by Tracy Weber
“She’s stressed, honey,” Rene replied. “Taking care of babies is hard work. Wait till the twins are born. I’ll probably saw your ears off with a kitchen knife.”
Sam stared at her, deadpan. “Something to look forward to.”
He lifted Mutt out of my arms, snuggled her up to his cheek, and crooned, “You don’t want to stay home alone in Kate’s icky crate. You want to hang out with your Uncle Sam, don’t you?”
If it weren’t for Sam’s mustache, I would have kissed him. “Thanks for offering, Sam. It means the world. But I can’t take advantage of you guys that way.”
“Seriously, Kate,” he replied. “It’s fine. Watching the puppies will help ease my conscience. You won’t let us pay for your doula services, and that training you took couldn’t have been cheap.”
“I told you, that’s my baby present. You guys already have everything else.”
Sam didn’t give up. “Let us do this for you. I’m working from home again tomorrow. I’d enjoy hanging out with the little dudes.”
“Don’t forget Bella,” Rene added.
Sam didn’t reply, but his expression wasn’t exactly enthusiastic.
“Thanks, Rene,” I said. “But I’ll keep Bella with me tomorrow. That way she’ll get a break from the puppies and I can squeeze in a vet visit. But if you’re serious and can provide puppy daycare for a few more days, it would be awesome.”
That settled, I loaded the puppies into the car, then went back inside and released Bella from the twins’ nursery. She slinked up to Sam, slowly swished her tail back and forth, and licked his hand. He flinched, then tentatively reached out and scratched her throat with the tips of his fingers, keeping as much distance between Bella’s teeth and the rest of his body as possible. Whatever had happened between them, all was forgiven, at least from Bella’s perspective. I wasn’t so sure about Sam.
I dropped the pups off at home and securely locked them inside their crate with some toys to destroy. The whining started as soon as I turned to walk away.
“Sorry, guys, the whining won’t work this time. I’m taking Bella to the studio with me, so she won’t be here to assist in your prison break. Michael will come home from work and let you out in an hour or so.”
Their howling yelps serenaded me all the way to the car.
I turned the key in the ignition and grumbled to Bella, “The neighbors are going to love that. How long before they get laryngitis?”
She didn’t reply.
They were still screaming when I pulled out of the driveway.
I spent the next several hours catching up on paperwork, checking in students for our drop-in classes, and taking Bella on a week’s worth of bio breaks. Rene was right. Bella was experiencing a flare in her EPI symptoms—the worst I’d seen since we’d gotten her stable over a year ago. I called her vet, who said to keep monitoring her, make sure she drank plenty of water, and bring her in the next morning at ten. I hoped we wouldn’t need to make a late-night trip to the emergency vet before then.
Before I knew it, students had started lining up for the studio’s eight o’clock Sound Bath. Sound Baths were a concert of sorts, in which the sounds—in this case drums, chimes, bamboo sticks, and vocalizations—caressed students’ bodies while they rested in Corpse Pose. I’d tried to describe the powerfully soothing effect of the practice multiple times with little success. Suffice it to say, once someone tried their first Sound Bath, they were invariably hooked.
The instructor set up her instruments in a small semicircle and lit tea candles around the room’s perimeter, filling the space with soft, flickering light. I left her to center herself while I checked in students.
I was sitting behind the desk preparing to run the next credit card when a flash of pink caught my eye. Momma Bird! Or, more specifically, her pink flamingo hat bobbing past my window. The first time I’d seen her since the puppies arrived.
I stood and stared out the window. Did I dare go outside and talk to her now?
On the one hand, class started in five minutes, and I still had at least a dozen students waiting in line. On the other, I was the boss. If I abandoned my post, no one would fire me.
An annoyed voice interrupted my musing.
“Excuse me, Miss.” The elderly woman stared pointedly at my hand, which still held her Visa card. “Can I have my credit card back?”
“Sorry, I haven’t run the charge yet.”
