Just as I was about to head out for lunch, Kylie motioned me over to the counter. She gestured to a lanky guy who was waiting for his order at the end of the coffee bar. He was unconventional, to say the least, as the lower half of his head was shaved and the top sported a short Mohawk. His light brown clothes resembled a loose fitting potato sack.
"This dude was wondering if he could advertise here for a class he's teaching," Kylie said. "Up at Ivy Hill. Bo's already on break, so I told him to ask you."
I walked over to the man as Kylie turned back to her coffee prep. "Hi, I'm Macy Hatfield. Kylie said you were interested in advertising here?"
Instead of shaking my hand, his eyes met mine and he stared at me like he was lasering into my brain.
"Could I help you?" I didn't relish any more drama today. He needed to get this show on the road so I could get back to my place and decompress a little.
He gave a slight jolt. "Sorry, I'm one of those people who takes a minute to get a read on new acquaintances. My name's Jedi Ward—and yes, that is the name my mom gave me." He gave a chuckle and I smelled cigarette smoke on his breath. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to drop some papers here inviting people to my new class. It's a healing drumming class." He gave me a long look. "Maybe you'd like to come?"
I accepted the papers he offered and glanced over them. "Healing drumming? What's that?"
"Releases energy," he explained, taking the green smoothie Kylie handed him. "And it can help you access the next spiritual plane."
That sounded like the last thing I wanted to do—I had enough problems to deal with in this plane. "Uh, sure. We can put these out." We needed to establish rapport with other local businesses, and maybe Ivy Hill would let us put up flyers at their place sometime.
Jedi took a long sip of his green drink and nodded. "Great. The class starts at seven tonight, and the first one is free, if you decide you want to drop by." He peered at me closely. "If you don't mind my saying, I think it would help you relax. I can see the tension in your forehead."
I did mind him saying—after all, who was to say he wasn't mistaking my first forehead wrinkles for tension?
"Sure, I'll think about it," I lied. "Thanks for dropping in." I wheeled around and headed out the front door, since I didn't care to open the connecting door between my part of the house and the cafe. I liked keeping the curtain drawn on my own personal side of things.
The first thing I saw as I pushed open my back door was Coal's pillow, sitting unused in its corner near the couch. I turned away and went into the kitchen to fix myself a bowl of Ramen, something quick and easy so I could look for my dog again. Had my new dog really left me? Or was he out there somewhere, scared and wondering why I hadn't come to get him?
I hastily finished my noodles and walked outside. Examining the flowers closely, it seemed the only one that had been damaged was the rosebush, which was right next to the gate. The gate would've been easy enough for Coal to jump, but it seemed he would've crashed into more flowers on the way over.
My eyes traveled to the dirt next to the gravel pathway. It was dry, but there were obvious marks where something had dug in and ripped into the flat surface. I was fairly certain we hadn't torn up the dirt when we moved the furniture in.
The picture was becoming clearer for me. I was becoming more and more certain that someone had taken Coal—either by pulling him out the window or by enticing him with treats. They'd left the screen on the ground so I'd think the dog had escaped. Then they'd leashed him and walked him toward the back gate—where I was betting he'd dug in his heels and balked. They'd likely pulled on him, which caused him to dodge into the rosebush and snap a twig.
Was it time to call the cops and not just Animal Control? Did cops actually intervene in dognappings, or did they just expect the owner to put up the missing flyers and try to find the dog on their own? Of course, they'd search local shelters, but Summer would tell me immediately if she heard Coal showed up. He wasn't an easy dog to miss.
No, I needed to follow the trail myself, and I had a feeling I knew where it would lead. An opportunity had presented itself, and although healing drumming wasn't something I would have ever chosen to do, if it got me closer to Ivy Hill and to Katie, the possibly thieving masseuse, I'd do it.
6
I drove by several store windows and telephone poles plastered with my missing dog flyers on the way to Ivy Hill. There hadn't been a single call with a sighting of Coal. I'd even scoured Great Danes for sale on the internet to see if someone had posted him, but I'd come up empty there, too.
I could've asked Bo to come along with me as backup, but he didn't really seem to buy my theory that Coal was dognapped. Maybe if I got some kind of proof that Coal was at Ivy Hill, Bo would come with me to my next class.
As I pulled onto the grounds of the spiritual center, my attention veered to a small pond where abandoned police tape was flapping in the breeze. It had to mark the spot where Gerard was killed. I shuddered to think of someone committing such a bloody crime, but I could easily visualize it. Someone had likely come over to talk to Gerard about golf, maybe casually leaning on their golf club. Then perhaps they had picked up the club and toyed with it, then wham, brought it down full force on poor Gerard's head.
After I rounded a wide curve, the spiritual center came into view. Both sides of the Tudor style house had been added onto, and now it seemed to sprawl like a dark bear crouching on the hilltop. The house appeared to have elbowed out all the trees, and the yard was bare except for the meticulous landscaping out front, which surrounded a gurgling fountain.
I walked toward the oak front door, taking a final glance over my workout gear. I'd chosen my nicest pair of yoga pants and a shirt that boasted an expensive logo, hoping I looked like I belonged at the place.
No overhead lights blazed inside the entryway—instead, battery-operated candles and twinkle lights cast a peaceful glow over the space. I felt my shoulders relax. Maybe this wasn't going to be so bad after all.
A teenager manned the front desk, so I asked her about joining the healing drumming class. She signed me up and pointed me down the long hallway.
When I came across the door with a paper marked "Drums" in barely visible pink highlighter ink, I opened it and stepped inside. The atmosphere in the room was thick with incense and candle smoke, and a small circle of people sat on the floor, each holding drums. Jedi, who was barefoot and had combed his Mohawk down, padded across the thick carpet to me and handed me a drum as attendees created space for me.
"You're welcome to remove your shoes." His voice was barely above a whisper. "We shall begin momentarily. I'm so glad you came, Macy."
I pulled off my shoes while glancing at the people situated around me. They looked mostly middle aged, like me, although there was a white-haired couple who sat with their legs crossed, like they were pros at this gig. Maybe they'd already accessed a higher plane, because they seemed quite mellow with their eyes closed and their faces tilted upward.
Jedi gently cleared his throat and cracked his knuckles, which made me cringe. Auntie A had always scolded us thoroughly when we cracked ours, swearing it would give us arthritis someday.