Got Your Number ((a humorous romantic mystery))

by Stephanie Bond

  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 said 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 12

  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 ge
neral 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.

  Roxann first suspected that she was being followed as she passed the Ferris wheel. Call it a hunch, but a set of heavy footsteps behind her were too measured, too purposeful. She stopped to buy a small fountain drink, and the footsteps she’d isolated stopped, too. All her defenses went on alert. She turned quickly and scanned the area over the top of her cup, but saw nothing suspicious. She exhaled in relief—her imagination was getting the better of her.

  The fairgrounds were thick with teenagers and the air smoky from firecrackers. Blinking colored lights on the rides cast a fluorescent glow on the faces of onlookers. Thrilling screams from the roller coaster overhead reached a crescendo, then faded as the machine roared past. The funnel-cake booth was doing a brisk business, emitting sticky-sweet aromas. A child’s laugh pierced the air, and Roxann couldn’t help but smile. When had she turned into a suspicious, cynical woman?

  She headed toward a group of picnic tables near the exit where the noise level would be low enough to make phone calls. She wanted to check in with her supervisor, and call her father again. And she’d been thinking that even Dreadful Dee deserved to know that Angora was safe. A couple of young rednecks walked by and whistled at her appreciatively. She didn’t react, but at the ridiculous lift of her spirits, realized that she’d never, ever been whistled at. In fact, in college she probably would have belted the guys. Age changed a person’s viewfinder.

  She selected an empty picnic table, used a napkin to brush off leftover popcorn, and sat down facing the crowd. The winner of the turkey-calling contest was announced, and Billy Conley’s mother could pick him up at the Lost and Found tent at her earliest convenience, please. Roxann rummaged in her purse for her cell phone, dreading the call to her father. He would be—

  “Alone at last.”

  Her heart froze at the menacing tone. She lifted her head slowly while moving her hand blindly in her purse in search of the pepper spray. The stranger was tall and wiry with thin blond hair that hung to the shoulders of his camouflage jacket. His face was raw-boned and gaunt, his eyes too close together. Frank Cape was not an attractive man.

  “Do I know you?” she asked, stalling.

  “No, but I know you,” he said, wrapping his bony hand around her forearm like a vise. “Now don’t get any ideas about bringing a weapon out of that purse. You tell me what I want to know, missy, and no one has to get hurt.”

  Her wrist and fingers were already numb from the pressure. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her mind raced for an escape route—the bench seat attached to the table made her feel trapped.

  His laugh boomed out, and anyone close to them might have thought they were sharing a friendly chat. “Of course you do—you took Melissa and Renita away from me, and I mean to have them back.”

  “I only dropped them off at the airport. I don’t know where they are.”

  “Liar.” His grip tightened. “You’d better start talking. I want an address and a phone number.”

  “The police are looking for you—they know you broke into my apartment,” she bluffed.

  He scoffed. “Your crummy apartment was torn up when I got there. I figured somebody else got fed up with your meddling.”

  She swallowed. “Did you leave the message on my computer?”

  “Do I look like Bill Gates?” Leaning closer, he revealed sharp eyeteeth. “Where are they?”

  “I can’t help you.”

  “Yes you can,” he hissed. “Or the people around you will start dropping like flies.”

  The blood drained from her face, leaving her lips cold.

  A lascivious smile made his eyes even smaller. “Maybe I’ll just take you with me and make you talk.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” a calm voice sounded behind him.

  Roxann looked up to see Detective Capistrano standing wide-legged, munching a caramel apple. As much as she hated to admit it, she was sort of happy to see the brute.

  “Let her go,
Cape.”

  “Who are you?”

  He took another bite. “The man who’s going to shoot you if you don’t let her go.”

  Cape let her go. “This ain’t none of your concern.”

  “You’re a suspect in a Biloxi armed robbery that put a friend of mine in a coma.” He swallowed and angled his head at Cape. “Everything you do concerns me.”

  Cape straightened. “You some kind of cop?”

  “Yep. The unpredictable kind.” He tossed the apple into a nearby trash can and wiped his hand on his jeans. “Give me a reason to bury you.”

  The hoodlum threw up his hands casually and produced a charming smile. “I was just leaving.”

  Capistrano smiled back. “You’ll find your piece-of-shit car in the city impound lot.”

  The man’s face darkened. “You had my car towed?”

  “Expired tags and missing taillight.” Capistrano tsk-tsked. “Safety first.”

  Cape’s mouth tightened, but he remained silent. After he strode past Capistrano, though, he turned and made an air gun out of his thumb and forefinger, aimed it at Roxann, and pulled the trigger in a warning that couldn’t be misinterpreted. She shivered and stood up, stumbling back in her haste to get away from the table. Capistrano was there for a steadying arm. She pulled away a little more vehemently than she intended.

  “You’re welcome,” he said dryly.

  “Where did you come from?”

  “Akens, a little swamp town south of Biloxi.”

  She sighed. “How did you find me?”

  “Driving that eyesore of a death trap is like a beacon in the night.”

  “But how did you know which direction I was going?”

  “Your father said you were going back to Biloxi, but knowing you, I just started driving in the opposite direction.”

  What had he thought of her father? What had her father thought of him? “You don’t know me.”

  “Then your cousin started racking up charges on a stolen credit card—”