A Fatal Twist

by Tracy Weber

  A laudable sentiment, but what I wanted and what I needed were in direct opposition. I wanted to run screaming out of this ten-thousand-degree room. I needed to stay put and keep an eye on Mariella.

  Hairy Guy lifted his eyebrows and said, “Do you want to go first or should I?”

  The answer, of course, was neither. There was only one man on earth allowed to grope my sweat-covered, scantily-clad body, and he wasn’t in the room.

  Hairy Guy shrugged.

  “That’s cool. You massage me first.”

  He knelt on the floor in Child’s Pose, his ribs touching his thighs and his forehead resting on his forearms.

  “Start with my back.”

  Start with?

  I placed my hands on the least furry part of his shoulders and halfheartedly rubbed.

  “Could you go a little deeper?”

  I silenced my grossed-out thoughts by giving myself a mental pep talk.

  Okay, Kate. You can do this. Think of it as an anatomy lesson.

  I made my hands into fists and pressed my knuckles firmly into the space between his shoulder blades.

  Upper trapezius.

  He groaned. “That’s perfect. A little lower.”

  I moved my thumbs down to his lower ribs.

  The upper attachment of quadratus lumborum, near the kidneys. Which is precisely where I will slug him if he tries to get frisky.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Wow. You’re good at this. Are you a masseuse? Move a little lower. My low back is super tight.”

  I had a feeling I knew where this was going, and I didn’t like it. I unclenched my fists, pushed my thumbs into his erector spinae muscles, and moved my wrists in small circles down the muscles of his low back. He groaned again, more loudly this time.

  “A little lower—down to my hips.”

  The words “erector” and “hips” hit my mind at the same time, creating a horrifying, way-too-anatomically-correct image. I jumped up and vigorously wiped my hands on my destined-for-the-trash tank top. No clue on earth was worth rubbing Hairy Guy south of the Mason-Dixon Line.

  I swiped my hands through the air. “That’s it. I’m outta here.”

  I peeled my mat off the floor and marched up to Tiffany, who was currently receiving a shoulder rub from Adonis. The expression she wore was so sensuous, it would have made a porn videographer blush.

  “I’ll be outside,” I said.

  I tossed my disgusting, wet, smelly mat onto a pile labeled used mats for cleaning, futilely tried to dry myself with my sopping wet hand towel, and retreated into the women’s locker room for the world’s quickest shower. I’d endured indignity, dehydration, quasi sexual harassment, and physical torture to get to Mariella. I wasn’t about to let her scoot out of the building without talking to me.

  Less than three minutes after storming out of the yoga room, I hurried outside to wait for Mariella. Exactly how I’d planned to before Tiffany talked me into taking that class from hell. I had no idea how to convince Mariella to open up to me, but at this point I would do anything.

  Except attend another Hot Yoga class.

  Fifteen minutes later, there was no sign of Tiffany, but Mariella emerged from the studio with a crowd of students. She looked showered, blissful, and—believe it or not—fresh. I pasted on a bright smile and strode toward her. As soon as she spied me, her lips flattened. Her muscles tensed. She stomped my direction, waving her mat like an organic rubber battle flag.

  “Who are you and why are you stalking me?” she yelled.

  “Stalking you?”

  “Yes. First you spied on me and my boyfriend at ABBA, then you followed us to the party on Saturday.”

  “I never followed—”

  She didn’t let me finish. “I thought you were some PI that Richard’s whack-job wife hired to follow us, but he’s dead, and you’re still sniffing around. I don’t know whether to be terrified or just pissed.”

  She’d obviously chosen pissed, but I didn’t point that out to her.

  She looped her mat strap over her shoulder and placed her hands on her hips. “I don’t know what you want, but it had better be good or I’m calling the cops.” She glared at me in silence.

  I held my hands up in surrender. “I’m not stalking you, I promise. The first two times you saw me were coincidences. I just happened to be at the same place you were.”

  “And today?”

