Chapter 18
Angora clawed at the rash on her neck and chest—at this rate she’d never get laid. After plying her with good food and working her up with close-body dancing, Carl Seger had brought her back to his home to show her every first edition of every boring book in his stupid library. She knew he found her attractive because he’d been touching her all night. At the moment, though, he was stroking the cover of a green leather-bound volume.
“And this one I bought at a garage sale while I was vacationing in the Hamptons—”
“Carl,” she said with a seductive smile. “I’ve seen every room in your house except the bedroom.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Well, I… didn’t think this was that kind of date. After all, the auction was for charity.”
She squinted, trying to figure out if she’d just been insulted. “I didn’t pay two thousand dollars for a lecture on old books.”
He smiled. “You didn’t?”
“No. I paid two thousand dollars to lose my virginity.”
The book fell to the floor with a thud. “You’re a virgin?”
She nodded, glad to finally have his attention.
He moved closer to her and gave her a deep, grinding kiss that allowed all the important parts to make contact. When he lifted his head, he was breathing hard and his glasses were steamed up. “Why me?”
She could tell he was torn between behaving himself and ripping her clothes off. “Take me to your bedroom, and I’ll tell you why.”
They kissed and rubbed their way to his bedroom, which was an unfortunate attempt at Japanese-style decorating—lots of black and red and gold. She carefully removed her crown and placed it on his dresser. Then they fell onto the bed, which undulated beneath them. Ugh—a waterbed. He tugged on her dress and bra until she was naked from the waist up.
“So why me?” he whispered, kissing her breasts.
At last it was starting to feel good. “Because we have history.”
His head came up. “Huh?”
“I gave you a blowjob in your office when I was a student.”
“You did?”
She frowned. “You don’t remember?”
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
“I spit come on your Cole Haan loafers.”
“That was you?”
“That was me.”
He pulled on his chin and smiled. “It must have been pretty good if you saved your cherry for me after all these years.”
“I figured you would know what you were doing.” And the thrill of losing her cherry to the man Roxann wanted was absolutely delicious. She knew she was being evil, but she couldn’t help it—she deserved something for all her bad luck lately, not to mention her two thousand dollars.
Suddenly he sat up and ran his hand through his hair. “Wait a minute—how do I know this won’t be on the front page of a tabloid tomorrow? And how do I know you won’t tell Roxann?”
She frowned. “Roxann?”
He looked away. “She’s special.”
Hurt expanded her lungs—she was special, too. Why couldn’t anyone in the world see that she was special, too? She manufactured a coy smile and rubbed her bare breasts against his arm. “I won’t tell anyone, Carl. I didn’t tell anyone all those years ago.”
“Because you would have gotten in trouble,” he said. “No, it’s too risky.” He started to rebutton her dress. “I’m taking you home.”
Angora sat up. “You can’t, not yet.”
“I can, and I will. Get dressed.”
She swallowed, feeling desperate. “I know a secret.”
He shrugged, unimpressed. “What kind of secret?”
She bit into her lip, wavering.
“What kind of secret?”
“It’s about Tammy Paulen.”
He stopped. “What about her?”
“I know… what you did.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “What are you talking about?”
Snuggling closer, she murmured, “I saw your car that night.”
He stiffened. “What?”
“I saw your black Volvo that night speeding away.” She kissed his neck. “But don’t worry—I never told anyone. I know it was an accident. You wouldn’t have hurt her on purpose.”
He seemed a little dazed. “No, I wouldn’t have. But… you never told anyone?”
“Not a soul. Because I loved you, Carl.” She kissed him until he kissed her back, feeling closer to him. Only lovers shared intimate secrets. And sure enough, his enthusiasm seemed to explode. They tore at each other’s clothes until they were naked. He hadn’t bothered to have that circumcision redone.
“Are you on the pill?” he gasped.
“No, but I have… things.” She retrieved her purse from the floor—Dee would have an aneurysm if she knew her precious birth-control first aid kit was being used to have hot sex with a former teacher.
