Murber Strikes a Pose Page 24

  My hands trembled with anger as I bit back my response. If I told him what I really thought, he’d pull the trigger for sure.

  Finally I asked, “Was Tiffany in on it?” If I was destined to die, at least something good should come out of it. Tiffany rotting in jail wearing ill-fitting prison garb might have to do.

  “Are you kidding? She’s a knockout, but she’s so dumb she can barely tie her own shoes. Tiffany is strictly part of my junk food diet. Irrelevant and disposable.”

  What a scumbag. Even Tiffany deserved better.

  “Now, Miss Kate, I think we’ve chatted enough. Time’s a-wastin’ and I can’t be too late. Wifey Dearest might get suspicious.”

  Terror threatened to overwhelm me again. “Don’t be stupid, Jake. You’ll never get away with killing me. You should cut your losses and run. Lock me in the storage room. You can be across the Canadian border or halfway to Mexico before anyone finds me.”

  “Oh, I’ll get away with it, all right,” he said with a malicious grin. “Don’t you worry about that. Everyone knows that front door of yours doesn’t lock properly. I’ll make it look like a robbery.” He snickered softly. “Such a shame this neighborhood has become so unsafe. I may even have to sell this building.”

  My heart hammered in my chest. “Don’t you watch television? The cops will find your fingerprints, your hair, and God knows what else. They’ll know you were here!”

  “Sure, they’ll dust for prints and look for fibers. But people are in and out of this studio all the time. They’ll find hundreds of fingerprints and God knows how many different hairs and fibers. And I own this space.” He shrugged. “If they find my prints or hair among everyone else’s, well that won’t be surprising at all, now, will it?”

  Bella hurled herself against the door, practically deafening me with her roar. I had an idea. I hated it. In fact, before that very moment, I would have sworn that I’d never do such a thing. That only a scumbag would take advantage of an innocent animal that way. But I was out of options—and almost out of time.

  Jake’s face twisted in anger. He turned toward the noise and yelled, “Shut up!”

  That was my chance. I bolted toward the bathroom.

  “Oh, no you don’t!” Jake yelled. He tackled me a good three feet before I reached the door. Blinding pain shot up my wrist as I hit the ground. I ignored it and kept fighting, using every self-defense tool Dad taught me. I punched and kicked and screamed and poked, hoping I was hurting Jake more than myself. The gun went off in a loud bang in the struggle. I wasn’t hit, but neither was Jake, and I was losing ground fast. Still holding the gun in one hand, he pinned my arms behind me with the other and dragged me to my feet. I felt a painful pop as he twisted my shoulders behind me.

  Jake snarled, “I’m going to enjoy this.” His upper lip twitched under that evil, disgusting, Satan-like beard.

  He pointed the gun at my head, and I knew with horrible certainty: I was about to die. But unlike that afternoon with Charlie, the thought of death didn’t immobilize me; it incensed me. I roared, lashing out like a rabid animal, ignoring my screaming shoulder. I wiggled free from Jake’s grasp and instinctively attacked, sinking my teeth into his gun hand.

  “You bit me, you bitch!”

  The gun skidded across the floor. After a split second’s indecision, Jake shoved me away and lunged after it. Our conversation days were over. As soon as he got to the gun, he’d shoot.

  I told myself that I had no choice; that Jake was about to kill Bella, too. That by putting Bella at risk, I was actually attempting to save her life. I hope it’s true. I pray it’s true. In the end, it doesn’t matter. I ran to the bathroom door and God forgive me—Bella forgive me—I opened it.

  “Please don’t let her die,” I prayed.

  Bella flew out of the bathroom in a rage. I swear her feet never even hit the floor. She sailed through the air and landed in the middle of Jake’s chest. He went down, screaming, as the gun skidded off again. This time I got to it first. Ignoring my pain, I pointed the gun at the writhing, struggling mass that was Bella and Jake. Blood pooled on the floor. I could only imagine the damage being inflicted by Bella’s powerful jaws.

  Sirens wailed in the distance. At first I felt profound relief. Someone had heard the commotion and called the police. Then I froze in cold, stark terror. The cops were coming. They would be here in seconds. Martinez’s words echoed through my head like an ominous death knell. “Most cops won’t hesitate to shoot a dog that tries to attack them or another person. We protect human life over animal. Every time.”

  When the cops arrived, they wouldn’t hesitate; they wouldn’t ask questions. They’d shoot Bella on the spot to save Jake. And it was my fault. I’d opened that door knowing full well Bella would protect me. I put her life in jeopardy. I, and I alone, would be responsible for her death. I did the only thing I could think of at the time. I knew it was hopeless, but it was my only option.

  “Bella, come!” I yelled, louder than I’d yelled anything in my life.

