Love Can Be Murder (boxed set of humorous mysteries)

by Stephanie Bond

  He didn't believe her, she could tell. "Well, it's neither here nor there."

  An awkward silence fell, which Roxann stubbornly refused to break. She waited, for what she wasn't sure—perhaps a bended-knee apology for not having defended their nonsexual relationship?

  "So...you're happy?" he inquired.

  She nodded. "I haven't regretted the path my life has taken."

  "I'm glad."

  Roxann surveyed the numerous awards on his wall, including a shelf of soccer trophies. It struck her as a bit juvenile for anyone other than a ten-year-old or a professional athlete to display his trophies, but she wondered how much of her resentment came from the glaring proof that his life had gone on, seemingly un-fazed, after she left. "I see you've been successful."

  He smiled. "Thank you."

  They spoke at the same time.

  "I saw—"

  "—your photo—"

  "—in the alumni—"

  "—newsletter."

  They both laughed.

  "You've been on my mind ever since," he said. "I kept wondering where you were, what you were doing, how your life had turned out. When your name came up for the award, it gave me a chance to look you up."

  "Who nominated me?"

  His grin was sheepish. "I did. And Nell agreed wholeheartedly."

  "So why didn't you look me up before?"

  He gestured vaguely, seeming flustered. "I didn't think you'd want to hear from me."

  "I didn't, for a while."

  "And now?"

  Good question. She was still drawn to him, no doubt, like a crippled moth to a flame. But could she ever forgive him for the furrow he'd plowed through her heart? "I'm not a naive coed anymore, Carl." Her voice sounded stronger than she felt—at least the coed part was true.

  He left his chair to stand in front of her. "I can see that." He reached for her hands and pulled her up against him. His body was lean and firm, proof that he still followed a strict vegetarian diet and exercise regime. She remembered his penchant for nice cologne as she inhaled a complex aroma. He held her loosely and lowered his mouth to hers for a gentle, exploratory kiss.

  Very...nice. Had his kisses always been so sweet? He really needed to change that flickering light bulb overhead. And when was the last time the crown moldings had been dusted?

  A rap on the door sent them flying apart—that part came back to her pretty easily. Along with the guilty flush.

  A beaming young redhead stood with her hand on the doorknob. "Dr. Seger—oh, I'm sorry." Her smile vanished, which did little to diminish her beauty. "I didn't realize you had a...visitor."

  "Kelly," he boomed with a little laugh. "Do you have those papers you need for me to sign?"

  "Yes," she said, staring at Roxann. "But I can bring them back later."

  "I think that would be best," he said. "I'll see you in class."

  "Okay. Bye."

  When the door closed, he turned an apologetic smile in her direction. "I should know better than to leave the door unlocked—students just barge in whenever they please."

  Roxann pressed her just-kissed lips together, thinking that any woman in Carl's life would have to learn to share him with the student body—professors were practically public domain. "Dr. Oney said you weren't teaching as many classes as you used to."

  "That's right—although I'm doing more counseling and advising."

  One-on-one with those lovely student bodies. Immediately she felt contrite—Carl couldn't help it if the female students were infatuated with him. And she certainly couldn't blame the girls—that would be the pot calling the kettle black. "Well, I'd better let you get back to work," she said, suddenly anxious to escape and do some heavy thinking.

  "When can I see you again?"

  She smiled as she slipped into her coat. "I hear you're on the auction block tonight."

  His face reddened. "I don't know how I got talked into that."

  "Maybe I'll come and drum up your bids."

  "That would make the evening tolerable."

  "Except I don't have much cash," she warned with a laugh.

  He pulled her into a loose hug. "You don't have to pay me to spend time with you. Let's have a romantic dinner tomorrow night at my place."

  She hesitated, but only for effect. "Do you still live at the same address?"

  He nodded. "Do you remember how to get there?"

  "I think so." Although she'd only been there a couple of times for student cookouts—never alone with Carl. Too tempting.

  "Meanwhile—" He kissed her lightly. "I'll see you tonight?"

