Love Can Be Murder (boxed set of humorous mysteries)

by Stephanie Bond

  Unexpectedly moved, Roxann couldn't respond.

  "I know, I know—it seems like I always need saving."

  "I didn't say that."

  "You were thinking it." Angora inhaled, then exhaled musically. "But that's okay, because from now on, I'm going to take charge of my life."

  Roxann bit her tongue—the only thing Angora had ever taken charge of was Visa, Mastercard, and American Express.

  Angora lifted her chin. "I don't need Trenton—I can get a man any time I want one."

  With her golden good looks, her cousin never had a problem attracting men, but inevitably, her insecurities manifested in some way to have them running in the opposite direction: too prim, too needy, too snobby, too virginal. "Getting" a man was not Angora's problem, nor any other woman's for that matter. Keeping him—now there was the rub.

  "In fact," Angora continued. "I can find someone better looking, someone who's great in bed."

  "And you would know?" Roxann asked gently.

  "Yes." Angora twirled her hair around her index finger—a dead giveaway that she was lying. Then she sighed. "No."

  "Don't sound so forlorn."

  "Roxann, how many thirty-two-year-old virgins do you know?"

  Roxann swerved, then corrected. "You're still a virgin?"

  "I knew I shouldn't have said anything."

  "No, no...I'm surprised, that's all, since you're so pretty and since you've been engaged."

  "And since I'm so old?"

  "We're the same age."

  "You didn't answer my question. How many thirty-two-year-old virgins do you know?"

  "Well...I don't have many close female friends, but I'm sure..." She trailed off helplessly. "Okay, I don't know any thirty-two-year-old virgins."

  She pulled a small pink packet from her purse. "A wedding-night gift from Mother—condoms."

  "Not ready to be a grandmother just yet, is she?"

  "No." She pulled one out and read the label. "These things are made of lambskin."

  "Sheep intestines."

  "Huh?"

  "They're made of sheep intestines. But 'lambskin' is more marketable."

  "Oh, that's gross."

  She shrugged. "They're the best, as far as sensation is concerned. My hat's off to Dee."

  "For knowing?"

  "For letting you know that she knows."

  "Ah. Well, the only thing that Mother harped on more than my laugh lines and my waistline is sex—she said she'd cut me out of her will if she found out I didn't wait until my wedding night." She stuffed the condom grab bag back into her purse.

  "How would she know?"

  "My gynecologist."

  "What?"

  "I've been going to the same gynecologist since I was fifteen, and she told me he would tell her if ever...you know."

  Roxann ground her teeth. "Angora, that's not only immoral, it's illegal. Your physician can't reveal your...status to anyone, not even to Dee. Surely you know that."

  "Mother's laws supersede all others."

  How could she rationalize with a woman whose world had been skewed by a selfish, overbearing mother? "Angora, there's nothing wrong with being a virgin at your age, but it should be because of your own convictions, not your mother's."

  Angora angled her chin. "You're so right. I think it's high time I change gynecologists. And broaden my sexual horizons."

  "You're entitled," Roxann agreed, simply because Angora couldn't carry off the label of "promiscuous" if she wore it on a sash.

  "Maybe I'll sleep with someone scandalous," she murmured. "Maybe...a bad boy. Or an older man." Angora produced a foxy smile. "Maybe I'll sleep with Dr. Seger. Cross another item off my life list."

  Roxann's stomach jumped, but she attributed it to last night's unfortunate choice of drink. "That's an interesting possibility."

  "Are you going to bid on him at the bachelor auction?"

  "I hadn't thought about it." Liar, liar.

  "Let's go and buy ourselves a man."

  "On my budget, the man would have to be made out of rubber."

  But Angora was warming to her plan. "How long will it take for us to get to campus?"

  "Driving straight through, I figure around fifteen hours."

  She bounced up and down in the seat, dislodging her crown. "Let's take our time and cross off a few items on our life lists along the way!"

  Roxann tried to conjure up some enthusiasm, but failed. "Angora, we don't have to abide by some silly list we made when we were little more than children." Besides, it was too disconcerting to see how many of the things that had once been important to her had been left undone.

