She sighed, then chased down the Magic 8 Ball, deciding she'd feel much better once she saw Angora and Nell. She lay on her stomach, and reached under the credenza, feeling for the toy, trying not to think about what else might be under there.
Her hand met paper, and she pulled out a copy of the first page of the medical examiner's report on Carl's death. It must have fallen out of Capistrano's file. She scanned the sheet, reminded once again that Carl had died so needlessly. If she had only listened to Capistrano and set up the video meeting with Melissa earlier, this entire tragedy could have been avoided. Frank Cape needed never to have set foot in South Bend. She pressed her lips together, feeling a good cry coming on, then stopped at the sight of Carl's full name. She remembered seeing his middle initial stenciled on the glass door of his office, but she'd never asked him what it stood for.
As Roxann stared at the name, a hot flush climbed her face. At first the implication seemed too outrageous, but as her mind sifted clues and conversations and observations, her hazy theory began to take on a shape, and a face. Her insides heaved, and sweat broke out on her temples.
Angora.
Chapter Thirty-two
HER INCISIONS WERE ITCHING AGAIN. Angora wiggled in the hospital bed and tried to think the twinges away, then went back to reading the Slim Down Now! magazine her mother had forced upon her.
"If you eat a frozen mashed banana instead of a cup of ice cream, you would save two hundred twenty calories. If you normally indulge in ice cream once a week, you would lose a whopping four pounds a year."
Four lousy pounds? In an entire year? Who did these people think they were kidding—a frozen banana wasn't ice cream, it was a freaking frozen banana. She took a bite out of a chocolate Moon Pie, then slapped the magazine shut and rooted around for something more interesting. It was all pretty much the same crap, though—eat less, exercise more, blah, blah, blah.
Mike Brown's stack of Progressive Farmer lay untouched. Out of sheer boredom, she opened the cover and wrinkled her nose: "To Fertilize or Not to Fertilize," "Pasture Rotation," "Liquid Swine Waste." But one item in the table of contents caught her eye: "Marvelous Meat Loaf."
When she was around six years old, her mother had hired a little old woman named Liza who made the most incredible meat loaf and mashed potatoes with gravy. But even at six her cheeks were a bit on the chubby side, so her mother restricted her portions to mere spoonfuls no matter how much she pleaded for more. Dear Liza would sneak a plateful to her room after dinner. But when Dee caught Angora under the covers sopping gravy with a piece of white bread, she'd fired Liza on the spot and hired a bony woman who considered spinach a staple. Ugh.
With mouth watering, she turned to the recipe. Knowing how to make meat loaf seemed like a good basic skill to have. Oooh, there was a picture—a nice juicy hunk of meat with a drizzle of red sauce baked on top, served up with creamy mashed potatoes swimming in brown gravy. Heaven. On. Earth.
A knock on the door sent her scrambling—her parents were back. "Come in," she sang, shoving the Moon Pie and the magazine under her pillow. She wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her gown and pasted on a sublime smile.
But the last person in the world she expected to walk in was Trenton, impeccably dressed in tan slacks and a mint-green cashmere sweater she had bought him for his birthday.
"Hello, Angora."
Her jaw dropped and her mind raced, searching for all those vile things she'd imagined saying to him if and when she ever saw him. "Uh, hi."
"Guess you're surprised to see me."
She nodded, speechless.
He walked to the end of her bed. "I heard about all your trouble and wanted to come and see for myself that you were okay."
So he did care. "Wh-when did you get here?"
"I flew in about an hour ago."
"Where's Darma?"
"We're not together anymore."
Her heart surged. "Why not?" Because he'd come to his senses and realized that Angora was the love of his life.
"She wanted me to sign a prenup, and that was that." He gestured to her stomach. "How are you feeling?"
"Better. I had my gallbladder removed, and a cup of gallstones."
"Your mother and I warned you about eating like a garbage pail."
