Karma's a Killer

by Tracy Weber

  “Which is tragic, but not unexpected. Raven was always wild, never levelheaded like Maggie.” The old woman’s blue eyes turned icy. “Frankly, I blame you and my son—God rest his soul. You both coddled her too much.”

  Ginny’s mouth fell open. “Listen, you coldhearted prune. Raven’s death isn’t my fault, it’s yours. If you hadn’t cut off her trust fund allowance when Herbert died, she would have been fine. She’d have stayed in Seattle and kept working with Maggie. Instead, she ran off to join those animal rights nut jobs.”

  “Herbert overindulged those girls. It was time someone put a stop to it.”

  “Fine. But why single out Raven? You broke that girl’s heart.”

  The older woman’s shoulders stiffened. “I treated my granddaughters equally. I cut off both of their trust funds, and you know it.”

  “But you didn’t disinherit Maggie.”

  “That’s because Maggie actually did something with her trust fund money, even if it was setting up that idiotic pet warehouse. I gave Raven over a year to get her act together after I cut off her allowance. I would have put her back in the will as soon as she proved herself.”

  “Proved herself? Raven would never have been good enough for you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Raven was given every opportunity to succeed. I paid for her business degree and what did she do? She pissed her education away on drugs and sit-ins.”

  Ginny’s voice trembled. “That’s not fair. Raven never wanted that MBA. You bullied her into it, just like you bully the rest of us into doing anything you want.”

  “She snorted away her future because I sent her to college? Please. You can’t possibly be that naïve.”

  “Raven hadn’t touched cocaine in over five years, and you know it. She did the work. She got clean. She’s not the only person in this family with addictions, but you don’t care about that. You save all of your love for your precious Maggie.”

  “Virginia!” the old woman spat. “That is quite enough! Don’t you dare try to tell me that I didn’t love Raven. I bailed her out of jail. I hired the attorneys that got her off with probation. I paid for her rehab. Raven made her choices, and they were poor ones. Spending my money on drugs, anti-meat lobbyists, and spray-painting fur coats? It was humiliating.” The grandmother’s jaw clenched. “Maggie may be impulsive, but she would never shame me and this family. Not the way Raven did.”

  Tears streamed down Ginny’s face. “Maggie’s no angel when it comes to your precious money either, and Raven was going to prove it. She finally had the evidence. But that crazy woman killed her before she had the chance.”

  She leaned in close to the older woman’s face. “I hate you, you know. We all do. And for the last time, I go by Ginny!” She ran out of the room, dashed past me, and disappeared down the hallway.

  The older woman glared at the door—or more accurately at me, standing behind it—and shook her head. “So many histrionics. Exactly like her daughter.”

  She glanced to my left. “Maggie, I’m going to rest now. See if you can calm down Virginia. I no longer have the patience.” She paused before closing the door between us. “And for heaven’s sake, lock up the alcohol.”

  When I turned around, Michael, Maggie, and Sally stood behind me, gaping like a silent Three Stooges.

  Maggie spoke first. “I’m sorry you had to witness that. My Aunt Ginny can be a little hysterical when she’s drunk.”

  “No problem,” Michael replied. “We get it. This is a tough day.”

  Maggie turned to Sally. “Would you mind putting away the alcohol while I talk to Kate and Michael?” She looked at her watch. “After that, you’d better check to make sure that the animals have been taken care of. The volunteers can be flaky.”

  Sally’s mouth fell open. “Seriously? Today is my day off. I’m supposed to be with my own family, but instead I’ve been stuck here with yours. And now you expect me to take care of the animals, too? For once, could you please do your part?”

  “This is my cousin’s memorial. My place is here with my family.” Maggie’s expression hardened. “When Victor dies, I promise that you’ll get the whole day off, too. Now go.”

  Sally’s face blanched, then flashed bright red. “You’ve become as awful as that old hag. Tell me, Maggie, is all that money worth losing your soul?” She turned to Michael and me. “Enjoy the rest of your time with the Addams family. These ghouls are all yours.” She pushed past Maggie and stormed down the hallway.

