Karma's a Killer (23 page)

“Yes … ”

Betty grabbed a clipboard and started writing. “When's your due date?”

“In three months.”

“Well, that gives us plenty of time, then.”

Uh oh.

Rene froze. “Time for what?”

Betty didn't answer. She pointed a thumb at Rene but spoke to me. “You like this one?”

“She's okay … ”

She wrote my name next to the word
references
. “Bella seems to like her too,” she observed.

I knew exactly where this was going.

“And she's allergic to cats, not dogs, right?”

Rene scrunched her perfectly plucked eyebrows. “Why are you talking about me like I'm not in the room?”

Betty's eyes locked onto Rene like a tabby targeting a field mouse. “Fine. I'll ask you, then. Did you have pets as a child?”

“No. My mom was a neat freak.”

Betty leaned in closer. “That explains those terrible allergies of yours. You don't want your twins to suffer like that, do you?”

Rene scooted her chair back several inches. “No, but … ”

“Babies who grow up with animals are rarely allergic. And kids need to learn how to be responsible. Nothing teaches that better than a dog.”

Rene crossed her arms defensively. “I have never owned a dog, and I'm plenty responsible. Who do you think looks after Kate?”

Betty smiled and made a check mark on the form. “Well, that's great, honey. Dog owners need to be responsible.”

“D … dog owners?”

“Yes. That's why Kate brought you here.”

I shook my head. “It is no—”

Betty silenced me with
the look
. The same look Dad used to flash when I slipped out a swear word.

“As I was saying, that's why Kate brought you here, whether she realized it or not. I see it in how you relate to Bella. You're ready to adopt a pet.”

Betty opened a folder and pulled out a photograph of a happy-looking brown lab. “And I have the perfect one. He's a sweet old tripod. He loves kids, and now that he's seven, he's not nearly as rambunctious as he used to be. He only needs insulin injections twice a day, and as long as you keep his blood sugar stable, he almost never pees in the house anymore.”

Rene stood up so fast that she tipped over her chair. “Um … I um … ”

Evil Kate wanted to sit back and enjoy the show, but Best Friend Kate couldn't. Rene had fallen in love with Bella, but she wasn't ready to own her own dog, at least not yet. Still, if Betty poked at her ego hard enough, lord only knew what might happen. I needed to give Rene an easy way out.

“Sorry, Betty, but you can't have Rene. She's mine. She's my only dog sitter, and Bella won't tolerate another dog. You'll have to find someone else.”

Betty's look would have frozen a Popsicle. “I thought you were working on Bella's reactivity to other dogs.”

“I am, and she's better. She tolerates other dogs now as long as they stay at a distance. Sometimes she'll sniff at them from the other side of a fence. But I don't see any Fido best friends in her near future—not even any three-legged ones.”

Rene mouthed the words
Thank you
.

Betty harrumphed. “You win, for today. But keep working on it.” She slowly wagged her index finger at Rene. “I've got plans for this one.”

Rene waddled out of Betty's house so fast, she even beat Bella back to the car. When I climbed in beside her, she said two words: “Drive. Fast.”

Most days, I knew Rene better than I knew myself. If she was this panicked, there could only be one reason—Betty was right. Rene secretly wanted a dog. And what Rene wanted, Rene got. Period.

I had six months, nine at the most, before it happened. Rene wouldn't do anything drastic until she and Sam had settled in with the twins, but after that, all bets were off.

I needed to start looking for a new puppy sitter.

Twenty-One

I dropped Rene and
Bella off at Rene's house and headed to the jail for my second supervised visit with Dharma. Rene had offered to go along for moral support, but I asked her to look after Bella instead. In a moment so uncharacteristic that I thought she'd misheard me, she agreed.

At first I was suspicious. I knew Rene didn't buy my poor lonely dog argument. After all, we could have taken Bella along and parked her in one of the underground garages. I eventually concluded that she was simply being a good friend. Neither of us knew how I would feel after speaking with Dharma about the letters, but I might well need a few hours of privacy.

We arranged to talk about next steps at dinner.

But first I had to walk through the door of the King County Jail.

I wrapped my fingers around the handle. The door seemed unaccountably heavy.

Come on, Kate. You can do this.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, pulled open the door—

And smacked face-first into Eduardo.

He thrust his hand into his pocket. For an insane, terrifying moment, I thought he was going to pull out a gun and shoot me. But if his sallow complexion and slumped posture were any indication, any rage he'd once felt toward me—or toward anyone else, for that matter—was long gone.

When he removed his hand, it held car keys.

“Did you see Marla?” I asked.

“No, her cell block doesn't have visitation until tomorrow. I wanted to talk to Dharma, but she's taken me off of her visitors list. Looks like I won't be able to see her before I leave town.”

“Are you heading back to California?”

He shook his head. “No, Texas. Marla's being extradited, and I'm going back with her. I'd hoped to see Dharma one last time and tell her I'm sorry.”

“Sorry? For what?”

He shrugged. “So many things. For getting her mixed up in my secrets. For cheating on her with Raven. For thinking she'd turn against Marla. For … ” His voice trailed off. “For everything.”

