Pre-Meditated Murder Read online

  After fifteen minutes spent avoiding imaginary threats, we arrived at our destination: the rocky cavern that had enshrouded Gabriella’s body. The area seemed unaccountably normal, as if nature had reclaimed her territory. All crime scene markers were gone, supplanted by wet sand, broken shells, and tubers of dark green seaweed. If Bella’s reaction was any indication, the scent of death was gone too, replaced by the aromas of the ocean: salt, seaweed, and a hint of burning cedar courtesy of a distant campfire.

  Like many yoga teachers, I’d become attuned to life’s subtle energies. The imprints, if you will, of recent history. The traces left behind. Sometimes those traces told stories, though I often didn’t understand them at the time. Did this place have something to tell me? And if it tried, would I be able to hear?

  According to The Yoga Sutras—yoga’s key philosophical text—we each have the ability to see the world clearly, but our vision is clouded by filters. By our attachments, our ego, our fears, our doubts. Once we wash those away, the truth can emerge. At that moment, I wasn’t sure I believed in yoga—or much of anything else—anymore, but it was worth a try.

  I sat on the sand next to Bella, closed my eyes, and settled into my favorite breath-centered meditation, hoping to clear my mind. As I inhaled, I focused my mind on the cool, salty air entering my nostrils. As I exhaled, I relished the breath’s warm, soft release. Every time my mind wandered—which it did often—I invited it back to the air moving in and out of my body, just as I’d taught my yoga students hundreds of times before.

  Twenty minutes later, I’d realized nothing. Except that meditating sometimes felt an awful lot like being waterboarded.

  I stood and sighed, frustrated. Maybe I was trying too hard. Maybe I was too emotionally close to the crime to tap into its energy. Maybe it had been too long since Gabriella’s death. Then again, maybe the teachings were all a bunch of woo-woo garbage, no more real than the dangers Bella sensed behind every shadow.

  “Come on, Bella,” I said. “This was a waste of time.”

  Then, in a moment of startling clarity, I saw it: Gabriella’s body.

  In my mind, she was positioned precisely the way she’d been when I’d found her, but the image was crisper. Sharp with detail. The bright red of her starfish ankle bracelet. The untied laces on her right tennis shoe. The unadorned fourth finger on her left hand.

  I sucked in a breath. Gabriella’s wedding ring.

  What had happened to her wedding ring? I’d noticed it was missing, of course, but I hadn’t realized the significance until now. The married women I knew hardly ever took off their wedding bands. Gabriella could have been an exception, but somehow I doubted it. Wearing the ring would have been integral to her deception.

  So where was it? Stored securely in her apartment or tucked deep inside the killer’s coat pocket? And if the killer did take Gabriella’s wedding ring, why? The simple gold band was worth a few hundred dollars at best. Enough to kill over? Doubtful.

  Perhaps it had come off in the struggle. I turned on my flashlight and played its beam across the rocky beach. I looked underneath every log and filtered through the surrounding sand. I rearranged driftwood and moved aside long tendrils of seaweed. It wasn’t there. Either someone—likely the police or the killer—already had it, or it was never here to begin with.

  The missing ring was the first of three post-meditation revelations. The second was that how Gabriella had been killed might be important. From what I could tell, her body had still been fully clothed, so hopefully she’d been spared at least one violation.

  Her beautiful face, however, had been destroyed. Beaten so severely that Michael had been forced to identify her body based on a tattoo.

  According to Michael, Gabriella’s abusive ex-boyfriend never touched her face, even though he seemingly had no reservations about breaking the rest of her body. If he’d never damaged Gabriella’s face during her life, why would he do so now, in her death?

  On the other hand, if the murderer wasn’t her ex, why had Gabriella been beaten so severely? Didn’t obliterating a victim’s face connote rage? Was the killer destroying her beauty? Erasing her personhood? Acting in a frenzy of pure, unmodulated fury? I shuddered. Murder was never nonviolent, but this seemed exceptionally brutal.

