Karma's A Bitch (A Pet Psychic Mystery) (4 page)

I grabbed his big head and made him focus on me. “You have to come with me now, Karma. He’s gone.” With one last whine, Karma stood up—his head and tail hanging—and walked away from his best friend. His body pressed against mine as we trudged back up the embankment and under the police tape. I was numb and my legs felt like jelly. I whispered to Karma, trying to sooth him. I led him to my bike and grabbed the ice water before walking back over to wait by the police cars but he wouldn’t drink it.

We sat in the grass, my arm draped across Karma, stroking his bristly fur. I watched as officers took pictures, put things in bags and eventually brought over a large white bag to zip Mad Dog up into. I noticed Karma lift his head at this point, his brow furrowed deep between alert brown eyes and he softly whimpered.

“I’m sorry, boy.” I let the tears fall and said a few silent words for Mad Dog.

CHAPTER SIX

The crowd had begun to disperse. Detective Blake smelled like suntan lotion and fresh air as he squatted beside me with a notepad. I stared up into his face, which was all I could do at this point. I was drained and going into emotional shock. Karma was my lifeline and I was holding onto him tight.

“You doing all right? Looked like you were going to pass out there for a minute.”

“Been better.” I forced a smile because he really did look concerned. It didn’t work, though. He was still frowning at me.

“So…Miss?”

“Winters. Darwin Winters.”

He scribbled in his notebook. “I assume you knew the victim?”

“Yes. He was my friend. Mad Dog.” Then it occurred to me I didn’t even know his real name. This threatened to burst through the numbness with a bucket load of tears. I choked them back. “I…guess that wasn’t his real name.”

“It’s all right. We can ID him through fingerprints. Probably has a record.”

“Why do you say that? He was a nice guy.”

“He was homeless. They usually have been arrested for something…loitering, theft, public intoxication. Can I get an address and phone number?”

I was busy biting my tongue.

“Ma’am?” He held up the pen expectantly, his eyes darting over my face.

“Of course.” I gave him the information. “You know, he was a Gulf War Veteran. He fought for our country and that’s why he was homeless. He wasn’t lazy or a drug addict. He had PS..TD..” I stopped. Was that right? PTDS?

“Post traumatic stress disorder.” Detective Blake’s mouth bent into a slight, curious smile. “How long did you know him?”

“We had breakfast every morning together this week.” Saying it out loud, it didn’t seem so long. “Long enough for me to know he had found some kind of trouble. Do you think you’ll be able to catch who did this?”

I should have known when he took too long to answer me.

“This will probably be ruled a suicide.”

“What?” I sat up straighter and felt Karma tense up beside me and focus on the detective. “No! He wouldn’t take his own life. He wouldn’t leave Karma.” I motioned to the mastiff.

He turned his head and looked back at the lake, weighing something. “There was an empty bottle of Bacardi 8 Rum a few feet away.”

I shook my head. “Well, that doesn’t mean he drank it. He had been sober for five months.”

“It’s a rough existence, Miss Winters. People with easier lives fall off the wagon every day. Trust me. I’ve seen it too many times. He probably got intoxicated and drowned. On purpose or not.”

I couldn’t believe it. I glanced down at Karma. The images I picked up from him were not of a suicide. But how could I explain it? I couldn’t just say, ‘
Hey, I got these psychic images from the dog so I know something else happened here
.’ He wouldn’t believe me anyway. And it would definitely end my quest to be considered normal. I sighed. Then remembered something I
could
say.

“He’d been showing up every day with new bruises and pretty beat up. Don’t you think it’s odd that he would end up…” I couldn’t say it out loud. “You know, after someone had obviously been violent with him?”

“There’s always violence in Pirate City. An autopsy will be performed, though, so if you want to check with me in a month or so, the report should be filed and I can let you know for sure.” He dug out a card and held it out. “Thank you for your time.” Then he glanced down at Karma. “Are you willing to take responsibility for his dog?”

“Yes, of course.” And then something occurred to me. “Wait. If he doesn’t have any family, how will there be a funeral?”

“If we can’t locate next of kin, he’ll be cremated and his remains will be scattered in the Gulf eventually.”

