Love Can Be Murder Box Set

by Bond, Stephanie

  "It's my mother's nose," Dee had insisted, "and it should have been yours."

  After her jaw had been broken and reset, and her teeth straightened, she and Roxann could have passed for sisters, except for the hips and the hair. Her own true color was a mousy brown, but Dee had been so determined that everyone think she was a natural blonde, Angora's hair had been lightened since kindergarten.

  "You just need time to adjust to your new look," Angora assured Roxann. "You're going to knock his socks off."

  "Who?"

  "Whoever."

  Roxann scoffed, but Angora noticed the subtle change in her demeanor as she turned sideways and perused her whip-slim figure in brown leather pants, pink blouse, and high-heeled ankle boots. She was thinking about someone.

  Roxann tugged at the waistband. "These pants are tighter on me than on the animal that wore the hide."

  Angora grinned and turned to the clerk hovering in the background. "We'll take this outfit, and all the rest."

  "Angora, I can't let you buy all these things for me."

  "Why not? After all, you rescued me." She waved Trenton's gold American Express card. "No limit."

  She handed over the card with a flourish. Bankruptcy was too good for Trenton after what he'd done to her. Although now with Darma Walker's money, along with her dead husband's, it would take more than a shopping spree at a sub-par department store to make an impression on him. Or to relieve her own anguish.

  The rage that had hovered just beneath the surface since yesterday made her skin prickly and hot. She hated Trenton all the more for giving her what was probably a permanent nerve rash. Unable to restrain herself, she clawed at the itchy skin on her neck with the frenzy of a lapdog. Trenton didn't deserve to live happily ever after, not after destroying her life, the miserable, lying beast. And to think she'd saved herself for him, had been willing to dedicate her life to him, all because Dee had promised that he was the one for her.

  "We can get some ointment for your hives."

  She stopped mid-scratch at Roxann's voice, feeling like a ten-year-old. "I'll be fine," she said, straightening, but panicked for a few seconds, trying to remember where she was—sometimes her mind took her to another place.

  "Angora?"

  Racks of clothing, bad carpet, three-way mirrors—oh, yes, the department store. She manufactured a smile for Roxann, then disguised her raw neck with a quick flip of the collar of her new silk blouse. "Next stop—hair and makeup."

  Roxann blanched. "Huh?"

  Instantly cheered, Angora hooked her arm around her cousin's shoulder. "When we're finished, no one will be able to recognize you." At the sudden serious expression on Roxann's face, she added, "Not that you look bad now."

  "No, you're right," Roxann said slowly, smoothing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I could use a new look, at least for a little while."

  Ah, so Roxann did want to impress someone—Dr. Carl? She couldn't blame her—the man was outrageously male. She had harbored a crush on him, too, but things hadn't turned out quite the way she'd hoped. Still, it hadn't stopped her from fantasizing about him, wondering what it would be like to lose her virginity to him. Keeping her knees closed for the frat boys she dated had posed no problem because none of their fumbling kisses had piqued her interest.

  But her senior year she had found a tree-shaded bench across from the building that housed Dr. Carl's office. From her shielded vantage point, she munched on celery and cauliflower and watched him eat lunch on the steps of his building every day that the weather permitted. His routine never varied. At noon he would emerge with a brown bag, then eat a delicious-looking sandwich, a little bag of chips, and a bottle of juice, all while reading the newspaper. Not that he ever got much reading done, since every girl who walked by stopped to chat, or at least said hello. He would smile politely and nod while chewing, seemingly unaware that he had them all in a lather.

  Okay, so she had been in love with him. Every night she would mentally rehearse crossing the street and engaging Dr. Carl in a conversation so witty and entertaining that he would instantly realize they were destined for each other. Except the next day she would sit munching her Dee-directed baggie of raw vegetables, paralyzed in self-loathing while braver and more slender girls were rewarded with his magnificent smile.

  Then one day Roxann had happened by Dr. Carl's eating place, with a paper or something for him to look at. Angora had watched, burning with jealousy, as he had actually invited her cousin to sit. His delicious-looking sandwich had gone uneaten while they discussed the paper, heads together. He had talked and gestured with animation, and Roxann had hung on to every word, scribbling notes.

