Got Your Number

animals. And of course, Mike is wonderful. We were married last Wednesday night at the Justice of the Peace. I was thinking about you during the ceremony. Mike and I are expecting a baby in the summer—we're both thrilled. Mother is less thrilled, but resigned.
    Much love, Angora

    P.S. Mike also runs a crop-dusting business on the side, so he's teaching me to fly a plane.

    The pictures showed a round-cheeked Angora, nearly unrecognizable because her hair was now a light brown—her natural color? She wore sensible clothes and shoes, and she was holding a baby goat. Another picture was of her in the kitchen, elbow-deep in flour and smiling into the camera. The third picture was a snapshot of her and Mike at the Justice of the Peace. Angora wore a knee-length white dress and a white hat, and held a bouquet of dried wildflowers, beaming. Mike wore a suit and bow tie, and looked as if he'd just won the lottery. The last photo showed Angora sitting in the cockpit of a crop-dusting plane, waving.
    "What's so funny?" Capistrano asked.
    "Angora is amazing. Who would have dreamed that she'd enjoy living on a farm?"
    He laughed. "I'll bet it has more to do with the farmer than the farm."
    "They're expecting a baby."
    "Wow, that didn't take long."
    "Angora wanted to have kids right away. She said our eggs are getting old."
    He pursed his mouth. "Hm. Might have to do something about that 'being a mother and having a daughter' thing on that list you made."
    "If that's a proposal," she said dryly, "think of a better delivery."
    He pulled in front of the duplex and parked at the curb. "You know I love you," he said. "I'm helping you move, for Christ's sake."
    She jumped down from the truck. "Nope, you'll have to do better than that."
    He caught up with her and grabbed her around the waist. He kissed her thoroughly, then lifted his head. "Okay, how about, 'Let's get married and have a bunch of kids'?"
    She grinned. "Is that a hypothetical question?"
    He scratched his head as if he just realized what he'd done. "Er, no. No it is not."
    She shrugged. "Okay." Then she turned and walked toward the back entrance.
    "Okay?" he asked, on her heels. "That's all you have to say?"
    "Okay, Detective ."
    "That's better," he said, lowering another kiss on her mouth. At the sound of a throat being cleared, they pulled apart.
    Mr. Nealy stood on his front porch, broom at the ready. "Nice day," he said, but his mouth was pulled down in a disapproving frown.
    "Hi, Mr. Nealy—you remember Joe Capistrano?"
    "Yes," he chirped. "Hello, young man."
    "Hello, sir." He leaned close to her ear. "He hates me."
    "Shut up," she whispered. "Mr. Nealy, I have a table that I'd like to give to you—can I bring it over?"
    "Sure," he said, a bit more cheerfully.
    Inside her kitchen, boxes were stacked on the floor, packed with the few clothes, dishes, and other belongings she owned. She walked over to a wooden telephone stand with claw-and-ball feet. "I found it in an antique shop," she said. "I think Mr. Nealy will like it."
    "Want me to carry it over?"
    "No, I got it."
    Her neighbor was holding open the back door of his duplex when she went out. She held up the table. "What do you think?"
    He finally smiled. "I'm sure I can find some use for it in here. Thank you, Roxann."
    She stepped inside, immediately assailed with the smell of cedar and mothballs and loneliness. His belongings were meager, but neat.
    "Just set it down over there by the bookcase."
    She did and complimented his book collection. "My dad is a bit of a collector, too," she said, then stopped when a familiar spine caught her eye.
    Anger sparked in her stomach. She slid out a copy of Mac Tomlin, Gumshoe and gave Mr. Nealy a pointed look. She turned to page 124 and read, " 'I've got your number, you fake.' " Then she closed the book with a thud and looked up. "Sound familiar, Mr. Nealy?"
    "N-no," he stammered, red-faced.
    She planted her hands on her hips. "You broke into my place and left that message?"
    He held up his hands. "I didn't break in—I used the key you gave me for emergencies."
    "You ransacked my stuff!"
    "I only moved things around a little, and I was careful not to break anything."
    "I was frightened to death!"
    He looked long-faced and apologetic. "I just wanted to scare you a teensy bit, just so you might come over and..."
    "Ask you for help?"
    "Well, yes."
    She shook her head. "I don't believe this."
    "Please don't tell the police," he begged. "I was just so lonely,