Pre-Meditated Murder

by Tracy Weber

  The officer pointed at Bella, who was drowning the child in German shepherd saliva. “I heard someone yelling about a vicious dog. Was it attacking this child?”

  “Bella would never harm a child,” I assured him. “She loves kids.”

  Boyle narrowed his eyes at me and frowned. “You the boy’s mother?”

  The ponytailed woman balanced the snuffling toddler on her hip and stood. “No, I am.” She smiled, trying to break the tension. “I’m Zoey Brown. This is my son, Jimmy.” Officer Boyle replied with a curt nod. “The dog didn’t do anything. Jimmy is fine. Incorrigible as ever, but fine.” She kept talking. “He’s been out of control since we moved here. I know I should discipline him more, but his father was so tough on him …” Her voice trailed off. “Anyway, this time, the little stinker ran out in front of a car. This lady saved him.”

  An onlooker pointed at Gabriella. “The dog wasn’t going after the kid. It was attacking that woman.”

  Boyle turned toward Gabriella. His eyes widened, then softened. “I didn’t see you there. Are you hurt?”

  Gabriella stared at the ground and remained silent.

  Bella, who was less fond of beards than I was, leaned toward the officer and growled. “Quiet!” I whispered. “We’re in enough trouble already.”

  “Everybody’s fine,” Michael replied. “It was just a little misunderstanding.”

  Officer Boyle gave Michael a look that would have melted lava. “Stand over there on the sidewalk, sir.” He turned to me. “Maybe I should call Animal Control. Let them deal with this.”

  “Bella’s not dangerous,” I assured him. “She just makes a scene. She barked, but she never intended to bite anyone.” My words were true. Bella had never harmed anyone, human or animal. Like all dogs, Bella’s reflexes were much faster than any human’s. If Bella had intended to bite Gabriella, Gabriella would be bleeding. Period.

  Officer Boyle examined Gabriella with dark, unreadable eyes. “Is she telling the truth? Did this dog hurt you?”

  Michael stepped forward. “Everything’s fine, Officer, we—”

  “I told you to stay on the sidewalk,” Boyle snapped. “I’m not talking to you.”

  An onlooker interjected, pointing at Michael. “Well, you should be. That man was harassing her. He’s the reason the dog attacked.”

  “Harassing her?” Boyle clenched his fists. “Gabriella, do you know this joker?”

  Gabriella held up her palms and blocked him from Michael. “Brock, por favor. No hay problema. No problem.”

  With Gabriella’s thick accent, the name sounded like “Broke,” as in having no money, but I had a feeling his real name rhymed with “rock.” As in the angry police officer bludgeoned the innocent German shepherd with a rock.

  She flashed a fake smile Michael’s direction. “Es mi esposo. My husband.” Her eyes begged Michael not to argue.

  Officer Brock Boyle tilted his head and examined Michael more closely. “Your husband? I thought your husband lived out of town.” He narrowed his eyes at the onlooker. “Are you telling me that you witnessed a domestic violence incident?”

  “Believe me,” Shannon snapped, “there’s no domestic anything going on here.” Michael gave her a warning look.

  “She means there was no violence,” I interjected. “Shannon and I both witnessed everything. It was just an argument. Some yelling. A shove or two.” I pointed at Gabriella. “Most of which came from her.”

  Officer Boyle ignored me and stared enigmatically at Gabriella. “Are you sure that you’re safe? We take domestic violence pretty seriously around here. All you have to do is file a complaint, and I’ll make sure this joker spends the rest of the evening in a jail cell.”

  “No.” She placed her palm on the officer’s forearm. “Please. Everything is okay.”

  Officer Boyle didn’t look convinced. He reluctantly turned away from Gabriella and pressed his index finger against Michael’s chest. “I’d better not hear about any more problems from you.” He marched three steps away, then turned back to me. “Keep that dog under control or I’ll shoot it myself.”

  I held my breath until he disappeared inside C-BAC. He wouldn’t really shoot Bella, would he?

  The crowd dispersed. Crystal, Gabriella’s blonde friend, reappeared. “Come on, Gabby. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Not now,” Michael said. “Gabby and I still need to talk.”

