Got Your Number ((a humorous romantic mystery))

by Stephanie Bond

  “Picked them myself this morning,” he said, fiddling with his hat and the large brown paper bundle he held. “When I came back from milking.”

  “Milking what?” Angora asked, then buried her nose in the flowers.

  “Cows,” he said, pushing up his glasses. “And a couple of goats.”

  “I didn’t know you could milk goats.”

  “Oh, sure,” he said solemnly. Then he thumped the bundle he held—it sounded solid. “And I brought you a ham.”

  Angora’s eyes bulged. “A ham?”

  Roxann was pretty impressed herself. The man was scoring big with pork.

  “I’ll put it in the van for you,” he offered.

  Roxann slid back the van door and he deposited the ham on the floorboard behind the bench seat where she’d made a bed for Angora. New seat covers hid the damage of Frank Cape’s knife—or Nell’s. She wasn’t sure who had done what anymore. Had Elise broken in to the duplex and left the message on the computer at Nell’s instruction? But Nell hadn’t known about the secret at the time, so was the word fake an accidental word choice that just happened to push Roxann’s buttons? Was her guilt that deep?

  So it seemed.

  Mike helped Angora out of the wheelchair and practically lifted her into the van, then settled her onto the seat and tucked in covers all around. “You look like a queen,” he said a little breathlessly, and Roxann realized that the man had a huge crush on her cousin.

  Angora beamed. “Thank you, Mike.”

  “I’m sorry that Dr. Oney used me to get to you.”

  He spoke so quickly that it must have been weighing on his mind for some time.

  “You couldn’t have known,” Angora said, touching his arm. “It’s not your fault.”

  “Still, I’m going to stick to farming from now on.”

  “I think you’re a wonderful lawyer,” she said, and Roxann was glad to hear the sincerity in her voice. “I appreciate the way you stood up for me.” She pulled him forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  He blushed furiously and turned his hat inside out. Then he withdrew his wallet and extracted a business card. “You probably never want to see this place again, but if you’re ever up this way, I’d be proud to show you my farm.”

  She took the card and nodded. “I’d be proud to see it.”

  “Goodbye, ma’am.” Then he shoved his hat on his head and strode off, climbing into a white Suburban parked nearby.

  Roxann smiled. “Ready?”

  Angora looked up. “Yeah, I’m ready. Let’s go home.”

  She shoved the door closed, then climbed into the driver’s seat and adjusted the rearview mirror so they could see each other. “What a trip this has been.”

  “I’ll say. Honestly, Roxann, I had no idea this much sorrow and… evil existed in the world. Or maybe I knew, but I didn’t think it could get to me. I’ve led such a charmed life.”

  “Are you sorry you came?”

  Angora thought for a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s as if the last couple of weeks had to happen, as if I’ve been holding my breath all my life waiting for it to unfold.” She frowned. “Of course, I had no idea it would be so tragic.” Her eyes were pinched, sorrowful. “Roxann, not a day goes by that I don’t feel terrible about the deal we made.”

  She leaned on the steering wheel, her pulse elevated. “Same here.”

  “Do you think it had anything to do with what we just went through?”

  “You mean some kind of penance? I don’t think all those people died just to jump-start our conscience, but maybe something good can come out of all of this.”

  Angora bit into her bottom lip. “Is there anything we can do about it now?”

  Roxann turned around in her seat so they could speak face-to-face. “We could always come clean.” How many times had she almost picked up a pay phone to make an anonymous tip on herself, just to get everything out in the open? But they’d promised each other sacred silence and she’d kept her end of the bargain.

  “What would happen to us?”

  “That’s hard to say. Worst-case scenario, we could be brought up on criminal charges.”

  “Not again.”

  “But that’s not likely, especially in light of the publicity the university has just suffered.” She sighed. “And there would be personal consequences.”

  “Mother would never forgive me. Trenton would be scandalized. The job in Chicago would be out.” Then she gave a little laugh. “But I’m not so sure all of that would be a bad thing.”

