#SuspenseMonday - murder and yoga?
When Seattle yoga teacher Kate Davidson agrees to teach
doga
(yoga for dogs) at a fundraiser for a local animal
rescue,
she believes the only damage will be to her reputation.
But
a few downward-facing dogs are the least of Kateβs
problems
when an animal rights protest at the event leads to a
suspicious fire and a drowning.
The police arrest a woman claiming to be Kateβs estranged
mother and charge her with murder. To prove her
innocence,
Kate, boyfriend Michael, and German shepherd sidekick
Bella
dive deeply into the worlds of animal activism,
organizational politics, and the dangerous obsessions
that
drive them. All while discovering that when it comes to
murder, thereβs no place like hOMe.
Excerpt CHAPTER 5
The shouts that drowned out Maggieβs words were
impassioned, if a little misguided.
βBreak down the cages!β
βClose the dog warehouses!β
βAnimal ownership is slavery!β
Over twenty people, all wearing black shirts with orange
flame insignias, cut a swath across the grass, waving
picket signs and yelling at top volume.
Two teenage girls held onto opposite ends of a banner
that read βHumans for Ethical Animal Treatment. Turn up
the HEAT!β
Ravenβthe younger woman Iβd seen arguing behind the
paddle boats earlierβmarched next to them holding a sign
in one hand and a leash attached to the neck of a
handsome, thirtyish, olive-skinned man in the other.
Eduardo, I assumed. I shaded my eyes with my hand and
examined the object of the two womenβs confrontation.
Even from a distance, I could understand his appeal. With
broad shoulders, deep cocoa eyes, and wavy black hair
that curled under his ear lobes, this man would easily
make more than one womanβs heart go atwitter. His one
glaring fault was the sandpaper-thick layer of dark
stubble covering the lower half of his face. No amount of
shaving would keep that beard-in-the-making under
control. Even thinking about it made my skin itch.
His dark leather jacket and matching motorcycle boots
contrasted hypocritically with the sign that he carried:
βAnimals Are Sentient Beings, Not Possessions!β His face
wore a trapped, agonized expression, though that might
have been part of the show.
I scanned the area behind him, looking for Dharma and
Goth Girl. I didnβt see either.
The dog walkers stopped talking, stared at the ruckus,
and scowled. No one seemed to be having fun anymore,
which was probably the protestorβs intention. A short,
rail-thin young woman stomped away from the picket line,
knocked a hot dog out of a childβs hand, and yelled,
βMeat is murder!β
Michael pulled out his cell phone. βThatβs it. Iβm
calling the police.β
Maggie closed her eyes and sighed. βI canβt believe sheβs
actually going through with this.β
βYou know one of them?β I asked
She shuddered, but her eyes never left the protesters.
βNever mind. It doesnβt matter. Sally, take Mrs.
Abernathy to the pet first aid tent and β¦β
Her voice trailed off. She glanced left and right. βWhere
on earth did Sally go?β
The Bunny Lady wrinkled her nose, ill humor back in full
force. βSally left a few minutes ago, which is exactly
what I should have done. You obviously donβt have control
over this fiasco.β She slipped the rabbit into her bag
and stomped several feet away before turning back to spit
out two final sentences. βDonβt bother cashing that check
I gave you earlier. Iβm putting a stop payment on it as
soon as I get home!β
Maggie cradled her face in her hands. βCan this day get
any worse?β
She shouldnβt have asked.
The words barely escaped her lips when Daleβs head jerked
up. βDo you smell that?β
I did. I would have recognized that smell anywhere.
Gasoline.
I heard a loud swoosh, punctuated by a louder explosion.
New, significantly more frightening, words rang out
across the field.
βFire! Somebody help! The garbage cans are on fire!β
Daleβs face turned as white as his beard.
βOh no! The goats!β
Michael and Maggie ran toward the registration desk,
while Dale, Bandit, and I tore off to the petting area.
Picketers and dog walkers scattered in every direction.
By the time we rounded the corner, the fire was already
spreading. Hot yellow flames licked from the recycle bins
to the loose hay surrounding the petting area. Within
seconds, the entire line of straw bales had ignited,
creating a flaming, Hades-like fence.
The teenage volunteers had already rushed the children
outside the fenced area, but the goats were still
trapped, huddled together in the corner farthest away
from the fire. Michael skidded to a stop behind me and
blasted the straw bales with an extinguisher, but the
fire was spreading too fast. He may as well have been
spraying the Towering Inferno with a garden hose.
Dale tossed Banditβs leash to a gawker. The blond
volunteer held the gate open while his brother, Dale, and
I scrambled inside. Michael kept spraying the
extinguisher, holding the flames back as best he could.
The goats refused to move.
βForce them to the entrance,β Dale yelled.
I channeled my inner Goth Girl, waved my arms, and
yelled. βGo you stupid goats! Run! Get out of here!β
The three of us screamed and clapped and pushed and
stomped, until the terrified animals bolted from the
enclosure and charged into the park, straight past the
onlookers, who were too transfixed by the flames to do
anything but watch.
Dale gathered the final fear-frozen spotted kid in his
arms and carried it away from the flames. Sirens wailed
in the distance.
βGet the truck,β he said to the blond teen. He handed the
baby goat to the other.
It seemed like a century passed, but it couldnβt have
been more than a few minutes before firemen started
dousing the area with cold water. Dale kept a watchful
eye on his skittish herd, huddled several hundred feet
away. A few people broke off from the crowd and tried to
approach them. βStay back!β Dale yelled. βJust block them
from the road. And for lands sake, donβt chase them.β
Michael came up behind us. βShouldnβt we try to round
them up somehow?β
Daleβs expression was grim. βTheyβre too riled up. Give
them a few minutes to calm down. Theyβll come to me.β His
voice didnβt sound confident.
The blond teen drove a livestock truck onto the field and
parked. He jumped out of the cab, opened the back, and
pulled down a wide ramp. Dale grabbed a metal pail from
inside and filled it with grain from a five-gallon
bucket.
βHope this works,β he muttered.
Start Reading KARMA'S A KILLER Now
 Downward Dog Mystery MURDER STRIKES A POSE
#1.0
β’ January 2014
 A KILLER RETREAT
#2.0
β’ February 2015
 KARMA'S A KILLER
#3.0
β’ January 2016
 A FATAL TWIST
#4.0
β’ January 2017
 PRE-MEDITATED MURDER
#5.0
β’ January 2018
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