Love Can Be Murder (boxed set of humorous mysteries)

by Stephanie Bond

  "No, he truly seemed surprised."

  "But who else could have done it?"

  "Well, there are other ex-husbands, I suppose, who might have found out where I live, but that would take some doing. Cape is a PI, so he has resources."

  "What did the message say?"

  Roxann exhaled. "It said, 'I've got your number, you fake.'"

  "What does that mean?"

  "I honestly don't know."

  "It sounds personal."

  "I had a problem with a roommate, so she might have come back."

  "She?"

  "Elise James—she was a grad student at Notre Dame when we were freshmen, but I didn't know her then. Did you?"

  Angora squinted. "I...don't believe so."

  "The Rescue program paired us up when I moved to Biloxi."

  "What kind of problem did you have with her?"

  Roxann sighed. "It's personal."

  "Ooh, tell me."

  "Elise...made a pass at me."

  The whites of Angora's eyes shone clear in the semi-darkness of the cab. "She's a lesbian?"

  "Actually, I think she might be experimenting."

  "And you weren't interested in experimenting?"

  "No, Angora, I wasn't."

  "Don't get so testy. Can you find out if this woman broke into your place?"

  "I don't know how to contact her. Elise left the program and they don't know where she is."

  "Are there any other suspects?"

  She quirked a brow—Angora was getting into this. "An old boyfriend from Birmingham crossed my mind. He and I parted on bad terms several months ago."

  "Was he violent?"

  "No, but he had an attitude. And a drinking problem, so anything's possible."

  "You have bad taste in men."

  Roxann checked the side mirror—no Capistrano. "We have bad taste in men."

  "Except for Dr. Carl."

  Roxann had to admit that he seemed to be pulling her toward South Bend, but part of that, she acknowledged, was wanting to escape her current problems. "Capistrano had Frank Cape's car impounded, and he won't be able to pick it up until morning. So to get a jump on him, we'll have to drive all night."

  "Okay."

  "And no more credit cards—the charges are too easy to trace. Whatever cash you need, get it from an ATM while we're here."

  Angora sighed. "Without Trenton's card, I don't have any money."

  "What about your own bank account?"

  "Overdrawn—there were too many wedding expenses."

  Roxann slowed the van. "Angora, I have a little money, but we're going to have to be very frugal for the rest of the trip." An alien notion to her cousin.

  But Angora held her left hand out in front of her. Her enormous engagement ring caught the light. "No we won't."

  Chapter Thirteen

  "WELCOME HOME, my dear."

  Roxann walked into Dr. Nell Oney's sweatered embrace, inhaling the woman's signature vanilla scent, grateful beyond words that she hadn't changed over the years. But when she felt the woman's frail bones through the heavy clothing, she realized how much her mentor had aged—more gray in her soft brown hair, more lines around her gentle mouth. Still, she remained an attractive woman, aging gracefully.

  "You look wonderful," Dr. Oney said, squeezing her hands.

  "So do you," she said, applying light pressure to the woman's cold hands. Dr. Oney was a bit past fifty, Roxann calculated. And no family, save the cats she took in. She had once told Roxann that the people at Rescue were her family. With a start, Roxann acknowledged that she was looking at herself in twenty years. And while living in a patio home just off campus wearing hand-knit sweaters covered with cat hair held a certain literary appeal, it seemed fantastically lonely.

  "Meet Angora Ryder, my cousin. We graduated in the same class. Angora, I'm sure you remember Dr. Nell Oney."

  "It's nice to see you," the professor said, shaking Angora's hand. Then she squinted and looked back and forth. "You two do bear a striking resemblance—except for the coloring, of course."

  "And the crown," Roxann added dryly.

  "Dr. Oney, I hope you don't mind me tagging along," Angora said. "Roxann rescued me from a little scrape."

  "I don't mind," she said. "And call me 'Nell.' Let me show you girls where you can put your things. The guest room has twin beds."

