Murder Likes It Hot

by Tracy Weber

  Greg’s lips barely moved. “What choice?”

  “Why, which punishment you’d like, of course. You can let Sam go to the police—in which case you’ll lose that home, that car, and that lovely wife.” I lifted my lips in a fake smile. “On the plus side, an attractive guy like you will probably get lots of action in prison.” I paused for a count of three. “Or we can keep our mouths shut, and you can pay a fine.”

  “You’re blackmailing me?

  “I prefer to think of it as creating a partnership for our mutual benefit. You need me to keep quiet. I need to pay for fertility treatments. You’ll have to resign your position on the board, of course. That way the kids will benefit, too. When the center reopens, they’ll get the services they deserve without a slimebag like you taking advantage of them. Everybody wins.” I shrugged. “Everybody except you, I guess.”

  Greg stood between the pool table and the front door, mouth open in a wide O. “Are you seriously going to let her do this, Sam?”

  Sam huffed. “Believe me, I don’t want to. I’d rather call the police and let you rot in prison. But as you’ve pointed out numerous times, another scandal could close Teen Path HOME permanently. Kate’s plan is the lesser of two evils.”

  Greg’s glare shifted from me, to Sam, and back again. When his eyes met mine, they held angry resignation. “How much?”

  “That depends,” I replied. “How much were you paying Gabriel?”

  “Gabriel? That fool wouldn’t take money. He wanted to ruin me. That’s why I—” He stopped speaking.

  “That’s why you killed him.” I finished.

  “Kate, don’t make accusations you can’t prove.” Sam’s face remained expressionless, but the tightness in his voice left no room for doubt. He thought I was pushing too hard.

  He might well have been right. I didn’t like the way Greg’s eyelids were twitching or how his hand hovered near a bulge on the right side of his jacket. Was that a gun in his pocket, or was he happy to see me?

  Greg growled, like Bella warning off the UPS driver. “You’re not blackmailing me about just the drugs, are you?”

  Sam nudged me. “Kate … ”

  I ignored him. Too hard or not, I couldn’t stop pushing now. I sneered at Greg. “What do you think?”

  Greg rolled his eyes. “I think Gabriel was an idiot. If he hadn’t threatened me, none of this would have happened.”

  “Gabriel figured out you were using Teen Path HOME to distribute drugs?”

  Greg scoffed. “No. He got it all wrong. He came outside looking for that stupid homeless girl and saw me parked in the loading zone. I was with one of my younger … ” He paused, as if searching for the right word. “One of my younger employees. Gabriel thought I was using that fourteen-year-old boy for sex!” His voice grew higher as he repeated the word. “Sex! He accused me of being a child rapist! I was outraged.” Greg paced back and forth in front of the pool table, much like Sam had done earlier. “The kid jumped out of my car and ran off, but I was stuck. I couldn’t let Gabriel call my wife or, worse, the police. Do you know what happens to accused child molesters?”

  I sensed it was a rhetorical question, so I didn’t reply.

  “Gabriel told me to get out of the car and follow him to his office, like I was some miscreant teen he’d caught smoking pot under the bleachers. I considered running him down with my car, but I’d never have been able to hide the damage.” He shrugged. “So I followed him. What choice did I have?”

  I knew that Greg’s admitting all of this was a terrible omen, but I kept pressing. I needed him to confess to pulling the trigger. “Gabriel had taken Rainbow’s gun to his office, hadn’t he?”

  “It and the cash box were on top of the desk, like they were waiting for me.” Greg unbuttoned his jacket. “That gun was the perfect solution to my dilemma.”

  Sam poked me again. “Kate, wouldn’t this be a good time to tell Greg about that yoga guy?”

  Greg wrinkled his lips, dumbfounded. “Have you gone batty? What does yoga have to do with any of this?”

  I knew exactly what “yoga guy” Sam was referring to. We’d agreed that “Patanjali”—the author of yoga’s key philosophical text—would be our safe word. But I pretended ignorance. “He’s right, Sam,” I said. “It’s not relevant right now.” I turned back to Greg. “Why did you hide the gun and the cash box behind the garbage dumpster? You had to have known someone would find it.”

