Murder Strikes a Pose (2 page)

or even irritated, for that matter. I hesitated as I tried to come up with the perfect words to make him want to move, if not out of

the neighborhood, then at least across the street.

Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately), one of my favorite stu-

dents picked that very moment to walk up with her five-month-

old Lab pup, Coalie. “Hey, Kate!” she said. “I hoped I’d run into you! Do you still have space in your Core Strength class tonight?”

Coalie was as rude and friendly as Labs everywhere. She

couldn’t stop herself if she tried. She ran up to Bella, wiggling her 5

entire body with glee, and covered Bella’s muzzle in sloppy wet

puppy kisses.

Bella wasted no time. Faster than a 747 and stronger than a

freight train, Bella pinned Coalie to the ground between her front legs, snarling and air-snapping on either side of Coalie’s neck. I heard the sound of canine teeth chomping together and imagined

soft puppy bones shattering between them.

My student screamed. Coalie yelped. George grabbed Bella’s

collar while I reached in between razor-sharp teeth to pull Coalie from the jaws of death. The three of us wrestled the two dogs

apart, but not before my student almost died of heart failure.

“What’s wrong with you?” she yelled. “Keep that vicious mon-

ster away from my baby!”

George quickly apologized, but said, “No damage done. Bella

was just teaching that pup some manners.” He pointed at Coalie.

“See, it’s all good!”

Coalie, oblivious with joy, seemed unscathed and ready to dive

in again. Tail wagging and butt wiggling, she pulled with all her might, trying desperately to get back to Bella.

Bella had other plans. She sat next to George, glaring directly

at that pup with a patented Clint Eastwood stare.
Go ahead,
she seemed to say
. Make my day.
My soon-to-be-former student ran off as quickly as her legs would move, dragging the still-happy

puppy behind her.

“See you in class tonight!” I yelled to her rapidly retreating

back. I doubted I’d be seeing her any time soon.

Yoga reputation be damned. I had to get rid of this guy.

I put my hands on my hips and stood nice and tall, taking

full advantage of my five-foot-three-inch frame. “Look. I can’t let you stay here with the dog. She’s obviously frightening people.

6

You have to leave.” I paused a moment for emphasis, then added,

“Now.”

George stood a little taller, too. “Look yourself, lady. The last time I checked, I’m standing on city property. I have every right to be here. You don’t own this sidewalk, and you can’t stop me from

making a living on it.” He glared at me, sharp eyes unblinking. “We
Dollars for Change
vendors are licensed, and no matter how much you don’t like us, the city says we can be here.”

“There’s no ‘us’ I don’t like,” I replied, frustrated. “It’s your dog.

And you may have every right to be here, but the dog is another

story. What do you think Animal Control will do if I report a vi-

cious dog attacking people outside my store?”

George stepped back, pulling Bella closer. Seattle had the

toughest dangerous dog laws in the nation. We both knew what

would happen if I made that call. “You wouldn’t do that!” he said.

“Bella’s never hurt anyone.”

I planted my feet stubbornly. “Try me.”

George gave me a wounded look and gathered his papers,

shoulders slumped in depressed resignation. “OK, we’ll go. But I

thought you yoga people were supposed to be kind.” He shuffled

away, shaking his head and mumbling under his breath. Bella fol-

lowed close by his side.

“Crap,” I muttered, watching their slow departure. “Crap, crap,

crap, crap, crap.”

He was right. Like all good yoga teachers, I had extensively

studied yoga philosophy and tried to live by it. The teachings were clear: A yogi should respond to suffering with active compassion.

And George was clearly suffering, whether he realized that fact or not.

7

Threatening to call the cops on George’s dog may have been

active, but it wasn’t all that compassionate, to him or to Bella. I felt like a cad. My solution probably wasn’t what the teachings had in mind, but it was the best I could come up with on short notice.

“Hang on there a minute!” I yelled as I ran to catch up with

him. Out of breath, I said, “You’re right. I overreacted, and I’m sorry. How many papers do you have left to sell today?”

