Love Can Be Murder (boxed set of humorous mysteries)

by Stephanie Bond

  Roxann opened the sliding door of the van and set a box on the floorboard.

  "What's that?"

  "Some of the junk from my room—I thought it was time to get it out of Dad's way." Roxann set the duffel bag on the backseat, then closed the door and swung up into the driver's seat.

  "I'm sorry you didn't get to see your father."

  "Maybe next time."

  Even through her headache fog, she detected a measure of insincerity in Roxann's voice that perplexed her. Sure, Uncle Walt was messy and poor, but he was an adoring father who thought enough of his daughter to maintain her girlish bedroom. Dee had already hired an interior designer to change her bedroom into a day spa. Twice she'd come out of the shower to find people measuring.

  She watched as Roxann cranked the engine and launched into some kind of strange hand-slapping routine on the dashboard. Then a shot rang out, sending Angora at least an inch off the seat. "What was that?"

  Roxann gripped the wheel and pivoted her head to the side, her eyes wide. Then she relaxed and sighed. "The van backfired."

  Angora managed a little laugh. "For a minute I thought someone was shooting at us."

  "Well, that's pretty unlikely, even in this neighborhood."

  But her cousin seemed genuinely spooked as she backed out of the narrow driveway and onto the quiet street. "Maybe it's just my weak stomach," Angora said in an attempt to lighten the moment, "but I don't remember the van vibrating this much yesterday."

  "You were a little preoccupied yesterday," Roxann offered wryly.

  "No offense, but this is a wreck."

  "I don't have a need for a BMW."

  "How did you know I drive a BMW?"

  "Lucky guess. Don't worry—Goldie might seem a little rickety, but she runs like a deer."

  "Goldie—is she your undercover car? Does it have a race-car engine under the hood so you can outrun the Smokies?"

  "The Smokies? Angora, you watch too much television. And the van is a regular old eight-cylinder."

  "But you do use it for your...work?"

  She nodded.

  "Can't you tell me anything?"

  "My work's not nearly as glamorous as you might think."

  Probably more glamorous than disinfecting the headsets for audio tours of the Baton Rouge River Walk Museum. "How do you find out about women who are in trouble?"

  "There's a network of counselors and social workers all over the country who know about Rescue."

  "Rescue? Is that what it's called?"

  Roxann nodded. "It's a last resort for women who want to get away from abusive partners."

  "What do you do for them?"

  "Help them and their children relocate. And, in some cases, help them establish new identities."

  "Is it legal?"

  "In most cases," Roxann said, nodding. "But there have been a few times when a woman's ex had visitation rights despite evidence that he was a threat to the children."

  "And?"

  "And in those cases, the woman is thwarting court-ordered visitation by denying her ex access to the children."

  "So she's kidnapping her own children."

  "As far as the law is concerned, yes."

  Angora pursed her mouth. "Can you get in trouble for helping them?"

  "It's possible to be brought up on obstruction-of-justice charges, or maybe contempt charges...but not likely."

  "But it's still dangerous."

  Roxann glanced in the rearview mirror. "The greatest danger is if the ex-spouse finds his wife. And some of the exes have been known to go after the Rescue volunteers who helped their wives disappear."

  "Isn't all that kept secret?"

  "It's supposed to be, but leaks are bound to occur. That's why the facilitators sometimes wear disguises or use bogus names when they transport a family. And we move around a lot."

  Angora leaned close. "You're a facilitator?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "Wow. Have you ever been threatened?"

  "Um...nothing serious." Roxann glanced in the mirror—probably a reflex, Angora decided.

  She herself had no reflexes, unless the urge to match her lipstick and fingernail polish counted. "Do they pay you?"

  "A little, but I work other jobs for my primary income, and for benefits."

  "What kinds of jobs?"

  Roxann shrugged. "Anything flexible. Lately I've been waitressing in a diner."

  "You're joking."

  "Nope."

  "Oh, God, that's so exciting—a waitress by day, and rescuer by night."

  "Not so exciting, just exhausting."

