Got Your Number

over to your house to pick up my van—can I check on anything for you? Feed the cats? Water the flower garden maybe?"
    "I left food and water for the cats, but bless you, yes, my rosemary will need a drink."
    "Will do."
    "Roxann, I've been giving more thought to that Frank Cape predicament, and I think you should let me contact the ex-wife and offer counsel. I just can't bear it if you're hurt."
    "It's already taken care of. I talked to his ex-wife a few minutes ago, and she agreed to help."
    "That's wonderful. Maybe it will help flush out Cape—and if he's the one who killed Carl, I want to see him punished."
    "So do I."
    "Is Melissa happy in her new location?"
    "Yes."
    "And Renita?"
    "Oh, yes. Very."
    Nell sighed in satisfaction. "It's good to know the program is working the way it's supposed to."
    "You have a lot to be proud of." A checkered car caught her eye. "There's a taxi, so I have to run. I'll call you soon."
    "Bye, dear."
    If Roxann had any doubts that her picture had been plastered all over the news, all she needed was the wide-eyed stare in the rearview mirror from the taxi driver to clear things up. The guy was so spooked, he drove off before she could pay him. But considering how low she was running on cash, she didn't mind. She didn't even want to think about the hole the ten-thousand-dollar bail bond had left in her IRA.
    Nell's place seemed melancholy, and she noticed for the first time how run-down the outside had become. Peeling paint, overgrown shrubs, and rocks missing from the stone steps. She might have blamed it on not having a man around the house, but her father's house looked the same. It said something about the feeling of home, she supposed, and that having people around made a house worth maintaining.
    She found the outside hose and watered the flower beds and herbs, hoping she wasn't somehow killing them in the process. Afterward she sat on the cool stone steps to return her supervisor's frantic phone message. Apparently, he'd heard.
    "Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, what's going on in South Bend?"
    "A man I knew was murdered, and I've been arrested."
    "You sound pretty calm for someone charged with murder."
    "Funny how a person adapts," she said wryly. "Don't worry about me. I figure as long as the real killer thinks the heat is off, he might make a mistake."
    "He?"
    "It could be Frank Cape, although I can't be sure. He followed me to South Bend."
    "Oh, my God. So that's why Nell left a message asking questions about the Cape case. She's afraid for you."
    She smiled. "Yes, but I just spoke with her, so don't worry about calling her back. Besides, the murder could also be a random crime, or any number of things. Obviously, I'm going to need a few days off." Then she puffed out her cheeks in an exhale. "Actually, Tom, I'm giving my notice."
    "What? Why?"
    "Well, it might be tricky trying to facilitate from the state pen."
    "Don't even joke about that."
    "Seriously, Tom, I've run my course. This thing with Cape makes me see that."
    "All right, you know this is a freewill organization, both the people we help, and the ones doing the helping. But if you ever want to come back, just call."
    "I will. Thanks, Tom. Listen, I ran into Elise James on campus—have you heard from her?"
    "No, and I've left several messages on her cell phone. I have a check for her for a couple of hundred dollars, and I don't know where to send it."
    "She said she was going to call you, but to be honest, she was pretty messed up."
    "Understood. Thanks for letting me know."
    She pushed down the antenna and returned the phone to her purse, suddenly remembering a curious detail about Elise—the woman had such large hands. Large and strong enough for strangling? She pursed her mouth, wondering if Capistrano had given the woman's name to his counterparts in town as he'd promised. Of course, since he was diddling one of their prime suspects, they might find his leads questionable at best. Every time she thought about her stupid, stupid lapse in judgment, she wanted to swallow something jagged.
    Oh, well, enough about her sorry sex life—she needed to get to the hotel and retrieve her clothes. She'd book a room under another name, then maybe throw on a wig and start doing some poking around on her own.
    She rounded the corner of the house to retrieve Goldie, then stopped. The van's tires had been slashed. Not just by some prankster kid looking for a place to stick his new Case pocketknife—the rubber had literally been