George stopped walking. When he turned to look back at me,

his eyes sparkled with an unexpected hint of wry humor. “About

thirty.”

The calculations weren’t difficult. I wasn’t completely broke—

yet—but thirty dollars wasn’t a drop in the bucket. On the other

hand, my Monday evening classes were popular, and I had to get

this guy away from the front door. Mentally crossing my fingers

that the toilet wouldn’t break again, I said, “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” I hurried back to the studio and grabbed thirty dollars from the cash box.

“If I buy all of your papers, will you be done for the day?”

“Yes ma’am, and that would be very kind of you.” He gave me a

broad, yellow-toothed smile. “Bella and I appreciate it very much.”

He took the money, left the papers, and wandered off, whis-

tling. Bella happily trotted behind him.

“Well, that wasn’t so difficult,” I said, patting myself on the

back. “I should follow the teachings more often!” I went back in-

side and finished my considerably shortened practice. I chose to

ignore the quiet voice in my head telling me I’d just made a huge mistake.

8

two

I don’t know what possessed me to think that becoming

George’s best customer would keep him away from the studio.

It must have been one of those mental delusions the
Yoga Sutras
warned me about.

Less than twenty-four hours later, I was elbow-deep in my least

favorite activity—updating the studio’s database—when the Pow-

er Yoga class entered Savasana, a pose of quiet rest. Vedic chanting flowed from the studio’s speakers, filling the lobby with sounds of cherubic bliss.

Ahhhh … just the excuse I was looking for.

I cracked open the door to the yoga room, intending to eaves-

drop as the instructor lulled her students into a state of samad-

hi—yoga-induced ecstasy. I returned to my chair, leaned back, and closed my eyes, mentally transporting myself out of the lobby and into the practice space.

In my mind’s eye, I savored the room’s peaceful atmosphere.

Dimmed incandescent lights reflected off unadorned yellow-beige

walls, illuminating the space in a soft golden hue; meditation can-9

dles cast dancing light beams along the maple floor; a fresh-cut

bouquet of soft pink tulips decorated the altar, symbolizing the re-birth of spring. The room currently held twenty practicing yogis, but in my imagination, it was mine. All mine. I practically purred, feeling as content as a recently-fed kitten.

The teacher’s voice soothed my nerves and dissolved salt-like

grains of tension from behind my eyes. “Release your weight into

the mat. Imagine that your muscles are made of softened wax,

melting on a smooth, warm surface.” My jaw muscles loosened.

My shoulders eased down from my ears.

She continued her spoken lullaby. “With each inhale, imagine a

white light entering the crown of your head and pouring through

your body, illuminating every cell.” A soft sigh escaped from my

lips. “With each exhale—”

The now-familiar sound of barking drowned out the teacher’s

voice and jolted me awake.

Loud, angry barking.

My momentary tranquility vanished. As if in one motion, my

jaw tightened, my shoulders lifted, and my hands clenched into

tight fists. An embarrassing litany of swear words spewed from my lips.

I jumped up from the desk and frowned out the window.

George and Bella were outside my door again, this time with a

much larger stack of papers. Bella was no happier than the day before at the parade of dogs passing by. How
dare
they think they could walk on
her
sidewalk!

George couldn’t have picked a worse place to hawk his wares

if he tried. The walkway in front of the studio was practically a canine superhighway. It connected the building’s parking lot to its street-level businesses. Serenity Yoga occupied the southern-most 10

unit. The north end was home to the promised land of doggy de-

lights known as Pete’s Pets. The PhinneyWood Market and Zorba’s

Greek Deli separated the two.

As of this moment, the only thing keeping Seattle’s treat-

starved canines from an infinite supply of dog cookies was the

sidewalk’s newly-acquired guard dog, Bella. If I wanted Serenity

Yoga to live up to its name, I’d have to come up with a better strategy than buying the daily production of newspapers.