  “You can talk later,” Crystal growled. “You’ve done enough damage for one night.”

  Michael’s upper lip quivered, but Crystal’s tone left no room for argument. Gabriella followed her across the parking lot, and the two women climbed into a dark gray SUV.

  Michael stared after them, clearly upset. But he wasn’t angry, at least not anymore. His expression was much more nuanced than that. He was confused. Worried. Perhaps even wounded. Something was brewing in his smoldering blue-green eyes. Something I might not want to know about. Something that a simple divorce decree might not fix.

  The two women had driven a full block away before I realized that the man wearing the camouflage cap had vanished.

  six

  “We certainly know how to liven up a party, don’t we, Baby Brother.”

  Shannon might as well have been talking to a Michael-shaped statue. He ignored her quip and stared stonily down the street as if pining for Gabriella’s return. Like the third point on a bizarre, twisted love triangle, I stared at Michael, pining for him.

  Zoey thanked me for corralling her son. I pretended to listen, but my mind and my heart were elsewhere: back in Seattle, three days ago, when Michael’s and my future held so much promise. Promise that might be nothing more than a fairy tale with a yet-unknown, tragic ending.

  A few minutes of small talk later, Zoey disappeared with the rest of the onlookers, who had wandered back inside the center.

  Shannon approached me, wearing an expression that was half consternation, half worry. “When Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding is ready to go, tell him I’m waiting in the car.”

  I gave Michael a few more minutes of alone time, then edged next to him.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  His eyes flitted toward me, then settled back on the road. “No, I’m not.” He frowned. “Something’s going on with her, Kate, and it isn’t good.”

  “You’ve got to admit,” I replied, “Gabriella didn’t have a good day.” I grinned, trying to lighten the mood. “First she was introduced to her husband’s mistress, then she got clobbered by her sister-in-law. I’d be a bit peeved, too.”

  Michael’s mood snapped from pensive to prickly in a heartbeat. “This isn’t funny, Kate. I’m not here to traumatize Gabby. She had enough of that back in Mexico. If you and Shannon plan to use her as a human punching bag, then maybe you should both stay away.”

  His response stung like a slap to the face, which was exactly how he’d intended it. I pretended annoyance to cover my hurt. “Hey, buddy. Back the truck up there. I didn’t do anything to harm Wifey Dearest. That little scene was all Shannon. And Bella,” I conceded. “But Bella was protecting you. If anybody’s the victim in this circus, it’s me. Why are you taking Gabriella’s side all of a sudden? Isn’t she the one essentially holding you hostage?”

  Michael lifted his hand. For a brief, delusional moment, I thought he might slap me. His arm lifted a foot, then fell back to his side. He shook his head and groaned. “I’m sorry, Kate. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I hate what this whole situation is doing to you. To us.” When he looked back up, his eyes were shrouded. “I don’t expect you to understand this, but …” His voice trailed off.

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the rest of the sentence, but I asked anyway. “But what?”

  “I’m not in love with Gabby. But I do care about her, and something’s wrong. She’s a good person. Refusing to talk to me isn’t like her.”<
br />
  “And extorting fifty thousand dollars is?”

  Michael stared at his sneakers as if the answer were neatly tied in his laces. “No. I mean …” He ran his hands through his curly brown hair, the way he did when he was upset. “Oh crap. I don’t know anymore. Lord, what a mess.”

  As I witnessed Michael’s struggle, my own chest tightened. No matter what happened, I loved this man. Which meant that when Michael hurt, I hurt. I reached out and touched his hand. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re not going to fix any of this tonight. Let’s go home and get some sleep. I’ll come over tomorrow morning and we’ll come up with a new plan.” I made a final, lame attempt at humor. “If Gabriella keeps giving us trouble, I’ll sic Rene on her. Unlike Bella, Rene actually bites.”

  Michael shook his head. “Sorry, Kate. You’re out. I never should have involved you in this fiasco in the first place. I thought meeting you would guilt-trip Gabby into agreeing to the divorce, but it only seemed to scare her. I need to talk to her alone.”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “No, but I’m not sure any of this is a good idea anymore. I came here to get Gabby out of my life, but maybe that’s not realistic. Maybe we’ll have to stay married until she gets citizenship.”

