by Tracy Weber
Copyright Information
Pre-Meditated Murder: A Downward Dog Mystery © 2018 by Tracy Weber.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
First e-book edition © 2017
E-book ISBN: 9780738753904
Book format by Cassie Willett
Cover design by Kevin R. Brown
Cover art © Kim Johnson/Lindgren & Smith, Inc.
Midnight Ink is an imprint of Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Weber, Tracy, author.
Title: Pre-meditated murder / Tracy Weber.
Description: First Edition. | Woodbury, Minnesota : Midnight Ink, [2018] |
Series: A downward dog mystery ; #5
Identifiers: LCCN 2017034859 (print) | LCCN 2017049375 (ebook) | ISBN
9780738753904 | ISBN 9780738750682
Subjects: LCSH: Yoga teachers—Washington (State)—Seattle—Fiction. |
Murder—Investigation—Fiction. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3623.E3953 (ebook) | LCC PS3623.E3953 P74 2018 (print)
| DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017034859
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To my precocious German shepherd pup, Ana.
Thank you for filling my days with laughter and my nights with warmth.
Acknowledgments
The longer I write, the more I realize that writing is a team sport.
Thanks go to my agent, Margaret Bail, and editor Terri Bischoff at Midnight Ink. I’m grateful that you were willing to take a chance on this newbie author five years ago. Without you, my series would still be gathering dust at the bottom of my closet. Thanks as always to editor Sandy Sullivan at Midnight Ink and freelance editor Marta Tanrikulu. Your insights and feedback both amaze and humble me.
Special thanks to Jane Gorman, Brandy Reinke, and Renee Turner, who helped me understand the complex process of immigration and the particular challenges faced by immigrants coming to the United States from Mexico. Any errors are solely my own.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the town of Cannon Beach, Oregon, which is one of my favorite places in the world. I took some liberties with the sandcastle contest, including moving it to autumn instead of early summer, but the loveliness of the town is unchanged. I hope to retire there someday.
My husband, Marc, gets extra kudos for designing and maintaining my author website, as well as for listening to all of my grumbles and supporting me through all of my challenges. Ana Pup, the new canine love of my life, gets my eternal gratitude for keeping life interesting.
Finally, thank you to all of my readers, who keep me glued to the keyboard even when I feel like giving up. I write for you.
one
I slipped through the restroom door, leaned my back against the counter, and tried—unsuccessfully—to slow the pounding in my chest.
Dad’s voice echoed inside my head. Take it easy now, Kate-girl. Remember what Rene told you. You have to act like everything’s normal. You don’t want to ruin tonight for Michael.
Almost three years after his death, Dad was still right. Tonight wasn’t about me. At least not just about me. It was Michael’s night, too. Or it would be, provided I didn’t die of heart failure.
Public restroom or not, I could think of worse places to die. The floor’s shiny black marble was spotless. A trio of lavender-scented candles cast dancing light beams across the matching countertop. The purple blooms of a phalaenopsis orchid cascaded from a dark green plant in the corner. The place even sounded inviting, thanks to soothing classical music floating through hidden speakers. Normally, I would have been enchanted by the room’s painstaking ornamentation. Not today. Today, I was too busy trying not to hyperventilate to revel.
My adrenaline-laced anticipation surprised me, especially since I’d spent almost a year avoiding the very conversation Michael and I were about to have. Then again, maybe I was worked up because I’d been avoiding it for so long. Until recently, I’d had no idea how important our future was to me.
Maybe a relaxing breath practice would help me calm down. I closed my eyes and inhaled, mentally coaching myself as I would one of my yoga students. Inhale and slowly count to four. One, two, three, four. Exhale, one, two …
A few cycles later, my heartbeat slowed. The chattering of my monkey mind subsided. My hands were still trembling too hard to touch up my makeup, so I picked stray dog hairs off the black cocktail dress I’d borrowed for the evening and ran a comb through my shoulder-length hair. I smiled to make sure lipstick hadn’t coated my teeth, pinched my cheeks to give them some color, and headed back to join Michael at our table.
Every part of SkyCity, the Seattle Space Needle’s upscale restaurant, had been designed to seduce multiple senses. The heels of my three-inch stilettos sank into the lobby’s lush oriental carpet. Notes from a baby grand piano caressed my eardrums. Swirls of color burst from a Chihuly painting, exploding the piano’s overture on canvas. A kaleidoscope of scents arranged and rearranged themselves in my nostrils, creating a fluid collage: garlicky pasta Alfredo, musky perfume, the sweet floral bouquet of deep red roses.
For most Seattleites, dinner at SkyCity was reserved for special occasions. For practically broke small business owners like Michael and me, the experience might be once in a lifetime. But man, was it worth it. SkyCity served more than delicious food. It provided unparalleled atmosphere and a rotating, panoramic view of the entire city.