My customers didn’t look at all peaceful as they grumped out

of class. Neither did their teacher, for that matter. She stared out the window, scowling. “Who’s the guy with that awful dog, Kate?

Can’t you make him leave?”

I smiled, pretending to be in charge. “Don’t worry. I’ll deal with it.”
Though I have no idea how.

I joined George and Bella on the sidewalk. “How’s it going to-

day?”

“Sales are OK, but I’ve got lots of papers here if you need some

more,” he replied, grinning.

I couldn’t help but grin back. I may have been stubborn, but I

knew when I’d been outsmarted. “Look. We need to come up with

a compromise. You obviously want to set up shop here, and you’re

right; you have every legal right to do so. But I can’t have the noise, much less the terrified customers. What do you propose we do?”

“It’s not Bella’s fault, you know. I’ve trained her some, and she’s a good dog.” He smiled at Bella, scratching the soft spot behind

her ears. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you, sweetie?” Bella let out a heavy sigh and leaned into his touch. “She just never had a chance to get to know other dogs very well.”

I suspected he was skillfully changing the subject, but I didn’t

press him. I asked another question instead.

11

“Why not?” I asked. “Is she a rescue?”

“Sort of. You see, before I got this paying gig, I used to live

down south in a park near this ritzy neighborhood. Nice houses,

great big yards, obviously plenty of money. People there throw

away more food every week than most people eat in a month. I

made out pretty good.”

“They let you go through their trash?”

“Not exactly, but they didn’t stop me, either. That’s one nice

thing about being homeless. People don’t see you. They don’t
want
to see you. It reminds them how good they’ve got it and makes

them feel guilty, you know? Most of the time Miss Bella and I just blend into the background.”

I had a hard time imagining this man-beast combo blending in

anywhere, but I let it go. George continued his animated speech,

barely even pausing for breath. He was obviously a practiced sto-

ryteller—and I had a feeling he’d shared this particular tale many times before.

“Honestly, people would be shocked if they knew how much I

see and hear. And I’m no dummy,” he said, emphatically shaking

his head. “Most folks assume I’m too stupid or lazy to make it on my own, but I wasn’t always homeless. I even used to have my own

business. But people look right on through me as if I wasn’t even there.

“Anyway, this little puppy showed up at one of those houses

one day. No more than three months old.” He leaned down and

ruffled Bella’s ears. “Cutest little thing you ever saw, weren’t you, Pumpkin? And would you believe it, they chained this lovely girl

here up to a stake in the yard. I guess they thought she was a guard dog.” His lips wrinkled in disgust.

12

“Those fools never played with her, never even took her out of

that yard. Not once did I see them give her any affection. As if giving her a few kibbles and buying a stupid dog house were enough

to make her want to protect them and their precious belongings. I watched for over two months as they let this little girl grow more and more frustrated. Of course she started barking and digging

and whining. Who could blame her?”

“Didn’t she bark at you?” I asked. “I mean, if you were prowl-

ing around her yard, I’d assume she’d have sounded the alarm.”

“Nah, she liked me, poor little thing.” George kneeled on the

ground and hugged Bella close. “I was the one person in her life

that actually paid attention to her. I’d come by late at night when everyone was asleep. I’d talk to her, scratch her ears—I’d even

share some of my loot from the trash. She and I became best bud-

dies.

“Well, one night she started howling; lonely, I think. The noise

must have royally pissed the creep who owned her, because he

marched right out of that fancy house of his and kicked the crap

out of her.” His eyes hardened. “And her still a puppy! Well, that was it as far as I was concerned. I couldn’t stand there and watch him abuse this sweet little thing. I waited a couple of hours, until I figured he’d gone back to sleep. And then I marched right into that yard, unhooked her chain, and took her. She’s been with me ever

since.”

“Wait a minute” I interrupted. “You
stole
her?”

George stood up tall, holding his head high. “No, ma’am,” he

said, sounding slightly offended. “Absolutely not. I have my vices, that’s for sure. But I am not a criminal, and I do not steal. No way.