Got Your Number

and his smile did lift her spirits. "You won't regret this, Angora."
    Her mother beamed. "Trenton is going to stay until tomorrow evening and we'll all fly home together."
    But Angora shook her head. "I'm going to ride back with Roxann."
    Dee scowled. "You can't be serious. That tramp is the one who got you into this mess."
    "I've made up my mind, Mother. Once I move to Chicago, I might never see Roxann again. I don't expect you to understand, but I want to do this."
    "I don't know—"
    "Dixie," her father said. "You heard your daughter."
    Angora jumped on the momentum. "You all should head back now so Daddy can go into the office tomorrow and so you can start getting things ready for the ceremony. Pick out the dress, the flowers, whatever you want is fine."
    Her mother seemed surprised. Granted, they'd argued for hours over the details the first time around. "Well...all right, dear."
    "Are you sure the drive won't be too uncomfortable?" her father asked, dear man.
    "Roxann will take care of me."
    "But I just got here," Trenton said.
    She smiled. "And we have the rest of our lives together. Roxann and my attorney will be here soon, and I'd like to rest." Besides, she knew her mother didn't want an encounter with either one of her impending visitors.
    The three of them looked at each other, perplexed, but they relented and said goodbye. Her father hugged her carefully. Her mother kissed the air next to her cheek. And Trenton kissed her on the forehead. "I'll see you later this week."
    She nodded and held her breath until the door closed. She was so used to being ignored, all the attention was downright suffocating. After rescuing the Moon Pie and the magazine from behind her pillow, she snuggled down in the covers and munched slowly.
    So, she was going to marry a doctor after all. Everything would be just the way she'd planned, and she'd live happily ever after with Trenton. They would be fine—she'd forgive him for being infatuated with Darma. After all, she'd been infatuated with Carl.
    Things would be...fine.
    She scoured the meat loaf recipe and decided it was something she could try on her own, then she checked other issues of the magazine and found a mother lode of wonderful comfort-food recipes—homemade macaroni and cheese, buttermilk biscuits, hot brown, sweet potato pie. When she had her own kitchen, she could make whatever she wanted to eat. And if Trenton didn't like it, she'd simply sneak and eat it alone.
    Her phone rang, and Mike Brown was on the other end with the time and place of the polygraph the following day. "I'll drive you," he offered. "I have to dress a couple of hams, but I should be through in plenty of time."
    She had the feeling that dressing the hams didn't involve matching shoes and handbags. "Mike, I want to thank you for all your help, and I'd like to pay you for your trouble."
    "Ah, forget about it," he said. "Just getting to know you has been a pleasure."
    She imagined him pushing up his glasses. "I think you're nice, too," she said.
    "See you tomorrow," he said cheerfully. "Call me if you need anything."
    Angora hung up the phone thinking that Mike Brown was the kind of man who probably put away a lot of meat loaf and gravy. Heck, he probably grew his own meat loaf.
    She reached for the remote and turned on the TV. Carl's murder and the death of Frank Cape were all the rage on the local news. She shivered at her brush with danger. Her guardian angel must have senior status to have gotten her through this mess.
    A honking noise blared into her room, startling her. The source of the intermittent sound wasn't readily apparent, but she deduced it was some kind of alarm. She sat up, holding one hand against her bandages. The intercom beeped.
    "The fire alarm has been sounded. If you’re able, please vacate your room and proceed to the nearest exit. Emergency personnel will be around to make sure each room has been evacuated. The fire alarm has been sounded..."
    Her heart beat faster as she swung her feet over the edge of the bed. The movement pulled at her incisions, sending burning pain through her abdomen. She inhaled sharply. Her room was on the eighth floor—how would she ever make it down the stairs?
    The door to her room swung open and she sighed in relief at the sight of Nell Oney. "Dr. Oney, thank goodness you're here. Can you help me? Over there are my house shoes, and my coat is in that closet."
    But instead, the woman locked the door and walked toward her, smiling. "There