Karma's a Killer (16 page)

After a few minutes, he slowly placed the phone back on the receiver. When he turned toward me, his eyes were wet.

“My dad was in a car accident. They're airlifting him to Portland for surgery right now. It doesn't look good.”

Fifteen

“Michael, go. Your family
needs you. If your dad dies and you're not there, you'll never forgive yourself.” Unfortunately, my words weren't hyperbole. I spoke from experience.

Michael's eyes shifted from me, to the door, and back again. “I can't go, Kate. I can't leave you here alone. You're tracking a killer and someone broke into our home. It's not safe.” He grabbed my hand. “Come to Portland with me.”

“I wish I could, but I need to stay in Seattle. If I miss Dharma's visiting hours on Thursday, they won't let me see her again until next week.”

“So? Let Dale talk to her. He can fill you in.”

“I need to speak with Dharma personally. Dale's great at his job, but I'm the closest thing she's got to a friend right now. I can't let her think I abandoned her.” I flashed Michael an insincere smile. “I'll be fine. What happened here today wasn't even a break-in. It was a walk-in, most likely committed by some kids who thought it would be fun to trash a house. All because an idiotic construction worker never learned how to lock a door.”

“Maybe, but what if we're wrong?”

“You heard the police officer. Burglars almost never hit the same house a second time. I'm safer now than I ever was.” I laid my palm on Bella's back. “Besides, I won't be alone. I'll have Bella.”

Michael looked unconvinced.

I grabbed his keys off of the end table and tossed them to him. “Seriously. Go. Portland is only three hours away. If I need anything, I'll call.”

It took some convincing, but I eventually prevailed. Michael threw a few items into an overnight bag and headed off for Portland twenty minutes later. Bella pawed at the door and whined, as if asking him to return, or at the very least come back and invite her to go along. I rubbed the soft spot behind her ears.

“Sorry, babe, it's just you and me, like old times.” I kneeled in front of her and touched my nose to hers. “We girls will be fine on our own, won't we?” Bella replied by covering my face in wet, warm German shepherd kisses.

To be honest, I selfishly wanted Michael to walk back through the door, too. The house felt achingly empty without him, especially considering he'd been gone less than five minutes. What a difference a few months had made. Before Michael moved in, I'd relished the sacred girls' nights I spent home alone with Bella. Now being here without Michael simply felt lonely. I didn't look forward to sleeping next to his cold, empty side of the bed.

I considered draining my wine glass, but somehow being alone and drunk seemed more desolate than being alone and sober. I picked up my still-full glass and poured the liquid down the guest bathroom sink.

I looked at my watch. Nine o'clock. It was too early for bed, and I wouldn't sleep well until Michael gave me an update on his family, anyway. I paced around the house, looking for something that would focus my fractured attention. Bella followed close behind, unwilling to lose sight of her one remaining human.

I started by calling Dale. The news wasn't good. As expected,
Dharma had been denied bail and Dale hadn't unearthed any new evidence in her favor. Even worse, he planned to go back to Orcas on Friday and continue working the case from there. He warned me that with the current evidence, pushing for a speedy trial would not be in Dharma's best interests. Unless something changed dramatically, she'd spend the next year in jail, waiting for her case to go to trial. I didn't want to think about how long she'd be stuck there if she was found guilty.

I filled Dale in on everything Michael and I had learned that day about Raven, Maggie, and HEAT. He, in return, shared a list of topics I wasn't allowed to discuss when I visited Dharma at the jail. The list was significantly longer than I'd expected: I couldn't ask her about her fight with Raven, her involvement with HEAT, what she'd done the night of the murder, or anything else that could potentially implicate her in a crime.

Way to hamstring a girl, Dale.

I was, however, allowed to ask Dharma about her past
before
she met Raven, as long as nothing in that past would incriminate her. Our meeting wouldn't tell me much about the murder, but I might learn a little about myself.

I hung up the phone feeling even more restless. Bella was busy scrounging the floor for microscopic pizza crumbs, so I decided to clean up the mess in the kitchen.