  My heart dropped to my knees. My face fell by that same amount.

  “You don’t get it, Kate. You can’t. You don’t know Gabby’s and my whole story. She’s frightened, like she was before I agreed to marry her.”

  “Frightened? Of what?”

  “I don’t know, at least not for sure. But I intend to find out.” He swallowed. “I don’t expect you to understand. Shannon never did.”

  I placed my hand on his forearm. “Then you don’t expect enough of me. I do understand.” I parroted back my own revelation. “When someone you love hurts, you hurt. If Gabriella’s in trouble, we’ll help her. Together.” As much as my heart ached, I meant it.

  Michael nodded, but he didn’t make eye contact. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” He shuffled toward Shannon’s Mini Cooper without kissing me goodbye.

  It shouldn’t have surprised me. I’d rejected all forms of affection from Michael since the great birthday dinner debacle. Still, that missing kiss felt like a kick to the gut. Of course Michael would help Gabriella. He had a kind heart and an incredible capacity for forgiveness. Otherwise he’d have kicked me to the curb eons ago. Michael’s kindness and loyalty were two of the many reasons I loved him.

  The question was, did Michael still love me?

  For the first time in our relationship, I felt alone. It was ironic, really. I’d spent the past three days obsessing about whether or not I should leave Michael. It never crossed my mind that he might leave me.

  Until now.

  Bella nudged my hand. I kneeled next to her and rubbed the soft spot behind her ears. “We’ll always have each other, sweetie.” The steady look in her eyes agreed. Bella would be by my side for the rest of her life.

  I watched the Mini Cooper disappear into the distance, then loaded Bella into my Honda and returned to the rental house. After giving a quick and purposefully obtuse recap of the evening to Sam and Rene, I collapsed into bed, where I stroked Bella’s fur and stared at the ceiling. I lay there for hours, long after Bella’s smooth, whispering breaths turned into deep, long snores. I finally drifted to sleep around three in the morning, wondering how my life had gone so suddenly, horribly wrong.

  When I woke up at eight, I felt physically exhausted but mentally invigorated. Sleep had brought with it resolution. I would not be a third wheel. I would not be a bystander to my own future, either. Not when I had the ability to do something about it. Michael’s and my relationship might still be uncertain, but it would not include Gabriella. If money would unbraid our three lives, I’d get the money. Rene had offered to help. She could easily help. Fifty thousand dollars was a fortune to me, but to her and Sam …

  Honestly, if our roles were reversed, I’d give her the money in a heartbeat.

  The three of us had a long talk over breakfast, during which we came to an agreement: Rene would give me a fifty-thousand-dollar loan, legally secured by my house, and at market-rate interest. She balked at the formality, but I insisted.

  Dad always said that mixing money and friendship was a surefire way to lose both. But Dad had never met Michael, and he underestimated me. I’d sell myself on the streets before I defaulted on that loan. We agreed that the first six months’ payments would be made in free dog supplies and unlimited babysitting. If Michael and I couldn’t make regular payments after that, I’d sell the house. The thought made my heart hurt, but if the yoga teachings were right, attachment—to a two-bedroom Ballard bungalow, for example—led to suffering. In some twisted way, maybe selling my childhood home would ultimately help me find peace.

  The next impossible challenge would be getting Michael to agree.

  I tried to call him, but the call went directly to voicemail, so I left a vague message saying that I had a solution to our problem and asking him to call me back.

  Sam and Rene decided to take their two- and four-legged kids on a day trip to Tillamook. I stayed in Cannon Beach and waited for Michael to return my phone call. Forty-five minutes after they left, I checked my cell phone for the third time. No messages. Full battery. Five bars.

  “This is ridiculous,” I said to no one in particular. I glanced at my bored-looking dog. “Come on girl, let’s go to the beach.”

  At the sound of the B-word, Bella leaped to her feet and charged the door, jumping in circles and whining. “Okay already, I get it,” I said, laughing. “I’m coming.”

