by Tracy Weber
Boyle gazed uncomfortably at his shoes. “I owe you and Michael an apology.”
I placed my hands on my thighs and stood. “Michael, definitely. But not me. You saved my life tonight. That’s apology enough.”
“I was so sure that he did it. Killed Gabby, that is.” Boyle’s shoulders slumped. “Maybe my captain was right.”
“About what?”
“That I was too close to the case. He ordered me off the investigation a couple of hours ago. Evidently some ‘anonymous source’ called and told him that I’d been romantically involved with Gabby. I couldn’t lie to him, at least not and get away with it. He’s furious that I didn’t ID her body when I saw her tattoo. I’ll probably lose my job.”
“Why didn’t you? Identify her, I mean.”
“How could I explain seeing Gabby’s breasts without admitting that we’d had an affair? I was convinced that her husband had killed her. I wanted to be the one who arrested him. I needed to be the one who arrested him. I didn’t count on Crystal calling the station and ratting me out.”
I didn’t say anything, but I was positive that Crystal hadn’t made that phone call. Officer Alex had come through for us, just like Shannon knew she would.
“Don’t get me wrong,” I said. “I’m grateful. But what were you doing here tonight?”
“Like I said, the captain tossed me off Gabriella’s case. I was on my way home when some tourist called in, saying they heard someone break a window near the coffee shop. I was checking it out when I overheard you and Crystal.” His voice cracked. “Do you think she was telling the truth? That Gabriella was skipping town because she thought I was violent?”
I didn’t answer. Then again, I didn’t need to.
Boyle stared over my shoulder as if looking for comfort somewhere outside the picture window. “That’s why she didn’t tell me about the baby.” When he looked back at me, his face was stricken. “I would never have hurt Gabby. Never. I loved her.”
His face cycled through a kaleidoscope of emotions. Confusion. Grief. Pain. Betrayal. Remorse. But not anger. Not even a trace. Certainly nothing close to violence.
Boyle was, in many ways, a jerk. Homophobic. Likely obsessive. Trashing a cop car wasn’t exactly pacifistic, and I’d never choose him as my lover. But in that moment, I knew: I’d been wrong about him, and so had Gabriella. I doubted he’d ever laid a hand on her. As for harming her child? Not a chance. But Gabriella would never have risked it.
I picked up the cat carrier. “If you don’t have any more questions for me, I’d like to go home now.”
“You’re taking the cat?”
I shrugged. “I doubt Crystal will be free to care for Mouse anytime soon. I suppose she might have a family member who wants her, but I suspect she’s mine now. Unless you’re looking for a kitten, that is …”
Boyle leaned his face toward the carrier. Mouse spit and swiped at his beard with all seven claws on her right paw.
“Nope. It’s all yours.”
I suppressed a smile. Another pet that didn’t like beards. Mouse and Bella might be a match made in heaven.
twenty-one
Four afternoons later, I meandered along the beach near Haystack Rock, allowing the ocean’s waves to lap against my bare feet. The huge monolith centered me. Gave the moment more meaning somehow. A reminder of how I’d chosen to live my life. Strong. Dark. Alone. I reached down and stroked Bella’s fur. Well, maybe not so alone.
Rene spoke softly behind me. “Kate, hon, it’s time. Are you ready?”
Was I?
Deep down inside, I’d always believed that Michael’s and my story would have a fairy-tale ending. An ending set in a crowded church bursting with dusky pink roses and burgundy calla lilies. An ending sweetened by a three-tiered, dark chocolate wedding cake. I never dreamt it would end here. Not now. Not like this.
Had I made the right choice?
For a moment, I allowed my mind to get lost in all that had happened since Saturday.
Michael was released from jail shortly after my confrontation with Crystal. Dale got the charges against him dropped. In exchange, Michael promised not to sue the police department for excessive use of force. Boyle voluntarily resigned. Part of me felt bad for that. Somewhere deep inside Boyle lived a good man. I hoped he’d find him someday.
After everything we’d been through since Gabriella’s death, we all needed a few days to decompress before heading back to Seattle. It took some negotiating, but eventually Shannon (who, like Rene, was allergic to cats) agreed to temporarily move in with Rene, Sam, and the twins at the beach house. Michael, Bella, Mouse, and I stayed in separate bedrooms at Shannon’s cabin. Dharma joined Dale soon after.
Crystal was denied bail. She had very few friends, and no one in her family wanted her kitten. So for now at least, Mouse was mine. The kitten still didn’t trust me, not that I blamed her. From her perspective, I’d kidnapped her from the hair salon and now held her captive at Shannon’s cottage. She wasn’t all that fond of Michael, either, but she’d grown to adore Bella, and Bella was ecstatic about her new job as cat slave. Rene was less than pleased about my new cat-dander generator, but she scheduled an appointment to meet with an allergist as soon as she got back to Seattle.
Michael and I spent two long days in serious, tear-filled discussions. Not only about us, but also about Gabriella. Since he’d still been married to her at the time of her death, he’d inherited all of her possessions. He kept the photos but donated everything else—including the money I’d found in her apartment—to a local domestic violence shelter. Part of the life insurance money would pay for Gabriella’s burial and settle her overdue bills. Michael offered to give the rest of it to Dale for his legal services, but Dale refused. Michael decided to donate it to a nonprofit that served illegal immigrants. I thought it was a fabulous plan. We all wanted Gabriella’s death to have meaning.
Two nights after Crystal’s arrest, the four of us—Bella, Mouse, Michael, and I—bonded in the living room. Bella and Mouse cuddled in front of the fireplace. Bella groomed the top of Mouse’s head while Mouse kneaded Bella’s chest with her claws. The kitten’s loud purr competed with the crackling fire.