  Maggie reached for her. “Sally, I’m sorry. Wait.”

  Her words echoed off Sally’s back. Ten seconds later, the front door slammed solidly behind her.

  “What was that all about?” Michael asked.

  Maggie stared at the door, as if willing Sally to walk back through it. “The most recent battle in Sally’s and my ongoing war. As usual, I think we both lost.” She looked back at Michael. “She’s right, you know. Not about me pulling my own weight. I work practically twenty-four/seven on fundraising, and I honestly can’t leave here today. But I am turning into a ghoul. Mocking Sally’s sick husband was completely out of line. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

  “You’ve had a death in the family. Cut yourself a little slack.”

  “Thanks, but Sally’s and my conflict started long before today. Sometimes I wish I’d never started that damned rescue.”

  Michael frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Building a shelter was supposed to be fun. I had an amazing vision for DogMa. It was going to be an example for no-kill shelters everywhere. I hired Raven to manage the business and Sally to take care of animal welfare and adoptions. I was in charge of fundraising and publicity.” She shook her head. “None one of us knew what we were getting ourselves into, but it worked, for a while anyway.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “The money disappeared. My grandfather died and my grandmother cut off Raven’s and my trust funds. I certainly wasn’t happy, but Raven had a complete meltdown. She abandoned her work at DogMa and took off for California to found HEAT. Without the trust fund money, I had to drum up donations—fast—so Sally was forced to take on the bulk of Raven’s work.” Maggie sighed. “As if that wasn’t bad enough, Sally’s husband had a stroke two months later. Sally kids herself, but he won’t ever recover. Dying would be a blessing.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I remained silent. Maggie continued.

  “We’re under so much pressure it’s a wonder we both haven’t imploded. I hoped that Saturday’s fundraiser would make a difference, and it did. But our bills have skyrocketed in the past year. Most of that money is already spoken for.”

  She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m unloading all of this on you. Apparently my aunt isn’t the only one who’s had too much alcohol today.” She turned toward Michael. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for us. I hope you don’t hold Sally’s and my tiff against DogMa.”

  Michael smiled. “Of course not.”

  I felt bad for pressing, but my priority had to be Dharma. “I understand why Sally is frustrated, but that doesn’t explain Raven.”

  Maggie’s expression stiffened. “What you mean?”

  “Raven helped start DogMa, right?”

  Maggie didn’t reply.

  “So why was she picketing Saturday’s event?”

  Maggie stared at the ground for several long seconds. “This is really family business, but I guess I owe you an explanation. My grandmother didn’t react well when Raven took off. She was certain that Raven had started using cocaine again.” She shrugged. “Heck, she was probably right. Either way, she cut Raven out of the will and left everything to me. Raven convinced herself that her disinheritance was my fault—my idea, even. I told her to be patient. That Grandma would eventually change her mind. She didn’
t believe me. She said Grandma always let me get away with murder.”

  I winced at her poor choice of words.

  Maggie blanched. “You know what I mean.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about any of this?” Michael asked. “If Raven was planning to organize a protest on Saturday, shouldn’t I have known?”

  “I was as surprised as anyone. She’d made some threats, but I never thought she’d actually go through with them.”

  I gestured toward the closed bedroom door. “From what I overheard, picketing wasn’t all Raven had planned.”

  Maggie looked suddenly wary. “What do you mean?”

  “According to your aunt, Raven had something on you. Something that would get her back into your grandmother’s good graces. Any idea what that might have been?”

  Her shoulders stiffened. “My aunt is grieving. And drunk. And frankly, a little delusional. As far as I know, Raven did exactly what she intended to do this past weekend: cause a scene, embarrass me, and leave.”

  Maggie was hiding something. She knew it. I knew it. From the look on Michael’s face, he knew it too. These two cousins had karma: past actions that were now bearing fruit. In Raven’s case, karma might have been a killer.

