Murder Strikes a Pose (12 page)

have something for me?”

I had no choice but to drop the subject—for now.

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“Yes, but it’s hard to explain. If you come outside, I’ll show

you.”

Sarah followed me to the yard, Davie clinging tightly to her hand once again. I opened the car door and clipped on Bella’s leash.

“Bella, say hello.”

As trained, Bella walked up to the pair, sat down and raised her

paw. Davie giggled, clearly delighted, while Bella nudged his hands looking for treats. Finding none there, she moved on. Dog saliva

dripped from Davie’s chin as Bella licked peanut butter from his

face. No doubt about it; Davie and Bella were in love.

Sarah was not.

She looked at me, trembling with ill-disguised fury. “You have

got to be kidding me,” she snapped. “This is what you brought?

This stupid
dog
?”

I took two steps back, pulling Bella in close. I’d expected Sarah to be surprised, even annoyed by my deception. Frankly, I deserved a harsh word or two. But this reaction was much, much stronger

than that. Her facial expression connoted an intense, hidden rage.

The type of rage best left buried deep inside or explored from the safety of a psychiatrist’s couch.

The Sarah I faced now was not the same woman who’d offered

me sustenance only moments before. I tried to reconnect with that calmer, more rational Sarah. “I’m sorry I deceived you. I know

you’re having a tough time right now, really I do. I lost my own

father a couple of years ago. I know my timing is terrible—”

“You have no idea.” Sarah interrupted, practically vibrating with anger. I pressed on, hoping to penetrate the fortress she’d built between us.

“I know how hard it is to lose someone you love unexpectedly.

How hard it is to leave things unsaid. But Bella can be such a gift 91

for your family. She can form a connection—a bridge—between

you and your father. When my father died, I longed to be close to him again. I would have given anything to still have a part of him with me.” A sob caught in my throat. “Anything.” I paused to take a breath. Sarah remained silent. I hoped that meant I was getting through.

“Your father adored Bella,” I continued. “And part of him still

lives within her. He’d want nothing more than for the two of you

to be together.”

Sarah said nothing. Her body was rigid, her face stone cold.

Desperation overwhelmed me. I had to make her under-

stand—I had to do right by George. “I know you and your father

had a difficult relationship. I get that. I know he put you through things I can’t possibly comprehend. But perhaps Bella is his way of reaching out to you. Perhaps through her, you and he can re-create a relationship of sorts. She’s a great dog and she obviously likes your son. Your dad loved her so much—”

“Believe me,” Sarah exploded, “I know he loved that frigging

dog. More than he loved anything else, including me.” She shook

her head, outraged, as tears streamed down her face. “Do you

know how many years Mom and I begged him to go into rehab?

How many times I asked him to be part of my life? He never once

considered it.

“Then, after all these years of nothing—no contact whatso-

ever—he showed up on my doorstep last Saturday, expecting

some kind of redemption. He even had the nerve to tell me that he wanted to be a grandfather to Davie.” She pointed a shaking finger at Bella. “That this
stupid dog
taught him the importance of family. He promised to go into rehab if I took his
precious pooch
and helped pay for its medical bills.”

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I wanted to interrupt. To say something—anything—that

would calm her, but Sarah didn’t give me a chance.

“I practically slammed the door in his face. I told him I

wouldn’t give him one penny. I swore I’d kill him before I’d let

him anywhere near my son—that he’d never hurt Davie the way

he hurt me.” Her bitter tears turned into frustrated, aching sobs.

“I can’t believe how naïve I was. I thought now that he was dead, he couldn’t hurt me anymore. But he’s still the same selfish SOB

he always was, even after death. Even now, all he wants is another favor.” She took one final, seething look at Bella. “Well as far as I’m concerned, he and that mangy mutt can both go
straight to Hell
.”

Before I could tell Sarah that her father really did love her, before I could share any of his regrets, before I could explain that caring for Bella was George’s damaged way of making amends,

Sarah was gone. She stormed back to the house, dragging the be-

wildered toddler behind her. I stood frozen, still stunned, as the screen door’s slam echoed around me.