  "Oh, come on—it'll be fun," Angora coaxed. "Just like old times."

  Except as she recalled, the "old times" weren't that fun for either of them. She squinted. "What did you have in mind?"

  Angora lifted the collar of the faded flannel shirt. "The first order of the day is to go shopping, of course."

  Of course.

  Her cousin waved vaguely toward the map lying on the seat between them. "So find a route that will take us by a mall, preferably one with a Saks."

  She groaned.

  "Hey, you could use a few new duds yourself, kiddo. You look exactly the same as you did in college."

  Roxann craned to critically study her reflection in the rearview mirror. "I don't look exactly the same." Those little creases around her eyes, for instance. And five gray hairs that congregated in her side part.

  "Are you kidding? You're frozen in time." Angora tsk-tsked at Roxann's faded jeans. "And that's not always a good thing."

  Shopping—a grueling experience. Despite her stint in the dress shop in high school, she didn't have Angora's eye for color or style. "We should be in Jackson by noon, maybe we can find a Wal-Mart."

  "This is serious." Angora was gaining momentum. "You could have your eyebrows waxed."

  "I prefer having them singed by a roaring gas flame."

  "And have you ever thought about letting your hair grow out?"

  She rolled her eyes up to stare at the fringe of bangs tickling her brow. "No. In fact, it's time for a trim."

  "Long straight hair is back in. You'd be absolutely exotic." She snapped her fingers. "I've got it—hair extensions!"

  "You always were determined to make me over."

  "And you always were determined to shop at the campus Goodwill."

  It was what she could afford. Plus the vintage, boyish clothes boosted her image of rebellious coed. Indeed, she'd stuck out when most young women were going over the top with big, feminine hair and look-at-me clothing. Carl had admired her individuality, but maybe she was getting too old for jeans and T-shirts. Besides, since almost everyone was going out of the way to dress down these days, she was in danger of falling into a trend—argh.

  Angora yawned and laid her head back. "So, cuz, do you have a boyfriend?"

  Roxann watched the road signs in the dark and headed toward the interstate. "No. I don't date much." Even she and Richard hadn't really dated when she lived in Birmingham. If she was lonely, she'd drop by the bar or coffeehouse where he happened to be playing, and he'd go home with her. If he was lonely, he'd show up on her doorstep with Thai food.

  "What are the men like in Biloxi?"

  Capistrano's face came to her. "Like the weather—thick and predictable." He probably hated Thai food.

  "Don't you get lonely?"

  "I stay pretty busy." A definite meat-and-potatoes man.

  "Have you ever come close to getting married?"

  "Not that I know of." In fact, he probably wrestled his meat to the ground and killed it with his bare hands.

  Angora groaned. "Men are such pigs—why do we want one?"

  She scowled. "Who says I do?"

  "You don't want a family of your own?"

  "Maybe. Someday." The last two items on her life list came to mind, but that little part about the sperm contribution posed a bit of a problem.

  "Someday? Roxann, do you rea
lize that at our age we're already considered high-risk for pregnancy?"

  Her own gynecologist had said the same thing on her last annual visit. Blah, blah, blah.

  "The way I see it, we have another good year left to find a husband, then one year of decent sex before getting pregnant. If we can get pregnant at our age. Our eggs are getting old, you know. With every month that passes, we're becoming more barren."

  "Stop."

  Angora sniffled. "Maybe it's not important to you, but I always pictured myself with a little boy and a little girl. I'd never want an only child because it's just too much..."

  "Pressure," Roxann supplied.

  "Right. But Uncle Walt never pressured you."

  "No." That would've required being attentive. "But I think most only children realize that the expectations of the family ride on their shoulders." If she didn't make her life matter for something, the Beadleman name would be remembered as a flirtatious mother who'd met an untimely end and a drunkard father who would probably meet his Maker while stretched out in his recliner.

  Angora sighed. "That kind of pressure can make you do crazy things, all right."

  "Like marrying a man just to make your mother happy?"