  Angora crinkled her nose. "I'll bet you have to wear ugly shoes."

  Roxann laughed. "Not anymore, I was fired."

  "Fired? Why?"

  "Because a relocation took longer than I expected, and I was late."

  "Don't the people at the diner know what else you do?"

  "No. It's better to keep a low profile."

  Angora wet her lips—this was better than the movies. "Last night did you get called about a...what do you call it?"

  "A relocation? Yes."

  She sighed and eased back her aching head—oh, the drama. Meanwhile, life was passing her by as if she were one of those statues in the wing of the museum that only school kids visited, and then under protest.

  "How are you feeling?" Roxann asked.

  "Lousy."

  "At this hour of the day, I'll have you home in no time."

  She grimaced at the pre-dawn scenery flying by. "Don't hurry on my account."

  "Hey, today can't be as bad as yesterday."

  "Oh, yes it can. By now Mother will have identified everything I should have done to keep Trenton from standing me up at the altar, and she'll have devised a plan to save face with everyone who attended the wedding."

  "Dee is...meticulous."

  "And still in bed, I hope. If I'm lucky and the maid cooperates, Mother won't even know I'm in the house until dinnertime."

  But it was not to be. When they pulled up to the huge brick home that her father had built to her mother's specifications twenty-five years ago, nearly every light was blazing.

  "I'd forgotten your house was so big," Roxann murmured.

  Angora swallowed. "I don't think I can do this."

  Then the front door opened, silhouetting her mother in a voluminous muumuu. She did not look relieved to see her only child home safe and sound.

  "Correction—I know I can't do this."

  Roxann scoffed. "What's the worst thing she can do?"

  Shake her head. Roll her eyes. Call me names.

  "Oh, I almost forgot." Roxann twisted and lifted the box lid. "Here's your crown. And your life list."

  Angora set the crown on her head, comforted, as always, by its weight. Then she unfolded the sheets of paper with shaky hands. "Everything seemed much simpler when we made these lists."

  "Everything was much simpler."

  "Have you ever wished you could turn back time?" she whispered through a haze of tears.

  Roxann averted her eyes. "There are some things I would do differently, sure."

  Angora looked toward the house. Even from this distance, she could see that Dee was tapping her foot. "Will you come in with me, Roxann?"

  "I don't think—"

  "Just for a few minutes. She won't go completely berserk if you're with me. Please?" She wasn't above giving her cousin the pitiful look that had won her over in the past.

  Roxann sighed. "Just for a few minutes."

  "I owe you one." At her cousin's pensive expression, she wondered if Roxann was remembering another pact they'd made. They owed each other.

  After a deep breath, Angora gathered her soiled gown and slid down from the vinyl seat. She felt ridiculous wearing men's sweatpants and high heels, but she forged ahead, up the elaborate stone sidewalk, toward her fuming mother. As always, some small part of her still harbored the hope that Dee would throw her arms wide and offer her comfort. But when Angora was within arm's
reach, her mother spun on her feathered mules and marched into the house. Angora had no choice but to follow. Roxann was a few steps behind.

  Dee glided into the parlor, then turned for dramatic effect, fabric fluttering. "Well?"

  "Well, what?" Angora asked.

  "Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

  "Um...I'm sorry for being jilted at the altar?"

  "Don't be smart, young lady. You left me and your father in an extremely awkward situation, running off like that with—" She glared at Roxann. "With her. Really. And Roxann, what a waste of your good education you've turned out to be."

  Roxann said nothing, only blinked lazily and offered up a small smile.

  The disappointment in Dee's eyes when she looked at Roxann—it was so intense, like the disappointment of a mother looking at a disobedient but favorite child. Angora had always suspected that deep down Dee had wished she'd given birth to Roxann, the smart one, and, in truth, the one with more natural beauty. The fact that Roxann chose not to enhance her looks had been a curious obsession of Dee's.

  "I am sorry for leaving so abruptly, Mother," Angora murmured. "I just wanted to get out of there."