  “You don’t want to go to Chicago?”

  “I don’t want to marry Trenton.”

  Roxann agreed with her wholeheartedly, but had kept her opinion in check.

  “I’m tired of doing and being what everyone expects of me. Sometimes I wish Mother had left my face the way it was so I could just… be. Be plain, be fat, be happy. You know—a simple life with a good man and a few kids.” She burst into tears. “I think I’m in love with M-Mike B-Brown.”

  Roxann’s eyebrows skyrocketed. “What?”

  “He’s so good to me—I’ve never had a man take his hat off for me, bring me flowers, a ham.” She sniffled. “Mike makes me laugh, and he makes me feel good about myself.”

  At first the idea of Angora the debutante being the wife of a plump Midwestern farmer was comical, but after Roxann tried it on for size, the image seemed to… no, actually it still seemed far-fetched.

  “Angora, you have to do whatever will make you happy. But I’d hate to see you run from Trenton and your parents just so you won’t have to face them.”

  “Oh, no, I’m going to face them. I’m going to tell them the truth, then break it off with Trenton.”

  “We could take care of this while we’re here, but we both have to agree.”

  “I… think we should,” Angora said. “Don’t you?”

  Roxann nodded. “Yes, I do.” Even though she could imagine the disappointment on her father’s face, she could also imagine the relief of a clear conscience. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

  “No, but I’ll live. Do you think that Mike will still be interested in me after he finds out?”

  “I suspect so.” She smiled and started the engine, then turned in the direction of campus. Her stomach pitched and her neck muscles tightened. “This is going to change everything, you know.”

  “I know.”

  Chapter 37

  Roxann clung to the back of an aged wing chair in her father’s living room. Her knees were practically knocking and her mouth couldn’t seem to produce enough moisture to say what she had to say.

  “Go on,” her father urged from his La-Z-Boy, unreclined for the serious discussion they’d been having. “It can’t be that bad, Roxann.”

  She inhaled deeply. “Dad, when Angora and I were eighteen, we made a deal. I took the ACT test, and the Notre Dame entrance exam for her.” She swallowed hard. “And while we were there, I took tests for her whenever she was afraid she wouldn’t pass.”

  He closed his eyes briefly, and his grizzled mouth pulled down. “In return for what?”

  “She paid me enough to cover most of my tuition.”

  “You didn’t get a scholarship?”

  “No, my grades in high school weren’t good enough.”

  He shook his head, his eyes wide and disbelieving.

  “But you made straight As in college—you were a valedictorian.”

  She walked around and sat down in the chair. “I studied hard because I was trying to prove something to myself, maybe trying to punish myself for what I was doing.”

  Her father’s hand shook while her heart broke. “How did you do it? Don’t the instructors even know who’s in their class?”

  So far, the conversation was meeting her worst expectations. Roxann sighed. “Everyone was always telling me and Angora how much we looked alike. I… wore a blond wig on the days I took her exams.” She leaned forward. “Dad, I felt aw
ful the entire time I was doing it, and ever since. I wanted to go to law school when I graduated, but I felt too guilty—like the degree I’d earned was the fruit of a poisonous tree.”

  “Well, it was.” He got up and walked over to stand in front of the old cabinet-model TV, looking out into the yard that, she suspected, he’d tidied for her homecoming. The sun highlighted his sparse hair and the stoop of his shoulders. Then, to her dismay, she realized his shoulders were shaking. Her father hadn’t cried at her mother’s funeral, but she’d managed to make him cry on a sunny Wednesday in late October.

  Swallowing her emotion she went to stand behind him and touched his shoulders. “Dad, I did a dishonest, horrible thing, and I’m so, so sorry that I let you down.”

  “No,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m the one who let you down, Roxann. I was a hateful, distant father who saw the woman I loved and lost every time I looked at you. I expected you to live your life the way I had it planned, and when you didn’t, I thought it was out of spite.”