  After that, Roxann had appeared with more regularity, producing one paper after another that seemed to need his input. He had tolerated her cousin's company like the good and kind man he was, but surely he knew that Roxann had slept with many men, that she wasn't wholesome like Angora.

  She and Roxann hadn't lived together for a couple of years at that point, but still saw each other when she needed help with an assignment, or studying for an exam. Angora never mentioned the lunches she witnessed, or that she knew Roxann was in love with him. She couldn't afford to alienate her cousin—she needed her help to graduate. So as always, she'd kept her mouth shut and pondered why good girls finished last.

  Angora ground her perfect teeth. She was soooo tired of being a good girl.

  "Earth to Angora."

  She blinked Roxann into view. "Um, sorry."

  Roxann angled her head. "Are you okay? Maybe we should find a hotel and relax, watch a movie. You had a rough day yesterday."

  She wanted to scream, My life is one long rough day, but the genuine concern in Roxann's eyes stopped her, and a familiar push-pull of emotions churned in her chest. One minute she wished Roxann had never been born, the next minute she coveted her approval. God, it would be so easy to hate Roxann—seemingly the source of all her problems, yet seemingly the solution to all her problems. Absent for long stretches of time, but there when Angora needed her most. Affection surged in her throat, and the fierce animosity ebbed as quickly as it had flowed. "You're just trying to get out of having your colors done."

  "My colors done? What's that?"

  Angora rolled her eyes. "Let me take care of everything."

  To her surprise, Roxann was like an obedient, if wary, child, submitting to her ministrations at the makeup counter, and later, as Angora helped Steve the hairdresser select shoulder-length extensions to match the blue-black strands of Roxann's stick-straight hair. She did complain that everything was taking too long, and yelped when her eyebrows were tidied with hot wax, but otherwise acquiesced. An hour later when Steve turned Roxann around in the chair, the transformation was truly remarkable, and this time, Angora couldn't stem the flood of envy.

  Smooth, dark skin, enormous brown eyes surrounded by long, long lashes. Those patented cheekbones and a straight, slender nose. Naturally red lips, full and curvy, a small, strong chin. Features so clear and elegant, framed by thick short bangs and a fall of dark hair. She might have been a movie star from the fifties.

  "You're...gorgeous," Angora murmured.

  Roxann laughed sardonically and stood to brush her clothes. "Thanks for all the goodies, Angora, but we'd better hit the road."

  Her cousin was oblivious to her looks, always had been. Frustration clogged Angora's throat. If she had been blessed with chiseled features and a willowy figure, she would have been Miss America for sure. She reached up to touch her crown, then remembered she had left it in the van. Roxann probably thought she was vain, but she couldn't help it—the crowns were markers of her few accomplishments. Sometimes at night when demons kept her awake, she would remove one of the sparkling tiaras from the revolving case her mother had had specially built and wear it to bed, propping herself up on pillows so she wouldn't damage the delicate stones. She never failed to dream good dreams with the weight of winning on her head.

  "You're welcome," she sai
d as she paid Steve for their treatments, plus makeup kits, skin-care regimes, perfumes, lotions, shampoos, hairspray, blow dryer, diffuser, hot rollers, curling iron, and a half-dozen other beauty necessities with the borrowed AmEx card. Take that, Trenton. "Do you think we'll make it to South Bend by Wednesday?"

  Roxann startled her by pulling her away from the counter rather urgently. "Lower your voice," she whispered.

  Angora frowned. "Why?"

  "Because—" Her cousin seemed flustered. "Because we're traveling alone—we can't be too careful."

  Excitement bubbled in her chest. "Does this have anything to do with the detective who's looking for you?"

  "No. Let's go."

  "Okay," she said in response to Roxann's sharp tone, then followed her back to the counter where they collected their many bags. But Roxann seemed nervous, glancing at her watch, then out the window into the parking lot. She must really be getting worked up about seeing Dr. Carl again. Then an amazing thought struck her—was he the reason Roxann had never married?

  She stared at Roxann's preoccupied profile and pursed her mouth—she'd found her cousin's weakness. Wonder of wonders...Roxann was human after all.