It was a valiant effort.

All ten minutes of it.

I gave up halfway through refolding the towels. Each item I put away made me feel further away from Michael.

If we were going to be apart, I might as well take advantage of the alone time.

I poured a bath, lowered my body into the hot, lavender-scented water, and leaned my head against an inflatable pillow. Instead of relaxing me, the steaming water had exactly the opposite effect. I felt trapped, hot, stymied. The bubbles seemed to mock me with an iridescent sneer.
This is the best you can do, Girl Detective?

So much for that idea.

I drained the tub, put on Michael's bathrobe, and called Rene. Her phone went straight to voicemail.

Bella rested her head on her paws and let out a heavy sigh.

“You're one to complain. Got any better ideas?”

She sat up and cocked her head to the side, as if considering our options. Then she groaned and flopped on her side.

“That's it? That's the best you've got?” I continued speaking out loud to fill the echoing quiet. “Rene always comes up with creative ways to get us in trouble. What would she do?”

Four words bubbled up from my subconscious.

Snoop through Dharma's suitcase.

Of course Rene would encourage me to snoop. She was genetically incapable of exercising good manners. In this case, however, she might be right. I hadn't taken time to thoroughly look through Dharma's belongings at the motel. What if I'd missed an important clue?

I patted the side of my leg. “Come on, Bella, we're going downstairs.”

Guilt tickled the base of my sternum. I couldn't cite a specific verse, but I was pretty sure that
The Yoga Sutras
frowned on rifling through someone else's possessions.

Not that I planned to let that stop me.

Looking for evidence to clear your mother of murder had to
be some sort of exception, right? Besides, Dharma might not have
explicitly
given me permission to look through her belongings, but
she didn't expressly forbid it, either. How could I know for sure that the suitcase didn't contain anything relevant unless I actually looked?

I pushed Michael's cardboard boxes to the side, laid the ratty blue suitcase on the sofa, and kneeled in front of it. First I ran my hands through the outside pockets. Empty. I opened the lid and removed the items I'd packed earlier, mentally reciting a running inventory.
Baby blue blouse, T-shirts, black tennis shoes, jeans, black pants, extra-large sleep shirt.
I set the clothing to the side and continued with the smaller items.
Socks and underwear, yellow flowered makeup bag, red plastic case
—I opened it up—
clear dental night guard
.

Bella sniffed the new plastic chew toy. “Leave it,” I said absently.

I examined each piece of clothing in painstaking detail. I read every tag, felt along every seam, and turned every pocket inside out. I opened Dharma's makeup bag and sniffed every jar of organic cosmetics. I tried out her face cream. I felt inside the toes of her tennis shoes. There were no secret notes, no telltale receipts. Not even a stray stick of chewing gum. Nothing that shed light on the enigma who birthed me. Nothing, for that matter, that told me anything about the crime for which she was incarcerated.

Twenty minutes later, a single item remained—the one I'd been dying to examine all day. I pulled out the antique wooden box and traced my fingers across the faded daisies that decorated its top. Compared to the items I'd already examined, this old wooden box felt precious. If the lock was any indication, it contained items that weren't simply
important
to Dharma, but also deeply private.

Bummer.

No matter how much I wanted to know what lay inside the tiny treasure chest, I couldn't justify breaking into it. I placed the box back in the suitcase and started carefully refolding Dharma's clothes.

Then again …

Didn't most spiritual belief systems—yoga included—posit that there were no true accidents? Didn't the teachings tell us that life gave us experiences—both good and bad—so that we could grow from them? The universe had clearly sent me Dharma's box. The universe trusted me with it. The universe
wanted
me to open it.

Or at least that's the lie I told myself.

I dropped the blouse I was folding and picked the box up again. The lock on the front was tiny, more a symbol of security than an actual deterrent. I could easily pick it, if I wanted to.

And man, did I want to.

Sorry, Dharma. But you had to have known that I would be curious.