  “Today I came looking for you.” I closed the gap between us. “I get why you’re upset, but I swear, I mean you no harm.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “How did you find me?”

  “I went to see you at work. They sent me here.” The statement wasn’t a lie; more of a misdirection. After all, Daria was one of her coworkers. I continued. “All I want is some information.” I gestured to a nearby bench. “Please, can we sit down and talk? It will only take a few minutes.”

  Mariella stared at me for what felt like an eternity, then marched to the bench. “Fine. I have to be back at work in ten minutes. You’ve got five of them. Not one more.”

  I sat next to her and told her the truth. I started with who I was and why we kept running into each other. Then I moved on to why I’d sought her out today. “I’m Rachel Jones’s friend. I doubt that you know her very well, but I do. She didn’t kill her husband.”

  Mariella crossed her arms and huffed. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. According to Richard, she’s got quite the temper. And they’d been fighting a lot lately.”

  “Fighting? About what?”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t ask the specifics. Believe me, we had better things to do than talk about his wife.” She paused for a moment. “Though he did complain a lot about that daughter of hers. Said the kid was nothing but trouble. Always giving him lip, even after he’d spent a fortune on her rehab. Richard claimed the best thing about leaving his wife would be getting away from that kid.”

  “Forgive me, but did you believe him? That he’d leave his wife?”

  “Not at first. I’m not stupid. But after a few months, he changed. Making more promises. Wanting more. He said he was going to leave his wife and marry me, but he couldn’t. At least not yet. He was in the middle of a sexual harassment lawsuit. He had to play house until it got settled. His lawyers wanted him and his wife to look stable.”

  “Tamara’s lawsuit, you mean.”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “Someone’s been doing her homework.”

  “Like I said, I’m convinced Rachel is innocent. I can’t let her go to prison. Did she know about Richard’s affairs?”

  “She knew about Tamara, but Richard swore to her that he’d never cheat again.” Mariella shook her head. “I can’t believe Rachel stayed with him. No way I’d have put up with that crap. Richard thought she might be getting suspicious about me, too.” She smirked. “If she wasn’t, my little demonstration at the party should have convinced her.”

  “You groped Dr. Jones in front of Rachel on purpose. Why?”

  Mariella’s expression was deadpan. “I was tired of sharing. Richard was mine.”

  Warring emotions vied inside me for dominance. Anger at Mariella’s cruelty to Rachel, disgust at her underdeveloped conscience, and sheer incredulousness that so many woman—three that I knew of—wanted Dr. Dick. Incredulousness won.

  “You knew he was a cheater. You’d never be able to trust him. Why would you want to be with him?”

  Mariella draped her arm across the back of the bench. “Look. I’m a lab tech. I make decent money, but in this city it’s nothing. Richard could be very generous. In the time we were together, I netted two diamond necklaces, a tennis bracelet, and the down payment for a new Audi. Another month or two and he’d have been paying my rent.”

  She picked up her mat and stood. “I’m not nearly as dumb as you think. You want to get your friend off
by proving that her husband’s slut is the killer. Good luck with that. I liked Richard. I even miss him a little. But for me, Richard was a meal ticket. I was much better off with him alive. There’s no way I would’ve killed him.”

  “Do you have any idea who would have?”

  “Yeah. She’s sitting in the King County Jail. If it’s not her, it’s that creepy daughter of hers.” She pointed at her watch. “I gave you two more minutes than I promised, and this had better be the last time I see you. You come sniffing around me again, I’m calling the cops.”

  Mariella took two steps toward the street, then turned around and came back. “But if you’re harassing everyone who might have wanted Richard dead, don’t forget about Tamara. You saw her that night at ABBA. The woman was pissed.”

  She jaywalked across the street and headed for her building.

  I watched until the revolving door swallowed her, then turned around to see Tiffany and a fully dressed Adonis walking toward me.

  “See, Chad?” Tiffany said. “I told you she’d wait for me.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek and wiggled her fingers. “See you tomorrow night. I’ll text you my address.”

