Capitol Threat

22

Loving stood stupidly at the front of the room while twenty-four pairs of underage eyes stared at him from the floor. To their credit, none of the children broke out of position and only a few stopped chanting. Loving wasn’t sure what to do. So he just stood there staring, shirtless, in a pool of broken glass, wondering what den of evil he had stumbled into this time.

A middle-aged woman wearing warm-up shorts and a tank top walked agitatedly from the side of the room. “I thought I made it clear. The class is full!”

Loving cleared his throat. “I need—”

“Yes, I know it’s hard to find a placement in Georgetown this time of year. But these grandstand dramatics won’t help you. I assume you’ll pay for the door.”

“Well…yes…”

“Please put your shirt back on. As you may have noticed, there are children present.”

Loving meekly shook the glass out of his shirt and put it back on.

“If you’d like to place your child on the waiting list, please do so. But at present, there are no—”

“I’m lookin’ for a girl—”

The woman gave him a long look. “You must like them young.”

“No, I’m lookin’ for a woman. A woman named—”

“Excuse me.” She turned back toward the class, which appeared to be foundering somewhat without leadership. The chanted mantra had been replaced by private whispering. “Class, listen to me. I want you to use your imagination and go to a happy place.”

Loving rolled his eyes.

“I want you to envision somewhere that always makes you happy. An amusement park. The zoo. McDonald’s. The ocean. Imagine that place, then let your mind take you on a vacation there while I talk to the nice man who broke the window.” She bent down and turned up the volume of the boom box slightly.

“That somethin’ classical?” Loving asked.

“The Tao of Healing.” She put one hand on her hip. “Now kindly tell me why you’ve burst into my yogababy session.”

Loving knew he should stay on topic, but he couldn’t resist. “Yogababy?”

“What, you haven’t heard of it?”

“I’ve heard of Yogi Berra.”

“Very amusing. For your information, the yogababies movement is nationwide. Our DVD has sold over a hundred thousand copies.”

Loving’s eyes wandered to the happy faces and sunflowers painted on the walls and ceiling. “Aren’t these toddlers a little young for yoga?”

“Absolutely not. Balanced lives begin with balanced children.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“It’s very good exercise.”

“So is T-ball.”

The woman cringed. “And the meditational tools they learn here can benefit them throughout their lives. Why, I have students who started with me when they were two who are in their teens now, still practicing the same asanas I taught them.”

“The same…”

“Asanas. Yoga positions.”

“There’s more than one?”

Her eyes traveled skyward. “This is beside the point. Could you please explain what you are doing here?”

“I’m looking for a woman named—”

She whirled around and clapped her hands. “Students. Unflap your butterfly wings.”

In unison, the small children wiggled their arms and legs.

“Now I want you to adopt the shavasana.”

The children lowered themselves to the floor mats, lying on their backs, and closed their eyes.

“Shavasana?” Loving asked.

“It means ‘corpse pose.’ ”

“Lovely. Look, while the kids are nappin’—”

“They are not napping,” she said indignantly. “They are meditating.”

“Whatever. Listen, I’m lookin’ for a woman named Trudy.”

“I don’t know anyone named Trudy.”

“Well, that’s odd, ’cause I just followed her down here.”

“Maybe she’s Nadya’s friend. She was late bringing Chandler.”

“Is Nadya a blonde wearing a bright orange pullover?”

“I’m sure I didn’t notice what she was wearing. All the parents drop their children off and then they disappear, usually to the Starbucks across the street. I don’t allow the parents to observe. It destroys the children’s ability to focus, to ascend to a higher plane.”

“How much higher can they get when they’re…” He glanced at the room and calculated an average age. “…three?”

“You might be surprised. It’s actually much simpler for these children. Their minds are still pure and unsullied by the cynicism and stress of the modern world. They reach spiritual equilibrium much more readily than you or I.”

“Well, when will this Nadya—” As if in answer to his question, in the rear of the room, through a windowpane, Loving spotted the blonde he had seen upstairs. “Excuse me.”

