Karma's a Killer by Tracy Weber

survive. It’s better than the Juarez jail I was stuck in for six weeks.” She shuddered. “The worst part is the food. Jail isn’t exactly vegetarian friendly.”
    Dharma was vegetarian, too? It shouldn’t have surprised me. She was, after all, an animal rights activist. Still, it hadn’t occurred to me that Dharma and I might have a lot in common. The insight felt dangerous. Keeping a healthy distance would be significantly more challenging if I actually liked her.
    She kept rambling, whether from nervousness or guilt I couldn’t tell. “There was some sort of desiccated meat patty on my plate this morning. I gave it to my crazy-eyed roommate and traded my reconstituted eggs for the heroine addict’s apple. No one wanted the watered-down orange drink. I would kill for a cup of coffee.” She looked over her shoulder, as if expecting an espresso cart to magically appear.
    â€œEnough about the accommodations, Dharma. Why do the police think you killed Raven?”
    Dharma’s lips tensed. “I don’t want to talk about my arrest, Kate.”
    â€œThen why am I here?”
    â€œI need you to do me a favor.”
    A favor? Seriously?
    Thirty years’ worth of bitterness spewed from my throat.
    â€œA favor? You disappear from my life for three decades, then con me into visiting you in jail just so I can do you a favor?” I stood up, preparing to smash down the phone and leave Dharma behind once and for all. But not without getting in three final words: “Go to—”
    Dharma jumped to her feet and slammed her palms against the partition. “Stop!”
    The officer behind Dharma grabbed his walkie-talkie and took three quick steps forward, ready to call in reinforcements. Officer Chuckles appeared behind me.
    Dharma’s eyes locked on mine. “Please, Kate. Please. I’m begging you. Don’t leave.”
    Two overwhelming sensations hit me at once. The first was staggering empathy. Not with Dharma; not even with my murdered friend, George. With George’s daughter. I finally understood why she was so hostile to George the day he tried to make amends. Some wounds—especially those inflicted in childhood—couldn’t be bandaged. Not even stitched. Sometimes, in order to save the patient, you had to cut off the limb.
    I almost walked out the door. I should have walked out the door. But I couldn’t. The second sensation froze me in place.
    Connection.
    To Dharma.
    In spite of the bulletproof wall separating us, in spite of the other gaping visitors, in spite of Officer Chuckles’s glaring stare, I felt Dharma’s energy.
    She was trapped. She was terrified. She was vulnerable.
    She might even be innocent.
    And she needed my help.
    The insight into Dharma’s psyche hit me like a blow to the sternum. Bitter or not—morally justified or not—I was supposedly a yogi. Yogis showed active compassion whenever they saw suffering. Telling Dharma to go to Hades while marching out of the room would never pass muster. I had to choose: I could live by my values, or I could walk away. I couldn’t do both.
    I slowly sat down and motioned for her to do the same. The two officers backed away.
    â€œOkay, Dharma. I’m listening.”
    â€œI need you to go to my motel and pick up my belongings.”
    â€œYour belongings?”
    â€œIt’s not much. I only brought one suitcase. It’s all worthless to anyone else, but if I don’t get out of here soon, the motel will get rid of it. My attorney says I can sign a release and they’ll give you my key card. Can you please go to the motel, pack up my stuff, and keep it for me?”
    â€œWhy don’t you call your boyfriend Eduardo?”
    I was fishing, of course. I suspected that Eduardo and Dharma were a couple, but I didn’t know for sure.
    Dharma’s lips thinned. “How do you know Eduardo?”
    I didn’t lie, but I didn’t