  Michael spoke in a low, stern tone. The tone Dad always used when he knew I was lying. “Maggie, where were you on Saturday night?”

  Maggie’s eyes grew wide. “Where was I? You think I had something to do with Raven’s death?” She took several steps back. “Look, I loved my cousin, but she hung out with a bunch of crazies. Half of them are on drugs. And before you accuse someone, you should at least pick up a newspaper. The police already arrested the loony old cougar who drowned Raven.”

  I felt my face flush. True, I didn’t think Dharma deserved to win Mother of the Year, but “loony old cougar”?

  My mouth opened before my brain could stop it. “I don’t know, Maggie. Seems like you had more reason to harm Raven than my mother did.”

  Maggie gaped at me, mouth open in a hollow O. “Your mother?” She whipped her head back and forth between Michael and me. “Who are you two, really? Have you been conspiring with Raven all along?”

  Michael answered by repeating his question. “Maggie, where were you on Saturday night?”

  She pointed a shaking finger toward the door. “Get out of this house. Both of you.”

  “We’ll leave,” I promised. “But first answer the question.”

  Her eyes flashed with stubborn indignation. “I said leave. Now.”

  I would have pressed her again, but a ratcheting sound startled me silent.

  Maggie looked up and screamed. “Aunt Ginny, no!”

  Michael grabbed my arm and yanked me behind him.

  Raven’s mother stood five feet away, leveling a hunting rifle against her shoulder. It pointed at Michael’s chest. A small crowd of shocked-looking people f illed in behind her.

  “You have a hell of a lot of nerve coming here today. I believe Maggie asked you to leave.”

  She gestured with her head toward the door. “If I were you, I’d get moving.”

  Thirteen

  My hands were still shaking when Michael parked the Explorer in front of Pete’s Pets a half hour later. He turned off the ignition and faced me.

  “Way to go incognito back there, Kate.”

  “I know, I really stepped in it, didn’t I? I can’t believe Raven’s mother pointed a shotgun at us in front of all of those people.”

  “At least it wasn’t loaded.”

  “Or so the grandmother said. Did you see the look on her face when she snatched that rifle from Ginny? I don’t trust any of those people.”

  The right side of Michael’s mouth lifted in a lopsided grin. “You know, for a minute there I thought your head was going be the next one mounted on that big game wall. Maggie certainly won’t be giving you a tour of DogMa anytime soon.”

  “She wasn’t all that happy with you, either. I doubt she’ll have much to say to either of us from here on out.” I shook my head. “What on earth possessed me to call Dharma my mother?”

  “Maybe you’re starting to think of her that way.”

  I shuddered.

  “It wouldn’t be such a bad thing, you know.”

  “No way. I just got caught up in the moment. Like I told Rene, Dharma might as well have been an egg donor. I’m helping her because … I paused. “Well, because it’s the right thing to do.” My denial sounded flat, even to my own ears.

  I changed the subject before Michael could dig any deeper. “Do you think Maggie killed Raven?”

  Michael thought for a moment. “She’s hiding something, but I’m not sure it’s murder. Maggie never struck me as the violent type. Besides, it sounds like Raven had more of a motive to murder Maggie than vice versa. After all, Maggie was the one inheriting the money.”

  “Maybe.” Something tugged at my mind, but I couldn’t place it. I felt like a child staring at a puzzle a little too advanced for her grade. Something didn’t quite fit, but darned if I could figure out what it was.

  “What if money’s not the motive?” I asked.

  “It might not be. What are you thinking?”

  “I keep coming back to the question of why.”

  “Why kill Raven?”

  “No. Why protest DogMa? It couldn’t have been easy. Raven had to convince almost two dozen people to travel over seven hundred miles to protest an organization that she founded.”

  “Yes, to get even with Maggie.”

  “Maybe, but Raven was written out of the will over a year ago. What made her come after DogMa now?”

  “If what you overheard Ginny say is true, Raven had dug up some sort of dirt on Maggie.”

  “You know Maggie better than I do. Any thoughts on what that might be?”