  She hadn't meant to hurt her, but Angora closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. "Or turning your back on men to become a martyr for abused women?"

  Roxann was so astounded at how closely Angora's assessment had matched her own, that she had no choice but to lie. "That's ridiculous."

  "Really? So you're open to having a man in your life? To getting married?"

  Suddenly she was reminded of the upside of traveling alone—you didn't have to answer irrelevant questions. "I, uh...suppose. I really don't think about it much. If it happens, it happens."

  "Oh, now see—that's a myth. Nothing 'just happens.' You have to help things along."

  "To what end?"

  "Well...to happily-ever-after, of course."

  "You were jilted at the altar yesterday, and you still believe in happily-ever-after?"

  "Well, sure. What else is there?"

  "How about 'contentedly-ever-after'?"

  "Can you be content without a man?"

  Roxann nodded. "I am content without a man." Eighty-four percent true.

  Angora sighed. "Then you're a stronger woman than I am. I couldn't stand it, working with scared women all the time, moving around, changing jobs, having no money, being alone." Another sigh. "You're so brave."

  She frowned. "Thanks."

  "I mean it. It takes guts to chuck your education and go out on a limb for people you don't know and might never see again."

  She frowned harder.

  "To sacrifice your own happiness so that—"

  "Okay, Angora. You're making me blush."

  She sighed again, with more drama. "I thought by now I would have done something with my life, and now I'm starting over."

  "Have you been working for the museum all these years?"

  "Yes, and it's dreadful. They treat me like I'm an idiot."

  "So why do you work there?"

  "Well, Ms. Valedictorian, after graduation, I didn't have as many options as you did. Not much I could do with a degree in art history—even Daddy couldn't find a place for me in the hotel business—so the museum job seemed promising. By the time I realized it was a dead end, I had met Trenton and wanted to be near him and his family." Her laugh was hollow. "I guess I am an idiot. I was never smart, like you. Of course you know that."

  Except a high IQ did not a smart person make. If she was so smart, for instance, why had she brought Angora with her on the lam? Right now the woman was sitting there waiting for a nugget of brilliant advice.

  "You can't make someone love you," Roxann said slowly. "You're only responsible for your own feelings and actions." She'd counseled hundreds of women with those same lines.

  Angora lifted her head. "You know, you're absolutely right."

  Encouraged, she continued. "Isn't there some small part of you that's relieved you didn't marry Trenton?"

  "No, I was really looking forward to marrying a rich man and living hundreds of miles from my parents."

  So much for magic words.

  "I'm not like you, Roxann. I want it all—a husband, a home, kids. I can't be happy helping other people live their lives."

  It was a good thing that Angora withdrew a foot-long emery board from her purse and began sawing on her nails, because Roxann was speechless over the backhanded compliment. Everything Angora had said was true—she did chuck her education, work with scared women, move around, change jobs, live frugally, and was, for the most part, alone. And she did help other people live their lives. So why did a lifestyle that had once seemed noble and romantic sound downright bleak when someone else described it?

  And worse, Angora truly believed that her cousin had sacrificed a man, a home, and a family so that she could devote her life to others. But in truth, she was starting to feel resentful of her thankless job, and of the string of needy women who stood between her and her own happily-ever-after.

  Roxann went cold remembering the eerie message on her computer screen. She was a fake, going through the motions of benevolence with an empty heart. She was counting on the gratitude of the forlorn women she aided to fill the void in her gypsy life, which wasn't fair, or even reasonable.

  "Are you okay?" Angora asked. "You look a little green."

  "Still a little hung over," she lied.

  "Would you like for me to drive?"

  It had taken Angora eight attempts to get her driver's license. "No, I'm fine. Why don't you take a nap?" Now that the confrontation with Dee was over, Angora was limp, and yawning between every sentence. Plus Roxann wanted to be alone with her own thoughts—not a good sign ten miles down the highway on a proposed two-week road trip.