  I couldn’t believe it. Bella came.

  thirty

  The police broke down that odious front door a few seconds later and found me holding a gun on Jake with one hand and gripping Bella’s collar with the other, hysterically sobbing and laughing at the same time. I couldn’t stop repeating, “I can’t believe she came. I can’t believe she came.” I must have looked like a madwoman.

  Jake, on the other hand, simply looked pissed. Blood poured from his nose as he cradled his purpling hand. He told the responding officers that I held him at gunpoint while my vicious dog attacked him, all for no apparent reason. “Just look at her,” he said. “She’s obviously nuts.”

  It took some explaining, but John O’Connell and Detective Martinez eventually convinced the officers not to arrest me. And when the police traced the serial number on the gun back to Jake, well, his fate was pretty much sealed. Pretty boy Jake wouldn’t be seeing the outside of Monroe Correctional Facility for a very long time.

  Bella survived the incident with no bites on her record. The blood covering the yoga room’s floor came from Jake’s shattered nose, not Bella’s incisors. She must have head-butted Jake when she tackled him, or perhaps Jake smashed his face against the floor in their struggle. Either way, she never laid a tooth on him. I was obviously the biter of the family.

  Ten days later, life was finally returning to normal. Alicia had replaced the studio’s front door and retrofitted its electrical system. I’d started physical therapy for my shoulder and arranged for substitute instructors to cover my yoga classes. But I still had to face one final trauma—coffee break torture with Rene at Mocha Mia. She waved the week-old Dollars for Change through the air, smiling evilly. Her canine teeth sparkled. She was the alley cat; I was her sparrow.

  She slapped the paper in front of me like a demented placemat.

  “Can I get your autograph?”

  I threw the infamous article back at her. “Get that thing away from me. It’s not funny.”

  I’d finally gotten my headline: “Stray Dog Saves Mentally Ill Woman from Attack.” Directly underneath it was a quarter-page photo of Bella and me posing in front of Serenity Yoga.

  “I ought to sue Tali and Ralphie for defamation,” I grumbled.

  Rene grinned. “Come on, Kate. Where’s your sense of humor? The headline’s a joke, but the article’s not half bad. At least they got the link for Bella’s adoption page right.” She paused to slurp a thick layer of whipped cream off her cinnamon-orange mocha. “Besides, after the way we tricked Ralphie and Tali, we owed them a good laugh.”

  “I suppose,” I replied drolly. I paused a half-beat for emphasis. “That headline was right about one thing, you know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I must be crazy. I chose you for a best friend.”

  Rene laughed. “Good one, Kate.” She licked he
r finger and drew a “one” on an imaginary scoreboard.

  I lifted my soy cappuccino, careful not to spill the hot, sticky liquid down the front of my shirt. For the twelfth time that morning, I wished I was left-handed. Rene pointed to my right arm, still wrapped in a sling. “How’s your shoulder?”

  “Not bad. I’ll get out of the sling in a couple of days. The wrist is worse.” I wiggled my fingers. “The doctor says I have to wear the cast at least six more weeks.”

  “How will you teach?”

  “I won’t be able to, for a while. But if I don’t demonstrate poses like Downward Dog or Plank, I can try to start teaching again in a month or so.”

  Rene looked concerned. “A month’s a long time. Are you going to be all right, moneywise? I talked it over with Sam, and we can help if you need it.”

  I reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Thanks, Rene, that’s really sweet of you. But I’ll be OK. Alicia’s paying my medical bills and covering rent for a while. I told her it wasn’t necessary, but she insisted. I think she feels responsible for what Jake did to me.”

  “I don’t blame her,” Rene replied. “How could she sleep next to that cheating scumbag every night and not know he was a murderer?”

  “Don’t be so hard on her. In a way, she was Jake’s victim, too. Alicia was blind when it came to Jake.” I shrugged. “But then again, so were most women. Besides, she’s getting revenge for both of us now.”

  “How so?”

  “The scans came back; Alicia’s cancer is in remission. So for now, she’s taking a break from treatment. And she’s using all that new-found energy to give Jake hell.” I smirked. “She completely cut him off, filed for divorce, and changed her will. Jake’s so broke now that he’s stuck with a public defender. Alicia says making sure Jake rots in prison gives her one more reason to live.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Rene said. We clinked our coffee mugs together.

  Rene and I sat for several minutes, sipping coffee and enjoying the companionable silence. Rare Seattle sunshine warmed my shoulders as I gazed out the window at Serenity Yoga. The Ashtanga class had just finished. A group of happy-looking students chatted as they walked toward the PhinneyWood Market, yoga bags slung over their shoulders. Their instructor noticed me watching and waved before locking the studio’s front door.

  I turned back to Rene. “You know, I still miss George, and I wouldn’t wish these last few weeks on anyone. But in a way, I’ve been lucky.”

  “How so?”

  “This forced time off has been good for me. I finally had to start trusting the other instructors. And you know what? You were right. They’re doing a pretty good job. I think I’ll work part-time from home even after I’ve healed.”