I cemented a final photo of Michael’s pretend life in a faux leather photo album. Gabriella, smiling, on their fake wedding day. Pink Gerbera daisies brought out the color in her cheeks. Young. Happy. Vibrant. Alive.
I traced Gabriella’s outline with my fingertips. “Her death seems so meaningless. And the baby …” My voice trailed off. “I was furious with you, Michael. In some ways, I still am. But if I’d known that her life was in jeopardy, I would have helped her. I would have helped both of them. You know that, right?”
“Of course.” He kissed my forehead. “That’s who you are. That’s why I love you.”
“I understand why she didn’t tell Boyle about the baby; she was frightened of him. But why not tell you? If she’d been honest with you, none of this would have happened.”
Michael sighed. “For the same reason our relationship was such a disaster. Gabby could never trust any man. She was too broken.”
Michael closed the album and pushed it to the edge of the coffee table. When he turned to face me, he wore a resigned expression. We both knew: it was time for the talk.
I stared at the fire, pretending to be mesmerized by its dancing flames.
“You need to decide, Kate.”
I lifted my eyes to meet his. I desperately wanted to continue postponing the discussion, but I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair. To either of us.
“I screwed up,” Michael continued. “But how I felt for you never changed. I think we belong together, but I’m smart enough to know that most stories don’t end happily ever after. If you still want to get married, let’s do it, as soon as possible. If you need more time, you’ve got that, too.” He stared at his hands. “And if you want
to end things—at least for now—I’ll respect that decision, too. But I need to know where you stand. Now.”
I closed my eyes and tried to tap into my inner wisdom. Like Bella—like Gabriella, for that matter—trust didn’t come easily for me. And when that trust was betrayed …
Rene’s voice startled me out of my revelry. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”
I turned toward her and grinned. “What? You think I’m going to swim for it?”
She smiled back. The smile of my best friend. The best friend who knew me—flaws and all—and loved me anyway. “I can never tell with you.”
I interlaced my fingers through hers and squeezed. “Come on, let’s go.”
Rene and I ambled toward the tiny gathering of everyone Michael and I held dear. Once I’d said yes to Michael’s proposal, neither of us wanted to wait. So we’d planned a tiny ceremony for two days later and limited our guests to those we truly thought of as family.
Rene and Bella moved to the maid-of-honor position. A few seconds later, my father’s ex-police partner, John O’Connell, took my elbow as we prepared to walk down the makeshift aisle. My cornflower blue dress hovered below my knees in perfect complement to the bright blue sky.
I looked left and right, memorizing the faces of our extended family. Sam sat in a folding chair, holding a frilly-frocked twin on each knee. The puppies and Dale’s Jack Russell terrier, Bandit, wrestled in the sand next to him, play-growling and tangling their leashes. Tiffany and Alicia, who’d driven down together from Seattle that morning, sat on their right. Tiffany bounced up and down and waved, wearing a tight, bright red miniskirt that clashed perfectly with Alicia’s conservative blue dress. Alicia gestured with her eyes toward Tiffany and shrugged.
Michael’s parents and Shannon occupied the groom’s side, whispering, snapping photos, and laughing at the puppies’ antics. Even Mouse was present, at least in spirit. I held a snapshot of her in my left hand. My “something new.”
The person I most wanted to see waited at the front. Michael stood between Dharma, who was acting as our officiator, and Dale, who was his best man. Michael was grinning like a fool, which was appropriate given that he was crazy enough to marry me. The right side of his face still glowed a brilliant purple-blue from Boyle’s pounding. I sported a deep red scratch across the bridge of my nose, courtesy of this morning’s attempt to befriend Mouse. My wedding pictures would never be as gorgeous as Gabriella’s, but then again, who cared? I’d never need to create a shrine to a fake life with Michael. I had the real thing.
Rene reached down and turned on a portable CD player. Pachelbel’s Canon in D floated along with the soothing, breathlike rumble of the ocean. Dharma fingered a notepad containing Michael’s and my wedding vows. The wildflowers laced through her long braid matched the bouquet in my hands. She looked beautiful. Happy. When I smiled into her eyes, I saw my own future. Also beautiful. Also happy. How could it be anything else?
I’d planned to march down the aisle in time with the music, but my trickster mind refused to keep tempo. Instead, it chanted my favorite mantra with each step: Arriving home.
When Michael’s hand replaced John’s, I understood why my subconscious was chanting. No matter how messy. No matter how much we bickered. No matter the challenges we faced or how hard we had to work to overcome them: this relationship—this man—would always be home.
I didn’t listen to the words Dharma uttered, though I knew they were beautiful. Instead, I focused on the sensations: Michael’s warm hand, Bella’s soft fur. The sweet scent of honeysuckle. The cool afternoon breeze. The imagined smile of my father, telling me how much he approved.
When the words “I do” left my lips, I knew one thing for certain. Today wasn’t Michael’s and my happily-ever-after. Happily-ever-afters take place at the end of the story.
Today was …
the beginning
About the Author
© Jason Meert
Tracy Weber is the author of the award-winning Downward Dog Mystery series. The first book, Murder Strikes a Pose, won the Maxwell Award for Fiction and was nominated for the Agatha Award for Best First Novel. Pre-Meditated Murder is her fifth novel.
A certified yoga therapist, Tracy is the owner of Whole Life Yoga, a Seattle yoga studio, as well as the creator and director of Whole Life Yoga’s teacher training program. She loves sharing her passion for yoga and animals in any way possible. Tracy and her husband, Marc, live in Seattle with their mischievous German shepherd puppy, Ana. When she’s not writing, Tracy spends her time teaching yoga, trying to corral Ana, and sipping Blackthorn cider at her favorite ale house.
For more information on Tracy and the Downward Dog Mysteries, visit her author website at TracyWeberAuthor.com.