  She turned him around and looked into the face of remorse and regret. “Dad, it wasn’t out of spite. It was out of shame. I couldn’t face you, I couldn’t face the world after I graduated. I hated myself for what I’d done.”

  His chin wobbled. “I should’ve been there for you.”

  She hugged him close. “We’re here for each other now.”

  He pulled back, his face creased with worry. “Roxann, I have to ask—does the cheating have anything to do with all those murders?”

  “No.” Then she managed a rueful smile. “Except for the fact that I mistook a message that someone left on my computer as a threat, that they somehow knew what I’d done. My guilt surfaced and I panicked. That’s why I was on the run, even before I knew Frank Cape was after me.”

  “You mean this Cape fellow didn’t leave the message?”

  “He said he didn’t, although lying would have been one of his better character traits. Or it’s possible that my ex-roommate left it.”

  “The girl who died?”

  “Right. Maybe she thought it was amusing, I don’t know.”

  “What did the message say?”

  “It said, ‘I’ve got your number, you fake.’ “

  He scratched his temple and scoffed. “I think that’s a line from a book.”

  “Really?”

  He walked around the room, poking into different piles of books. “Where did I read that line? Somewhere… oh, this is the book.” He held up a hardcover with a torn jacket. Mac Tomlin, Gumshoe. He flipped through the pages, scanning for several seconds. “Here’s the scene, page one twenty-four. The suspect tells Tomlin that he’ll never prove that he killed his wife. Tomlin says, ‘I’ve got your number, you fake.’ “

  She was inclined to pass it off as a coincidence, but what had Capistrano said—there are very few coincidences in this world? Darlin’. Once she got past the irritation of remembering something he’d said, she thought that quoting a line from a book was just the sort of thing that Richard Funderburk might have done, to be clever. And Cape was a PI—maybe Mac Tomlin was an idol of his. Assuming the man could read.

  “I’ll probably never know who left that message,” she said.

  Her father returned the book to a shelf, then sat down in his recliner. “I’m glad you told me about the deception, Roxann, but it has to be put right.”

  She nodded. “Angora and I talked to the dean of admissions and several regents before we left South Bend about our punishment. Since she didn’t meet the entrance qualifications, Angora’s diploma was rescinded. I was stripped of honors.”

  “But they’re not pressing charges of fraud?”

  “No. They said we’d been through enough at the hands of university personnel. I think they were relieved we weren’t going to sue them.”

  “So you get to keep your degree?”

  “Yes.”

  He exhaled. “Was Angora devastated? Poor girl, shackled with that piranha of a mother. Never had a chance.”

  “Actually, I think she was relieved. Angora has her faults, but deep down she’s an honest person.”

  “Except Dixie will throw this up to her for the rest of her life.”

  Roxann smiled. “I have a feeling Angora is going back to South Bend to live, and that her visits to and from her mother will be few and far between.”

  “Oh?”

  “She met a guy—her attorney. A soybean farmer. He told Dixie to shut her pie hole.”

  Her father grinned. “I like the sound of that boy.” He pressed his thin lips together, his eyes still troubled. “What are you going to do now, sweetheart?”

  She sat back in her chair and looked around the room. “I was hoping you’d let me camp out here for a while. I could cook and clean in return for my room and board. And I might need your help studying.”

  “Studying?”

  “For the LSAT.”

  His eyes sparkled. “You’re going to law school?”

  “If I can pass the entrance exam.”

  He waved his hand. “Just a formality.” He stood up, his body animated. “How about some coffee? No—sit still, I’ll make it.”

  Roxann sat back and, for the first time in years, truly relaxed. She closed her eyes and, starting with the top of her head, allowed every muscle in her body to loosen and expand. The last time she’d felt so light and carefree was the morning of the day she walked home and her mother wasn’t waiting for her on the porch. It was the last day, she realized, that she’d felt safe and loved. But it wasn’t too late to make amends with her father, and she did have people in the world who cared about her—Helen at the diner, Mr. Nealy next door, Angora, and lots of folks in the Rescue program, even if they didn’t remember her name, or hadn’t known it to begin with.