Any other evening, I would have been glued to my seat for every one of the forty-seven minutes it took for the restaurant to complete a full rotation. Any other evening, I would have been transfixed by the view: toy-like rooftops, tiny ferries, the stark lines of the Olympic Mountains. Any other evening, I would have been drunk on the surroundings before I took my first sip of champagne.
This evening, however, I’d barely noticed any of it. I hadn’t even tasted the pasta I’d picked at for dinner. I was too preoccupied. Waiting. Waiting for Michael to stop pretending that we were here to celebrate my thirty-fourth birthday. Waiting for him to pull out the
jewelry bag that Rene had spotted him carrying two days ago. Waiting for him to ask me to marry him.
Michael stood and pulled out my chair, grinning. “You were gone for an awfully long time. I was about to send in a search party.”
“Sorry about that.”
I glanced at him over my wine glass as he nodded discreetly to our waiter. On a bad day, Michael was pretty darned handsome, and today was far from a bad day. His sexy, blue-green eyes sparkled. The tailored suit he wore accented his broad shoulders and six-foot-tall frame. Curly brown hair brushed delightfully above his ear lobes, as if daring me to nibble them.
Unmentionable body parts tingled. If Michael didn’t hurry up and give me that ring soon, I might consummate our engagement before the proposal.
I grinned. Now wouldn’t that give new meaning to SkyCity’s 360-degree view.
“Care to let me in on the joke?” Michael asked.
“Sorry. Nothing. I was just thinking about how happy I am.”
As if on cue, a line of wait staff approached our table. One carried a huge ice cream concoction enveloped in a thick dry-ice fog. Another brandished a bottle of my favorite bubbly and two crystal champagne flutes. The rest surrounded our table in a black-and-white semicircle. Conversations around us grew muted as people stopped eating to watch the theatrics. I felt my face redden. Leave it to Michael to embarrass me with a grand gesture.
Michael grinned like a madman; a cork popped through the air; the entire restaurant burst into song.
“Happy birthday to you …”
Huh?
Ten seconds later, I blew out the candle and watched as the wait staff disappeared. The other diners resumed their conversations.
I surreptitiously picked through the ice cream, hoping to find buried treasure. Nothing but frozen dairy products and chunks of rich dark chocolate. No diamond lurked in the bottom of my champagne glass, either. My unmentionables stopped tingling, replaced by an awkward unease deep in my belly. Could Rene have been wrong?
Michael leaned across the table and clinked his glass against mine. “Happy birthday, Kate. I hope you’ve enjoyed it.”
The smile I flashed back felt so stiff, it could have been molded from plastic. “Tonight has been wonderful, Michael, truly. The flowers, the dinner, the champagne …” My voice trembled. “Everything.”
Michael frowned, confused. “What is it? Don’t like the dessert? The reviews said it wasn’t too rich, so I asked for extra dark chocolate.”
“It’s delicious, Michael.” I lifted the spoon to my mouth, but pasta with garlic sauce threatened to leap for my throat. I laid the spoon back on the table.
“It was that damned birthday song, wasn’t it?” Michael grumbled. “I should have known better. I know how you hate it when people make a fuss over you. I just thought … well, I thought it would be fun.”
“It was fun,” I assured him. “And the dessert is awesome. It looks like an erupting volcano.” Tears burned the back of my eyes. If I didn’t get out of this restaurant soon, I might erupt right alongside it. I looked pointedly at my watch and waved to get the waiter’s attention. “It’s almost eight. We should leave soon to pick up Bella.”
“Already?” Michael didn’t hide his disappointment.
“The twins have been fussy lately. I promised Rene we wouldn’t be out late.”
I lied. My German shepherd, Bella, suffered from significant separation anxiety, so I never left her alone for more than an hour or two. Michael already knew that Rene was dog-sitting tonight. What he didn’t know was that Bella’s visit was supposed to be a sleepover. Rene had insisted, claiming that my engagement night would be significantly more romantic without a furry, hundred-pound bed hog.
Make that supposed engagement night.
Michael didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue. “Before we go, I have something for you.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, foil-wrapped box stamped Trinity Jewelers.
In that moment, the entire world seemed to freeze. I would have sworn that the Space Needle stopped spinning. I was so excited—so relieved—that I didn’t grasp the significance of the box’s flat, three-inch square shape.
Michael slid it across the table. “Go on, open it.”
My hands trembled again, but I managed to unwrap the paper, ease the top off the box, and gaze down at—
A necklace?
A simple gold heart suspended on a delicate chain. A locket.
Michael reached across the table and opened it. Two tiny pictures were nestled inside. On the left, a grinning Michael. On the right, Bella.
“I know you don’t wear much jewelry,” he said, “but I wanted to give you something special. This way Bella and I will always be close to your heart.”
The necklace was gorgeous. Breathtaking, really. Michael had obviously put a lot of thought into the gift. Normally, I would have been stunned—in a good way.
