Murder Likes It Hot

by Tracy Weber

  Fabulous.

  I affected an expression of calm confidence and pushed through the door, hoping to see a large turnout. The recreation area was a ghost town. No teens traded gibes near the pool table or slouched on the couches. Scaly-tailed Lonnie didn’t even make an appearance. If it weren’t for the sound of banging pots in the kitchen, I’d have thought the entire building was empty.

  I moved to the conference room, where I was thwarted by a closed door, lowered blinds, and a sign that read, Therapy Visit in Progress. Multiple voices murmured from within. I glanced at my watch and frowned. One-fifteen. Gabriel had reserved the conference room starting at one o’clock. This was officially my time.

  I reached for the doorknob, then remembered what Gabriel had told me. Homeless kids didn’t open up easily. If I interrupted a therapy session at the wrong time, hard-won progress could be demolished.

  Crap. Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap.

  I set the boom box on the floor and hustled to Gabriel’s office instead. That door was closed, too. Gabriel’s voice boomed from inside, punctuated by stuttering periods of silence. “I told you before … ” Silence. “But … ” Silence again. “Would you please listen to reason?”

  Double-booked conference room or not, I couldn’t interrupt Gabriel in the middle of an argument, even if it was likely one being held over the phone. So what was I supposed to do now? I considered seeing if Chuck was in the kitchen, but I wasn’t in the mood to deal with his ire, so I decided to try Vonnie, the art teacher, instead.

  The area at the top of the stairway was empty, except for a blonde teenage girl. Rainbow.

  This time she wasn’t smoking—or arguing with a lanky boy, for that matter. She was putting the finishing touches on a mural that spanned the wall adjoining the art room.

  My mind formed a single word. Wow.

  Like the drawing displayed in the downstairs hallway, the work-in-progress portrayed two scenes. This time the left half was a lush, park-like setting covered in thick grass, yellow wildflowers, and dark green trees. On the right, a similar landscape had been decimated by fire. All that remained were smoldering tree trunks, scorched earth, and snow-like ash dotted with yellow-orange embers. A crumbling rope bridge spanned a river separating the two sides. A terrified-looking girl with light blue eyes stood at a gap in the midpoint. Her right hand reached forward. She gaped back over her left shoulder at the devastation.

  I stared at the painting, transfixed. The work was powerful. So powerful, I swore I could hear the girl’s gasps. I could feel the bridge cracking around her. I wanted to warn her to turn back before the structure collapsed. I wanted to beseech her to hurry forward. Above all, I wanted to know if she’d make it.

  I cleared my throat to let Rainbow know I was standing behind her. “That’s amazing.”

  She didn’t look up from her painting. “Thanks.”

  “What do you call it?”

  “I haven’t decided. Escape, maybe?” She laid her brush on an easel and wiped her hands on her apron. “Vonnie asked me to paint a mural that represents the words Teen Path HOME. I’m not sure this is what she had in mind.” She shrugged. “I guess I’ll find out when she gets back next week.”

  “She’s not here? I wanted to ask her when I can get inside the conference room.”

  “The therapy dog’s in there now. They were supposed to be in the recreation area, but Chuck got pissed about a dog being so close to the kitchen, so they moved to the conference room. I’d be there too, but I wanted to finish this.”

  “Do you know when they’ll be done?”

  She shrugged. “Why don’t you ask them?”

  Which was obviously what I should have done in the first place. I trudged downstairs and cracked open the door to the conference room. At least two dozen young adults gathered around a small, happy-looking yellow lab wearing a green vest with the words Therapy Dog written across the side. A dark-haired young woman kneeled on the ground next to her.

  My face split into a smile. “Nicole! What are you and Hope doing here?”

  Nicole jumped to her feet with the energy only an eighteen-year-old can muster. “Kate! I heard there was a yoga class today, but I had no idea you’d be teaching it.” She handed Hope’s leash to one of the teens. “Watch her for a second, would you? Kate and I need to catch up.” She closed the space between us and gave me a huge hug. “What a wonderful surprise!”