  "Yes," she said, feeling better. When she left the building, her step was lighter. The whole heebie-jeebie thing was just because she was accustomed to her association with Carl being furtive, clandestine. Almost delicate. The fact that they didn't have carnal knowledge of each other had made their relationship seem like the stuff that classic novels were made of—a bond that transcended a physical union. This freedom would take some getting used to.

  "Roxann?"

  She turned in the direction of the shout and balked at the woman jogging across the lawn, dodging students. "Elise." Since Elise had been a track star, she quelled the urge to make a run for it.

  Her former roommate came to a bouncing stop in front of her, copper curls springing wildly about her elfin face. She wore spandex shorts and a sports bra with sweat stains. "I thought that was you. I didn't know you were coming up for Homecoming."

  "It...was a last-minute decision. I'm staying with Dr. Oney for a few days." The woman's eyes were glassy, and her mouth loose—she was on something, probably one of those "performance enhancers" she bought from a guy named Sid who buzzed the Biloxi Y in a Firebird. "Elise, you dropped off the face of the earth—Tom is going crazy wondering where you are."

  Elise started cracking her knuckles one at a time—a nervous habit that had always driven Roxann nuts. The woman's hands were enormous. "I just couldn't take it anymore, Roxann. Dealing with all those people, all those problems. I know I should call Tom. I will. I really will." Her gaze darted all around, and she was still cracking.

  "Where are you living?" Roxann asked.

  "In Biloxi, with a friend I met over the Internet."

  Surprise, surprise. "How long have you been here in South Bend?"

  "Since Saturday. I ran a marathon to raise money for the new counseling center." Now she was cracking her neck—repeatedly.

  "Elise, someone broke into the duplex Friday. Do you know anything about it?"

  "No. No, I don't." But without eye contact, she couldn't tell if the woman was being truthful. "Roxann, I'm sorry about the way I handled...things."

  "Neither one of us handled the situation well," Roxann said carefully.

  Elise shifted from foot to foot, bouncing on the toes of her running shoes. "I realized that the reason I've been so unhappy all these years is because of a relationship I had in college that I never quite got over."

  Get in line.

  "But I'm working through things," she said, nodding with shaky confidence. Suddenly she laughed, a wild, artificial noise. "Too bad that counseling center wasn't here ten years ago." She started to shiver, and rubbed her hands up and down her arms.

  Roxann slipped off her jacket and hung it over the woman's shoulders. "Elise, you don't look well—let's walk down to the clinic."

  "No!" She yanked off the coat. "I'm f-fine, I just need to finish my run." She jogged away a few paces, then turned around as if she suddenly remembered Roxann was still standing there. "I hope we can be friends someday," she shouted. Then she jogged away, and not in a straight line.

  She watched Elise until she was out of sight to make sure she didn't run out into the street, or collapse. Another lost soul, with an affinity for self-destruction. Or just plain destruction?

  Roxann went in search of a water fountain, and spotted Angora lounging on a bench, sharing her potato chips with the pigeons. She'd been crying. "How was it?" she mumbled.


  "How was what?"

  "Dr. Seger. Did you do it on his desk?"

  "Are you insane? Of course we didn't!"

  Angora tossed the foil bag into a nearby garbage can and licked her fingers. "The way you were fawning all over him, I wouldn't have been surprised."

  Roxann frowned. "That's not true, and that's not fair. What's wrong with you?"

  Angora leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and stared at the ground. "What's wrong with me? I'm supposed to be on my honeymoon right now."

  Roxann's heart squeezed for her and she sat down. "You'll love Chicago. And a year from now you won't even remember Trenton's name."

  "I can't go to Chicago," Angora sobbed. "I'm not qualified to work for that art agency. I wouldn't last a week."

  "They wouldn't have offered you the job if you weren't qualified."

  "I only got the job because I graduated from Notre Dame."

  "I don't think you give yourself enough credit."

  She wiped her cheeks. "No. Mother is right—Trenton was my best chance for a good life, and I let him get away."