  "No...I want to stay awake," Angora said, but her voice was groggy. She put her purse behind her head and leaned back. Her eyelids fluttered. "So you don't fall asleep...at the—"

  The nose job took over and the snoring set in. Roxann shook her head and wondered again what she'd gotten herself into. And at the worst possible time. She adjusted the rearview mirror, alert for a tail, but few cars were on the neighborhood roads of Baton Rouge at this hour. Besides, even if Frank Cape followed her, he'd probably give up when he didn't find her at her father's.

  Her father...

  She'd never forgive herself if something happened to him because of her sleazy associations. She pulled into a drive-through and bought a large coffee, then punched in her father's number on her cell phone in the event he had cut his fishing trip short. But as she expected, his answering machine picked up, and she felt compelled to talk to him in person.

  When the teenager handed her coffee through the window, the hot liquid sloshed over the side, and the incident in the diner with Capistrano came to mind. If he hadn't come in that day, and if she hadn't been fired, she would've taken her normal lunch break to run home and drop off groceries or something, and might have been at the apartment when Frank Cape dropped by. She shivered. Not that she owed the detective anything for his interference.

  She sipped the coffee, checked the rearview mirror, and steered Goldie onto the access road leading to the interstate. Angora hadn't moved a muscle, unless you counted her snoring muscles. NPR was the best she could get on the old AM radio, so she settled in for a lively discussion on growing herbs. And after an hour's education on soil, sun, and plant selection, she was tempted to give up Rescue to grow rosemary and sage in her spare time. In fact, the placid announcers made it seem as if world peace could be achieved if everyone just pruned their peppermint periodically.

  At mid-morning her father finally answered his phone. Roxann hadn't realized just how worried she'd been until his telltale rasp rattled out over the line.

  "Hello?" He sounded winded, as if he had just walked in.

  Her heart swelled with a dozen emotions. "Hi, Dad."

  "Roxann—where are you? Th
ere's a policeman sitting in my driveway."

  "Did he tell you his name?"

  "Capistrano. Said you were in some kind of trouble."

  She rolled her eyes. "I'm fine, Dad."

  "Then why is he here?"

  "It's complicated, but he was out of line for following me."

  "Sherwood said you had somebody with you last night."

  "Angora."

  At the mention of her name, her cousin's snoring stopped and she lifted her head. Great.

  "I thought your cousin was getting married this weekend."

  "She was. I mean, she was supposed to." She cleared her throat and lowered her voice. "It's a long story. I'll call you in a few days and explain everything."

  Angora squinted at Roxann.

  "Meanwhile, tell Detective Capistrano that I've gone back to Biloxi."

  "Are you in danger?" her father asked.

  "I'll be fine. Really."

  He sighed heavily. "This is how you use your education? Play cat and mouse with unsavory characters?"

  She swallowed hard, trying not to feel like a little girl who'd misbehaved. "I'll call you, Dad." With much remorse, she pushed the disconnect button and turned a cheerful smile in Angora's direction. "Feeling rested?"

  "Yes." Angora stretched. "What was that all about?"

  "I called my father to let him know we'd stayed at his house last night."

  "Who is Detective Capistrano?"

  "Nobody. Hey, is that a mall?"

  Angora was nothing if not easily distracted. "Yes! Take this exit—we're going to spend some money."

  "I don't have much cash," Roxann warned. Actually, she had fourteen dollars and twenty-two cents in her purse, which wasn't even leather.

  Angora pshawed. "Who needs cash when I have Trenton's gold card?"

  "I didn't hear you say that."

  Chapter Eleven

  ANGORA STOOD BEHIND Roxann and stared at her cousin's reflection. Envy threatened to surface, but pride over the wardrobe makeover she'd supervised won out. "You look marvelous."

  Roxann's brown eyes cut to her in the mirror. "I look ridiculous."

  Angora sighed—nothing was more exasperating than a beautiful woman who failed to recognize her physical potential. How many times had she heard Dee say that the family cheekbones had been wasted on Roxann? And one of her most mortifying memories was having the plastic surgeon draw on her God-given piggish nose with a black marker based on a picture of Roxann that Dee had produced.