  “What happened to that Capistrano fellow?” her dad called from the kitchen.

  At the sound of the man’s name, her entire body contracted involuntarily. “He went back to Biloxi.”

  “Are you still seeing him?”

  She sighed. “Dad, I was never seeing him.”

  “Are you going to be seeing him?”

  She opened her mouth to say no, then stopped. Why was it so hard to admit that she’d fallen for Joe Capistrano? Because of the way he made her question her life choices, and her motives? Carl Seger had spouted platitudes about social consciousness while exploiting hordes of female students. But Capistrano was out on the streets every day catching bad guys so that people could sleep a little easier at night. He had made her see that she wanted to help improve domestic and custodial laws instead of evade them.

  So maybe he wasn’t offering her forever. Maybe they could have now, and just… be.

  I hope you get past whatever is keeping you from living… if you do, you’ve got my number.

  “Roxann?” her father said from the doorway. “I asked if you’re going to be seeing the young man?”

  She sat up and reached for her purse. “Dad… do you mind if I make a long-distance call?”

  “Be my guest.”

  The card Capistrano had given her was a little worse for time spent in the bottom of her purse, but the number for his cell phone was readable. She dialed the number, heart pounding. When it rang once, she hung up. After a quick pep talk, she dialed again. It rang, and she hung up again. Cursing her cowardice, she dialed the number again. It rang once, twice, three times before he picked up.

  “I thought I’d wait to see if you were going to hang up again,” he said, sounding amused.

  She frowned—a pox on caller ID. “It could have been my father calling. Besides, I might just hang up now.”

  “Oh, don’t do that. I’ve missed you.”

  She swallowed. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  “See, that didn’t hurt, did it?”

  “I’m coming to see you.”

  “If you weren’t, I was coming to get you.”

  “Is this going to work, Capistrano?”

  “I didn’t get scal
ded, pepper-sprayed, and tire-ironed for it not to.”

  She smiled into the phone and relaxed.

  Epilogue

  Roxann climbed into the passenger seat of the Dooley with an armful of mail.

  “Popular lady,” Capistrano said.

  “I haven’t picked up my mail in ages.”

  “Does this mean I have to let you go outside every weekend you visit?”

  She shook her head at his foolishness, then flipped through the pile, discarding junk mail and sorting bills. A letter from Richard with a Birmingham postmark evoked a rueful noise from her throat.

  “What’s that?”

  “A letter from an old boyfriend.”

  He made a hurt face. “What if he wants you back?”

  “I’m not available,” she sang, then opened the letter. A fifty-dollar bill floated out.

  Dear Roxann,

  I hope this note finds you well. I thought you’d like to know that I’m in AA and have been sober for almost five months. One of the steps to recovery requires us to seek forgiveness from people we’ve wronged and try to repair the damage we’ve done. I probably owe you my life for orchestrating that intervention, so thank you from the bottom of my heart. And I remembered that I owe you fifty bucks.

  Fondly,

  Richard

  “Is your old flame buying us dinner?” he asked.

  “Nope. You’re buying dinner, he’s buying a study guide that I need.”

  She pulled out another envelope, this one forwarded to her through the Rescue program. “Another boyfriend?”

  “No, but your petty jealousy is turning me on.” The letter was from Melissa Cape Morgan.

  Dear Roxann,

  Funny that I don’t even know your last name, yet I owe you so much. Renita and I have never been happier—you are in our prayers every night. Enclosed is a picture that Renita drew for her “lady hero.” Thank you.

  xoxoxoxo, Melissa and Renita

  Renita had drawn a crayon version of their “rescue” to the airport. She’d portrayed Roxann wearing a long red cape and tall red boots. Roxann smiled, and her heart expanded. Maybe she had done some good all these years. She would call Tom Atlas tomorrow to see what she could do for the Rescue program on a part-time basis.