  Chapter Twelve

  ROXANN TRIED TO KEEP the passage between her throat and nose closed to duplicate the speaker's pronunciation on the tape. "Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix."

  "You'll be fluent in no time," Angora offered through a mouthful of Fritos. She'd been on a junk food binge since this morning's McDonald's biscuit-and-gravy breakfast. With Frito-greasy fingers, she turned pages of a faded copy of How to Make Love to a Man that she'd fished out of Roxann's box of mementos.

  Roxann switched off the tape, then rolled her tight shoulders. She hadn't slept very well last night, even though Angora had spared no expense in securing a luxurious room. The fact that she was unaccustomed to a good mattress and down pillows probably contributed to her sleeplessness, and her conscience didn't seem to have an off switch. If she gave up her work with Rescue, wouldn't she be no better than people who murmured about social problems over crab puffs at dinner parties, but thought the solutions lay with politicians or organized religion, or something else that had nothing whatsoever to do with them? And worse, wouldn't she be admitting that her father was right?

  Good grief, she was tired of thinking. Maybe that's why Angora didn't mind letting other people make decisions for her—it was less stressful than knowing you had no one to blame but yourself if your life turned out dismally. Roxann bit into her lower lip. Or perhaps her expectations were simply too high. No one was entitled to happiness every waking moment, were they?

  "Did you say something?" Angora asked.

  Had she spoken aloud? "No."

  "I thought you said something. Where are we?"

  "A few miles outside Little Rock."

  "Arkansas?"

  "Right." She was taking a rather winding route toward South Bend under the guise of humoring Angora on her life-list quest. This morning they had stopped at a YMCA so she could give Angora a crash swimming lesson. Considering the fact that Angora was afraid of putting her head under, didn't want to get her hair wet, and refused to hold her breath, the session went well, meaning neither of them drowned. But because of her generous curves, Angora bobbed like a cork; when she finally mastered the dead man's float, Roxann declared her graduated.

  In truth, she was driving off the beaten path in the unlikely event that Frank Cape or Detective Capistrano had picked up her trail. From Jackson, Mississippi, she'd veered left, stopping every forty miles so Angora could pee and buy another Coke and candy bar. The scenery was stunning, though. The farther north they drove, the more dramatic the flaming fall foliage, stirring memories of cozy autumns in Indiana. Maintaining a leisurely pace, they would be in Springfield, Missouri, by nightfall, Bloomington, Illinois, by Tuesday night, and South Bend, Indiana, by Wednesday afternoon.

  At the moment, however, they were both weary of sitting, and she was light-headed from mimicking the tape. Ticking off some of the items on her life list gave her a tiny sense of accomplishment, but mostly was a diversion from the rearview mirror. Tucked inside a box on the backseat was a leather-bound copy of three Shakespearean plays—a splurge on her budget, but Angora's shopping spree had been contagious, as well as her frivolity, because the one purchase Roxann was most excited about was a long lime-green silk scarf that had spoken to her. Of course now she was feeling guilty—DNA that Angora seemed to have missed out on.

  She had to admit her cousin knew how to live large. That kind of spending used to revolt her, but for a few hours yesterday she conceded that while money didn't necessarily guarantee happiness, it certainly afforded a person more coping tools. She still didn't condone spending for the sake of spending, but she was beginning to realize that people who had money weren't necessarily evil.

  Dee notwithstanding.

  "Roxann, have you ever used a vibrator?"

  She blinked.

  Angora folded down a page of the naughty book and closed the cover. "You're the only person I can ask these things. Have you?"

  "Um, sure."

  "So if I were to use one, would that mean I wouldn't be a virgin anymore?"

  "I...perhaps medically, but...there's more to losing your virginity than...penetration." This conversation was not happening.

  Angora laid her head back on the seat. "My first orgasm was in the laundry room of our dorm."

  "I don't think I want to hear this."

  "It was a Friday night, and I didn't have a date, so I thought I'd wash a few towels while the laundry room was empty."

  Roxann steeled herself for graphic details.