  Bella and I descended the property’s steep staircase to the beach, serenaded by the constant, rumbling white noise of the ocean. At ten in the morning, Haystack Rock’s bell-shaped outline was softened by gray morning mist. The beach was desolate, populated primarily by light green foam, beached tubers of seaweed, and broken sand dollars. Most of the town’s tourists were still hitting their snooze buttons or standing in line at the Bloated Boar, a local eatery famous for waffles, pancakes, cinnamon rolls, and other carbohydrate-rich indulgences.

  I waved at a teenager playing fetch with an off-leash pit bull, pointed at Bella, and yelled, “This one’s not friendly!” He waved back and threw a tennis ball in the opposite direction.

  “Come on, Bella. Let’s see if we can find a stretch of sand all our own.”

  I turned left and walked away from the town, inhaling the salty breeze and allowing the ocean’s lullaby to soothe my frayed nerves. As we continued walking, hotels and houses disappeared, replaced by tall sandstone bluffs and boulders made of black basalt. Driftwood logs littered the sand. Some were the size of telephone poles, others small enough for Bella to carry. All were powerless against the coast’s powerful storms.

  After about twenty minutes, Bella and I reached a sandstone bluff that extended into the water at high tide, effectively bisecting the beach. I rolled up my pants and took off my shoes. “Come on, girl. Let’s see what’s on the other side.”

  We waded through ankle-deep water …

  To our version of paradise.

  The stretch of sand before us was as gorgeous as it was desolate. Imposing cliffs made of sandstone and red clay bordered the left, traversable only by an impossibly steep wooden staircase and a crude path dotted with orange traffic cones. The staircase led to a wooden building, a small grassy area, and a mostly empty parking lot with a sign labeled Arcadia Beach State Recreation Site. To the right, there was nothing but flat sand and bright blue water.

  I smiled. There wasn’t a person (or, more importantly, a dog) in sight. I shaded my eyes and peered at the parking lot. It was empty, except for an older, dark blue sedan that was barely visible through the evergreens. Bella whined and danced at the end of her leash, begging me with her eyes. Please? Can I?

  Michael wouldn’t have appro
ved, but then again, Michael hadn’t returned my phone calls. Worst case scenario: if a group of bearded men and their wild pack of dogs were in the car, I could easily call Bella back before they made their way down the staircase. I picked up a stray piece of driftwood and unhooked Bella’s leash.

  “Okay, girl. Fetch!”

  Each time that glorified stick flew through the air, the rest of the world evaporated. Bella pushed her athletic body to full capacity, conquering the surf and coating her tongue with wet sand. The warm sun melted knots of tension from my shoulders. My dog’s unfettered joy melted achy worry from my heart.

  A half hour of playful bonding later, we reached another sandstone bluff. Bella collapsed happily in the sand, panting. I sat on a basalt rock and called Michael again. My stress level climbed with each unanswered ring. Why wasn’t he picking up?

  I tried to drown out my worried thoughts by chanting So Hum—the ancient mantra of the breath. I barely made it through four repetitions before I picked up the phone to call Michael again.

  Dad’s voice chided me. Desperate much?

  I shoved the evil device back into my pocket. If Michael were available, he would have answered one of the last five times I’d called.

  Maybe a movement practice would distract me.

  I didn’t have a yoga mat, but that didn’t matter. Yoga—at least the kind I practiced—could be done anywhere, without any equipment. I tied Bella to a shaded log and ambled to an area of firm, wet sand. Bella expressed her displeasure by barking and play bowing.

  “In a minute, sweetie,” I promised. “You got to exercise on the way down here. It’s my turn now.”

  I faced the ocean and touched my palms together in the Anjali Mudra, often called Prayer Pose. The simple, symbolic gesture soothed me. My heart rate slowed; my breath deepened. A few breaths later, I began the sequences of poses known as Surya Namaskar, or the Sun Salutation.

  I mentally coached myself, just as I would one of my students. As you inhale, reach your arms up toward the sky. As you exhale, fold forward. Bring your ribs toward your thighs and your hands to the earth. Achy tension released from my lower back. Cool, wet sand moistened my palms. With your next inhale, step your right foot back. On exhale, place your left foot next to it. Press your hips toward the sky and your heels toward the sand in Downward Facing Dog. The pose was a wonderful symbol of strength (in my upper body), flexibility (in the backs of my legs), and grounding (every place my body touched the earth). On your next inhale—