  "Well, I hate to tell you this, but I think he sort of cut bait all on his own."

  "I might as well join a convent."

  "They don't have laundry rooms in convents."

  Angora finally cracked a tiny smile. "I wish I were you."

  Roxann sighed. "I wish you were me, too. But we're sort of stuck with ourselves, aren't we?" Then she stood and jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "If you're ready to go, I need to rinse my tie-dyed shirt to wear to the auction tonight."

  Angora sprang up and began walking back the way they'd come. "You are not wearing that shirt tonight."

  Roxann smiled into her hand. "Wait up."

  Chapter Fifteen

  ANGORA SWALLOWED a half-glass of wine in one drink. Intermission. Six bachelors down, and not one worthy of her virginity. Not one held a candle to Dr. Carl Seger. She cast a sideways glance at Roxann and tightened the grip on her glass—why did all things come so easily for her cousin? She had been the one who loved Dr. Carl from a distance for the better part of her time at the university. She had been the one who had memorized his features and mannerisms while watching him eat lunch every day. She had been the one to sit through his Intro to Theology class for four semesters, convinced he would one day notice her.

  And he had, at long last. Her final semester, April twenty-first. Third period. She'd "left" a notebook at her desk, then waited until the room emptied of students before going back inside. Dr. Carl had been erasing the chalkboard in long, powerful strokes and hadn't heard her at first. Until she "dropped" the notebook. Then he'd turned and smiled, offering a hello.

  "I forgot my notebook," she'd said, holding it up.

  "Are you in my class?" he'd asked.

  "Yes."

  "That's why you look so familiar."

  "Yes." She'd waited while he finished the board, then descended from the dais carrying his own books. He seemed surprised that she was still standing there, but now that she had his attention, she wasn't about to budge.

  "Four times."

  "Pardon me?"

  "I've taken this class four times."

  His eyebrows had gone up, then his gaze had traveled to her snug sweater. "You must like theology."

  "Not really." His gaze on her had made her feel bold, womanly. Just thinking about it now sent a heaviness to her midsection.

  He'd checked his watch. "What's your name?"

  "Angora Ryder."

  "Well, Angora Ryder, where is your next class?"

  "I don't have one."

  He had looked her up and down again, then pursed his mouth. "I was just going back to straighten up my office. I could use a hand."

  She had smiled and followed him to his office, where he'd locked the frosted-glass door.

  "Students are always popping in," he'd explained. "Which is why I can never get my files in order."

  "Where should I start?" she'd asked, fairly trembling at the sexual charge in the air.

  He'd sat down in his office chair and pulled her to his lap for a long, hard kiss that had steamed up his glasses. When he pulled back to take them off, he'd looked at her. "Is this what you wanted?"

  She had nodded, too far gone now.

  His eyes were hooded as he'd fumbled with her sweater, pulling it up along with her bra to free her breasts. He had been all lips and teeth, making little wanting noises, and she'd felt flush with power. Then he was pushing her head down, down to his fly, which had somehow come undone. She didn't have time to think about the techniques Roxann had taught her on the tube of toothpaste—it all happened too quickly. One minute she was on the verge of suffocating while he gasped and moved her head up and down on him, and the next minute she was gagging. He had gone so limp and so quiet, she was afraid he'd had a heart attack. But when she'd spit out the offending goo, and it landed on his expensive shoe, he had recovered rather quickly.

  "You'll get your passing grade," he'd said brusquely, then stood and helped her straighten her clothes.

  Shocked, she realized he thought she'd taken his class four times because she was too dumb to pass it, not because she wanted to be near him. She'd opened her mouth to explain, but he'd shushed her.

  "This must be our little secret, yours and mine, or you could get into a lot of trouble." Like a sheep, she'd nodded. Then he'd opened the office door, given her a little shove through it, and closed it behind her. That night in her bed she'd suddenly remembered one of the things he'd murmured during the deed.

  "Roxann."

  He'd noticed the resemblance, and although he had no idea they were related, he'd been thinking about Roxann the entire time. After that, Carl had ignored her completely. But the real slap in the face had been the C she'd received in the class.