  I gave her a questioning look.

  “We’re meeting for smoothies.” Her smile brightened. “By the way, he’s looking for more teaching gigs, so I told him to call you. He was surprised to hear that you’re a yoga teacher.”

  After today’s class, the feeling was mutual. “I don’t offer Hot Yoga at Serenity Yoga.”

  “I know, but maybe you should.” She winked. “Chad says practicing Hot Yoga would loosen you right up.”

  Touché.

  I ignored her jab and gestured toward the parking garage. “Let’s get going.”

  Tiffany giggled and texted Adonis until downtown Seattle’s skyline had disappeared in my rearview mirror. I stared quietly at the roadway, oddly disappointed in my conversation with Mariella. I disliked her. She was a user. I wanted her to be guilty.

  And she was.

  But of murder?

  Her energy toward Dr. Dick was flat, indifferent. Not bereaved. Certainly not murderous. I couldn’t imagine her drumming up the passion to bury a knife in Dr. Dick’s heart. She simply didn’t care about him enough.

  Tiffany interrupted my musing. “Kate. Can I ask you a question?”

  I nodded. “Sure. What is it?”

  “I know we were play-acting in that meeting with Dr. Steinman, but for a minute there, you seemed like you were telling the truth. About wanting to have kids soon, that is.” She paused. “Did you mean it? Michael told me you two weren’t planning to have kids for a while. Maybe years.”

  I didn’t want to answer. The question made me feel vulnerable, and Tiffany and I didn’t have a serious-girl-talk kind of relationship. I opened my mouth, fully intending to deflect the conversation with a smart-assed retort. To my surprise, the words that came out were the truth.

  “We’re not planning for kids yet. At least we weren’t. Being in that clinic sort of freaked me out, though. I’m beginning to think that Michael and I shouldn’t wait much longer.” After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, I nudged her with my elbow. “I’m a lot older than you are, after all.”

  Tiffany’s eyes became serious. “Kate, you know I don’t really think you’re old, right?”

  I didn’t reply.

  “Seriously, I don’t. I just get a kick out of harassing you.”

  A surprising sensation tickled my throat.

  Affection?

  For Tiffany?

  “I do know that,” I replied. “But thanks for saying it.”

  She smiled.

  “Can you do me a favor?” I asked. Tiffany nodded. “Don’t say anything to Michael about this. I’d like to sit with my new insight for a while before I bring it up with him. It might be a passing phase. Before I get Michael excited about kids, I need to make sure that I’m serious.”

  Tiffany flashed the Scout’s Honor sign. “I won’t tell him a thing.”

  I gave her a stern look. “I mean it.”

  Tiffany turned sideways in her car seat. The tone of her voice matched her earnest expression. “Kate, I know we didn’t get along at first, but you did me a solid after that incident with your car. I’d have gone back to jail if you’d reported me to the police.”

  “Don’t give me too much credit. I wanted to call them. Michael talked me out of it.”

  She shook her head. “Nobody talks you out of anything. Not unless you want them to.”

  She was right.

  She lowered her eyes and examined the skin around her thumbnail. “I know we’re not friends. I’m pretty sure you don’t even like me. But I owe you. I promise, I won’t let you down.”

  I glanced over at Tiffany, surprised by the lump in my throat. “You’re only partially right. I didn’t like you at first, but that was because of my own petty jealousy. We’ve both grown up a lot in the past year.” I shrugged. “Besides, Michael was right. You’re growing on me.” I reached over and touched her hand. “I’m sorry you don’t think we’re friends, because I do.”

  A slow smile spread across Tiffany’s face. “Well, if you say we’re friends, we must be friends. And that makes you pretty darned lucky.”

  I smiled back. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

  Her smile morphed into a smirk. “Because I’m a heck of a lot cooler than you are. Kate Davidson, you just worked your way up to the in-crowd.”

