Love Can Be Murder

engine under the hood so you can outrun the Smokies?"
    "The Smokies ? Angora, you watch too much television. And the van is a regular old eight-cylinder."
    "But you do use it for your...work?"
    She nodded.
    "Can't you tell me anything?"
    "My work's not nearly as glamorous as you might think."
    Probably more glamorous than disinfecting the headsets for audio tours of the Baton Rouge River Walk Museum. "How do you find out about women who are in trouble?"
    "There's a network of counselors and social workers all over the country who know about Rescue."
    "Rescue? Is that what it's called?"
    Roxann nodded. "It's a last resort for women who want to get away from abusive partners."
    "What do you do for them?"
    "Help them and their children relocate. And, in some cases, help them establish new identities."
    "Is it legal?"
    "In most cases," Roxann said, nodding. "But there have been a few times when a woman's ex had visitation rights despite evidence that he was a threat to the children."
    "And?"
    "And in those cases, the woman is thwarting court-ordered visitation by denying her ex access to the children."
    "So she's kidnapping her own children."
    "As far as the law is concerned, yes."
    Angora pursed her mouth. "Can you get in trouble for helping them?"
    "It's possible to be brought up on obstruction-of-justice charges, or maybe contempt charges...but not likely."
    "But it's still dangerous."
    Roxann glanced in the rearview mirror. "The greatest danger is if the ex-spouse finds his wife. And some of the exes have been known to go after the Rescue volunteers who helped their wives disappear."
    "Isn't all that kept secret?"
    "It's supposed to be, but leaks are bound to occur. That's why the facilitators sometimes wear disguises or use bogus names when they transport a family. And we move around a lot."
    Angora leaned close. "You're a facilitator?"
    "Uh-huh."
    "Wow. Have you ever been threatened?"
    "Um...nothing serious." Roxann glanced in the mirror—probably a reflex, Angora decided.
    She herself had no reflexes, unless the urge to match her lipstick and fingernail polish counted. "Do they pay you?"
    "A little, but I work other jobs for my primary income, and for benefits."
    "What kinds of jobs?"
    Roxann shrugged. "Anything flexible. Lately I've been waitressing in a diner."
    "You're joking."
    "Nope."
    "Oh, God, that's so exciting—a waitress by day, and rescuer by night."
    "Not so exciting, just exhausting."
    Angora crinkled her nose. "I'll bet you have to wear ugly shoes."
    Roxann laughed. "Not anymore, I was fired."
    "Fired? Why?"
    "Because a relocation took longer than I expected, and I was late."
    "Don't the people at the diner know what else you do?"
    "No. It's better to keep a low profile."
    Angora wet her lips—this was better than the movies. "Last night did you get called about a... what do you call it?"
    "A relocation? Yes."
    She sighed and eased back her aching head—oh, the drama. Meanwhile, life was passing her by as if she were one of those statues in the wing of the museum that only school kids visited, and then under protest.
    "How are you feeling?" Roxann asked.
    "Lousy."
    "At this hour of the day, I'll have you home in no time."
    She grimaced at the pre-dawn scenery flying by. "Don't hurry on my account."
    "Hey, today can't be as bad as yesterday."
    "Oh, yes it can. By now Mother will have identified everything I should have done to keep Trenton from standing me up at the altar, and she'll have devised a plan to save face with everyone who attended the wedding."
    "Dee is...meticulous."
    "And still in bed, I hope. If I'm lucky and the maid cooperates, Mother won't even know I'm in the house until dinnertime."
    But it was not to be. When they pulled up to the huge brick home that her father had built to her mother's specifications twenty-five years ago, nearly every light was blazing.
    "I'd forgotten your house was so big," Roxann murmured.
    Angora swallowed. "I don't think I can do this."
    Then the front door opened, silhouetting her mother in a voluminous muumuu. She did not look relieved to see her only child home safe and sound.
    "Correction—I know I can't do this."
    Roxann scoffed. "What's the worst thing she can do?"
    Shake her head. Roll her eyes. Call me names.
    "Oh, I almost forgot." Roxann twisted and lifted the box lid. "Here's your crown. And your life list."
    Angora set the crown on her head, comforted, as always, by its weight. Then she unfolded the sheets of paper with shaky hands.