I laid a calming hand on Bella’s shoulder. “Well, sweetie, that

didn’t go exactly as I had hoped. I guess we’d better head back.”

I had every intention of leaving, and leaving quickly. Sarah was

less than rational; lord knew what she’d do if she came back and

found Bella and me still on her property. But before I could get

Bella loaded in the car, the screen door opened again, and a tall, somber-looking man rushed out. He had Davie’s blue eyes and

those same tempting curls.

“Bella, wait,” I said, tightening her leash. “I think we’re about to meet the man of the house.” I closed the car door and returned to the yard.

“I’m sorry about my wife,” Rick said. “She’s usually quite level-

headed. She rarely loses her temper. But all of this has really caught 93

her off guard.” He looked back at the house and lowered his voice.

“First her father shows up here, asking for money. I’ve never seen Sarah so furious. Not that I blame her, not one bit.

“Then, a few days later, she finds out he’s dead. I don’t think

she’s gotten over the shock yet, much less the guilt of how they

ended things. I’m honestly not sure who she’s angrier with—her

father or herself.” His eyes hardened. “But soon enough she’ll realize she has nothing to feel guilty about. I never knew her father before last week, but if you ask me, that deadbeat had a lot of nerve showing up here after all that time.” He clenched his fists. “My

only regret is that I didn’t throw him off the property myself.”

Sarah and Rick weren’t exactly vying for president of George’s

fan club. Either one of them might have wanted George gone—per-

manently. I tried to empathize, but all I felt was righteous indignation. George had been flawed, that much was certain. But he was

a good man. A good man who had been brutally murdered. And

nobody, including his family, seemed to care. Nobody, that is, except me.

“Just how angry was your wife?”

Rick flinched, startled. “What do you mean?”

“Her father was murdered, you know.”

His mouth dropped open. “You can’t possibly think Sarah had

something to do with that.”

I remained silent, hoping he would continue.

“You’ve got to be kidding! My wife wouldn’t hurt a fly! Besides,

what would she have to gain by murdering her father?”

“Rage can be a powerful motive.” I looked pointedly at Davie’s

tricycle. “For that matter, so can protecting someone you love. Exactly where were the two of you on Tuesday night?”

94

Rick’s face turned bright red from his neck to his scalp. “Are

you serious? Where we are every night. We have a toddler, for

God’s sake. By eight o’clock, it’s bath time. If we’re lucky enough to get two minutes together, we collapse on the couch and watch

TV.” He took a step back and narrowed his eyes. “Why are you so

interested, anyway? The cops said this was an open-and-shut case.

A violent death isn’t all that surprising, given my father-in-law’s life.” His upper lip lifted cruelly. “Live on the street, die on the street. It was merely a matter of time.”

I glared at him, appalled. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

“So what?” Rick countered. “That still doesn’t mean Sarah or

I had anything to do with his death. Sarah’s father didn’t exact-

ly have a shortage of enemies. A lot of people suffered when that business of his went under. Any one of them might have felt completely justified putting a brick to the old man’s head.”

He pointed to my car. “Now please, for my family’s sake, take

that dog, get off my property, and don’t ever come back here again.”

Like his wife, he stormed off, slamming the screen door behind him.

Two questions plagued my mind as Bella and I drove way. First,

no one had mentioned a brick. If George was killed with a brick,

how did this guy know it?

Second, what on earth was I going to do with Bella now?

95

eleven

As I drove across the I-90 bridge back to Seattle, I came up with the perfect plan—so perfect I wondered why I hadn’t thought of it before. All I needed was a little preparation. This time I wouldn’t rush in and improvise, like I’d done with Sarah. This time I would strategize carefully and execute flawlessly. I left Bella parked in the shade, went inside the studio, and did a quick meditation practice to visualize my success. In my mental motion picture I was cute. I was convincing. I was irresistible. No one could possibly have said no to me.