I carried the box into the not-yet-dismantled part of the office, tossed Bella one of Dale's goat-shaped dog cookies, and rifled through the top desk drawer until I found Michael's set of tiny computer screwdrivers. I pulled out the tiniest, poked the end into the keyhole, and moved it around until I heard a soft click.

I slipped the miniature padlock out of the loop, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath.

“What you think, Puppy Girl. Should I do it?”

I took Bella's silence to mean yes.

I must have suspected what I would find inside, but I could never have anticipated its impact. My throat ached; my eyes burned. For a moment, I thought my heart might stop beating.

Dharma's box contained dozens of items, most of which were related to me. Photographs, drawings, cards, printouts, letters. Some of the objects were shockingly familiar. Others seemed like mementos from the life of a completely different Kate, raised in an alternate universe. On the very top was an old, fading picture of Dharma, my father, and a brown-haired toddler that had to be me. Assembled in date order underneath it was an assortment of items ranging from crayon drawings I'd created as a child to poems I'd written as a teenager.

Behind that were printouts of several articles that had obviously been scavenged from the Internet: Dad's obituary, a puff piece about the grand opening of Serenity Yoga, even that god-awful
Dollars for Change
article written about Bella's and my escapades last year.

The very bottom of the box contained over a dozen rubber-banded-together letters, each addressed to Dharma in my father's handwriting. The mailing addresses varied—from India, to Africa, to Central America, to Peru. Many of the letters had been forwarded multiple times.

Dad had written the first when I was four. I had few memories of that year, but I could feel the pride in his words:

Kate is turning into an animal nut like you. She made me plant extra lettuce so the snails wouldn't go hungry. She gathers the blasted things from the neighbors and transports them to our yard. Needless to say, we don't have much of a garden this year.

I smiled. I still planted extra lettuce for the snails each spring.

Every day, I see more of you in Kate's eyes. Stubborn, willful, sweet, and sensitive. I have a feeling she'll grow up to be a lot like you. The first few months were hard, but she's happier now. More stable. The nightmares are lessening.

I stopped reading and shuddered. The nightmares. I'd almost forgotten about the nightmares.

Most people called the visions I'd experienced as a child lucid dreams. I called them torture. Horrible episodes in which I knew I was dreaming but couldn't wake myself up. I understood that the images tormenting me weren't real, but somehow that made them even more terrifying.

I picked up the letter and read to the end.

Daisy, I'm sorry for hurting you. Our arrangement might not seem fair, but after what happened, Kate's well-being has to be my priority. Thank you for honoring my decision. I will always love you.

His decision? Decision about what? Their marriage? Their divorce? Me?

I folded the page and placed it back in the envelope, feeling surprisingly ambivalent. I longed to read the rest of Dad's letters, but I dreaded it, too. Each handwritten paper promised to teach me not only about my mother, but also about myself. Each contained information that might explain why Dharma left me. Each held within it the potential to break my heart.

Bella whined, clearly sensing my discomfort.

“It's okay, girl.”

Was it?

I wouldn't know until I finished perusing the rest of the letters. I opened the box of ostrich tendons Michael had special-ordered for Bella and pulled out the biggest one I could find. It might be a long night.

“Come on, girl. Let's go settle in the living room.”

Bella pranced behind me and nudged my hand.

I removed Dharma's suitcase from the sofa, sat down, and patted the space next to me. “Bella, up!”

She jumped on the couch, turned a quick circle, and flopped down beside me.

I didn't normally encourage Bella to eat on the furniture, but tonight's circumstances were special. I curled my feet underneath her warm belly and relaxed into the rhythm of her delighted chewing.

I thumbed through the rest of the letters, trying to get a sense of their energy. All I felt was my own trepidation, at least until I pulled out the final envelope.

Then I felt dread.

The unopened envelope was addressed to me. And it was from Dharma. Her name was written above the return address.

A thick red slash bisected the envelope's front. The words
No longer at this address
were written above it in Dad's unmistakable handwriting.