If she hadn't gone on that diet before the wedding, she would've been fine. "Then I developed complications. An infection—doctor said he'd never seen one so bad."
"Yeah, that can be serious. Did they have you on an IV?"
"Until yesterday."
"That explains why you're so bloated."
She frowned. "Did you hear I was arrested for murder?"
"Your mother said the charges were being dropped."
"They are, but for a while, I was a primary suspect."
He laughed. "Yeah, the police up here must be a bunch of clowns if they thought you were capable of murder. Everybody at the club had a big hoot over that one." He laughed again, dabbing at his eyes. What might have been a compliment was canceled out by his sarcasm—as if she weren't smart enough to pull off a murder.
"I was the last person who saw the professor alive. We were on a date."
He put his hands in his pockets. "Did the two of you, um...you know?"
"Have sex? That's none of your business."
Trenton cleared his throat. "The papers said you bought him at a bachelor auction or something."
She finally smiled. "I hocked my engagement ring, so I had a little extra cash lying around."
He pulled on his collar. "Okay, I deserve that. But I'll get you a bigger ring."
"Huh?"
"I made a big mistake, Angora, and I wouldn't blame you if you don't forgive me, but I want us to get back together."
Mixed emotions filled her chest—hadn't she fantasized that he'd come crawling back to her?
"We're perfect for each other, Angora. You know me, you know what I'm thinking."
"I didn't know what you were thinking last Saturday."
"After all these years of waiting, you didn't sleep with that man, did you?"
She shook her head.
He exhaled in relief. "See? Deep down you couldn't. You knew you were meant for me. We could have a small ceremony, then go on to Hawaii for say, ten days, and have a huge reception when we get back."
"But I don't have a dress—"
"I'll buy you a Versace."
"And the church—"
"Your mom said we could have the ceremony at your house."
"You talked to my parents before you talked to me?"
He sighed. "I knew I had to repair my relationship with the entire family. Your parents were very understanding. What do you say, Angora? We can move to Chicago and start new careers together. You'll love the shopping there."
She lifted her chin. "I could move to Chicago all by myself."
"But you'd have to rely on your allowance to get by."
He was right, darn it. The job at the art agency was mostly commission, and it would take her a while to build a client list.
"Marry me, Angora, and you'll live like a queen."
"But Trenton...do you love me?"
He scoffed. "Of course I love you. We're so much alike, not loving you would be like not loving myself."
She bit into her lip and studied his face—he was so handsome, so smart, so well connected. And he had such good taste. She might look the rest of her life and not find anyone as wonderful as Trenton. And so what if he'd humiliated her—wouldn't she have the last laugh once they were married? She won him back, they would say at the club.
Another knock sounded, and her parents appeared. Dee wore a hopeful expression. "Aren't you glad to see Trenton, darling?"
She conjured up a smile.
"And isn't it wonderful that the two of you will be able to work things out after all?"
Marrying Trenton would make her mother so happy—it would certainly make up for all the trouble she'd caused them lately. That whole arrest scene had hit her father
hard—he was looking old these days.
And wasn't Chicago the chance to do something with her life? Okay, so the art world wasn't as glamorous as she'd imagined—most of the artists finger-painted to support their body-piercing addictions—but the Chicago job was a great opportunity and what else was she halfway qualified to do?
"Yes," she said to her mother. "It's wonderful."
Trenton's shoulders fell in relief and his smile did lift her spirits. "You won't regret this, Angora."
Her mother beamed. "Trenton is going to stay until tomorrow evening and we'll all fly home together."
But Angora shook her head. "I'm going to ride back with Roxann."
Dee scowled. "You can't be serious. That tramp is the one who got you into this mess."
"I've made up my mind, Mother. Once I move to Chicago, I might never see Roxann again. I don't expect you to understand, but I want to do this."
"I don't know—"
"Dixie," her father said. "You heard your daughter."