When she handed him a condom, he pursed his mouth. “Nice quality.” He opened the package, then directed her to roll it on. Her hands shook, but he yelped only twice before she finished. At last he slid his body on top of hers and stared down.
“God, you look so much like her.” He kissed her breasts and moved to lie between her knees. He was panting, his eyes glazed over. “Angora, how adventurous are you?”
She hadn’t been the most flexible person in PE class, but she could probably accommodate a unique position or two. “What did you have in mind?”
He rose over her and smiled wickedly—he’d taken off his glasses, and his silvery hair fell over his forehead. Angora arched her back in anticipation of their bodies joining. He slid both hands over her stomach, then up to pinch her breasts, then up to caress her neck. Embarrassment flooded her—he’d surely noticed her nerve rash.
He thumbed the area under her chin slowly at first, then applied more pressure. But she was so distracted by his erection moving against her, she didn’t realize how tight his grip was getting until she tried to swallow, and couldn’t. She gulped air and gasped his name, but no sound came out. Wouldn’t you know it—the one time she’d taken Roxann’s place, and she was going to die for it.
Everything faded to brown, then black.
Chapter 19
Capistrano waved her life list and laughed at her. “Your professor is a dirty old man… a dirty old man… a dirty old man.”
Roxann woke with a start and sat straight up in the dark. Her hairline was moist and clammy. The air in the small guest room was chilly because she’d closed the door, but she was sweating because she’d fallen asleep in the clothes she’d worn on her shameful errand. Thank goodness sanity had kicked in at the last moment—Angora and Carl were consenting adults, and if they wanted to engage in a physical relationship, she had no hold on either one of them.
She glanced over at Angora’s unslept-in bed. And it appeared they had done just that.
The digital clock read five forty-five, and the house was quiet. Dragging her hand down her face, she swung her leg over the edge of the bed, and switched on the nightstand lamp. Mud spattered the legs of her jeans, and a few feet away sat her caked gym shoes. She winced, and stood, brushing bits of dried dirt from the aged comforter. Thank goodness Nell’s floors were hardwood, but she wanted to get any tracks cleaned up before her host awakened. She picked up the mucky shoes and slipped out the door into the dim hallway. Dawn was breaking, sending fingers of light into the house. She moved silently toward the kitchen. Nell’s bedroom door was closed, and Roxann suspected she was sleeping more these days, especially since she wasn’t feeling well.
To save Nell the trouble, Roxann started the coffeemaker. Chester startled her when he appeared from nowhere to do a quick figure eight around her ankles. She stood at the counter for a few seconds wondering what she would say to Angora when she returned from Carl’s. Should she chastise her or congratulate her? She certainly couldn’t blame her for being attracted to him. Funny, but this morning she didn’t feel as betrayed as she might have expe
cted. But she did feel foolish for thinking that she and Carl would simply pick up where they’d left off. How pathetically naive.
She unrolled a wad of paper towels and stole out to the back porch to clean her shoes, holding the storm door until the latch caught so it wouldn’t wake Nell. Chester joined her. It was a beautiful October morning, dewy and brisk. The smooth floorboards of the covered porch were cold beneath her bare feet, but she didn’t mind. Nell had quite a little garden going in the back, and Roxann was reminded of the radio program on herb gardening—another hobby she had to look forward to in her spinsterhood. She sat down on the steps to clean her shoes, then froze when a groan sounded behind her.
Roxann stood and whirled in one motion. A few feet away on the porch, Angora lay asleep on a chaise, curled up in a rug and covered with dew.
Roxann rolled her eyes and walked over to shake her. “Angora. Angora, wake up.”
Angora’s eyes flew open, and she cried out.
“Shhh! Nell’s still asleep. What are you doing out here?”
Angora burst into tears.
“What on earth is wrong with you?” Roxann peeled back the stiff rug and helped her to sit up. Her blond hair and red dress were disheveled, her stockings torn, and her shoes missing.