  The third realization was that Gabriella had been killed at night. I didn’t know the time of her death, but we’d seen her leave the spaghetti dinner at seven-thirty. Unless she was killed and buried the following morning—which seemed unlikely, given there were no witnesses—it had to have been pitch black when she came to this place. I couldn’t imagine her hanging out in such a secluded area by herself. She must have been with someone she trusted.

  Gabriella’s killer was no random stranger.

  Bella’s whine broke my reverie, and I glanced across the horizon. Twilight’s pinks had darkened to navy. Bella or no Bella, I shouldn’t be here alone after dark, either. “You’re right, sweetie. Time to go home.”

  We were halfway back to the car when my cell phone rang. I glanced at my watch. Eight o’clock. I didn’t recognize the number, but the voice was Michael’s.

  “Hey, I’m so glad to hear from you. How did it go at Gabriella’s apartment?”

  “It went.” Michael’s voice sounded as heavy as the knot forming in my stomach.

  “That good, huh?”

  He ignored my comment. “Dale says to thank Rene for her offer, but he’s going to stay here with me at Shannon’s. He’ll take the guest room; I’ll sleep on the couch. Dale thinks he should stay nearby in case the police decide to—” His voice broke. “In case they arrest me.”

  “Oh, Michael. Is it that bad?”

  “It’s not good.” I imagined him running his hands across his scalp, the way he always did when he was stressed. “How did this get so messed up?” His voice wasn’t simply heavy anymore; it was defeated.

  “Michael, don’t give up. Dale’s great at his job. He won’t let you get convicted of a crime you didn’t commit.”

  “That might not be in Dale’s control, Kate.”

  Not just defeated; empty. Dead already. Like the noose had been tightened and he was waiting for the stool to be kicked out from under him.

  “Michael, talk to me. Did the police find something at Gabriella’s?”

  He sighed. “I don’t know. They copied her computer files onto a flash drive. They also took some old clothes I kept in the closet, but I haven’t worn them in years.”

  “What about the ring?”

  “What ring?”

  “Gabriella’s wedding ring. Did they find it?”

  Michael sounded confused. “What does her wedding ring have to do with anything?”

  “While you were at Gabriella’s apartment, I went back to the beach where I found her body. Being there sparked some memories. Gabriella was wearing a wedding band when we saw her outside the community center. She didn’t have it on when I found her body.

  “So?”

  “So it struck me as odd. Was it valuable?”

  “Hardly. The gold content was so low, I’m surprised her finger didn’t turn green. You don’t think she was killed over that worthless piece of jewelry, do you?”

  “Probably not. But it’s odd, don’t you think?”

  He didn’t reply. In fact, he was so quiet, I was halfway convinced that he’d stopped breathing. It was as if he’d already started to leave. To retreat so deeply inside himself that I might never find him again.

  “Michael, you’re scaring me. What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Kate, I didn’t kill Gabby, but it may not matter. The police have something. They were different tonight. The female cop barely looked at me. The male one acted like he wanted to kill me. When no one else was listening, he told me that he was planning to put the needle in me himself.”

  “Don’t read too much into that, Michael. O
fficer Boyle wasn’t exactly friendly to you at the community center, either.”

  Which, now that I thought about it, was odd. Why was Officer Boyle so aggressive toward Michael? He’d seemed to know Gabriella that night, too. Not surprising in a small town, but still …

  Michael’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “I’m exhausted, Kate. I’m heading to bed.”

  “Hang on for a second. I have one other question. Have the police said what time Gabriella died?”

  “No, and I didn’t ask. Why?”

  “It was dark when Gabriella and Crystal left the community center. If she was killed that night, the beach would have been pitch black.”

  “So?”

  “So why would she go to the beach alone in the dark?”

  He didn’t reply.

  “The answer is, she wouldn’t. No sane woman would. If she went with someone, she had to have known them.”

  “Kate, I can’t think about this anymore right now. I can barely stand up. Can we talk tomorrow?”

  “Yes, of course. But can you put Dale on the phone? I’d like to ask him some questions.”