I suddenly felt like I was going to throw up. “Thank you.” I clutched his card in one hand and pushed myself off of the ground with the other. “Come on, Karma. Let’s go home.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“You look like death!” Monday morning, Sylvia arrived, locked the boutique door behind her and hurried over to me. She, on the other hand, looked like an angel in her white linen pant suit, her liquid eyes full of concern. “What’s going on?” She paused, the wad of keys dangling off her finger. “And who is this?”

“Sylvia meet Karma…Karma, this is Sylvia.” I heard the listlessness in my voice, but I couldn’t find the energy to care. Karma shared my bed last night because he wouldn’t leave my side and he snored. Loud. All night. Besides being sad, I was exhausted.

“Alô, Karma.” Her hands rested on her hips. “This is the homeless guy’s dog, no?”

“Yes. Mad Dog is…gone.” I pulled myself up off the stool. “The police think it was a suicide, but it wasn’t.”

Sylvia stood, staring from me to Karma, processing this. Finally, a string of Portuguese came out on a long sigh. I have no idea what she said, but I knew she had grasped the situation.

“Okay. Karma, you smell bad. If you’re going to stay here, you need a bath.” She dropped her keys in the drawer beneath the counter and clapped her hands. Karma lifted his head. “Come on, pobre cão. Let’s get you cleaned up so you don’t run our customers out of here.”

To my surprise, Karma pushed himself up and lumbered after her. I watched him go, his head and tail still hanging. I felt the stirrings of dark emotions. Anger, for one. I replayed the images I had received from Karma. There was a townhouse, gray with an A frame in front, flat roof in back; then Karma ran down a street, then jumped in the water, swimming. He must have pulled Mad Dog from the water. How did Mad Dog get in the water? Karma always stayed by Mad Dog’s side. So, why was Karma running down the street alone?

I picked Detective Blake’s card up from the counter and stared at it. Should I just tell him what I saw? Would he even believe me? Probably not. No, I had to find real evidence. Something to make him investigate Mad Dog’s death as a…a what? A murder? My heart jumped. Well, if it wasn’t a suicide then that’s what it was, right? Murder.

Oh, Mad Dog…what did you get yourself into? I didn’t know, but I was going to find out.

Karma turned out to be a big hit with our customers. He spent the day sprawled out by the counter, his head on his paws, sad brown eyes watching the comings and goings from beneath a wrinkled brow. Sylvia had scrubbed him until his fur shined and fixed a new baby blue collar around his neck. I rubbed blackberry and honeysuckle essence into his skin a few times that day, hoping to ease his grief. He turned down food and I had to spritz water on his tongue to get some fluid into him.

Being busy helped but by the end of the day, when we locked the doors and flipped the closed sign around, the sadness crept back and settled over me like a heavy blanket.

Sylvia came over and lifted my chin in her hand. “Come on, let’s get some dinner and you can tell me what happened to your friend.”

We ended up at Parkshore Grill’s patio style tables on the corner, a pet friendly restaurant so Karma wouldn’t be left alone. Sylvia had a fondness for the place, since it was one of the first restaurants to take a chance on Beach Drive a few years ago and start the upswing into the successful tourist destination it was now.

I ordered Karma an unseasoned steak, which I cut into tiny pieces, and a bowl of ice water. Both of which, he stared at with disinterest. I rubbed his ears. I kept hoping to get more images from him, a clearer picture of the events but got nothing.

“So, spill the beans, my amiga.” Sylvia poured from the bottle of Jadot Burgundy she ordered for us to split. “Such a tragedy. How did this happen?”

“I honestly don’t know. I went to Mirror Lake early yesterday morning, hoping to meet Frankie and talk to her about doing a fundraiser for the homeless. But, when I got there, the police were there with their guns pointed at Karma, who was just having a fit protecting Mad Dog.” My insides trembled. The scene was still too fresh. I took a mouthful of wine, letting it calm my insides before I continued. “When I realized Mad Dog was…dead…” there, I said it. Dead. Gone forever. Oh heavens, the last time I saw him…was the last time I would ever see him. My eyes blurred, my heart felt raw. I looked up at Sylvia, using her as an anchor. “I didn’t even know his real name.”

She placed a dry hand over mine on the table. “We can find out his real name, then we can say a prayer for his soul.” She glanced down at Karma. “We’ll say a prayer for you, too, pobre bebê.” She pushed the coconut shrimp appetizer around on her plate. I could see her looking at me sideways. “You don’t believe he took his own life?”

“No.”