  Michael shook his head. “None.”

  “What do you know about her background before DogMa?”

  Michael frowned, as if thinking. “Nothing, now that you mention it. I wonder what I’d find if I scoured the Internet?” He drummed the Explorer’s steering wheel with his fingertips. “Tell you what. I’ll do some digging around online tonight. It would be easier if I knew what I was searching for, but I can look.”

  “If you get a chance, try calling Sally, too.”

  “What for?”

  “I’ll bet she knows all of Maggie’s skeletons, and she trusts you. She might be willing to spill.”

  “It’s worth a try.” He looked at his watch. “For now, I need to get to work. Tiffany was supposed to go on lunch break two hours ago.”

  I gave Michael a long kiss goodbye in front of Pete’s Pets, smiled and waved pointedly at a grumpy-looking Tiffany, and told Michael I’d meet him for dinner at PhinneyWood Pizza at six. Date night plans set, we parted company to spend the afternoon managing our separate businesses.

  Rene was watching Bella and I wasn’t scheduled to teach the rest of the day, so I had the entire afternoon to do paperwork without any dog-related interruptions. First up was writing a blog article about yoga practices that could reduce belly fat. Then I’d send the studio’s long overdue newsletter. After that, I’d start planning the summer series and workshop schedules. Perhaps filling my mind with creative distractions would entice my subconscious to do some work of its own. Like figure out how to get more information on Raven, her organization, and her dysfunctional family.

  I glanced at my watch: 2:20 p.m. The Power Yoga class would end in ten minutes. I’d never get any work done in the flurry of post-class activity. Besides, my nerves were still shot from staring down the hollow end of a double-barreled shotgun. Time for some liquid fortification.

  A quick stop at Mocha Mia secured my drug of choice, a triple soy macchiato. I commandeered my favorite table by the window, sipped from the Zombies Are People Too mug the barista had chosen fo
r me, and stared across the street at my studio. A discouragingly small number of students filtered out the front entrance. Hopefully today’s class size wasn’t an omen for the future.

  I waited another fifteen minutes, then drained the dregs from my cup and left for my blissfully empty studio.

  Or so I thought.

  When I opened the door, I saw Chai, the Power Yoga instructor, sitting at the front desk looking overwhelmed. A crowd of students huddled around her.

  This couldn’t possibly be good.

  All eight women turned toward me in unison.

  “Kate, thank goodness you’re here. It’s injured. You need to do something.”

  At the word “injured,” my stomach dropped to my toes. Yoga—

  especially the gentle style I taught—was relatively safe, but no physical activity was completely risk-free. A yoga teacher protected her students by designing an intelligent sequence, choosing poses appropriate for the level of the class, and adapting the form of the poses to each individual student.

  Likewise, a yoga studio owner protected her business by hiring qualified instructors and purchasing an ironclad liability insurance policy. In the three years Serenity Yoga had been open, I’d never had reason to call my insurance adjuster. I had a feeling that today might be my day. Visions of heart attacks, ambulances, herniated cervical discs, and legal depositions danced through my head. They were doing the hustle.

  I slipped—pardon the pun—automatically into damage-control mode. Thought number one: calling a student “it” wasn’t the best choice of words, given the circumstances. Thought number two: if a student was hurt, why was everyone hanging around the front desk instead of attending to her? I put on my responsible, take-charge business owner facade and said, “Don’t panic. I’ll get the first aid kit. Who got hurt, and where is she? Have you called an ambulance?”

  Chai gaped at me like I’d just suggested she teach outdoor nude yoga in Iceland.

  “An ambulance? For a pigeon?”

  Now I was the one confused.

  “A pigeon?”

  “Yes, the gray pigeon. You know, from the back doorway. Something’s wrong with it, and we don’t know what to do. He’s on the ground by the bottom stair and, from the mess, he’s been there awhile. He barely moves when we walk by, and he doesn’t fly at all.” She picked up the phone. “Should we call building maintenance?”