Angora jumped on the momentum. "You all should head back now so Daddy can go into the office tomorrow and so you can start getting things ready for the ceremony. Pick out the dress, the flowers, whatever you want is fine."
Her mother seemed surprised. Granted, they'd argued for hours over the details the first time around. "Well...all right, dear."
"Are you sure the drive won't be too uncomfortable?" her father asked, dear man.
"Roxann will take care of me."
"But I just got here," Trenton said.
She smiled. "And we have the rest of our lives together. Roxann and my attorney will be here soon, and I'd like to rest." Besides, she knew her mother didn't want an encounter with either one of her impending visitors.
The three of them looked at each other, perplexed, but they relented and said goodbye. Her father hugged her carefully. Her mother kissed the air next to her cheek. And Trenton kissed her on the forehead. "I'll see you later this week."
She nodded and held her breath until the door closed. She was so used to being ignored, all the attention was downright suffocating. After rescuing the Moon Pie and the magazine from behind her pillow, she snuggled down in the covers and munched slowly.
So, she was going to marry a doctor after all. Everything would be just the way she'd planned, and she'd live happily ever after with Trenton. They would be fine—she'd forgive him for being infatuated with Darma. After all, she'd been infatuated with Carl.
Things would be...fine.
She scoured the meat loaf recipe and decided it was something she could try on her own, then she checked other issues of the magazine and found a mother lode of wonderful comfort-food recipes—homemade macaroni and cheese, buttermilk biscuits, hot brown, sweet potato pie. When she had her own kitchen, she could make whatever she wanted to eat. And if Trenton didn't like it, she'd simply sneak and eat it alone.
Her phone rang, and Mike Brown was on the other end with the time and place of the polygraph the following day. "I'll drive you," he offered. "I have to dress a couple of hams, but I should be through in plenty of time."
She had the feeling that dressing the hams didn't involve matching shoes and handbags. "Mike, I want to thank you for all your help, and I'd like to pay you for your trouble."
"Ah, forget about it," he said. "Just getting to know you has been a pleasure."
She imagined him pushing up his glasses. "I think you're nice, too," she said.
"See you tomorrow," he said cheerfully. "Call me if you need anything."
Angora hung up the phone thinking that Mike Brown was the kind of man who probably put away a lot of meat loaf and gravy. Heck, he probably grew his own meat loaf.
She reached for the remote and turned on the TV. Carl's murder and the death of Frank Cape were all the rage on the local news. She shivered at her brush with danger. Her guardian angel must have senior status to have gotten her through this mess.
A honking noise blared into her room, startling her. The source of the intermittent sound wasn't readily apparent, but she deduced it was some kind of alarm. She sat up, holding one hand against her bandages. The intercom beeped.
"The fire alarm has been sounded. If you’re able, please vacate your room and proceed to the nearest exit. Emergency personnel will be around to make sure each room has been evacuated. The fire alarm has been sounded..."
Her heart beat faster as she swung her feet over the edge of the bed. The movement pulled at her incisions, sending burning pain through her abdomen. She inhaled sharply. Her room was on the eighth floor—how would she ever make it down the stairs?
The door to her room swung open and she sighed in relief at the sight of Nell Oney. "Dr. Oney, thank goodness you're here. Can you help me? Over there are my house shoes, and my coat is in that closet."
But instead, the woman locked the door and walked toward her, smiling. "There is no fire."
Chapter Thirty-three
ROXANN SLAMMED DOWN the phone—Angora's line was still busy. Nearing panic, she tore downstairs and outside into the parking lot, praying that Capistrano had been delayed. It would take her forever to flag a taxi. She spotted the Dooley pulling away from her and her immense relief fueled a burst of adrenaline. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her, waving and screaming at the top of her lungs. "Wait! Capistrano, wait!" Just when her fear peaked, the brake lights came on. She stumbled, recovered, and flung herself toward the truck.
He opened the door. "What's wrong?"
