Love Can Be Murder

dad is hoping you'll come back home to live," was all she said.
    "Yeah, right, at my age?" Too late, she remembered her cousin's housing arrangement. "Oh—sorry. I'm sure you have a good reason for living at home."
    "Not really. Where do you live?"
    "Biloxi. For now."
    "Oh." Angora stepped out of her shoes, losing three inches in the process, but settled down to a respectable five feet and six inches anyway. They were identical in height. "If I don't get out of this dress, I'm going to kill myself."
    No wonder—she looked as if she'd been poured into the gown to begin with, and it had surely shrunk from the wetness. Roxann tackled the zipper, recalling that Angora had always struggled to keep her curves at bay, with Dee breathing down her neck at every meal. When the zipper gave way, her cousin practically groaned in relief. She peeled the wet silk from her shoulders and stepped out of the gown, revealing a strapless elastic bodysuit that extended from armpit to knee, and looked painful as hell.
    "The bathroom's through there," Roxann said, pointing. She dropped to sit on the foot of her bed, instantly reminded of the creaky springs. "But it's just a tub, no shower."
    "A bath sounds like heaven."
    To her, too, but she'd give Angora first crack. The girl had had a bad day.
    Angora pushed open the door, then stopped. From her vantage point on the bed, Roxann saw her cousin's eyes widen at her disheveled hair and makeup reflected in the wavy mirror on the opposite wall. Her chin began to wobble. She slowly lifted the rhinestone tiara from her head and placed it on the avocado-green sink, then removed what pins were left in her sodden hair. The look in her eyes scared Roxann—hatred?
    "Let me get the water started," she volunteered, and slipped past Angora into the bathroom. "I remember the stopper was a little tricky."
    The old porcelain tub was dusty, but otherwise still in good shape. She turned on the water, which ran rusty for a few seconds, then swished her hand around the sides. The rubber stopper nestled into place just fine and the water ran warm almost immediately. She checked the medicine cabinet and found some gel bath balls that were stuck together from age. After tossing a handful into the water, she turned a smile back to Angora, who was still staring at herself in the mirror.
    "In you go," she said cheerfully.
    Angora's shoulders started shaking, and her face crumbled. She let out a wail that Roxann was sure would have Mr. Sherwood looking out his window. Roxann caught her before she fell. "Let's get this scuba suit off so you can relax." Stripping the elastic suit from Angora while half supporting her weight was a feat, but she finally managed it.
    Angora's breasts and hips sprang out to their normal proportions—generous. The suit, which was doll-sized in its original form, had left angry marks on her skin.
    "Did you jump out of a two-story window into this thing?"
    "It was worth it—my dress was a ten instead of a twelve."
    Roxann looked back to the heap of soiled silk on her bedroom floor but said nothing. She helped Angora climb into the tub, then turned at the sound of the teakettle whistling. "I'll get that—yell if you need me."
    Angora nodded miserably and lay back in the tub.
    Roxann sighed, then walked back through the house to turn off the burner. She opened a few cupboards looking for tea, but found little except canned ravioli and chili. Her heart squeezed—her father wasn't taking care of himself. And she wasn't taking care of him, either.
    She scrounged up a box of garbage bags and went through the cabinets, tossing out anything that looked or smelled dangerous. Then she poured the kettle water into the sink and washed dishes, and took a shot at cleaning the counters. In the living room she cleared as much clutter as she could and ran the old canister vacuum, giving special attention to the crumbs and stains around her father's La-Z-Boy.
    She peeked in on Angora, and as she suspected, found her cousin fast asleep—and snoring like a bear. A by-product of the nose job, Angora had insisted when Roxann complained in college. Roxann sighed. Sitting in an old tub in a seedy part of town probably wasn't what Angora had envisioned when she rolled out of bed this morning. Poor little rich girl.
    Roxann returned to the hall and glanced toward her father's bedroom. She didn't want to intrude on his privacy, but neither did she want him living in squalor. The door was ajar, so she poked her