by Tracy Weber
Reality crashed down, destroying my temporary oasis. I remembered it all: Monica’s body, my futile efforts to revive her, that suffocating interrogation room. My arms and abdomen ached, sore from yesterday’s useless CPR attempt. My shoulders knotted with tension. My eyes burned with exhaustion and held-back tears. How could anyone believe I was capable of murder?
I managed to drag myself out of bed and limp past the mostly empty parking lot to Shanti House. No one had officially fired me yet, so I assumed my morning yoga class was still on.
I unlocked the door to the yurt, turned on the lights, lit the candles, and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
As I looked around the empty room, I only knew one thing for certain: being accused of murder killed your yoga business. On the bright side, if I did end up in prison, Death Row Yoga would have a captive audience.
By the time class was scheduled to start, the room held only one brave student: a mid-thirties gentleman who had arrived at the center late the night before. He didn’t ask about Monica’s murder, and I didn’t volunteer. If he didn’t realize he shared yurt space with a suspected murderer, who was I to tell him?
I waited until five minutes after the session’s posted start time, then rang the Tibetan chimes three times to clear the room’s energy and focus my mind. I smiled at my single, intrepid student. “Close your eyes and settle in. Feel your body connect with the earth and—”
The door opened. The Grumpy Yogini entered, still wearing the same frown as the day before. She rolled out her black rubber mat, sat cross-legged on a blanket, and closed her eyes.
At least someone was willing to give me a second chance.
I started class with a Sanskrit chant designed to promote healing and peace. I typically avoided teaching chant in group yoga classes. Many American students were uncomfortable with Sanskrit’s unusual sounds; others didn’t like singing in public. But frankly, that low, soft melody wasn’t for my students; I sang it solely for me. My heart needed the peace-inducing vibration of sound.
I described the call-and-response process we’d follow. “I’ll chant each phrase two times. The first time, I’ll do it alone; the second time, you’ll join me.” I touched my palms together in front of my chest. “Inhale, and open your arms out to the side.” Both students followed my instructions. “Exhale and touch your palms to your heart.” I chanted as they moved.
“Anamaya shanti.”
As we opened our arms on the next inhale, I recited the chant’s English meaning.
“May my body have peace.”
We swept our palms back to our hearts and repeated the chant together.
“Anamaya shanti.”
We followed the process four more times, inviting peace to body, breath, mind, heart, and spirit.
The movements we practiced next were slow, easeful, and soothing. Instead of walking around to observe my students, I laid out a mat and practiced with them, stopping occasionally to check their form. It wasn’t my best teaching effort, but it was better than the alternative. If I stopped moving long enough to think, I’d burst into tears.
We started on hands and knees. “Inhale and lengthen your spine. As you exhale, lower your hips to your heels, your elbows and forehead to the floor. This is called Child’s Pose.”
Connecting movement and breath forced me to stay in the present moment. A moment without frustration, death, and interminable questions. A moment in which I had everything I needed, right there inside of me.
I barely noticed our transition to standing, but as I led those two brave souls through Uttanasana, Standing Head to Knees Pose, my low back relaxed. As we twisted, my neck, my shoulders, even my belly, released. When the final vertebra cracked into place, I felt like Kate again.
My world was still far from perfect, but somehow I knew I’d survive.
I abandoned my yoga mat and walked among my two students. I coached and corrected their form. I even hazarded a smile when the Grumpy Yogini lifted her hips into Bridge Pose.
The second-to-last pose was a restorative posture called Bound Angle Pose. My two students lay face-up on the floor, bodies draped over emerald green bolsters, arms opened out to the side. Their knees were bent; the soles of their feet touched together. As I watched them relax, I asked them to imagine a warm light entering their hearts.
My own heart opened.
Ostensibly, I was the teacher, not the student, but I was still the one transformed. For the first time in almost twenty-four hours, I could breathe.