  Angora blinked and drained the glass of sour chardonnay. She'd given the man a blowjob in his office, and he hadn't even recognized her today. He'd only had eyes for Roxann, and if her cousin was telling the truth, they'd never even fooled around. Once again, the spoils went to Roxann.

  She returned to the bar for another drink. While she stood in line, the audience suddenly burst into applause. She turned to see Dr. Carl Seger himself at the microphone, waving for quiet. The man was splendid.

  "There is a person in the room," he said, "whose name came up for the Distinguished Alumni award for dedicating her life to helping others. But her volunteer work is of such a confidential nature, the board decided to forgo the honor lest the nomination attract publicity that would be detrimental to the programs she serves."

  He sought Roxann in the audience, and Angora knew what was coming next.

  "But to our great delight, the nominee in question found her way back to South Bend this week. Without further ado, the board would like to recognize Roxann Beadleman for a decade of selfless work with abused women. Please come forward, Roxann, and accept this token of our admiration for your many good deeds. You truly embody the spirit of an Alumni Homecoming Queen."

  Angora couldn't believe her ears. She watched as Dr. Carl lifted a tiara from a wooden box—a large, magnificent crown with dangling crystals and a point in the front. It made the one she was wearing look like a toy. She drank deeply.

  She had to hand it to her cousin, though—she knew how to work the crowd. Roxann protested until the audience of a thousand or so were whipped into a frenzy. By the time she got on stage, they were riveted to every word. Worse, she looked great, passing over the short red dress that Angora had picked out for her in favor of a plain long black skirt, black tank, and a long lime-green scarf around her neck. A perfect foil for the crown, which Dr. Carl set on her head like an adoring king.

  "Thank you," Roxann said, holding the crown with one hand.

  It was probably heavy, Angora thought miserably. Crowns were supposed to be of a weight symbolic to the responsibility of the title. All of hers were about as heavy as a potato.

  "I'm stunned and honored," Roxann s
aid. "And I don't deserve this recognition..."

  Angora smirked into her glass and watched her cousin wrap the entire room around her little finger. Good, sweet, honest Roxann who had dedicated her life to others—not because it made her feel good, but because it made her feel superior. Yep, that was why. Dee had been right about Roxann all along. Everyone had a price, and she'd found Roxann's when they were eighteen. Wonder what the audience would think if she jumped up on stage and made that little revelation? And while she was up there, she'd announce that Dr. Carl had a botched circumcision.

  But she couldn't very well do either without incriminating herself. And she needed that job in Chicago now more than ever. It was her ticket out of Deeville. Why the hell had she come back? Angora took another drink and tried to focus on Roxann's speech.

  "...and I'm humbled by your recognition."

  The audience burst into applause and, to add insult to Angora's injury, gave Roxann a standing ovation. She hadn't even gotten a standing ovation when she hit the high end note in "When Whoever's in New England's Through With You" at the Louisiana state fair karaoke competition. She watched as Roxann made her way back to her seat next to Dr. Oney. When Roxann scanned the room, probably looking for her, Angora stepped behind the bartender. She needed time to conjure up congratulations for her cousin, the fake.

  The lights dimmed, and the auction resumed. Another dud presented himself and strutted around the stage—where did they find these guys? Bad haircut, and too-short pants. She continued to drink, despite the fact that she could feel herself being pulled into a funk.

  Then Dr. Carl appeared on stage again, this time as the prize. She swished the wine in her mouth like Listerine, and swallowed noisily. Why not? For as long as she could remember, she'd wanted something of Roxann's—anything of Roxann's. Dr. Carl would do nicely. Besides...the man owed her big-time for that humiliating encounter in his office ten years ago. Even if the cad didn't remember it.

  "Do I hear one hundred?" the auctioneer asked. A hand went up near the stage.

  "One hundred from the lady in the yellow. Do I hear one fifty?"

  Roxann raised her hand tentatively.

  "One hundred fifty from the queen! Do I hear one seventy-five?"