Did “everything” include letting Dharma go to prison for a murder he committed?

“If you're truly sorry, you should stick around for a while. You might be able to help with Dharma's defense.”

He buried his hands in his pockets again. “I belong with my sister. I already told the police everything I know about Raven's death. If anything, my testimony hurts Dharma. After all, I was sleeping with both of them.” He nudged the pavement with his boot. “Will you please tell Dharma that I'm sorry? I did love her, you know. She's a good woman.”

I hesitated. Dale had been clear: Eduardo was part of Dharma's and my no-talk zone. But surely relaying “goodbye and I'm sorry” couldn't jeopardize her case, and she probably needed to hear it. I would have.

“Yes, I'll tell her.”

“Thanks.” He turned and walked away.

I stared after Eduardo's slumped form until long after he'd disappeared down the crowded sidewalk. The energy left in his wake felt sad, tragic even. My heart broke for him, and for his sister. But that didn't mean either of them was innocent. The last year had taught me one inescapable lesson: good people, when pushed to extremes, sometimes did horrible acts. My heart had broken for killers before.

A metal detector and a surprisingly unpleasant pat-down later, I entered the still-crowded, still-desolate visitors' waiting room. Officer Friendly's clone took my information and sent me upstairs, where I soon found myself ensconced in a different makeshift phone booth staring through the same Plexiglas wall. Dharma shuffled toward the corresponding booth on the other side. My throat convulsed.

Dale hadn't been exaggerating.

Dharma looked awful.

A large purple bruise covered her left cheek. The left side of her upper lip was red and swollen, and her eyes were underscored by dark gray smudges. She slowly lowered herself onto the stool and picked up the phone.

I pointed to her cheek. “Dharma, what happened?”

“Evidently Ms. Crazy Eyes likes bananas. Refusing to give her mine wasn't one of my smartest moments.” She smiled, but there was no humor in it. “Hopefully I won't end up being her bitch.”

“Don't say things like that.”

“I'm being realistic, Kate. Dale says my case doesn't look good.”

I wanted to argue with her, but I couldn't. Not without lying. I changed the subject instead. “I saw Eduardo on my way in.”

Dharma glanced at the guard behind her. “Dale came by this morning and told me about last night.” I assumed she was being deliberately vague. But if she'd seen Dale, she knew about my involvement in Marla's arrest. “He said not to talk with you about Eduardo. He even made me take him off of my visitors list.”

“I know. I'm only relaying a message. Eduardo is headed back to Texas with Marla.”

“So he's leaving, then.”

“Yes.”

She frowned. “And you're his Dear Dharma letter.”

“He came to speak with you himself, but yes. He wants you to know that he's sorry.”

Dharma removed her glasses and rubbed them against her shirt. When she put them back on, she sighed. “Funny thing is, I'm not. Sorry, that is. I liked Eduardo; I probably loved him. But he won't be a loss. Not like your father was.”

That was my cue.

“Dharma, I need to talk with you about Dad.”

“You know more about your father than I do.”

“Evidently not. I didn't know about the letters.”

Dharma's face sagged. “You read them?”

“Yes. All of them.” I paused. “I need to know what happened between the two of you.”

“What did your father tell you?”

I didn't answer her question. Truthfully, Dad had rarely spoken of his time with Dharma, and when he did, his portrayal of her was significantly less than flattering. Dale was right. It was time to hear her side of the story.

“I'd like to hear it from you.”

As the clock's minute hand ticked inexorably forward, Dharma spoke. I remained silent and listened, allowing her story to unfold in its own way.

“Your dad and I met in college. He was a political science major, a Republican, no less. I was a soon-to-be-dropout animal rights activist, hell-bent on saving the world. We were a match made in, well, made in hell, actually. But that didn't stop us from falling in love. Or me from getting pregnant.

“I never wanted a child. The world was already overpopulated, and I had big plans. I couldn't exactly take an infant to South America with me.” She looked at the floor. “But your father … ” She sighed.

“Your father wanted you more than anything else in the world. He convinced me that we could make it work.” She shrugged. “So we got married.” She said the last words matter-of-factly, as if marriage was the most logical choice in a string of unacceptable options.

“Don't get me wrong, Dharma, I'm glad you didn't. But a liberal, unmarried woman who didn't want a child? Why didn't you … ” I struggled with the words.

“Terminate the pregnancy?”

I nodded. “Or give the baby—me, I mean—up for adoption.”

Dharma kept her expression neutral. “I considered both, actually. I made an appointment for the procedure, but I couldn't follow through. I simply couldn't do that to your father. He was so happy about having a child.”

She looked down at her fingernails as if examining her cuticles were her most important priority. “I tried to be a good wife, but I was miserable. The stay-at-home-mom scene went against everything I believed in, everything I'd ever dreamed of. I started to resent both of you. When you were six months old, I told your father that I was leaving. That I couldn't stay tied down—not for him, not even for you.” She shrugged. “He convinced me that we could still make it work. He agreed to stay in Seattle with you while I did my work in South America. I'm sure he hoped that I'd hate being separated and come running back home.

