Murder Strikes a Pose by Tracy Weber Page B

like a cup of coffee?”
    I declined her offer as we both sat down.
    “My father’s death took us by surprise, and I haven’t had time
    to go to the store. Even in a death like this, there’s so much planning.”
    “A death like this?” I asked.
    Her facial expression was blank, almost numb. “It’s not like we’re going to have a funeral or anything. My father didn’t have insurance, and we don’t have much money.” She shrugged. “Besides, who
    knows if he even had friends anymore? I wouldn’t have a clue who
    to invite to a memorial. I thought it would be simple enough to have him cremated, but I still have to make all these decisions. Like, what am I supposed to do with the ashes? I don’t want to keep them, but 89
    I have no idea where to scatter them. As far as I know, the place Dad loved best was some liquor store.”
    I winced before I could stop myself. Her acrid tone surprised me.
    “I’m sorry if that sounded cold, but my father and I weren’t
    close. Not for years.”
    “I would imagine that makes it even harder,” I replied. “So
    much unfinished business.”
    “I suppose. But telling Mom was the hardest part.” She rubbed
    her eyes, whether from exhaustion or grief, I couldn’t tell. “Mom claims to have gone on with her life, but even after all this time, I think she still loved him.”
    “When was the last time you saw your father?”
    “Last weekend, but before that it had been a very long time …”
    My yogi sense tingled on high alert. George told me he hadn’t
    spoken to his daughter in years. What made him reconnect with
    her last weekend? And more importantly, did visiting Sarah some-
    how lead to his murder?
    I waited, hoping Sarah would volunteer more information. But
    she stared off into space, her echoing silence broken only by a tick-ing clock and the wooden clunking of Davie’s dump truck as it
    deposited blocks into an imaginary landfill.
    I gently prodded her. “At least your father was able to spend
    some time with his grandson before he passed.”
    Sarah stiffened. When she looked back at me, all traces of wist-
    fulness were gone. Her lips thinned to a tense line. “I never said that I let him see Davie.” She stood up. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t want to talk about my father anymore. You said you
    have something for me?”
    I had no choice but to drop the subject—for now.
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    “Yes, but it’s hard to explain. If you come outside, I’ll show
    you.”
    Sarah followed me to the yard, Davie clinging tightly to her hand once again. I opened the car door and clipped on Bella’s leash.
    “Bella, say hello.”
    As trained, Bella walked up to the pair, sat down and raised her
    paw. Davie giggled, clearly delighted, while Bella nudged his hands looking for treats. Finding none there, she moved on. Dog saliva
    dripped from Davie’s chin as Bella licked peanut butter from his
    face. No doubt about it; Davie and Bella were in love.
    Sarah was not.
    She looked at me, trembling with ill-disguised fury. “You have
    got to be kidding me,” she snapped. “This is what you brought?
    This stupid dog ?”
    I took two steps back, pulling Bella in close. I’d expected Sarah to be surprised, even annoyed by my deception. Frankly, I deserved a harsh word or two. But this reaction was much, much stronger
    than that. Her facial expression connoted an intense, hidden rage.
    The type of rage best left buried deep inside or explored from the safety of a psychiatrist’s couch.
    The Sarah I faced now was not the same woman who’d offered
    me sustenance only moments before. I tried to reconnect with that calmer, more rational Sarah. “I’m sorry I deceived you. I know
    you’re having a tough time right now, really I do. I lost my own
    father a couple of years ago. I know my timing is terrible—”
    “You have no idea.” Sarah interrupted, practically vibrating with anger. I pressed on, hoping to penetrate the fortress she’d built between us.
    “I know