Death and Taxes Read Online Free PDF Page A

food disappeared regularly from the fridge, had slimmed me more than I’d intended).
    Handing back the license, she said curtly, “I’m in the middle of my practice.”
    I glanced into the room behind her, hoping to see what it was she was so adamant about practicing in the middle of the night.
    The first thing I noticed was myself, then Lyn Takai’s straight muscular back. Reflected in mirrors on the far wall. And that was about all there was in the twelve-by-twenty room. It was bare but for a pile of two-by-five-foot rubber mats, wooden handrails on the walls, and ropes hung next to the mirrors. The setup suggested a dance studio, a dance studio with ropes. Exotic dance? Erotic dance? S-and-M dance?
    One rubber mat lay alone in the middle of the floor, three thick books piled on the end. Slow dance with reading material?
    Takai bent her right leg, braced her foot against the left thigh, put her palms together, and balanced on one leg like a stork. “I teach yoga. I was doing a forward-bend series.” She indicated the rubber mat. “I was teaching a private class this evening. It’s easy to pick up students’ energy and be too wired to sleep. Sitting on the floor bending forward relaxes the body and calms the mind. I’m limber enough that I can reach beyond my feet. That’s what I’ve got the books for.”
    I nodded. Lots of people in Berkeley did yoga. I was not one of them.
    But Takai must have taken my nod as encouragement, for she continued, “Forward bends not only calm the mind; they massage the digestive organs, tone the urinary system, the abdominal muscles, and strengthen the entire back. If you practice them daily, you—” She stopped abruptly. I was sure she’d slipped into a spiel from one of her classes. “My first class is at nine thirty. So if you can be brief …”
    A woman used to being in control. I said, “I need to identify a man in an accident. A friend of yours, Mason Moon, said the victim was an IRS agent who’d been dealing with you.”
    She sucked her lips in. It looked as if she didn’t have lips at all, at least not in the middle of her mouth. For another person it might not have been much of a response, but for a woman who had shown nothing but controlled impatience, this was the kind of reversion it would take a lot of forward bends to rectify. “What kind of accident?” she asked in a completely different tone of voice.
    “Bicycle.”
    She waited. I didn’t elaborate but said, “His name?”
    “Drem,” she snapped. She shut her eyes momentarily (a little forward bend of the lids?) and said only slightly more calmly, “Philip Drem. D-r-e-m .”
    “Does he live in Berkeley?” If he didn’t, Pereira could call his jurisdiction and have them deal with the family.
    “I don’t know. We didn’t deal in small talk. Now if you’re finished …” She glanced toward the door. It was virtually beside her since she hadn’t encouraged me in farther than was necessary to shut it.
    I hate to leave when people want me to go. I took a step away. “Was Philip Drem difficult to work with?”
    “He was here to audit me!” she said in an exasperated tone that conveyed not only her opinion of the event but of me for being dense enough to question her.
    Defensiveness like that is a flashing red light. “Was he overzealous? You complained enough about Drem to Mason Moon.”
    Takai let her eyes close again. When she opened them, they looked different. “It’s hard not to grumble when someone demands money. But Mason tends to dramatize everything. Anyway, that’s over and done with. Drem’s out of my consciousness. Before you brought him up, I hadn’t even thought about him in ages.”
    Whether by visualized forward bend or whatever, she had managed to tone down her response. I wasn’t sure where the truth was between Moon’s flashing red version and her pallid gray one. If I’d had another ten minutes, I could have found out. But if Drem survived, it wouldn’t matter; if