  Greg smiled, but the expression didn’t go past his lips. “I certainly hoped so. Neither of them could be traced back to me; I’d wiped them. And if some homeless kid found the gun and got their prints all over it, they’d be the most likely suspect.”

  “You were hoping to frame one of the kids?” Sam asked. “What kind of a monster are you?”

  “It wasn’t personal. They would have been collateral damage, like you two are going to be.” Greg pulled a revolver out of his jacket pocket and pointed it at me.

  Sam didn’t hesitate. He pushed me aside and stepped between us.

  “For the love of Patanjali,” I yelled. “Don’t shoot!”

  Everything next seemed to happen in blurry, strobe-light flashes of motion. The doors to the kitchen and conference room slammed open simultaneously. Multiple voices yelled.

  “Freeze!”

  “Police!”

  “Drop your weapon!”

  Detective Martinez leapt from the kitchen and leveled her gun on Greg with both hands. Detective Henderson froze in a similar position in the conference room doorway.

  Greg’s eyes grew huge, then narrowed at me. “You set me up! You both set me up!” His finger tightened on the trigger.

  In that moment, the world stopped spinning. I’d made a terrible mistake. Greg was going to shoot Sam, who’d made himself my human shield. It was my fault. Sam had asked me to back off. He’d hinted that I should say our Patanjali safe word, and I’d ignored him. If he got hurt, I’d torture myself every day for the rest of my life. A life that would be blessedly short, given that Rene would slaughter me.

  Martinez’s stern voice commanded, “Drop your weapon. Now.”

  Interminable milliseconds ticked by, filled by the thwock, thwock, thwock of my heart.

  “Drop it!” Henderson boomed.

  Greg’s expression slackened. His shoulders slumped. The fire in his eyes extinguished. The gun clattered to the floor, and he slowly raised his hands.

  As Martinez cuffed Greg’s hands behind his back, the world went dark.

  Ten minutes later, Sam and I were both ensconced on the couch. I’d woken up almost immediately after I passed out, but I still felt shaky. The standoff with Greg had been much too close. Sam had almost paid the price.

  “Jesus, Kate,” Sam said. “You could have said that Pata-whatever word a little earlier. Were you trying to get us killed?”

  “I’m so sorry, Sam. The situation escalated a lot faster than I thought it would. I was trying to get him to admit to pulling the trigger.”

  Sam had reluctantly agreed to participate in Martinez’s and my plan to catch Greg, but none of us had fully anticipated the risk. I hoped it had been worth it.

  Henderson returned from the kitchen and handed us each a glass of ice water. “You went down like a rock, Kate. Are you sure you don’t want me to call the paramedics and have them check you out?”

  “No, I’m fine. I panicked there for a minute and forgot to breathe. Then when it was all over … ” I shrugged. “I think I collapsed in relief.” I fingered the wire that was taped between my breasts. “Did you get the entire conversation?”

  “We did. But Kate, we agreed that at any sign of danger, you’d say the name of that yoga guy.”

  “Patanjali,” I said.

  “Whatever.” He sighed. “You do realize that ‘at any sign of danger’ meant before you had a gun pointed at you, righ
t?”

  “I did, but—” I was about to say that I did, but I’d screwed up and gotten carried away in the moment. Doing so would have forever cemented me in the number-one position on Henderson’s idiot list.

  Sam didn’t give me the chance. “It’s not her fault,” he said. “That gun came out of nowhere. She had no way of knowing Greg was armed.” It was a lie, of course. I’d seen Greg’s hand twitching near that bulge in his jacket. I was pretty sure Sam had seen it too, but his look warned me not to contradict him. My hero, yet again.

  “Did Greg say enough for you to get a conviction?” I asked.

  “Enough to probably convince a jury, but it will never come to that. Slimebags like him always cut a deal.” Henderson winked. “You got him, kid.”

  Martinez appeared beside me. “You two all right?”

  “Kate probably has a few bruises, and I think I need a new pair of underwear,” Sam replied. “But other than that, we’re fine.”