The students behind her shuffled and grumbled. A man near the back of the line looked pointedly at his watch. I might not get fired if I left the desk now, but I would certainly lose customers. Quizzing Momma Bird would have to wait.
Two minutes after class was scheduled to begin, Nicole and a haggard-looking Justine rushed through the door.
“I’d almost given up on you two. I’m glad you made it.”
“Barely,” Justine replied. “Do you still have room for us?”
The honest answer was no. When I’d last checked the yoga room, the mats were packed three inches apart. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to turn them away. Not only did I want to talk to Justine, but more than that, I wanted to help her. If her sallow skin and drawn expression were any indication, she could use every moment of soothing tonight’s class would provide. Luckily, Sound Baths didn’t require movement, so crowding the mats together wouldn’t put anyone at risk. I could always move my personal mat into the storage room.
I stood and gestured toward the yoga room. “I won’t be able to get you two together, but we’ll find space. Follow me.”
Justine took three steps, then suddenly stopped and grabbed on to a shelf. Her body swayed; her skin paled. For a moment, I thought she might pass out.
I grabbed her arm and guided her to the bench. “Have a seat. Are you hypoglycemic?”
She glanced at Nicole. “Sweetie, would you please bring me a glass of water?”
Nicole moved to the water cooler, grabbed a glass, and started filling it.
“I’m not sick,” Justine said. “I’m tired. I had a rough night last night.”
“Bad night at the hospital?”
“I wish. I never went to work. My mom got out of the house and wandered off, so I had to stay home and look for her. We searched the neighborhood for hours. I finally found her asleep in the garage at four this morning.”
“Is she okay?”
“She was scared, but she’s a heck of a lot better than I am.” Justine’s eyes grew wet. “It will kill me to put Mom in a nursing home, but I think it’s inevitable. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep her safe.”
Nicole handed Justine the water. “What she’s not telling you is that it was my fault. I forgot to set the alarm.” Her lower lip trembled. “I’m sorry, Justine. I let you down.”
Justine took a deep breath, then wrapped Nicole in a one-armed hug. “Don’t be silly. It could happen to anyone.”
“Your dizziness concerns me,” I said. “Stress can play havoc on blood sugar levels—especially in diabetics. I have juice boxes in the supply room. Do you want one?”
Nicole gave Justine a questioning look. Justine’s shoulders grew tense. She spoke in clipped tones. “Nicole, I need to talk to Kate alone for a second. Go grab mats for us, would you?”
Oh no. I felt like an idiot, which was appropriate given the circumstances. Justine had expressly asked me to keep her condition confidential.
I lowered my voice and whispered, “I’m so sorry. I forgot that you didn’t want Nicole to know about the diabetes. I was trying to be helpful, but I blew it, big time.”
“It’s okay.” Her facial expression clearly implied that it wasn’t. “But please don’t mention it again. Let’s forget about it and go inside.”
I shuffled mats around to make room for two more, mentally kicking myself. Yoga teachers weren’t bound by medical privacy laws, at least not yet. That didn’
t get me off the hook ethically, though. Referring to Justine’s confidential health condition in front of Nicole was an unacceptable mistake. I vowed to be more careful in the future.
I was still chastising myself when I laid my mat at the edge of the practice space, partially in the storage closet. I should have skipped class and spent the time chasing down Momma Bird, but I was too upset with myself. I’d look for her after class.
I covered up with a purple Thunderbird blanket and closed my eyes, determined to reconnect with my center. The first deep chimes from the vertical gong loosened the fingers of tension gripping my shoulders. The cherub-like sounds of crystal singing bowls filled the room next, oddly soothing my ears and stimulating my throat at the same time. A few minutes later, the instructor began walking around the space while rhythmically beating a large drum. She paused for about thirty seconds directly above me, creating a vibrational wind that caressed my entire body, relaxing every nerve ending, purifying every cell. Hot Yoga be damned. I’d choose this over sweating out my neuroses every time.
