Got Your Number

auction."
    Disapproval darkened Dee's eyes.
    "So I was...the last person to see him alive—other than the person who killed him, of course." There.
    Her mother's eyes flew wide. "You're in danger?"
    She sighed dramatically. "The police seem to think so."
    "Honey," her father said, leaning into her. "We had no idea."
    "I didn't want to alarm you."
    Dee's eyes narrowed. "Your cousin has something to do with this, doesn't she?"
    She lifted her chin. "The world doesn't revolve around Roxann, Mother. And I'm feeling fine, thanks for asking." She manufactured a little cough, which really did hurt, and lolled her head to the side. "I'm having complications, you know."
    "When can we take you home?" her father asked.
    "The doctors haven't told me when they're planning to release me—those complications are really complicating matters."
    "Will you have an ugly scar?" Dee asked.
    Of course that would be high on her mother's list. "I don't know."
    Dee sighed. "Well, with those hips, you're past wearing a bikini anyway." Her mother hefted her Donna Karan purse onto the bed, sending a tremor throughout the mattress.
    Her father said he needed to repark the rental car—Dee had made him pull into a handicapped spot so she wouldn't have to walk. When he left, Angora realized that when the going got tough, her father did something automotive. She braced herself for whatever bomb Dee was going to drop.
    "Surprise—I brought your wedding pictures with me!"
    She squinted. "Mom, I didn't get married, remember?"
    "Well, almost, dear. I told the photographer to develop the pictures he took before the ceremony. Here are the proofs of the ones with your eyes open." She handed them over. "You have a peculiar look on your face in most of them, but your bridesmaids look splendid."
    Her mother was right—she did, and they did. Instead of glowing with nuptial bliss, she had a pinched look about her face, as if something sharp were in her shoe. But the bridesmaids wore their best fake I'm-so-happy-for-her smiles. In the photos of herself alone, she seemed almost incidental to the shot. A great picture of the fountain with a bride in the foreground. A great picture of the church with a bride entering right.
    "Here's the one of you and me," Dee said, then wiped at an imaginary tear. "I look so sad."
    In the photo, Dee looked the same as always. Sad, happy, surprised—who knew? She'd had the plastic surgeon sever most of the muscles that affected expression, although the "angry" muscles had somehow managed to regenerate.
    "And this one of me and your father is grand. I already ordered a sixteen-by-twenty."
    It was a good photo—her mother looked slim and pleased at the prospect of being rid of her.
    "I ordered you a photo album—one of every shot," Dee said.
    "But I don't want a photo album," she whispered.
    "And good news—almost everyone I contacted said you should keep their gift, that you deserved it."
    "Mother, did you hear me?"
    "Except for Lilly Barkin, but she only sent a Pyrex dish, for heaven's sake. As if you could cook anyway."
    "Mother, I don't want any photos, and I don't want any gifts." Well, maybe the silver tea service, but the rest of it was going back.
    "Don't be difficult, Angora."
    "I just want to pretend as if that day never happened."
    "Well, it did happen, young lady, and I had to do all the explaining." Dee fanned herself. "Have some sympathy for me—after all, I was humiliated in front of my entire social circle."
    " You were humiliated?"
    "That's right. That church wasn't packed to see Angora Ryder be married, missy—it was packed to see Dee Ryder's daughter be married." Her mouth flattened. "And you couldn't even do that right. God, Angora, you are a colossal screw-up."
    "I think you'd better leave."
    Angora and her mother both looked up. She had forgotten that Mike Brown was still in the room. He sort of blended in with the drab walls.
    Dee lifted one eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
    "You're upsetting her. I think it's time for you to leave."
    Angora blinked—no one ordered her mother around.
    " Who are you?" Dee asked in the voice she saved for the gardener.
    "Ms. Ryder's attorney."
    Dee scoffed. "And why would my daughter need an attorney?"
    "I told you," Angora broke in hurriedly. "I was the last person to see Dr. Seger alive." She sent Mike a warning glance—if her parents thought she was a suspect in a murder case, they'd stroke out. "Mr. Brown is handling the police for me."
    Dee looked him up and down. "Looks to