  "I climbed up on the washer to sit and read, and suddenly, I started feeling really weird and warm. Then in the middle of the spin cycle, whammo!"

  A few seconds passed before her words fully sank in. "You mean..."

  Angora nodded. "I still do laundry every Saturday night. The smell of a dryer vent turns me on."

  "Um...wow."

  "You think I'm nuts."

  "No, I think you're...resourceful."

  "You and I are in our sexual peak right now, you know."

  "Whatever that means."

  "If you don't have a boyfriend, what do you do for sex?"

  Roxann squirmed. "Let's just say I do my laundry about once a month."

  "So is everyone in the world doing laundry?"

  "Less risky, I suppose. Physically and emotionally."

  "But why are relationships with men so hard?"

  "Relationships in general are hard, but throw sex into the pot, and it's a recipe for disaster."

  "But women want sex, and men want sex."

  "But not at the same time, or for the same reasons."

  "So it's all a game."

  Roxann shrugged. "Life is a game."

  "Don't you believe there's a perfect man out there for you?"

  "I'd settle for an imperfect man with a small measure of nobility."

  "And will you know him when you find him?"

  "I'd like to think so, although I haven't been actively looking."

  "But what if he's not looking, either?"

  "Huh?"

  "If he's not looking, and you're not looking, then how will you find each other?"

  "Angora, I'm not losing sleep over a manhunt." There were too many other things to lose sleep over. "When it comes right down to it, you have to be happy with yourself before you can be happy with someone else."

  "The reason we're alone is that we're not happy with ourselves?"

  Roxann squinted. Did she say that?

  Angora reached behind the seat and dug an item out of the box of junk on the floorboard. "Let's consult the Magic 8 Ball." She held the toy reverently and closed her eyes tight. "Will Roxann and I find the person who fulfills us?" She turned over the toy and squealed. "Yes, definitely."

  Roxann laughed. "I told you that thing is broken."

  "Maybe not—maybe we
're just coming up 'Yes, definitelys.' What would be so bad about meeting the person who fulfills us?"

  "I...need to focus on the road signs."

  Angora pointed to a banner strung across the road ahead of them, swaying in the waning daylight. "Little Rock Fall Festival, October tenth through the twenty-first. Oh, can we stop?"

  "Sure. I could stand to stretch my legs a little."

  "And I'm starving."

  "You have Frito crumbs on your chin."

  Several miles down the road, they entered the commercial and residential outskirts of Little Rock.

  "There's a sign for parking up ahead," Angora said, bouncing. "Oh, look at the crowd—and there's a carnival going on!"

  Tomorrow she was limiting Angora's sugar intake. Roxann pulled Goldie into the parking lot and backed into the space a parking attendant indicated. When she jumped down from the van, she found herself smiling in spite of the worries nagging the back of her brain. The scent of buttered popcorn floated on the warm night air, and organ music danced on a breeze. Families were chained together by their hands, with children straining in every direction. Roxann could feel the tension draining away. The snug black jeans and silky red tee felt alien, as well as the new hair and makeup, but she was enjoying the "disguise"—it made her feel freer somehow. Freer to have fun. With a jolt she realized she'd forgotten what it was like to have fun.

  Corn dogs and beer were first on Angora's list. Roxann indulged, too, even though she knew she'd probably regret it later. Next they rode the carousel and the Tilt-A-Whirl. Then Angora spotted a flight simulator and talked Roxann into going a round for the sake of the “piloting” item of her life list. Angora was so dizzy afterward she needed to be helped from the ride. Still, she insisted she was going to learn to fly a plane someday.

  Roxann couldn't help but notice that Angora's confidence grew in relation to their distance from Dee. God only knew what evil things that woman had done to her daughter, and how the trauma would manifest itself. It was good to see her cousin smiling and laughing, playing children's games and buying silly souvenirs. She fairly glowed. It helped that because of her crown, the locals thought she was some kind of celebrity. When the buxom lady at the cotton-candy booth discovered that Angora was titled, she asked her to help judge the Little Miss pageant that was being held on the festival grounds. Angora was ecstatic. Roxann took advantage of the opportunity to break away and make a few phone calls. They agreed to meet back at the van in an hour.