  They traipsed after her, dodging four—no, five—cats. Angora sneezed a thousand times before they set their things down on outdated red comforters in the tiny guest room. The walls were lined with shelves of worn paperbacks—proof positive, Roxann conceded, of those long, lonely years stretching ahead of her. In fact, didn't she immediately upon relocating to a new city acquire a library card?

  "I have two classes to teach this afternoon, so I'd better be off," Nell said from the doorway. "Do you need anything before I go?"

  Roxann wanted to ask about Carl, but bit her tongue and shook her head. "We can't thank you enough."

  "No need, really. But just so that I know, this Cape fellow who's been following you, what does he look like?"

  "Tall, thin, rednecky. He was wearing camouflage when he caught up with me in Little Rock."

  "Do you have a weapon?"

  "Pepper spray. But hopefully he's given up by now."

  Nell nodded. "Still, you can't be too careful. Do you two have plans tonight?"

  She exchanged looks with Angora, and her cheeks grew warm. "Well, uh—"

  "We're going to the bachelor auction," Angora cut in. "Want to come?"

  Nell laughed and shrugged. "I hadn't thought about it, but maybe I will. Just to watch."

  They made plans to meet back at the house, then Nell left.

  "Did she seem old to you?" Angora asked.

  "We seem old to me."

  "I remember her looking more, I don't know—more liberated. Cool. Braless."

  "People change, buy underwear." She rummaged in her purse, then frowned. "Have you seen my life list?"

  Angora wasn't paying attention. "Do you think she's happy?"

  "I suppose so. Have you seen my list?"

  "She doesn't even drive a car—don't you think that's kind of backward?"

  "She marches to the beat of a different drum. Angora, have you seen my list?"

  "No. When did you have it last?"

  "I can't remember—maybe when we were in Springfield?" Where Angora had blown the afternoon with a travel agent planning the round-the-world cruise on her life list as if she were launching next week. Sometimes the woman seemed to be on another plane of reality. "Or Bloomington?" Where they'd forgone the tattoo artist's needle in favor of ornate henna tattoos around their ankles so Angora could strike another item from her list.

  "I thought you didn't care about that silly old list," Angora teased.

  "I...don't." But there was something bothersome about misplacing a list that had outstanding items on it. Since you couldn't possibly remember everything on it, you were, of course, relieved of the obligation. Still, it seemed like...cheating.

  I'VE GOT YOUR NUMBER, YOU FAKE.

  She shivered. Knowing that someone was looking over your shoulder had a way of making you evaluate your life, your decisions. Had she made good ones? Bad ones? She checked her watch—it was 6 p.m. in London.

  "Come on," Angora said. "Let's unpack later—I want to cruise campus."

  "I don't think people use that phrase anymore."

  Angora grabbed her arm and tugged her toward the door. "You look a little peaked—are you more worried about that Cape guy than you're letting on?"

  She didn't answer, because in truth, she was more worried about seeing Carl again—how petty was that? A dangerous criminal wanted to extract information out of her, and she was concerned about how her old flame would react to seeing her again. What if he didn't recognize her?

  "Don't worry—that cute hunky detective probably scared the crap out of Cape."

  At the mention of Capistrano, she scowled. He wasn't cute, he w
as...noticeable. And he wasn't hunky, he was...bulky. But he did have an uncanny sense of timing. And maybe he had scared Cape—for now. But Frank Cape would be back. Or he'd just wait until she returned to Biloxi.

  Then she pursed her mouth—perhaps she wouldn't return to Biloxi. It wasn't as if she had a gaggle of friends waiting for her, or even a job, for that matter. In fact, she'd bet that no one even noticed she was gone. Once Capistrano's partner recovered, she'd certainly drop off his radar.

  "I'd like to check my voice recorder first," she said, padding to the living room. She found a base unit for a cordless phone on a glass table, but no handset there, or in the tidy, but cramped blue kitchen. Nell's bedroom and office were across the hall, but Roxann didn't want to pry behind the closed door, opting to wait until her cell phone recharged. The highly processed foods she'd been sharing with Angora had made her thirsty, though, so she peeked into a kitchen cabinet in search of a water glass. Instead, she stumbled onto a stash of medical supplies. A few prescription bottles rolled out onto the counter. Antibiotics. Antivirals. She recalled suddenly that Nell was a bit of a hypochondriac—another manifestation of loneliness.