She was too winded to talk. "To the hospital...fast." She yanked open the passenger side door and vaulted inside.
Capistrano pulled out, following her hand directions. "Did something happen to Angora?"
"I can't...be sure...but I think...she's in danger."
"From whom?"
"Nell."
"What?"
She took a deep breath and exhaled. "I found a page from the ME report that fell under the credenza in the hotel room. Carl's middle name is Chester."
He frowned. "I don't get it."
"Nell's favorite cat, the one she dotes on, is named Chester."
He scratched his temple. "Okay."
"I think she's been in love with him all these years. I think she put Frank Cape up to killing Carl."
"That's a pretty big leap, Roxann."
"No. I remembered something that Cape said when he told me he killed Carl. He said a lot of good it did him, and that nobody keeps their word. I think Nell struck a bargain with him—kill Carl, and she'd find out where Melissa was living."
"Did she find out?"
"No, but not for lack of trying. She asked me several times, and my supervisor said she'd even been in touch with him about the case. And I distinctly remember a conversation where she asked about Melissa and Renita." She shook her head. "I never mentioned their names."
"But how would she have gotten in touch with Cape?"
"I'm guessing through Elise James—she ran with a pretty bad element." She wet her lips. "Elise is dead, by the way. Overdose on prescription drugs that were laced with something. But I'm starting to wonder..."
"Go on."
"I wonder if Nell was the one who gave her the drugs. She's been ill, and I stumbled across enough prescription painkillers in her cabinet to take out a herd of elephants."
He quirked an eyebrow. "What else do you have?"
"She tried to divert suspicion in the Tammy Paulen case to Angora, tried to convince me that Angora was guilty and unstable. I'll bet she told others the same thing."
"To protect Seger."
"Probably."
He pointed to the file between them. "Do you remember the date the Paulen girl was killed?"
"Yeah, it was December second, 1992."
"Look in that folder for a copy of Dr. Seger's bio. It's four or five pages stapled together."
"Why? What am I looking for?"
"Just a hunch, but check the dates on his list of speaking engagements."
She found the paper, which list
ed Dr. Seger's accomplishments. A resume of sorts, including an exhaustive list of seminars he'd given. Roxann scanned the dates, then stopped. "November twenty-ninth through December third, Carl was giving a seminar in Philadelphia."
Capistrano whistled low. "Think he loaned his car to anyone to use while he was gone?"
"Someone who doesn't have a car." She closed her eyes. "I can't believe it. Angora said that she told Carl she'd seen his car leaving the scene."
"So he knew that Dr. Oney had done it."
"Right. Maybe he called Nell, threatened to blackmail her. Maybe that's when she contacted Cape and made the deal or sped up the deal they'd already made."
Capistrano's mouth tightened. "If we realized that Seger wasn't around when the Paulen girl was killed, someone else will eventually notice, too. And without Angora around to testify..."
She nodded, reeling. Nell...lonely Nell. Had she stayed holed up in her little house quietly going mad?
He picked up the phone. "What's the name of the hospital?"
"Holy Cross."
He punched in a number and asked directory assistance for a direct connection. "Security please," he said. "This is urgent." Then he frowned. "What?...When?...Thank you."
He disconnected the call. "The hospital has been evacuated for a possible fire. The fire department is on its way."
"Think it's a coincidence?" she asked.
He pulled a blue siren from beneath his seat, rolled down the window, and stuck it to the top of the cab. "Darlin', there are very few coincidences in this world."
Chapter Thirty-four
ANGORA ALLOWED NELL to plump her pillow and brush off the crumbs. "Thank you."
"I brought you something," Nell said, holding up a white bag. "Jelly doughnuts and milk."
Angora smiled—maybe she'd misjudged Dr. Oney. She'd thought for some reason that the woman didn't like her. "Thank you. The food here is terrible."
Love Can Be Murder (boxed set of humorous mysteries) Page 80