“Oh, Roxann, it was awful,” she sobbed.
Dark bruises covered her pale skin from jawline to collarbone. Alarm rocketed through Roxann. “What happened to your neck?”
Angora touched the discolored area. “He—” Her sobs escalated until Roxann shook her—hard.
“Angora, calm down and tell me what happened.”
“C-Carl. He was ch-choking me.”
“What? Why was he choking you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know—we were going to have sex, and—I’m sorry, Roxann, I shouldn’t have done it.” More tears and finally, hiccups.
She inhaled deeply to calm her own thumping heart. “It’s okay, Angora. Did he hurt you?”
“I… think I passed out. I don’t remember anything until I woke up alone in his bed.” She swallowed hard and wiped her nose with her hand. “I just got out of there as fast as I could.”
Roxann put her hands to her temples in an effort to assimilate the bits of information. The thought of Carl hurting anyone or anything was incomprehensible, but Angora, flighty as she was, wasn’t faking her terror, or those dreadful bruises. Had she somehow provoked him to attack her? It didn’t matter—the authorities had to be notified.
“Come inside,” she said. “We’re calling the police.”
“No,” Angora pleaded, her hands fisted in Roxann’s shirt. “If anyone finds out, I’ll just die.”
How many times had she seen abused women retreat out of embarrassment? “Be sensible, Angora. If Carl hurt you, he has to answer for it.” In fact, she might have to take a swing at him herself. Capistrano’s warning rang in her ears.
“But I said something to make him angry.”
“What?”
“I can’t tell you,” she shrieked, thrashing her head back and forth.
Roxann studied her cousin’s tearful face, the wild-eyed borderline hysteria. Now wasn’t the time to talk. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
Angora relented tearfully, gathering her purse and leaning heavily on Roxann while they maneuvered through the back door. “I want to go home,” she sobbed.
“I’ll take you home today,” Roxann promised. “As soon as we get this mess straightened out. Let me get my phone so I can take pictures.”
“Pictures?”
“For court, if it goes that far.”
Angora’s eyes flew wide. “I can’t have my picture taken looking like this.”
“Angora, this isn’t a contest for Most Photogenic. This is serious. I know what I’m doing.” For once.
Suddenly she became aware of voices from the living room, male and female. Nell’s? When a scream rang out, Roxann released Angora and ran to the living room. Two policemen stood in the doorway, and Nell sat on the couch in her robe, a stricken expression on her face.
“Nell, what’s wrong?”
“Are you—” one of the policemen asked, then consulted a small notebook. “Roxann Beadleman and Angora Ryder?”
“Yes,” she said. Angora hung back, looking like a caged animal.
“Then you’ll both need to come with us down to the station.”
Roxann squinted. “If this is about what Carl did to Angora—”
“Carl’s dead,” Nell cried.
Horror oozed over Roxann. “What?” She shook her head at the policemen. “There must be some kind of mistake.”
“No mistake, miss. Dr. Seger was found dead in his home this morning by the paper boy.”
She reached for the back of the couch for support. “Was it some kind of accident? Heart attack?”
“Murder,” the cop said curtly.
Her knees buckled, and behind her, Angora whimpered.
“Which is why,” the policeman said, unsmiling, “you ladies need to come down to the station.”
She closed her eyes at the obvious implication—everyone at the auction last night knew Angora had won the date with Carl. They wouldn’t have had to make too many inquiries to track down her cousin. Snatches of recent troubling conversations with Angora raced through her head, along with her father’s revelation that their great-aunt was schizophrenic. Angora had admitted that Carl had choked her—could she have killed him in self-defense? It was too much for Roxann’s shell-shocked brain to process at the moment.
“Don’t say a word, Angora,” she warned. “Not until you’ve spoken with a lawyer.”
One of the cops angled his head. “You might want to call one for yourself, Ms. Beadleman.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Because Dr. Seger was strangled with a lime-green scarf. Sound familiar?”