As she continued around the room, I allowed my mind to wander, hoping that the drum’s vibrations would shake loose some insights about Dr. Dick’s murder.
Who could have killed him, and why? Anyone near the perinatal unit that day had opportunity. The break room knife gave them all means. So I prioritized my suspects based on motive.
My first two suspects were Dr. Dick’s lovers, Mariella and Tamara. When I’d spoken with Mariella, her energy had seemed flat, almost cold, and I’d thought she hadn’t cared enough about her lover to kill him. Now I wasn’t so sure. Weren’t psychopaths known for their lack of emotional connection? Mariella claimed that she was better off with Dr. Dick alive, but that excuse fell flat if he’d been planning to leave her. Maybe the divorce papers were still in his desk for a reason. I tapped my fingertips lightly on my mat. I didn’t know Mariella’s motive, but she might still have one. I put her solidly in the “medium likelihood” bucket.
As for Tamara, wasn’t the jilted lover always a suspect? She was angry enough about the breakup to sue Dr. Dick. What if she was going to lose the lawsuit? But a year had passed since the affair ended, so that motive seemed flimsy. Besides, as far as I knew, she hadn’t even been at the hospital on Saturday. I put her in the “low likelihood” bucket, but mentally put a check mark next to her name. She had information I wanted, and I hadn’t spoken to her yet. If nothing else, she could weigh in on my Mariella-as-psychopath theory.
The drum beat ceased, and the instructor filled the silence with a sound remarkably like deep, resonant birdsong. She punctuated each vocalization by striking a mallet against hollow bamboo. I allowed myself a moment to listen, then continued making my list.
Liam and Kendra, the parents of the stillborn baby. Kendra was definitely low on my suspect list. She was at the hospital the day of the murder, but she was also on bed rest. It seemed highly unlikely that she could have overpowered Dr. Dick.
Not true for her husband.
Liam went solidly into the “high likelihood” category. Kendra claimed that Liam was in her hospital room at the time of Dr. Dick’s death, but I didn’t believe her. The couple was hiding something. I simply needed to figure out what.
The birdsong faded away, replaced by a flute’s soothing lilt.
I couldn’t eliminate Dr. Steinman, either. Dr. Dick’s murder erased a sexual harassment lawsuit and provided a likely significant insurance payout. Reproductive Associates’ upscale facilities couldn’t possibly be cheap. Defending two separate lawsuits—that I knew of—in the past year couldn’t be any cheaper. How much did Dr. Steinman need that insurance money? I put him solidly in the “medium likelihood” category.
I wanted the list to end there. I wanted the killer to be one of those five people. People I didn’t know. People I didn’t care about. People I could help put in prison and still walk away whole. But if I was honest with myself, I had to add three more: Summer (in the “low” bucket), Nicole (“medium”), and, as much as I hated to admit it, Rachel. Each of them had been harmed by Dr. Dick. Each of them was on site the day of the killing. Each of them was physically capable of the murder. I put Rachel in the “low” category, mainly to make myself feel better. Martinez was right. The evidence against Rachel was compelling.
That left me with eight viable suspects. Seven too many.
I rolled to my side and sat up, much too frustrated to rest on my back anymore. The instructor frowned. I closed my eyes and pretended to meditate.
I was overlooking something. I could feel it, just like Bella sensed when the UPS truck turned onto our block. It tickled the edge of my awareness, bringing with it a heavy sense of foreboding. Was I subconsciously overlooking a clue to protect someone I cared about? Was my inner self helping me hide from the truth?
With my luck, Rene was the killer.
When the music stopped playing, I’d come to a single conclusion: I had way too many suspects, and way too little information. I’d corner Justine tonight. Tamara was next on my hit list. I’d find a way to speak with her soon.
As the students rolled up their mats, I whispered to Justine. “I need to say goodbye to the instructor, but I’ll see you in the reception area.”
I thanked the instructor for her time and met Justine and Nicole in the lobby.
“How’s your mom doing, Nicole?” I asked.