  Dee's eyes cut back to her. "And let someone else clean up your mess."

  "Trenton was the one who changed his mind."

  "The boy had cold feet, that's all. If your cousin hadn't interfered, and if you'd behaved as if you had good sense, all of this could have been settled yesterday, and you'd be on your honeymoon instead of standing here dressed like a refugee and smelling like throw-up."

  "It wasn't her fault," Roxann said. "Lay off."

  They both turned. She was leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed.

  "You may leave," Dee said pointedly. "And remove that rattletrap from my driveway."

  Roxann pushed away from the door. "Nice to see you again, Angora. Good luck in Chicago."

  Angora watched her leave, feeling as if her last link to freedom were slipping away. She couldn't even eke out a goodbye. When the front door closed, hot tears sprang to her eyes. She turned back to Dee. "Mother, I really am sorry. I know you and Daddy spent a lot of money on the wedding—"

  "It's not the money," Dee said, waving impatiently. "I took out an insurance policy."

  Angora blinked. "What?"

  "I took out an insurance policy on the wedding expenditures in case something like this happened."

  "In case I was jilted?" Angora asked, incredulous.

  Dee sighed. "Well, I was right, wasn't I?"

  Angora's body went completely cold, but somehow her feet moved, carrying her back into the foyer where she'd seen her purse sitting on the table among boxes of embossed napkins and little bags of unused birdseed. She shoved her life list inside the Prada bag—thank goodness black crocodile went with everything, including flannel—then slung it over her shoulder.

  "Where are you going, young lady?"

  "Away from here." She jogged to the front door, yanked it open, and ran outside, taking the stairs as fast as she could in her heels. "Roxann! Roxann, wait!"

  The van was pulling away from the sidewalk, but to her immense relief, the brake lights came on.

  She ran up to the passenger side door and tugged until it opened.

  "What's wrong?" Roxann asked.

  "I can't stay here. Take me with you."

  "Angora—"

  "Please, Roxann?" She blinked up a few desperate tears. "Please."

  Chapter Ten

  ROXANN STUDIED ANGORA’S tearful face. She could imagine the insensitive things Dee had said—the woman was a shrew. With the possibility of Frank Cape on her tail, though, the last thing she needed was to have Angora slowing her down, and she didn't want to involve her cousin in her dilemma.

  "Oh, God, here comes Mother. Please, Roxann?"

  She sighed. On the other hand, Angora was the only relative she had who actually wanted to spend time with her, and even her cousin's too-chatty company would be a respite from the loneliness that had seized her lately. Plus if Frank Cape found her, he might be less likely to confront her with a witness along. In the side mirror, she could see Dee bearing down the sidewalk, muumuu flying.

  "Okay, get in."

  Angora squealed, sprang into the seat, and slammed the door. "Go."

  Roxann gunned the engine, which backfired and left a cloud of blue smoke that obscured her aunt. She'd definitely sealed her fate as far as Dee's will was concerned.

  Angora laughed like a child. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! I couldn't stay in that house one more second." She sighed. "I've dug my grave with Mother this time."

  If Angora had made it to the Miss America pageant, her talent could have been passive-aggressivism, which she had down to an art. Play Miss Goody Two-shoes until she was ready to burst, then misbehave, wallow in remorse, tearfully confess, beg forgiveness, and start all over again. Roxann slowed. "Do you want me to take you back?"

  "No."

  Impressed, Roxann accelerated. "Give Dee time, she'll come around."

  Angora snorted. "Mother will never change. When I die, she'll stand over my casket and bemoan my laugh lines."

  Yesterday she herself had turned up a radio commercial for a new antiwrinkle cream, so she couldn't cast stones. "She means well." Actually, Dee was just plain mean, but there was no use fanning the flame.

  Angora shifted in her seat, filling in the silence by arranging bulky flannel around the seat belt. "It's funny—I don't remember much about your mother," she murmured. "Except that she smelled like lemon furniture polish."