My male student looked calm, peaceful, and happy as he walked out of the building. The Grumpy Yogini looked—grumpy. At least this time she didn’t check her watch in Savasana. She didn’t have to. She rolled up her mat and left shortly before the rest period began.
Time to close up shop and head back to the cabin. I blew out the candles and turned off the space heater. The floor wasn’t dirty, but I swept it anyway. The simple act grounded me and demonstrated my respect for the space.
The mop’s soft, rhythmic swishes soothed my nervous system. Morning light poured through the east-facing windows and warmed my skin. After the last errant dust bunny had been whisked away, I leaned on the mop handle and stared out at the ocean, lost in my own melancholy thoughts.
“Excuse me, Kate?”
I cringed at the sound of Emmy’s voice. Looks like I’m fired after all.
Losing a week-long job should have been the least of my worries, given the circumstances, but I was still afraid to face her. What if Emmy thought I killed Monica? What if she hated me?
I slowly turned around, steeling myself for an angry confrontation.
I needn’t have worried.
The person standing before me didn’t look upset, she looked terminal. Her sunken eyes were underscored by dark shadows. The skin on her face seemed paradoxically puffy and dehydrated at the same time. Her normally pixie-like hair wilted lifelessly from her scalp.
Facing Emmy’s anger would have been nothing. Uncontrollable rage might have been an upgrade. Anything would have been better than witnessing her despair.
“Kate, this is a disaster.”
“I know. It’s terrible.” I leaned the dust mop against the window and took a few tentative steps toward her. I wanted to give Emmy a hug, but I wasn’t sure how she’d react. She could easily think that I killed Monica. Call me crazy, but I had a feeling she might not be eager to cuddle up with her stepmother’s murderer.
I kept an imaginary yoga mat’s distance between us. “I’m so sorry about Monica. I can’t even fathom how hard this must be. But I swear to you, I didn’t—”
Emmy lifted her hands, palms forward. “I know, Kate, I know. You didn’t hurt Monica. Why would you? You barely knew her.” She paused. “Besides, Monica’s death isn’t the disaster I’m talking about.”
It wasn’t? What other disaster was there?
“I mean, sure, it’s sad about Monica and all. I feel terrible for Dad.” She swallowed. “But it’s worse than that. Elysian Springs might have to close.”
My expression must have betrayed my thoughts.
“I’m sorry. That sounded cold. But I barely knew Monica, and what I did know I didn’t like. She destroyed my parents’ marriage. The center, though …” Her voice faltered. “Elysian Springs is Josh’s and my life.”
“I understand that, Emmy. My yoga studio is my life’s work, too. But closing the center for a few days, even a week—well, that hardly seems tragic.”
She shook her head. “No, you don’t get it. I mean close forever. As in go out of business.”
Her words startled me. “How can you even think about permanently closing? This is your grand reopening. Alicia told me the center’s business is about to skyrocket.”
Emmy didn’t make eye contact. “The thing is … Alicia … well, she doesn’t have all of the information.”
>
I felt myself stiffen. “Exactly what information might Alicia be missing?”
Emmy cringed.
OK, so maybe I sounded a tiny bit prickly. But Alicia was my friend, as well as my studio’s landlord. She had invested considerable money in this venture, and I had a feeling she might have been duped. I wasn’t worried about Alicia’s finances; she’d never invest money she couldn’t afford to lose. Still, that didn’t give anyone—not even a pixie-haired bride-to-be—the right to take advantage of her.
Emmy’s words tumbled out faster. “You have to understand, Kate. Alicia invested early—almost eighteen months ago, when Josh and I first took over. We knew the place needed some work, but we had no idea how much. We thought it mainly needed a facelift.”
I nodded for her to continue. “We opened with the existing cabins, lined up Alicia and a few other investors, and started rebuilding. I knew money would be tight, but I thought we could limp along until the renovations were finished.” She frowned. “Problem is, they may never be finished, unless we get more money. Josh and I have spent all of the original investment money. We drained our personal savings. We even sold Kyle the rights to the restaurant. But there’s still so much work to do.”
