According

to Melissa, there was no margin for error. No matter what Bella

was doing, no matter what she was after, she had to immediately

stop, turn, and come running when I gave the command.

Melissa left with these words: “A solid recall may one day save

Bella’s life.”

229

twenty-five

Another week passed as I began to reclaim my life. Melissa’s

homework provided a welcome distraction—the Bella Project.

Bella and I spent hours every day practicing, or in Bella-speak,

playing. Our games included chicken delight—in which I rapid-

fire fed Bella rotisserie chicken every time she looked at another dog—and hide-and-seek. Hide-and-seek was a slight twist on

the childhood favorite. I would ask Bella to stay in one location, then I’d “hide” in another. Once in place, I’d release her by yelling,

“Bella, come!”

And come she did. She ran at me, full speed, knocking me

down several times in the process. Her reward? Several pieces of

medium-rare flank steak. Hide-and-seek rapidly became Bella’s

favorite game, and I became the most popular vegetarian at Phin-

neyWood Market’s free-range deli.

Bella trained, and I waited. I waited for the final, elusive clue that would allow me to solve George’s murder. I waited for the day I’d stop missing Michael. I waited for Bella’s adoption requests to start pouring in.

230

I waited in vain.

The three calls I did get about Bella were from crackpots. The

first was Trucker Man’s evil twin. He wanted an outdoor-only

guard dog and hung up as soon as I told him about Bella’s illness.

The second was willing to overlook Bella’s genetic disease—as

long as he could still breed her. And although I couldn’t prove it, I was pretty sure the third was looking for his next champion fighting dog.

Michael finally stopped calling. His last message couldn’t have

been clearer. “I guess you’re not willing to work this out. Again, I’m sorry. But this is my last call. From here on out, it’s up to you.”

I decided avoidance was the better part of valor. Instead of re-

turning Michael’s calls, I found creative ways to get to the studio without passing by Pete’s Pets. I tried and tried again to get my head on straight—to forget about Michael and concentrate on

yoga. My teaching was less than inspired. After one particularly

lifeless attempt, I overheard a longtime student tell her friend,

“Her classes are usually much better than that. Why don’t we try

the Tuesday instructor instead.” I should have been mortified, but honestly, I just didn’t care.

Rene finally talked me into meeting her at Mocha Mia, only to

harass me mercilessly. I tried to ignore her by inhaling the sweet, steamy aroma of my hazelnut mocha. When that didn’t work I

stared down at the table, pretending to be mesmerized by the “coffee buzz” bumble bee printed on my coffee mug. Earplugs would

have been much more effective.

“You’re being pig-headed, even for you! And don’t give me any

of that ‘What if he dies?’ bull crap. That may be true for Bella, but Michael will likely outlive us both.” She leaned back and glared, so intent on browbeating me that she hadn’t touched her dessert.

231

“Frankly, you’re acting like a commitment-phobic little girl, scared of rejection. The first time in years you find a guy who’s completely compatible with you, and you bolt at the first tiff.”

“Officially, it was our second tiff—and after one date. Not great odds for the future, if you ask me. Why should I waste my time

with someone who will inevitably try to control me?” I tried to

distract her by threatening her food. “Now, shut up and give me a bite of that brownie.”

Rene stopped talking and uncharacteristically pushed over her

plate. Her mouth remained blissfully silent, but her eyes practically screamed with concern. At first I ignored her. I chewed and stared hollowly off into space, not even tasting that delicious concoction of chocolate, butter, and confectioner’s sugar. I felt strangely disconnected from everything, including myself. My body may have

sat next to Rene, but my mind was off wandering, lost in a fog.

But only at first.

As the minutes passed, the fog began to dissipate; shapes be-

came clearer; my heart and my mind reconnected. By the time I

pushed away Rene’s empty plate, something deep inside me had

shifted.

Who knows why? Maybe I was finally ready. Maybe I was

moved by Rene’s unusual patience. Maybe she laced that chocolate

fudge brownie with truth serum. Whatever the reason, when my

mind returned, it brought with it unusual clarity. The time had

come: I needed to share my secret.

I looked up and met my friend’s worried gaze. “We fought the

last time I saw him, you know.”

“You and Michael? Of course you did. I know that. But what

couple doesn’t fight? If I had a dollar for every time Sam and I got into an argument—”

232

“No. I mean Dad and me.”

Rene looked confused. “You lost me. I thought we were talking

about Michael.”

“
You
were,” I replied. “I stopped listening twenty minutes ago.”

She gave me her trademarked “wounded Rene” look, but re-

mained silent.

Beads of sweat dotted my hairline; my heart raced erratically;

for a moment, I even forgot to breathe. I never felt more vulner-

able.

Here goes …

Everything.

“Two nights before Dad’s heart attack, we had a fight. I’d been

dating Jason for about a month—”

“
That
creep. That’s one even
I
thought you should dump.”

“I know. Everyone saw through him but me. I fell head over

heels.” I smiled ruefully. “Dad was the worst, though. He loathed Jason, and he made no secret of it. That was bad enough, but he

finally went too far. He ran a background check.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Doing that was over the top, even for Dad. I was beyond fu-

rious. Even worse, he was right. Turned out Jason had a record.

Nothing violent, just slimy: a conviction for check fraud and a

DUI. The kicker, though, was that Jason was dumb enough to get

arrested not once, but twice for soliciting a prostitute—once while he and I were dating.”

Rene shuddered and pretended to gag.

“I should have been mad at Jason for being such a pig or even

at myself for being so stupid. But I wasn’t. I was
furious
at Dad for meddling in my life.” My throat tightened. “It certainly wasn’t the first time Dad and I fought, but it was the last.”

233

Rene grabbed my hand. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.”

“Yeah, me too. The kicker was that I calmed down a couple of

days later. I was planning to apologize. But before I could, I got the call from the hospital—”

“Oh, Kate, honey, you can’t possibly think you caused that

heart attack.”

I shook my head. “No, a blood clot in Dad’s coronary artery

did that. I’m sure the stress of our fight didn’t help any, but it wasn’t the cause.”

Rene looked confused. “Then what? What aren’t you saying?”

I held back a guilt-ridden, terrified sob. Rene was my best

friend—in many ways, my only
true
friend. What if she hated me after I told her? What would I do if she left me too?

“You don’t know how bad it was, Rene. How bad
I
was. Dad

and I fought a lot, but never like this. Right before I stormed out the door, I told him to get out of my life—and to stay out for

good.” Tears threatened my eyes. “And I never got a chance to take it back. I never told him what a great father he was. I never even told him how much I loved him. His last image of me was my butt

with a door slamming behind it.” I finally broke down, quietly

sobbing.

Rene grabbed my shoulders and forced me to look at her. I’d

never seen her so earnest. “Kate, you listen to me, and you listen good. Your father knew how you felt. You two fought all the time, but it always blew over. You adored him, and everyone, including

your father, knew it. Don’t you
ever
doubt that.” She pointed to the ceiling. “If there’s a heaven up there, your father is looking down at us right now, and he’s furious at you for wasting even one single second on this guilt trip.”

234

I hesitated, afraid to ask. “So you don’t think I’m a horrible

person?”

Rene’s shocked expression admonished me. “Don’t be ridicu-

lous, Kate. Of course not. And neither did your father. If he were here, he’d say, ‘Kate-girl, you knock off that pity-party this instant.