  I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed. “I’m sorry, Sam. That was a lot closer than I intended. You’re my hero. You risked your life to protect me.”

  He gave me a droll look. “Sweet-talk me all you want, Kate. I’m still telling Michael and Rene that we almost got shot.”

  Henderson winked. “Tell them not to worry, Sam. Next time we’ll put you in a bullet-proof vest.”

  Sam turned green, but he didn’t reply.

  Martinez chuckled and left to speak to another officer.

  Henderson turned to me. “I have to admit, you surprised me tonight. For a yoga teacher, you’ve got balls. Do you remember the first time we met?”

  How could I forget? “The night I discovered my friend George’s body?”

  “Yes. You puked all over my crime scene. I thought you were an imbecile.”

  I cringed. “And now?”

  He clapped me on the back, lips lifting into a dangerously close impersonation of a smile. “You’re growing on me.”

  I smiled back. The feeling was mutual.

  twenty-four

  I stood outside the closed door to my office, uncharacteristically hesitant. What if the conversation didn’t go as I hoped? I was still recovering from one devastating disappointment. I wasn’t sure my heart could handle another.

  Seven months had passed since the night Sam and I cornered Greg at Teen Path HOME. Detective Henderson had been right.

  We’d gotten him.

  Greg had formally confessed to killing Gabriel and setting up a drug distribution ring at Teen Path HOME. He’d named his suppliers and agreed to testify against them in exchange for a maximum twenty-year prison sentence. I thought he deserved life without the possibility of parole, but Martinez assured me that this was a good outcome. His testimony would break several key links in Seattle’s opioid supply chain, at least temporarily. If it made it harder for kids like Echo to get their hands on heroin, I supposed it was worth it.

  I hadn’t seen Echo or Jace since that day in the convenience store parking lot. In a likely misguided attempt to help Echo, Michael and I had searched for her at Woodland Park a few days after my confrontation with Greg. Her tent was gone, replaced by that of another homeless youth. The only evidence of her time in the encampment was the two solar lanterns. Sad symbols of the beauty and light that Echo might never find. If anyone knew where she’d gone, they weren’t willing to tell us. I’d likely never know if Echo and Jace left together, or if they simply scattered like leaves in the wind, the way so many of Seattle’s homeless youth do.

  Some Like It Hot Yoga had, as I’d feared, poached a good chunk of my customers, but I was beginning to believe Serenity Yoga would eventually pull out of it. Class attendance had taken an alarming dip during our competitor’s cheap promotional period, but it had been steadily growing since it ended. I’d redefined our offerings, and I was in the process of designing our first yoga teacher training program. Initial interest was encouraging. Yoga teacher training might be exactly what the studio needed to thrive. If not? Well, Tiffany’s daughter was due soon. Fatherhood would soon take up much of Chad’s marketing time.

  Teen Path HOME reopened, but without me as an employee. The yoga program continued, however. Another teacher from Serenity Yoga had taken my place, and she was doing fabulously. I’d wanted to continue my classes there, but Chuck’s first act as the center’s new director had been to fire me. He said that given my recent history, he didn’t trust me to keep appropriate boundaries with the teens.

  To be completely honest, he was right. The proof was on the other side of this door.

  I tapped my knuckles against the wood three times.

  “Come in.”

  Rainbow stared at the desktop, refusing to meet my gaze. She pretended to be concentrating on her newest drawing, but that was a ruse. Her energy was troubled. Bella curled around Mouse on the teen’s double bed. Worry creased her brow. She sensed that something was wrong with Rainbow, too.

  I grabbed a piece of kibble from a bowl on the desk and called, “Ed, Lonnie! Come!”

  Eight feet’s worth of tiny claws scratched along a network of Plexiglas tubing. Michael had created the maze-like structure, which spanned the room and connected two extra-large metal cages. One held a sign that read Gym and contained wheels, balls, and a variety of other exercise toys. The other, labeled Bedroom, was filled with nesting material and a collection of teeny tiny teddy bears that Rene had knitted for her two favorite vermin.