  “Do you work here?” I asked.

  She gestured with her thumb to the dog. “Hope does. I’m just the dog taxi.”

  The small yellow lab looked nothing like the puppy mill survivor Nicole had adopted nearly two years ago. Back then, Hope had been frightened, skinny, and covered in filth. Today, her eyes sparkled, her tail wagged, and her coat was thick and lustrous. If she missed her offspring, you certainly couldn’t tell. Her whole body wiggled with happiness.

  Likewise, Nicole seemed transformed—from a shy, sullen teenager to a striking young adult. She was still a good twenty pounds overweight, but no traces of acne marked her face. Her smile was bright; her energy, happy.

  I pointed to Hope’s vest. “She’s a therapy dog now?”

  Nicole grinned. “I promised Mom that I’d train her, didn’t I? Getting Hope’s therapy dog certification was my senior year community service project. I didn’t plan to keep doing site visits after graduation, but she loves it too much to stop.” She winked. “I even talked my psych professor at U-dub into giving me extra credit.” U-dub was the local vernacular for the University of Washington.

  Nicole gestured with her chin toward her canine pal. “Look at her. She was born for this.” Hope was cuddled between two young girls, so happy I would have sworn she was purring.

  “She’s amazing, Nicole. You saved her.”

  “Nope. We saved each other.”

  I smiled. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I need to set up.”

  “No problem.” Nicole gave me another quick hug, then grabbed Hope’s leash. “Come on, everyone. Let’s clear out.”

  The teens replied with a collective groan. “Hope’s leaving already?”

  “She can stay a few more minutes,” Nicole said. “We’ll hang out near the front door. If Chuck sees us again, at least we’ll have an escape route.”

  Nicole and Hope walked in a perfect heel through the conference room door. Every single one of my potential yoga students filed out with them. They’d all come back when class started, right?

  I started prepping the room by pushing the tables against the wall, which was no small feat for a 110-pound yoga teacher working by herself. Then I formed a large circle with twenty of the room’s metal folding chairs. I didn’t usually like teaching in a circle, but in this case it would provide several benefits: circles helped build community, no one could stand behind anyone else, and all of the students could easily see me. Gabriel said the center couldn’t afford yoga equipment, but that was okay. I wanted to teach these kids a practice they could do on their own. When everything you owned had to fit into a backpack, yoga mats, blocks, straps, and bolsters were unaffordable luxuries.

  A minute before class was scheduled to start, I tossed my purse under the table behind me, plugged in the boom box, and turned on my favorite Deva Premal CD. The resonant notes of Vedic chanting filled the space, calming my nervous system. I could almost feel the city’s grime melt from my eardrums.

  Paradise.

  A teenager with a shaved head, bulging biceps, and rich brown complexion peaked through the door. He gaped at the boom box, then gestured toward the circle of chairs. “What’s this?”

  I flashed what I hoped was a welcoming smile. “A yoga class. Why don’t you join us?”

  “Yoga? Ain’t that the flexibility shit?”

  I smiled. “Well, yes, yoga does help with flexibility. But it’s also good for the mind.”

  He waved his hand
through the air. “Later, dude.”

  He was my sole visitor. Five minutes after class was scheduled to start, I still perched on the edge of a folding chair, trying not to look desperate.

  Gabriel strode through the door. “Sorry I’m late. I was on the phone with my wife.” He glanced at me, then at the circle of empty chairs. “Why are you sitting in here by yourself? Even the Pied Piper had to wander around to get followers, and he had a magic flute. Come on.”

  He led me back to the recreation area, huge smile on his face, voice booming. “Who’s coming to this yoga class?”

  Silence. Nothing but disinterested stares. He moved to the pool table and challenged four young men to a stretch-off. Nope. He accosted the teens still huddled around Hope. No thank you. He even hazarded a stop in the kitchen. Nada.

  After ten minutes of cajoling, Gabriel had recruited a grand total of four students. Five, if you counted the therapy dog. Nicole, Rainbow, himself, and a blond male wearing a filthy gray hoodie. Hope lay at attention next to Nicole’s chair.

