Got Your Number

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. 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