Murder Strikes a Pose

A DOWNWARD DEATH SENDS YOGI

01/14

murDE

KATE INTO A SLEUTHING POSE

r S

When George and Bella—a homeless alcoholic and his horse-sized

German shepherd—disturb the peace outside her studio, yoga instructor tRIke

Kate Davidson’s Zen-like calm is stretched to the breaking point. So Kate tries to get rid of them before Bella scares the yoga pants right off her S a pOsE

students. Instead, the three develop an unlikely friendship.

Not long after, Kate finds George’s dead body behind her studio. The police dismiss it as a drug-related street crime, but Kate knows George wasn’t a dealer. Upset the police won’t investigate further, Kate adopts a Warrior Pose, digging into George’s past while also looking for someone to adopt Bella before she’s sent to the big dog park in the sky. But with the murderer nipping at her heels, Kate has to work fast or her next A DOWNWARD

DOG MYSTERY

Corpse Pose may be for real.

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Murder Strikes Pose.indd 1

7/22/13 10:23 AM

Murder

Strikes a Pose

also by tracy weber

Murder

Strikes a Pose

Tracy Weber

Midnight Ink

woodbury, minnesota

Murder Strikes a Pose
© 2014 by Tracy Weber. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Midnight Ink, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First Edition

First Printing, 2014

Cover design by Kevin R. Brown

Cover illustration by Nicole Alesi/Deborah Wolfe Ltd.

Edited by Connie Hill

Midnight Ink, an imprint of Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data (Pending)

ISBN: 978-0-7387-3968-7

Midnight Ink

Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.

2143 Wooddale Drive

Woodbury, MN 55125-2989

www.midnightinkbooks.com

Printed in the United States of America

acknowledgments

to come

viii

one

I laid my body on the cool wood floor, covered up with a blanket, and prepared to die.

Metaphorically, that is.

Corpse Pose’s ten-minute rest always soothed my stressed-out

nerves, and for once I didn’t feel guilty about the indulgence. My to-do list was blank, Serenity Yoga’s phone was silent, and I had a whole blissful hour between clients to do my favorite activity: practice yoga.

Even my eclectic Greenwood neighborhood seemed uncharac-

teristically quiet, lulled by Seattle’s rare afternoon sun. The residents of the apartments above the yoga studio were off at their

day jobs; the alcohol-addicted patrons of the block’s two dive bars slept off their Jim Beam breakfasts; the soccer moms shopping

at next door’s upscale PhinneyWood Market purchased the day’s

supplies in unusual silence.

I wiggled my toes under a Mexican blanket, covered my eyes

with a blue satin eye pillow, and inhaled deeply. The ooey-gooey

smell of Mocha Mia’s chocolate caramel cake wafted from across

1

the street and filled my nostrils with sweet toffee-scented bliss—

my all-time favorite aromatherapy.

Paradise. Simply paradise.

I released my weight into the earth and silently coached myself,

exactly as I would one of my students.
OK, Kate. Feel your body
relax. Notice the random fluctuations of your mind and—

A vicious snarl ripped through the silence, startling me out of

my catnap. I sat straight up, eye pillow falling to the floor with an undignified thump.

What the heck?

When had a dog fighting ring moved into the neighborhood?

A dog fight was the only plausible explanation for the commo-

tion outside. Bursts of deep, frantic barking were followed by high-pitched yelping, all punctuated by the peace-shattering sounds of angry yelling. The phrases I could make out confirmed my suspicions. This had to be a dog fight, albeit one-sided.

“Control your dog!”

“Get that vicious beast out of here!”

And even a simple, “What the hell?”

I closed the door between the yoga room and the studio’s lob-

by, hoping to block out the intrusive sounds. Snarls, shouts, and an occasional ear-piercing shriek continued to reverberate right

through the wall.

Undaunted, I imagined that the sounds were merely clouds

floating across my mental horizon. Most of those clouds were dark and ominous, like the deep thunderclouds preceding a hailstorm.

But every so often I heard a soft voice, more like the fluffy clouds of childhood summers. I couldn’t quite make out his words, but I

could tell that the speaker was a man. From his tone, I assumed he was trying to calm beasts both human and animal.

2

It wasn’t working.

Neither, for that matter, was my attempted meditation.