  From out of nowhere, a cough emerged from her throat, and her future hit her like a ton of bricks. She had to get out of there. "Let's go, Angora."

  They walked the short distance to the campus entrance. The exercise felt good to her unused muscles, but her new boots still weren't broken in. Considering her new duds and hairstyle, she thought she'd feel young again when they reached the university grounds. Instead she felt exposed as a middle-aged has-been, and downright light-headed from the deluge of forgotten impressions: the pleasing mix of period architecture, the throngs of majestic trees, and the wind barreling down the streets as if propelled by the energy of the young bodies. Although the chance that she'd see Carl on the sidewalk was remote, her gaze darted over each face, poised to see him at every turn. Perhaps she should have called him...

  "It looks smaller than I remember," Angora offered, pivoting her head.

  Roxann agreed. Even the students seemed smaller, compact and waiflike. And so impossibly young. It was a warm Wednesday afternoon, and the little people streamed in all directions over sidewalks and grassy banks with purpose and synchronization. They looked so happy and so unburdened. Had she ever been that happy?

  "Let's go this way," Angora said, pointing to a sidewalk that would take them up and away from the direction Roxann wanted to take—through the oldest part of campus, and coincidentally, past the building where Carl's office was still housed, according to the address in the alumni newsletter.

  "Okay," she agreed, chastising herself. She'd see him in due time.

  As they walked, Angora pointed to a nondescript redbrick building on the crest of a wooded hill. "There's our old dorm."

  "Uh-huh. Probably coed now."

  "You think? Wow, I bet no one leaves here a virgin anymore."

  Roxann smiled her agreement. Students surged by them, laughing and poking each other, lopsided from the bulging backpacks on their shoulders. Earbuds bounded. Despite the brisk temperature, lots of skin was on display—navels, thighs, and oh, the cleavage. And from all the touching that was going on, hormones did indeed appear to be running amuck. A tall athletic guy winked at Angora and turned around to walk backward as he perused her up and down.

  "It's the crown," Angora insisted as she gave him a little finger-wave. "This is going to be fun."

  "He thinks you're a teacher."

  But from the glow on Angora's face, she definitely had plans for her virginity to die a quick death. Roxann bit her lower lip—she hoped the event would be all her cousin thought it would be. And that the lucky guy was of legal age.

  Yellow banners on every lamppost announced Homecoming week and shouted, "Be there!" in frantic letters.

  She was there, but feeling a little out of sorts. Didn't someone say you could never go home? South Bend was as close to home as she'd ever felt To realize that her four years here had been replaced by thousands of other footprints and term papers and first loves made her feel very insignificant. They walked higher and higher, where the foot traffic thinned and the fall leaves thickened.

  "Will your sorority be doing something special for Homecoming?" she asked Angora.

  She shrugged. "I suppose."

  "You don't keep up with your sisters?"

  Angora's face went odd, and she looked off in the distance. "I quit the DZs."

  "I didn't know that. Why?"

  She shrugged again. "Some of the girls started being mean to me, calling me 'Church' because I wouldn't sleep with their creepy brothers. Tammy Paulen—" She stopped walking.

  Roxann swung her head around. "What about Tammy Paulen?"

  Angora seemed dazed.

  "Angora, what about Tammy Paulen?"

  "She...was the worst."

  She wet her lips and spoke carefully. "I thought you said you didn't know Tammy very well."

  "I didn't. I don't even think she knew my name."

  "But she teased you?"

  Angora nodded. "Her brother heard I was a virgin, and she...wanted to give me to him for his birthday."

  Roxann's stomach convulsed. "That's sick."

  "Well, she got hers, didn't she?"

  A chill went through Roxann that had nothing to do with the breeze. "Angora—"

  "Hey, is that who I think it is?" Angora pointed like a bird dog across the street.

