Love Can Be Murder

outside lights, irritated to discover that most of the bulbs were out. Frank Cape would be glad to know he had her completely spooked, although she was slightly relieved to know who was behind the break-in. Pure luck must have kept their paths from crossing at 255 Amberjack, Unit B.
    With a shaky hand, she punched in Dr. Oney's number by the glow of a flashlight, weak with relief when her voice came on the line.
    "Dr. Oney, it's Roxann Beadleman. Do you remember me?"
    "Roxann? Of course I do. I've been hearing such good things about you through Rescue. Are you coming to South Bend for Homecoming?"
    Her chest welled with emotion at the warmth in Nell's voice—she hadn't realized how much she missed her. "Not exactly," she hedged. "Although I could use a place to stay for a few days."
    "Are you in trouble?"
    "Just a disgruntled ex-husband of a woman I relocated a couple of weeks ago."
    "Ah—been there. Usually the bullies are more bark than bite, but there's no reason to take chances. And I'd love to see you again—why have you stayed away so long?"
    "I've...been busy."
    "Are you married?"
    "No."
    "Kids?"
    "No. I'll be coming by myself." She glanced toward the bedroom. Once she got rid of Angora, that is.
    "When can I expect you?"
    "I'm not sure—I might avoid the interstates."
    "Good idea. Don't hurry, I'll see you when I see you. Do you remember where I live?"
    "Yes." The few times she'd been to Dr. Oney's cozy little home, she hadn't wanted to leave.
    "I'll put a key under a flowerpot. You've been on my mind lately, Roxann—I saw an old photo of you in the alumni newsletter."
    "That rally seems like a lifetime ago."
    Dr. Oney laughed. "It was. I can't wait to see you and catch up."
    Roxann smiled into the phone, immensely cheered. She thanked Dr. Oney and hung up, then sank into her father's indented recliner, oddly comforted by its contours even as her body twitched to be on the road. But she'd have to wait until the alcohol wore off. At least she'd be gone by the time Capistrano arrived. Bothersome fool. She'd let him drive to Baton Rouge in case he crossed paths with Cape—better him than her father—but the detective needn't know where she was headed.
    She sighed and sat back in the dark, pulling her legs up under her. How strange that she and Angora had spent the evening reminiscing, and now it looked as if she were bound for South Bend, Indiana, after all. Back to Carl—number thirty-three on her life list. Maybe this would be her opportunity to satisfy her burning curiosity about the man who had inspired her to make a difference in the world.
    Roxann closed her eyes and conjured up his face. With the situation she was in, and the slump she'd experienced lately, she could certainly use a little inspiration. She'd never believed in premonition, but she had the queerest feeling of being pushed in a certain direction, as if she were careening toward the rest of her life. And that Carl Seger was destined to play a major role.

Chapter Nine

    ANGORA SMILED AND WAVED to the crowd. Thousands of bulbs flashed. Here she was, Miss America. The first woman to break the age barrier. Who needed a husband and a career when you had a sash and a crown?
    "Congratulations, Angora. Angora...Angora..."
    "Angora?"
    She opened her eyes and blinked her cousin Roxann into view. Why was Roxann in Atlantic City?
    "Angora, something's come up. I have to leave."
    She squinted. "Hmm?"
    "Wake up, Angora. We have to go."
    She moved her tongue, only to discover that someone had deposited something foul in her mouth. "Ugh. Where am I?"
    "You spent the night at my dad's. Can you sit up?"
    "Why wouldn't I be able to sit up?" She sat up, and a bomb exploded in her head. "Ohhhhhh."
    "I brought you some aspirin."
    "Shhhh!"
    "Take deep breaths."
    On the third deep breath, her stomach vaulted to her throat. She barely made it to the bathroom before everything she'd ingested the night before came surging toward daylight. Oh, God, she'd never eat pepperoni pizza again. In fact, she might never eat again, period. The Hangover Diet. Maybe she'd finally shed those ten pounds that had eluded her since puberty.
    Roxann handed her a cool cloth, and she buried her face in it. Then yesterday's events came flooding back to her—the shame, the disappointment—and she wanted never to lift her head again. The next few years of her life, so carefully planned as late as yesterday, now stretched before her...empty...lonely...not rich. She would be damaged