She laced her fingers together, as if begging me to understand. “I appreciate your friend’s investment, really I do. I promise you, we spent every penny of her money on the renovations. But unless something changes soon, it won’t be enough.”
I hesitated, torn between sympathy for Emmy and loyalty to Alicia. I, of all people, knew how hard building a business could be. I’d almost gone bankrupt after I opened Serenity Yoga.
Emmy stared out the window toward the Retreat House. “I had an incredible vision for this place. Elysian Springs was going to be the Northwest’s premier upscale, eco-friendly retreat center.” When she turned back around, she wore a sad smile.
“We were this close.” She held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “I invited some potential investors to visit the property this weekend, and we completely sold out. But then Monica went and got killed. Half of the guests checked out yesterday. That was bad enough. If her murder goes unsolved, the new investors will bolt.” Her whole body seemed to shrink. “We’ll never make it.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I remained silent. Emmy paused for a moment, then straightened her spine. Her shoulder blades drew together; she held my gaze without blinking. “That’s where you come in.”
Two thoughts raced through my mind. First, if Emmy thought I’d confess to murder to save a glorified hotel, she was crazy.
Second, she wasn’t exactly wallowing in grief over Monica’s death.
Could Emmy be Monica’s murderer?
I took several steps back.
Emmy took the same number of steps forward. “I’m sure I seem callous—inhuman even. But pretending to mourn Monica won’t bring her back. I can’t do anything to save Monica, but I intend to protect Josh’s and my future. To do that, I need your help.”
I had no idea what she wanted, but I doubted I’d like it.
“What do you mean?”
“Alicia told me about the murder you solved in Seattle.”
I was right. I didn’t like it at all.
“That was a mistake, Emmy. I practically got killed. This time, I’m leaving the investigation to the police.” I lied, of course. I liked Emmy, but that didn’t make her innocent. I wasn’t ready to clue her in on my plans.
Emmy frowned. “The police won’t move fast enough. Bill’s a great guy, but he’s no homicide detective. The cops around here spend most of their time breaking up fistfights and pulling deer carcasses to the side of the road.”
“What makes you think I’ll do any better? People might at least talk to Sergeant Bill. I’m a suspect, remember? No one’s going to open up to me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Emmy replied. “You’re the perfect person to ferret out the truth. You yoga teachers are like hairdressers. People trust you. They tell you their secrets without even realizing it. And I can help. I’m the boss and the bride. If I tell people to attend your yoga classes, they won’t be able to say no.”
I gestured around the empty room. “They certainly said no this morning.”
“The whole resort’s a dead zone right now. People are skittish, but I can fix that. I’ll tell everyone that you’re not really a suspect—that Bill questioned you to keep the real murderer off guard.” For the first time since entering the yurt, Emmy smiled. “No one will doubt me. I can be very persuasive when I need to be.”
She was certainly convincing me.
“I’ll get you access, you keep me posted on what you learn.” She held out her hand. “Deal?”
I hesitated. I was already planning to look into Monica’s death, and having an inside contact would certainly make that easier. Besides, Emmy wouldn’t ask for my help if she were the killer.
Would she?
I reached out my hand and grasped hers. “Deal. I’ll keep you posted.” As long as I don’t learn anything that implicates you.
“Great.” Emmy glanced at her watch. “The morning meditation group will need this space soon. Let’s go to my office and talk specifics.”
twelve
As Emmy and I walked toward the buildings that housed the spa, the main office, and Eden, I quizzed her about her life.
“You’re originally from New York, right?”
She nodded.
“How’d you end up on Orcas?”
She smiled. “It’s the classic story. Girl meets boy. Girl falls in love, ditches her old life, and travels across the country to be with him.”
I smiled. “Tell me more.”
