Got Your Number

spite of bodies moving between them.
    He was rather good-looking in a rugged sort of way. Who had Helen compared him to—Steve McQueen? Quite a change from the slender soft-handed men she had dated in the past. He stared and shifted his big body forward on the bench, an unmistakable gesture of invitation. She wet her lips involuntarily.
    "Ma'am?"
    She turned back to the receptionist. "Yes?"
    "Ms. Ryder is in X-ray, but the technician says it's backed up. It'll be at least an hour if you'd like to get something to eat."
    "Can I see her?"
    The woman frowned, but relented and pointed the way.
    Roxann followed a winding path through hallways and curtained areas. Angora lay in a corner bed with her eyes closed, pale, with golden hair fanned against the pillow. The bruises on her neck had turned pale purple. To Roxann's surprise, Angora's lawyer sat next to her bed.
    "I didn't realize you were still here, Mr. um—"
    "Brown," he whispered, standing. "I'm not supposed to be, but I didn't want the cops bothering Ms. Ryder."
    The man was short and well-fed, with honest light brown eyes behind thick spectacles. He smelled faintly of manure. "How is she?" she asked.
    "They think it might be her gallbladder. Something to do with a crash diet, followed by a binge?"
    Not good, but at least not a heart attack. "Will she have to have surgery?"
    "They won't know until they do more tests."
    "As if you care," Angora said.
    Roxann turned to see Angora had awakened. She was surprised at the venom in her cousin’s voice. "How are you feeling?"
    "Lousy. And I don't want you here."
    She pulled back. "Why?"
    "I'll step out into the hall," Mr. Brown offered, then skedaddled.
    Angora's mouth tightened. "Are you happy now that I'm on my deathbed and accused of murder?"
    "You're not on your deathbed, and how can you think that I'd be happy about any of this?"
    "You told the police things I said." Angora sat up, her red eyes welling. "Things I told you in confidence. They think I murdered Carl because of you and your jealousy."
    She frowned. "Jealousy?"
    Angora leaned forward, her eyes wide and glazed. "You couldn't stand the thought of Carl and me together, so you sneaked over to spy on us."
    "You're wrong." Roxann crossed her arms. "I had heard some bad things about Carl, and I was worried about you. But when I got there, I realized it was wrong and that you're old enough to take care of yourself."
    "That's right," Angora flung back. "Haven't you interfered enough in my life?"
    Roxann gaped. "Interfered? If you recall, I've gotten you out of more than one jam."
    Angora narrowed her eyes. "And if I recall, you were rewarded nicely."
    Her stomach leaped. "Angora, don't do this. You're upset."
    She flailed against the sheets, eyes wild. "And why shouldn't I be? My cousin is framing me for murder. I knew everyone else was out to get me, but I thought I could trust you."
    Roxann eased down to sit on the end of the bed, maintaining level eye contact. It was the best way to calm an unstable person. "Angora," she said softly. "No one is out to get you—we all want to help. If you killed Carl in self-defense, you'll be acquitted."
    But Angora became even more agitated. "I told you, and I told the police—I passed out!"
    "And I believe you," Roxann assured her. At least she believed that Angora believed she'd passed out.
    "No you don't," Angora said, pulling up her legs and hunkering against her pillow. "I think you did it, and you're setting me up. You've made my life miserable since we were kids—you had everything. You were prettier and smarter." Her face contorted and she assumed a "Dee" pose. "Angora, why can't you be more like Roxann?"
    Roxann swallowed hard. "You're not being fair."
    "Fair? Don't talk to me about fair." She laughed, a high-pitched screech. "My mother wanted you instead of me. She wanted you more than your own mother wanted you."
    "That's not true."
    "Oh, yes it is." Angora stabbed the air with an ink-stained finger. "The reason your father got custody of you after the divorce wasn't because he was trying to keep you from your mother—your mother didn't want you."
    Her lungs shrank. "That's an ugly thing to say."
    But Angora was triumphant. "It's true. Your mother didn't want you. And everyone in the family knew except you."
    Roxann stood and stumbled back, shaking her head, replaying snatches of long-forgotten memories in her head—the custody hearing that had seemed so lopsided, plans to see her mother that always seemed