  “He’s in the shower right now.” Michael didn’t give me time to argue. “I love you. I’ll call you tomorrow.” The phone clicked to silence.

  I whispered into the darkness, “I love you, too.”

  By the time Bella and I got back to the beach house, it was almost nine. Sam was upstairs, putting the twins to bed. The puppies snoozed in their playpen. I ground Bella’s kibble, added water and enzymes, and set the kitchen timer for twenty minutes. Bella—who was well aware of the routine—curled up under the kitchen table and waited like Pavlov’s dog for her dinner bell.

  Rene poured two glasses of Chardonnay, gave one to me, and sat across from me at the table. “How’s Michael?”

  “Not good. He’s convinced that the police are going to arrest him. I almost think he wants them to. Some crazy penance.”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know. For marrying Gabriella? For not saving her? For disappointing me? Whatever it is, at the rate he’s going, he may well flagellate himself all the way to the electric chair.”

  “Oregon uses lethal injection,” Rene said.

  I gave her a dark look.

  “What does Dale say about all of this?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. He’s not telling me.” I took a slow sip of oaky tranquilizer, more to give myself time to think than because I actually wanted it. “Michael gave some lame excuse about Dale being in the shower, but I think Dale’s stonewalling me. He’s shutting me out.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “He said I already know too much that could hurt Michael, but I think that’s a ruse. He doesn’t want me involved in the investigation.”

  “Dale wasn’t opposed to your sleuthing on Orcas Island. If I remember right, he even encouraged it.”

  “True. But that was different. I was the client in that case.”

  Rene reached down and scratched the soft spot behind Bella’s ears. “There’s a second possible reason Dale might be avoiding you.”

  “What’s that?”

  She stopped scratching Bella and solidly met my gaze. “Michael,” she said.

  “Michael?”

  “Michael may not want you involved in the case, either. He loves you. You endangered yourself for Dharma. For your student Rachel, too. Michael probably figures that if he keeps you in the dark, you’ll be safer.”

  The instant the words hit my eardrums, I knew she was right. Dale might be encouraging Michael to keep silent, but Michael sure wasn’t arguing. “I might be safer, but Michael won’t be. If either of them thinks I’ll sit back and let Michael fry, they don’t know me nearly as well as they think they do.”

  The timer beeped. Bella charged out from under the table and did a happy dance near the counter as if she hadn’t eaten in weeks. I set her bowl on the floor. She snarfed down the oatmeal-like gruel in thirty seconds flat.

  I picked the dish up again and rinsed it out in the sink. “I’ve got news for both of them. They can’t stop me. Every hour they shut me out is an hour I’ll spend investigating on my own.”

  “That’s my girl.” Rene winked. “And I’ll be right next to you. The Hardy Girls ride again. Where do we start?”

  “By having a chat with Gabriella’s friend Crystal.”

  The right side of Rene’s mouth lifted into her trademarked I’m-one-step-ahead-of-you grin. “I was hoping you’d say that. I’ve already built you the perfect cover story.” She handed me a slip of paper with a phone number and a time. “Your haircut is scheduled for tomorrow morning at nine.”

  twelve

  At eight fifty-five the next morning, Rene, Bella, and I trudged up the stairwell to Crystal’s hair salon, only to be thwarted by a burgundy wooden door. Its rectangular window sported a handwritten sign: Welcome to CB Cuts. Please keep door closed. No dogs allowed.

  “Darn,” Rene grumbled. “I told you we should leave Bella at home.”

  “Sam has his hands full with the twins, not to mention the puppies. Besides, Ricky and Lucy have been driving Bella bonkers.” I frowned down the stairwell, imagining the temperature in the Honda’s interior. “I didn’t park in the shade, so Bella will have to stay with you. Why don’t you grab some coffee and wait for me in the courtyard? I shouldn’t be more than a half hour or so.”

  Rene’s lips pursed into an unhappy pout. “But I’ll miss out on all the fun! Besides, you need me. What good is Sherlock without Watson?”

