Got Your Number

and tall thick socks. She watched beneath her lashes, mesmerized. Bare feet were not typically the sexiest part of the body, but just the fact that she was seeing them reminded her of the intimacy of their sleeping arrangement. He rifled through a drawer and removed pale blue boxers, navy pajama pants, and a white T-shirt. He walked toward the bathroom, then stopped short of the door and grinned. "If you happen to change your mind—"
    "I won't, Detective."
    He sighed and disappeared behind the closed door. The water came on, then the shower, and she tried to think about something else. Oh, yes—the phone calls.
    Not a pleasant task. First to her father, who would've probably heard about the murder by now. He had, and he was worried.
    "Yes, Dad, Angora and I both know—knew—Dr. Seger. And we were both questioned because we saw him last night at a campus event." True enough. "The police haven't made any arrests yet."
    "When are you coming back?" he asked, suddenly sounding old.
    "Soon," she promised. "Angora had a gallbladder attack this morning and is in the hospital. She's having surgery tomorrow and we'll stay until she's able to travel, probably a few more days."
    "Does Dixie know?"
    "I thought I'd leave it up to Angora whether she wanted to contact her mother."
    "I don't like the idea of you being there alone with a murderer on the loose."
    "I'm not alone." She hesitated. "Officer Capistrano is...around."
    "Oh. Well, I guess that makes me feel a little better."
    The bathroom door opened and Capistrano yelled, "Roxann, can you hand me a bar of soap?" Then the door closed again.
    She covered the mouth of the phone, sending curses through the wall.
    "So you are seeing him?" her dad asked.
    "No, I'm not seeing him. He just happens to be—never mind. One thing before I go, Dad." She took a deep breath. "Angora told me about Mother...that she didn't want custody of me when you divorced."
    After a few seconds of silence, he said, "Dixie has a big mouth."
    "Why didn't you tell me?"
    He sighed. "Your heart was already broken like that sad little teacup you carried around. I couldn't bear for you to know that your mother was so wrapped up in her new boyfriend that she didn't have time for you. After she died, well...what was the point?"
    She blinked back tears and smiled into the phone, "Dad, when I get back, can we talk?"
    "Sure. For as long as you want."
    "Roxann?" bellowed Capistrano.
    "I'll call you soon," she promised, then hung up and stalked to the closed door. "How dare you yell for me when I was on the phone! That was my father."
    "Your father liked me." His voice was muffled, but amused.
    "That was before he knew you were taking a shower within earshot of the phone I'm using."
    The doorknob moved and she whirled, turning her back just as the door opened. Steam rolled out around her, but she stared stubbornly at the opposite wall.
    "Soap?" he asked. "It's in my toiletry bag. You can get it, or I can."
    "I'll get it," she snapped, then stalked over to his bag.
    "Side pocket, green bar."
    "I see it." A big block that smelled like pine needles. She backed up to the door, holding the soap behind her. "Here."
    "Thanks," he said, then took the soap and closed the door.
    She sighed and wiped her wet hand on her—no, his sweatpants, feeling like an idiot. She had no business being attracted to Capistrano, not when so many other things demanded her concentration.
    She called Nell's sister next, just to make sure she'd arrived safely. Nell was resting, her sister assured her. As was Chester, the one cat that Nell insisted on taking with her. At least she was safe, and there was one less person to worry about.
    Roxann spotted Capistrano's file and shot a glance toward the bathroom. His electric razor was buzzing, so she had time for a peek. His handwriting was large, but neat—not surprising. Behind the first page was the police report of Carl's murder. Abbreviated and barely readable. Oct 18, 5:05 a.m. Wht Male found on floor of home libr, apparnt vic of strnglat. Wearing shrt, pants, one shoe. Grn woman's scrf arnd neck. Signs of rigor .
    She swallowed hard and thumbed through the file, coming across a manila envelope marked "crime scene photos." Her heart raced, but she felt compelled to slide her finger under the flap. At least a dozen black-and-white photos slipped out into her hand. The first was a wide-angle shot of the library and Carl's body lying on the floor near an ottoman, his limbs sprawled, his head at