“Not good. She calls me from jail every night, but I can’t see her again until Tuesday.” She avoided meeting my gaze. “Is Tiffany here? Justine bought me the makeup she recommended, but I can’t get it to look right. Maybe Tiffany can show me how to put it on again.”
“Sorry, she’s not working tonight.”
Nicole glanced at Justine. “Can I check her apartment?”
“Go ahead, but be quick.”
Justine didn’t speak again until the door closed behind Nicole. “I hope your friend doesn’t mind. The poor kid’s having a tough time today. She’s been talking about seeing Tiffany ever since I told her we were coming here. I didn’t have the heart to say no.”
“It might be best if you and I spoke alone, anyway.”
She shrugged. “I doubt I have anything useful to tell you.”
“Maybe not, but even if you don’t, you might know someone who does. There were people all over the hospital on Saturday. Somebody had to have seen the real murderer.”
“There weren’t as many people as you think, at least not in the old building. Everyone who wasn’t actively working a birth was at the party. The unit was practically a ghost town.”
“You didn’t see anything unusual?”
Justine walked to the cooler, poured a glass of water, and took several long drinks before replying. “I’ve asked myself that question dozens of times. I keep replaying that day over and over and over again. Wishing I’d seen something that could help Rachel.” She shrugged. “I didn’t. My patient entered transition shortly after I saw you. She was in a lot of pain, so I didn’t leave her side. All I saw around the time Richard was killed was the inside of a birthing suite.” She shuddered. “It sounds selfish, but I’m glad. I’ve dealt with more than enough death in my life.”
She crumpled the paper cup and tossed it in the trash. “Sorry, Kate. I wish I could help. If you’d like, I can quiz the other nurses.”
“It might be more productive if we spoke to them together.”
Justine frowned. “I’m happy to help, but there’s only so much I can realistically do. I’ll talk to the other staff members when I see them, but I don’t have time to coordinate group meetings. If anyone knows something, I’ll give them your contact information and ask them to call you.”
“Fair enough.”
Nicole knocked on the window and waved. Justine picked up her purse. “Sorry, Kate, but I need to head home. I’m exhausted. I’ll let you know if I learn anything useful.”
I watched the two of them walk across the dark parking lot until they were safely inside Justine’s car. Then I took a quick walk around the block, hoping to find Momma Bird. Not surprisingly, she was gone. I went back inside, quickly swept the yoga room floor, straightened the mats, and performed the plethora of other duties required to close up for the night. A half hour later, I double-checked the lock on the front door, went out the back, and added more seeds for Mister Feathers.
“’Night, buddy.”
I climbed the three steps to the parking garage and froze.
What now?
Someone had tucked a note under my windshield wiper.
When I unfolded the page, the hairs on the back of my neck tingled. By the time I finished reading, my entire body was quivering.
It was an address on Bainbridge Island. I read and re-read the cryptic lines underneath it:
Check the yellow shed. You’ll find your answer there.
Nineteen
I squinted my eyes and leaned toward the windshield, trying to safely maneuver through downtown Seattle’s impenetrable fog. My mind felt hazy; my body, woozy. I didn’t feel drunk, exactly; more like I’d been drugged.
The taillights in front of me swirled hypnotically. A second later, the rest of the world started spinning. I closed my eyes, trying to fight off a nauseating attack of vertigo. When I opened them, Dr. Dick stood in the road, wearing nothing but underwear. I yanked on the steering wheel and swerved, barely missing him.
I slammed on the breaks, pressed my forehead against the steering wheel, and gulped in deep, hiccupping breaths. My head throbbed; frenzied heartbeats pummeled my chest. But my mind still felt dulled. I wasn’t safe to drive.
And I wasn’t alone.
Bella crawled into the front seat and rested her chin in my lap. I couldn’t drive anymore, but we couldn’t stay here, either. I abandoned the car next to the curb, gathered her into my arms, and trudged through the streets, hoping to flag down a taxi. The fog swallowed us and my car vanished.
