Got Your Number

and regret. "Dad, it wasn't out of spite. It was out of shame. I couldn't face you, I couldn't face the world after I graduated. I hated myself for what I'd done."
    His chin wobbled. "I should've been there for you."
    She hugged him close. "We're here for each other now."
    He pulled back, his face creased with worry. "Roxann, I have to ask—does the cheating have anything to do with all those murders?"
    "No." Then she managed a rueful smile. "Except for the fact that I mistook a message that someone left on my computer as a threat, that they somehow knew what I'd done. My guilt surfaced and I panicked. That's why I was on the run, even before I knew Frank Cape was after me."
    "You mean this Cape fellow didn't leave the message?"
    "He said he didn't, although lying would have been one of his better character traits. Or it's possible that my ex-roommate left it."
    "The girl who died?"
    "Right. Maybe she thought it was amusing, I don't know."
    "What did the message say?"
    "It said, 'I've got your number, you fake.' "
    He scratched his temple and scoffed. "I think that's a line from a book."
    "Really?"
    He walked around the room, poking into different piles of books. "Where did I read that line? Somewhere...oh, this is the book." He held up a hardcover with a torn jacket. Mac Tomlin, Gumshoe. He flipped through the pages, scanning for several seconds. "Here's the scene, page one twenty-four. The suspect tells Tomlin that he'll never prove that he killed his wife. Tomlin says, 'I've got your number, you fake.' "
    She was inclined to pass it off as a coincidence, but what had Capistrano said—there are very few coincidences in this world? Darlin'. Once she got past the irritation of remembering something he'd said, she thought that quoting a line from a book was just the sort of thing that Richard Funderburk might have done, to be clever. And Cape was a PI—maybe Mac Tomlin was an idol of his. Assuming the man could read.
    "I'll probably never know who left that message," she said.
    Her father returned the book to a shelf, then sat down in his recliner. "I'm glad you told me about the deception, Roxann, but it has to be put right."
    She nodded. "Angora and I talked to the dean of admissions and several regents before we left South Bend about our punishment. Since she didn't meet the entrance qualifications, Angora's diploma was rescinded. I was stripped of honors."
    "But they're not pressing charges of fraud?"
    "No. They said we'd been through enough at the hands of university personnel. I think they were relieved we weren't going to sue them."
    "So you get to keep your degree?"
    "Yes."
    He exhaled. "Was Angora devastated? Poor girl, shackled with that piranha of a mother. Never had a chance."
    "Actually, I think she was relieved. Angora has her faults, but deep down she's an honest person."
    "Except Dixie will throw this up to her for the rest of her life."
    Roxann smiled. "I have a feeling Angora is going back to South Bend to live, and that her visits to and from her mother will be few and far between."
    "Oh?"
    "She met a guy—her attorney. A soybean farmer. He told Dixie to shut her pie hole."
    Her father grinned. "I like the sound of that boy." He pressed his thin lips together, his eyes still troubled. "What are you going to do now, sweetheart?"
    She sat back in her chair and looked around the room. "I was hoping you'd let me camp out here for a while. I could cook and clean in return for my room and board. And I might need your help studying."
    "Studying?"
    "For the LSAT."
    His eyes sparkled. "You're going to law school?"
    "If I can pass the entrance exam."
    He waved his hand. "Just a formality." He stood up, his body animated. "How about some coffee? No—sit still, I'll make it."
    Roxann sat back and, for the first time in years, truly relaxed. She closed her eyes and, starting with the top of her head, allowed every muscle in her body to loosen and expand. The last time she'd felt so light and carefree was the morning of the day she walked home and her mother wasn't waiting for her on the porch. It was the last day, she realized, that she'd felt safe and loved. But it wasn't too late to make amends with her father, and she did have people in the world who cared about her—Helen at the diner, Mr. Nealy next door, Angora, and lots of folks in the Rescue program, even if they didn't remember her name, or hadn't known it to begin with.
    "What happened to that Capistrano fellow?" her dad called from the