The woman grabbed his wrist. “What about the window!”

Loving reached into his pocket and threw back one of Ben’s cards. “Send the bill to this address.”

He raced to the back of the room, trying not to step on any of the tiny yogis trying to get in touch with their inner adults—although actually, he noticed that several of them were sound asleep—and pushed through the rear exit.

Nadya had walked up the steps to street level and was about to cross the street. “Stop!” he yelled.

To his surprise, she did.

Loving ran to her, huffing breathlessly and wondering, once again, if it was safe for him to be seen in the open. “Where’s Trudy?”

Nadya looked at him strangely, or rather, as if he were very strange. “I don’t know. Who are you?”

“My name…” He pondered for a moment. Was it really safe to give the woman his name? Or advisable? Sure, kiddie yoga seemed innocuous enough. But Leon had warned him that danger lurked in unexpected places. He had suggested that Trudy could give him the information that he needed. But that didn’t mean she—or her friends—were safe. Maybe he shouldn’t give her any details that would help any other trigger-happy friends she might have track him down.

He wasn’t quite sure what won out—his sense of honesty or his lack of imagination. “My name’s Loving. I work for Senator Kincaid.”

“I don’t believe I know—”

“Don’t sweat it. No one does. I’m lookin’ for Trudy.”

“Really?” Her nose wrinkled. “Do tell.” She gave him the once-over. “Who would’ve guessed? You seem so—well, I shouldn’t stereotype. Takes all kinds, right?”

Loving stared at her dully. “Huh?”

“It’s none of my business—”

“Look, lady, I’m a private investigator. I’m tryin’ to get a lead on the woman who was killed at Judge Roush’s press conference.”

All at once, Nadya’s face became serious. “I’m sure Trudy had nothing to do with that.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I just—I just know it’s not something Trudy would go in for.”

Loving grunted. “I appreciate your vote of support, but I’d still like to talk to her. Could you please tell me where I might meet her?”

Nadya backed away from him. “No…No, I don’t think I can do that. I don’t think I want anything to do with you. And I don’t think Trudy will, either.”

“Please,” Loving said, grabbing her hand. “Help me find her.”

“No.” She shook her hand loose. “And if you touch me again, I’ll scream.”

Well, I’m handling this masterfully, aren’t I? Loving thought. He released her hand. “Just tell me where Trudy is.”

Nadya continued retreating. “No.”

“I know you’re going to meet her later tonight.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do. Where are you meeting?”

The woman bumped backward into a small Toyota hatchback. “I’m warning you. Leave me alone.”

Loving noticed that the stack of books she carried contained a small Filofax calendar. He considered making a grab for it, but doubted he would be successful. “Please tell me where you’re going to meet.”

“I’ll scream! If you don’t stay back, I’ll scream!” She jammed a key into the car door, threw all her belongings in the backseat, then locked the car again. “I’m going to get my coffee now. I have a cell phone. If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll call the police.”

“Are you meeting Trudy at Starbucks?”

“No! I’ve got maybe an hour to myself, for once in my life, until I have to pick up my boy. I do not expect to be disturbed.”

“But all I want to know is—”

“See?” she said, holding up her cell phone. “All I have to do is punch one button and the police are on their way.”

“But all I want—”

“Leave me alone! Me and Trudy both!” Nadya turned and ran down the sidewalk, then disappeared into the coffee shop.

Loving stood on the sidewalk berating himself for his stupidity. He’d handled that like a prize chump. If only they’d been sitting around a bar or something—that was more his natural milieu. He understood those people. Neurotic moms who take their tots to yoga class he didn’t know.

He stared at the Filofax calendar in the backseat, probably containing the vital information about the rendezvous he wanted. He could break the window, but it was a crowded street and that would undoubtedly attract attention, possibly even set off a car alarm. He could wait until Nadya emerged from the coffee shop and try her again, maybe follow her, but that was risky, especially given her excitability. He’d do it if he must, but there had to be a better way.

All he had to do was figure out what that better way was.