She shrugged. “Not much to tell, really. I took it pretty hard when everything went south for my parents two years ago. Monica wasn’t that much older than me. The thought of her and my dad …” She shuddered. “I needed to escape all of the drama and I liked doing yoga, so I figured why not meditation? I signed up for a fourteen-day silent retreat here at Elysian Springs.”
“I could never do that.”
“Turns out, neither could I. I hated it. I spent most of our silent time wandering around the grounds, searching for anyone who was willing to talk to me. Josh was one of the groundskeepers. Let’s just say he proved very entertaining.” She blushed. “It didn’t take long for me to figure out that I liked Josh, but what I truly fell in love with was the site.
“At first we both thought our romance was one of those summer vacation flings, but we stayed in touch. When Josh told me that Elysian Springs was about to go out of business, I figured it was Kismet. I had a business degree; he knew the site. We got some investors and started rebuilding.”
She came to a stop outside Eden. “And the rest, as they say, is history. Come on up with me. I need to talk to someone.”
We walked through the door into the almost-empty restaurant.
Two nights ago, Eden buzzed. This morning, it whispered.
About me.
I didn’t see any familiar faces among the smattering of diners, but they definitely knew me. As soon as I entered, conversations hushed. The waitress busied herself, shining and reshining the silverware. Most of the diners stole quick glances my way, then stared down at the table, seemingly fascinated by the dregs of their coffee. One woman nudged the man seated beside her and said in a stage whisper, “I think that’s her!”
Emmy pretended not to notice the room’s obvious discomfort. She smiled and cheerfully greeted each patron while I huddled close to the wall, whole body flushed in embarrassment. I understood now why Bella took comfort in small, dark spaces. I wanted to crawl under a table myself.
Emmy made her way to the kitchen and leaned inside.
“Kyle, can you talk yet?”
“Give me ten minutes,” he replied.
Now I was
in cahoots with the chef, too?
Emmy and I moved to her office.
“Why are we talking to Kyle?”
“Hang on. You’ll see in a minute.”
Kyle eased into Emmy’s office ten minutes later, carefully balancing a basket of pumpkin muffins and a tray with three steaming soy lattes. He set a cobalt blue mug in front of each chair and placed the muffins on Emmy’s desk. My stomach rumbled.
“Help yourself,” he said.
I grabbed one of the warm, amber-colored pastries, broke off a large chunk, and inhaled the spicy scents of cinnamon, ginger, and clove.
Kyle spoke to Emmy, but he gestured toward me. “So, did she agree to help find the killer?”
Emmy smiled. “Yep. Told you I’d convince her.”
“You told him?” Pieces of partially chewed pumpkin spewed down the front of my shirt. “Emmy, what were you thinking? For all we know, he’s the murderer!”
Kyle’s jaw dropped open. “Me? You’re the one who spent most of yesterday in police custody.”
“Knock it off, you two,” Emmy chastised. “Accusing each other isn’t helpful, or even reasonable. I had more reason to kill Monica than either of you.”
She had a point, but it wasn’t in her favor.
I grumbled and wiped bits of gooey, masticated pumpkin off of my shirt. “Who else have you told, Emmy? The rest of your family? Everyone on staff ? Maybe we should have Josh announce it over the loudspeaker.”
Emmy held up her palms. “Oh no, Kate. Please. We can’t tell Josh.”
I stopped wiping and gaped at her. “You suspect Josh?”
“Of course not. Josh would never hurt anyone. But he’d never understand.”
Neither did I, for that matter.
“I love Josh, more than I’ve loved anyone in my life. But he’s so … mellow.” Her vocal tone clearly indicated that was a bad thing. “If I told Josh about this, we’d end up fighting again.” She frowned. “That is, if you can call me screaming while Josh ignores me fighting.”
“You’ve been arguing?”
Emmy’s face flushed. “See, Kate, you are good at getting people to blurt out their secrets.” She blew the steam off her latte and took a cautious sip.