But tonight wasn’t supposed to be normal.
The tears threatening my eyes spilled down my cheeks. “It’s exquisite.”
Michael dropped the necklace back into the box and took my hand. “Kate, honey, what’s wrong? You’ve been acting weird all night. I’m starting to get worried.”
“Nothing. It’s just that …” I swallowed. “I thought you were giving me a ring.”
At first Michael looked confused. “A ring? In a necklace box?” Then his face turned ashen. “Oh.”
Disappointment flashed to embarrassment, which I covered up by pretending to be angry. “Oh? That’s all you have to say? Oh?”
Michael opened his mouth, then closed it again without speaking. The silence between us echoed like a shot to the gut, but it felt significantly more painful. The waiter eased next to Michael, slid the bill onto the table, and scurried away.
“I’m sorry, Kate,” Michael said. “Really, I am. I didn’t mean to disappoint you. But what made you think I was proposing tonight?”
I stared at the tablecloth, wishing I could disappear underneath it. “Rene went shopping for the twins at Westlake Center on Thursday.”
Michael groaned and rubbed the crease between his eyebrows.
I pointed at the box. “She saw you walk out of Trinity’s carrying this. We both assumed—” My voice cracked.
The restaurant’s energy—or at least my experience of it—shifted. The room grew quiet. Sympathetic eyes burned the back of my neck. The dry-ice fog surrounding my uneaten dessert threatened to suffocate me. I gripped the seat of my chair with both hands, willing myself not to bolt.
“Kate, I will propose to you someday, I promise. But not tonight. I can’t.”
“Can’t?”
Michael refused to look at me.
Deep inside my gut, I knew that I shouldn’t keep pressing. If I kept pressing, Michael’s explanation might change our relationship forever.
I pressed anyway.
“Michael, what aren’t you telling me?”
His jaw trembled. “You know I love you, right?”
I did.
I loved Michael, too. More than I’d ever loved anyone, except maybe Bella. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to say the words back. “Out with it, already.”
Michael stared at the floor for what felt like an eternity. When he looked up again, his eyes were wet.
“I’m sorry, Kate. I’m already married.”
two
“And then he said that it never occurred to him to marry me!”
My voice carried well beyond Mocha Mia’s long line of patrons. The pedestrians on the sidewalk outside the coffee shop probably heard me, too. Then again, I wasn’t trying to be discreet. I was still too upset. I wasn’t even soothed by my all-time favorite aromatherapy—the bitter-sweet smell of Mocha Mia’s Dark Chocolate Decadence Cake.
Michael and I had gone home from SkyCity and argued for
hours. Or at least I argued. Michael apologized and begged me to listen to his side of the story.
I couldn’t, at least not completely. Not yet. I was too stunned, hurt, and mortified. At a few minutes after midnight, Michael packed an overnight bag and left. It was too late for me to pick up Bella, so I spent the rest of the night alone, tossing, turning, and staring at the clock. At five o’clock, I got up and did a short yoga practice, proving to myself once and forever that for all of its benefits, not even the best yoga practice could mend a wounded heart. At the end of Savasana, yoga’s ending pose of quiet rest, my mental state still teetered dangerously between heartbreak, depression, and fiery indignation.
I waited until eight, then called and left a semicoherent message with Rene’s husband, Sam, asking her to meet me at Mocha Mia after my All Levels yoga class ended at eleven. I started my harangue about Michael the moment I saw Rene standing in line.
The barista avoided eye contact as she steamed soy milk for my latte, poured the steaming brew into a red Tazmanian Devil coffee mug, and slid it across the counter.
“This one’s on the house. It’s decaf.”
Rene balanced a caramel hazelnut brownie in one hand and handed me her double-whipped-cream, extra-chocolate mocha with the other. She tucked a twenty into the tip jar and winked at the barista. “Consider it hazard pay.”
Rene chided me as we maneuvered our way through the crowded café. “I know you’re upset, but take a chill pill. Meditate on world peace or something. At the very least, keep your voice down.” She pointed at the double-wide stroller she pushed in front of her. “This is the twins’ naptime. If they don’t get their beauty sleep, they’ll fuss all night. Again. I swear, if they don’t get on a sleep schedule soon, I’ll leave them at Pete’s Pets and let you raise them.”
I ignored her joking reference to the abandoned puppies she’d recently adopted and examined her more closely. Rene did look exhausted. Don’t get me wrong, my model-perfect friend was still, in many ways, perfect. The twins were barely three months old, and Rene already fit into her size-four jeans. Her shoulder-length brunette hair was styled to perfection. But her expertly applied makeup didn’t completely cover the dark circles under her eyes, and the skin surrounding them somehow managed to look puffy and wrinkled at the same time. For the first time since I’d known her, Rene looked her full age of thirty-four.