I’d obviously have to shift tactics.

I tried drowning out the clamor with low, soft chanting. Then

I increased the volume. But even as I belted out Om Santi, my fa-

vorite mantra for peace, I felt my jaw start to tighten. My fingernails bit deeply into my palms. My shoulders crept up to my ears.

An entirely different mantra began pounding through my

head:
Don’t get me angry; you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.

A series of yelps and the words “I’m calling the cops!” zapped

me like a cattle prod. I leapt from my mat and stormed across the floor, determined to put a stop to that infernal racket. I hurled open the door and came face-to-face, or rather face-to-snout,

with the source of the commotion. Not more than five feet away

from the studio’s entrance stood a paunchy, dark-haired man and

the biggest, skinniest, meanest-looking German shepherd I had

ever seen. Don’t get me wrong. I like dogs. I love them, in fact.

It’s their human counterparts I could sometimes do without. But

this frothing breast was no Rin Tin Tin. A long line of drool oozed from its mouth. Its sharp white teeth glinted in the sunlight, and its black wiry topcoat still stood on end from the prior scuffle. The dog was obviously rabid.

I didn’t recognize the man standing next to the frightening

creature, but I did recognize his activity. He worked as a vendor for
Dollars for Change
, a well-regarded local newspaper that published articles about homelessness and poverty while employ-

ing those same homeless individuals as salespeople. Ordinarily I

would have welcomed one of their vendors outside my business. If

nothing else, supporting the paper demonstrated yoga’s principles of kindness and compassion.

3

But this was
not
an ordinary circumstance. I absolutely could not allow that disgusting dog to raise a ruckus outside my studio. The prenatal class would have a fit. Suffice it to say that pregnancy hormones didn’t always leave expecting moms in the best

of moods. My moms-to-be liked their yoga practice. They
needed
their yoga practice. And they needed to be serene while doing it.

If a noisy dog fight disturbed their peaceful experience, I’d be the one getting barked at.

Thinking less than yogic thoughts, I marched up to the pair,

determined to put a stop to the chaos.

“What in the world’s going on out here?”

The human half of the dastardly duo held a leash in one hand,

newspapers in the other. He smiled at me and said, “Sorry about

all the noise. I’m George, and this here’s Bella. What’s your name?”

“Kate Davidson, but—”

“Well, nice to meet you, Kate. I’d shake your hand, but mine

are full, so Bella will have to do it instead.”

The vicious beast walked up and calmly sniffed my hand. I

prayed she wasn’t about to ingest my fingers.

“Bella, say hello!”

Upon hearing her owner’s command, the giant hairy monster-

dog immediately went into a perfect sit and sweetly offered me her paw. Maybe she wasn’t rabid after all. Just huge and ill-mannered.

“Don’t mind Bella,” he continued. “She’s very friendly to peo-

ple. She just doesn’t like other dogs much. She’d be fine if people kept their unruly mutts to themselves, but they think if their rude dog wants to play, Bella has to as well.” He shook his head in disgust. “I don’t understand some people!”

I tried to interrupt, to tell him that
his
dog was the problem, but he didn’t give me the chance.

4

“Bella and I are new to this neighborhood, and we’re supposed

to sell papers near the market. I tried setting up by the north entrance, but there’s a pet store at that end. Pete’s Pets, I think it’s called? The owner was a nice enough guy and all, but selling there was a disaster with all those dogs going in and out. Bella wasn’t happy at all.” He shrugged. “So I guess we’re going to have to hang out here instead.”

I bit the inside of my lip and considered my options. Up close,

George wasn’t exactly the paragon of health I wanted standing

outside my business. His friendly smile exposed yellowed teeth

in need of significant dental care, and if the sharp, ammonia-like smell was any indication, neither he nor Bella had taken a bath

in quite some time. At three-thirty in the afternoon, I could smell whiskey on his breath, and I suspected this most recent drink

hadn’t been his first of the day. It would also likely be far from his last. I only knew one thing for certain: if George didn’t frighten my students away, his loud, intimidating, fur-covered companion

would.

I needed them to leave, but honestly, I didn’t want to say it out loud. After all, I taught yoga for a living. People expected me to be calm and collected at all times. I wasn’t allowed to be mean,