  Truthfully, Rene was right. This whole haircut ruse was her idea in the first place. I wanted her to be with me. I needed her. As annoyed as her antics made me sometimes, Rene’s no-nonsense advice kept me sane. And she’d managed to extract some pretty useful information out of Von …

  Of course, Von.

  I could sic Rene on Von again. Who knew what juicy tidbits she’d charm out of him without the twins and me weighing her down?

  “Tell you what,” I said. “Maybe we can divide and conquer. If you promise to stick to our story and not act too suspicious, you can stop in at Puppies in Paradise and ask Von some more questions.”

  Rene grinned, exposing a mouth full of sparkling white, mischievous teeth. “Ooh, that sounds like fun. What do you want me to ask?”

  “Michael said last night that Von may have been in love with him. Shannon mentioned something similar. See if you can get him to admit to it. An infatuation with Michael would give him a motive for wanting to get Gabriella out of the picture.”

  “Got it. Anything else?”

  I thought for a moment. “Nothing specific, but when we saw Von yesterday, he said everyone had been talking about Gabriella’s death. See if he’s heard anything new. Someone around here has to have information about the killer.”

  “And they’re going to blurt it out to the local pet store guy?”

  “Emphasis on local. It’s a small town. Insiders gossip. I’ll admit, it’s a long shot, but who knows? Maybe we’ll hit something.”

  “I’m all over it.” Then Rene’s face fell. “Damn. I’m out.”

  “Why?”

  “I just remembered, the pet store doesn’t open until ten.”

  I sighed, frustrated for both of us. “Well then, get a latte and grab a table in the courtyard.”

  “So I’m back to sitting around waiting for you again.”

  “Not necessarily. Bella’s an attention magnet. People are bound to ask if they can pet her. When they do, ask them if they’ve heard about the murder.” I spoke faster, warming to the idea. “Bella will have witnesses glued to your table in no time.”

  Rene grabbed Bella’s leash, grumbling. “You hear that, sweetheart? Kate thinks you’re better at finding witnesses than I am.” She grumped down the stairwell, obviously not pleased, but acquiescin
g nonetheless.

  I placed my hand on the doorknob of CB Cuts and mentally rehearsed my cover story. Rene and I had decided to stick with our gay-lovers-in-paradise ruse, figuring that Crystal might be more open about a closeted relationship if she thought we were gay, too. I saw no reason to change that strategy now.

  There was a single, not-insignificant risk: Crystal had seen me with Michael outside of the community center the night of the spaghetti dinner. But only briefly, and her focus had been on Gabriella and Michael. To her, I was an invisible stranger, not worth the brain cells required to remember.

  Or so I deluded myself.

  After a minute of mental rehearsal, I took a deep breath, turned the knob, and walked inside. A bell chimed softly, announcing my entrance.

  A female voice called from an open doorway to the right, “Close the door behind you so the kitten doesn’t escape.”

  Kitten?

  Thank goodness Rene hadn’t stayed. One sniff of cat dander and she’d have sneezed so hard, she’d have blown out her eardrums. Which might have been a blessing if Bella was with her. Bella, a kitten, and a confined space could be a loudly explosive combination.

  I glanced around the small room, simultaneously searching for the kitten and checking out the space. The salon was bright, orderly, and surprisingly spotless. Not a single strand of hair—feline or human—decorated the floor. I took a quick sniff. No trace of the eau de cat box I’d come to associate with indoor felines, either.

  Impressive.

  A single haircutting station sat in front of a large, rectangular mirror, which was framed by evenly spaced snapshots. The workspace beneath it held a hand mirror, a jar filled with combs soaking in liquid disinfectant, and a flourishing potted ivy bathed in sunlight courtesy of a courtyard-facing window.

  The wall to the right contained a perfectly arranged makeup display, a hooded hair dryer chair, and an open doorway that led, I assumed, to either a storage room or an office. The wall to the left featured a long, built-in base cabinet topped by a shelving unit that was stocked with shampoos, conditioners, hair sprays, and lotions, all neatly lined up like soldiers in formation. A shampoo bowl angled out from the corner.