  Roxann followed her finger, and her heart vaulted. She hadn't realized it, but the path led them high above and opposite Carl's office building, leveling off in front of the humanities building for a splendid view through an opening in the trees the distance of a football field. Without knowing, Angora had led them to a perfect vantage point.

  It was Carl, all right. Sitting on the steps of the building, munching a sandwich and reading a book in the sunshine. Still broad-shouldered and lean, he was wearing a soccer coaching jacket over chinos, T-shirt, and V-neck sweater. The sunlight picked up the silver in his hair, and the glare from his small wire-framed glasses. Years fell away, and Roxann's tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth. No man had affected her the way Carl had, not before and not since.

  "I was thinking barbecue for lunch," Angora said, nodding to a concession stand below them on the street mere paces from where Carl sat.

  "Sounds good," she murmured.

  Concrete steps took them down to street level. Thank goodness there was a handrail for stability—the heeled boots were making her legs wobbly. Scenes about how she might approach him, and what he might say flashed through her mind, but suddenly they were on the sidewalk across the two-lane street and he looked at her. He stopped chewing and wiped his mouth, then squinted. She smiled, and when he set aside his book and lunch and stood, her heart lifted. She waved over passing cars. He removed his glasses, then jaywalked through slow-moving cars toward them.

  "Roxann?" he said, jogging up to her. "Roxann, is that you?"

  He was more handsome than ever, pale, pale blue eyes surrounded by black lashes. His eyebrows were jet black, thrown into relief against the silvery shock of hair that fell over his wide forehead. His chiseled nose and wide forehead were the same, along with his strong chin. And his smile—how could she have forgotten the gift of his incredible smile? It lit his entire face, and animated his body. That smile was the energy bank that he and people around him drew upon.

  The sights and sounds around them receded. "Yes, Carl, it's me."

  Chapter Fourteen

  "I HOPE YOUR COUSIN doesn't mind that I stole you away," Carl said, holding open the door to his office.

  "She said there were a few places on campus she wanted to visit," Roxann said, passing under his arm. She was assailed by that big-person-in-a-small-person-place feeling again. As if all the things around her were props, and Carl was the leading man on stage. Very surreal.

  He stepped in, closed the door, and hung their coats on a hook on the back. When he turned, they simp
ly stood and smiled at each other for a long moment, just as a script might call for. He was divine—longish silvery hair, flattering glasses, chiseled features, sparkling blue eyes, clean-shaven jaw. Action.

  "You haven't changed," he murmured. "Still so beautiful."

  She blushed. "I have changed, but thank you."

  "God, I've missed you." He clasped her shoulders. "Did you get my message about the award? Are you married? How long are you staying?"

  She laughed, and he looked sheepish.

  "Where are my manners? Please sit down. Would you like some coffee or tea?"

  "No, thank you." She sat in the cane-bottomed chair he proffered, comforted by the clichéd clutter of books and papers in the crowded office. How many times had they worked here, shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee? "Yes, I received your message about the award, and while I'm flattered, I'll pass. That's why I didn't call you back."

  "I understand."

  "And no, I'm not married."

  He smiled. "I never married, either."

  She was certain her pleasure showed all over her face. "And I'm not sure how long we'll be here. We're staying at Dr. Oney's."

  "Oh. I was hoping..." Then he shook his head. "Never mind. I guess that means you're still working with the women's advocacy program that Nell coordinated?"

  She nodded. "Full-time. More or less."

  He steepled his hands and struck a solemn pose. "I'm so proud of what you've done with your life—the youth of today just don't seem as interested in social responsibility."

  She hooked her hands around her knee, compelled to move past polite platitudes. "I wish I could say I entered the program with pure intentions, but looking back, I think I was only killing time until I heard from you."

  He did have the good grace to squirm before offering up a remorseful noise from his throat. "The board's inquiry came at an unfortunate time."

  She nodded slowly. "I wonder how they knew about us."

  He shrugged. "Someone must have told them, although it didn't seem important at the time to ask who—the damage was done. I assumed you had shared our relationship with another student."

  Roxann bristled. "I didn't."