  Eighteen

  I dropped Tiffany off at her apartment over the studio and headed to Rene’s to pick up the dogs. It was only three-thirty, but Michael would be home by six and I had a feeling that Rene and Sam would appreciate a short shift the first day. When I called to tell Rene I was on my way, she said to use my key and come directly inside. I found her ensconced on the living room couch thumbing through baby magazines.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “Sam’s out giving Mutt and Jeff their millionth potty break. He’s determined to housebreak the little suckers.”

  “We’ve been trying, but we haven’t made much progress. We have at least four accidents per puppy every day.”

  Rene tossed the magazine on the end table. “You neglected to share that little tidbit when you asked us to watch them. Gee, I wonder why?”

  I exercised my right to remain silent.

  She gave me a chastising look. “We’ve had two potty incidents so far, but they were both first thing this morning. Sam has been on those little fur-monsters like white on rice since then. He says they’ve already done all the damage they’re allowed for one day.”

  I cringed. “Oh no, what did they do?”

  She pointed to a large box near the front door.

  “Go see for yourself. Sam hasn’t taken it outside yet.”

  I slinked to the half-refrigerator-sized box and picked through its contents. Torn baby photos, crumpled catalogs, computer printouts that smelled suspiciously of dog urine, and a stack of shredded patterns.

  “Oh Rene, I’m so sorry.”

  “Eh.” She waved her hand through the air. “Could’ve been worse. I’d already tossed most of that stuff in a reject pile. That’s how they got hold of it in the first place. Sam didn’t get grumpy until the second potty accident. I’m not sure which little monster did it, but they have remarkable aim. They made the deposit in Sam’s tennis shoe.” She stifled a giggle. “You should have seen the look on his face when he put it on.”

  “Oh no!”

  “Yep. Priceless. I wish I’d gotten a video. It totally would’ve gone viral. Anyway, now he’s the potty Nazi. The pups go out every hour, on the hour. Bella goes out every two.”

  I glanced around the room, looking for my canine best friend. “Is she outside now?”

  “Nope. She’s locked in the twins’ room in a time-out.” Rene paused, as if caref
ully considering her words. “Don’t freak out, but she snapped at Sam’s face when he tried to pet her.”

  “Snapped at him?” My stomach twisted. Bella had never taken to Sam, but she had never once threatened to use her teeth on him. “Was Sam hurt?”

  “I told you not to freak out. Sam’s fine. Bella didn’t actually bite him. She just air-snapped about three inches from his nose. But her teeth made this super loud crack when they hit together, and it scared the bejeesus out of him. I decided to give them both a break for a while. She seems happier by herself.”

  “I’m sorry, Rene. Maybe she doesn’t feel well.”

  “Her digestion’s whacked out, that’s for sure. Did you forget to add enzymes to her food again? I wasn’t outside when she went to the bathroom, but Sam was pretty alarmed. He described it to me. It sounded like that setback she had at Elysian Springs.”

  I sank into the guest chair. “Darn it. I was afraid of that. Her stomach’s been making those rumbling noises again. I think she might have SIBO.” SIBO—Small Intestinal Bacterial Overgrowth—was a common complication of Bella’s digestive condition. It could be managed, but it would require a thirty-day course of antibiotics. “That settles it. I’m calling her vet.”

  Sam hobbled into the living room, a play-growling puppy attached to each pant leg.

  “Knock it off, you little sharks. Let go already. This isn’t fun for me.”

  I flew next to Sam and wrestled with Mutt until she released. Sam extricated Jeff and handed him to me. Both puppies covered my face in sweet little kisses.

  “Sorry about that, Sam. Did they tear your jeans?”

  He scratched Mutt’s ear. “I doubt it, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. They’re tough for a couple of munchkins.”

  “Rene told me that you guys had a rough day. Don’t worry about watching them the rest of the week. Michael and I will figure something else out.”

  Though I have no idea what.

  Sam shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. They’re a handful, but at least they don’t hate me. Bella almost took my face off today.”