  The four humans sat equidistant from each other, empty chairs forming impermeable force fields between them. Gabriel offered a shrug. Nicole, a bright smile. Rainbow looked shyly down at her fingernails. The male leaned back in his chair, pulled the hood down over his face, and promptly began snoring. Rainbow glanced his direction and giggled. Hope cocked her head at him curiously, then flopped on her side to join him.

  Disappointment hardened like wet clay in my stomach, but I turned off the music and prepared to teach. The deep thrums of hip-hop thudded from the recreation area, accompanied by good-natured gibes and the ceramic clank of pool balls. I considered turning the CD back on, but Deva Premal sounded exactly like I felt. A woo-woo interloper, intruding where she didn’t belong. We were like cartoons in a child’s activity book. Which object doesn’t belong? Chimes, music, and murmured instructions were all superficial. My expectations for yoga class seemed ridiculous, too.

  The goal of a yoga teacher (a good one, anyway) is to meet your students where they are and take them to a state of greater balance. Thus far, I’d attempted to meet my students where they weren’t so I could take them somewhere they probably didn’t want to go. No wonder my class was flopping.

  I forged on. “Close your eyes and notice your breath.”

  My second mistake. Snoozing Guy slouched deeper. Rainbow glanced nervously back and forth, as if afraid someone was going to grab her.

  “On second thought,” I said, “keep your eyes open, but find a comfortable place to focus your gaze.”

  Rainbow’s eyes stopped shifting. She kept them open, but stared toward the floor. Snoozing Guy kept snoring, but I could live with that. “Notice your breath and begin to make it longer.”

  I kept the class purposefully short and taught simple poses that connected movement and breath. When sounds intruded, as they often did, I asked my students to bring their attention back to the breath. “Yoga can help you find calmness in chaos. See if you can practice that here. Try to remain focused in spite of the sounds around us.”

  My students—three of them, anyway—seemed to respond. Nicole smiled and moved fluidly with her breath. Gabriel interspersed glances at the male teen with slow, smooth exhalations. Rainbow’s shoulders dropped down from her ears. The tension in her body melted. For the first time that afternoon, I felt worthy.

  I finished class with a three-minute Savasana (yoga’s pose of quiet rest) performed seated in chairs. When I rang the chimes, all four human participants opened their eyes. Snoozing Guy surprised me by giving me two thumbs-up and saying, “That was epic. I haven’t slept that well in weeks.”

  I assumed it was a compliment.

  My tiny cohort of students filed out while Gabriel and I reassembled the conference room. When they were all gone, I spoke. “That wasn’t exactly earth shattering.”

  Gabriel looked surprised. “What? You mean because of the low attendance? You need to have patience. For the three who came, you rocked their world.”

  “Two. One of them was a volunteer, and I already knew her.” I wrapped the cord around the boom box and lifted it. “If this yoga pilot is going to be successful, we need to do better. Five more weeks isn’t much time to build an audience.”

  Gabriel pushed in the last chair. “Maybe we should lightly incentivize the class.”

  “Incentivize it?”

  “Give out gift cards for attendance.”

  I winked. “Ah, you mean bribe people to attend.”

  Gabriel grinned. “I prefer the word ‘incentivize.’ I have a bunch of donated gift cards in my office. We sometimes use them to build attendance in new offerings. A five-dollar grocery card or a few cell phone minutes, and … ” He snapped his fingers. “Poof! Suddenly classes have waiting lists.”

  “Cell phone minutes? These kids don’t have homes, but they can afford cell phones?”

  “Fancy iPhones are rare, but pretty much everyone has at least a basic burner phone. It’s their link to each other, which means it’s their link to safety.”

  “Well, I’m all for trying anything that will—”

  My words were cut off by a crash and the sound of angry yelling.

  eight

  A male voice shouted from the recreation area, “Give me my money. Now!”

  Gabriel bolted out of the conference room. I grabbed my purse from under the table and ran behind him. Two young men, a redhead and a Hispanic with a close-cropped beard, were arguing in the recreation area. The redhead pinned the other against the pool table with a pool cue. Chuck, who must have come from the kitchen, was trying to get between them.

