Free Murder Strikes a Pose by Tracy Weber Page B

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    ty sure that I made the class do Warrior I three times on the same side. My students didn’t comment on my lack of verbal acuity, but they popped up like Pop Tarts at the end of class and tried not to make eye contact as they said their goodbyes. Part of me felt bad about their awful experience, but most of me was simply relieved
    the ordeal was over.
    As soon as the last student grabbed her yoga mat and scurried
    out the door, I joined the monster-dog snoozing in my car and
    drove south on I-5. Destination: the Seattle Police Department’s
    West Precinct. I pulled up to a shady spot in front of the familiar cement building, placed my hand on the car door handle—and
    froze, seemingly super-glued in place.
    “I don’t know, Bella. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.”
    I hadn’t seen John in months, and I hadn’t visited the West Pre-
    cinct in even longer. Being at the station reminded me too much
    of Dad. I wasn’t proud of my actions, but I had to move on with
    my life, and avoiding painful reminders seemed like the best strategy. But that strategy wouldn’t work today. Today I needed infor-
    mation.
    I sat in the car for what felt like a century, trying to gather
    enough courage to enter the building. I’m still not sure how I convinced myself to actually walk through the front door, but seeing John’s beaming face was worth every step.
    “Katydid! I haven’t seen you in forever!” He crushed me in one
    of his famous bear hugs. “Where have you been?”
    “John, I go by Kate now. You know I always hated that nick-
    name.”
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    “Nonsense. You’ll always be little Katydid to me.” He made a
    circling motion with his index finger. “Now, let me take a look at you.”
    I reached my arms out to the side and spun around for him,
    just like I did as a little girl.
    “Beautiful as always,” he said, smiling. He pointed to the eleva-
    tor. “Now let’s go talk.”
    I looked at the floor as the elevator doors closed behind us.
    “I’m sorry I didn’t return your calls, it’s just—”
    John held up his palm. “You don’t have to say anything, Katy-
    did.” I heard a catch in his voice. “Believe me, I know. I miss him, too.” We rode the rest of the way to the tenth floor in silence.
    When we arrived at his desk, John got right to business. “That
    was some phone call I got last night. How’d you go and get mixed
    up in a murder?”
    “I’m not mixed up in it; I just found the body. But thanks for
    vouching for me. I would have gone crazy if they hadn’t let me go home. They kept asking the same questions over and over again,
    but I didn’t have any answers. I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
    “That can happen, Katydid, that can happen.” He playfully
    nudged me on the shoulder. “Hey, I hear you adopted the vic’s vi-
    cious dog. Funny, you always struck me as one of those crazy cat
    ladies.”
    “Why does everyone say that? It’s not funny.” I gave him a dirty
    look, and he was smart enough to look chagrined. “Besides, I’m
    not keeping the dog. I just didn’t want her to end up in the pound.
    That’s why I’m here, though. I didn’t get off to a great start with the detective in charge, and I need your help.”
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    John pulled out a chair and motioned for me to sit. “How’s
    that?”
    “George, the victim, mentioned once that he had family. I got
    the impression that at least his daughter is local. Can you get me her phone number? I’d like to offer my condolences and see if
    she’s willing to take Bella.”
    I didn’t fool him, at least not completely. He remained stand-
    ing and peered at me through narrowed eyes. “Katy, what are you
    up to?”
    “What do you mean?” I asked, trying to look innocent.
    “You know exactly what I mean. You have a bad habit of stick-
    ing your nose in where it doesn’t belong. It used to drive your
    father nuts. He always said you took after your mother that way:
    nosy, argumentative, and