She sighed. “Well, that’s a good thing for his soul.”

“I think someone murdered him.”

“Why you think this?” She glanced around nervously.

What could I say? If flower essence was on her woo-woo list, me receiving psychic images from Karma would really freak her out. “Um, well, the detective told me there was an empty bottle of rum…” I reached into my memory, “Bacardi 8, found near the body. So they think he got intoxicated and drowned.”

“Whoa, expensive bottle of rum for a homeless guy.”

“But that’s just it; he’d been sober for five months. He said because of Karma. He would have never willingly left him.” Her words just hit me. “Expensive? Like how expensive?”

She shrugged. “Around a thousand dollars American.”

“Huh.” Well, that didn’t make sense. At all. “Well, I don’t think it was his anyway. The detective said they’ll be able to tell when they do a tox screen during the autopsy.” A month, though or more. Jeez. Whoever murdered him could be long gone by then. I had to find a way to get them to investigate this as a murder before then.

“I have to figure out what happened to him.”

Sylvia waved her fork at me, swallowing in a hurry. “No, no, no you don’t. If he was killed by someone, you can’t go putting yourself in danger by trying to expose the killer. Don’t you watch crime shows?”

I shrugged. “Actually, no.” We never had a TV in our house. I did read a lot, but that would only give Sylvia ammunition for her argument, so I kept that to myself. “Sylvia, Mad Dog was my friend. I have to do something.”

“That’s what the police are for. Us civilian folk, we say prayers.”

I just nodded and took a bite of salad. We would just have to disagree on this point. Karma huffed and moved to rest against my foot. I reached down and stroked his head. Yeah, I know, boy. Don’t worry. We’re not letting Mad Dog’s killer get away with it. But, what could I do to get Detective Blake to investigate now? I could ask him about the price of the rum. Where would Mad Dog get money for that? Wasn’t that suspicious enough? That along with all his recent injuries should account for something.

I dug into my meal with new determination. I would call the detective first thing in the morning.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Tuesday morning brought me right back to square one. Detective Blake knew about the price of the rum. Apparently a few homeless guys had robbed a liquor store a few weeks before Mad Dog’s death, so they were chalking it up to that. That only left me with trying to figure out how he was getting hurt. I ended the conversation by reiterating the fact that he didn’t drink. Weak, yeah, but the best I could do, for now.

After we closed up shop for the day, I clipped a lead on Karma and walked him to the Seventh Avenue dog park. The leash was purely for show. If he really wanted to go somewhere, my little willowy 5’8, 120 pound frame wasn’t going to stop him. It was still about ninety degrees out, so by the time we got there, sweat rolled down my face and sides and Karma was panting like a freight train. I poured a trickle of bottled water in front of his mouth and he reached out and lapped at it until strings of foamy drool hung from his jowls. A good sign. Maybe I could get him to eat something tonight.

I closed the gate behind us and unclipped the lead. There were quite a few dogs there. Two retrievers with shiny gold coats pranced up to sniff him. I waved to the elegant looking woman who had been tossing them a tennis ball.

“Hello, pretty girls,” I said, stroking the silky fur. “Karma, do you want to play?” They lost interest when he just stood there with his head hanging and romped off after a squirrel.

I had hoped being around his own kind would snap Karma out of his funk but it didn’t look like a successful ploy. He lumbered over to a semi-shaded area beneath a large palm and flopped down on the ground, his head between his paws. With a sigh, I followed and plopped down on the bench beside him. So much for that theory.

“Oh, Karma,” I rubbed his ear between my fingers. “I know you’re sad. But Mad Dog wouldn’t have wanted to see you like this. You have to snap out of this, boy.”

A black German shepherd came over to investigate us. He sniffed the air in front of Karma without approaching him.

“Gorgeous mastiff. What’s his name?”

I looked up at the man who had come around the tree to stand beside the German shepherd. Wow, whoever said people look like their dogs really had some insight. This guy was lean and dark, wearing a black t-shirt and dark Ray Bans.

“Thanks, his name’s Karma. He lost his owner a few days ago, so I’m trying to get him out of a funk.” I motioned to the black shepherd, who had sat down beside his master, keeping an alert eye on us. He looked pretty intimidating with those stark white canines and gold eyes. Of course, his owner was a shoe in for Mr. Dark and Mysterious of the year. “How about yours?”