  “Good for you,” Rene said. She looked down at the table, silent.

  That was it? No smart-assed remark? No “I told you so?”

  Rene stared at her plate, chewing her bottom lip and breaking her peanut butter cookie into tiny pieces. When she finally spoke, her voice sounded hesitant. “Kate, I know this is a sore subject, and you can tell me to butt out if you want to. But I have to ask.” Her eyes met mine. “What are you going to do about Bella?”

  Ah, yes, Bella. I hadn’t told her about Bella.

  I gazed down at the saying on Rene’s coffee mug. “A friend loves you no matter what.” I thought I might cry, but I felt myself smile instead. “Michael and I interviewed the top two families last night.”

  “And?”

  “We found the perfect home.”

  _____

  When I got back to my house, I slipped off my shoes and headed straight to the office. My conversation with Rene reminded me: I had one more task to do before Bella’s adoption was official.

  As it turned out, Betty, Melissa, and all the other naysayers had been wrong. It wasn’t at all difficult to find a home for a special needs dog—when that dog was famous.

  The day Bella’s and my story was printed in Dollars for Change, adoption applications started pouring in. Money was an issue for some people, of course, but Michael performed more of his Internet wizardry and found a co-op that sold Bella’s medicine at about one-third the cost of retail. He even found an Internet support group that offered to answer potential adopters’ questions about Bella’s illness.

  Many of the would-be homes were as awful as the ones I’d evaluated before. But several of them were truly great families who wanted Bella with all their hearts. Some had kids; several had owned German shepherds. One was even an ex-canine handler for the Marines. After we finished interviewing the finalists, Michael and I had a long, tearful, gut-wrenching discussion. In the end, we agreed: Bella’s needs had to outweigh all other considerations. We owed her that much.

  It couldn’t be easy for Bella to trust. Her first owner abused her. And although George rescued her from that abuse, all he had to offer her were love and a shared meal. But for Bella, that was enough. She was completely loyal to George.

  Then in an instant, he was gone.

  Bella must have been frightened, confused, and frustrated during our short time together. But in spite of that, she literally threw herself into danger to protect me. After living with me for less than a month, Bella risked her life to save mine. I couldn’t imagine any human willing to give so much, so quickly, for so little.

  Michael and I finally chose an awesome home. One in which Bella would be loved and accepted for exactly the soul she was, flaws and all. One that would spend time with her and commit to her lifelong needs for medication and training. One that knew the risks of caring for an animal with a twelve-year life span, yet would love Bella fully and unconditionally, nonetheless.

  I pulled up the website for Fido’s Last Chance. Bella’s picture finally had the much sought-after “Adopted” banner across it. One less thing to worry about on my never-ending to-do list.

  I couldn’t help but smile as I reminisced about Bella’s and my adventures together. But as always, time was short and my companion was impatient.

  “Bark!”

  Lord, did she have to do that right in my ear?

  “Hey, Bella girl, is it time for your walk?”

  Two more ear-splitting barks answered in the affirmative.

  “All right, already, I hear you. Let’s go harass Michael. I’m sure he doesn’t have anything better to do anyway. And if we’re lucky, we can annoy Tiffany.”

  I put on Bella’s fancy new no-pull harness, threw some treats in my pocket, and wrapped the leash around my uninjured wrist. Bella excitedly dragged me toward the door, past the twenty-eight-pound bag of dog food sitting precariously on the counter.

  “Bella, close! No pulling! Hey, slow down!”

  I bumped into the counter, and the bag came crashing down. Kibble scattered all over the floor, covering every square inch of linoleum.

  “Bella, stop! Hang on! We need to clean up this mess!”

  She looked at me, took one quick step back, and then leaped forward, pulling on that harness with the instinct of a sled dog.

  No-pull harness, my ass.

  It was no use. This was one very determined canine. I gave in and trotted behind her. The mess would still be waiting when we returned. The first mess I’d clean up as Bella’s official, permanent guardian.

  Yes, I’d finally joined the long list of foster failures at Fido’s Last Chance, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. I might not ever consider Bella my dog, but of all the people on earth, she chose me to be her guardian. I was most definitely her human.

  the end

  about the author

  Tracy Weber is a certified yoga teacher and the founder of Whole Life Yoga, an award-winning yoga studio in Seattle, where she currently lives with her husband, Marc, and German shepherd, Tasha. She loves sharing her passion for yoga and animals in any form possible. Tracy is a member of the Pacific
Northwest Writers Association, Dog Writers Association of America, and Sisters in Crime. When she’s not writing, she spends her time teaching yoga, walking Tasha, and sipping Blackthorn cider at her favorite ale house. Murder Strikes a Pose is her debut novel.

  For more information, visit Tracy online at TracyWeberAuthor

  .com and WholeLifeYoga.com.