“He was wrong. The arrangement worked out great, for me, anyway. I'd leave for up to a year at a time, and when I was ready, I'd come back to Seattle for a month or two.”

It didn't sound like my idea of the perfect marriage, but it still didn't explain everything. Military families often lived apart for a year or more at a time, and Dad didn't give up easily. If the commitment had been there, he would have found a way to make it work.

Dharma must have sensed my skepticism.

“Remember, Kate, this was before the Internet. The places I worked didn't have plumbing most of the time, much less telephones. Your dad and I wrote, but his letters often arrived months after he sent them. Most of the time he didn't know whether I was dead or alive. The marriage couldn't take it.” She shrugged. “He finally gave me an ultimatum.”

I held my breath, waiting for Dharma to finish. She remained silent.

“That's not the whole story, Dharma,” I said. “In the letter you wrote to me, you apologized, but not for being an absentee mother.” I hesitated. Once I said the words, there would be no going back. “You said you felt responsible for my abduction.”

“Yes. I still do.”

Every part of me resisted asking the next question. My jaw clenched; my mouth filled with cotton; my throat ached. But somehow, I spoke.

“Dharma, when was I abducted?”

Her face cycled through multiple emotions: confusion, surprise, anger, understanding. It landed on regret. “You don't remember.”

“No. What happened to me?”

Dharma closed her eyes and turned away from the partition. For a moment, I thought she was going to hang up and walk away without answering.

When she turned back around, she spoke in a flat, almost affect-free tone.

“Your father always wanted the best for you. I hope you know that. I'm sure he had reasons for allowing you to repress those memories, but whatever they were, he was wrong. You deserve to know.”

She took a deep breath, then slowly released it.

“I had this friend in South America. He was a little … crazy, actually. He convinced himself that you were his child.”

My stomach did flip-flops. I had mentally prepared for all kinds of contingencies, but not this. What if Dad wasn't my biological father?

“Was I?” I asked.

Dharma shook her head emphatically. “No. Absolutely not. You were already two when I met James.” Her cheeks turned pink. “We had an affair. The night I broke it off, he went nuts. The next morning, he disappeared. I heard he'd gone back to the States, but I had no idea what he was up to.” She swallowed. “He kidnapped you from your preschool.”

“How did he know where to find me?”

“You weren't a secret. I told him lots of things about my life in Seattle.”

I'd hoped talking to Dharma would shake loose some memories, but no matter how much she told me, I got the same result. Nothing. “How did I get home?”

“The police caught him two weeks later trying to smuggle you across the Mexican border.” Her voice cracked. “No one could find me to tell me what had happened. Your father went through that awful time all alone. I didn't learn about your abduction until three months later.”

I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer, but I had to ask. “That man, did he … ”

Dharma didn't hesitate. “No. He didn't harm you, at least not physically.
There was no evidence of assault or abuse of any kind. But when border patrol found you, you were hungry, dirty, and terrified.” Her eyes filled with tears. “All because I took up with a crazy man and gave him enough information to find you.”

I tried to think back, to remember anything about those two weeks, but I couldn't. My mind felt completely numb. My belly, on the other hand, churned with the same visceral nausea I felt whenever I saw Dale, Santa Clause, or anyone else with facial hair.

“Your friend. Did he have a beard?”

Dharma looked up, startled. “Yes. Then you
do
remember.”

“No, but it explains a lot. You said you found out about my abduction three months later. What happened then?”

“I came back to the States. By the time I got back, your father had hired an attorney, filed for divorce, and charged me with child abandonment. He gave me an ultimatum: either come home and be a consistent part of your life, or stay completely out of it. He said there would be no more compromises.” She shrugged. “I agreed to give him full custody without visitation. I didn't even try to contest it.”

“Why would he do that—not allow you to see me? And why would you let him?”

“Your father blamed me for what happened to you. I did, too. I think we both convinced ourselves that we were doing what was best for you. For what it's worth, I regretted it. I considered begging him to let me come back a thousand times. I wrote you that letter the day you turned eighteen. The returned envelope was the last time I ever heard from your father.”

She was silent for several long seconds.

“After that, I tried to put you out of my mind, at least until a few weeks ago. When Raven decided that we all had to come to Seattle, I did some research. I found your father's obituary and that article about your dog saving your life last summer. I hoped, now that your father was gone, that you might be willing to connect.”

Dharma looked down at her lap. When she looked up again, her eyes were wet. “Kate, what happened to you, especially my part in it, has plagued me for almost three decades. That's why I couldn't tell anyone about Marla and the fires.”

I held up my hand. “Dharma, stop. Don't talk about that.”

“Please, I have to say this one thing. Marla's father … what that man did to her … ” Her voice trailed off. “Eduardo got her out as soon as he could, but it wasn't soon enough. The damage had already been done.”

The clock's minute hand moved relentlessly forward, a stark symbol of the new urgency I felt about Dharma's situation. I would have the rest of my life to reflect on today's revelations, but for now, we were almost out of time.