Mental preparation complete, I turned to the physical. I smiled

in the bathroom mirror, removed an errant piece of spinach from

between my teeth, and pulled my makeup tote out of my purse.

I added a little extra blush, some smoky black mascara, even the

tiniest amount of shiny pink lip gloss. The clothes I wore would

have to do, but I smoothed out the wrinkles and brushed off the

dog hair. I hadn’t practiced flirting in quite some time, but I figured it was like riding a bike—once you learned, you never forgot.

96

I locked the studio’s front door behind me and pep-talked myself

down the sidewalk. When I arrived at my destination thirty seconds later, I popped in a breath mint, flashed my biggest, brightest smile, and added the teensiest sway to my hips. The bell on the door announced my arrival as I purposefully strode through the entrance.

“Welcome to Pete’s Pets, can I help you?”

My smile vanished.

Sitting behind the desk was a woman—a child, really. She was

no older than twenty. Her thirty-six D chest contrasted nicely with her size six hips, and her too-tight top and hip-hugging jeans left nothing to the imagination. I glanced back at the window. The

“Help Wanted” sign was conspicuously missing.

“Um … I’m um … looking for the owner. I mean … I’m look-

ing for … you know … Michael.”

Brilliant, just brilliant. You have such a way with words.

“He’s busy right now, but maybe I can help. I’m Tiffany.”

Seriously? Tiffany? Who in the world named their kid Tiffa-

ny? Parents who raised brain-dead sex kittens, that’s who. My es-

teem for Michael, not all that high to begin with, dropped several notches. My self-confidence rose by twice that amount, and with

it, my ability to speak.

“I need to speak with Michael. It’s personal. When will he be

back?”

Perhaps I shouldn’t have used the word “personal.” Perhaps

I should have continued stammering. Regardless, her attitude

toward me changed. Her smile thinned to a smirk, and her eyes

shrewdly narrowed. She looked me up and down, mentally sizing

up the competition. “I didn’t say he was
gone
. I said he was
busy
.”

Game on.

97

If this licentious Lolita wanted a catfight, I’d show her my

claws. I considered spraying her with my newly acquired vial of

pepper spray, but decided that would probably be overdoing it. I

impaled her with my oh-so-sharp-witted tongue instead. “Well, in

that case, do you have any idea when he will get
un
-busy?”

No reply. I was as inconsequential as a housefly—annoying,

but not worth the effort of swatting. She stared at me, clearly asserting her authority. I had two choices: I could either leave, or I could provide more information.

I chose option three.

I planted my feet and did my best impersonation of a statue,

staring right back at her. Time ticked on, both of us childish-

ly refusing to give ground. I imagined decades passing while we

continued our passive-aggressive struggle for dominance. In my

mind’s eye, dust and cobwebs covered us both, as our hair turned

white and numerous body parts sagged with the inevitable effects

of gravity.

Tiffany finally stood up, sighing. “If you wait here, ma’am, I’ll try to find him.”

Ma’am
? Who was she calling
ma’am
?

She walked, or more accurately sashayed, back to the storage

room. In a voice more than loud enough for me to hear, she said,

“Michael, there’s some older lady out here who insists on talking to you.”

Michael emerged from the storage room, looking confused.

His gaze bounced from Tiffany, to me, then back to Tiffany again.

He tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress a grin.

“Hey, Kate. How’s that food working out for Bella?”

98

“Much better, especially now that I’ve figured out the enzyme

routine. But that’s not why I’m here. I need to talk to you for a minute.” I looked pointedly at Tiffany. “Alone.”

Michael nodded for her to return to the cash register. She re-

luctantly left, but flashed me a look on her way.
Don’t celebrate,
it said.
This battle is far from over.

“What’s up?” Michael asked.

“I took Bella to meet George’s daughter today, and our visit

didn’t go well. I don’t think she’s going to take her.”

“That’s too bad.”