Love Can Be Murder

remembered a lot about Roxann. In fact, from those few months rooming together, she probably knew more about her aloof cousin, and had revealed more of herself to Roxann, than anyone else on earth.
    "Well, I might be able to find a pair of Dad's house shoes."
    "Never mind," she said, standing and holding on to her head to keep it from flying apart. "I'll wear my pumps. Might as well get one more wear out of them, considering they cost as much as the plane tickets to Hawaii." Dee wouldn't be up anyway, to be scandalized by her appearance. She wadded up the dress that she'd spent so many hours searching for and stuffed it under her arm. "I'm ready." Not really, but she was trying to prove to Roxann that she could be brave, too.
    Roxann picked up her duffel and led the way back through the cramped little house, which seemed much neater and smelled a little nicer than the previous evening—for that, her stomach was grateful. When had Roxann had time to clean? As always, she seemed capable of doing everything at once. Envy barbed through her—was there anything her cousin couldn't do?
    Roxann turned when they reached the side door. "Stay here until I tell you to come out."
    Angora frowned. "Why?"
    "Because...this isn't the best neighborhood. Sometimes homeless people sleep under the carports."
    She watched as Roxann slipped out, her hand inside her duffel bag, probably on the pepper spray can. Her cousin was so brave. In the dim light of a naked bulb, Roxann walked all around the van, then signaled her to come out.
    Angora stepped down onto the uneven concrete and promptly twisted her ankle in the high heels, but recovered adequately. It was still dark out, the air wet and cool. The tang of garbage from a nearby Dumpster burned her nostrils and toyed with her unsettled stomach. Still, the lights in the small houses across the road, silhouetting people moving around in their kitchens, probably getting ready to go to work at the electric plant, was somehow comforting. Living in a tight-knit neighborhood must have been so fun growing up, with kids everywhere, and fire hydrants opened wide in the dog days of summer. Since she had no friends of her own, she'd always hoped Roxann would invite her over to play with hers. Dee wouldn't have agreed, of course, but she'd wished anyway.
    She opened the creaky door to the van and pulled herself up, wincing against the pain in her skull, then tossed the wedding gown in the backseat. The vehicle had a peculiar odor, raising questions about what kinds of exotic things had taken place inside. Stakeouts with lots of take-out food? Sleeping on an air mattress, hiding out from the law? Transporting entire families and their belongings?
    Roxann opened the sliding door of the van and set a box on the floorboard.
    "What's that?"
    "Some of the junk from my room—I thought it was time to get it out of Dad's way." Roxann set the duffel bag on the backseat, then closed the door and swung up into the driver's seat.
    "I'm sorry you didn't get to see your father."
    "Maybe next time."
    Even through her headache fog, she detected a measure of insincerity in Roxann's voice that perplexed her. Sure, Uncle Walt was messy and poor, but he was an adoring father who thought enough of his daughter to maintain her girlish bedroom. Dee had already hired an interior designer to change her bedroom into a day spa. Twice she'd come out of the shower to find people measuring.
    She watched as Roxann cranked the engine and launched into some kind of strange hand-slapping routine on the dashboard. Then a shot rang out, sending Angora at least an inch off the seat. "What was that?"
    Roxann gripped the wheel and pivoted her head to the side, her eyes wide. Then she relaxed and sighed. "The van backfired."
    Angora managed a little laugh. "For a minute I thought someone was shooting at us."
    "Well, that's pretty unlikely, even in this neighborhood."
    But her cousin seemed genuinely spooked as she backed out of the narrow driveway and onto the quiet street. "Maybe it's just my weak stomach," Angora said in an attempt to lighten the moment, "but I don't remember the van vibrating this much yesterday."
    "You were a little preoccupied yesterday," Roxann offered wryly.
    "No offense, but this is a wreck."
    "I don't have a need for a BMW."
    "How did you know I drive a BMW?"
    "Lucky guess. Don't worry—Goldie might seem a little rickety, but she runs like a deer."
    "Goldie—is she your undercover car? Does it have a race-car