  Gabriel pulled the redhead off the bearded youth’s chest. Chuck grabbed his counterpart and wrestled him to the side. Both teens stopped struggling, but their bodies remained rigid. Fighting roosters prepared to jump into battle.

  After a few seconds, Chuck and Gabriel made eye contact, then released the teens simultaneously.

  “What’s going on here?” Gabriel snapped.

  The redhead spoke first. “I won the game, fair and square. Spider owes me five bucks, and now he won’t pay.”

  “He cheated,” Spider replied. “Besides, everyone knows you don’t allow gambling here.”

  The redhead raised a fist and stepped toward him. “Then why’d you take the bet?”

  Gabriel grabbed his arm and yanked it behind his back. “Knock it off, both of you. We’ll work this out in my office.” He nodded my direction. “I’ll see you next week, Kate.”

  As Gabriel and Chuck marched the two young men toward Gabriel’s office, I headed back to my car. Almost an hour later, I arrived home in Ballard and pulled into my bungalow’s driveway. I still felt jittery, both from the fight I’d witnessed and from the forty-five minutes I’d spent battling downtown Seattle’s traffic. I strode through the front door and grabbed Bella’s leash. “Come on girl, we need to walk off some stress.”

  Green Lake Park, which contained our favorite three-mile walking trail, would do nicely. I drove fifteen minutes to the iconic lake and stopped my car near the community center’s concession stand. The early November air felt brisk when I got out, so I slipped on a hat and gloves and rummaged inside my purse for my wallet. A hot cup of coffee was exactly what I needed to shake off the chill. Granted, caffeine wasn’t the best choice for a stressed-out yogi, but what’s an addict to do?

  I couldn’t locate the wallet by feel, so I started pulling items from my purse. Studio keys, lip gloss, sunglasses, breath mints …

  Thirty seconds later, my purse was empty. I searched the entire car. On the floor, between both front seats, underneath them. I found an old plastic water bottle, three quarters, and at least two shedding seasons’ worth of dog hair, but no wallet. I’d had it when I paid for parking before my yoga class, and I remembered putting it back inside my purse on the way to Teen Path HOME. Could it have
fallen out when I tossed the purse under the conference room table?

  I shifted the car into reverse and headed back to the center.

  A truck was parked in the loading zone, but I got lucky for once and found a spot on the street two blocks away. In fifty-degree weather, Bella would probably be safe inside the car for fifteen or twenty minutes, but it was parked in full sun, so I couldn’t risk it. I clipped on her leash. “Guess you’re coming with me.” I plugged the three quarters I’d found into the meter. Eight minutes. “No time to waste, sweetie. Let’s go!”

  Bella, always excited to explore regardless of the location, leaped out of the Honda and trotted happily beside me, pausing only to mark her new territory. Unlike earlier, the sidewalk in front of Teen Path HOME’s entrance was bustling. I recognized a number of teens, but my eyes locked on three. Rainbow and Jace loitered half a block away, near the loading zone again. This time they were accompanied by another young woman. I recognized her pink, duct-tape-covered coat instantly. Echo.

  The three were locked in a bizarre triangle that didn’t seem at all amorous. Rainbow sulked, arms crossed, glaring at Jace and grumbling under her breath. Jace ignored Rainbow and spoke sternly to Echo. Echo stared at the ground. Her fingers were twitchy; her eyes, desperate. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, as if she were freezing inside her thick winter jacket in spite of the fifty-degree sun.

  She leaned toward Jace, clearly pleading. He shook his head as if disgusted, then reached into his pocket. I wasn’t close enough to hear, but his lips formed the words “last time” before he pulled out a small plastic bag. Echo snatched it and cuddled it close to her belly. Rainbow threw up her hands and marched away from them both.

  We arrived at the entrance to Teen Path HOME at the same time. “Everything okay over there?” I asked.

  “Yeah, fine.” The disgust in her voice contradicted her words. “I hate it when he does that.”