Read Online Karma's a Killer by Tracy Weber - Free Book Online Page B

galleries, and crumbling, dive-bar-like restaurants whose patrons started the day drinking rotgut whiskey with a caffeine chaser. Walking past the bus stop any time after noon gave the term “breath of fire” a whole new meaning.
    Today, however, Mocha Mia’s eclectic decor seemed like a painful symbol of my own jumbled life. After two years of self-imposed solitude, I’d finally scrounged up enough hope to build a future with a man that I loved, only to have it darkened by shadows from my past. If every life had a purpose, mine was obviously to be the butt of some karmic practical joke. Frankly, I wasn’t amused.
    I absently stirred my coffee and stared across the street at my yoga studio, wishing I could cancel my evening Yoga Nidra class. I had no desire to teach. I didn’t even want to be seen in public. I wanted to slink home, hide in the closet, and not come out until Dharma left town. Instead, I picked at the unappetizing whole wheat bagel on my plate and shredded my napkin into hundreds of tiny pieces, waiting for Rene and hoping—praying, even—that she would somehow come up with the magic words that would put Dharma’s revelation into perspective.
    Rene waddled from the checkout counter to the table, carefully squeezing her hugely pregnant body through the crowded café while balancing a double-sized slice of eight-layer chocolate decadence cake, a bagel, two packets of cream cheese, and a decaf double fudge mocha.
    I added an extra packet of Splenda to my soy latte, just for the indulgence.
    Rene thumped her pastries onto the table and scowled. “You know, I’m beginning to get annoyed with that barista. What is this, a restaurant or a comedy club?” She pointed an accusing finger at her mug. “I mean really. Hungry Hippo ?”
    I suppressed a grin. The waitress’s antics seemed significantly funnier when they were directed at someone else. “Well, you said you wanted a double extra grande. Maybe that’s the biggest mug they had.” I paused for effect. “Besides, it kind of fits.”
    Rene swatted me with her napkin. “Keep it up, funny girl. I’m here to do you the favor, remember?” She slid her fork through eight layers of chocolate flavored calories, lifted it to her mouth, and chewed, wearing an expression so sensuous, it was likely illegal in most southern states. “Oh my lord, that’s good.” She laid the fork back on the plate, careful not to disturb the heart-shaped caramel swirls the barista had drawn along its edges.
    â€œThat should give me enough strength to get to the bathroom and back.” She looped her shoulder bag over the back of her chair. “I’ll be back in a minute. Remember, I’ve got dibs on your story. Don’t you dare tell it to anyone else before I get back.”
    Like that was a big risk.
    She gestured to the collection of plates, napkins, condiments, and silverware that she’d accumulated on her side of the table. “And don’t even consider touching my food, especially the cake. I have that fork mark memorized.”
    The scary thing was, I believed her.
    She returned five minutes later, still grumbling. “I swear, I can’t go ten minutes without peeing these days.” She slowly lowered her rear to the chair. “Oomph!”
    I bit my lip to keep from smirking. “Geez, Rene. How will I ever get you back up?” I pretended to scan the restaurant. “Maybe I should rent a crane.”
    Rene ignored my teasing, picked up a butter knife, and slathered pineapple cream cheese all over her jalapeño cheddar bagel.
    â€œRene, that’s disgusting.”
    â€œIt’s not my fault,” she replied, pointing down at her belly. “The girls want what the girls want. And I have to eat more. Doctor’s orders. She says I’m not gaining enough weight. Besides, I had to give up caffeine and alcohol. I’ve got to fuel