  Roxann blinked—they'd never discussed her own mother, not even when they roomed together. "She...Mom was always cleaning. Back then, Dad liked an orderly house." Because someone else was doing the cleaning. And the cooking. And the fetching.

  "Do you miss her?"

  Her eyes burned unexpectedly. "Of course."

  "I don't think I'd miss Dee at all—how sad is that?"

  "Sad," she agreed. "But I don't think you mean it."

  Angora made a noncommittal noise in her throat. "Roxann, why did your folks divorce?"

  She concentrated hard on the road. "Incompatibility. Dad was an ogre. Controlling. Jealous. Mother tired of it, I suppose."

  "Your dad seems like such a sweetheart."

  "I have some good memories of us all together," she conceded. "But Dad was no sweetheart. And when Mom...when they split up, he turned bitter."

  "Was there another person involved?"

  Every fiber in her body rallied to her mother's defense. "Mother had a male friend, but she was not having an affair."

  "Although your dad thought so?"

  She pursed her mouth and nodded slowly. "So he kept me from her—not because he wanted to raise me, but to punish her."

  "Your dad is crazy for you. At Christmas, every other sentence out of his mouth is 'Roxann is so intelligent.' "

  She smirked. "Just to aggravate Dee." Besides, only she knew that he'd been talking in code—how many times had her father said he'd rather have a child who was "smart" than "intelligent"? She was certain he'd framed her diploma as a mocking reminder of how she'd wasted her education.

  "Where are we going?" Angora asked, as if she suddenly cared.

  "To South Bend."

  Her eyes lit up. "For Homecoming?"

  "Well...I guess the timing is right. I'm actually going to stay with Nell Oney for a few days—do you remember Dr. Oney?"

  Angora frowned. "Yeah. Didn't she teach philosophy?"

  Roxann nodded. "And she got me involved in the Rescue program." Roxann didn't need a shrink to tell her Nell had been the mother figure she'd craved—wise, calm, attentive. She'd wanted to stay in touch with the woman who had taken a special interest in her, but the university and the people connected to it represented too many bittersweet memories.

  "Do you two have business to take care of?" Angora asked.

  "Sort of."

  "Do you think she'll mind if I'm along?"

&nbs
p; "No, but you can't discuss any of the things I've told you about the program with anyone."

  "You of all people know I can keep a secret."

  Roxann glanced over, her stomach knotted. "Don't, Angora."

  For the split second, a spark of defiance shone in Angora's wide blue eyes, and Roxann had the horrible feeling that Angora would lash out at her parents and the world by divulging their secret. There was nothing more dangerous than a person who felt as if they had nothing left to lose. She swallowed.

  "Roxann, have you ever wanted to kill someone?"

  At the eerily serious note in her cousin's voice, warning bells chimed in her head. "Everyone has moments of extreme anger," she said carefully.

  "No," Angora said, her gaze locked on Roxann's, her pupils dilated. "I mean really kill someone." In her lap, her hands convulsed. "I think I could kill Trenton and not feel a bit guilty."

  A chill tickled the back of Roxann's neck as she recalled moments in college when she'd questioned Angora's stability. "Passion is a powerful emotion. Sometimes it can feel like hate instead of love."

  But Angora seemed to be somewhere else. "All I know is that I put my life on hold too many times because of promises men made to me." Her voice had taken on a bitter tone. "What makes the beasts think they can use a woman and then toss her aside when she becomes inconvenient?"

  Roxann used her most soothing tone. "You're hurting right now, but you'll feel better by the time we get to South Bend."

  Angora's eyes welled up, and her mouth tightened. "I swear on my crown, the next man who jerks me around is going to wish he hadn't."

  Her cousin wouldn't be the first repressed woman to snap and retaliate, ergo all those news interviews with wide-eyed neighbors in their robes saying, "She seemed like such a nice woman."

  Then as quickly as it came, the glimmer in her cousin's eyes vanished, replaced by a contrite expression. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't shown up yesterday, Roxann. Or if you hadn't let me come with you on this trip. Seems like you're always saving me."