Chapter 20
“Hello?”
She’d obviously awakened Capistrano from a dead sleep. “Um, hi. This is Roxann. Beadleman.”
He grunted and sheets rustled in the background. “Did Cape show up?”
“No. At least not that I know of.”
He sighed in relief. “Did you change your mind about something?”
The drowsy amusement in his voice irritated her—the man thought she was calling to invite herself over for a little early-morning tryst? “No, Detective, I didn’t change my mind about anything.” She winced and forced the words from her throat. “I n-need your help.”
His rusty laugh rumbled over the line. “Oh, now you need my help. What is it—car trouble? Low on cash?”
“Carl Seger was murdered last night. I’m at the police station.”
More sheet rustling. “What? Are you a suspect?”
“He was strangled with my scarf. Will you come?” She counted to three, prepared for him to tell her he didn’t want to get involved.
“I’m already there.”
The resolute click was comforting—the man was an arrogant ass, but right now, with four police officers staring at her, she needed an arrogant ass who was on her side.
“Was that your lawyer?” one of them asked. Detective Warner, she recalled. Good cop.
“I don’t need a lawyer,” she told him. “Where’s my cousin?”
“In the next room,” another officer said—Jaffey, bad cop. “Bawling her eyes out.”
“Can I go to her?”
“Why, so you can synch up your stories?”
She frowned. “No, because she’s scared out of her wits.”
“She should be.” He leaned forward, his eyes menacing. “Both of you should be.”
Roxann chewed on her lip, trying not to think about Carl lying dead with her scarf around his neck—it was simply too incredible. “I have nothing to hide, but I want to wait until my friend—er, acquaintance arrives. He’s a police detective from Biloxi.”
“And can he give you an alibi?”
“I was with him for some of the evening, yes.
”
“Boyfriend?”
“No.” She and Jaffey held a staring contest, and he finally looked away. She prayed that Angora would keep her mouth shut until the lawyer Nell recommended arrived. Angora had forbidden her to call Dee, and she’d relented—for now. But she had a bad, bad feeling that Angora was going to need as much defense as Jackson and Dee Ryder could afford.
“Cup of coffee?” Warner asked.
“Yes, thank you.” Actually, scotch sounded better, but she needed to keep her wits about her if she was going to figure out what had happened to her scarf. Her initial reaction that the scarf found at the scene couldn’t be hers was quickly refuted by the fact that she couldn’t find it, and that the “weapon” matched a confiscated receipt for the lime-green scarf she’d purchased when they stopped outside Baton Rouge. Not the kind of thing she normally bought, but the filmy piece of silk had caught her eye and Angora commented that it looked nice against her hair.
One estrogenic impulse, and look where it had gotten her.
Now she couldn’t even remember if she’d been wearing it last night when she changed clothes. Nell seemed sure she was still wearing it at the restaurant, but maybe she’d lost it afterward, while fussing and feuding with Capistrano?
She craned her neck to see if she could catch a glimpse of Angora, but the view from the interrogation room was limited—windows from the waist up on one wall only. The remaining walls were padded with the same low-nap gray carpet that was on the floor—either perps regularly flung themselves around the room, or the cops did it for them.
The chair was as uncomfortable as possible, naturally. Molded plastic. The overhead lighting was intense and unflattering, the wooden table was bolted to the floor. A pad of paper and a pencil lay nearby, just in case she felt compelled to confess, she assumed. The bizarre urge to laugh seized her, but she covered her mouth with her hand and swallowed hard. The entire atmosphere had a strange, cartoonish quality. Quite remarkable, and quite terrifying.
“Here.” Warner handed her a paper cup of strong coffee that scalded her tongue, and, unfortunately, she still didn’t wake up as she’d hoped, to find Angora asleep in the twin bed next to her in Nell’s guest room. Carl was dead. No, worse—Carl was murdered.
Got Your Number ((a humorous romantic mystery)) Page 17