  Ed and Lonnie screeched to a halt at the edge of the exercise cage and stood on their hind legs, exactly as Gabriel had taught them. Mouse opened her eyes, stared at them disinterestedly, then closed them again. Great calico hunter, she wasn’t. Then again, why should she be? She had three human slaves and a German shepherd devotee who saw to her every need. We never chanced leaving Mouse alone in the room with Ed and Lonnie, but there would be no prison breaks. Michael had locked their new residence up tighter than Fort Knox. Not even Bella could figure out how to release them.

  Rainbow laid down her colored pencils, tossed a few more kibbles to the boys, and then flopped on the bed next to Bella and absently stroked Mouse’s belly. I picked up her sketch pad and thumbed through the most recent drawings. The first was of a blonde teen crouched on a sidewalk, face obscured by a hood, arm wrapped around a dog that was obviously Bella. She’d titled it The Power of Love. In the next, the same teenager crawled out from the jaws of a python. Escape. The third was of her Tacoma home, slightly tilted. A large crack bisected it through the middle. Interrupted.

  Her current work wasn’t finished. The girl in the drawing was viewed from behind. A cat that looked remarkably like Mouse rubbed against her ankles. The teen stared out a window, but at what? So far, the outside world was blank. What was she looking at? An escape? A refuge? A dream? A longing?

  I tapped my finger against the page. “What are you going to call this one?”

  Rainbow sighed. “Disappointment.”

  I sank on the bed next to her, carefully remaining outside of Mouse’s strike zone. “Is that how you feel? Disappointed?”

  “No. It’s what I am. A disappointment.” Her expression was troubled. “I’m a bad person, Kate.”

  “Oh honey, that’s simply not true. How can you think that?”

  She turned her face away. “You and Michael, you’re good people. You both tried to help me that night I showed up at your yoga studio. You risked your life to make sure I didn’t go to jail for Gabriel’s death. When I didn’t want to go to Orcas with Dale after Dean was arrested, you and Michael agreed to take me in. You’ve both been so good to me. I don’t deserve it.”

  I understood what she was talking about, at least in part. As I’d feared, Dale’s plan to foster Rainbow hadn’t gone over well with the teen. She liked Dale, but she’d never met Dharma, and she was too fragile to start over in a remote place with relative strangers. In a move we all t
hought was a brilliant compromise at the time, Michael and I had agreed to foster her until the baby we hoped to conceive was close to arriving. After that, Rainbow promised she’d move to Orcas. For a teen in the foster care system, that much stability was almost a dream.

  Almost.

  Rainbow’s eyes turned liquid. Her lips trembled. “I tried to be sorry when you lost the baby, Kate, really I did. But I’m not. I’m happy. You lost a child, and I’m so self-centered, all I can feel is glad.” Her voice turned to a whisper. “I wanted you to have that miscarriage. I wished for it. It’s my fault.”

  My own eyes started to water. “Rainbow, that’s not possible. There is zero percent chance that you had anything to do with my losing the baby. The doctor warned us that the pregnancy would be high risk. We should have expected it.”

  Dale and Dharma had made good on their promise to pay for our IVF. The first attempt had failed. The second had ended in a heart-wrenching, early second-trimester miscarriage three days ago. Michael and I had talked it over, and we agreed. There would not be a third attempt. The process was too hard; the chances of success, too low.

  I’d already broken the news to Dharma and Dale who were, of course, disappointed. Dale offered to pay for an egg donor, but Michael and I chose a different path. One we obviously should have shared with Rainbow much, much earlier.

  Her tears turned into sobs. “I’m so sorry. I swear, I never wanted for you and Michael to be hurt. I just like living here.”

  I wrapped my arms around her. “Don’t worry about us, Rainbow. We’re fine.” I was telling the truth. Michael and I were sad, but we weren’t devastated. One dream had withered, but the seeds of a new one had germinated in its place.

  Rainbow stopped sobbing, but she refused to look up. “When are you two going to try again?”

  “We’re not.”

  She pulled away from me, frowning. “Not ever?”

  “Nothing’s for sure, at least not permanently sure. We could still use an egg donor or a surrogate in the future, but Michael and I talked about it, and for now, we’ve decided to adopt.”